The Farmers

They are anchors of the civilization. The first ones to settle down from the wild. They are the son of the soil. The poet Jasimuddin had written a wonderful song about them. One of my favourites.

"O Bajan Chal Jai Chal mathe Langol baite"

O father come let us go
To the field to plough
Place the ploughs on oxen shoulders and
Push, push, push.

We who bring out food
From the depth of the earth
We who provide food for the whole world
Why can't we eat can any one tell us?

My wife has hanged herself
She could no longer bear hunger,
Now I plough deep into soil
In the hope of seeing her again.

We plough the fields
Our bosom is always flayed
But from the fields we get harvest
None from the sacrred bosom.

We shall plough no more for rice But to see how far it is to graves.

Translated by: Hasna Jasimuddin Moudud
(Word and music by Jasim Uddin, Sung by Abbasuddin, record available at Calcutta (Kolkata))


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