The State

Saroj Mohanty

Translated by Sailen Routray

Photo Credit - Wikimedia Commons

It comes and spreads: 

like the heat

at the height of the summer;

like a forest fire;

like a tsunami across the seas;

like a desert storm.

 

It enters

homes,

hamlets,

villages.

 

It climbs

mountains,

glaciers,

glades.

 

It snatches

chickens,

goats;

scatters

rice,

biri,

kandool.

 

Scratches away

huts; burns

thatched roofs.

 

It comes with

a gun; shoves the barreel at

necks,

heads,

backs.

 

It abducts to

lock-ups,

police stations;

feeds

shit,

waters

piss.

 

It sucks life from bodies:

throws them,

buries them in jungles;

disrobes them,

tears blouses,

pulls hair,

lifts petticoats;

inserts

rods,

sticks,

stones.

 

It examines

palms,

muscles in the arms.

 

It searches for marks on the shoulders.

 

It holds breasts,

examining their firmness.

 

It identifies

who is a Maoist,

who is not.

 

Now fear is my home.

 

I

eat fear

drink fear

piss fear

shit fear;

fear envolpes

my sleep

my dreams

my wakefulness.

 

It wants me to holler

‘Bharat mata ki jai’,

with fear.

 

But what escapes my throat

is

‘the earth is my mother;

mati mata ki jai.’