Canto Four of the Train to Gujarat

At the January 2008 translation workshop I presented in First Daft book format the first three poems of the 'Train To Gujarat. During that two week period I made notes for the forth, fifth and six cantos. The content was partly driven by an interest in work climate charge and the ways in which the Surat floods of 2007 related to floods that took place close to my home, ten miles away in Toll Bar village, Doncaster. I called it Talking Rivers.

Talking Rivers



Brian Lewis

Surat is of little interest to the tourist except those with a
fascination for urban decay, noise and pollution.
If Ahmedabad is bad in this respect Surat is horrific.
Avoid it like the plague.

The Lonely Planet Travel Survival Kit




January 2008



Prologue

Take note! This is Ram and Sita's story but set
in modern times. So she or he who quietly reads
this Ramayana must relax the rules of place, let
fancies follow where rhyme and rhythm leads.

Sometimes we'll wander through the mango trees
other romp the limestone caves in west West Yorkshire
When dealt a prial of aces remember that three threes
deliver most in Brag.
We'll tell of water, speak of fire.





S1
Upon the second day they struggled far into the night

Upon the second day they struggled far into the night
without a minute's break.
Ram: 'The Tapi Dam will over
flow and things become much worse. Within an hour Right
will be Wrong.'
Then turning to his wife, his dutiful lover,
'I do believe the centre where we stand we cannot hold
and chaos soon will come upon us and confusion reign.
Since I am God related I have prophetic powers. I've been told
on good authority filth will spew forth from sewer and from drain.'

Of course because of caste they could have gone to heaven,
but didn't. They carried furniture upstairs and waited. Remember
Sita was a natural woman before the forest years so even
if you say her human fire had ceased to burn one ember
smouldered.
India was her womb. Each month she bled.
Some waters were black bile and earth, some waters red.

S3
These three heroes battled through.

These three heroes battled through. Tired, hungry, knee
deep in filth and water. A neighbour drowned. As in a play
when tragedy strikes the lights were dimmed.
Key
cross roads in the city were now lakes and railway
lines their graveyards.
The poor will suffer for being
poor is their karma. With houses simply made of mud
their lights go out immediately and they end up seeing
only darkness. They have no drink and very little food.

A palm outside the family door was covered in kites,
a symbol of lost freedom. Most were soaked through,
they'd never fly again or mount the wind, height
climbing to the stars, or sing, 'Regenerate, Renew'
as they swooped at the earth. Plastic sheeting wrapped
itself around a banyan tree.
The infrastructure snapped.

S4
If the poor of India were forced against a wall of water

If the poor of India were forced against a wall
of water that washed to Bollywood would a starlet
with a silvered bucket bail them out? Would the fall
of Ravna in some distant tale be quite sufficient, a set
of Akbar's court made in used plywood be enough
to hold a wall of people. The shepherd herding sheep,
street sleepers selling garlands, the woman taking snuff
as her children beg at crossings, will they keep
still and watch or will they rise and help to stop
the water rising? Who knows for who can know?
There are hidden Empires. When doctors start to mop
their floors and as they wade through water show
a solidarity with workers nothing will be quite the same
again. That happened in Surat when the rains came.

S5
Architects made shelters out of cardboard boxes

Architects made shelters out of cardbord boxes. High
born ladies slept upon poor people's floors. Caste
lay with caste beneath old carpets.
Sita to Ram: 'Why,
oh why must this be so, nature is disturbed. It cannot last.'

Twelve with one straw sipped water from one glass.
Eleven in one family died and floated with others, each
one stinking, each untouchable. A scheduled class
woman processed before a brahim - she sought to teach
him what she knew of death. What was understood: caste,
gender, age, here meant next to nothing. Computers crashed.
From a threshold Ganesha finally spoke, 'This cannot last'.
His rat was on his lap and both were tired. Rain lashed
against the window pane with fury it broke the glass
'This is the worst it's ever been but it will quickly pass.'


S6
As well spiced food flows through your finger tips

As well spiced food flows through your finger tips
the water entered through the walls and floors
Concrete could not contain it. Faces grew thin, lips
became swollen, bellies distended. The house doors
would not open they were locked by tonnes of rain.
Although a dry State there were whisky glasses
in that whirlpool. Rack and watery ruin pushed drain
covers skyward. Old Fiats floated under under passes

Above the diamond merchant's house the storm
clouds gathered. These workmen lacked a basic wage
so they kept grinding at every diamond face. Harm
might come if one face was not ground. The page
in the book of life for each and everyone was wet
and torn. If they travelled then their route was set.

