She goes back home with the full pitcher poised on her head, the
shining brass pot in her left hand, holding the child with her
right--she the tiny servant of her mother, grave with the
weight of the household cares.
One day I saw this naked boy sitting with legs outstretched.
In the water his sister sat rubbing a drinking-pot with a handful
of earth, turning it round and round.
Near by a soft-haired lamb stood gazing along the bank.
It came close to where the boy sat and suddenly bleated aloud,
and the child started up and screamed.
His sister left off cleaning her pot and ran up.
She took up her brother in one arm and the lamb in the other, and
dividing her caresses between them bound in one bond of
affection the offspring of beast and man.
78
It was in May. The sultry noon seemed endlessly long. The dry
earth gaped with thirst in the heat.
When I heard from the riverside a voice calling, "Come, my
darling!"
I shut my book and opened the window to look out.
I saw a big buffalo with mud-stained hide, standing near the
river with placid, patient eyes; and a youth, knee deep in
water, calling it to its bath.
I smiled amused and felt a touch of sweetness in my heart.
79
I often wonder where lie hidden the boundaries of recognition
between man and the beast whose heart knows no spoken language.
Through what primal paradise in a remote morning of creation ran
the simple path by which their hearts visited each other.
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