Chapter 6 6

51 The clear sky in early autumn was cloudless, and the river was about to overflow its bank, washing the exposed roots of a big tree that had fallen across the shallows.Long trails jutted out of the village like hungry tongues into the creek. I look around.With the silent sky and the flowing river, I feel that happiness is spreading in all directions, just like a child with a pure smile on his face.My heart is full. 52 Impatient flower, before winter returns, you are tired of waiting and break free.By the time the unseen comer catches a glimpse of you, the wayside watchman, you have rushed out, running, panting.O you involuntary jasmine, you tumultuous rose of all colors!

Your bright colors and rich fragrance disturb the air.You smiled, pushed and squeezed each other, opened your breasts in full bloom, and then withered, falling on the ground one after another, rushing to the hole of death first. At that time, summer will come with the tide-like south wind, but you never slow down and grasp the exact time when it comes.In the utter joy of faith, you recklessly consumed yourself by the wayside. You heard the footsteps of summer from afar, and paved the ground with fallen leaves for it to walk on gently.Even before the rescuer comes, you break free, open up, and take it as yours before it comes and acknowledges you.

53①Balanhua April finally faded away, and the hot kiss of summer scorched the helpless earth. At this time, I burst into buds.Here I am, half terrified, half curious, peeping like a naughty child at a hermit's hut. I heard the trembling whispers of the woods with dead branches and leaves; I heard the song of the cuckoo uttering the languorous summer; Through the curtain of fluttering green leaves outside my buds, I see the world, harsh, indifferent, haggard. I still opened up bravely, with strong youthful conviction, and saluted the dawn proudly, drinking the strong wine poured from the glorious cup of heaven.I, the sun-scented orchid in the bottom of my heart.

① This poem was written by Satjandranath Dart.See first note on page 31. 54 At the first division of heaven and earth, two women arose from the churning of the restless dream soul of the Creator.One is a dancer in Paradise, the object of a man's eager admiration.Laughing, she snatches the hearts of the wise from their calm meditations, and from the emptiness of the fool's ignorance, and sows them like seeds in the luxurious east wind of March, and among the ecstatic flowers of May. The other is the queen of heaven, the mother, who sits on a throne of richness and perfection in golden autumn.In the harvest season, she brought those wandering hearts to a place as tender and sweet as tears, as peaceful and beautiful as the ocean—to the unknown palace where the sacred confluence of life and death is.

①Two women: the first one refers to Urvashi, which represents ardent desire and eternal youth.The second refers to Lakshmi, the goddess of happiness.In Hindu mythology, they all rose from the bottom of the sea when the Creator churned the sea of ​​milk. 55 In the midday breeze, the tulle-like wings of a dragonfly trembled gently.The thatched roofs of every household in the village shelter the drowsy people like hatching birds, and a cuckoo hides in the deep green shade, singing lonely. This fresh and smooth tune drips into the monotonous sound of people's hard work, adding music to the whispers of lovers, the passionate kisses of mothers, and the laughter of children.It races over our thoughts like a brook running over pebbles at the bottom, rounding them beautifully without knowing it.

56 For me, the night is lonely.I was reading a book until it bored me, and it made me think that beauty is a fashionable commodity disguised by merchants in words. I annoyed and turned off the lights.In an instant, moonlight poured into my cabin. O beautiful spirit, why does a faint candle obscure you when your radiance overflows the sky?Why do a few useless phrases in the book cover up like a mist the voice that makes the earth so peaceful? 57 Autumn belongs to me, because she is always swinging in my heart.Her shining footbells tinkled to my pulse, and her misty veil fluttered to my breath.In my dream, I knew the touch of her long brown hair.The green leaves danced and danced with my life, and she was outside among the quivering leaves.Her bright eyes smile in the clear sky, for it is from me that they draw light.

58 Under the blue sky, everything is bustling and laughing; the dust and sand are like urchins, whirling and dancing.The tumult stirs man's heart, and his mind longs to play with all things. Our dreams float with unknown streams, and stretch out their arms to grasp the earth, -- struggles turned into bricks, built into the city of man. Voices come from the past, looking to today for answers.The beating of their wings fills the air with floating clouds; Thoughts in our minds, restless, leave their nests and fly through ghostly wilds in pursuit of form.Thoughts, like pilgrims groping in darkness for a shore of light, find their home in things; they will be lured into the lines of poets, they will lodge in the towers of the cities of the future, they will hear voices from Tomorrow's call on the battlefield, to take up arms, to join hands in battle, to fight for the coming peace.

59 In a country where everything is perfect, people don't build tall buildings.On the side of the road is a green grassland, and the rushing river flows by.Men go out to farm in the morning, with a smile on their face; when they return in the evening, they hum a little song in their mouths. They are not busy running around for money, in this perfect country. At noon, women sit in the cool and pleasant courtyard, singing softly and spinning cotton yarn.On the field where rice waves are rolling, the sound of a shepherd boy's piccolo floats.The sound of the flute delights the passers-by on the road, and he sings through the dappled, fragrant shade of the tree, in the realm of everything.

The merchants sailed down the river in their laden ships, and did not anchor in this country.The warriors marched past with flying banners, but the king never stopped his chariot in this land.Travelers from afar have stopped here and left without knowing what is in this perfect country. In this land, the crowds on the road are bustling, but you never push each other.Poets, make your home here.Wash off the dust on your feet from the long journey, tune your pipa, and at sunset, in this perfect country, lie down on the cool grass under the starlight. 60 Take back your gold, Messenger of the King.You sent us to the forest temple to seduce the young ascetic.Even though he has never seen a girl in his life, I have not fulfilled your mission.

At dawn, the young man who practiced himself went to the stream to bathe in the faint light of dawn.Her curly brown hair fell over her shoulders like a morning glow, and her limbs shone like the sun.We sang, laughed, rowed the boat, jumped into the stream with frantic romps, and danced around him.Then the sun came up and glared at us from the water's edge, flushing with rage. The angelic boy opened his eyes and watched our dance; deep amazement made his eyes shine like morning stars. He raised his clasped hands and sang a hymn, his singing sounded like a song of a bird, and every leaf in the forest echoed it.I, mortal woman, have never heard such a song, it is like the silent morning song when the morning sun rises from the silent mountains.The girls covered their crimson lips with their hands, and swayed their bodies with smiles, a cloud of suspicion flitted across the boy's face.

I quickly ran to his side, fell at his feet in pain and said, "Master, I am willing to obey your commands." I led him to the river bank covered with green grass, and wiped his body with the skirt of silk; I knelt on the ground, and wiped his feet with my long hair; To the first kiss of the world at the dawn of chaos to the first woman—I am blessed, praise God, for he has made me a woman.I heard him say, "Which nameless god are you? Your touch is the touch of the Eternal, and your eyes hold the secret of midnight." No, don't smile like that, Messenger of the King - earthly wisdom has blinded your eyes, old man.The youth's innocence pierced through the fog, and saw the shining truth-women are sacred. Ah, in the terrible light of that first love, the divinity of woman awakens in me at last.Tears welled up in my eyes, the morning light caressed my long hair gently like a sister, and the breeze in the woods kissed my forehead like a flower. The girls clapped their hands and laughed wantonly, their veils trailing on the floor and their hair fluffed up, and they began to throw flowers at the boy. O pure sun, can't I weave a thick mist of my shame over your sight?I threw myself at the boy's feet and shouted, "Forgive me!" Like a frightened deer, I ran in the shade and sunshine, shouting, "Forgive me!" The burning fire scorched me, but the words still echoed in my ears-"Which nameless god are you?"