If people knew where my king's palace was, it would have vanished into thin air.
The walls are white silver and the roof is dazzling gold.
The queen lived in a palace court with seven courtyards; and she wore a string of jewels worth the whole wealth of seven whole kingdoms.
But let me whisper to you, mother, exactly where my king's palace is.
It is in the corner of our balcony, where the pot with the dulcimer flowers rests.
The Princess lay sleeping on the far shore across seven impassable oceans.
No one in the world can find her but myself.
She had bracelets on her arms, pearls in her ears; her hair trailed to the floor.
When I touch her with the point of my wand, she will awaken, and when she smiles, the pearls will fall from her lips
.
But let me whisper it in my ear, mom; she lives in the corner of our balcony, where the pot
with the dulcimer flowers rests.
When you want to bathe in the river, you come up to that balcony on the roof.
I sat in a corner where the shadows of the wall met.
I only let the kitten stay with me, because it knew where the barber in that story lived.
But let me whisper in your ear where the barber in that story really lives.
Where he lived, it was in the corner of the balcony, where the pot with the Dulcimer flower was placed.
The place of exile
Mother, the light in the sky has turned gray; I don't know what time it is.
I was strangely out of fun, so I came to you. It is Saturday, our day of rest.
Put down your chores, mother; sit on the side by the window, and tell me where the fairy-tale desert of Tepanta is.
The shadow of rain hides the whole day.
The fierce electric light claws the sky with its claws.
When the clouds are roaring and the sky is thundering, I always love to crawl down to you with fear in my heart.
When the rain poured down on the bamboo leaves for hours, and our windows rattled for the gale, I
loved to sit alone in the house with you, mother, and listen to your fairy tale of the desert of Tepanta.
Where is it, mother, on the shores of which ocean, at the foot of which mountains, in the kingdom of which king
earth?
There are no boundary stones in the fields that mark this border and the other, nor are there roads where the village people walk home at dusk, or where the women gather
dead branches in the woods and bundle them up for market. There was only a small patch of yellow grass on the sand, and only one tree, just
the pair of wise old birds that made their nests there, and that place was the desert of Tepanta.
I can imagine how, on just such a cloudy day, the king's young son, alone
on a gray horse, traveled across this desert in search of the lord
who was imprisoned in the palace of the giants beyond the unknowable heavy seas.
As the rain and mist descended in the distant sky, and the lightning flashed like a spasm of sudden onset of pain, could he
remember his unhappy mother, forsaken by the king, sweeping the cowsheds, with tears streaming from her eyes, as he rode through the desert of the Tepanta of the fairy
tale?
Look, Mother, the day is not yet over, it is almost dark, and there are no more travelers on the road to yonder village.
The shepherd boys had long since gone home from the pastures, and the people had all come back from the fields, and were sitting on their straw mats under the eaves of their straw huts,
with their eyes on the gloomy masses of cloud.
Mom, I've put all my books on the shelf - don't tell me to do my homework now.
When I'm big, as big as Papa, I'll learn what I must learn.
But today you must tell me, Mother, where is the desert of Tepanta in the fairy tale?
Rainy Day
Dark clouds gathered quickly over the dark edges of the forest.
Don't go out there, kid!
A line of palm trees by the lake banged their heads against the dark sky; crows with scattered feathers perched silently on the branches of the tamarind
, and the east bank of the river was being invaded by the darkness of the night.
Our cows were tied to the hedges and bellowing loudly.
Wait here, my son, until I get the oxen into the barn first.
Many were crowding in the fields where the pools were overflowing, catching the fish that escaped from the overflowing pools, and the rain became a little river,
and flowed through the narrow street, as if a playful child had run away from his mother, and meant to annoy her.
Hark, someone is calling for a boatman in the shallows.
My son, it is dark all night, and the ferryboat at the head has stopped.
The sky seemed to be running fast on the pouring rain; the water in the river was noisy and violent; and the women had already hurried home from the banks of the Ganges with their tankards full of
water.
The lamps for the night must be ready.
