(Copy-edited by A.J. Thomas)
Day and Night
1
Something went wrong
with the usually accurate calculation
The spot illuminated today is daytime,
only per your geography
And my south pole is high on opium
Day is a truth manifest in one of your eyes
And that which you unfairly hide from me in your other eye
And only I am allowed to see during the Night
is anything but the Night
Is a fact known to all but afraid to speak about
That is your Day rising from the East which is my adversary
From that Eastern border starts the realm of the
Western kingdom ruled by the Queen firmly established
on the throne of darkness
In your hands is the royal scepter made of my bones,
the one you swing like the Chakra of Vishnu
The purpose of which is my beheading and
thereby the eternal sleep of the dark night
And at a short distance is your dry smile,
not enough tears in my eyes to soak its mocking tone.
Translated from Assamese: Syed Ahmed Shah
2
The world is a toy in the hands of a toy
The day itself is a toy, a toy of modern firearms
To make the world shake in fear, a toy held by the Sun
Perhaps the Sun also is a toy, Gods’ favorite toy
You and I argue, later we stop talking to each other
When I call God a toy, round like the Sun
It is as if your head would explode with anger
I was in a dilemma – if your head really explodes
Whether it would be Day or Night in my world
I could not understand anything
In order to end our argument at that point
And to make peace with you
I change myself along with the setting Sun
Then it was Night, your face bathed in brilliant moonlight
I turn ice cold on the other side of your face hidden from people
I feel like a toy
I keep thinking if I become a toy in your hands
Life will be successful
Since, the God of Day and Night is a toy,
The world is also nothing but a toy,
There is no soil anywhere on the world
Since soil itself is a hard baked toy
If someone distraught with misery of this soil
Swells up like fresh flood and submerges the earth
How much water would you be able bail out
Without access to the tools of Night and Day.
Translated from Assamese: Syed Ahmed Shah
A Little More
The alphabet says: Though I appear to be a set of signs, I’m not exactly signs
A little more
The word says : I can swim, that doesn’t mean I’m a fish
A little more
The meaning says : I can fly but I’m not a bird
A little more
Why would a poet be like the artist-spider dozing in the web
A little more
While galloping along the path of stones, sparks splash from the horse’s hooves
Poetry isn’t exactly a spark
A little more
The intimate line replete with you isn’t just you
A little more
Periphrasis, derision, the twists and turns are not exactly wayfarers of love
A little more
Your mere clinging on to you doesn’t make a bond
A little more
Even if you’re one equaling one
You’re little more than one
Time resembles a river flowing with a spouting whirlpool veiled in the bosom
Time isn’t exactly a river
A little more
A poet’s life is one where a leech keeps sucking blood without him being aware of
The leech isn’t exactly a leech
A little more
With ‘a little more’ growing problematic
A maths teacher was approached who said :
This isn’t exactly a simple sum of addition
A little more.
Translated from Assamese: Krishna Dulal Barua
Isle of the Sun’s Bosom
This isle of ours is of the Sun’s bosom
That green tree was a smokeless fire
Today at best it has changed its hue
The steep hill veiled by blue smoke
Is a dust-flame in reality reluctant to chill down
It becomes apparent when you rub two stones
That’s the Tapatjuri the tasty water of which deer drink
Well, there’s no other alphabet for water and thirst
The sun hides its frame behind its shadow
Sowing potherb seeds eating fried leafy vegetables
Angling in the shallow pools under the eaves
The working ant that moves dancing ahead
Whose progeny does it bear to be weighed fully down
Baring its open-hearted smile to the one above
You’re prepared to extract pails of sugarcane juice
Laying the tray to brew molasses, where have you found the fire
Look at the eyes of those toddlers drawn by the brewing aroma
What’s there, can you see anything
The assassin’s eyesore, is it the moon in the poet’s blood or someone else
Who slumbers in the pollen-womb of the dream petals of flowers and butterflies
Tell, where’s the genesis of fantasizing in the kite’s design
News conveyed to the clouds imply your memorization of every song
Rain rain, your life is warm with raw sweat, whose inspiration
This isle of sun’s bosom, our sun ails in the morning noon evening
You’re the tip of a banana leaf the wish for recovery the evening an earthen lamp
Tell, from where do you arrive being yourself beneath the frenzied peepal.
