human
Can you write me a poem about gun, mu and wool?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about gun, mu and wool:
  _By the same Author, 6s. each_.
The Potter's Thumb
Miss Stuart's Legacy
_All rights reserved_
Shah Sujah's Mouse.
Cotton-picking Song.
atmosphere.
remind the inhabitants that their origin was dust, their end the
grave.
He drew a long breath that was half a sigh. A stir in the thorn
enclosures where the cattle were folded for the night caught his
turban and the lank folds of white drapery falling from his high
entrance.
Gunesh stood still and called, "Mother! mother!"
The old woman's face shone with delight.
"A ewe lamb! 'Tis another omen; and there is luck in the house
"And--and--Veru?" he asked, somewhat sheepishly.
"Yea, mother," he answered, meekly, "and sure the firstling shows
"With the dawn," he muttered--"it will come with the dawn."
should be? Gunesh Chund felt himself mean and spiritless as he
He went over to her and touched her on the arm.
"Mother!" he called.
"Is--is it pretty, mother?" he asked, sheepishly, after a while.
The old lady eyed him with suspicious scorn.
"See for thyself, ninny," she replied, shortly.
She laughed, still in the same short and scornful fashion.
He did not hear the latter sentence. Accustomed in all things to
"Ho! ho! Look, mother, look!"
"And Veru? How is she?"
This was too much. The stern old lady rose to her full height and
As Gunesh crept out of the house feeling small, despite his great
into retaliating rays. A few flat baskets of sweets, covered with
The infant, to whom the name of Nihali had been given, lay in her
little silk trousers on the bandy legs, a tinsel-decorated muslin
disposed over the round skull-cap where a black fringe of wool
observation, she would weep salt tears over its unconscious face.
was by had not been a very difficult one. But now the every-day
life was beginning again, and it would be harder to keep up the
He came in before going to his afternoon's work in the fields to
"Ho! ho! ho! Grandmother, see what a figure Veru hath made of the
"True, mother, true," he assented happily, as he went to the door
mother! A good harvest and new dresses--"
She checked him. "Nay, Gunesh, there is the new wife to think of
first. Good harvest days are good wedding days."
"Time!" she echoed. "Time, indeed! 'Tis not time, but will, is
wanting. Get thee gone to thy fields--thank Heaven thou art not a
Gunesh tried to frown as he stood irresolute, but his mild face
refused the task.
"I could wish none better."
Foiled by his gentleness, she watched his tall figure go down the
hungry eyes.
"I scarce liked to bring Shivu here to-day," quoth the latter,
"Guneshwa looked but ill at ease, it struck me. No doubt the new
settlement in the village gives him trouble."
"What new settlement?" asked Veru, sharply.
enemies.
This went too far for her mother-in-law. At the risk of Kishnu's
delectation, she lost patience.
"Girls are every whit as good as boys. The great Queen--"
"Pshaw! I am sick of the great Queen! Why did she come to breed
dissension, and teach young women to mock at the old? Though, for
"So may Nihali in her time."
"She wants to bring another wife home even now. She will not have
He looked at the mother and child with kindling eyes.
She turned on him fiercely, perhaps from a feeling of pity.
Whether Gunesh Chund's mother, when she prophesied evil to little
The man broke into a sob and turned away.
"Mother, canst thou do nothing?" he asked, in all the wistful
Gunesh Chund lingered, hesitating.
"Nay, mother! I did but suggest. Veru--"
"O Veru! Veru! I am sick of the name. 'Tis she who hath bewitched
He interrupted her fiercely, seizing her by the wrist.
"Peace, I say, mother! Peace! I will not hear such words."
"They are true for all that. She _hath_ bewitched thee!"
They stood for a moment face to face, so like each other in their
Meanwhile Veru, with empty arms and nervous fingers twisting and
threshold. What had happened? He repeated the call louder.
"Veru!--Mother! Is there no one in the house?"
strong-seated stool, in full blaze of the fire-light, while the
From the dense yellow smoke enveloping poor little Nihali came a
feeble, gasping cry.
"Mother!" pleaded the man, hiding his face.
A fainter cry came, echoed in a shriek from the door, where Veru
"I gave her to Guneshwa! Where is he?"
dressed in her fine clothes, with bandy legs straightened and
ready, like a true woman, to sacrifice herself unconditionally in
"Here," she whispered, and the others nodded.
"Thus we drive you forth, O daughter!
Come not back, but send a brother."
They waited listening.
"Now may the omen be good!" said one.
presence? Who could tell?