My child, don't go out!
The avenue to the market was deserted and the path to the river was slippery. The wind howled and struggled in the bamboo forest,
as if it were a beast caught in a net.
Paper Boats
I put the paper boats in the fast-flowing stream one by one every day.
I wrote my name and the name of my village in big black letters on the paper boats.
I hoped that people who lived in other places would get the paper boats and know who I was.
I carried the hidili flowers growing in my garden on my boat, hoping that these dawn blooming flowers would be brought to the shore peacefully
in the night.
I cast my paper boat into the water, and looking up into the sky, I saw little clouds with full windy white sails.
I wondered what companion of mine in the sky had put these boats down to race with mine!
My face was buried in my
arms, and I dreamed that my paper boat was slowly floating away in the starlight of the midnight.
The Sleeping Fairy sat in the boat with a basket full of dreams.
Sailor
Boatman Mantehu's boat was moored at the Lachiganchi dock.
The boat, uselessly loaded with jute, had been moored there for ages with nothing to do.
I will fit it with a hundred oars and hoist five or six or seven cloth sails if he will lend me his boat.
I will never steer it into the market of folly.
I will sail all the seven seas and thirteen rivers of the fairy world.
But, mom, don't hide in a corner and cry for me.
I will not go to the forest like Rama Gandharva1 and go away for fourteen years before returning.
I will be the prince of the story, filling my ship with things I love.
I will take my friend Tiny with me as my companion, and we will sail the seven seas and
thirteen rivers in the world of the fairies with great joy.
I will set sail in the very early morning light.
At noon, while you are bathing in the pond, we will be in the land of a strange king.
We will pass the Tepuni Shoals and leave the Tepanta Desert behind us.
When we return, it will be nearly dark, and I will tell you what we have seen.
I will cross the seven seas and thirteen rivers in the world of the immortals.
① Rama Gandharva is Rama. He is the protagonist of the Indian narrative poem Ramayana. In order to honor his father's promise
and to maintain brotherly love, he abandoned his right to inherit the throne and was banished with his wife Siddhartha in the forest for fourteen years.
The Other Side
I long to go to the other side of the river.
Over there, boats are tied to bamboo poles;
the people cross in the morning, with ploughs on their shoulders, to plough their distant fields;
over there, the shepherds make their bellowing oxen swim to pastures beside the river;
at dusk they all go home, leaving the jackal to wail on the weed-strewn isle.
And at dusk they all went home, leaving the jackal to wail on this island of weeds.
Mom, if you don't mind, I'm going to be a boatman on this ferry when I grow up.
It is said that there are some strange ponds hidden behind this high bank.
When the rain passes, flocks and flocks of wild rushes fly there, and luxuriant reeds grow on all sides of the bank, where the waterfowl
lay their eggs;
the bamboo chickens with dancing tails, imprinting their tiny footprints on the clean, soft mud;
and at dusk, the long grass is topped with white blossoms, inviting the moonbeams to float on the waves of the long grass.
Mom, if you don't care, when I grow up, I'm going to be the boatman on this ferry.
I will cross from this shore to the other, and cross over, and all the boys and girls in the village, who are bathing there, will look at me in amazement
.
And when the sun has risen to the middle of the sky, and the morning has become noon, I will run to you and say, "Mother, I am hungry!"
When the day is done, and the shadows bend down under the trees, I will come home in the twilight.
I shall never leave you to work in the city, as my father did.
Mom, if you don't mind, I'm going to be the boatman on this ferry when I grow up.
The School of Flowers
When the thunderclouds boomed in the sky, and the June showers fell,
the wet east wind walked across the wilderness, and played its mouth flute in the bamboo forest.
Then groups of flowers burst out from places no one knew existed, and danced wildly on the green grass.
Mom, I really think that group of flowers was attending a school underground.
They did their homework with the doors closed, and their teacher was to punish them for standing in the wall
corner if they tried to come out and play before school broke up.
When the rain came, they went on vacation.
