The Last Bargain : 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 he...
The First Jasmines : THE FIRST JASMINES Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines! I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with these jasmines, these white jasmines. I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth; I have heard the liquid murmur of the river through the darkness of midnight;...
Authorship : AUTHORSHIP You say that father writes a lot of books, but what he writes I don't understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really make out what he meant? What nice stories, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his own...
Vocation : VOCATION When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our lane, Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal bangles!" There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home. I wish I were a hawker...
The Home : THE HOME [Illustration: The Home--from a drawing by Nandalall Bose] I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser. The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent. Suddenly...
Baby's World : BABY'S WORLD I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very own world. I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows. Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never could move, come...
The Sailor : THE SAILOR The boat of the boatman Madhu is moored at the wharf of Rajgunj. It is uselessly laden with jute, and has been lying there idle for ever so long. If he would only lend me his boat, I should man her with a hundred oars, and hoist sails, five or six or seven. I should never steer her...
Sympathy : 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...
The End : THE END It is time for me to go, mother; I am going. When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Baby is not there!"--mother, I am going. I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you; and I shall be ripples in the water...
Clouds And Waves : CLOUDS AND WAVES Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-- "We play from the time we wake till the day ends. We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon. I ask, "But, how am I to get up to you?" They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your hands...
The Gift : 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...
The Rainy Day : THE RAINY DAY Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest. O child, do not go out! The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their draggled wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river...
When And Why : WHEN AND WHY When I bring you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints--when I give coloured toys to you, my child. When I sing to make you dance, I truly know why there is music in leaves, and why waves send...
The Hero : THE HERO [Illustration: From a drawing by Nandalall Bose] Mother, let us imagine we are travelling, and passing through a strange and dangerous country. You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting by you on a red horse. It is evening and the sun goes down. The waste of "Joradighi" lies w...
The Wicked Postman : THE WICKED POSTMAN Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all wet, and you don't mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to come home from school. What has happened to you...
The Unheeded Pageant : THE UNHEEDED PAGEANT Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered your sweet limbs with that little red tunic? You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard, tottering and tumbling as you run. But who was it coloured that little frock, my child? What is it makes you...
The Land Of The Exile : THE LAND OF THE EXILE Mother, the light has grown grey in the sky; I do not know what the time is. There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you. It is Saturday, our holiday. Leave off your work, mother; sit here by the window and tell me where the desert of Tepntar in the fairy tale is...
The Child Angel : 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...
The Merchant : THE MERCHANT [Illustration: From a drawing by Asit Kumar Haldar] 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...
Benediction : BENEDICTION [Illustration: From a drawing by Surendranath Ganguli] 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...
My Song : 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...
The Astronomer : THE ASTRONOMER I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets entangled among the branches of that "Kadam" tree, couldn't somebody catch it?" But dd ["elder brother"] laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could...
Baby's Way : BABY'S WAY If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment. It is not for nothing that he does not leave us. He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever bear to lose sight of her. Baby knows all manner of wise words, though few on earth can understand their meaning...
Defamation : DEFAMATION Why are those tears in your eyes, my child? How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing? You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing--is that why they call you dirty? O, fie! Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because it has smudged its face with...
Playthings : PLAYTHINGS Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning. I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig. I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour. Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning...
Paper Boats : PAPER BOATS [Illustration: From a drawing by Surendranath Ganguli] Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream. In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of the village where I live. I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and know who I am...
Superior : SUPERIOR Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish! She does not know the difference between the lights in the streets and the stars. When we play at eating with pebbles, she thinks they are real food, and tries to put them into her mouth. When I open a book before her and ask her...
Twelve O'clock : TWELVE O'CLOCK Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my book all the morning. You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later; can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve o'clock? I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge...
The Champa Flower : THE CHAMPA FLOWER Supposing I became a "champa" flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother? You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and keep quite...
The Little Big Man : THE LITTLE BIG MAN I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am as old as my father is. My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate and your books." I shall tell him, "Do you not know I am as big as father? And I must not have lessons any more." My master will...
The Banyan Tree : 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 Judge : THE JUDGE Say of him what you please, but I know my child's failings. I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my little child. How should you know how dear he can be when you try to weigh his merits against his faults? When I must punish him he becomes all the more a part of my...
The Flower School : 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...
The Recall : THE RECALL The night was dark when she went away, and they slept. The night is dark now, and I call for her, "Come back, my darling; the world is asleep; and no one would know, if you came for a moment while stars are gazing at stars." She went away when the trees were in bud and the spring w...
Fairyland : FAIRYLAND [Illustration: From a drawing by Abanindranath Tagore--see cfairy.jpg] If people came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish into the air. The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold. The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she wears a jewel th...
On The Seashore : ON THE SEASHORE On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances. They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With...
The Beginning : THE BEGINNING [Illustration: From a drawing by Asit Kumar Haldar] "Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked its mother. She answered half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast,-- "You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling. You were...
Sleep Stealer : SLEEP-STEALER Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know. Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water from the village near by. It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in the pond were silent. The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the "banyan" tree...
The Source : THE SOURCE The sleep that flits on baby's eyes--does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes...
Title Page : THE CRESCENT MOON BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE Translated From The Original Bengali By The Author With Eight Illustrations In Colour London And New York: Macmillan And Company, 1913 TO T. STURGE MOORE Redacted By Chetan K Jain, BharatLiterature [Frontispiece: From a drawing by Nandalall Bose]
The Further Bank : 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...