The ship made its way by cutting across the waters of Luit and brought me to the heart of Guwahati. The dreamy mind moves toward the dreamland. The village cowherd has broken into a song. Along the ditty of the cowherd, the grandson or may be the great grandson of European civilization, the ship, with its steam driven engine rhythmically beats the drum on the heart of Luit, though at times the cadence seems to disintegrate. The mind which has an innate sense of rhythm is shocked at times by such intense beats. The shocked mind is lost, unable to concentrate on the stanzas of many songs.
On the banks of Luit is the big city!
Dressed in an attire made of golden thread
Went on to touch the white clouds.
The cloud has made fun of the sun
What golden thread have you worn,
The white clouds emanates colour
What kind of pat-silk has it adorned
Sports a head-gear studded with diamond stones
On the banks of banks of Luit is the big city!
The artisan, the artisan
had built the house of stone,
Sitting there, counting stars,…..
(Pragjyotika/ Jyotiprasad Agarwala)
