On Sheetala ashtami (Basoda)

In the cooler days

of March, 

when the sun is but

a timid boy 

who loves to play

peekaboo with the

undulating dunes, 

and the village women, 

in the brightest chunaris

with the  mirror work 

reflecting the soft beams

of the benign sun, 

moved around the barren land 

collecting paltry produce 

from the Thar xerophytes

and the camels sit lazily 

filling their humps 

readying themselves 

for further adventures 

across the barren landscape, 

people begin to arrive 

in hordes

in rickety jeeps, 

on camel carts, 

on tractor trolleys

in ramshackled buses

to this sleepy hamlet

for the annual fair 

to honour Shitala Ma. 

When women young and old

having prepared the prasad

the previous day, 

offer curd, ghaat raabdi, 

Bajra khichdi, Kair sangri,

missi roti and gulgule

to the goddess 

as they sing folk ditties

seeking the boon of 

good health and freedom

from the poxes, measles

skin diseases and 

pestilences for their 

offsprings and loved ones, 

while their ecstatic children

fed on the cold feast

enjoy the rapturous rides

in ferris wheels, toy trains

and the country carousel.