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Poem

When the enemies surrounded their houses,
Their guns were sleeping tight
Pouring oil into their noses.

When their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters
Were being raped together on the same bed,
Their guns were sleeping tight
Like Kumbhakarna.*

At last when they were attacked
And were being slaughtered like bulls
Felling them on the ground,
Still their guns were into deep sleep.

Someone, rushing to them, said, ‘Brethren,
Kindly awake your guns now.’

They, setting hands on his mouth, said,
‘By God, never utter such a word
And let the guns sleep peacefully
Which way they are sleeping now
And we want to see them sleeping this way for ever;
Even after the doomsday, we want to see that
No one has come to break their innocent sleep.’

* a mythical monster mentioned in the Indian epic Ramayana who slept six months at a stretch.

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