The banyan tree


O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little child, like the birds that have
nested in your branches and left you?

Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at the
tangle of your roots that plunged underground?

The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your
huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep
struggling to wake up.

Sunlight danced on the ripples like restless tiny shuttles
weaving golden tapestry.

Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows, and the
child would sit still and think.

He longed to be the wind and blow through your rustling branches,
to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water, to be a
bird and perch on your top-most twig, and to float like those
ducks among the weeds and shadows.

Benediction


Bless this little heart, this white soul that has won the kiss of
heaven for our earth.

He loves the light of the sun, he loves the sight of his mother's
face.

He has not learned to despise the dust, and to hanker after gold.

Clasp him to your heart and bless him.

He has come into this land of an hundred cross-roads.

I know not how he chose you from the crowd, came to your door,
and grasped your hand to ask his way.

He will follow you, laughing and talking, and not a doubt in his
heart.

Keep his trust, lead him straight and bless him.

Lay your hand on his head, and pray that though the waves
underneath grow threatening, yet the breath from above may come
and fill his sails and waft him to the haven of peace.

Forget him not in your hurry, let him come to your heart and
bless him.

The gift


I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in
the stream of the world.

Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.

But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
with my gifts.

Young is your life, your path long, and you drink the love we
bring you at one draught and turn and run away from us.

You have your play and your playmates.  What harm is there if you
have no time or thought for us.

We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age to count the days that
are past, to cherish in our hearts what our hands have lost for
ever.

The river runs swift with a song, breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers, and follows her with his
love.

My song


This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like
the fond arms of love.

This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of
blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in your
ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with
aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will
transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is
over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry your
sight into the heart of things.

And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in your
living heart.

The child - angel


They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair, they know no end
to their wranglings.

Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child,
unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.

They are cruel in their greed and their envy, their words are
like hidden knives thirsting for blood.

Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let your
gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the
evening over the strife of the day.

Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning of
all things; let them love you and thus love each other.

Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.
At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,
and at sunset bend your head and in silence complete the worship
of the day.

The last bargain


"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking
on the stone-paved road.

Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.

He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."

But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his
chariot.

In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors.

I wandered along the crooked lane.

An old man came out with his bag of gold.

He pondered and said, "I will hire you with my money."

He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.

It was evening.  The garden hedge was all aflower.

The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."

Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone
into the dark.

The sun glistened on the sand, and the sea waves broke waywardly.

A child sat playing with shells.

He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said, "I hire you
with nothing."

From thenceforward that bargain struck in child's play made me a
free man.




The end

I

Bid me and I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe.

For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a plaintive shepherd's pipe in the shade.

Bid me and I shall set sail on the river.

The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into murmurs.

The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening the call comes from your house on the shore in the sunset.

II

MY life when young was like a flower--a flower that loosens a petal or two from her abundance and never feels the loss when the spring breeze comes to beg at her door.

Now at the end of youth my life is like a fruit, having nothing to spare, and waiting to offer herself completely with her full burden of sweetness.

III

Is summer's festival only for fresh blossoms and not also for withered leaves and faded flowers?

Is the song of the sea in tune only with the rising waves?

Does it not also sing with the waves that fall?

Jewels are woven into the carpet where stands my king, but there are patient clods waiting to be touched by his feet.

Few are the wise and the great who sit by my Master, but he has taken the foolish in his arms and made me his servant for ever.

IV

I WOKE and found his letter with the morning.

I do not know what it says, for I cannot read.

I shall leave the wise man alone with his books, I shall not trouble him, for who knows if he can read what the letter says.

Let me hold it to my forehead and press it to my heart.

When the night grows still and stars come out one by one I will spread it on my lap and stay silent.

The rustling leaves will read it aloud to me, the rushing stream will chant it, and the seven wise stars will sing it to me from the sky.

I cannot find what I seek, I cannot understand what I would learn; but this unread letter has lightened my burdens and turned my thoughts into songs.