And every year
the Ghaghra changes course
turning over and over in her sleep.
These lines describe the Ghaghra River changing its course every year, like it’s turning over in its sleep.
In the afternoon she is a grey smudge
exploring a grey canvas.
When dusk reaches her
through an overhang of cloud
she is overstewed coffee.
At night she is a red weal
across the spine of the land.
These lines highlight the different appearances of the Ghaghra River throughout the day and night. In the afternoon, it is a grey smudge on a grey canvas, while at dusk it becomes like overstewed coffee. At night, it transforms into a red weal across the land.
Driving at dusk you wouldn’t know
there’s a flood ‘on ‘,
the landscape is so superbly equipoised-
rice-shoots pricking through
a stretch of water and light
spiked shadows
inverted trees
kingfishers, gulls.
As twilight thins
the road is a black stretch
running between the stars.
These lines highlight the serene and picturesque beauty of the landscape at dusk, despite the presence of a flood. The rice shoots, water, and light create a harmonious balance, while the spiked shadows and inverted trees add to the enchanting scenery. The presence of kingfishers and gulls further enhances the natural beauty. As twilight fades, the road becomes a dark path running amidst the stars.
And suddenly at night
the north comes to the village
riding on river-back.
Twenty minutes of a nightmare spin
and fear turns phantasmal
as half a street goes
churning in the river-belly.
If only voices could light lamps!
If only limbs could turn to rafted bamboo!
These lines suggest a sudden calamity at night as the river floods and engulfs half of the street. The fear becomes surreal and ghostly. The speaker expresses a wish for voices to be able to light lamps and for limbs to transform into bamboo rafts, implying a desire for some form of assistance or solution to the situation.
And through the village
the Ghaghra steers her course;
thatch and dung-cakes turn to river-scum,
a buffalo floats over to the rooftop
where the men are stranded.
Three days of hunger, and her udders
turn red-rimmed and swollen
with milk-extortion.
These lines describe the Ghaghra River flowing through the village, causing the thatched roofs and dung-cakes to become river-scum. The flood is so severe that a buffalo even floats onto a rooftop where the stranded men are. As the days pass without food, the buffalo’s udders become red-rimmed and swollen from the excess milk.
Children have spirit enough in them
to cheer the rescue boats;
the men are still-life subjects
oozing wet looks.
They don’t rave or curse
for they know the river’s slang, her argot.
No one sends up prayers to a wasted sky,
for prayers are parabolic
they will come down with a flop anyway.
Instead there’s a slush-stampede
outside the booth
where they are doling out salt and grain.
These lines emphasize the resilience of the children who cheer for the rescue boats, while the men remain still and expressionless, soaked from the flood. They understand the language and behavior of the river, so they don’t rant or curse. Instead of praying to a futile sky, they focus on practical actions, like rushing to the booth where salt and grain are being distributed.
Ten miles to her flank
peasants go fishing in rice fields
and women in chauffeur-driven cars
go looking for driftwood.
But it’s when she recedes
that the Ghaghra turns bitchy
sucking with animal-heat,
cross-eddies diving like frogmen
and sawing away the waterfront
in a paranoid frenzy.
She flees from the scene of her own havoc
thrashing with pain.
Behind her the land sinks
houses sag on to their knees
in a farewell obeisance.
And miles to the flank, the paddy fields
will hoard the fish
till the mud enters into
a conspiracy with the sun
and strangles them.
These lines suggest that when the floodwaters recede, the Ghaghra River becomes turbulent and aggressive, creating whirlpools and eroding the waterfront in a frenzied manner. It seems as if the river is fleeing from the destruction it has caused, leaving behind sinking land and houses. Meanwhile, miles away, the paddy fields hold onto the fish until the mud and sun conspire to suffocate them. It portrays the destructive power and aftermath of the flood.
