A king never born,
Never will be born again
And the gods putting him to test,
Giving troubles to
but he feeling not the pressure,
Letting it go.
O, lo, his son Rohit has been bitten by a snake
While picking flowers
Early in the morning
And serving as a menial
And the queen too unable to maintain herself,
Everything but gone,
Out of the hands, the state, the palace and the assets!
And after the tragedy striking her, making miserable weak,
Broken and cowed down,
The helpless and hopeless queen,
Desperate Sabya at the burnign ghats
Seeking permission from
The chandal
Working under some master of his,
Doing the duty in his full loyalty
And so faithfully,
Allowing her not to burn the dead body,
The body of her son
without having collected some taxes,
Without having cleared the taxed to be paid
As for the ghat.
Sabya preparing to tear the anchal, border of her sari
And readying to give,
In that desolate, speechless silence of the landscapes
Where the last rites are performed,
Where there remains not anything else,
Goes not with,
The king not a king, but deputed a chandal asking for,
Flinching not a bit
In his emotion
Whereas Sabya helplessly preparing for to give
As the torn clothing of hers
Which but the conspiring gods marking
And acknowledging
So blissfully,
Scattering the flower petals over
And by returning everything.