S7
Some say that Hanuman was to blame

Some say that Hanuman was to blame. Tired
of watching Lord Ganesha across the threshold
he left his temples and he walked abroad. Hired
as a rickshaw man he moved amongst the poor, told
stories without humour then in a massive fit of peek
told the rain to fall.
(It's in the Vedas, difficult to find
but there).
He said, 'Rain for at least a solid week
and do not stop.' Rain listened. Gujarat was undermined.

He was a Brhamchari. The urge for passion was not
in him. Cold and calculating like constant falling rain,
he made his presence felt.
Sita's clothes began to rot.
She was dressed in bark once more, each rotting stain
was not removed as stain can be if soaked immediately.

Humanan cried, 'Come tell me now exactly who is free?

S8
He'd always worried Sita.

He'd always worried Sita. He had been helpful when
in Lanka but now he was a bore for he would only see
himself as the great exotic hero that he was. But then
who can be helpful all the time. 'He' the Almighty 'He'.

The water now was thickened by stinking, febrile mud
and ever present litter . Carpets, clocks and wooden bowls
crashed into walls like new untethered ships. What could
break loose here did.
What dowries will buy victim's souls


When a child he'd leapt and caught and held the sun
He'd pushed his face against hers, felt her breath
had seen her eyes up close, touched her ordered bun
of fiery hair, and whispered quietly, 'Are you Death'.

His was a steely grip and as he balanced on the brink
of the heliocentric universe he had some time to think.

S9
What did Hanuman think

What did Hanuman think as he hung far above the
earth? How can we know? Sadus, renowned seers
might say they understand but can we trust them? We
think we know what caused the Surat flood but as years
pass we haven't got a real clue. There are those
who say that government failed to see the dam was full.
Others that Hanuman in righteous anger choose
to wrench the plug from our humanity, many said the pull
of the moon after the monsoon rain and extra heavy water
sent the water into a tumbling whirlpool which sucked
us towards oblivion, into one black hole. Son, daughter,
cousins and everyone you've ever met became one mood.

'Hanuman give us here our daily bread, give us our food.'


S10
Aditi could have scorched him

Aditi could have scorched him to a sun blessed crust
with carbon edges, cremated both his eyes, the tail
that swung the noble army into a charred rope. Dust
and ashes be all there was to know him by.
Fail
to make a clear impression on the Sun and you will
certainly regret it.
Instead she gave him gifts. The mace
that Shiva used before he got his trident. His skill
impressed her. He would tell her how in every place
on earth women waited for the sun to shine and dry
their clothes, how poets wrote of her by moonlight,
other writers sat in the sunshine and how they by
and by would fall asleep and dream of her. You see
his father was the wind and so he'd stir the sea.

S11
She listened to the monkey boy and smiled

Of course she listened to the monkey boy and smiled
politely yet she remained untouched by the boy's words
though they were beautiful.
She was the Sun and whiled
away each day wanting to hear unvarnished truth.
Swords
clashed for her but even warriors never spoke their mind.
Gopi girls upon the river bank watched constantly, poured
water from their hands in salutation but never would unwind
their tangled thoughts of love with her. Oh how they all adored
her.
They also feared the Sun. Her passion burned beyond her
and it ever would. She burnt them into blushes.'You lie with me
she said, 'I'll never easily lie with you nor will I even share
the time of day or a blue grape. I am the glorious Sun and free
to roam. My daily routine is to travel out both far and wide.'

He looked gently at her as if in pity.
That's when she cried.

S12
He did not stay to watch for he knew Aditi knew

He did not stay to watch for he knew Aditi knew
his whereabouts and when anger turned to pride she
would seek him out and have him for her sacrifice.
True
to the way of monkeys he made for a nearby banyan tree
and swung about inside the net of hanging roots.
He was wrong
for she still wanted him. He did not lie with her and his fine
curiosity had captured her. She wanted a resolute, strong
man and through her tears she saw him. Wanted to say, 'He's mine,'
and mean it.
She needed him, part man, part beast, to share her life
Reserved, mundane and yet someone to live here or there about,
Someone to chatter through the night with, to be his Gopi wife
with children and a cooking pot. To bang around and shout
at and often kiss full mouth.
She loved routine, not chance.
With him she'd swing on a domestic swing and do the Garba dance

S13
Are you saying the psychology is to blame

Make it crystal clear. Are you saying the psychology is to blame,
a difference between a monkey and the Sun, for this foul weather?

