With the Baraat we went amid the pipes,
by Muhammad Shanazar
Peeling forth the sounds casting magic,
And rhythmic beats of the drum beaters,
Did lead us to the fairy world of negation;
Where from a man can behold the truth,
Luminous clear from distance very close.
Hobby horse would no doubt amuse us all,
That led the procession alluringly colourful,
And dancing, jumping kicked each passerby.
In streets of the village on both the sides,
The damsels clad in the new gaudy dresses,
Stood smilingly with overspreading shyness;
Holding the glasses of sugared milk warm,
They giggled, they chattered and chuckled,
The words dropped from their delicate lips,
As the dewdrops from the moisty petals fall.
Then we were received, feasted like guests,
All young and old then sat in the circle large,
To join the couple in sweet companionship,
On the hazardous, serpentine route of life.
Then Palki covered with deep red satin or silk,
Was brought and the bride with heart piercing
Shriek she did enter into the frame wooden,
As the young men lifted upon the shoulders,
The attached long shafts of the bamboo brown,
Some one would throw up a handful of coins,
Silvery, shining, and they came rattling down,
All looked opened mouths, extending hands,
Alert ready to catch them as they came down,
And some in vain groped, some fell prostrate,
All stiff backs bent and all erect heads bowed,
Like the grazing sheep in the pastures green,
I astounded, coins might have magnetic force.