Often, taken by our numerous interests and duties, we forget that the simplest things in our life are those that give us the biggest joy… like Tagore tells us in this sweet and lovely story between a child and his mother.
Supposing I became a champa flower, just for fun, and
grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with
laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know
You would call, “Baby, where are you?” and I should laugh to
myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.
When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you
walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the
little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the
scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.
When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading
Ramayana, and the tree’s shadow fell over your hair and
your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of
your book, just where you were reading.
But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little
When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted
lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again
and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.
“Where have you been, you naughty child?”
“I won’t tell you, mother.” That’s what you and I would say