3rd Vol, No2 (August 2016)
Reading the Daughter of Fire
{after reading Pratibha Ray’sYagnaseni }
I read the Daughter of Fire as she reincarnates
herself in each new age, as a vibrant new text.
I read her as she steps into the world, from a womb of fire.
I do not read her dark beauty, her intoxicating fragrance,
her lotus eyes, her slender waist, her sensuous limbs.
I do not read her five husbands, hopelessly handsome
Kuru men, sons of Gods. I do not read her five sons, children
of lost destiny, desperately squandered in everlasting exile.
But I read her conjugal rites, fire-walking from husband
to husband. I read her dragged by her unravelled hair
into the court of Kuru kings. I read her writhing under
lusty eyes. I read her yellow sari unwound by lecherous hands,
her ritual body contracting with spasms, her heart
wrenched again and again by the five silent men,
who pawned her away at dice. I read her rage at hands
that summon her to a wretched thigh. I read the words
of that noble warrior of the House of Sun:
Disrobe her, the dark skinned whore!
I read her, Daughter of Fire, in her eternal angst.
I read her screams of agony for sons cremated
intheir sleep. I read the demon blood drenching her hair.
I read promises made, I read promises rent.
I read withered hope, fluttering at her breast.
I read the betrayal of womanhood.
I read her fire-walking in the battlefields of Kurukshetra,
where that old man Time lies wounded on a bed of arrows…
The Ghost of Abhimanyu
You are fast asleep now mother, as you were thenand so was my father, the silver archer, both
of you measuring my fate in your sonorous snores,
while he, the Universal Man, unravelled secrets
ofchakravyuha, armoured discs in wheel maze,
sealing my entwined life in eternal battle.
I wish you were awake. I wish you had memorised
the rest of that ominous spell, you who were human;
I was not human enough. But, you had slept through
vibrant dreams that bore you on the wings
of darkness, away from a beloved legacy you had
passionately engendered. You had smiled sweetly
in your sleep as the resonant voice of the great singer
had frozen on my half-formed ears. My life, short,
sweet, blazing with sound and fury, vibrant like
the thunderof battle drums that dies with night.
I was conceived to be slaughtered by a horde
of blood-crazed cowards, on the thirteenth day
of the great war. I had fearlessly entered
that ill-fated, seven tiered spiral, only to lose
my way in that dreaded labyrinth of fate.
Wily providence had slyly shape-shifted
into your slumber. I, scion of the moon,
who had valiantly held at bay that splendid son
of the sun, relentlessly fought the circle of shameless
Kuru chiefs, with my chariot wheel, only to be
mercilessly slain. You are not even here to mourn
for me, you are mercifully locked away on this
bewitched golden isle in the middle of a wine red sea.
This fire-born stepmother of mine, takes my torn body,
bloodshot and broken limbed, on her lap and screams
to the skies that even the stars shed tears.
How many mothers mourn their sons today, their tears
drowning the wind? Their memories, trumpet-tongued
raising the seas and bringing the heavens down.
My warrior father swears self-immolation
and that Universal Man smiles in immortal bliss.
I was born a saviour of the Bharata clan, they say;
a warrior prince who bore the destiny of a dynasty
in his charmèd life. I come to take leave of younow,
on your golden isle, to see you smiling in your sleep,
yet again. I have no regret to halt my fleeing soul,
only a parting wish that the Bharata flag flies high.
I leave a seed in a widowed womb.
Uchchaihśravas
Uccaihśravasamaśvānām viddhimām amrtodbhavam
In a single wave of mustang light, he rises,
seven headed equine prototype, neighing
thevedas.From the churning ocean of milk,
he ascends in a ring of white light; wings flapping,
he travels the skies with the speed of thought.
Hypostasising a myriad myths, he rears
in thunder, parting the air, to wage some
cosmogonical war with wind, rain and sleet
in his tossing mane. Mighty muzzle, dripping
immortal elixir, battling the anger of serpent fumes,
the light spirit dances with the stars.
Jubilant as the moon, the rainbow wingèd,
bejewelled horse blows in cosmic cloud.
Sky wrapped, he roams the void, as a sleeping
god wakes to create yet another world.
Each god lays claim to him, each demon.
Knight of Valhalla, eight legged, rune toothed,
shaman stallion, lending his wings to Asgard’s gods
Sun gods fastenhim to their chariots of fire
that circle the earth from dawn to dusk.
Progeny of monstrous blood and the seed
of a water god, he rises again from the waves
of a boundless sea, whinnying litanies
to the heavens. With wind-whipped mane,
astride on a blazing fire of ballads, he spirals
in the milky oceans of distant galaxies.
As time wakes up from his dormant egg,
the white horse flies in the minds of men,
shedding legends from his flaxen forelock,
his jewelled hoofs, his golden bridle,
his blazingrubied eyes. They lay wagers
on his tail, black serpents eclipse him
as he traipses the horizons.
They sacrifice him relentlessly
at their altars of fire-
- Kingdoms for a horse –
They callhim river spirit, enshrine him in
temples and try to tame the forever free.
He perches on their flags, battles for
centuries and becomes their lyrical muse,
trumpeting pastoral symphonies.
He will ride again at the end of time as saviour,
hero, god figure, in a ring of white light-
– From death to life, from awareness to
existence, from darkness to light –
Uccaihśravas, sacred steed of the mind, fly with me!
(Uccaihśravasamaśvānām viddhimām amrtodbhavam: translated from Sanskrit as –
Among horses, perceive me as Uccaihśravas, born of amrita. {10.27,The Bhagavad Gita.}
Indian born Usha Kishore is an award winning British poet and translator. Usha is internationally published and anthologised by Macmillan, Hodder Wayland, Oxford University Press and Harper Collins among others. Her poetry has won prizes in UK Poetry competitions, has been part of international projects and features in the British Primary and Indian Middle School syllabi.Usha is the author of two poetry collections: On Manannan’s Isle (dpdotcom, UK, 2014) and Night Sky between the Stars (Cyberwit India, 2015). Translations of the Divine Woman, a translation of Kalidasa’sSyamaladandakam was published in Dec, 2015(Rasala India).