It is a childhood playing episode,
I am looking outside from the corridor of the house,
And find her again she is standing
By side of bamboo fencing of boundary,
She is waiting on the gate
Her glittering eyes searching something,
And I come down hurriedly.
The happiness I find in her eyes,
As if she is waiting to see me in her wide eyes,
And I am her trustworthy kin,
She wants to meet, she wants it,
That is her joy in seeing me,
I feel some pleasant feeling in her eyes,
I am happy that she is charming.
I hold her hands
And take her in our mango garden,
And let her sit on hanging swings,
The jute rope is tied with a big branch,
And let her swing on my little thrusts,
She bursts into laugher,
Holding rope tight with her two hands,
She takes precautions not to fall from swinging.
She is seven years old
And I am nine, we are like friends,
And I am boasting of her to be with me,
I bring some flowers and tuck them in her hair,
And I say, “You are my bride.”
She again bursts in loud laughter,
And says, “Hm! You are not my groom.”
I feel anger and say, “Why am I not?”
Simply she says, “I am kidding.”
I smile then, and sit by her
And we are swinging together.
We play thus, again and again,
Merrily we play in this way for long,
Below the sun or the cloudy sky.
We like to play on the swinging,
Every day we will be here
And make promises for the next day.
She sweetly agrees to our loving playing,
The days are passing by for some time.
One day the sky is cloudy,
We are playing in the garden for some time,
Then comes the servant
And he orders us to go away to our home,
And he says, “Our country is divided in two dominions.
And we have to leave this country to another one.
Run, run, and run”
We are puzzled with yell, “What a nasty game it is!”
We do not wait,
We have parted thence, with tears in eyes,
With promises that we will meet again.
While returning home,
I hear only the resonance of the words,
Run, Run and Run,
Not knowing where to flee and where we meet again.