With great pride they tell me
about your triumphs in love and work,
Charushila Dutt. You were
assistant school mistress and
a few days before your death,
before your people fled their land,
they say you were promoted. Not one of your
half-gilded love letters were preserved;
but the little brats of the house
got the scent of them, as they usually do.

I cannot distinguish if it was you
they respected more, Charushila, educator
and single woman, in love with a freedom fighter,
or him – Masterda of Chittagong they call
Surjo Sen. What are they trying to tell me?

What of the letters of life,
love, sex, art, and death did you
teach your students? Female, lover,
patriot; what were you fighting for?

Did you know it was Bright’s disease
that extinguished a ruby called Emily Dickinson?