Translation Notes
The voice of Nepali poet Rajendra Bhandari from Kalimpong has been central to the memory and consciousness of the Darjeeling hills. His poems embody the trauma and resilience of a people marked by violent phases of the statehood movement in the hills of Darjeeling (1988, 2008, and beyond), even as the region continues to suffer a kind of cultural amnesia. Bhandari’s poetry inhabits the landscapes of Kalimpong and Darjeeling, moving between satire, spiritual yearning, historical witness, and metaphysical reflection. The poem ‘Journey of My Voice’ stages the irrepressible power of resistance; and ‘Curfew’ layers irony to reveal peace as a coercive and weaponized tool of the government. The monosyllabic refrain “shoot at sight” in the latter poem, echoing official curfew orders issued during periods of political unrest in the hills, transforms bureaucratic command into an ironic, haunting rhythm that exposes the violence beneath enforced calm.
—Dhirendra Kumar Shah
They gorged on my right hand,
Then smacked their lips.
Slit my left hand and made off,
Distributing my fingers to their children.
Guzzled them whole – roasted, fried, or minced.
Still I strode headstrong
So they grew enraged.
A horde of knives came to lacerate me,
Lopping off my legs
Slicing my ears.
Losing both my hands and legs,
Still I set my speech ablaze,
Still I bellowed my hurt.
My voice—
A thunderclap that rallies from heart to heart,
Swifter than light.
My voice—
Beyond the scale of decibels,
No fence derailed its onward march.
Walls, floor, and sky drew it outward.
At last they came to cut my tongue,
But by then it was too late.
My voice now was everywhere –
In the sky, in the wind,
In the innumerable leaves of trees,
In all eight directions.
So sovereign and loud was my voice
They clasped their ears in vain—
And when their hands fell,
It thundered upon them again.
Fishes, don’t swim in surging shoals;
Stay anchored by the shore.
A poacher is coming—
The river is under curfew.
Dormant seeds,
Rest underground;
The soil is under curfew.
No petal or leaf should grow—
Someone might furrow the garden’s calm.
By the latest decree,
All sound is noise,
All silence is peace.
Fellow-cowherd, do not sing.
The wind is under curfew.
Greeting us a namaste with their guns,
They have called for peace in every market square.
A curfew envelops our town.
No need to go to school—
The children rejoice.
Breaking into a poet’s house,
Politicians plunder words.
Some still hide underground:
Independence, Salvation and Compassion.
The town’s wrestler, thug, astrologer,
Widow, beggar, politician,
Shopkeeper, grocer, priest –everyone is in the house.
Inside, women weave and unweave,
Threads knotting and slipping under anxious hands.
Children peep through chinks
By doors and windows.
shoot at sight
shoot at sight
Thoughts, hide yourself behind the unconscious;
The conscious mind is under curfew.
Do not stroll or dawdle outside,
Do not raise your voice,
Lest you be deemed subversive.
Do not scream – you might interrupt peace.
Do not bicker or talk defiantly to the khaki in command—
A disquiet might mar the calm.
shoot at sight
shoot at sight
Do not let the children cry,
Do not let the dogs bark—
Peace will be disrupted.
The town is under curfew for peace,
Buddha adopts a posture of silence for peace.
Our eyes sting from teargas.
Doused by the fire brigade,
The road sleeps—supine, heavy-eyed with exhaustion,
Dreaming of a crowd assembled in celebration:
Clatter of boots, traffic jam, mayhem, horns,
Rumble and thrum of wheels,
The sub-district administrator’s orders
Strewn everywhere on the floor.
shoot at sight
Peace is on exhibition
In a house of glass.
Images of peace adorn the newspapers;
The town remains under curfew.
Acknowledgements
Image credits: © The Hindu. Security personnel patrol a road during GJM strike in Darjeeling. December 03, 2021.
Translator | Dhirendra Kumar Shah
Dhirendra Kumar Shah teaches English at Darjeeling Hills University. A poet and translator, his work explores shifting ideas of masculinity, Buddhism as a lived practice, and Eastern Himalayan poetry. He is the former editor of Teesta Rangeet, a poetry journal from Kalimpong, and the Kao – Himalayan Art Journal. [Text source: Dhirendra Kumar Shah]
Author | Rajendra Bhandari
Rajendra Bhandari (b. 1956, Kalimpong) is a leading Nepali-language poet whose work has profoundly shaped the literary landscape of the Darjeeling hills and Sikkim. A former professor of Nepali literature at Sikkim Government College, Gangtok, he earned his doctorate from the University of North Bengal. Since his first collection, In the Veils of Cold Wintry Nights (1979), followed by These Words: These Lines (1986), Perishable / Imperishable (1998), and Hiccups of History (2019), Bhandari has written with clarity and restraint, weaving the lived anguish of the Gorkhaland movement into a voice at once lyrical, satirical, and metaphysical.
His poetry bears witness to collective trauma—the martyrs and ruptures of 1988, 2008, and beyond—while also meditating on impermanence and spiritual endurance. Recipient of the Diyalo Purashkar, the Shiva Kumar Rai Memorial Award, and the Dr. Shova Kanti Thegim Award, Bhandari stands as a pivotal voice of the Nepali- speaking communities, bridging regional experience with broader Indian and world literatures. [Text source: Dhirendra Kumar Shah]
