Nitoo Das (India)

​Matsyagandha
 
My body is a story
of smells.
 
I was a girl then
and did not know what it was
to smell otherwise.
 
Born of Adrika, the fish-woman,
loved by a fisherman father,
I only knew fish. Silver, black,
orange arrowing,
panting fish. I loved them
and smelt
like them.
 
Matsyagandha. I was
Matsyagandha.
 
And Parashar smelt me
and lusted after me and called me
names.
 
But Parashar, I work and you don’t.
 
You roam and think
and have the consolation of leisure.
I row and sweat and fish with my father.
I work. You don’t.
 
I am your fate, your secret.
You hate me and covet me
and have to grant me
boons of perfume.
 
Now I smell like jasmines for miles around me.
Men sniff and rise
sniff and die
around me.
 
This fake skin smell never washes away now.
I pace alone in palaces now
and remember my fish smell, my name.
 
All women smell like me.
I am Satyavati and I know
the truth now.