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Jibanananda Das - The Hunt (Sikar)
Work rating: Medium

Dawn:
Sky, the soft blue of grasshopper`s belly.
Guava and custard apple trees all around, green as parrot feathers.
A single star lingers in the sky
Like the most twilight-intoxicated girl in some village bridal chamber
or that pearl from her bosom the Egyptian dipped into my glass of
Nile-blue wine
one night some thousands of years ago-
Just so, in the sky shines a single star.

To warm their bodies through the cold night, up-country menials kept
a fire going
In the field-red fire like a cockscomb blossom,
Still burning, contorting dry aswattha leaves.

Its color in the light of the sun is no longer like vermilion
But has become like wan desires of a sickly salik bird`s heart.
In the morning`s light both sky and surrounding dewy forest sparkle
like iridescent peacock wings.

Dawn:
All night long a sleek brown buck, bounding from sundari through
arjun forests
In starless, mahogany darkness, avoids the cheetah`s grasp.
He had been waiting for this dawn.
Down he came in its glow,
Ripping, munching fragrant grass, green as green grapefruit.
Down he came to the river`s stinging, tingling ripples,
To instill his sleepless, weary, bewildered body with the current`s
drive,
To feel a thrill like that of dawn bursting through the cold and wizened
womb of darkness
To wake like gold sun-spears beneath this blue and
Dazzle doe after doe with beauty, boldness, desire.
A strange sound.

The river`s water red like macaka flower petals.
Again the fire crackled-red venison served warm.
Many an old dew-dampened yarn, while seated on a bed of grass
beneath the stars.
Cigarette smoke.
Several human heads, hair neatly parted.
Guns here and there. Icy, calm, guiltless sleep.
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