Vrindavan

She was a young girl. Her husband had just died…

And then they said:

She must wear white

Cut her hair

Break her bangles

Remove the kajal

Wash the sindoor

Let her renounce meat, give up spice,

Adopt white! white, the colour white!

Bleach the mehendi; or anything else

Recalling

Even remotely

The dreams of a bride. 

She is dumped in an ashram in Vrindavan and laments:

I cannot find Krishna

In this temple town

Of overflowing sewage

Where pandas breed

In concrete cess pool

An devotes walk on filth

Without anyone noticing.

I cannot find Krishna

In this holy city

Although I chant his name

From seven to ten

In the morning

Every evening.

She ends up as a common whore:

We live in the shadows

Of the whore-houses

Prey for priests

Landlords, rickshaw drivers

Policemen, shopkeepers

In fact

Any male in sight.

She concludes:

There is nothing but water

In the holy bathing places

And I know they are useless

For I have bathed in them

The images are lifeless

They cannot speak

I know

For I have cried aloud to them.