‘What Profit Will You Get?’

God as Taxman, Burglar, Businessman

Advice to an Angry Wife: VI

Pandurang, the noble collector of revenue,
Gives us our share of what we reap.

He asks us to repay seventy per cent
Of what we’ve owned in the past;
And we’ve so far cleared only ten per cent.

Sitting on a cot in our living-room,
He points to all our possessions:
The storage bin, the pots and pans, the cattle we own.

If I bargain and argue with Him, He keeps His cool.
He says, “Just pay up all your dues and what you reap
Will be all yours. “

Says Tuka, my dear wife, what shall I do?
I don’t know where to hide without paying my due.

(Tukaram: Dilip Chitre)

Advice to an Angry Wife: VII

I think about it and realize that
After all, this is His own kingdom.
Who would protect me from Him?
Where else can we go to escape Him?

The front yard is wide open and the backyard too.
In what stables or cowsheds can we hide?
His henchmen will chase us wherever we go.

I kick myself for becoming one of his share-croppers.
Now I can never get out of His clutches.

Says Tuka, it cannot be helped.
One has to remain here and live
On His terms — not our own.

(Tukaram: Dilip Chitre)

What profit will you get
out of hiding from me?
I’m right here, and I want you.

Those fantastic eyes — do you want to lock them in a bank?
You don’t even raise your head to look at me.
Do you think you can invest that amazing smile at a good rate?
I can’t get you to smile at me.

What profit will you get?

Those towering breasts — are you going to put them in a vault?
You’re hiding them under your sari.
Are you planning to hoard underground
the full bloom of your youth?
You keep so still under your veil.

What profit will you get?

You want to stash away words instead of spending them in
love?
You don’t even move your lips.
You belong to me now, and I —
I’m God.
At last we can do business.

What profit will you get?

(Annamacharya: V Narayana Rao and David Shulman)

Gopal has slipped in and stolen my heart, friend.
He stole through my eyes and invaded my breast
simply by looking—who knows how he did it?—
Even though parents and husband and all
crowded the courtyard and filled my world.
The door was protected by all that was proper;
not a corner, nothing, was left without a guard.
Decency, prudence, respect for the family—
these three were locks and I hid the keys.
The sturdiest doors were my eyelid gates—
to enter through them was a passage impossible—
And secure in my heart, a mountainous treasure:
insight, intelligence, fortitude, wit.
And then, says Sur, he’d stolen it—
with a thought and a laugh and a look—
and my body was scorched with remorse.

(Surdas: John Stratton Hawley and Mark Juergensmeyer)

I’ll go
to Girdhar’s home

my true love
his beauty
ensnared me

I’ll go
at night
come back
at dawn

play with him
all day
entice him

wear
what he wants
eat
what he gives

our love
is ancient
I can’t stay away

I’ll sit
where he says
let him sell me
if he wants

he is my master
I’ll let him do
anything

(Mirabai: Rahul Soni)