As for the casting out of the demon which had hurried on the
Or he would take his pipe down to the village _dharmsala_, where
"A man without a son hath one life; a man rejoicing in a son hath
Then another took up the parable.
"Aye! and four hands to boot, wherewith to root out weeds."
"The hundredfold wheat hath more stems than one," quoth a third.
"And a toddling child can drive bullocks," put in a fourth.
"O my son! O Guneshwa!" cried the old woman, flinging her arms
His mother laughed scornfully.
"So soon!" he exclaimed, dismally. "O mother, take care! Sure the
The crops were fast turning russet and gold under the glare of
sunlight succeeding to the monsoon rains, when Gunesh Chund said
That same afternoon, Veru, unwilling to relax any of her efforts
Hastily, yet carefully, lest evil should befall from any lack of
"The jackals have sent thee a present, grandmother."
Seizing Veru by the wrist, she dragged her across the court-yard,
expectant mother haunted the house?
Veru must not die--should not die; so the old woman nursed her
"I _will_ die," was the only response; "I will die and become a
ghost! I will! I will!"
"None--that--thou--wouldst--give," came the reply, with a strange
The moon shone brightly as Gunesh Chund rode through the village
_lumberdar's_ pony picked its way unerringly, true as the needle,
sleeping-place.
The night passed, the dawn lightened into sunshine; yet still he
A sad amaze, an almost pitiful resignation, followed the first
thought returned to him.
"I thought of building her a new house for peace' sake," he said,
"Thou takest no rest, Gunesh Chund," exclaimed his mother,
"Not suit me--I'd like to know--"
The _lumberdar's_ face assumed a startled, alarmed look.
His mother could have bitten her tongue out for her inadvertence.
curses in death. And see," she added, hastily, in the hope of
diverting his eager anxiety, "I have found what thou wert asking
"See, there is a new one; that one, may be; 'tis cleaner than the
"And wherefore should I try? I tell thee, Guneshwa, that we
beyond. Writing is no good except for certificates. There is Devi
"What ails thee, then, Guneshwa?"
The man sat up amid his heavy wrappings and looked at her without
"Thou knowest, mother; thou knowest it well."
Her heart throbbed, but her voice was steady as she replied:
"What do I know, O Gunesh Chund?"
A shivering hand reached out towards her.
"Hush, mother! I have had enough of curses to-day."
The mild reproof made her forget her anger in thoughts for him.
"She hath returned already."
The old woman rose with a gesture of despair.
She kept her word; though, as the days passed on, even her wilful
For all the courage of his words, a conviction that he was doomed
restlessness.
placid face.
"I might have saved him," she said to herself with infinite
sonless, hopeless.
"Willie," Mark Twain tells us, "had a purple monkey climbing up a
The following story shows the effect that a blue monkey on a gilt
awaiting him at the boundary, consisting of _sowars_ on leave
from various regiments (with their horses), a contingent of
"_pinson-wallahs_" in nondescript uniform on broodmares, and Khan
When it was over, and he dozed, wearied out by the unaccustomed
hereditary money-lender of Jehadpore, was able to send his son,
Hunuman Sing, to college and make a pleader of him.
The ex-_rissaldar_, with two sons and three grandsons in the old
element the latter represented in Jehadpore. The fact that the
virtuous tolerance which allowed a most modest and retiring Hindu
Even when he put a gilt spike on the top they spoke of it in
idolatrous spike under my eyes, and so I will tell Mool Raj. Let
The usurer came back from his interview with his patron quite
resigned. To tell the truth, he himself was not much set on these
success, does not do it with his eyes open to the inevitable gulf
But, though Hunuman cared not at all for the blue monkey god, he
worshipped liberty--especially his own; and he preferred it, if
Little Mool Raj, who seemed to shrivel smaller as he grew older,
"God and his Prophet," yelled Azmutoollah, "it is a conch!"
If the opponents had been better matched, there would have been
Even Azmutoollah's indignation could not withstand it.
"By the faith, he speaks well! 'Tis a pity his shoulders are so
narrow," remarked a trooper, carelessly, as he strolled away to a
"Kill him? Look you, Allah Baksh--there was not enough of him to
And a chuckle ran round the assembly.
"It's an ill burd that files his ain nest, but for religious
into-lerance give me Scotland. Aw'm no saying ut'll hold as a
"A bell! Heaven be praised! the very thing."
"A bell is not a conch," remarked the assistant.
So the precedent of a far-away cathedral, whose schismatic chime
The courteous old gentleman smiled.
honour.
