I made nosegays of jasmine in the garden,
And went to the bazaar after six long months,
There I met my dear father;
He met me there and took me to his attic.
There he made a cushion for me to sit on;
He lit a lamp and placed it in the cranny,
He opened a book and read it to me;
Softly I began to reveal my heart,
Silently I began to shed big tears;
Fondly he placed his hand on my head.
‘My daughter, you return to your in-laws,’ he said;
‘The house of your in-laws is now your abode.
Your father’s house to you is of no avail.’
A mother’s house is the royal house;
A brother’s house is just a hope.
Translated from the Kashmiri by Shafi Shauq