The Sagacious Woody

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Behold! The old beardy hunches over his pot – He licks up, in broad daylight, his damp woods stewed hot! He shakes his head, keeps muttering hymns like a mage – From his ways, you would think he’s no less than a sage! Blabbers all day long – you’d wonder from where they stem – “The sky’s full of cobwebs, so woods have holes in them.” He raises his bald head and beads of sweat run down, “Nobody can fathom its gravity –” he’d frown, “These foolish dunderheads, to such matters purblind, Don’t seem to take in – always wrangling in their mind. Which wood has more essence – blind to facts such simple – Why on eleventh lunar days, woods get dimple.” Scribbled around all o’er, in fact, is his account Of cracked woods and notched woods – he loses not a count! Which hole tastes delicious, and which hole’s insipid, Which crack gives off fragrance, and which one smells horrid. Clunk! Clank! Clackety-rattle! He knocks wood with wood, And says, “I know which wood in what way gets subdued. Paying a...
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The Stolen Moustache

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The Stolen Moustache 


The Big Boss of Head Office, a man quiet’n’calm,
Who knew that such a person would e’er fight or harm?
Fine he was, in happy mood, mounted on his chair,
Dozing off, suddenly got tempted in despair!
Gave a start, threw hands and feet, popped up his eyeball,
Prompted he, “Pick me quick, or surely I will fall!”
Some were calling doctors, while some called the police,
Some said, “Pick him carefully, he’ll bite lost if peace.”
Hustle-bustle, helter-skelter, bustled and mobbed,
Shouted the Big Boss, “Listen – My moustache is robbed!”
Moustache stolen? So strange it seems! Really, is it?
The pair remains there intact, reduced not a bit.
All try to convince, a mirror in front holding,
Moustache isn’t stolen, never happens such a thing.
Like eggplants in oil, his blood came to boil, he stormed,
“I trust none of you; of you all I’m well informed.
“Bushy pricky, dirty broomsticky and such rash,
“The milkman of Shyam Babu had such a moustache.
“Dare say this moustache is mine, get ready, I’ll slay” –
Then he began fining them, with the least delay.
Steaming up, screaming loud, noted down that instance –
“They take mile for an inch, don’t give them importance.
“Fool dunderheads of office, their heads full of crap,
“None knows where my moustache pair is, nor what did hap!
“Someday I wish to swing from these fools’ moustache threads,
“I feel like grazing off with spade these fellows’ heads!
“Moustache isn’t your or mine, it has been bought by none –
“It owns you’n’me, that’s the identity of one.”

Bengali original: Gnof Churi
Translated by Arkajyoti Banerjee
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গোঁফ চুরি



হেড অফিসের বড়বাবু লোকটি বড় শান্ত,
তার যে এমন মাথার ব্যামো কেউ কখনো জানত?
দিব্যি ছিলেন খোসমেজাজে চেয়ারখানি চেপে,
একলা বসে ঝিম্‌ঝিমিয়ে হঠাৎ গেলেন ক্ষেপে!
আঁৎকে উঠে হাত পা ছুঁড়ে চোখটি ক'রে গোল,
হঠাৎ বলেন, "গেলুম গেলুম, আমায় ধরে তোল!"
তাই শুনে কেউ বদ্যি ডাকে, কেউবা হাঁকে পুলিশ,
কেউবা বলে, "কামড়ে দেবে সাবধানেতে তুলিস।"
ব্যস্ত সবাই এদিক ওদিক করছে ঘোরাঘুরি,
বাবু হাঁকেন, "ওরে আমার গোঁফ গিয়েছে চুরি!"
গোঁফ হারানো ! আজব কথা ! তাও কি হয় সত্যি?
গোঁফ জোড়া তো তেমনি আছে, কমেনি এক রত্তি।
সবাই তাঁকে বুঝিয়ে বলে, সামনে ধরে আয়না,
মোটেও গোঁফ হয়নি চুরি, কক্ষণো তা হয় না।

রেগে আগুন তেলে বেগুন, তেড়ে বলেন তিনি,
"কারো কথার ধার ধারিনে, সব ব্যাটাকেই চিনি।
নোংরা ছাঁটা খ্যাংরা ঝাঁটা বিচ্ছিরি আর ময়লা,
এমন গোঁফ তো রাখতো জানি শ্যামবাবুদের গয়লা।
এ গোঁফ যদি আমার বলিস করব তোদের জবাই"—
এই না বলে জরিমানা কল্লেন তিনি সবায়।
ভীষণ রেগে বিষম খেয়ে দিলেন লিখে খাতায়,
"কাউকে বেশি লাই দিতে নেই, সবাই চড়ে মাথায়।
আফিসের এই বাঁদরগুলো, মাথায় খালি গোবর,
গোঁফ জোড়া যে কোথায় গেল কেউ রাখে না খবর।
ইচ্ছে করে এই ব্যাটাদের গোঁফ ধরে খুব নাচি,
মুখ্যুগুলোর মুণ্ডু ধরে কোদাল দিয়ে চাঁচি।
গোঁফকে বলে তোমার আমার–গোঁফ কি কারো কেনা? 
গোঁফের আমি গোঁফের তুমি, তাই দিয়ে যায় চেনা।"

(By Sukumar Ray)
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