Rural life

The maids of the village walk gracefully by

With a pot on the head, and another on the thigh

They sing, as they walk, a lilting, melodious song

Whilst from a nearby church, loudly sounds the gong..

At home, mother sits and calmly grinds the grain

Without showing the least sign of fatigue or of strain

Whilst in the field, her husband cuts the hay

And nearby, her children, with whoops of delight, play.

Nearby, in a pond, the swans glide along

Heedless of the gong that goes ding-dong

Whilst the cow in its shed, peacefully chews the cud

And watches the buffalo wallowing in the mud

On the banks of a tank, some women sit on a stone

And wash their clothes, new as well as torn

A bird flaps by, and an owl hoots

The breeze blows gently, swaying the trees and the shoots.

Under a tree, a boy plays on a reed

His beloved listens, whilst the peasant, buffaloes home leads

Some children are out in the field, flying their small kites

To really astonishing and unimaginable heights.

Some antlered deer stealthily accompany the maids on their way home

 Whilst some hunters with their bows in the jungles roam

The cat sits by the hearth, licking its whole body

Whilst Grandpa sits on a chair, and sips his glass of toddy

This is a picture of rural Indian life

It is a mixture of more happiness and less strife

These are the villages where the lush green fields are found

These are the villages, where misery, in drink, is not drowned.