The Land’s Lore
Caste segregation in India was used to distribute roles within society, primarily based on occupation. Known as the " Varna system", gradually this segregation became much rigid through power acquisition and systematic oppression. A ruthless society was formed on the basis of " Higher caste" and " Lower caste". Sadly, despite many reforms and laws being passed, today, "caste based" discrimination is also rampant in various places and sectors.
My poem is an attempt to reflect the evils of the issue and to offer a ray of hope that can bring about change toward equality.
The Land's Lore
Secluded, they stand under the burning sun,
When the swarm of
people fill in their pots,
Now they know, it's
their turn.
The little boy asks
his mother,
Why can’t we go now?
To fetch some water?
Scared, hushed- his
mother whispers.
It’s for them; we get
leftovers.
The little boy, naïve and curious
Complains his mother, “I am thirsty,
Give me some water.”
His mother worried,
but helpless.
Spreads her tattered
drape over his face.
“My
little boy, learn to wait,
If you drink now,
death will be your fate.”
Fatigued, burning- the
boy cried out
“Oh,
mother, what is this all about?
I just want some water
to drink
What is there so much
to think?”
Trying to console the
boy’s grief,
The mother told him a
story, in brief.
“Once
there was another boy
Playing with mud and
his toy.
He was thirsty just
like you
His mother tried to
get in the queue.
They caught them and
tied them both
Pricked them with
spears, till they perished,
So that no one dares
to break the rules henceforth.
Laws in this land are
not for us,
They only serve the
rich and pompous.
Oh, my boy, learn to
wait
Else, death will be
your only fate.”
The boy passed out,
unable to stand,
The mother cried for
help,
But nobody lent a
hand.
A little girl, one of
them
Adorned in gold,
wearing a silk hem,
Rushed there in great
hurry,
Saw everything and
felt sorry.
She ran to the well to
fill a pot
Quickly returned
before getting caught.
She splashed water on
the boy’s mouth
The guards came
running from the south.
Before they could
catch hold of her,
The girl, unbothered,
came near.
Shaken, nervous,
frightened, they bowed.
It was the princess,
before the crowd.
She held the boy and
made him stand
And waved to all, with
a gesture, grand.
“This is
our water and land
We should all fairly,
stand.
There will be no
difference furthermore
This will become our
land’s lore.”
This poem was published in the anthology " Canvas of Voices"
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