Hathiya pours down, swaying with delight,
Someone has kept the threshold sealed tight;
For seven days now,
No one has seen the sun.
Everything has turned damp—
Matches, clothes, and firewood;
Even old grandmother says,
“This bedding too has become wet.”
The thatched roof was not repaired this year,
And this is the consequence:
It leaks from place to place,
So we keep placing buckets and vessels.
Cooking has become even more difficult,
With wet cow-dung cakes and wood;
Everything becomes filled with smoke,
And breathing becomes difficult.
O Lord Indra, do not torment us;
Now please uproot this rain
And free us today
From all these wet and damp things.
Some people say, perform a ritual
To stop the rainfall,
For the sun to appear
And for everything to dry.
Call an Ojha and an Ojhain,
Or bring oil from seven houses;
Apply it to the grandchildren,
Light a lamp and stop the downpour.
By looking at the days, they estimate
How many days the rain will remain;
For those living in palaces it is enjoyment,
But for us, it is an hour of hardship.
In the mud of the unpaved courtyard,
We make a pathway with bricks;
Stepping carefully over them,
We bring water from the well.
Once we get drenched,
We finish the work outside;
Then sitting beside the stove,
We relax with a cup of red tea.
This time the downpour is heavy,
The paddy crop should be excellent;
If only it rains with little pauses—
What could be better than this?
After throwing out the water from the full bucket,
We have to place it back again;
Someone or the other
Has to remain engaged in this duty.
Give grandmother a thick blanket,
She must be feeling cold;
Serve her food right on the cot—
Who would get up amid all this mess?
Amid such confusion and struggle,
These days of Hathiya Nakshatra pass;
The month of Agahan will arrive with a clean courtyard—
And the heart keeps imagining it.
Vidya
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