Hungry Stones - 3

(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. III A week passed and the place began to weave A strange kind of fascination ‘pon me, Hard to narrate, harder still to believe, I felt like being a dragon at sea, Digesting my own self, me in its noose, Oh with some stupefying gastric juice. Yet, it was perhaps me that started it, Bit by bit since came in ways indiscreet! It was a dull day, I came home early— Well before sunset, and rested in chair Close to water's edge near a fleet of steps, The tired sun soon sank, a broad patch of sand Glowed in the hues of mesmerising eve, The pebbles in shallow waters glistened, There was not a breath of wind anywhere, The stagnant air from spice shrubs on the hills, As laden was as an oppressive scent From a despot, all but over-powered me; And as the sun dived deep behind the hills, A curtain fell upon the day long stage, The hills cut short their-light-and-shade mute mime; A reason was for me, nor a fair rhyme, Nor was it time to go out for a ride, Yet, led as if by overwhelming force, And leaving every reason way aside, I was about to venture out on course, When from a far I heard footfalls behind, But looking back, not a soul could I find. I sat down, wondered what an illusion! And heard again some steps— not from too far, Sound of some souls slowly scampering down, A strange thrill tinged with fear flashed inside me, And though there was no sight before my eyes, I saw, me thought, a bevy of maidens That descended for bath that summer's eve. The valley all dead, there was not a sound In fast flowing river, or in palace, Nothing stirred to pierce eerie silence That surrounded; I heard a girlish, gay, Mirthful giggle, like gurgle of a spring Gushing forth into a hundred cascades, Soon, they ran past me in playful pursuit Of each other, and towards the river, Alas, without noticing me ever, Perhaps, I too was yon their spectral sight. I heard their splash, though calm was the river, While many an arm jingling with bracelets, The maidens laughing, spattering water, The fair feet of swimmers tossing tiny Waves of showers that looked to me like pearls! _____________________________________________ Translations | 03.03.13 |