Impatient tax collectors
Called out for Nangeli,
The Beautiful one,
She invited them into her hut
Neighboring women with covered breast
Who had paid their taxes
Flocked around her hut peeking in
Tax has been taxing on her soul
Since she paid it for the first time
When tax collectors stood inside
She laid a green plantain leaf on the floor
As if she’s readying for lunch
Lit a lamp and prayed for a while
Before the tax collectors could
Ponder over correlation
Between prayer and tax money
She took out the knife
Made it red-hot with flame
Sliced her breasts one by one
And offered her inverted cups
To the tax collectors on the plantain leaves
So that she won’t have to pay the breast tax
Imposed by King of Travancore
On women to cover their breasts
With cloth in public
The tax collectors puked and ran away
Afterwards she bled to death
Before the arrival of her husband
Who made his way into her funeral pyre
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