Fall 2004 • Vol. XXVI No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 2004 |

The Sutradhar: Narrator of Fragments from Family Sagas

On a day like this I do not know Why I suddenly think back on my sister-in-law's wedding. Perhaps it is because I am turning the pages of Kunapipi, Reading about the two worlds she now inhabits, Maori land and the territory acquired by the white settlers. For my sister-in-law it is her new home, Belonging to a family that has now taken migratory Routes, their rose gardens burgeoning in fertile soil Albeit alien, their invasion unmartial, peaceful, Exile is no longer a bitter word on their lips.   I sometimes wonder what Radha looks like now Hearsay is the only evidence I have.   Someone says her husband has grown a long White beard, is an ascetic, looks more like a swami Than the learned doctor he once was.   One of the daughters is married to "a white," No longer tradition bound as her mother was. The husband is a Buddhist, given to meditation.   They lived apart for some time, Have come together again, Facts are vague, transmitte

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