Chadwick
House
by Samartha
Vashishtha
A
moment dribbled
from the past
and clung to the rods
on which
we played
all day.
A drop from my veins
met the ancient ones
–
stigmata, you would say –
the
ancestors shrieked,
A murder chamber
once was
where you stay
awake all night
on
Māhāshivrātri;
and beneath the floor planks
a corpse still
waits
for its last rites.
The building was old I knew
the
day they demolished it
I went there again
and picked the orphan
moment.
I still lies on the
mantelpiece.
*A
building in Simla, which, rumour has it, used to be an execution
house for the Indians during the British raj; and is being
used these days as a PWD office and community centre.
Courtesy Chandrabhaga, Cuttack (2001)
