The Mortgaged Man Poem by GOBINDA SAHOO

Original Odia: Pitambar Taria
English rendering: Gobinda Sahoo

The dusk melody has ended
at the western edge of the river
in haste with the boys
the doves and myna couple have flown away,
the boatman home-faced might have turned
or my beautiful sister-in-law after menstrual bath
has gone back home
still from paddy farm has not turned up Godhi Oram
and Rama Kishan from migration.
Ho Subrat, these are not all new!

Many alike haven't returned, sometimes
dead bodies and poison bottles on farm found.
As witness the dying crop,
serpentine warning of moneylender,
with plenteous dreams the body slaughtered
tears of fearful eyes as onlooker
and secret advice of the brick kiln owner
still unproved remains the death
and false it turns on the pages of light.

River sans love flowing in full
kissing the banks of assurance and betrayal
their ruined fate in the water of sin suffocating
sometimes poetry it turns and sometimes- hot music;
The country knows.

For that, a kilo rice per rupee one, free house
but not a drop of water for the land
which the industry will take all- says the sarapanch.
Umbrella, slippers, blanket and meal@five at footstep
Our Govt. provide- says the MLA's son.
Still you cannot forbid the company people
taking the village on trucks,
Forgive me.

If it is discussed, then live as you like,
save yourself, do they stop
the hands helpless upwards move
and surrender
Save Oh God! The AlmightyJagannath!

They can ask not
why did you relish in relief and begging
from life escaping
and defeated you moved hither and thither,
where did you lose your power-miracle?
Tell if you can-
how did you take Dashia's coconut
all in emptiness?
As did the chief servitor bow down
was saved the flag of Shrimandira,
lappet of the queen
and at large your reputation.
But how much factual is your fighting
on horses- black and white
to defend the honour of King-servant,
Tell Jagannath!

They know not to ask for
the magic-flute, magic ward,
the chicanery of ‘brukshya mantra', crown and ornaments,
all equipments of happiness
as successors of Vamana-
the cleverest of God's incarnations-
they are not.
So, how could they know the art and trick,
theory and philosophy of supplication
on the land of hunger and fear
they are but insignificant mortgaged men mere.

They couldn't know
the dream roots could highway break
His highness' brain, demon's architecture too.
They couldn't know the clouds of freedom
blood could make
And remain only the words of victory of life.

In the fire too remains
radiance special and beauty
of the rising sun
till the blood, flesh and bones of revolutionists burn.
Dear Subrat, make me understand these all.