Sunday, December 26th, 2010
by Mina Gajbhiye
What will you do for those
whose hunger is an ache?
Shed two tears?
Give a fourth of a slice of bread?
What will you do for those
who don't quite live
and don't quite die?
Write a beautiful poem of life?
Or a beautiful poem on death?
Whatever you do-
it will be useless.
Translated by Jayant Karve and Eleanor Zelliot. Source: Images of Women in Maharashtrian Literature and Religion. Mina Gajbhiye is a Dalit poet writing in the Marathi language.
Tuesday, December 21st, 2010
1. If thou thinkest the Maker distinguished castes:
birth is according to these penalties for deeds.
2. Born a Sudra you die a Sudra:
it is only in this world of illusion that you assume the
sacred thread.
3. If birth from a Brahman mother makes you Brahman:
why did you not come by another way ?
4. If birth from a Turk mother makes you Turk:
why were you not circumcised in the womb ?
5. If you milk black and yellow cows together:
will you be able to distinguish their milk ?
6. Sakhi :—O men, give up your pretence of great wisdom.
Says Kabir, Recite the name of the Bow-holder.
From The Bijak of Kabir, translated by the Rev. Ahmad Shah.
Monday, December 13th, 2010
Worship, libations, six sacred rites,
this dharma's full of ritual blights.
Four ages teaching Gayatri, I ask you, who won liberty?
You wash your body if you touch another,
tell me who could be lower than you?
Proud of your merit, puffed up with your rights,
no good comes out of such great pride.
How could he whose very name
is pride-destroyer endure the same?
Drop the limits of caste and clan,
seek for freedom's space,
destroy the shoot, destroy the seed,
seek the unembodied place.
Kabir: Ramaini 35, translation by Hess and Singh in The Bijak of Kabir 1986.
Source: Caste is the cruellest exclusion by Gail Omvedt.
Sunday, December 5th, 2010
by Waman Nimbalkar
Daylight would die. Darkness would reign.
We at our hut’s door. No single light inside.
Lights burning in houses around.
Kitchen-fires too. Bhakris beaten out.
Vegetables, gruels cooked.
In our nostrils, the smell of food. In our stomachs, darkness.
From our eyes, welling up, streams of tears.
Slicing darkness, a shadow heavily draws near.
On her head, a burden. Her legs a-totter.
Thin, dark of body…..my mother.
All day she combs the forest for firewood.
We wait her return.
When she brings no firewood to sell we go to bed hungry.
One day something happens. How we don’t know.
Mother comes home leg bandaged, bleeding.
A large black snake bit her, say two women.
He raised his hood. He struck her. He slithered away.
Mother fell to the ground.
We try charms. We try spells. The medicine man comes.
The day ends. So does her life.
We burst into grief. Our grief melts into air.
Mother is gone. We, her brood, thrown to the winds.
Even now my eyes search for mother. My sadness grows.
When I see a thin woman with firewood on her head,
I go and buy all her firewood.
Translated by Priya Adarkar. Source: Poisoned Bread: translations from modern Marathi Dalit literature., Ed: Arjuna Dangale.
Bhakri: flat bread made of millets, eaten in Western and Central India.
Waman Nimbalkar passed away on December 3rd, 2010, The Shared Mirror wishes him eternal peace.
Friday, December 3rd, 2010
In the Gummadis'* hut // O Lachcha Gummadi //
the song was born and grew
Lachchumamma's womb bore fruit
and the people's song was born
In the Malas' wada
the Dalit song was born
On the Madigas' dappu
the song learnt rythm
To the tune of the coolies' anklets
it learnt to dance
With the Wadderas'** hammer
it learnt to sing together
At the dhobi ghat
it was taught to move faster
The barbers' razor
sang a refrain for the song
The Kammari's*** kiln
sang a beat for the song
The Golla Kurma's+ gongadi++
sang the chorus for the song
Flying past the farms and fields
past the factory gates
The song became one with the wind
and flew past the skies
The exploiters who heard the song
trembled in their hearts
All the songs became spears
and brought down the exploiters' fortress;
To strangle the song's throat
they started plotting:
twilight hadn't passed
the stars hadn't even appeared
but the villains attacked
and fired bullet after bullet
Struck by the rulers' bullet
the song collapsed
Struck by the killers' bullet
the song fainted
Struck by bullet after bullet
the dappu grew silent
Struck by a bullet in the abdomen
the song spurted blood
Collapsing in a pool of blood
the song bathed fully
Mother Earth became pregnant
and gave birth to the song again
Even though the big life started leaving
hanging onto the remaining life
the song stood up
and started walking
Even though it was losing breath
it rose hanging onto the remaining little
From the blood filled abyss
the song rose like the dawn
Mother moonlight smiled
because the song was reborn
Village after village smiled
as the Dalit jaatis' hearts were filled
Lathis and bullets
can't stop the people's song
Bayonets and bullets
can't stop the song's refrain
Every hour, a song will be born
and build graves for the exploiters
Every hut will give birth to a song
and bring down the exploiters' fortresses. // O Lachcha Gummadi //
My translation of the Telugu song 'janampaaTa' by Guda Anjaiah (from his collection od songs/ballads 'uuru manadiraa!'). This 'people's song' is most probably Anjaiah's tribute to 'praja kavi' Gaddar ('people's poet') who survived a muderorous attack by unknown assailants (most likely, policemen in civil clothes) who pumped five bullets into him, on April 6, 1997. Hundreds of songs written by Guda Anjaiah have formed a valuable part of the repertory of Dalitbahujan artistes across Andhra Pradesh, and across India (through translations). People's songs, the Dalitbahujan poets and performers believe (most times, the performers are poets themselves), belong to the people. Gaddar has consistently performed Anjaiah's songs over the years.
* Gummadi: pronounced 'gummaDi', it means pumpkin. But it is also Gaddar's surname or family name (his real name is Gummadi Vittal Rao). The original meaning (and origin) of the refrain 'O Lachcha Gummadi', which is repeated at the end of every line, is lost in time. It is taken from one of the many genres of work or chore related songs/ballads sung by Dalitbahujan women. Lachchumamma, in the song, refers to Gaddar's mother.
** Wadderas: pronounced waDDera; refers to the community of stone-workers (vaddera, odde, oddilu, oddera, odra etc).
*** Kammaris: refers to the community of smiths, metal-workers.
+ Golla Kurma: refers to the community of shepherds/goatherds (kuruma, kurma, kuruiba etc).
++ gongadi: pronounced 'gongaDi'; also called gongali. Refers to the coarse blanket or rug (made of wool, mostly) used by shepherds etc.