Kanshi Ram appeared in my dream

he raised me from the floor

and placed me on a chair

~~~

The beloved crop

committed suicide

The farmer

only expressed solidarity

~~~

Caste

is a Hydra

If you cut it into pieces

it survives as sub-castes

~~~

Surprisingly

the murderer

looks

exactly like a man!

~~~

God 

is not a clay idol:

She is the dalit mother

who changes mud into rotis

~~~

Not everyone

can become a Buddha

It is enough

if he doesn't lose his buddhi.

~~~

Phule

blew the conch:

Shudra

this is the right beginning for you.

~~~

All the milk is from the buffaloes

but the cow is worshipped

Isn't that

varna discrimination among animals?

~~~

How does green grass burn?

Throw in some dogmas, 

politics into it

and you'll know how.

~~~

The one who is sold is the boss

and the buyer is the slave!

Marriage

isn't even a business.

My translation of some of Netala Pratap Kumar's Telugu naaniis from his collection of poetry 'daLita naaniilu'. 

Naaniis are a new form of short poems, somewhat like haikus, that Telugu poets have been experimenting  with in the last two decades or so. Please read more naaniis by Netala Pratap Kumar here. 

Dr Kathi Padma Rao, talking about Pratap Kumar's naaniis, says:

Buddhism is the philosophical foundation of 'daLita naaniis'. Ambedkar vaadam (Ambedkarvad) is its sociology. The idiom is of the Dalit wadas. The expression stems from struggles and conflicts that are a part of life. Reading these aphorisms is like listening to my father, or my uncle, or my grandfather.

Water Lily blooming on Palm Sunday (2013) at Adhanoor where Daya’s grandfather settled. A small Dalit Christian congregation has been worshipping here for about 80 years.

By the entrance to the Garden of Eden

There I waited for the botanist

who knew all about mustards, figs and lilies.

“Tell me, Cousin Jesus

I have seen the tree of Knowledge

And the Tree of Life

Show me the Tree of Freedom

Unguarded by swords, serpents or priests"

He took me past the Garden of Gethsemane

There it was – a cross of dead wood.

He said that he had climbed it

and knew that I could climb it too

I hugged him and kissed him

I broke the chains, shattered the bloody nails,

Cleared the garden and raised a forest

The sweet smell of freedom filled every pore

I am the Tree of Life!                                                             

This poem was written by Dr. Paulraj Dayanandan with Easter in his mind, as a card conveying his best wishes to all. 

~~~

Dr. P. Dayanandan retired as a professor and chairman of botany after teaching for 38 years in the US. His interests range from all aspects of botany to Pallava art history, Tamil literature, Dalit issues, education, space biology and spending time with young people to explore social consequences of oppression and empowering them to pursue studies in India and abroad. Ten years ago he helped organize a student and youth group called 'THUDI' involved in educating, agitating and organizing.

Long before you were born
In this country
Your name was listed
Among the traitors.

Your religion is a conspiracy
Your prayer meetings are a conspiracy
Your lying quiet is a conspiracy

It's true !!

Your study in EFLU is a conspiracy;
All is well in Heaven:
The other day, someone else,
Yesterday, you,
Today, someone else –
Tomorrow and day after tomorrow?
Who is next ?

Sorry Mudasir!!!

The 'collective consciences' were satisfied yesterday
But today the story recurs in another form
History repeats itself…

Sorry Mudasir Bhai!!!

Gurram Seetaramulu's 'Sorry Mudassir Bhai' was written in memory of a young Kashmiri student in the English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU), Mudasir Kamran, who commited suicide in the campus on March 2, 2013. [Read more about the incident here]. 

Seetaramulu is a doctoral fellow at EFLU.   

they would make speeches to their hearts' content

and shout out novel slogans,

blow a breath of hope on our overtired limbs.

At times, to our shanty towns they would come,

careful not to rumple their ironed clothes

crossing our lanes and alleys,

jumping across streaming gutters

when they stopped beside our doors

we felt inexplicably moved.

