Murkhamantri the rustic leader under arrest and lock up,
Gone to jail,
In the prison cell
Taking sattu and litti,
I mean fried gram ground powder with a pinch of salt, water
And a green chilly during the day time
And the small and thick bread
Made on the palm and baked into the fire during the night time
As for good health and solid dieting.
The big-big talks of bossism almost gone,
The blunt and rude behaviour,
All gone now,
Taking the airs of the jail
And his socialism
Rubbing countryside leafy tobacco
And smoking bidi
Along with prison mates,
Fluting carefree notes.
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