A Village Sobbing

 English Translation: A Village Sobbing

A Village Sobbing  

Vanaja Tatineni

The village cradles you in its womb and cares for you. Yet  

you, seeking your own growth,  

bid farewell to the village that raised you until then.  

You even forget to visit the village as a guest.  

You wander far and wide,  

tucking the village away in the folds of your memories.

Wandering, wandering, wandering... tired, you come searching for the village.  

Then the village, with its faded gaze, does not recognize you. Instead...  

“Who... is this stranger?” it asks,  

staring at you with suspicion, over and over.

Even if you shout at the top of your lungs, “This is my village!”  

the village does not listen.  

It casually asks, “Who are your people here?”

Not a trace can be found of the bonds you sold off and left behind.  

Your name will not be inscribed on the school, the temple, the water tank, the hospital,  

or even on the bench where four people sit.  

The four saplings you planted in your family’s name  

are not there as trees, for you to be recognized by.  

None of your relatives’ children... or your friends’ children  

are around. Had you ever come for a wedding, a ceremony,  

or even to offer condolences for a death?  

You would have saved the village’s number as 'Unknown' too.

Even if a signature on a cheque book is scratched out...  

though you search the entire village, there is not one signature of yours.

When the village opens its mouth and asks, “What did you give me?” you are stunned.  

Still... even if the village does not remember you, with its gaze  

it asks after your well-being. It offers a pot of water  

and quenches your thirst. Seeing your eyes, it senses your hunger  

and gives you a fruit or a snack.  

It bids you a silent farewell.  

The heaviness of the village’s heart is unknown to you.  

Not just to you, but to anyone who has left the village,  

it is unknown.

Like a newlywed bride looking back again and again, in tears,  

the village sobs watching those who leave it.  

A mother, the village, cool like moonlight that has never known a new moon night.  

It safely tucks away your footprints in its heart.  

Like a mother, the village sobs and cries.

11 April 2026. 07:50pm.

మూలం: ఊరు వెక్కిళ్ళు పెడుతుంది.

- వనజ తాతినేని. 

Crop Holiday

 

English Translation: Crop Holiday

Crop Holiday  

Vanaja Tatineni

He was a farmer. Famine struck.  

His better half, weary, bid farewell.  

He lost his mind.  

He wandered wherever his feet took him.  

He took holy dips in the sacred Ganga, 

at the ocean’s confluence,  

at the Triveni Sangam, at the Kumbh Mela,  

and during many a Pushkaram.

But... his yearning was not quenched. 

His mind found no peace.  

He wandered as if with fire tied to his lap.  

The river took pity and whispered a secret in his ear.

"The sin of tilling the earth with your plow has not left you.  

You tilled her again and again, 

without even seeing that she was a new mother,  

you sowed your seeds," it said.

At that moment, he remembered his wife.  

He remembered her groans in the nights.  

He remembered the labour pains heard 

from the other room.

The river concluded,  

"For a crop to yield, a farmer’s toil alone is not enough.  

To prevent the land from bearing rotten fruit, 

you must give the earth her rest, mustn't you?"

©️Vanaja Tatineni

మూలం: పంట విరామం - వనజ తాతినేని

The Ornament of Sorrow

The Ornament of Sorrow - Vanaja Tatineni

I opened the box you gifted me, the one I had guarded so safely.  

For four decades, through every hardship, through every loss,  

I protected it with my life;  

Inside, I found some old letters.  

They were, unmistakably, my own.

When that doorway of memories opened, you engulfed me like a tidal wave.  

The affection that flows like an underground river within me has not diminished by an iota,  

but I will not forget that you are also the secret of my sorrow, enshrined in my heart.

In my youth, I became a waterfall, I was the waterfall itself, pouring out  

the ecstasy of love that you drank with cupped hands, only to forget it with ease.  

You desired it by the potful, and then you walked away.

You, who departed from me long ago, returned again as a guest.  

Though volcanoes were erupting in my chest, I extended every courtesy.

In the end, you simply ended from my life.  

So simply, that it was like...  

the solitary, silent sorrow that exists for a few moments when the ocean rests.  

Between my two hands, looking into my eyes, you ended.

Again... just like this,  

Seeing these letters, this gift, a wildfire has reignited in my chest.  

Agony overflows like boiling milk. There is no one to share it with.  

There were many who threw stones, but none who gently caressed, with kindness,  

the fathomless depth of a lifetime of anguish. Hm.

Again... I have hidden those letters, the box you gifted, in a secret shelf  

and turned the key. I will open it again, someday.  

When I feel like wearing the ornament of sorrow.

22 May 2026. 09:45 pm.

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