Translated from Assamese: Krishna Dulal Barua
The Horse Flew Above
The tanga was light as the wind
The horse was nimbler than the wind
As the wheels and axel hubs of the tanga moved on
The stars revolved in their high spirits
With the clattering music of the horse’s hoofs
The planets evolved in their high spirits
The tanga was a giant stone
Without wheels and axel hubs
A single horse could not draw it
He collapsed while trying
One day the tanga really changed into the wind
Another day water-like the tanga flowed into the river
It sank trying to drift like a boat
One day the horse really turned into the wind
Yet another day the horse got watery wings
Vaporous the horse left for another planet
The tangawala changed into a still tree
That very day the tree was cut down
A forest taller than the trees sprang up
Such a forest engulfed the earth
It’s a modern tale of the sun changing over from
The horse drawn tanga to another vehicle
Dalim O Dalim what have you brought for us
I’ve brought I’ve brought the lost horse
Put the bell on the neck.
Translated from Assamese: Krishna Dulal Barua
The Elevator
Tyres are burning in the middle of the road
The Secretariat elevator
Ascends and descends restlessly
Commotion in the middle of the road
Down with deception, down with fakery
Beware fellowmen, beware
Crushing the voices
Black smoke emerges
Car-panes shatter and sunder
Trucks are ablaze
The Secretariat elevator
Ascends and descends restlessly
Something arrives with the blaring siren
Some dismount heavily in hordes
Lashing of teargas on the eyes
Those without sheaths on their backs –
Oh, what a plight
The Secretariat elevator
Ascends and descends restlessly
Uncongealed blood
Spattered all over the street
After the writhing in agony
Deep slumber
Serenity prevails
Local TVs go on tumultuous over it
As the self-immolation of green-flies
What’s there so much to fret about
If one or two are impaired or defaced
Leaving aside all wrangles
An all- religion prayer session holds sway
The Secretariat elevator
Ascends and descends restlessly
The remnant ashes of the burnt out
Tyres trucks and bipeds too
Are washed away
Cheerful laughter echoes in the air
The Secretariat elevator
Ascends and descends restlessly.
Translated from Assamese: Krishna Dulal Barua
My world was so shallow
My world was so shallow
What magic you did just by coming into being
Water of the camel hump earth
Its volume and density
Increased unexpectedly
And now my eyes
Has slowly caught hitherto unseen
Impossible bonding
Layer by layer
And of one layer with another
It has been possible only because you came into being
The stunted bud of my poor existence
Has unfurled its petals gracefully
Still I’m depressed
Still I’m worried
Worries turn into anxiety
I can’t help but being so
It takes me to consciousness
Through it I communicate
That is what can be called love
What your world has taught me
To love you
To love you ever more
Nothing can stop me to love
I need you the more
Still worry, your unbeing, a sea of grief, in it
Whether the needle would sink
Or the ship.
Translated from Assamese: Bibekananda Choudhury and the Poet
The Prodigal
There they say the cow
disdain the grass in the backyard
of its owner’s cottage
And there I left
Judas’s kin
my dear native village long ago
in the prayer of sunflower rain
As the earthworm writhes
out of its hole in the ground
It was a festive night
with all the banners tranced in a dance
The drum casting a spell
in tune with the beat of the dancer’s feet
The owl
hooting cheerfully
And the ghost of the turbaned old noble
came on a white charger
And carried away
my horn of plenty
It was in another city
I began a strumpet life
made of snake’s coils
Where the day began
with colourful butterflies
impaled on the barbed wire
of trains’ shrieks
Long-tailed kites
on blue skies
The humped camel
among the thorny desert shrubs
The skeleton only
of the Pushpabhadra river
left
under the glare of the Sun-temple of Modhera
Yet the ape gamboled still
In the distance the jacks
gave their friendly howl
The peacock spread her fan
The nightingale poured her sad melodies
which reverberated on the ageless rocks
across the river at Kanai-Barosi-Bowa
And their echoes have hunted me ever since
To solve the riddle
of ferrying across the stormy river
the tiger, the goat and the bundle of betel leaves
so that none could prey on the others
Easy enough game for small crooks
But how to jump out of the bed
As the sails go berserk
And leave under the pillow
blank paper, colour of dreams
with unwritten words gathered
My being
only a shaft of warm sunlight
that trickled down pink umbrellas
down a lovely woman’s cheeks
A bank of clouds
like a bunch of juicy flying grapes
A whole grain
among heaps of empty husks
You gave me a pair of cuckoo’s eggs
to smuggle into the crow’s nest
I fed them to my master the serpent
and became his court favourite
The Devil gave me a boon
‘You will be a poet one day’
And further gave me
a sackful of poison
to mix with honeyed words
of a party flunkey
And I tumbled
of high peaks of carefree bliss
Crashed on dreamy rocks
to become a golden bristle
on a grain of wheat in the field
One day that golden fuzz
grew wings
Beating my wings
a clumsy flier
I hit against the wall of notes
overturning it
And heard beyond the forest
unearthly music
Saw lakes of wildflowers
Flocks of magic deer
and purling streamlets
alive with dragonflies
where the Devil fancied my shadow
and bestowed on me
an unvalued chain of smoke
and anointed me with molten tar
The Devil showed me the charm
of hell-fire’s flames from afar
And knave that I was
I defied my master’s warning
to nestle close to that charm
Only to burn
to cinders
To return
a dead ember
to my old house
on a lonely, tired evening
to the sombre beat
of the prayer-hall’s drum.
