padmavati

“father…some water…” Padmavati said
to the old invalid, tied to the bed
the father croaked an inaudible whisper
the hut glowing, by wands of camphor

she foraged through the dingy cell
this place less home, more of hell
a pot, a pan…oh anything to buy
medicines, while the father died

but penicillin, prayer, all did fail
like laundry drying in a wet, horrid gale
like a martyr dying without a cause
like brittle, bruised candy floss

meanwhile the aged one, grew more old
his body smelling like green bread mould
and while Padmavati searched for anything to trade
providence smiled on, too happy to aid

now desperate, she looked at the empty room
barren like an infertile womb
the only commodity left, of interest to the buyer
was now the lady, who opened for hire

matrimony thus commenced, as a one-night stand
and her body caressed, by an alien hand
but even polygamy has its price
one insulin injection, for two creamy thighs

so when Padmavati reached home, torn, tired
“my good daughter…” the old man enquired
“you sold something…” he contentedly sighed
“yes father”, Padmavati replied


(the name ‘Padmavati’ is taken from an r.k. narayanan story, in which the protagonist, commenting on the dismal lack of barbers in the town, disgustedly says
“one and only one Padmavati for the entire village!”)