The Crescent Moon | Page 7

desert of
Tepântar.
When we come back it will be getting dark, and I shall tell you of all
that we have seen.
I shall cross the seven seas and the thirteen rivers of fairyland.

THE FURTHER BANK
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river,
Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with ploughs on
their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the jackals to
howl in the island overgrown with weeds,

Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the
ferry when I am grown up.
They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank,
Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and thick
reeds grow round the margins where waterbirds lay their eggs;
Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny footprints upon
the clean soft mud;
Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with white flowers invite
the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the
ferryboat when I am grown up.
I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the boys and
girls of the village will wonder at me while they are bathing.
When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon, I shall
come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry!"
When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees, I shall
come back in the dusk.
I shall never go away from you into the town to work like father.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the
ferryboat when I am grown up.

THE FLOWER-SCHOOL
When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down,
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.

Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come out to
play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a corner.
When the rains come they have their holidays.
Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle in the wild
wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children
rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars are.
Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there? Don't you know why
they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their
mother as I have my own.

[Illustration: From a drawing by Asit Kumar Haldar--see
cmerchant.jpg]
THE MERCHANT
Imagine, mother, that you are to stay at home and I am to travel into
strange lands.
Imagine that my boat is ready at the landing fully laden.
Now think well, mother, before you say what I shall bring for you
when I come back.
Mother, do you want heaps and heaps of gold?
There, by the banks of golden streams, fields are full of golden harvest.

And in the shade of the forest path the golden champa flowers
drop on the ground.
I will gather them all for you in many hundred baskets. Mother, do you
want pearls big as the raindrops of autumn?
I shall cross to the pearl island shore. There in the early morning light
pearls tremble on the meadow flowers, pearls drop on the grass, and
pearls are scattered on the sand in spray by the wild sea-waves.
My brother shall have a pair of horses with wings to fly among the
clouds.
For father I shall bring a magic pen that, without his knowing, will
write of itself.
For you, mother, I must have the casket and jewel that cost seven kings
their kingdoms.

SYMPATHY
If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say
"No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty little
puppy?"
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me, and
never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear,
would you keep me chained lest I should