Viewing our pitiable state they would say

'Truly, this needs a social economic cultural change,

the whole picture needs to be changed.'

Then we would sing

their songs

in sonorous full-throated tones.

Acting innocuous, they would eat

the marrow of our bones.

Days passed by.

Darkness pressed from all sides,

We battled against sunshine and rain

And like fools awaiting salvation

we have stood our ground

and are sunk to the neck in mire.

But now they say plans are worked out

for our salvation

–covering our wasted tombs

in a new shroud

What munificence!

Baban Londhe's Marathi poem 'Shroud' translated by Charudatta Bhagwat. Source: No Entry For The New Sun: Translations from Modern Marathi Poetry. Edited by Arjun Dangle. 

Genesis Chapter One

By the well of Jacob

There I sat down and wept

Next to the man who asked for water

“Tell me, Cousin Jesus

            Neither a pariah in the beginning nor in caste

            How did I become one half-way through?

            And you still remain a Jew?”

He bent down and wrote something

On that despised Samarian sand

Look! He could read my mind

I remain illiterate

I sat down and wept

            The well filled, overflowed with living water!

~~~ 

Joy to the World

By the side of the manger, there I was

When three men from the East arrived

Late to worship my darling

The star took them to murderous Herod

The pundits got it wrong.

          “Tell me, Cousin Jesus

          Are you the Son of God?

          Are David, Moses, Abraham, Adam

your ancestors?

          Where did I come from?

          From the mouth, arms, thighs?

          They say I am not fit

          to be born even from the feet.”

I saw the star twinkle in his eyes as he winked

And said: We have bypassed the primeval purusha

Who needs Adam or the sons of Noah  

We both are miracle babies!

I gathered all the angels and shepherds

For a cosmic dance of peace and goodwill

Joy to the world

I am the Daughter of God!            

Dr. Paulraj Dayanandan shared these two poems as Christmas greetings.

~~~

Dr. P. Dayanandan retired as a professor and chairman of botany after teaching for 38 years in the US. His interests range from all aspects of botany to Pallava art history, Tamil literature, Dalit issues, education, space biology and spending time with young people to explore social consequences of oppression and empowering them to pursue studies in India and abroad. Ten years ago he helped organize a student and youth group called 'THUDI' involved in educating, agitating and organizing.

Blackish Sun

Blackness blackness Sun

The Sun of the winning path

          The Sun of charms

          The beautiful Sun

          The beautiful Sun

          The Sun of the leaf sandals

The Sun of the sowing season

The Sun of the dark clouds

The Sun of rain drops

The little Sun

The Sun singing lullabies

In the eyes of the corn

          The Sun on the food basket slung from the beam

          The Sun in the clay pot

          The Sun of beef curry

          The Sun of cold food

The Sun who dances

In the thatched hut

          The Sun of the ear of corn

          The toddy tapping Sun

          The matangi¹ Sun

          The gosangi¹ Sun

The Sun who smiles in the cockleshell mirror

The Sun who dances wearing snail-shell anklets

          The Sun of charms

          The beautiful Sun

          The beautiful Sun

          The untouchable Sun

The Sun who was burnt to ashes alive

The Sun who rose from the ashes blazing

The Sun who bled on the fields of Karamchedu

The Sun who learns to walk on the path of blood

The Sun in the gunny sack on the waves of the Tungabhadra²

          The Sun who befriends

          Swarnamma³of the sweat drops

          The Sun who gives his heart

          To the crescent moon Yesanna³

The Sun of the flaming spark in Alisamma's⁴ vows

The Sun of righteous sharpness

In Anil Babu's⁵ eyes

The Sun of the army of ants in the Sikkolu⁶ hills

The Sun who swims against the flood of the Godaari⁷

Shambhuka's decapitated head like Sun

The Sun of Ekalavya's chopped thumb

The handsome Sun with the index finger

The Sun of twilight

The moon like Sun

The Sun of the blue flag

The Sun of black gemstones

          The brave Sun

          The Sun of daggers

          The Sun of tears

          The Sun of timeless wisdom

The Sun who has bloomed

On the righteous path of Dhamma

The brave Sun

The Sun of the winning path

My translation of the Telugu poem 'nallaaTi suuriiDu' by K. G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar'); from his collection of poetry 'Sivasagar kavitvam'.

