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| Satbir Chadha |
They came riding the waves as traders
Gradually, the riches of our land they plundered
Till they sucked and took away
The blood of the land
Able bodied innocent youth pride of our farms
Men and women, for their agrarian skills
Lured with permanent employment
A monthly salary of five rupees each
Growing sugarcane in the distant island of Maurice
Herded like beasts they were packed on the ships
Facing filth, hardship and disease
The men flogged, the women raped
Poor things could never a sense of this make
Passed their days lost and dazed
Taken to their camps they were totally stripped
Stripped of their belongings, and the harshest of all
Stripped of their identity
Their records were destroyed, their names, their origins
Stripped of their names, assigned a number each
Like human herds, each one was reduced to a numbered being
Over years they all forgot their names
As ailing and toiling, they spent their measly days
Fettered and attuned to the masters of their fate
A generation passed, then the next, they missed being called by name
Trying to recall what their parents must have named them
They simply decided to adopt their simple first names
And make them their family names, so the progeny won’t be unnamed
So some became Ramchurn, some Ramgoolam, others Ramaswamy
Or just Gopaul or Beeharry
Three generations were lost to civilization
The fourth stood up with new names
Got an education and fought a revolution
Threw aside the mantle of slavery and exploitation
And created a benign hospitable new country
Also rekindled and with pride, established their religion and traditions
Finally erasing the imprint of the great displacement
You may take a man away from his roots, but roots never leave him
After a cycle of centuries they stand erect
And take pride in their Indian roots
Celebrate their traditions, religion and culture
With the next generation that comes
Inculcate in their offspring the pride of a new nation
Built on the ancient Indian civilization
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