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Tag: poverty

BATHUNDA

28th May 2020 No Comments

Every day Bathunda rose from bed before the sunrise. But today he lay asleep even after the glowing sun kissed his yard. He had no strength to rise from bed. He visualised again yester night’s terrible incident. Bathunda left house early in the morning. He hoped of buying some rice anyhow. But at night he returned home with empty hand. His wife and children were still waiting for him. Bathunda could not look at them. He accused himself that he was an unlucky man. He shouted in pain and rage, “No longer I can bear the burden of the family.

A HOUSEMAID

27th December 2019 1 Comment

Hair dishevelled, Vermillion cleansed, Skin creased, eyes sunken, Face dry, and voice choked.   I ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Your uncle died.’ ‘How?’ ‘Just a fall from bed at day break.’   The cabin is dark, Decaying, Promoters warn Countless times, Saplings have grown In cracked walls, A pig, two hens, a cat Play and fight, Fight and play.   Where does she go? I don’t know, The world is too big She must find her way.   So I think and take my part Like an old, hairless dog Driven out by its loved master.

A BURNING PYRE

22nd November 2018 No Comments

The scene was magnificent. A pyre was burning and the peasants, all drunk, were chanting bolo hari, hari bol; bolo hari, hari bol. Some were crying loud, some were sobbing, some sat terribly silent. It was monsoon. The fields and ponds were alike with water everywhere. The rain stopped for a while and the dark clouds disappeared. Instead, streaks of fleecy cloudlets covered the face of the setting sun. A huge tamarind tree stood resolute by the burning pyre. The pyre was laid on a rugged brick structure in a raised land by the side of a big pond. Men

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Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."