Rinki Jha Rishika
Translated from Maithili by Ayodhyanath Choudhary
Since childhood, I have nurtured
the habit of keeping myself aloof from all
being aloof from all others
since very childhood.
That’s why, from the very beginning,
I had occupied a room
on the upper floor
a single bed, a wooden table
a shelf full of literary and competition books,
and everything else, kept well-arranged.
Anyone who wanted to enter my room
had to knock at the door of the room,
even my father,
even the room was addressed
after my name.
Mother said, “After marriage,
who will look after this room?”
I said, “This is my room,
and will remain so for ever.”
Today, from the book- shelf
I am taking down all the books
and packing them in cartons;
I am taking down all other materials
from the shelf.
But how can I take all!
All my laughter is attached with this window
all my sorrows, all my tears
are mingled with this pillow
I am collecting all, but
how is that possible!
Of course, how much can I collect:
The air, the sky, the sun
how can I be so unfeeling?
My father,
who was proud of my ego!
How can I desert him?
How will my maternal home
turn into a mythical forest?
***