Now, though Mool Raj's name was duly entered in the file as
complainant, the affair had long ago passed out of his hands and
become a real, solid, Heaven-sent grievance to a small knot of
advanced young pleaders. Indeed, the old man was so distinctly
The fierce old Mohammedan's very lips turned pale. He never even
A knot of young men in patent-leather shoes, standing by the blue
"Brothers and sisters," called one, in the polished, curiously
however, though admirable, proved somewhat superfluous. The first
"By the Prophet," cried Rahmat Ali, "I swear it had a look of old
Khan Azmutoollah Khan let off a detonating _roulade_ of Arabic
anathema as a _Te Deum_.
rather to their surprise, by the usual escort. The leader of the
hint--which British majesty gave in the interests of law and
condition!"
"By the Lord Harry," shrieked the policeman, as the figure on the
Then a roar of inextinguishable laughter played the mischief with
Then Hunuman Sing swore.
That evening the deputy commissioner held a friendly inquiry, and
So Jehadpore brought up its troopers, and paid or did not pay its
It sounds idyllic viewed from our standpoint. From his, with that
"'Mid pleasures and palaces."
"'Mid pleasures and palaces."
ill-humoured fruit, after all that beauty of blossom!
perfume. And Sonny had been out all day alone, under the hot sun,
"Thath way, manth."
"O Mummie, Mummie, he'th got 'quilth!'"
"_Ayah!_" cried the mother, clasping her darling tighter as by
instinct. "Who--what is he? Ask him--ask him about it all."
"Can't _you_ make out _any_thing, dear?" asked Mummie, almost
There was no help for it, however; though, just for the sake of
tempting.
"O Mummie, he had 'quilth'--lovely, lovely 'quilth.' Whereth he
"Sonny, the 'quilth'-man has come. Dada has brought him."
He wanted to be carried out in those brown arms as before, and
"Now, manth! if l'oo pleath," murmured Sonny. And, as before, he
"I know," whispered Mummie, touching Dada on the arm. "He means
squirrels. How stupid of me! Look!"
"Lovely, lovely 'quilth.'--Go on, pleath, manth."
Nearer and nearer; a dozen or more sitting up with the scattered
Sonny's grew heavier and heavier.
gymnastics with the bars, he made up his mind that there could be
indignant, asked what was to be done about the _janowar_.
inspection. As the gate swung open, they paused again, not at the
"Who's that?" cried the doctor, sharply.
"The poor beggar seems starved, and yet he had this and--he was
The doctor, being orthodox, paused.
"I hope to God it is!" said Dada, fervently.
suspiciously. Then another with bushy tail erect came hopping
fearlessly over the grass--
Dada closed the gate softly.
"Lovely, lovely 'quilth,'" he murmured to himself.
But they neither of them said anything about the other _janowar_.
A grove of date-palms; each cluster of carved stems set in its
feathery crown and base, separated from its neighbours by sandy
wildly.
perhaps a heartless truism, considering her company.
But then Shahbash was bucklered against bitter thoughts by an
"'Twere better they were sharp enough to see through dust," she
"Aye, but how long can they be kept? If the saint dies without
Suttu laughed.
"So are others that be not pock-marked and one eye to boot."
She interrupted him remorselessly. "'Tis safe for me, anyhow. The
Shahbash wrinkled his hideous face to an appalling frown.
Then, her _role_ of hostess being over, she walked away to the
leaf-cups. Beyond this was a golden sunrise, cloudless, serene.
Suttu, seated on the edge of grass which grew just as far as the
moisture filtered through the sand, and no farther, nodded at the
A kingfisher flashed down into the water like a sapphire, and her
She leaped to her feet, confronting the Kazi's son in real wrath.
The Kazi's son drew a step nearer.
intrigue, and its defiance of conventionalities set his pulses
throbbing.
"Yonder beans look ripe," she murmured, "and they would eke out a
attracting the swift swooping of the bronze-winged fly-catchers.
"That is all," he cried; "by the faith of my fathers, six ells of
_kunker_ soil. God and his Prophet! why didst not send them to be
Suttu smiled as she stooped to wring the water from her scant
petticoat.
He scratched his thick grey hair, on which he wore no turban,
doubtfully.
themselves. The former, according to tradition, had lived for ten
practically it was not so impressive.
Gold! If report said true, golden indeed with other records of
tears, the pilgrims counted their third-class return tickets as
offerings to the shrine, and the traffic department charged dead
bought the child back, with bribes, to keep him company, and
down--well, as a leopardess might settle in its cage.
As he set to work on a baby's grave, he went on grumbling and
Suddenly the thought came that perhaps now--this moment or the
"Well! did he tell you?"
