Lakshmi went for her weekly purchases

To the village bazaar, on Wednesday

Afternoon, to buy spinach and radish

And onions. The green mangoes sour-true

Were good for pickles; also for the drinks;

They’d just started arriving from the grove

Owned by the village chief, genuine-hearted

Though stern at times in his duties. Strangely

There were honey-vendors too. Exquisite

Was the harmony of that little world,

Given to fewer wants, proclaiming

“Simplicity is the soul of sweetness.”

The small afternoon stream carried the joy

Of the beast and the bird and the lush field,

And the lyrical god. Nothing mattered

And the griefless spirit lived in each house,

In the cowshed, in the nest, moon and stars.

The bazaar was abuzz in the main street,

And children in the merry-go-round seemed

To touch heaven. Surely, there were cartloads

That had come from the far renowned mountain,

In possibilities of virgin life.

But then these were tied with thick and dark ropes,

And foreboding were experiences

At times, uncertainties vague like shadows

Flitting through the mist; here, since long ago,

Shadow-figures as in a shadow-box

Cast their spell on raw imagination,

And Lakshmi took everything in her stride.

Her money-pouch had some coins for the day

And her one concern was, like dreams worshipped

In the silence of the night, robust fate

Of the three boys she bore in swift passion,

Hoping in the breathful heart shall awake

Wisdom of native gods who indeed shape

Our urgings in life’s calm nobility.

RY Deshpande

7 June 2004

 Village Bazaar: Courtesy Google Images