A Day At Bajipur Poem by Namita Rani Panda

I. Serene Morning
In the morning walk in winter I am mesmerized by her enticing
beauty
As if just out of pond a newlywed bride in her sweet twenty,
The mark of vermilion on her forehead is the crimson sun
Peeping through the transparent foggy veil of chiffon,
Drops of dews dripping from her wet green cloth of Bija and
pine.
The early morning prayer "Bande Matram, Sujalam Suphalam"
fills the air with the fragrance of love for one's motherland,
The air around her smells of corn flower, so fresh and
intoxicating,
The beautiful tall and long series of hills that touch the sky
are the outline of her lovely curves to entice the passersby,
The wavy rice field stretching to the horizon is her veil's golden
border
That dances alluringly as she moves elegantly to the tune of the
morning air,
The green canopy is her aanchal so cool and fair,
She looks so calm, peaceful and full of rapture
And passes by gracefully humming with the birds her melodious
prayer.
Her lap is a haven for all plants and creatures:
Creepers with no hesitation entwine around the trees,
Monkeys chatter and jump from branch to branch holding their
babies,
Cows munch leisurely looking at the sky with their listless
dreamy eyes,
Birds sit and hover around them working their ways,
The sleepy village at the distance yawns wreathes of smoke.
She is really the greatest painter's superb master stroke!
The soft blue dust rises with the touch of my foot fall
I return rejuvenated with a heart full of happiness enough to be
enthralled forever.

II. A Game of Chess

My hot tea seems colder than the newspaper
As blood trickles from the hearts of wounded words
Through the pages I can see the contour of her mournful face
Crying bitterly holding in her lap countless carcasses.
A tug of war continues between her children,
Publicly they never hesitate to wash their ugly and dirty linen.
They derive endless pleasure by throwing dirt at one another
Being utterly indifferent to the suffering of their hapless mother,
She suffocates as the air smells of the pungent gun powder,
In the sky, throughout the day, hovers the helicopter,
The buzzing outshines her cry, though heart wrenching and
bitter,
Every precaution is taken for her security and comfort with
utmost care:
Tight security at checkpoints,
With sniffers and bomb detectors, ever active and alert,
Still she shivers, suffers and feels utterly insecure.
The brilliant brains move their dices with utmost caution,
Their kings, queens, rooks, bishops, knights and pawns
On the chess board with checks of green and brown,
Checkmate one another in camouflaged uniforms
While their loving mother is torn in between her sons,
Who play the game of chess using their selfish intentions.

III. A New Rise

There is no fear in the air,
The atmosphere is cool and fair,
The offices and schools are open,
The buses briskly as usual run,
The widows and orphans can't but be happy with the
compensation,
The merciless media masked as compassionate companions
Go on scratching her suppurating sore
Like hungry howls and hawks up to their gratification.
Her two eyes look like lakes of limitless loss,
But children in uniform proudly pray in chorus
"Hami Nava Yug Ki Nayi Bharati Nayi Aarati":
(We represent a new era, we're the new lyrics of freedom,
the new sunrise, the new moon rise, we're the new rise!)
With pride boldly they pledge, "India is my country,
All Indians are my brothers and sisters, I love my country…"
Its echo in the air dispels, to a great extent, her deep-rooted despair.

IV. Stains of Pain
The stains of blood on her bosom remain fresh and open,
She lies wounded, splashed with red blood with the rays of the
setting sun,
The wounds of bullets on her tender limbs are ignored and left
unhealed,
By her own barbarous children her fortune is being cruelly
sealed,
She's a hell for hopes, a living ill-fated curse,
Once a heavenly haven she's now a horrible Hades.
Number of hapless children multiplies in ashrams,
The perennial rivers of tear roll down the sunken cheeks of the
aging parents,
The hollowed eyes of the widows look blankly at the distant pale
sky,
The irrevocable deep voids in their hearts never bid them good
bye.

V. An Aroma of a Fresh Hope

Her moaning tears the bosom of the eerie dark night
That fills one's heart with endless fright
but the prayer from the ashram,
"Itni shakti hamein dena data, manka vishwas kamzor ho na……"
(Give us so much strength, O Lord, that the faith in our hearts
never wavers)
Reverberates in every corner: the hills and forests and the river,
The aroma of a fresh hope fills the air,
She sleeps peacefully with a blue blanket jaded with shining stars
With a dream in her teary eyes to rise at a serene dawn