Basheer Musalman

Poured us some sugar-water

And updated us on the village news.

The village is surrounded by the Rohini Khola

And is frightened by the deluge of rain.

In the eyes of the black girls

Who pick up gravel from the riverbanks and load it onto carts

Can be seen an unusual light.

You will find no difference between their skin,

Branded by the midday sun,

And Basheer's politics,

But he once saved some leader

(Who is now the Prime Minister)

By putting his neck on the line.

Basheer starts his account with this fact.

Basheer Musalman mixed the story of Surajpura

In with the sips of sugar-water.

What do they think,

Those black girls who pick up the gravel,

About the river breaching its banks,

The rising flood,

And their rising youth?

What do they think,

Those black girls,

About shifting their loads onto oxen

And feeling or not feeling light?

About Basheer's hero of history

And the streams that come mixing into the Rohini?

What do they think

About whether the white hills to the north have melted?

Who knows what they think

About the seed of fire that must be ignited in their homes?

About the jungle tigers with whom they must soon sleep?

I ask Basheer—

What do they think, these girls,

About the other girls like themselves?

‘They don't think anything’

Said Basheer Musalman,

‘No, they can't think at all’,

And he closed his eyes.