The Crescent Moon: 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 is haunted by a deepening gloom.

Our cow is lowing loud, tied at the fence.

O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.

Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes as
they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain water is running
in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who has run
away from his mother to tease her.

Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.

O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is
closed.

The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly-rushing rain; the water
in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.

The evening lamps must be made ready.

O child, do not go out!

The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.

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