The branches touched each other in the forest, the green leaves rustled in the gusty wind, the thunderclouds clapped their big hands, and the flower children rushed out at
that very moment dressed in purple, yellow, and white.
Did you know, Mother, that their home is in the sky, where the stars live?
Did you not see how they rushed there? Do you not know why they are in such a hurry?
I can naturally guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their mothers, just as I have my own
mother.
Merchant
Let's imagine, Mom, that you stayed home and I traveled to a foreign land.
And then imagine that my ship is loaded and waiting at the dock to set sail.
Now, mom, think long and hard and tell me what I'm going to bring you when I return.
Mom, do you want piles and piles of gold?
On both sides of the golden river, the fields are full of golden rice fruits.
On the forested roads, too, golden flowers fall to the ground one by one.
I will gather them all up for you and put them in hundreds of baskets.
Mother, do you want pearls the size of raindrops in autumn?
I will cross the sea to the shore of Pearl Island.
That place where, in the early morning dawn, the pearls quiver on the wildflowers of the meadow, where the pearls fall on the green grass, where the pearls are scattered by the
raging waves in great handfuls on the sand.
And my brother, I'm going to give him a pair of winged horses that will fly in the clouds.
And my father, I'm going to bring him a pen with magic powers, before he feels it, the pen writes.
And you, mom, I'm going to give you that jewelry box and jewels worth seven kingdoms.
Sympathy
If I were just a puppy, and not your child, dear mother, would you say no to me when I tried to eat from your plate?
Are you going to shoo me away and say, "Go away, you naughty little dog"?
Then go, mom, go! When you call me, I shall never come to you, and I shall never want you
to feed me again.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your child, dear mamma, would you lock me up
tightly, lest I should fly away?
And you will shake your hand at me and say, "What an ungrateful, ungrateful bird!
Will you shake your hand at me and say, "What an ungrateful bird that bites its chain all night long"?
Then go, mother, go! I will run to the woods; I will never let you carry me in your arms again.
Vocation
In the morning, when the clock struck ten, I went down our lane to school.
Every day I met the peddler who called out, "O bangles, shiny bangles!"
There was nothing he was in a hurry to do, there was no street he had to walk down, there was no place he had to go, there was no time he
had to be home.
I wish I were a peddler, living my life on the street, calling, "O bracelets, shiny bracelets!"
At four o'clock in the afternoon, I came home from school.
From the door of one house, I could see a gardener digging there.
He was digging with his hoe as much as he wanted, and no one scolded him if he soiled his clothes with dust, if he got tanned by the sun or
if he got wet.
I would I were a gardener, digging in the garden. No one would come to stop me.
It was just dark when my mother sent me to bed.
From the open window I could see the nightman walking around.
The alley was dark and cold, and the street lamp stood there like a giant with a red eye on its head.
The nightman swung his lamp and walked with the shadows around him, having never once in his life gone to bed.
I would I were a night watchman, walking the streets all night long, with his lamp to chase the shadows.
The Elder
Mom, your child is so silly! She is so ridiculously ignorant of things!
She doesn't know the difference between a street lamp and a star.
When we played with stones as food, she thought they were really food and tried to put them in her mouth
.
When I opened a book, put it in front of her, and read a, b, and c while she read a, b, and c, she tore the pages out with her hands and screamed with gratuitous glee
That's how your child does her homework.
When I shook my head at her angrily, scolded her and called her naughty, she laughed and thought it was funny.
Everyone knows that Daddy isn't home, but if I call out "Daddy" at playtime, she looks around happily and thinks he's really close.
When I made a pupil of the donkey which the washerman brought to carry the clothes back, and warned her that I was the teacher, she called me brother for no
reason whatsoever.
Your child wants to catch the moon.
She is so ridiculous; she calls Gnish1 as Chinush.
Mom, your child is so silly; she is so ridiculously unintelligent!
① Ganesh is the elephant-headed son of Shiva, the god of destruction. It is also the first word most
preferred by modern Indians for names.
Little Adult
I am little because I was a little child, and when I am as old as my father, I will be big.