"Come outside, daughter," he said, with a curse; "one cannot hear
family, Suttu."
"Whose family--mine or thine?" she asked, scornfully.
"'Tis the same. Lo, is not Murghub thy brother, since he is thy
mother's son, though he be but a poor natural?"
"What gold? I know of none. I have seen none."
indicated her meaning.
"Nay, he gave it."
Her tone was still mocking, the grasp on his wrist firm but not
"I bore a son to your son, anyhow," she retorted quickly, and her
"If thou wilt but listen--"
"Not till I have laid this offering in the saint's hand," she
The accountant leaned over to her eagerly. "Halves--halves in
everything save liberty. That is all thine own."
For an instant she felt tempted. Then her natural waywardness
returned.
"And if I claim the whole?"
"War! And that to a woman without gold--"
The great moment was upon them!
This thought came first to both spectators; and they were too
uncultured to conceal it.
"Tell us where!" cried Suttu, as she stood.
"Yea, tell us ere you die!" echoed the accountant as he lay.
Not a very warm welcome back to life, but the old man, though he
"Gone!" he whispered, "gone--yea, gone forever!"
But the look of life in his face had carried Suttu back to her
"It is the last chance!" he whispered, after a time.
"I care not."
Suddenly the bald head fell back on Suttu's breast.
The chance was over.
They sat all through the night waiting for a sign, and none came.
And Shahbash, disconsolate over the cold curry he had actually
forgotten to eat in the hope of hearing his old master speak once
Incredulous of her own sight, she roused Shahbash, who still lay
snoring on the raised platform of the tomb.
formally bought the crop from one Hussan the accountant.
"_Wah! wah!_" assented the clingers, "but see us safe first, O
He was a small, fair English lad, put in charge--with many
instructions to telegraph to headquarters if he saw signs of the
translation of her _patois_ petition.
Suttu's apparent triumph, however, dwindled in Shahbash's eyes to
ludicrous spectacle of woe; yet there was tragedy in the comedy.
handkerchief--both of which he hid carefully. All that day he did
Shahbash gave a rumble of despair, and bolstered up his uneasy
He disappeared into the soft, balmy darkness, grumbling and
thought of those cries when the Kazi and his friends came was
neighbours--names, that is to say, which by the values of the
"_Wah!_ if she were really, after all, a pious one, and not a bad
to-night. That is woman's way."
nothing more serious than a failure to fulfil the duties of her
Thud! thud! Suttu's respect for her henchman increased at every
charm--for mercy--for help--for anything.
"Thou!" she cried, "thou! What dost here?"
She knew well enough, and she thrust him back savagely.
He sank down helpless, foaming at the mouth from abject fear.
Suttu paused. There was something in that view of the case. If
The pot was full of farthings--nothing but farthings. She sat and
Undoubtedly; for all that, it was only a farthing. His face fell.
What was that echoing among the palms? Surely, surely, it was her
gambolling towards her, uttering little cries of joy.
"The treasure! Thou hast found it?" cried the _fakeerni_, paling
"The saint's treasure--lakhs on lakhs! Listen, O incredulous! O
"May I eat dirt if it be not true! Then, towards morning, being
Suttu could not resist a smile.
"But the treasure, fool--the treasure?"
"Only a farthing!" echoed Shahbash, ironically. "Hark to the
"Dost mean they put farthings in place of gold?"
His mirth left Suttu smileless.
"Art going to bury a saint, O Shahbash?" she asked, with a broad
smile.
wayfarer on the adjoining path had flung aside.
peach-stone dropped here, snatched up there, now in this one's
Suttu stood up, clapping her hands.
"_Shahbash! Shahbash!_" she cried.
The dwarf stuck his head out of the grave.
"Well, _mai_ Suttu, what is it now?"
It was ten years after these events that the English boy, who had
consideration of a monthly pension of ten rupees.
"And you had no difficulty in persuading your father-in-law?"
"None, _Huzoor!_ God gave the bait, the fool swallowed it. The
perquisites have gone up again, so he hath lost nothing."
A big, broad smile came to her face.
"May the Lord have the _Huzoor_ in his keeping ever!" she said,
That was my last sight of Suttu.
It was a large, square block of a building, which had once been
education was really at last beginning to leaven the mass of
deplorable female ignorance in India.
chaperons until four o'clock chimed from a hundred gongs in the
city. Then they earned a monthly pay from the Government by
carrying the climbers of the ladder back to their homes in decent
claimants to genteel seclusion who were comfortably carried by a
"Fatma! Fatma! The baby is awake."
