Prof Sonjoy’s poem, on Lalon Fakir, carries a tradition that he inherited from his forefathers. It’s a part of a series over four weeks. The first part, exclusively for Different Truths.

What a magical house he has built
Standing on void in an invisible stilt
With no rock to anchor its precarious tilt
Oh how will the house ever withstand
The raging storm’s devastating hand?

And to top it all there is mud and straw
Defying all foundational law
A loony fellow dances on its thatch
To a mad mad tune of a wandering song
That the vibrant strings of his ektara catch
And the percussive beat of his anklets match.

No doors, no windows to exit or lock
Open to the highway and the skylight walk
He says he knows the lane and by lane
Can disappear at whim,
In a single hoot of his hidden heart train.

Poet’s Note: Lalon Fakir, our eternal Baul, our wandering minstrel, singing the wayfarer’s song, as the senses dance in the temple of the body, a bairagi (recluse) in search of the divine lover.

Editor’s Note: Prof Sanjoy has been experimenting with some Baul, Bhatiali and folk tunes for a while. He considers these as part of his blood tradition, inherited from his ancestors. Over the next few weeks, we would be serialising these poems of his.

Photo from the Internet