And if my gentleman came and said, "It is late; bring your slate, your book."
Then I will tell him, "Do you not know that I am as old as my father?
I will never learn any more lessons."
And my teacher would say in amazement, "It is up to him whether he reads or not, for he is an adult."
I dressed myself and went out into the crowded market.
If my uncle came running, he said, "You are lost, my son, let me lead you."
I would have answered, "Don't you see, uncle, that I am as old as father? I am determined to go alone
to the market."
Then the uncle would say, "Yes, he can go wherever he wants, because he is a grown-up."
As I was taking the money to my nanny, mom was about to come out of the bathroom because I do know how to
open the silver box with my key.
If mom said, "What are you doing, naughty boy?"
I would have to tell her, "Mom, don't you know I'm as old as Dad? I have to get money for the babysitter."
Mom would say to herself, "He can give money to whomever he likes because he's a grown-up."
When the October vacation came, and Papa was coming home, he would think that I was still a little child, and bring me
little shoes and a little silk shirt from the city.
And I would say, "Papa, give these things to my brother, for I am as old as you are."
Then my father thought for a moment, and said, "He may go and buy his own clothes as he pleases, for he is a grown man."
Twelve o'clock
Mom, I really want to stop doing my homework now. I've been reading all morning.
It's still only twelve o'clock, you say. It's not later than twelve o'clock, I suppose;
Can't you imagine that it's twelve o'clock in the afternoon?
I can easily imagine that the sun is now on the edge of the rice-field, and that the old fisherwoman
is gathering herbs for her supper by the pool.
When I closed my eyes, I could think that the shadows under the matar tree were darker, and the water in the pond looked black and shiny.
If twelve o'clock can come at night, why can't night come at twelve o'clock?
Writers
You say that Papa has written many books, but I do not understand what he has written.
He reads to you all through the twilight, but do you really know what he means?
Mom, the stories you tell us are so good!
He reads to you all through the night, but do you really know what he means?
Did he never hear stories of giants and fairies and princesses from his own mother?
Or had he forgotten all about it?
He often delayed his bath, and you had to go and call him a hundred times.
You always had to wait and keep his dish warm for him, but he forgot, and wrote on in spite of himself.
Papa always made a game of writing books.
As soon as I went into Papa's room to play, you had to come and call out, "What a naughty boy!"
If I made the slightest noise, you would say, "Can't you see your father is working?"
What's the fun of writing and writing all the time?
When I pick up Papa's pen or pencil and write in his book exactly as he did, a, b, c, d, e, f,
g, h, i, - then, why are you angry with me, Mama?
When Dad wrote it, you never said a word.
When my dad was consuming that huge pile of paper, mom, you didn't seem to care.
But if I took just one sheet of paper to make a boat, you said, "Son, you're a pain in the ass!"
What do you think in your heart of Papa's taking black dots and smearing them all over both sides of the paper, defacing many, many sheets of it?
The wicked postman
Why do you sit there on the floor without speaking, tell me, dear mother?
The rain came in through the open window, and got you all wet, and you did not care.
Do you hear the clock striking four? It's time for your brother to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so wrong?
Did you not receive a letter from your father today?
I saw the letter carrier bring so many letters in his bag that almost everyone in the town got them.
Only Papa's letter he kept for himself. I was sure this letter carrier was a bad man.
But don't be unhappy about it, dear mamma.
Tomorrow is the day of the market in the neighboring village. Tell the maid to buy some pens and paper.
I will write all my father's letters myself; so that you will not find any fault with them.
I will write from A to K. I will write all the letters myself.
But, mamma, why do you laugh?
You don't believe I can write as well as Papa!
But I will draw a grid with all my heart and write all the letters big and beautiful.
And when I have written it, do you think I will be as foolish as papa, and put it into the dreaded letter carrier's bag?
I sent it to you myself at once, and helped you to read it, letter by letter, letter by letter.
I know that the letter carrier would not send you a really good letter.
England
Mother, let us imagine that we are traveling through a strange and dangerous country.