Her hard tones echoed up the arcades, but the sing-song went on
"Where is Peru?" she began shrilly, still coming down the stairs.
"_Ai, teri nani!_ 'Tis thy baby, I suppose--not mine."
"_Tobah!_ but she hath a tongue," murmured another lounger.
"_One and one make two--oo--oo,
One and one make two--oo--oo_,"
chanted the infant classes in full choir over their first table.
Fatma, out of breath, said nothing, but leaned against a pillared
"_Fifteenth page, second paragraph. Among the lower animals the
"_Find the value of B in the following equation: A square plus X
"I wonder you don't give it a bottle, Hoshiaribi?" continued the
teacher, sternly, as a delicate-looking young woman, rather
Teacher looked at the little sharp face and was silent. That
household, consisting of disreputable, good-for-nothing Peru, who
Hoshiaribi came back to her equation minus the baby.
The afternoon sun was slanting in bars through the closed grass
Incontrovertible facts, every one of them.
"Have you read your grammar through?"
Fatma shook her head.
Another incontrovertible fact. Teacher had visions of the big,
consider the matter.
"But there are already three babies in the primary!" shrilled the
beneath its birth? Let Hoshiaribi, out of her plenty, appoint a
The prospect was not pleasing. It would be a very different thing
"Then you must teach."
"I don't want to teach. I want to stay here and learn."
injustice.
inspection-day next month.
which, they scarcely knew, for they were mites of babies, not six
"_Ari_, mothers! _Ari_, sisters!" she scolded in her thin child's
So, squatting down, standing aside, reaching over, the women,
institution which is, as a rule, only inviolable when exotic
benevolence seeks to interfere with it.
"Yea, 'tis true, Hoshiaribi. A star of emerald with a red centre,
responsibility for her maintenance would cease, as he could plead
conclusively that Hoshiaribi had no hold on his affections.
Suddenly Fatma looked at him, sniffed, and looked at him again.
"Thou hast been to a wedding--whose?" she asked, suspiciously. In
"Little imp of sin!" cried Peru, seizing her half roughly, half
"Go, my brother--go back to thy Chundoo," she said, eying him
disdainfully--from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot,
woman--watching and waiting stolidly, without fear or blame.
cuddled up on the bed beside the babies contentedly.
"_One and one make two--oo--oo,
Two and two make four--or--or_."
decorously--for the organization of Mussamat Fatma's school was
"_Ai tobak, Mian_ Lal Khan! Dost forget mine is 'primary girls'
She did not care to confess that she herself knew none of the
versicles which even the poorest girl ought to know.
phrases which were so constantly on his lips. What was, was; what
"The sickness was at Haiyatun's yesterday," Rajjun would say to
"Yea, and they carried Mai Jeswant's man to the hospital, and the
Fatma, having attended the Central school during an epidemic, had
"_Ari, Muallama!_" would come a little pipe. "Juntu hath a bit of
Then would ensue a sort of hunt the slipper, beset for each with
"I--I--want no husband," she faltered, utterly taken aback.
Chundoo laughed--a nasty laugh.
"By Peru?" asked the girl, quickly.
"By Peru; who else? Look you, the scoundrel is in jail. Nay, why
A rapping on the floor above reminded her that she had forgotten
Hassan Ahmad had toddled over to the cripple's helpless knee, and
"Cry not, my sister, cry not. Marriage is honourable in all."
So by degrees Fatma's sobs ceased before the inevitable.
"One and one, and two and two, are what He chooses to make them.
Remember that, my sister."
"And peace be thine, Lalu," echoed back from the stairs.
The next morning the whole alley was being censed. A group of
The incessant throbbing of a tom-tom, the occasional blare of a
female visitors with simulated tears, in order to impress them
with her admirable culture; thereinafter relapsing, with them, to
Naraini, however, neither shrieked nor giggled at the sight of a
stranger. She simply drew her veil closer, and went on gathering
citron-blossoms. He paused, uncertain of everything save her
entrancing grace. Was she only a servant, or did he run risks in
laughter.
"He is dead! he is dead! And I am the bride."
crouched silent, like a young animal terrified into acquiescence.
She was a widow. The citron-blossom had fallen.
This is an idle tale of a five minutes' tragedy--perhaps none the
Long ago--so runs the story--in the days of King
'Mid the pearly--tinted splendours of the Paradise
Young Jehangir, boyish--hearted, playing idly with
his dove,
Lost his fav'rite, lost his boyhood, lost his heart, and
found his love.