Translated from Assamese: Hiren Gohain
Canine
A dog’s been barking long since
fretting my blood
Now is the time when darkness congregates
where three roads cross
A truck cradled in a crane’s lap like an infant
Coal-dust rising in spirals
I had read a book by the window
in the morning seen a film
quarrelled loudly with a bus conductor
to shorten the hot summer road
Shaped into song an ashtray an urn and the sky
Yet the dog’s been fretting in my blood
for a long, long time
No food for thought in ashes
As trees in tea-plantations are
all of the same height, all equally green
all with the same methodical
arrangement of leaves
In the high noon
a buxom Santhal lass resting
in the sirish-tree’s shade
Did I hear that barking at the first draught
from the mugful of tea
Though there was no room for doubt
about their intimate relation
yet at times I cut short the distance
between the barking and the Santhal drum-beat
In a tavern by the road
of the long saga of history tradition geography
or in some high-priced clothes-mart
I had known perhaps for the first time
this barking
How far back was it
Was it at the time of the first soft showers
Or was the flying address of the raw earth
written on the bird’s bill
Did the moss under water breathe
Perhaps I had then already known
woman like fire in the warmth of furry wool
Perhaps echoes of this barking
have attracted many
And a band of fire-fighters been formed
In the ambiguity of profound water
many ignorant divers have sought to fathom
Sharp nails and fangs
have torn into sea anemones
radiant as stars
My habit of an evening walk
by the sea with dog in leash
is very old now
Yet today at the crossing of three roads
I exchange hot words
with that garrulous barking.
Translated from Assamese: Hiren Gohain
Saurabh Kumar Chaliha
We haven’t seen him. If we’ve seen him at all, it’s
Only his back. There’s no question of him seeing us.
He’s engrossed in his own shadow in front of him.
We held ourselves back from pestering him.
A few city-buses greet him, a few others move away
Waving good-bye.
Just a single rickshaw in the entire city. His shadow
Mounts onto it. This detachment occurs right in
Front of him.
It doesn’t bother him.
Not a wrinkle shows on his forehead.
What is well-apparent under the light.
Not to speak of anything else, we haven’t
even seen his shadow.
We’re smearing his favourite city with ash.
We’ve made his shadow launch the process.
With remote we ourselves navigate the rickshaw.
His red muffler is fastened firm.
We haven’t seen here any sign of dreams.
My imagination is immature.
From behind when we feel that it’s him
His favourite cigarette – it too has parted from him.
Perhaps it’s swimming gaily in the sea of smoke.
There at the police-point the signal of blank hands.
The driver-brethren are used to it.
It’s not night but day-time. The tea-stalls
Within the range of sight are yet to open.
It’s Friday today. It has its own story trail.
Five persons – among them four are students and across
The divider the music of invocation is on.
Is that Saurabh Kumar Chaliha looking at the Airtel glow signs
With red and blue eyes?
Or has he come out of the frame himself?
My imagination is immature. I haven’t seen his back.
Has he merged with the slim and nimble breeze
The party visible from the flyover ‘Tshe party is over’
His head covered by sparse hair drifts in the breeze and
Has left no mark of ruin.
