Civilizing the Bastar tribals

Long ago our courage deserted us .Thought soon froze in its tracks. Our spiked hair rose to the sky as the cold air bit into our bones .White rain poured on thatched roofs forming yellow snakes of waters and outside the rusted window rails on the yellow- dropped leaves.

Yesterday was the day of cockfights. The birds stared at their bound legs waiting to bleed their bird-friends .A dull white fluid glistened in our pots .We went high on smelly rice drinks .We made a rope circle among trees .That was the bloody arena for cocks. Our basket threw up big plastic dice .Our village youth staked day’s labor

Our children now have blue uniforms. They will one day be clerks in office .Our women continue transplanting rice .Our gods have stopped being angry. Whatever we did in billowing skirts our moment never came, actually. Inclusiveness submerged all, like yellow sick-sweet fly-riding pulp .The fiery snake slithered quickly away. The fluidity of confusion remained.

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