-K Radhakumar
There is a popular belief here
In this part of the world
The dead make their yearly visit
Of the living
During this month –
The end of hot summer days
Yes, when autumn sets in.
It is in this season
The dead come to earth
In the form of wild pigeons
And eat bountiful offering of foods
And drink water from cupped hands.
The humble offering of the living to the dead!
What do you mean when you say
The living meet the dead here?
It is a matter of one’s belief;
It is beyond the realms of reason.
The wild pigeons!
The wild pigeons are everywhere
In every nook and cranny of this place
And all over the skies above Imphal.
Why should they swoop down
And attack the offered food
Only at this time of the year?
Maybe they get bored in the kingdom of heaven.
Maybe they cannot forget the charm of earthly life.
My parents lived and died here;
Before them lived and died
My grandparents and great grandparents.
One day I will die
And after my death
My children and grandchildren will have
Many, many years to live.
We come and are here momentarily,
And before we go
A sweet tale is told
In which the hero dies in the end.
Coo, the hero and I are one and the same!
Yes, only the hero dies in the end
But life does not begin with birth
And end in death.
I do not know why
I see my dead relatives in my dreams these days
I do not know why
My dreams are resonant with images and echoes.
Oh, moment!
In you we live and move and have our being.