The Leg
K. Satchidanandan
This leg lying half-charred in the ashes
In the Harishchandra Ghat of Kashi
Which body did it belong to?
How many mandirs and ashrams did it frequent
In search of peace for the soul?
How many brothels did it enter
To unload the weight of passions?
Did it flurry behind the yoked oxen
In the fields in the countryside
Dreaming of harvest-time?
Did it roam
The city railway station
In search of a crumb of bread?
Its muscles might have worn away
Kneading the clay to make pot and pitcher.
Its bones might have been broken
Running from court to court
Seeking justice.
Its head might have reeled
Standing guard to deathbeds and labour-beds.
This leg might have trampled and crushed
Many lives;
Or else this leg might have followed by
Admiring eyes
To the playfield or dance-stage.
Each scar and each welt on it
Has a tragic tale to tell.
Shivering in the cold of the Himalayas
And burnt and blackened
In the blistering summer heat
It finally reached the banks of the Ganga itself.
The torso and the head attained moksha.
Only this leg remains,
Night under the sun
Right between fire and water
Panting dazed,
To see the distance to the next birth.
Translated from the Malayalam by A.J. Thomas
Chandrabhaga-1