Bhagat

Prem Prakash

Surely one evening we'll sit down
drink late into the night
and in the dying dark
together we'll perform a bhagat

Our chogas will be threadbare
the bocchaan tied on our heads
dancing bells on our tired ankles
To the sound of dust-covered instruments
we'll lift our unpracticed hands
Our breaths will choke
Under the dark open sky
a small stage made of mud
Before us sand
stretching out for endless miles
No one to listen to us
All of them lying on their velvet beds
lost in dreamscapes
The wind that carries our voices far
will quieten
Again and again it will return to us
                         You begin by speaking of my origins
In between I'll add my testimonies of your past               your present
                         In the last hours of the night
                         together we'll perform a bhagat
                         we'll sit down one evening
                         and drink late into the night

In the first act of the bhagat
we will bring to life a scene
I will come to you and die
You will die and come to me               keep walking               keep dancing
From both our bodies
will emerge one thing
your soul
my conscience
Your soul will play the role of some prosperous man
My poor conscience will remain mine
They will converse with each other
speak of common               some uncommon               things
In the middle
my conscience will speak a monologue –

                         Ask anything of me
                         Do not ask my name
                         Do not ask about my identity
                         Do not ask where my home is
                         Do not ask about my neighbourhood
                         Do not ask about my city
                         Do not ask about my country
                                        But I will serve you wine
                                        in a goblet made of gold
Ask anything of me
Don't question me
Don't look for my legs
Don't look for my hands
Don't look for my eyes
Don't look for my tongue
Don't look for my touch
               When I regained consciousness
               I began to count
               After becoming unconscious
               I continue to count

Look me all over
Don't look within me
Don't look at my feelings
Don't look at my thoughts
Don't look at my values
Don't look at my soul
               Neither do I seek to speak with you
               nor do I wish to speak with my self
               I hiccup
               pronouncing a single world
               whose meaning is not so difficult
               but it is my heritage –

I can walk
The echo says                         have no legs
I can fly
The echo asks                         where are the wings?
I reach out
The echo sighs                        have no hands
I can see
The echo breathes in             eyes are shut
I speak
The echo reveals its pain       words have ceased to be
I laugh
The echo brings back sobs
I scream
               Dweller of the land of Sindh
               I have crossed many seas
               I have seen Time
The echo says in pain
               You have changed to the most expensive of watches
               After partition
               you have not looked at the time
I scream for help
Then in the echo I hear destruction
After a long silence
I return to whisperings
               You can ask me anything
               Don't ask about my culture
               Don't ask about my history
               Don't ask about the traditions of my people
               Don't ask about my way of life

Surely one evening we'll sit down
drink late into the night
and in the dying night
together we'll begin a bhagat

In the last act of the bhagat
we will begin to speak in memory
we will stop the train of sadness
that builds its own momentum
Verses of remembrance and grief
are shadows of death
Let the rising notes
be free of them
My falling notes are riddled with
a cough

With the salt-shot sand
make a house for culture
To etch on its walls
I'll bring the names of our brothers
and their money
Warm sand will go in
through my skin
Cold sand
will drink your blood

Sitting by the head
of my dead body
you recite a sher
I'll recite a poem
by the legs of your corpse
You give the people a testimony of my last breath
I'll show them signs of your wide open eyes
Distress will be your shroud
My shroud will be sand

Surely one evening we'll sit down
drink late into the night
and in the dying dark
together we'll perform a bhagat


translated from the Sindhi by Gopika Jadeja and Prem Prakash