I, the Woman

On Friday, I picked up a couple of journals from the library at the Lutheran Church in Malaysia headquarters. I was delighted to find some called In God's Image: Journal of Asian Women's Resource Centre for Culture and Theology. I immediately took the latest three journals they had (2000, 2001, and 2002). Disappointed they had apparently stopped ordering the journals or they stopped printing them, I flipped through them, savoring the black and white picture of women in "tribal clothing" and headlines such as "Laws Regarding Women's Sexuality in India." I had found my reading for the month.

In the December 2000 journal, I found this poem by J Jonmoni D Shira. She is a Garo woman of what is now Meghalaya, India and wrote this poem in 1940. They call themselves A-chik Mande, literally "hill people" and are one of the few remaining matrilineal societies in the world. The poem was translated from Garo by Caroline R Mark. Nothing else is said about the author in the journal.

A Garo tribal couple in traditional dress.

I did a quick Google search to see if this poem is well known or published online and found nothing. I think J Jonmoni D Shira's voice deserves to be heard.


I have been born a woman
To bear all kinds of difficulties,
Though I lament my misfortune
I cannot alter it.

Poor Eve committed sin
Before the world;
Bringing heavier burdens and worries
Upon the woman.

From birth, her strength is less
Her face is lovelier,
But I am taught
To be under male domination.

From tender age
I have to live under the control of man,
At the slap of my younger brother
I weep loudly.

I cannot act as I please,
There's not a day of happiness for me
I cannot dream of
Even proposing to travel.

I know and understand
The truth,
The bad and the good, the consequences
And the subject matter.

Yes I cannot
So much as open my mouth
Due to the words,
'Silence, you stupid woman!'

To sit in the dumping place of chaff,
To eat the leftovers, is my lot;
I get ridicule from my fellow human beings
Because of my lowliness.

Though I fall in love
With an eligible young man,
I have been forcibly made to give my consent
To one whom I dislike.

When I fall in love with a young man
I get into trouble,
For a trifling error
They jilt me.

O Young Man, beware,
Deeds do not simply vanish,
Some time, you too,
May fall into a night of sorrow.

Now I am a married woman,
My difficulties have multiplied;
It is now my duty
To suffer agony in bearing children.

For a slight mistake
I am slapped;
The crying child
Keeps me awake at night.

My husband knows not
My hardship and pain,
I succumb
To more diseases.

In the small hours of the morning
I get up and cook,
I spend the whole day
In the field.

I return home carrying a heavy load
And then I work at home,
Though it is very late at night I cannot rest,
For I have to husk rice.

Out of exhaustion my body becomes thin,
I am no more attractive,
It occurs to my husband
To look for someone else.

Nevertheless, my mind
Has pure thoughts,
Though my husband does me wrong
I bear it patiently.

Souls do not keep silent,
You shall not remain superior,
As a reward for your deeds
You will not escape from hell.

You, man, therefore,
Beware,
You must surely look into
The grievances of women.

If my word is wrong,
Refute it,
If you yourself are at fault
Repent now.