I translated some poems from Purnendu Patri’s Kathapakathan II.
Amitava, that I ripped the dreads-tangled darkness of a deep pit
and collected a rock, you know this. That I wanted to build
such a woman with a blow of a chisel-hammer that she’d look
as if she’d just awoken and showered at the earth’s magma falls,
this you also know. So the following story–
The day I struck the first chisel blow, a spray of blood. All night
a hand pressed on her wound. All day inside of her emptiness
like a mother. When no longer dripping in blood, and
her wound is brimming with green leaves, sitting down again
to mold with the chisel-hammer.
- What are you putting on me?
- A sari of fire. That which suits your soul.
- What is that smell inside me?
- I scattered seeds of yearning in your blood. Flowers are blooming on those trees.
- How shall I show you my gratitude for this new life?
- Turn the petals of my desire into golden jasmines.
- You are the one who will give me that power.
- Here, take this heart.
The next incident is very amusing. Immediately upon receiving life
she broke down the door of the room and ran away toward the earth.
She hasn’t returned. Having lost my own
heart, now I am the rock of a deep pit.