By a fretted marble fountain, set in broidery of
flowers,
Sat a girl, half child, half maiden, dreaming o'er the
future hours,
Wond'ring simply, yet half guessing, what the harem
women mean
When they call her fair, and whisper, "You are born
to be a queen."
Curving her small palms like petals, for a store of
glistening spray,
Gazing in the sunny water, where her rippling
shadow lay,
Lips that ripen fast for kisses, slender form of
budding grace,
Hair that frames with ebon softness a clear, oval,
ivory face.
Arched and fringed with velvet blackness, from their
shady depths her eyes
Shine as summer lightning flashes in the dusky
evening skies.
Mihr un-nissa (queen of women), so they call the
little maid
Dreaming by the marble fountain where but yesterday
she played.
Heavy-sweet the creamy blossoms gem the burnished
orange-groves;
Through their bloom comes Prince Jehangir, on his
wrist two fluttering doves.
"Hold my birds, child!" cries the stripling, "I am
tired of their play"--
Thrusts them in her hand unwilling; careless saunters
on his way.
Culling posies as he wanders from the flowers sweet
and rare,
Heedless that the fairest blossom, 'mid the blaze of
blossom there,
Is the little dreaming maiden, by the fountain-side
at rest,
With the onyx-eyed, bright-plumaged birds of love
upon her breast.
Flowers fade, and perfume passes; nothing pleases
long to-day;
Back towards his feathered favourites soon the
prince's footsteps stray.
Dreaming still sits Mihr-un-nissa, but within her
listless hold
Only one fair struggling captive does the boy,
surprised, behold.
"Only one?" he queried sharply. "Sire," she
falters, "one has flown."
"Stupid! how?" The maiden flushes at the proud,
imperious tone.
"So, my lord!" she says, defiant, with a scornful
smile, and straight
From her unclasped hands the other, circling, flies
to join his mate.
Startled by her quick reprisal, wrath is lost in blank
surprise;
Silent stands the heir of Akbar, gazing with awakening
On the small, rebellious figure, with its slender arms
outspread,
Rising resolute before him 'gainst the sky of sunset
Heavy-sweet the creamy blossom gems the gloomy
orange-tree,
Where the happy doves are cooing o'er their
new-found liberty.
Slowly dies the flush of anger, as the flush of evening
dies;
Slowly grow his eyes to brightness, as the stars in
evening skies.
"So, my lord!" So Love had flitted from the
listless hold of Fate,
And the heart of young Jehangir, like the dove, had
found its mate.
Then you'll give me a character, won't you? and
say I'm a first-class _zaildar_.
Not a man of them's done half so much as old
Shurfu to please the _Sirkar_.
Why, I've brought you full forty "suspected ones";
that isn't bad as a haul.
Look you! forty "suspected ones" _present_, and gone
bail myself for them all.
And a word, _sahib_--for your ear alone--if you'd like
me to bring a few more,
Just to make a round fifty on paper, and show that
the work's to the fore--
_Bismillah!_ they never shall say, while old Shurfu is
one of the crew,
That his district _sahib's_ schedules were shaky for
want of a _budmash_ or two.
And what do I think of the system? Why, just what
the Presence may choose;
But a good cattle-thief nowadays must look after his
p's and his q's.
There are many more folk to be squared, and the
hire of the bail to be paid;
But it makes the lads three times as careful, and
raises the style of a raid.
Still the game, as a game, is no more; for your reign
has been death to all sport.
E'en a cattle-thief thinks like a banker, and scarcely
gives honour a thought.
'Tis mere money grub--pennies and farthings. What
_I_ in my youth you have heard
Was a noted--O fie on the Presence! It shouldn't
believe such a word.
There are twenty-three schools in my circle; I pay
all the Government fees!
I've made a canal and a garden! I've planted some
thousands of trees!
I've headed the lists and subscriptions! I've tried
queer new crops on my land!
Not a village of mine owns a dung-heap! My mares
are all Government brand!
Not a hobby his district _sahib's_ ridden, but Shurfu
has ridden it too;
Though the number of _sahibs_ has been awful, and
every one's hobby was new.
Well, I don't mind a glass, since there's nobody nigh;
you won't tell, I'll engage.
True! the Prophet forbids; but he didn't know
brandy, and wasn't my age.
When a man turns of eighty, there ain't many sins
he has strength to commit,
So his day-book can stand a few trifles. Aye, wine
wakes the mem'ry a bit.
As for Fuzla, we've all heard of Fuzla--the _best_
cattle-thief in Punjab--
Pooh! you don't mean to say he ne'er met with a
match on this side of Chenab?
