The Motherland.. Poem by Sanjib Saha

The Motherland

The narrow space between
the wall of our house's veranda
and the high wall
of the neighbouring house
was the birthplace of
almost thirty people.
This space, which was once
a place of utter neglect,
was the only route
for the five daughters-in-law
of our house for the whole year.
Otherwise, it was not considered
as a sacred place.
If you stepped on it,
you had to take a bath.

The place where humans are born,
is it not a sacred place?
Doesn't it keep the earth alive?
Doesn't it give life to the earth?

No one else had the right
to enter that space,
only the midwife did.
Because no one touched the midwife,
she was untouchable.
If you touched her,
you had to take a bath.

There were four small buildings
around the big courtyard.
Two of them were old,
dilapidated, and plastered.
The children would play, run around,
and jump in the courtyard.
The colourful houses
were inhabited by people.
The boys would run across
the courtyard, jump over the wall,
and pluck ripe velvet fruits
from the tree.
The seeds of the ripe fruits were sweet.
They would suck on them.

The velvet fruit tree was surrounded
by a group of boys
from the neighbourhoods
who would play stick games.
Mock battles.
The women would bathe
at the ghat behind the house, talk, and sometimes indulge in playful teasing.
They would return to the courtyard,
their heads were covered with veil,
wearing wet clothes,
looking like colourful sculptures,
with a child in someone's arms,
like a half-broken Jamini Roy's painting!

The children grow up crying.
The courtyard and the houses,
the gap between the houses
and the courtyard,
how many days have elapsed
through them? Cruel time!
Even the elders cry now.

Because that narrow space
where thirty people were born
is no longer found.
Stones have been laid.
Walls have risen around the chest.
No one is born
in that narrow space anymore.
New rooms have been built
inside the chest,
and emptiness surrounds the new rooms.
The mock battles have become real.
Yet, the birthplace has grown, and
the whole world has transformed into motherland.

---------- Sanjib Saha