(1926-77) Has written poetry that won the Sahitya Akademin Award and other recognitions from the Central Government and Government of Orissa. She excelled, most of all, in depicting the rural landscape and ethos of Orissa and expressed a powerful humanism that distinctly makes her an outstanding pre-modern figure in Oriya Literature.

Dilemma

The grinding is half done.
Where are you,
eldest daughter-in-law?
Unmindful of chores
that lie piled up
until nightfall!

"Am I a bonded labourer?
Am I to be sold daily
only for this house?
Work, work and more work!
From morning till night!
Tell me,
is there nothing else
to life?"

Is the life of a woman
meant only for childbirth?
Only for drudgery and fuel?
There is no joy
in holding a pen,
and no pleasure
in its abandonment.

Writing is the greatest
elixir of all.
Whoever has savoured it,
can she escape its lure?
never mind the pitfalls
on the way.

Our life a constant turmoil.
The soul, consumed for ever
with disease and death.
How can there be in all this,
time for poetry?

Today, it's the son's health.
And tomorrow, it's
The daughter's stomach ailment!
Can there be
amidst all this,
the meeting of pen and ink?

Writing, I know
cannot fetch me
food or clothing.
Nothing in it
to interest the family.
It remains
despite this
my pleasure, my cynosure!

Let people say what they like.
I shall go on flowing.
Like the mighty,
I shall cross
whatever comes my way
with a smile
for ever on my lips.

Writing is the balm
for all my pain.
It's the glory of my sorrow.
Writing is rain-soaked woods.
It's the music of cloud bursts
during the month of Shravana!

I wish I could speak of
the joy that gathers in my heart.
Like a flame
in the mouth of storm,
my poetry
A luminous lamp!

Translation: Sachidananda Mohanty (First published in Kavya Bharati, 1997)

Romantic Poet

Ah romantic poet,
you wandered
far and wide.
You went beyond
the land of dreams.
And yet,
not once
did your gaze
rest upon
reality.

You saw much.
In the womb of the earth
you glimpsed
the naked smile
of the moonbeams.
In the lips of the sun
you saw,
the courtship
of Madhabi flowers.

Laden by sleep
in the magical world
of dreams,
you lay still,
in the golden palace
bedecked by flowers.

You did not see,
not even once, O poet,
how in the broken hut
the old woman
braved the cruel winter
in the month of Pousa.

There is much
that you took in.
Not just the powerful
and intoxicating
winds.
But did you ever hear
the sigh
of the Badhuli flowers?

O romantic poet,
you never rested
your gaze
upon the emptiness
that lay
in the heart of the
forsaken woman.

You saw for long
the face of the green grass
bathed by dew.
But did you ever see
the flood of tears
of a thousand eyes?

You traveled O poet
the seven seas.
And crossed
thirteen rivers.
And every where
you saw
the picture of luxury.

What good is it
to luxuriate
in the world of dreams,
if your pen cannot inscribe
the sad song
that lies
in the heart
of things?

Translation: Sachidananda Mohanty (First published in Kavya Bharati, 1997)