Last Will

By BIMAL CHANDRA GHOSE
(Translated by Lila Ray from the original poem in Bengali)

Old man God walks with a stoop,
Ranting and cursing.
He wraps His loose frame
In a Kashmir shawl
Rotten with keeping.
The folds are moth-eaten.
The royal beard, so white,
Is stained with strong tobacco smoke.

Old man God stoops beneath a sack,
Full ofwills, on his :
To whom shall He bequeath
This encumbered earth?
Care has worn His hair away.
He rants and curses,
And looks about Him.
Vast is the property.
To whom shall He bequeath it?
Again He alters His old will.

Old man God walks with a stoop
Through the squalor of a slum.
Smudged with mud, all dusty,
A naked boy runs up to Him:
“What you got in your sack, old man?”
God snarls and rants, cursing.
The boy, frightened, hides in the shacks.
At Hebo’s, the jeweller’s shop,
God stops, and from His sack
Takes His eternal pipe out.
As He smokes, He coughs.
“That naked boy. To him? Far from it!”

Old man God goes on His way.
He coughs. A wasting rasp,
Riddles His chest. Down
He sits beside the road
To get His breath. Tremors
Rack His ancient bones.
He rants: in Sanskrit, Chinese, Hebrew.
Who understands? Stupid man stares.
And Old man God is furious.
Though the pressure of His blood rises,
Makes Him giddy, and He falls,
He curses. Old God is helpless now.
Hiseyes cloud. The slum is foul.
Evening thickens in His filming sight.
The Kashmir shawl trails the dust.
Humble folk, coolies, come to Him.
They lift Him, and lay Him with care
On a tumbledown cot.

A disposer of corpses gives Him water.
Haru Dom rubs ice on His pate.
Karim, the smith, and Joseph, the tanner,
Seek to comfort Him, saying,
“Don’t be afraid, old man.” Futile comfort.

Old man God lies dying
In the dust of a coolie’s courtyard,
Dawn breaks beside the tumbledown cot.
People have gathered round Him.

Old man God writes a new will.
To all mud-smudged naked, children
He bequeaths the encumbered earth.