"I Am Not Your Devi"

Beautiful goddess on her lotus pedestal,

beside her sits a white owl, wise.

Smile on her face, hands pouring gold,

Filled up caskets lay side by side,

Goddess Laksmi divine. The garlanded frame hung on a thatched wall.

 “It’s a girl” announced the village midwife;

“Laksmi has come to your house,” said others.

The gentle smile on the rugged face, however, he tried,

did not reach those dark eyes.

Holding her, his first thoughts were marred with worrying woes of dowry.

“When are you getting your bitiya married?”

those others pecked a few years later,

“Soon, soon” his parched lips replied.

A noise growled inside his sunken abdomen.

Was it hunger, desperation, or anger at his own ill fate? He could not determine.

The moneylender had spun his spider’s web,

he was merely a helpless fly.

The spider approached to suck out the soul,

“You have no money left, I can see.

But you have a young daughter, give her in marriage to me.”

The moneylender had spread like malignant cancer

Ready to deal with the last strike. His choices were to deny or die of hunger in his situation was refusal even an option?

In the dimly lit, broken shack, both Father and child cried,

 “Bauji, he is old, has a wife already. Please, Bauji”.

Her mother looked forlorn at a distance,

Then picked her up to prepare for the long arduous journey ahead.

Drawing henna on her daughter’s hand she said,

“Bitiya, remember Lalla Ji is now your husband. 

Fill his home with grace, like Laksmi.”

She was rendered powerless and helpless, “I am not your Devi” was all she could say.

Lalla’s wife was preparing a wedding bed for her husband.

She was once beautiful but now scorn marked her face.

This used to be her room till yesterday

before her mother-in-law threw her clothes away.

Her three daughters were strewing floral garlands.

The eldest of the same age as the new bride who has arrived.

She forced a smile to welcome the young girl. A stone beat in her chest.

Henceforth her story needs no telling, for silent she remained on everything.

 Until ten months after, the heinous man poured gasoline over the poor girl,

There was no sign of a son or even a daughter. In a flash,

she took the axe and hit his head. Blood gushed out, Lalla died.

 “You were supposed to be the laksmi of the house" the others cried,  

 how could you murder your own husband?” “I am not your Devi” was all she could say.

Glossary for Hindi terms used in the poem-

Devi- Goddess; Laksmi- Goddess of wealth and prosperity in Hinduism

Bitiya- Daughter; Bauji- Father; Lalla Ji- Landlord (here)