Description

This collection of poetry by Bodo women poets is an invitation to step outside the conventional literary axioms that determine and define literary discourse. The book is primarily designed to serve as an introduction to the indigenous women’s poetic voices from the geographical and political borderlands. The translation of their poetry into English is not to distort or subvert but to re-centre indigenous perspectives by re-purposing or, as Joy Harjo and Gloria Bird call it, “re-inventing” the English language as a decolonial tool of communication.

This work was undertaken as a minor project titled. ‘Voices from the Margins: A Study of Bodo Women’s Poetry’ by Zothanchhingi Khiangte and Manab Medhi on behalf of Centre for Women Studies with a small funding from the Bodoland University.

                 The Poets

Anju † Indira Boro † Dhirjyu Jyoti Basumatary † Chirati Swargiary † Rashmi Choudhury † Virgin Jekova Machahary † Rita Boro † Jwishri Boro † Rupashree Hazowary † Shanti Basumatary † Mainaoshri Daimary † Pritilata Basumatary

                The Translators

Anil Boro † Bigrai Basumatary † Pushpita Basumatary † Pompi Basumatary † Shanti Basumatary

Zothanchhingi Khiangte, PhD, is an assistant professor in the Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, Assam.

Manab Medhi, PhD, is an assistant professor in the Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, Assam.

               From the Book

We Shall Reclaim the Night
Anju
translated by Dr Anil Kumar Boro

We were hiding our faces so long
in fear,
we had no courage to walk out for the fear of the fox.
We walked out sometimes though,
fear-stricken.

When the night will deepen,
when the clock strikes twelve,
we will reclaim the night then.
We will march shouting slogans
in demand of our security.

Tired of looking at the faces in the light,
now we will walk out in the dark,
the dark that facilitates them to prey on our bodies.
We will stand up shaking off all our frailties and shame.
We will mould weapons in the burning amber
to the measure of your neck.

Holding spear like that of Maa Kali,
we will walk out braving the dark night.
Gathering in groups, we will walk out to hunt you.
No mercy for ghosts, foxes, hyenas, vampires, or scoundrels.
O black hearted man in white attire,
beware, you too.

We have reclaimed the night.
No more fear for darkness.
Doctors and nurses in night duty,
women police in uniform, girls at call centres,
women employees returning late
from restaurant duty at night
will all reclaim the night today.
We dare them how they strangulate our necks,
how they scratch away at the flesh.

O women, reclaim the night.
O women, wake up.
The night is ours,
the night is yours,
no more claiming of our bodies.

Nirbhaya, Abhaya, Tilottama and many more,
in the capital or at Bhumka, Baghmara,
Unnao, Hathras, Kamduni, Kathua, Manipur,
in villages, towns and cities,
everywhere the plight of the tormented.

The heart of the night is pierced with protest.
The darkness of the night will melt away.
We are no more afraid of the night,
we are no longer alone.
The night will be under our control.

We will write down the story of the night.
So come out on the road leaving the cosy beds.
If the saviour becomes the devourer,
we will take up the weapons for our safeguard.

Thrown into the Dustbin
Indira Boro 
translated by Pushpita Narzary

‘Hey, blockhead!
This — this paper and pen
won’t feed you!’

My husband scolds me,
snatching the paper I wrote on,
he throws it away —
tossing it into the dustbin.