'TRAVELLER, WHERE do you go?' I go to bathe in the sea in the redd'ning dawn, along the tree-bordered path.' 'Traveller, where is that sea?' 'There where this river ends its course, where the dawn opens into morning, where the day droops to the dusk.' 'Traveller, how many are they who come with you?' I know not how to count them. They are travelling all night with their lamps lit, they are singing all day through land and water.' 'Traveller, how far is the sea?' 'How far is it we all ask? The rolling roar of its water swells to the sky when we hush our talk. It ever seems near yet far.' 'Traveller, the sun is waxing strong.' 'Yes, our journey is long and grievous. Sing who are weary in spirit, sing who are timid of heart.' 'Traveller, what if the night overtakes you?' 'We shall lie down to sleep till the new morning dawns with its songs, and the call of the sea floats in the air.'
WHEN THE GONG sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our lane, Every day I meet the hawker crying, 'Bangles, crystal bangles!' There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home. I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying, 'Bangles, crystal bangles!' When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school, I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging the ground. He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or gets wet. I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with nobody to stop me from digging. Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to bed, I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and down. The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands like a giant with one red eye in its head. The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow at his side, and never once goes to bed in his life. I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night, chasing the shadows with my lantern.