You are sitting in a palanquin, and I am riding a red horse, running beside you.
It was dusk, and the sun had gone down. The wastelands of Joradihi unfolded before us tired and gray,
and the earth was bleak and barren.
You were afraid, and thought - "I don't know where we have gotten to."
I said to you, "Mom, don't be afraid."
The meadow was prickly and fluffy with needle-sharp grass, and a narrow, rugged path passed through it.
Not a cow was to be seen on this vast expanse of ground; they had gone back to their barns in the village.
It was dark, the earth and the sky looked hazy, and we could not tell what we were walking
towards.
Suddenly you called to me and asked me quietly, "What is that fire near the river bank?"
It was at that moment that a terrible cry broke out, and several shadows ran toward us.
You sat crouching in your palanquin and prayed the name of God over and over again with your mouth.
The litter bearers, trembling with fear, hid among the thorn bushes.
I cried out to you, "Don't be afraid, mom, I am here."
They came nearer and nearer, with long sticks in their hands and their hair spread out.
I cried out, "Be careful! You villains! One more step forward and you will be killed."
They let out another terrible cry and came forward.
You seized my hand, and said, "Good boy, for heaven's sake, avoid them."
I said, "Mother, look at me."
So I spurred my horse and galloped on, and my sword and shield clanged against each other.
The battle was so fierce, mother, that if you could have seen it from the litter, you would have had chills.
Many of them fled, and many others were cut down.
I know you were sitting there alone, thinking that your child must be dead by now.
But I ran to you, splattered with blood, and said, "Mother, the war is over now."
And you came out of the litter, and kissed me, and clasped me to your heart, and you said to yourself,
"I simply don't know what I would do if I didn't have my children to escort me."
A thousand boring things happen every day, so why can't such a thing be realized by chance?
It's a lot like a story in a book.
My brother is going to say, "Is this possible? I keep thinking, he's so tender and weak!"
The people of our village are going to say in amazement, "Isn't it lucky that the boy is with his mother?"
Farewell
It is time for me to go, mother, I am going.
When the clear, silent dawn comes, and you stretch out your arms in the dark to hold your sleeping child, I will say, "The child
is not there!" --Mom, I'm leaving.
I will become a breeze that caresses you; I will become a ripple of water that kisses you and kisses you when you bathe.
On windy nights, when the rain pattered through the leaves and you were in bed, you would hear my faintest whisper, and when the electric light flashed into your house from the open
window, my laughter flashed in with it.
If you lie awake and think of your children late into the night, I will sing to you from the stars, "Sleep! Mom,
sleep."
I will sit on the moonlight that wanders from place to place, and sneak into your bed, and lie on your breast while you sleep.
I will become a dreamer and burrow into the depths of your sleep through the slightest crack in your eyelids. And when thou wakest and lookest about in astonishment,
I shall fly away into the darkness like a glittering firefly.
When the children of the neighboring houses come to the house on Puja, I shall melt in the sound of the flute and vibrate in your
heart all day long.
The dear aunty brought Pujari② and asked, "Where are our children, sister?" Mother, you will have to
tell her softly, "He, who is now in my pupil, he is now in my body, in my soul
."
① Puja (Puja), meaning "festival of the gods", here "Puja", refers to the "difficult to near the mother of the day of sacrifice" in India in October.
② Puja is the gift that friends and relatives give to each other on this festival.
Call
When she went away, the night was dark and they all slept.
Now the night was dark also, and I called to her, "Come back, my darling; the world is asleep, and no one will know that you have come for a little while when the stars
are gazing at each other."
When she went away, the trees were budding, and spring had just come.
Now the flowers were in full bloom, and I called, "Come back, my darling. The children were playing carelessly, gathering the flowers
together and scattering them again. If you come along and take a little flower, no one will notice."
Those who are often at play are still there at play, and life is always such a waste.
As I listened quietly to their empty talk, I called out, "Come back, my darling, mama's heart is full of love, and no one will be jealous if you come and
just take a little kiss from her."
The first jasmine
Lo, these jasmine flowers, these white jasmine flowers!
