The Gardener by Rabindranath Tagore

[Dark Saint Alaick]

10.




Let your work be, bride. Listen, the guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking the chain which fastens the
door?
See that your anklets make no loud noise, and that your step is
not over-hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest has come in the evening.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of April; shadows are pale in the
courtyard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if you must, carry the lamp to the
door if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.

Have no word with him if you are shy; stand aside by the door
when you meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if you wish to, you can lower your
eyes in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle when, lamp in hand, you lead him
in.
Have no word with him if you are shy.

Have you not finished your work yet, bride? Listen, the guest
has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering basket for the evening
service?
Have you not put the red lucky mark at the parting of your hair,
and done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has come?
Let your work be!

[Dark Saint Alaick]

11.


Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened, if the parting of your hair be
not straight, if the ribbons of your bodice be not fastened, do
not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.

Come, with quick steps over the grass.
If the raddle come from your feet because of the dew, if the
rings of bells upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop out of
your chain, do not mind.
Come with quick steps over the grass.

Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the further river-bank and fitful
gusts of wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?

In vain you light your toilet lamp--it flickers and goes out in
the wind.
Who can know that your eyelids have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp--it goes out.

Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who cares; if the wrist-chain has not
been linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds--it is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

12.


If you would be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my
lake.
The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret.
The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds
hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair
above your eyebrows.
I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my
heart.
Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher.

If you would be idle and sit listless and let your pitcher float
on the water, come, O come to my lake.
The grassy slope is green, and the wild flowers beyond number.
Your thoughts will stray out of your dark eyes like birds from
their nests.
Your veil will drop to your feet.
Come, O come to my lake if you must sit idle.

If you would leave off your play and dive in the water, come, O
come to my lake.
Let your blue mantle lie on the shore; the blue water will cover
you and hide you.
The waves will stand a-tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in
your ears.
Come, O come to my lake, if you would dive in the water.

If you must be mad and leap to your death, come, O come to my
lake.
It is cool and fathomlessly deep.
It is dark like a sleep that is dreamless.
There in its depths nights and days are one, and songs are
silence.
Come, O come to my lake, if you would plunge to your death.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

13.


I asked nothing, only stood at the edge of the wood behind the
tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes of the dawn, and the dew in the
air.
The lazy smell of the damp grass hung in the thin mist above the
earth.
Under the banyan tree you were milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
And I was standing still.

I did not say a word. It was the bird that sang unseen from the
thicket.
The mango tree was shedding its flowers upon the village road,
and the bees came humming one by one.
On the side of the pond the gate of _Shiva's_ temple was
opened and the worshipper had begun his chants.
With the vessel on your lap you were milking the cow.
I stood with my empty can.

I did not come near you.
The sky woke with the sound of the gong at the temple.
The dust was raised in the road from the hoofs of the driven
cattle.
With the gurgling pitchers at their hips, women came from the
river.
Your bracelets were jingling, and foam brimming over the jar.
The morning wore on and I did not come near you.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

14.


I was walking by the road, I do not know why, when the noonday
was past and bamboo branches rustled in the wind.
The prone shadows with their out-stretched arms clung to the feet
of the hurrying light.
The _koels_ were weary of their songs.
I was walking by the road, I do not know why.

The hut by the side of the water is shaded by an overhanging
tree.
Some one was busy with her work, and her bangles made music in
the corner.
I stood before this hut, I know not why.

The narrow winding road crosses many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the village and the market at the
river landing place.
I stopped by this hut, I do not know why.

Years ago it was a day of breezy March when the murmur of the
spring was languorous, and mango blossoms were dropping on the
dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked the brass vessel that stood
on the landing step.
I think of that day of breezy March, I do not know why.

Shadows are deepening and cattle returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely meadows, and the villagers are
waiting for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps, I do not know why.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

15.


I run as a musk-deer runs in the shadow of the forest mad with
his own perfume.
The night is the night of mid-May, the breeze is the breeze of
the south.
I lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what
I do not seek.

From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire.
The gleaming vision flits on.
I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray.
I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

16.


Hands cling to hands and eyes linger on eyes: thus begins the
record of our hearts.
It is the moonlit night of March; the sweet smell of _henna_
is in the air; my flute lies on the earth neglected and your
garland of flowers in unfinished.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

Your veil of the saffron colour makes my eyes drunk.
The jasmine wreath that you wove me thrills to my heart like
praise.
It is a game of giving and withholding, revealing and screening
again; some smiles and some little shyness, and some sweet
useless struggles.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

No mystery beyond the present; no striving for the impossible; no
shadow behind the charm; no groping in the depth of the dark.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; we do not
raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope.
It is enough what we give and we get.
We have not crushed the joy to the utmost to wring from it the
wine of pain.
This love between you and me is simple as a song.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

17.


The yellow bird sings in their tree and makes my heart dance with
gladness.
We both live in the same village, and that is our one piece of
joy.
Her pair of pet lambs come to graze in the shade of our garden
trees.
If they stray into our barley field, I take them up in my arms.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.

Only one field lies between us.
Bees that have hived in our grove go to seek honey in theirs.
Flowers launched from their landing-stairs come floating by the
stream where we bathe.
Baskets of dried _kusm_ flowers come from their fields to
our market.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.

The lane that winds to their house is fragrant in the spring with
mango flowers.
When their linseed is ripe for harvest the hemp is in bloom in
our field.
The stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling
look.
The rain that floods their tank makes glad our _kadam_
forest.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our
river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

18.


When the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot
and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands
behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach
this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who
stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot,
and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes
confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

19.


You walked by the riverside path with the full pitcher upon your
hip.
Why did you swiftly turn your face and peep at me through your
fluttering veil?
That gleaming look from the dark came upon me like a breeze that
sends a shiver through the rippling water and sweeps away to
the shadowy shore.
It came to me like the bird of the evening that hurriedly flies
across the lampless room from the one open window to the other,
and disappears in the night.
You are hidden as a star behind the hills, and I am a passer-by
upon the road.
But why did you stop for a moment and glance at my face through
your veil while you walked by the riverside path with the full
pitcher upon your hip?