Possibly. Something was.

Better blame morality and same
sex marriage than these thoughts. There's no single reason. Its neither
one nor any other, all contribute. It is the Sun there's no doubt of that
but also the concrete on the Bharuch Road, how we thread air
through buildings and our notion of revenge, a cocaine shot
into the upper arm with dirty needles, stimulants; all share
the blame though not in equal parts. There never is one, a lot
of variables have a part to play in blame .
Yours is a pretty tale
told on that rainy night. One Sita told to Ram who told
it to Ganesha. When it came down to us it was at best a stale
sad story told to distract us as we struggle.
Some truth lies in old
stories but it isn't good enough to simply tell them you must act.

Sita looked him in the eye, then muttered, 'Yes, act with tact.


S14
'Give me my mobile phone,' said Ram.

'Give me my mobile phone,' said Ram. 'I know a man in far
Mumbai who'll help us. Patel owns a company that is prepared
for such emergency. I'll simply say, 'Repair the Bentley car,
and get here pronto. I'll simply say we three have have shared
our food and now we're ready to depart'
He did not take the call
The lines were down, he could not hear and if he could
why would he answer. Others more deserving were on-line, all
called for help. Ram was not of his caste. He had hewn wood
and dug the village well. Caste was post Dravidian, the gods
and heroes were about before his time. A forest person, living
in cardboard hut has his own local gods. Poor, always at odds
with the establishment, their icons speak to them. Striving
to survive with others, an unsure Hamlet: To be or not to be.'

You did not pass him by, you gave a coin, a five rupee.

S15
The poor are always with us

The poor are always with us, their bodies float
before us on the oily water. Hidden underneath
a card board box a woman and a bird. Last-in-boat
souls they cling and they are dragged along.
Teeth
tell their a story. Disfigured teeth betray them
to themselves and others. Yellow, twisted, a real sight
for sore eyes. Not glittering like a starlet's sari hem
at her cousin's wedding, never milk or coral white,
but broken well beyond repair.
This ragged cavalcade
floats past and shivering Sita watches it and thinks
of nothing in particular. Should she? She's played
her role and made the story known.
The corpse stinks
and all the Ulay soap in Bollywood wont wash that
smell away, it is ordained. What's what is always what.

S16
Sita will stand again upon the platform of the Spring

Will Sita stand again upon the platform of the Spring
and watch the constant season's roll in studied order?

Say, 'Systems must return. I'll find the diamond ring
I thought I'd lost in a safe place. Remember arid border
lands can move on seawards and form as fields. They will,
it is ordained. Land generally turns to silt. It will slake
its thirst on salt and then form land
It won't be long until
some wallah comes with sweetened char and we wake
up to normality we've known before. Like a nasty dream
that seems so real this is a wonder world of bits and bobs
made up from yesterday and childhood fears, my ream
of consciousness has turned to butter milk where gobs
of nonsense float up to the surface.'
That is what
Sita believed when sitting drenched. It was like that.

S 17
As well spiced food flows through our finger tips

As well spiced food flows through our finger tips
the water entered through the walls and floor.
Concrete nor sandbags could not contain it. Lips
became swollen, bellies distended. Then the door
would not open. All was still. Even the ritual ablutions
were denied. The world that had seemed endless
was a place of doom. There had been plans, the solutions
talked of came to nought, all was strain and stress.

Above the diamond merchant's house the storm
clouds gathered. Workmen who lacked a basic wage
continued grinding elegant diamond faces. 'What harm
can come of this,' they say, as they grind on. At the stage
where something could be done there wasn't much to do.
The climate is changing there's much here to renew.

S18
Today brown clouds, tomorrow clouds as white as cheese

Today brown clouds, tomorrow clouds as white as cheese
given as an offering to the Brahma of Sojitra. The word
'sustainability', conceived but not yet born, is like a breeze
which passes through the grinding shed. Overhead one bird
and then another. In a flock one goose peels off to lay an egg.
As it does we should remember our slow birth. It is absurd
to think on Brahma and not that.
Shiva balancing on one leg
before the dance knows what birth means, for he has heard
'Push, push', seen a head appear a trillion times.'Regeneration
follows from destruction', Shiva says. The lordly Krishna also
speaks. He plays a strange lament and weeps.
'On every station
on the long line North listen to my flute its cadence will flow
to the Narmada's source to seek solutions and there stir sand.
Its final note the earth's reward, no carbon footprint on our land.'