The poet says this poem is a continuation of his efforts to define 'daLita soundarya Sastramu' or Dalit aesthetics.

[1] matangi and gosangi: a reference to the Madigas; gosangi also refers to cobblers, ascriptive occupation of the Madigas. 

[2] Tungabhadra: a reference to the Tungabhadra canal of the Krishna irrigation system which supplies water to farms in parts of Guntur district. Here, the poet talks about the mutilated bodies of the Dalits killed in the Chunduru massacre (1991) which were wrapped in gunny sacks and thrown into the Tungabhadra canal.  

[3] Swarnamma and Yesanna: some common names among Dalits in Coastal Andhra. The poet could also be referring to the Dalits' role in labour (Swarnamma is derived from 'swarNamu' which means gold or wealth or its production, in general); yEsanna refers to Jesus Christ, or spiritual liberation.

[4] Alisamma: was a key witness in the Karamchedu massacre (1985) as her own son Duddu Vandanam was also killed in the massacre. The courageous woman had braved many threats and inducements to speak about the killings in many public meetings and was ultimately also murdered, two years after Karamchedu.

[5] Anil Babu: Kommerla Anil Kumar was a witness in the Chunduru massacre. Balagopal, the human rights activist, had written: Anil Kumar was 'an articulate young dalit who survived the massacre of August 6 to give a graphic account of the incident but was shot dead by the police on September 10 in the course of an attempt by the latter to remove a hunger strike camp set up by the daiits at Chundur.'

[6] Sikkolu hills: Srikakulam; this is a reference to the one of the earliest Naxal movements.

[7]: Godaari: The river Godavari.  

on the gallows

and indulge

in daydreams

Another world

whispers endearments

on the swing

of my dreams

I shall stand

on the gallows

and envision

sweet dreams

My sweet dreams

shall come true

and the whole world

shall smile

The red army

shall open its wings 

and spread

in all directions

The fearless

red army

shall achieve

liberation

The wind

from the villages

shall encircle

the cities

It shall

build graves

for evil spirits

and demons

I shall stand

on the gallows

and gaze

upon another world

History

shall bring down the curtain

on this inhuman

world

On the Himagiri*

of humanity

the red flag

shall fly

From the great flames

of the revolution

the new man

shall rise

In

the Kalahari desert

new lilies

shall bloom

I shall stand

on the gallows

and sing

the radiant song

I shall place

my neck on the executioner's block

and play the lute

of the universe

The seven seas

as one

shall sing

the universal song

The camaraderie

of the hammer and the sickle

shall show

the path of light

Holding the sun

in his palm

the peasant

shall plough the field

The moon 

in the factory

shall spin

the wheel

The worker

of the clenched fist

is the helmsman

of the new world!

The glorious

worker

is the wearer 

of the crown of stars!

I shall stand

on the gallows

and indulge

in daydreams

Another world

whispers endearments

on the swing

of my dreams

Friends!

Don't spill

your tears

for me!

Don't forget

the struggle!

Don't give up

the red flag

Hold fast to

the gun in your hand

with

great caution!

My blood

shall not go to waste

My death

shall not go to waste

In the pond

of my blood

a new world

shall bloom

The music of life

shall be heard

in the presence

of my death

I shall adorn

my neck with the noose

and hail the revolution!

I shall hail victory!

I shall stand

in the face of death

and sing the song of life!

I shall sing the song of new life!

…………………………………………….

…………………………………………….

Farewell! Farewell!

Farewell to the gallows!

Farewell to the noose!

Prison wall! Farewell!

