Published: 12:02 AM, 04 April 2026
The Grave
Jasimuddin
Here lies your grandmother's grave, beneath the dalim tree’s shade,
For thirty years, I’ve drowned this spot with the tears my eyes have made.
So tiny was she when I brought her home, a face of purest gold,
Her doll’s wedding broken, she’d weep, her little heart untold.
Wandering here and there, I’d ponder, my mind in a maze,
Who scattered so much gold all over the house in those early days?
The golden face of dawn, I’d fill my eyes with its light,
Then with my plough, I’d rush to the fields, taking the village path in sight.
While going, again and again, I’d turn back to see her there,
The villagers would tease me then, with jokes beyond compare.
Thus it went on, I know not when, with life’s currents entwined,
Her small joys and sorrows, amidst them, my sense of direction declined.
When the time for her father’s home drew near, she’d grasp my feet and say,
"Do come to see me, please do come, to that village far away."
Selling watermelons at the Shapla market, I’d earn a meager fee,
Never would I delay in buying a string of beads for thee.
With a halfpenny’s tobacco and majan in my bag,
At evening’s close, I’d hurry to your in-laws’ door, no lag!
Don't laugh, don't laugh, listen, grandson, that tobacco and majan so mild,
Your grandmother, how happy she’d be, if only you had smiled!
Shaking her nose-ring, she’d laugh and say, “You've come after so long,”
"Gazing down the path, I’ve wept here, my tears a sorrowful song."
Leaving me caused her such pain, how could she, oh alas,
Lie sleeping in the land of graves, in silent, lonely grass!
Fold your hands, grandson, and pray, “O God, the Merciful, kind,
May my grandmother attain Paradise, a blessed fate to find."
Then in this empty life, however far I’ve roamed,
Whoever I embraced with love has left me here, un-homed.
A hundred shrouds, a hundred graves, in my heart I trace their sign,
Counting and counting, I err and count, awake all day and night, I pine.
With this hand I’ve held the spade, in the hard earth’s deep embrace,
How many golden faces I’ve buried, washed with tears upon their face.
The soil, I love it so, my heart with the earth does blend,
Come, come, grandson, let's embrace and weep, if solace it may lend.
Here sleeps your father, here your mother lies in rest,
You weep, my child? What can I do? My heart finds no contest.
That spring, your father came to me and called me near to say,
“Ba-jaan, my body today feels so strange, in a lingering way.”
On the floor of the room, I spread a mat and said, "My child, just lie.”
Little did anyone know that sleep would be his last goodbye.
When I went to carry him, adorned in his burial white,
You asked, "Ba-jaan, where are you taking my father, in the fading light?"
To answer your words, the words on my lips did cease,
All the languages of the world wept back in deep distress!
Your father's plough and yoke, I held them with both hands tight,
Your mother, how she wept all day, filled with endless blight.
The pain of the leaves on the trees, scattered on the wild path's floor,
The spring wind would cry aloud, filling the empty moor.
Passing by, the village travelers would wipe away a tear,
At their feet, the sorrow of fallen leaves would bring forth fear.
In the barn, two strong bullocks, gazing across the wide field's span,
Their bellowing cries would break the heart, with tears that freely ran.
Your mother would embrace their necks and weep with sorrow deep,
In the ocean of her tears, the whole village seemed to weep.
The tear of that forlorn village girl, I believe, did find its way,
In the darkness of the land of graves, where shadows always stay.
That's why in the first bloom of life, the dusk she did invite,
Alas, the unlucky one herself donned death's venomous might.
While dying, she called you close and said, "My child, I must depart,
A great pain remains, in this world, you'll have no mother's heart;
My darling, my precious one, my Lakshmi, oh my dear,
How much pain I bear, I know, leaving you behind, I fear."
Drop by drop, two cheeks were wet with the water of her eyes,
What blessings she gave you, I know not, in death’s sorrowful guise.
A moment later, she called to me, "Upon my grave so low,
Hang my husband's turban there, where the breezes gently blow."
That very turban, rotted and gone, mingled with the soil's embrace,
The pain of my heart does not die; it cries out in this lonely place.
Two jewels sleep here beneath the trees, in the shade where shadows play,
The branches of the trees, with loving grace, upon them gently sway.
Firefly daughters, awake all night, keep burning their tiny light,
The crickets play a lullaby of sleep, with all their loving might.
Fold your hands, grandson, and pray, "O God, the Compassionate, true;
Grant Paradise today to my father and mother, kind and good to you!"
Here lies your aunt Buji's grave, a girl like a fairy bright,
We married her to the Kazi's house, a family of high estate and might.
So dearly we loved our Buji, but they loved her not at all,
Though their hands struck her not, their words, like a hundred lashes, would fall.
News after news she'd send, "Grandfather, please come tomorrow's light,
Take me for two days only, to my father's home so bright."
Her father-in-law, a cruel butcher, would he ever let her go?
After much pleading, that winter's chill, I brought her back, you know.
That golden face had grown pale, no smile did ever bloom,
In her dark eyes, again and again, tears would rise in gloom.
By her father and mother's graves she'd sit and weep all day,
Who knew, alas, that in her heart, death's harp would soon hold sway!
What fever it was, putrid and deep, that seized her and let her rise no more,
Here we buried her, grandson, see it slowly, I implore.
That pain-stricken, hapless girl, no one loved her with a true embrace,
Around her grave, the wild black grasses have entwined their somber grace.
The forest doves coo "uhu, uhu," weeping all night and day,
Leaf by leaf, it seems to tremble, with the music of her sorrow's sway.
Fold your hands, grandson, and pray, "O God, the Merciful, kind.
May my Buji attain Paradise, a blessed fate to find."
Here sleeps your little aunt, a girl of seven years so sweet,
Like a rainbow descending, from Paradise's gate to meet.
Losing her mother so young, what thoughts her mind did keep,
In that tiny heart, how much pain lay hidden, buried deep!
Her flower-like face, when I would gaze, with sorrow's gentle art,
Your grandmother's image would fill the chambers of my heart.
Embracing her to my breast, I'd weep until the day was done,
The colorful twilight would wash away the tears that freely ran.
One day, I went to Gazna's market, leaving her alone at home,
Returning, I saw my golden idol lying on the pathway's loam.
That golden face, those round little hands, all were just the same.
What venomous snake bit my mother and took her life's bright flame?
With my own hands, that golden form, in the grave I laid to rest,
Grandson! Hold me tight, my heart breaks, I can bear no more, I'm pressed.
Here by this grave, come closer, grandson, stand by my side so near,
Speak not a word, my sleep-lost darling, might wake and cause more fear.
Slowly, slowly, dig and see, beneath the hard earth's hold,
That distant forest, evening descends, in hues of deep abir bold,
Just like that, I long to fall and lie down on the ground so deeply.
From the mosque, the adhan calls, in a voice that makes the heart weep,
The resurrection of my life, how far away, I ponder and keep.
Fold your hands, grandson, and pray, "O God, the Compassionate, true.
Grant Paradise to all souls that death's sharp sorrow knew.”
Translated by Alamgir Mohammad
