(Translated by Ra Sh)
 

WHAT APPAN FED US

Wild fowl curry – on Mondays.
Crab curry – on Tuesdays.
Vegetable curry – on Wednesdays.
Fish curry – on Thursdays.
Turtle curry – on Fridays.
Rabbit curry – on Saturdays.
Venison curry – on Sundays.

Mondays came again.
Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
Thursdays and Fridays.
I thought a lot and gave my word
To father.

On Saturday, Appan went to the shop
and bought two kilos of sambar powder.
Amma went and bought pulses.
I went and bought tapioca.

When it was Monday again
I demanded pork.

Appan made a bow and arrow
with my Amma’s blessings,
and shot the arrow flying into the forest.
In the morning, the forest guards came
scooped up the bones and charred
remains of the curry
and took them away
along with Appan.
Appan – father
Amma – mother.
 

THE SCENT OF THE DEAD BIRD

It was after planting my eyes on each tree
that I began teaching my language to the forest
that forgets languages.

Did not tell the names of the native flowers.
Did not show them the image of a native tree.
Did not blow the scent of native medicine.
Did not elucidate the character of the native man.

They all knew that
the first syllable is Krrrrr Taiiishipdum.
They all knew the sound of the bark peeling.
The sound of the branch breaking off.
The scent of the dead bird.

I tried to group together the
hieroglyphs on stone
of my language.
The forest gathered them and packed them
on the roots.

Some sooooooound!

Guided by the wild fly
I reached a place I did not desire to go to.
There the might of the mighty man
flows close to the ground.

Died, death died,
Elephant motion,
Nothing of that sort.

I was shaking out all the earth in my language.
By then, the forest carried all that
and hid the death.
Greens started sprouting there again.
I have passed by that place many times.

An eagle is circling in the sky
above my language.
When I also looked around in circles
the scent of the dead bird enters my language.

I also threw some earth and walked away.
The scent of the dead bird entered the greens.
 

FOREST

Without teaching me the script,
Father first showed me the Forest.
The tale he narrated was Life itself.
With bells hung from the waist,
With the thudi hung from the shoulder,
He sang prehistoric songs
In which he showed us the Male Patriarch God
And the female matriarchal Goddess.

The sea,
The land,
The hills,
The river
The trees,
The earth
The hut
The man
His dress
Life
Civilization
Rituals,
The Occult
The land of birth.
Biting into a fruit
Jumping over rivers,
Drawing on the bow
Refreshing the smell of the forest
I spent my first years education.
When I started going to school,
I called my mom as Avvei
And father as Appei.

The stain of the jungle never leaves me,
I will never lose it too.