Serpent hood! Farewell!

…………………………………………….

…………………………………………….

Farewell……..Fa………………….

…………………………………re…….

…………………………………………well!

Fa………………………………………….

My translation of the Telugu poem 'uri paaTa' by K. G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar'); from his collection of poetry 'Sivasagar kavitvam'.

*Himagiri: The Himalayas. 

Written in May, 1972. The poet says he composed it when two guerilla activists, bahujan peasants, Bhoomaiah and Kishta Goud were sentenced to death. 

The east turns red

India opens its eyes

And showers sparks of light!                    || The east wind blows

A bundle of cold food on the back

An axe in the hand

Mao Tse Tung on the mind

And the red banner in the heart

The peasant has risen!

The peasant  roars

As the guerilla!                                        || The east wind blows

As the current in the wind

As the water in the stream

As the fish in the water

As one among the people

The peasant has risen

The peasant sounds the battle conch

As the guerilla                                         || The east wind blows

As a poisoned arrow in the enemy's heart

As a spear in the traitor's bed

As the fierce daring of the axe

That breaks the necks of the rich

Yours is the exemplary courage

Yours is the righteous battle!                    || The east wind blows

Let the machine guns ring

Let the toxic flames spread

Let many sorrows and burdens

Surround you and rage

You stand as a rock!

Yours is the high road!

Yours is the people's path!                       || The east wind blows

The east wind prevails

The east turns red

India opens its eyes

And showers sparks of light!                   || The east wind blows

My translation of the Telugu song 'tuurpu pavanam viicenOy' by K. G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar')– from his collection of poetry 'sivasagar kavitvam'. Written in 1968.  

The poet says:

This is the first song I had written during my journey in the revolutionary movement. It conveys the message of the slogan, 'The east wind prevails over the west'. This was a slogan of Chinese communist party during the Cultural Revolution. The slogan and the song express the aspiration that the east wind, or the gathering revolution, should prevail over the west; that the eastern nations- Asia, Africa, South America- should subdue Europe and the west.     

Why do you stand near that grave

And weep like that? 

Why do you grieve so alone,

Sobbing uncontrollably? 

The son you raised and who fought for you

Is no longer in that grave.

Instantly, he had shaken himself awake

Rose from the grave and taking up his weapon,

Returned to the battlefield

Mother! Wipe your eyes

And bless the struggle. 

My translation of the Telugu poem 'ammaa!', from the collection of poetry 'Sivasagar Kavitvam', by K. G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar').

Written in July 1972 when the leader of the Naxalbari movement, Charu Mazumdar, was martyred in police custody.

The Sunrise is not a conspiracy

The Sun is not a conspirator

Are the pregnant woman's labour pains a conspiracy?

What will you call the progress of the chariot of history?

Honourable Justice!

The demoniac feudalism that tucks the earth,

Rolled like a mat, into its armpits is a conspiracy

The comprador's treachery

That sells my country to foreign powers is a conspiracy

The peace pact signed

At Kosygin's leprous feet is a conspiracy

There's a plot

In the food that Nixon's ships bring

Indian independence is a conspiracy

The ballot box is a conspiracy

'Garibi hatao' is a conspiracy

Indira's smile is a conspiracy

The arrogance in the half closed eyes of the shastra of injustice,

Lying in ambush to hang the Sun, harbours a conspiracy

Honourable Justice!

The Srikakulam dawn is not a conspiracy

The guerilla Sun is not a conspirator

Isn't Sunrise the tearing down of darkness?

Isn't Sunrise the sharing of warmth and light among the people?

Honourable Justice!

You're very..just

In unjust destruction, as just as Yama.

My translation of the Telugu poem ''kuTradaaru' vaaj~nmuulam', from the collection of poetry 'Sivasagar Kavitvam', by K. G. Satyamurthy ('Sivasagar').

Written in June 1973, this was the poet's testimony in the court as an accused ('conspirator') in the Parvathipuram Conspiracy case.