I seem to remember the first time I had my hands full of these jasmine flowers, these white jasmine flowers.
I loved the daylight, the sky, the green earth;
I heard the murmur of the river, coming through the dark midnight;
and the sunset of autumn greeted me at the corner of the main road on the moor, as a bride unveils her veil to meet her lover.
But I think of the white jasmine I first held in my hand as a child, and my heart is filled with sweet memories.
There have been many happy days in my life when I have laughed along with the jokers on the evening of a festive feast.
I have chanted many an ethereal poem on gray, rainy mornings.
I have worn a wreath of drunken flowers hand-woven by my beloved around my neck as evening wear.
But my heart is filled with sweet memories when I think of the white jasmine I first held in my hands as a child.
Banyan Tree
Hey, you puffy-headed banyan tree standing by the pool, will you ever forget the tiny child, like the bird-like child who built
a nest in your branches and left you again?
Don't you remember how he sat in the window and looked in amazement at the tangled roots of your tree that went deep into the ground?
The women used to go to the pool, and draw full jars of water, and your great black shadow shook on the surface, as if a sleeper were struggling
to wake up.
Daylight danced on the microwaves, as if the unceasing little shuttle were weaving a golden felt.
Two ducks were next to the reeds, swimming over their shadows, and the child sat quietly thinking.
He wanted to be the wind, blowing through your rustling branches; he wanted to be your shadow on the water, growing with the daylight; he wanted to
be a bird, perched on your highest branch; and he wanted to be the two ducks, swimming among the reeds and shadows.
Bless
Bless this little mind, this white soul, who has won for our earth, the kiss of heaven.
He loves the daylight, he loves to see his mother's face.
He did not learn to loathe dust and thirst for gold.
Hold him close in your heart and bless him.
He has come to a land of many ways.
I don't know how he chose you out of the crowd and came to your door and grabbed your hand and asked for directions.
He smiled, talked, and followed you without the slightest doubt in his mind.
Don't betray his trust, guide him to the right path and bless him.
Lay your hand on his head, and pray: though the waves below are treacherous, yet the winds from above will
hoist his sails and send him to the harbor of peace.
Do not forget him in your busyness; let him come to your heart and bless him.
Gifts
I want to give something to you, my child, for we are both adrift in the streams of the world.
Our lives will be separated and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope to buy your heart with my gift.
Your life was exactly green, and your path was long, and you drank in the love we brought you in one gulp, and turned back
and ran away from us.
You have your games and your traveling companions. If you have no time for us, if you do not think of us,
what harm is there in that?
We, naturally, in our old age, will have much leisure time to count the days that are past, and to caress in our hearts that which is permanently lost in our
hands.
The river sings and flows away quickly, breaking through all the embankments. But the mountains stayed there, remembering, full of attachment
attachment.
My song
This one song of mine, my child, will raise its music around thee as if it were the arms of love's ardor
.
This one song of mine will touch your forehead as if it were a blessed kiss.
It will sit beside you and whisper in your ear when you are just a man, and when you are in a crowd
it will encircle you and make you transcendental.
My song will be the winged wings of your dreams; it will move your heart to the unknowable shore.
It will be the faithful starlight that shines above you when night covers your path.
My song will again sit in the pupils of your eyes and bring your sight into the heart of all things.
When my voice is silenced by death, my song will still be sung in my living heart.
Child Angels
They clamor and fight, they doubt and disappoint, they debate without result.
My child, let your life go among them as a ray of calm and pure light, and delight and silence them.
Their greed and envy are cruel; their words are like hidden knives, thirsty for blood.
Go, my child, go and stand in their indignant hearts, and fall thy kindly eye upon them, as if the
magnanimous peace of evening had covered the harassments of day.
My child, let them look into Thy face, and so be able to know the meaning of all things; let them love Thee, and so
they can love one another.
Come, sit on the boundless breast, my child. When the sun rises, open and lift up your heart like a blooming flower; when the sun sets, bow your head and finish the day's service in silence.