Between Two Flags

by Chaoba Phuritshabam 

One, three headed
One, a charming chakra Scramble for me
I, bewildered,
baffled.
Beloved, both
Belonged to both One, borne
One, nurtured

Frequent, my minds' eye
the flag embellished
with sakok
My thought feebled
at the flags' awaiting
Frequent, my thoughts
the flag embellished
with chakra
My thought feebled at the flag
I didn't belong to

Mislaid at the warfield
between two flags
I asked all
Who do I belong to
Frequent, my thought
Can I belong to both?

One, borne
One, nurtured

I feared
life's lofty forts
I feared
I couldn't traverse
these chained heights
I feared
the sakok embellished flag chasing me
with a sword
stating a stranger, I am

Between two flags
Scrambling for me
She is mine
She is mine
they said
Sliced me
Some pieces for one
Some pieces for another
Why the scramble?
Who do I belong to?

Pacified
I, adrift
between two flags
between these two flags

(translated by Soibam Haripriya)

Moirang Khamba Meets Krishna!!!

by Chaoba Phuritshabam 

He must be shouting for his root,
He must be craving for his tribe,
He must be asking machem Khamnu,
Where he was born?
Where he belonged?
Mathura or Moirang?
I dream of pure love,
like that of Khamba-Thoibi,
the eternal sacrifice of two lovers,
I listen to Moirang-Parva,
To get a glimpse of their love story,
I cry for Khamnu
how she suffered
how she brought up Khamba,
I crave for the courage of Thoibi,
Who defied convention
and married Khamba,
The woman who defeated the villain Nongban,
For her true love,
But it was a famous poet,
who got me into trouble,
Who made me lost again,
In another myth,
Quite far away from what I heard,
I remember my grandma telling me,
the story of Khamba-Thoibi,
I still think she was right,
I still am mesmerised
with the beauty of Thoibi,
But he the famous poet,
who wrote that myth,
Taught me lately,
How Khamba met Krishna,
How they play the Ras Lila,
The reincarnation of Krishna as Khamba,
Krishna came to Moirang,
Then I lost my way, I see Radha
Playing Holi with Khamba
And Khamba flirting with Gopis,
I run after that myth,
connected to my root,
I question that history,
written as history only,
Still it can't answer,
Where Khamba belonged?
Where he met Krishna,
How he played the Ras Lila,
In front of Thanjing Mandap,
You have to come back
and answer me,
You have to re-write your book,
You have to re-sing the Moirang-Parva,
I'm still waiting,
How you would explain,
Khamba playing holi with Radha,
and flirting with Gopis,
You have to reason,
Why Khamba was crying,
For the made-to-believe myths!

Operation Summer Storm!!!

by Chaoba Phuritshabam

On the day of Cheiraoba*,
My eyes were eagerly looking
at those empty vessels in my kitchen.
My son was crying and shouting
so that I feed his empty stomach.
I was looking at the dark empty road,

Just like a miracle would come across in my way.
I don’t know why I’m living on this earth?
While I was lost in my own thoughts
the cry of my child wake me up again,

My child is crying again to feed his empty stomach.
The tired corpse like body of my husband
Lying on the cold muddy floor,
Just like a dead body,
So that he can hide his pain and anguish
Over nothingness,
Over his own faith,
His eyes were red and wild,

He stared at me and laughed loudly
Taunting my thoughts
He was laughing at me for the reason I was looking for,
Why I’m still living on this earth?
Silence was broken again with the cry of my child,
He was shouting again so that I can feed his empty stomach!!!


* Cheiraoba is Meitei New Year which usually falls in April. Apart from welcoming Spring season, it is a day of feasting and festivity in each an every household, rich or poor. A number of traditional delicacies are prepared in each household and shared with neighbors too. For many, not having anything to cook on Cheiraoba would imply that the family would go hungry the entire year.