Mohini Pisasu

I rest, languid, on the neem tree
My sari matches the near white light
That shines through the fluorescent leaves,
As the pleading prayers go on below.

To the King Cobra that guards me from his anthill
Come and drink this milk they say.
Appease her spirit, they pray
I am appeased, I suppose.

Its noon and its too hot to be on the prowl
Your daughter’s safe, for now.
I look beyond, into the cavernous depths
Of the well I chose not to fall into.

I see her at night at her window, unable to rest-
The young, eager, restless thing.
Yearning, longing, pining, anxiously looking
For a dream lover to slake her thirst.

Till I appeared in eerie splendour
Poor little princess.
So petrified, yet so sweet
She lies in shock screaming for her mother.

They came to see her the next day
Greedy eyes, salivating smiles
The local princess.
Oh weren't they so fortunate.

But, those cheeks had lost their fresh bloom
Her fish-shaped eyes looked dead they said
She looked as if a ghost had thrashed her
They stayed a while, but soon left.

I too screamed silently night after night
The shame, the agony,
My wasted youth, my wasted life
Wrung out of my pretty neck.

Only then did they take notice
The husband cuckolded
His brother drunk but sated.
Their shame, their pain- all hushed up.

The story that never came out
They may be poor, but they were respectable.
Now, in between death and reincarnation
I command respect in my ghostly existence.