Mirabai at 513

When I was in the body of Mirabai
I would brush my long black hair every night,
108 strokes, one for each of the names
of my Beloved.
Down by the river where I filled my jug
I was overcome with longing...
the flowing of the river was the
moving of his hips was the wind
moving in the trees was his moving hand
on the nape of my neck.
The unmarried girls giggled and splashed
and their gold bangles gleamed in the sun;
I was silent with thoughts of Him.


During the monsoon season,
maddened by the peacock’s cry
in the courtyard, I scarcely noticed
when they tried to poison me.
with their black stares and
their lectures on duty, their
chapatis that stuck in my throat,
and the intolerable talk of marriage.
What do they know about marriage
who have never met Shyam?


Later I followed a band of beggars
out of the palace, out of the
stone gates; and never looked back.
All day the hills called to me, away, away,
and the grass was singing
his names for me, my names for him.
I walked for miles, enraptured
by the sudden sight of his smile
on the face of a simple cowherd boy--
oh no, I must have been mistaken,
I must be deluded again,
it comes from always thinking of Him.
the one who lives inside me.


When I was in the body of Mirabai
I knew nothing but this rapture,
and the pain of this rapture,
of the cracked red earth before the rains came,
I did not know it was possible to suffer so.
The peacock’s cry piercing my
heart in the dead of night,
my bed always on fire.


No one can say I wasn’t faithful,
who has lain on a bed of flames,
who has not known a single moment of
peace since you touched me that way,
who has kept on dialing the phone
long after you stopped taking my messages,
who has tried to commit suttee
a thousand times but always come back
to this poor solitary self.
Oh my midnight blue lover,
why didn’t you come back
to finish what you started?


When I was in the body of Mirabai
I did not have a smartphone
If I had I would have sent you texts to
die for; would have followed you on twitter
wherever you roamed, would have blogged
about your perfections, would have
worked out my perfect body in Curves
and seduced you on a tropical cruise. 
But I was a Rajasthani princess then
and I gave up everything for love.
You remember me--
your humble servant, Mira



Judith Hooper
November 2011