Hungry Stones - 7 Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

(A poetic translation of a story by Rabindranath Tagore, kśhdhārto pāśhāņa, Hungry Stones, for convenience split in 13 parts) . It is set in blank verse with stanzas that rhymed in between.


VII

I saw no one but felt a gentle hush,
As I woke up she uttered not a word,
But beckoned me along with a firm shush…,
To follow her— wordless like a mute bird,
I got up but saw no soul save what goes,
Around nor in the sprawling old palace
Of slumbering sounds and waiting echoes,
I feared my steps lest I stir up the space,
Past an array of rooms kept ever dark,
We then turned to left taking a long arch,
I followed her breathless walking aside,
My still shadow following that mute guide—
Not knowing where, how far, nor to what end,
Yet, I felt no threat from my guide and friend.

Invisible to eyes, not to mind's clue,
She, an Arab girl, frail but full of grace,
Arms smooth like marble, behind sleeves seen thro',
And a thin veil tried to hide her fair face,
A curved dagger hanged from her slender waist,
I wondered if it was a quiet heist,
One of Arabian Nights and far too sad,
Amidst world of romance far too evil,
Through dark alleys of slumbering Baghdad,
Oh, was my tryst fraught with unknown peril?

My fair guide's abrupt stop broke off my thought,
She pointed a thing below a blue screen,
Her finger ‘pon sharp nose, a beauty spot,
But too little in the dark could be seen;
Probing more at the glazing marble floor,
A terrible-looking eunuch I saw,
As dark as late night was, blocking the door,
Dozing with out-stretched legs, churning my maw,
And blocking most of our ample passage,
A naked sword lay there ready to rage.

My guide leapt over him in utter ease,
I could catch a glimpse of the scene on lease:

The room with a Persian carpet was spread,
Unseen, someone sat aside ‘pon the bed
In loose saffron dress; two exquisite feet,
Sporting slippers embroidered in pure gold,
Aside was a blue crystal tray of old
Filled with apples, pears, and grapes aplenty,
A few bouquets of flowers kept ready,
A tinted decanter waiting to greet
A guest, if a pair of gold cups could speak,
As fragrance wafted by in a path sleek,
Intoxicating, over-powering me!

With trembling heart, as an attempt I made
To leap across, he woke up with a start,
The sword fell from his lap with a sharp clang,
A terrifying scream when made me jump,
I saw me leaping from my bed, sweating,
A crescent moon looked pale in morning light,
I like a weary sleep-starved man at dawn,
And my crazy Maher Ali screaming,
As was his daily custom while he strode,
‘Stand back, stand back', he yelled winding his way.
Such abrupt was the end of my first night,
But waited there a thousand nights of fright!
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Translations | 07.03.13 |