My Little Girl

Utpal Chattopadhyay

Original: Amar E Choto Meye (Jibanananda Das)
Translation: Utpal Chattopadhyay

My little girl, the youngest,
She sleeps on one side of the bed.
She sleeps – she gets up now and then – whispers like a bird,
crawls around,
in the fields, among the stars.
I forget the other one – my other daughter, my first born,
she comes to me floating with the clouds,
and says to me ” Is everything alright, father? Are you well?
Do you love me?”
I hold her hand, her wispy face, the colour of white cloth
“Do you still grieve? It has been so long.
Still remember me?”
Her arms move silently across my face,
caressing my eyelids softly, though she is no more,
I too touch her face with both my hands,
alas, the face is not there, I feel no eyes, no hair.
Yet I want her, Only her, Nothings else in this world but her,
My daughter, in flesh and blood, with eyes and hair
I want her, my first born – the little bird, white bird, I want her.
Perhaps she sensed me, my thoughts; she took on a new life,
and appeared next to me.
“you wanted me” she said, “So I took my little sister,
I kept her – your frail little daughter – under the grass
where I was all these years, in darkness, sleeping”
And then she stopped as if the thought was scary.
“Darling, please go back to where you were sleeping” I said to her,
“return your little sister by my side.”
A wave of sadness swept over her;
silent for a second, as if to collect herself,
she melted away slowly layer by layer
like wisps of thin smoke,
like a white shawl, embracing the air.
I could hear the crows cawing at dawn,
Waking up I saw my lilttle girl, the youngest, crawling playfully.
I could not see anyone else.