Rajiv Mohabir
From “Shall I Go Then,” A Deviant Translation
My beloved’s mother stabs me every day
his greedy father drinks too much rum, every
day, while she displays merchandise,
the man’s tongue drips with laugh—
*
का सोचे है कि
हम ओहर जाइब?
कब से पागल भइला तू
दारू, मार-पीट,
बेसरम लोगन सब
वहाँ रहेलन
सासूर ससुइया के मारेला
रोज रोज सबेरे सांभ तक
लक्ड़िया के लाठी से या
खड़ा लण्ड से मारेला
*
Why would I go? What frightens me
the drinking, the beatings,
the lack of boundaries and drawstrings—
The doting on men and in return
their thrashing of women
with either sticks or erections.
*
Yuh head mus’ ‘e stap wuk—
How me go go da side?
Dem wicked bad, ovah wicked
suck too much rum and does beat meh.
Dem na get none kine shame
an’ sasur mare mare sasuiya ke
stead—‘E tek one branch an’ knock she—
‘E knack she bad wit’ ‘e lolo
*
Once this tune meant to leave your home
for your husband’s home, to transform
into the patohiya from the songs,
the bahuriya, a new servant. But
also to leave mrit-lok, the world of living
and dying (bilas jaaye / vilash jaana).
But here: labor exploitation and a new culture
to assimilate into, forgetting the safety
of your natal home. A hostile, demonesque
drunk of a father-in-law, stick in hand.
A mother-in-law ready to throw back
her ordhni and lift her skirt. What if
it also means enduring a new diaspora,
expectations of all spirits, ghosts of cane
and labor all shifting to Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando,
Queens, Toronto, Boston? How many people
turned into coolies by Empire, once arriving
to Guyana/the Caribbean, wished they never
boarded the ships to be swallowed
by someone else’s settler-colonial fantasy—?
Ham na jaibe sasur ghare mein baba.
*
हम कहाँ जाये आपन साँस आइसे कांपत?
इ मिरत लोक उलटन भइल
इ दुनिया नकल-शकल भइल
देखे माँ के हाल के का भइल
आपन मरद के गुलाम भइल
मालिक आपन स्तरी के खुब पीटेला,
रतिया पड़े त देखबा तू
मकनवा के का भइल, घरवा का चीज होइ
कउन चीज से बनल? चटान? गोबर?
कहाँ भेजेला तू हमके—
कउने बन के बनबास में?
*
Shall I go then
into the dark freeze
of my heart
into that addiction
to pain
of the world,
an upside
down farce of itself?
Look, the stand-in
for my mother dotes
on her husband
who betrays her
with a crabwood
branch.
What is a house? What is a mud-
daubed home?
Where do you send me—
Into which forest
is this exile?