An Indian Fool Always In The Guard Of His Wife, Joking With Others Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

An Indian fool,
Himself illiterate and backwards,
Uncultured and illiterate
With a tikki,
A clamp of hair
Hanging from the crown
Of the back head
Of a classical scholar not,
But a fool
With a lathi in hand,
The only support of his,
Even failing Kaildasa in branch cutting,
The bench he is on
Cutting it himself
Always in the guard of his wife
With a Lakshamanrekha
Drawn around the courtyard
Asking her not to trespass
Even during offering the alms
To the sadhu in disguise
Asking her to live
As Sati, Savitri
So that she may drive away Yama,
He may take the fire ordeal
Of Sita
As did take Lord Rama
At the instigation of the washerman
As for fidelity's sake
which he should not have
Suspecting her character
As no one's character is good enough
Whether he be God or man.

Pushing his wife inside the doors,
He asking her not to come out
So that the others may see her face,
My fall in love with her
And even is she gone,
Who will give his daughter
To a man like him,
An Indian fool,
Illiterate and foolish,
Blunt, bogus and bluffing,
A lathiman,
Joking with others,
The other men wives,
But keeping his inside,
Shutting the door planks,
He himself dolt,
But his wife intelligent and good-looking,
Always under suspicion and suspect,
Did she ever smile
On seeing his friends
Or the strangers,
Why did she smile,
Why did she view wide-eyed,
Why did the veil slip from her face?

But God, what to say about this fool,
Indian fool
Guarding his wife,
Going not far from her
As she may run away with,
Leave him,
Desert him anytime,
Thinking it,
Giving time to
Such a reflection,
The fool,
Indian fool
Passes he his time,
The best man in the world,
The most content fellow
As after getting a good wife,
Fair and lovely
Which he had not expected
But fate gave it to him
As was ordained it otherwise
After the smile of the Lady Luck,
Got he the diamond,
The statue of Radha and Krishna
While excavating for the foundation work
On the debris of the fallen temples,
Its columns and pillars,
May turn into a murkhamantri, foolish minister not,
Mukhyamantri, chief minister,
A state not, central minister
In course of time,
Seeing the Gandhian and Lohiaite dreams
Of rebuilding, making India afresh,
Who will say that
I shall not step down,
Step down from my chair?

An Indian fool guarding his wife,
Saving from sunlight and dust,
Othermen's searching looks,
A little bit read and educated,
Can sign her name
And is beautiful to look at,
Where will he a wife next time
If she,
His miss beauty,
Runs away,
Will smudge the family prestige,
So asking her not
To take the name of the husband,
Even by slip of tongue,
Asking her to seek from god,
Confessing it,
Taking a dip in the Ganges
To be purged from,
Asking her to worship him
Under the banyan tree
By fanning him
As for ritual's sake
Just like Savitri
Fanning Satyavan
Under a banyan tree?

Suryamukhi, Sun-flower or Chandramukhi, Moonface,
Who is she,
You say it,
Suryamukhi poor Chandramukhi?