Sambhu Ramachandran
Summer in Palakkad
The light comes as a revelation,
unfolding relentlessly over undulant
paddy fields crested with flecks of gold.
We wait for a god, his flaming chariot
drawn by a team of brawny stallions
with flowing manes—the kind
we’ve memorised from Amar Chitra Katha—
to announce himself, but are blinded
by the daze. Birds sweat out their delirium
in leafy saunas where the temperature controls
have broken down. The crimping iron
of the mid-day sun curls the tendrils
of peas straggling over trellises. A drongo
drinks his reflection from a drying puddle
& a calf lashes aimlessly at flies
with its dung-caked tail. A bright
yellow dazzle through foliage
as of cameras flashing—snakes
in swan-like poses, grasshoppers
reaching up on stilettos & chameleons
trapped between the cascade of colours.
Then, a cracking sound as though of the sky
breaking apart. Cobalt & ash, the clouds
serenade the horizon & rain falls
with a shape-shifter’s impish delight—
silver-tipped arrows of rain pouring
upon the testudo of leaves, fists
of rain beating the taut drumhead
of stones & rescue operations of rain,
with large drops descending in blue-green
parachutes to save somnolent roots
taken hostage by armies of drought.