I could tell you a story--well, half a glass
more--but I'd best hold my tongue.
So Mian Fuzla had never his match! come, that's
good! Why, when we were both young--
What the deuce am I saying? _Jehannam_ be mine,
but I cannot keep still!
I'll tell how I swam the Chenab in full flood! Yes,
by Allah! I will.
Mian Fuzla had squared th' police on his side of the
stream, as one can
With good luck; but my cowards were cautious, and
hadn't the pluck of a man;
So Mian Fuzla got up in the bottle and sent me a
message to say
He had fifty-three head of my cattle, and when would
I take them away?
Now the waters were out, so the boast was scarce
fair; but I took up the glove,
And with Mokhun and Dittu to help, that same night
crossed the river above
While they thought all secure; but it wasn't! So
dawn found us stealing along
With a herd of a hundred she buffaloes, all of them
lusty and strong.
Well, we made for the river, through tamarisk jungle
and tussocks of grass,
And narrow-pathed tangle of _jhau_ that would scarce
let a buffalo pass,
With our thoughts on the footsteps behind, till the
first level streak of the light
Brought us down to the stream; and, by God! it
had risen ten feet in the night!
'Twas a broad, yellow plain, shining far in the rays
of the sun as it rose,
And a cold wind swept over the flood that came
hurrying down from the snows
With a swift, silent current in eddying swirls--not a
sound, not a dash
Save a sudden, dull thud, as the bank, undermined,
tumbled in with a splash.
Then we looked at each other in silence; the looks
of the others said "No."
But I thought of that challenge of Fuzla's, and
made up my mind I would go,
Though I knew that the odds were against me; so,
bidding the cowards turn back,
With a few of the beasts on their traces and try hard
to deaden the track--
For 'twas time, it was time that I wanted--I drove
the rest down to the brink,
But the brutes wouldn't take to the water; they
loved life too well not to shrink.
So I took a young calf from its mother--'twas cruel,
but what did I reck?
And butchered the brute with my hanger, and
fastened my _pug_ round its neck,
Then I dragged it right into the water, and buoyed
it up well round the throat
With a bundle of grasses and reeds that would keep
the dead body afloat.
I thought of that challenge of Fuzla's; then turned
and struck out like a man,
While the mother leaped after her young one, and
all the rest followed the van.
The flood swept me down like a leaf, and the calf
swept me farther down still,
But I knew 'twas a life or death struggle, and
breasted the stream with a will;
While the hope I could lead the beasts on, till 'twas
safer before than behind,
And the fear lest Mian Fuzla should win, were the
only two thoughts in my mind.
It was half a yard forward to half a mile
downward, yet still I made way,
While behind, in a long single file, the black heads of
the buffaloes lay,
Till I knew we had reached the big stream, and that
now there was no going back;
Then I gave one faint shout, and I cast off the dead
calf, and let myself slack.
So we drifted, and drifted, and drifted. I strove to
recover my breath,
But a numbness came over my heart, and I knew I
was drifting to death,
As the big, heavy beasts were swept past by the
terrible force of the stream,
And the whole world seemed slipping away, as I
swam on alone in a dream.
Then I wondered how Fuzla would take it, and how
many miles I had come;
Or guessed what the people would say when days
passed and I never came home--
Till it came to me, as in a dream, that the current
was setting in shore;
And after that, _sahib_, it is strange I could never
recall any more.
Only this I can tell you: we measured it after, from
starting to end,
And the distance was over ten miles by the straight,
without counting the bend.
So Mian Fuzla was beat; and sent me a _pugri_ with
knots which his women had tied,
And the song of the "Crossing of Shurfu" is known
through the whole countryside.
_Wah! illah!_ How my tongue has been wagging, and
I the _zaildar!_ But in sooth
'Tis dull work for old Shurfu compared to the
merry, mad days of his youth.
_Ji salaam!_ And whatever you want, send for Shurfu
You'll remember that Fuzla once met with his match
on this side of Chenab!
Bitter blue sky with no fleck of cloud!
_Ho! brother ox, make the plough speed_;
For the dear hearth-mother with care is bowed
As the hungry little ones round her crowd.
'Tis the _buniya's_ belly grows fat and proud
When poor folk are in need.
Sky, dappled grey like a partridge's breast--
_Ho! brother ox, drive the plough deep_;
For the wind may blow from the north or west,
And the hungry fledglings fall from the nest,
Or the dear hearth-mother fold hands in rest,
Ere harvest's ripe to reap.
