One day a lean poemreached Gandhi’s ashramto have a glimpse of the man.Gandhi spinning awayhis thread towards Ramtook no notice of the poemwaiting at his doorholyspin,ashamed at not being a bhajan.The poem now cleared his throatAnd Gandhi glanced at him sidewaysthrough those glasses that had seen hell.“Have you ever spun thread?” he asked,“Ever pulled a scavenger’s cart?Ever stood in the smoke ofAn early morning kitchen?Have you ever starved?”
The poem said: “I was born in the woods,in a hunter’s mouth.A fisherman brought me upin a cottage.Yet I knew no work, I only sing.First I sang in the courts:then I was plump and handsomebut am on the streets now,half-starved.”
“That’s better,” Gandhi saidwith a sly smile. “But you must give up this habitof speaking in Sanskrit at times.Go to the fields. Listen toThe peasants’ speech.”The poem turned into a grainand lay waiting in the fieldsfor the tiller to comeand upturn the virgin soilmoist with new rain.
—Translated from Malayalam by the poet
K Satchidanandan, Kerala
(K Satchidanandan, a luminary among Indian poets, stands as a versatile figure encompassing the roles of poet, critic, and astute political commentator. Originating from Kerala, his poetic works in Malayalam have transcended linguistic barriers through numerous translations. In 2011, his contributions led to a Nobel Prize for Literature nomination.)
Song of LabourListen o brotherHere we chimeThis song of the beediListen to us rhyme.
The labourers gatherThe labourers gatherWe go to the munshi [middleman], beedi-leaves to bring.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
The leaves we bring backThe leaves we bring backAnd set about for a round o’ cutting.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
Once the beedis are cutOnce the leaves are cutWe prepare for the final rolling.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
After the beedis are rolledAfter the beedis are rolledWe begin the stage of bundling.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
Once the gaddis [bundles] are doneOnce the bundles are doneOur baskets we start packing.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
Now the jhuris [baskets] are packedNow the baskets are stackedTo the munshi we start carrying.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
Once at the munshi’s placeOnce at the munshi’s placeWe set upon the final tallying.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
Now the tallies are overNow the tallies are overOut comes the diary, we start scribbling.Listen o brotherHere we sing,This song of the beediListen to us sing.
The diary has been filledThe diary has been filledPay our wages and listen to us chant.Listen o brotherFor our wages, we chant.Twice a hundred and fifty-four in change,Hear o munshi, please do arrange.Two fifty-four bucks, that’s all we need,Listen o munshi, listen indeed.
—Translated from Bengali by Joshua Bodhinetra
Kohinoor Begum, West Bengal
(Kohinoor Begum, 55, sings about the rights of women, labour, farming and more. Her music brings people together and bolsters solidarity. She is a mid-day meal cook at Janaki Nagar Prathamik Vidyalaya Primary School in Bengal’s Murshidabad district. In her spare time, she rolls beedis and also campaigns for the rights of other women engaged in this work. In Murshidabad, it is the poorest of women who roll beedis—a physically punishing job. Kohinoor Begum is a one-woman band—she sets the music and plays the dhol. Her feisty songs revolve around themes such as labour and daily chores.)
This song, translated by Joshua Bodhinetraholyspin, was first recorded and compiled by Smita Khator for the People’s Archive of Rural India on February 11, 2023.