Bairagi Kainla
Either she has to go to the office:
Through barrack, courtyard and market to Cart Road she must go;
Always worried she is about the house and kitchen,
In the middle of the traffic
(Although the traffic police looks on)
Contemptuously
A death-like vehicle attempts to overrun her.
Or she is all along the way
Chased by eyes of thousand bulls,
Beckoned by thousand vendors who would
Offer her credit;
A thousand strong arms
Approach to sympathize with her.
This is why with motherhood
That has not even had the chance to bloom
Tied in a knot to the hem of her saree
She runs away…
She runs away to the middle of the traffic.
And then
In the middle of the traffic
A death-like vehicle almost overruns her!
Her dignity wounded,
She carefully maintains the vanity that almost dropped;
In it are the pictures of her sick husband
And a house which she is having repaired.
Big as the grains (of rice
Laid out on a winnowing fan)
Each and every word of the file
She likes to shuffle and cook!
And that is why
At times she feels that her life,
Like the stacked sheets of paper
Under the paperweight,
Is sustained by someone’s love.
But, every now and then,
Startled by the typewriters’ irksome noise
When she suddenly looks around,
Some with the pretext of a greeting
Some with that of exchanging files
The hungry eyes of other clerks
Lay her on a dish of courtesy and snatch at her chunks,
Consuming her lips, cheeks, flesh, and helplessness.
And then of course whatever may happen
She would simply like to die,
She would like to divorce dreams and desires,
Yes, she would simply like to die
Whatever may happen!
Or when she is returning from the office:
Not only from wealthy merchants but from relatives too
She needs an escape;
Or else in the middle of the courtyard or the market,
At the green grocer’s, at the draper’s,
Like a Marwadi1 tearing pieces of cloth and selling…
The relatives too—
Tearing a few pieces of sympathy,
Sickness, the topic of an incapacitated husband.
A few touchy subjects—
Attempt to sell her!
And then in front of her thousand houses crumble,
And then in front of her thousand husbands die.
Feeling her forehead she runs…homeward
Knots try to form, breath is suffocated,
Yes, each wife always decorates her husband in the parting of her hair!
And then,
In the middle of the traffic
Her life bought on credit
Is almost run over by a death-like vehicle!
But she always has to go to the office;
And a death-like vehicle
Contemptuously tries to overrun her!
- Inhabitants of Rajasthan, India, who are also active in the commercial life of Kathmandu.
Translated by Padma Devkota
[A pioneer of the Third Dimension movement comparable to Picasso’s Cubism, poet Bairagi Kainla believes that life should be expressed in its entirety. In accordance with the assumptions of the Third Dimension, Kainla picks up phases, and artistically brings the contemporary and potent voices to the surface in a pictorial language. Poet Kainla was born on 9 August 1939 in Panchthar District of Nepal. He started writing in 1956, and has ever since, continued to explore himself in poetry. His published works are Bairagi Kainlaka Kavitaharu (Poems of Bairagi Kainla), Mahaguru Phalgunanadaka Upadeshharu tatha Satyahangma Panthaka Bhajanmala (Sermons of Mahaguru Phalgunanda and Hymns of Stayahangma Panthak), Limbu Jaatima Kokhpuja (Ritual Worship of the Limbus), Chai ta Mundhum (Origin Stories from Mundum), Kirat Jaagaran Geet (Awakening Songs of Kirat) etc. He also edited Tesro Aayam, a literary journal. Kainla is a reciepient of Sajha Award, Sidhhicharan Poetic Award, Harihar Sashtri–Savitri Devi Poetic Award, Vani Award etc. Former Chancellor of Nepal Academy and present a life member of the Academy, Kainla is one of the greatest living experiences for contemporary poets and culture activists. ]