Joshua Bodhinetra

Poems and Text

Labani Jangi

Paintings

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By the time the tremors reached the imperial bedchambers it was already too late. Too late to repair the shattered bastions, too late to raise the mighty satraps and bannermen.Deep chasms lay proud across the empire. Chasms that smelled like freshly cut stalks of wheat, deeper than the hatred our emperor had for the starving masses, wider than even his galactic chest, ran across the streets leading to the palace, the markets, the walls of his sacred gaushalas. It was too late.Too late to let the pet ravens loose, skittering and squawking among the public, to declare the tremors a nuisance, just a passing wisp. Too late to make them despise the marching feet. Oh those cracked and sun-baked feet, how they make his masnad wobble! Too late to preach that this holy imperium shall last a thousand years. Those verdant hands that turned dirt into lush ears of corn were reaching the skies.But whose demonic fists were those? Half of them were women, one-third bore the collars of slavery, one-fourth more ancient than the others. Some were decked in brilliant rainbows, some had splashed crimson, or a daub of yellow over them, while others were in rags. Rags that were far more regal than emperor’s million-dollar robes. They were death-defying spectres marching, singing, smiling, rejoicing. These were plough-wielding savages that even the holy trebuchets and sacred shotguns had failed to kill.By the time the tremors reached the imperial hole where a heart should have been, it was far too late.

To the Farmers1)Rag-a-doll farmers, why do you laugh? “My buckshot eyes are an answer enough.”Bahujan farmers, why do you bleed? “My skin is a sin, my hunger rasheed.”2)Women in armour, how do you march? “With a sun and a sickle  as millions watch.”Penniless farmers, how do you sigh? “Like a handful o&#39; wheat, like a Vaisakhi rye.”3)Red, red farmers, where do you breathe? “In the heart of a storm for a Lohri beneath.”Terracotta farmers, where do you run? “To a hymn and a hammer in the driftwood sun.”4)Landless farmers, when do you dream? “When a raindrop burns your ghastly regime.”Homesick soldiers, when do you sow? “Just as a ploughshare falls on the crows.”5)Adivasi farmers, what do you sing? “An eye for an eye, and down with the king.”Midnight farmers, what do you haul? “Our orphaned land when kingdoms fall.” GlossaryBuckshot: a type of shotgun-shellBahujan: Dalits, Shudras, and AdivasisGaushala: a protective shelter for cowsLohri: a Punjabi festival to mark the passing of the winter solsticeMasnad: throneRasheed: obedient, righteousSatrap: a feudal ruler subordinate to the emperorTrebuchet: a large siege-weapon (a type of catapult)Vaisakhi: (also Baisakhi): a spring-harvest festival celebrated mainly in Punjab, but also across other parts of northern IndiaWe thank Smita Khator for her significant contribution to this team effort.

A hole for a heart and a hope for a hammer

آنکھ کے بدلے آنکھ، اور بادشاہت کی ہو شکست

ഹൃദയത്തിനൊരു സുഷിരവും ചുറ്റികയ്ക്കായൊരു പ്രതീക്ഷയും

હૈયાને નામે બાકોરું ને હથોડાને નામે આશા

ਵਿੰਨ੍ਹੇ ਦਿਲਾਂ ਦੀ ਉਮੀਦ ਹੈ ਇਹ, ਮਹਿਜ ਸੰਦ ਨਹੀਂ...

ହୃଦୟରେ ଗର୍ତ୍ତ ଓ ଆଶାରେ ହାତୁଡି ପ୍ରହାର

জল-জমিনের ঋণ, লাঙল পোহানো দিন

'কাইলৈৰ দিনটো আমাৰ হ’ব'

గుండెకు రంధ్రం, బలానికి ఆశ

இதயத்துக்கு பதிலாய் ஒரு துளையும், நம்பிக்கையேந்திய சுத்தியலும்

ಹೃದಯಕ್ಕೊಂದು ರಂಧ್ರ ಮತ್ತು ಸುತ್ತಿಗೆಗೊಂದು ಭರವಸೆ

पत्थर के बदले दिल, गोली के बदले रोटी

पाषाणहृदयी साम्राज्यात हातोड्याचा घणाघात

Nadia

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A hole for a heart and a hope for a hammer

A poet’s powerful tribute to farmers, diverse and united in their spectacular struggle against the three unjust farm laws imposed on them that the state was compelled to repeal

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