They fetch her on the jatra days,
To bathe her, clothe her, paint her face,
And loose her like the Goddess Storm
Descended into human form.
Elated, she assaults the street,
And picks up dung with painted feet,
And flicks it on to motorbikes
And kicks whatever she dislikes.
The people watch her from the rooves –
Her shrieking, reeking, Goddess grooves –
And shower on her mango leaves,
Which, with her curses, she receives.
The jatra lasts about an hour.
They let her go with bags of flour,
Forget about her, as before,
To wander as the loony whore.