An Indian Bride Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

In a red Benarasi silk sari
Satin-brocaded
And in blouse
And in sixteen shringaras,
Dress-ups and make-ups,
The coy and shy girl going,
A teenaged
Lean and thin girl,
In mangalsutra,
Vermillion,
Collyrium,
With the hands
Myrtle embroidered.

In hair parting-line locket
Hanging over,
Necklace,
Nose-ring,
Ear-ring,
A bindi spot
On the forehead,
Finger-rings,
Bracelets,
Kamarband,
Anklets,
She going,

The sideways
Of the toes
Coloured with
Red water colour,
The nails polished,
The lips lipstick-applied
And the long hair hanging
Unto the waist
With the jasmines stuck into
The hair
And the face powdered and creamed
And with the sandalwood paste prints
Beautifying her, decorating her
And she looking like a bride.

With the sari lowered over
Her face,
She going,
Going on a bullock-cart,
A village maid
With the tears into
The eyes of hers,
She breaking and sobbing
And wiping the tears
Going,
Going to her in-laws' home,
But intercepted and followed
By the small-small boys and girls,
Half-fed and half-clothed
Running after
On the mid-way
While crossing the dry river-bed
And they trying to get a glimpse of her face
Sad or smiling
Just to break the silence.

An Indian girl bride
Of just sixteen
Or a bit more
In sixteen shringaras
Dress-ups and make-ups
Going to her in-laws's house,
An Indian bride
Shy and coy
Going
With tears into the eyes
As for discerning
Her home
Going to another's,
The paths where to lead to,
The journey unknown,
What it in destiny,
Who knows?