The Hunt (Sikar)

Dawn:

Sky, the soft blue of grasshopper's belly.

Guava and custard apple trees all around, green as parrot feathers.

A single star lingers in the sky

Like the most twilight-intoxicated girl in some village bridal chamber

or that pearl from her bosom the Egyptian dipped into my glass of

Nile-blue wine

one night some thousands of years ago-

Just so, in the sky shines a single star.

To warm their bodies through the cold night, up-country menials kept

a fire going

In the field-red fire like a cockscomb blossom,

Still burning, contorting dry aswattha leaves.

Its color in the light of the sun is no longer like vermilion

But has become like wan desires of a sickly salik bird's heart.

In the morning's light both sky and surrounding dewy forest sparkle

like iridescent peacock wings.

Dawn:

All night long a sleek brown buck, bounding from sundari through

arjun forests

In starless, mahogany darkness, avoids the cheetah's grasp.

He had been waiting for this dawn.

Down he came in its glow,

Ripping, munching fragrant grass, green as green grapefruit.

Down he came to the river's stinging, tingling ripples,

To instill his sleepless, weary, bewildered body with the current's

drive,

To feel a thrill like that of dawn bursting through the cold and wizened

womb of darkness

To wake like gold sun-spears beneath this blue and

Dazzle doe after doe with beauty, boldness, desire.

A strange sound.

The river's water red like macaka flower petals.

Again the fire crackled-red venison served warm.

Many an old dew-dampened yarn, while seated on a bed of grass

beneath the stars.

Cigarette smoke.

Several human heads, hair neatly parted.

Guns here and there. Icy, calm, guiltless sleep.