Ramulu and Somulu
(from Mukhamukhi 1978)
- 1 -
A desolate field.
The sun is already disappearing behind huge bitter-neem trees.
A little bit of twilight
has evenly fallen on powdery dry grass.
Shortly, from the left (or was it from the right…? )
Ramulu and Somulu enter
hesitantly, uncertainly.
Hands hanging by their shirts,
exposed legs under their dhoties,
turbans instead of heads – only this much from afar – .
Just for a second they stand looking at each other’s faces,
then hurriedly
they scatter in different directions
searching for balls.
Thus, they continue, searching and picking balls up, and
after quite some time
meet at the pitch,
then pick up the wickets,
hug them to their chests, and
depart taking long strides.
- 2 -
The mist is already spreading on the ground like a thin veil.
A few stars are sprinkled across the sky.
It’s only the indolent donkeys that are standing still
Soon, Ramulu and Somulu
make their entry again.
Looking straight ahead, they run with heavy steps
towards the pitch.
One from the right, one from the left.
They decide to lift and roll up the coir mat.
As they roll it up, round and round,
the roll grows bigger.
They put their hands under the roll,
plant their feet firmly on the ground,
they push, they bend, and they fall.
One below, the other on top.
Not giving up, they get up, change grips,
and breathing hard, lift and pull and
drag it away, far .
- 3 -
What to say, the January nights have started getting frostier.
Where is the field, where are the trees, difficult to make out.
Shortly, Ramulu and Somulu
enter, hoisting heavy pots.
Disregarding their crumbling legs
they take quick short steps towards the pitch,
a beedi in each mouth
burning like twin stars.
Ramulu and Somulu
start sprinkling water on the
length of the field, as though lying tired after raising a dust storm.
Gradually, a thick darkness envelops everything.
Soon, one beedi snuffs out
then the other.
