“Not Recorded”
 
When the all-powerful Ravana had thrown a feast
they had declined smugly;
My ancestors.
Unlike those that crossed the Sarayu to
accept the Antagonist's hospitality.
My eight-year old brain thought of the delicacies
My centuries-removed Grandfather must have missed
as I heard this oft-repeated tale of
existence and pride in Kannauj
and its migrants of the highest order.
 
In some stories Raja Bhoj made a guest appearance
as the patron of the Brahmin
Of the GreatGrandfather a scholar
An interpreter
of texts that still shaped the space
between me and the maid's children.
 
Finally the folklores came down to
My Grandfather,
the only Grandfather
I have ever really known.
The bright young man
The quiet doctor
The silent healer
he heard about his younger brother
getting Meningitis.
 
The physician, the brother
unable to manoeuvre
the labyrinth of curfews
Of an occupied land
which echoed Quit India,
That physician, that brother
lost to Time
and the revolutionary paraphernalia.
 
...The younger brother died
as the country burned.

The silent mourner swore
never to leave the hinterland.
 
And then 'Doctor Babu'
who had nothing to do
with declining invitations
or reading scriptures,
lived off serving the Village
which was to become part of
many my summer vacations,
taught me without ever telling me
how immensely personal
History is
how Sociology
can peter out
to an aching heart
for a sibling lost.