Don’t plait your hair, Yagnasheni
Let the dragon cloud of your hair
Spread across the sky,
Hide the sun, moon and the stars
Yagnasheni, don’t plait your hair.
O you, the one born of fire
Hold in your eyes pregnant with fire
The arrow head of the disaster-flame,
Let them shed sparks, not tears.
Later when you bind
Your disordered hair
Interweave it into a dragon’s tail
Not now Yagnasheni,
Don’t plait your hair.
To smear with blood
Your rough and disordered hair
Wasn’t it your swearing?
The Panchajanya is not blowing
The Devadatta is not ringing
May be the right moment
Is yet to come
For the destruction of the Kauravas.
The wretched wife
Let down by the Five Pandavas, who
Hide their cowardice and shame
Under the shadow of your hair.
Dharmaputra is ruled by scruples
Partha disguises as Brihannala
Brave Brikodar
Is engrossed in what he feeds on.
And the sons of Madri?
Just don’t remember them
They are yet so tender
The thought of blood might scare them away.
Yagnasheni, you need no help
Let a storm burst
In the dark cloud of your hair,
Let thunder roar
Lightning strike and burn
The gold palace of Hastinapur.
Your thirst for blood
Is crawling across our breasts
Let Duhshasan’s blood.
Freely flow and congeal into the dust.
We have endured
Enough of pain and humiliation
Many a principle
Has ended up in tyranny
And now it is time
Our rivers took a reverse course
Yagnasheni
Merry-making is wafting from the Kaurava quarters
In the palace of a blind king
The game of hope
Is the game of death.

We have endured long enough
Being pawns of the cowardly husbands
Now is the time to repay
The bloody ritual
Of smearing dishevelled hair with blood.
We shall smear together
Our dragon pigtails with blood
Don’t plait your hair now
Yagnasheni.