The Village Girl-Maid Going On The Bullock Cart Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The village girl maid going to her in-laws’ house seated on a bullock cart
And the villagerly cartman driving the cart
Turbaned and in dhoti and kurta
And a linen towel on the shoulders
With a stick into the hands
And the oxen taking the bride away
To her in-laws’ home.

Tears are in the eyes, the eyes red with the tears,
Welling up in, falling down,
Trickling the cheeks,
She a poor village girl, simple and innocent
Remembering and going,
Under the veil of a little sari
And the sari slipping down sometimes
And the strong sun falling upon
The tear-wet and dried cheeks.

The bullock-cart going slowly and the fear of being dark
Making them afraid,
As how to reach the place,
The forest track too on the way,
But have to, have to go,
Following the ways unknown and zigzagged,
Curving and turning often,
From this hamlet to another,
But the landscape solitary and manless.

Sometimes passing through the orchard plot and its shady groves,
Sometimes by the forest,
Sometimes by the hamlets on the ways
And sometimes the rivulet dried,
The highland already rivers,
Barring the drizzling rains of rainy days.

The small, small village boys and girls in the somehow shorts,
Toothlessly smiling, one or two teeth fallen,
Half-clothed and half-fed, rich or poor, often the same,
The villagerly mass,
Running after, running after to see the bride going,
Going to her in-laws’ home,
With tears into the eyes, tears flowing,
Flowing down the collyrium-applied eyes.