Clouds, driving up in the teeth of the wind--
_Ho! brother ox, guide the plough straight_;
For the dear hearth-mother feeds halt and blind,
While the hungry little ones garlands bind
Round the tree where the Dread One sits enshrined,
On whom we poor folk wait.
Merry drops slanting from south and east--
_Ho! brother ox, drive home the wain_;
For the dear hearth-mother will spread a feast.
There's none shall be hungry--nor bairn nor beast;
'Tis the _buniya's_ belly that gets the least
When Ram sends poor folk rain.
Sun-flash on the grain
As it leaps from the sower's hand,
Quick with desire to gain
New life from the land.
Seams, furrows, and scars
On the face of our Mother Earth,
For the gods set sorrow and tears
At the gates of birth.
Swift flight of the seed,
Like a bird through the sun-bright air,
To rot in the ground, or breed
In the Dread One's care.
Broken heart of soil,
Taking all to its patient breast,
With never a cease from toil
Or a dream of rest.
Wheat-grains grow to wheat,
And the seed of a tare to tare.
Who knows if Man's soul will meet
Man's body to wear?
Great Ram! grant me life
From the grain of a golden deed;
Sink not my soul in the strife
To wake as a weed.
Seek thy grave, O grain!
Some day I will seek mine too,
To rise from the level plain,
The old in the new.
Scorching sun that shrivels and sears,
Withering wind in the rustling ears,
Rattle of death as the dry stalks fall,
Promise of life in the seed for all.
Flash of the sickles, sweat of the brows,
Rest in the noon, beneath sheltering boughs.
_Gather and reap,
Death is but sleep_.
Golden grain ripens though lovers are dead;
Lips long for kisses, but mouths must have bread.
Blazing brass of the sky at noon,
Broad, bright face of the harvest moon;
Slow stars wheeling to meet the morn,
Toilers asleep on the sheaves of corn;
Stealthy snake with the lifted crest,
Poisoned prick in a tired breast.
_Gather and bind,
Fate is but blind_.
Golden grain ripens though dear ones may weep;
Love longs for gladness, but toil must have sleep.
Kine knee-deep in the glistening straw;
Flocks of birds round the threshing-floor;
Clouds of chaff from the winnowing-tray,
Gleaming gold as they drift away;
Wreath of smoke from the funeral pyre,
End of love and its vain desire!
_Gather and sheave,
Why should we grieve?_
Death finds new life in the Great Mother's breast,
Rest turns to labour, and labour to rest.
In the field how many blossoms showing,
In the field how many maidens rare?
Golden, set with red, the blossoms glowing;
Red veils sewn with gold the maidens wear.
Oh, the merry hours
Midst the maids and flowers!
Tell us, which of these twain is most fair?
O golden bud!
Spotless without thou art,
Sin--stained within, like blood--
So woman's heart.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
O pale, pure bloom,
Cold to the world thou art;
Yet warm love finds a room
In woman's heart.
In the field the merry leaves are dancing;
In the field small hands which never rest;
Leaves with five points crimson-tinged and glancing,
Fingers henna-tipped and daintiest.
Fate a bright spell weaves
With the hands and leaves.
Tell us, which of these twain is the best?
Wind-driven leaves,
Busy at its command,
Idle when none perceives--
So woman's hand.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
Pitiful leaves,
Doing, by kindness planned,
Work that no man perceives--
So woman's hand.
In the field, down on the breeze is blowing;
In the fields, the maidens' thoughts rise light;
Down to bear the seed for wider sowing,
Thoughts which fly to dear ones out of sight;
Merrily they've flown,
Thoughts and cotton down.
Tell us, which of these twain does the right?
Unstable down,
By every idle wind
Hither and thither blown--
So woman's mind.
Not so! No, no!
We will not have it so!
Soft, white--winged down,
Eager new work to find,
Hoarding naught for its own--
So woman's mind.
In the field the husk-shells swing and rustle;
In the field the merry tongues wag fast;
Clatter! chatter! Oh, the laughing bustle!
Smiles and jests at all as they come past.
Yonder's a man--
Answer if he can.
"Blows and kisses, tears and smiling;
Women's faith and man's beguiling;
Money spending, money piling:
Tell us, what in life will longest last?"
Ram, give me strength,
Else it will be unsung,
For none can tell the length
Of woman's tongue.
Fie, fie! Not so!
We will not have it so!
Have patience, lassies--wait a little space;
The bridal lamps will flame, the songs be sung;
Then you can laugh, and teach your own good man
To know the length of his good woman's tongue!
_Printed from American Plates_