{"id":56,"date":"2012-03-03T13:07:47","date_gmt":"2012-03-03T13:07:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.dalitweb.org\/savari\/?p=56"},"modified":"2012-03-04T09:22:37","modified_gmt":"2012-03-04T09:22:37","slug":"kongu-by-jupaka-subhadra","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.dalitweb.org\/?p=56","title":{"rendered":"Kongu by Jupaka Subhadra"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>
\n<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Kongu isn\u2019t a rag that stands guard over my head\u00a0<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Kongu ties up my hunger,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

tucks my stomach in and keeps watch<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

for me like\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>Katta Maisamma<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0while sleeping;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When I turn into a canal of sweat at work<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she mops it up like a cool breeze,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like the moon clutching together the stars<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she glistens as the sack<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

that holds roots, vegetables, grains<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and the\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>komati<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>‘s<\/em> groceries on my head;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

In the fields and the fallow plots, when I grow tired<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she spreads out a bed to give me rest,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

when my grief streams from my eyes to the skies<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she draws my eye babies towards herself<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like a mother, and hugs them close, my dirt rag;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When my husband reaches out in love or anger<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like a ball of butter she always gets caught before I,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

to aggression or violence, from those at home or outside,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

my\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>kongu<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0rag always succumbs first…<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Kissing my ears and cheeks<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she holds up an umbrella of\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>senna<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0flowers<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

over the dawn of my face<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the sapphires of my hair;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

From chilly weather and searing looks<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from the blasts of heat waves<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from the sneakiness of rain drops<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she offers cool relief like the shade of a tree,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

becomes a warm fire that covers my shoulders.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She becomes a pad for cool pots<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

that slake your thirst from a mile away,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

burns her fingers<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

handling vessels on the stove,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

comforts my crying babies<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

hugging them like warm baby clothing.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Though she works cheerfully by my side all day in the dust<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she stems the life streams<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

flowing from my body’s sluices all night;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Like a cow nursing a new-born calf<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she licks all dirt off my body,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like a wicker wall<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

she hides the\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>modugu<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0stain spreading through my cloth;<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Only when she becomes the snake charmer’s\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>been<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0at my waist<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

do planting, harvesting, weeding and threshing,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

chores and songs screech into motion.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

My dirt rag that rolls in my hands, sweat, bed, bones, limbs<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in pleasure and sorrow,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

my kongu rag that sticks to me<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in work and song, in crisis and comfort,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

like the filth that clings to my feet, the companion<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

of my life path…slaving like the washerman’s stone,<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

when does my perspiring kongu find the time for rest?<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She\u2019s not the patchy\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span>pallu<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0that stands guard over my head<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

nor the hobbling stone… over my breast<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

how can I drag her into the bazaar<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

set fire to her honour and lose myself?\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n