To Deoghar and Dumka to
The clusters of hills
Dotting the highlands and downlands
With the forests
With red-mouthed monkeys,
Hanumans, black bears and tigers
Roaming large.
The hills shining blue,
Standing solitary,
The landscapes secluded and manless
Away from haunt,
But full of mahua, sagun and saal trees,
A summer full with the scent of
Black-berries and jack fruits,
Mangoes full with,
Plums in winter wild and prickly.
The palash trees small-small
Dotting the wilds and hills,
The palm and date trees
And the lands barren and unfurrowed
The streams murmuring by
In between the hills somewhere,
The rivers drying deep
In summer
When the sun blazes it
And the hots blow they
To ruffle it all.
But much of its greenery bereft of,
That exotic flora and fauna on the brink of extinction,
The tigers from Shikaripara, Masalia and Kathikund
Almost gone now,
The black bears too are not
In the Mayurakshi forest region,
Just the hills crushed and quarried after
Lying a few
As barren stumps
And the palash trees cut down in the maximum.
The homely black pigs and piglets
Playing into the bushes,
The poorman houses made from mud and straw
As the far flung hamlets and thorps
Shaded under the peepul and banyan trees,
Leaving much to traverse to reach the village
On foot or by the bullock-cart.
The house sparrows dancing, playing and hopping
All around,
Lowly into the dust
And picking foodgrains,
The crows crowing for water and food,
That sly and cleverly black crow,
Lifting the bread crumb from the aluminum bowl
Of the small countryside toddler child
And flying away.

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