At the Haridwar Ghat

The following is an excerpt from Srijani Mitra's forthcoming book on poetry, Mantras of the Moon, to be published by Red Rook Press, University of Alabama.

At the Haridwar Ghat (Har ki pauri, 2016)

It was fulgent, the whole of the place

The day was Dussehra and there was celebration, 

Of the goodness triumphing, they say it’s the day of burning the evil

Wiping off the maligned megrim – a renaissance, a resurrection – a joyous victory. 

My sister and I stand at the narrow edge of the Ghat – a shade as a saving grace 

For us away from all the loudness – the elders

Sip chai beside us, and recall age old history –

Restless of the forlorn sense even amid the lurid lights and boisterous burst of

Crackers like large gambolling fireflies,

Hovering around us –

We gradually sit by the sea, our bodies closer to it, regurgitating eternally

And carrying the tattered wastes with it in bits and pieces – 

Still as a distant sight we watch the fire

Of all the burning, baring everything 

Glowing and rising like an inexorable  spring  

A kindled Diya comes floating through the skimming Ganges – reaches 

All its way to us, my sister picks it up from the scrim of waters, 

Adores it with her slender pink fingers and

Palm and then she puts it back again within

The dark viscous waves 

And that day

It was almost as if

We watched a tiny glimpse – really a span of time –

A momentous revelation eclipsed

Of how our lives and ribs would eventually shape – 

Burning and dousing, taking in all the warmth to only, eventually

Give back to the silence of the river, ocean, sea.

Srijani Mitra is a writer based in Kolkata with works published in North Dakota Quarterly, South Seattle Emerald and Scroll. Her poetry book is forthcoming from Red Rook Press, University of Alabama. 

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