However, forgetfully Chaliha’s right hand remains
Between the railings of the flyover.
Translated from Assamese: Krishna Dulal Barua
Treaty
he bond that I had signed with the sun
Expired, its term is done.
I am free. Even release
Is beyond me now.
Even you, in this life
Me you cannot reach
I am accessible
To the hook alone.
To become one
You’ll have to die
And spiral in the ghost’s bobbin.
Awaiting you
And the hook you’ll be
I too will die.
In Yama’s fire-place, bask there I will
And set the hook afire, forefathers and all.
Your eyes will douse that fire
All your desires will be stars
Tears, that’s what your stars will shed.
No tear will ever reach me
I am free.
My treaty was with the sun
Yet much before the bond
The sun’s time was done.
Translated from Assamese: Bibhash Choudhury
Democracy of Umbrellas
God hadn’t created rain
to wet the bras, panties and petticoats
of charming cheerful colourful beauties
Baser still or nobler still
maybe there is some other motive
Never nears the hard-hearted
only crushes the soft
If that be the sole duty of rain
the creator himself is sowing the seeds of doubt
Perhaps on the strength of rain
God’s existence survives
Thus the curious are keen
to find the way out
through the mazes
In whose affairs has rain
played a spoilsport
Is it for the reason
lightning bolts fall upon the heads
Thus perhaps the markets are on fire
from that fire God emerges
Clouds have been made after this emergence
Between the creases of white and purple hues
who plays hide-n-seek
why do forms rush into formlessness
Who’s moulding fire-horned arms
from bolts of lightning crushed to dust
Rebels and bourgeois scramble
to buy this infallibility
Thus God holds
an open fare of rain
With what intent
who holds open
over our heads
the democracy of umbrellas.
Translated from Assamese: Nirendra Nath Thakuria
Freedom
Anubhav Tulasi
The wind is jesting
The fluttering flag
Is guffawing
And guffawing
The flag has said to the wind
‘I was thinking of you, cham,
You’ll live long’
This time the wind is laughing
Which echoed in the flag,
Guffawing and guffawing
The ripples of guffawing
Are wafting in the open
The wind asks the flag
‘Those who’ve flown balloons
And set pigeons free
Haven’t they unfurled you
In the name of freedom
Have they unfurled you
Or tethered you
For the next ten minutes
Both the wind and the flag
Kept silent.
Translated from Assamese: Nirendra Nath Thakuria
Malaise
I’ve spread so arid an atmosphere
that the tears of my wife have dried up
I’ve kept burning such a fire all the time
that the smile of my wife has burned up
I’ve created such a high pressure
that her blood circulation has got affected
I’ve fed her bitters after bitters
that she has gone off salt and sugar
I’ve set off blast after blast
My wife has lost her voice
In the ultra-modern microwave
I’ve so toasted my wife
that her mind and body
crumbles even at a rub
For crisp dollars of foreign trade
it is high time to exchange my wife.
Translated from Assamese:. Nirendra Nath Thakuria
Post-mortem
In the nine-year old chest
Of Ruhul shot dead
At the Last Gate strike
Two holes
Through the big one
I look at the sky
There the huts of mats
Are being evicted
With excavators
At someone’s bidding
In the other hole
Is set a telescope
Through which
One can clearly see
The politics of the entire earth
Whenever eyes are taken away
The true scenes
Die down
And there sprout
Wonder.
Translated from Assamese: Nirendra Nath Thakuria
******
Anubhav Tulasi (1958-) is a poet, literary translator, literary critic, film critic, short-fiction writer, and editor of books and journals. His poetry in the Assamese poetic tradition has been dominating the poetry scene for more than three decades with his formidable contributions, setting new standards with his anti-poetic stance; he portrays different power centres of society with consummate ease, adopting an electric style almost uninimitable. His poetry is implicit, and it voices a sincere attempt to transmute the resonance of the invisible language in which poetry originates. His poetry is taught in a few Indian universities and anthologized by Oxford University Press, Penguin India, Sahitya Akademi, (The National Akademi of Letters, India), National Book Trust, India, besides a few universities. His poetry is translated into Spanish, French, Swedish, Hungarian, Uzbek English and other Indian languages. He has authored and edited more than forty books, out of which nineteen are poetry collections in Assamese..
Cover image courtesy: https://www.artzolo.com/painting/tree-12?id=169791
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