4 8 



Leaves from an Indian Jungle. 



The last time I saw the old ' Pakhal ' four good pigs 

 were laid out in a row by the Mess tent. Under the soft 

 drooping foliage of the big tamarind trees by the ruined 

 fakir's tomb, the good horses were being rubbed down, 

 preparatory to being led home. The declining sun touched 

 the surrounding fields with gold. 



As we finished our ' pegs, ' lit up cheroots, and got into 

 the dogcart, I took a last look at the long line of gracefully- 

 posed palms, now standing out black and sharp against the 

 flaming western sky, in the quiet evening air. A moment 

 later we swung round a bend in the road ; and, with a 

 sigh, realised that the Pakhal was a memory of the past I 



PAKHAL NADDI OF THE PALM TREES. 



In the Plain beneath the Mountains, 

 Mountains seven, wild Satpuras, 

 wells a rivulet the Pakhal 

 Pakhal Naddi of the palm trees. 

 Palm trees nodding o'er the copses j 

 copses full of creeper tangle j 

 tangle drooping ever downwards, 

 drooping, green, to kiss the surface, 

 surface of dark, placid Pakhal ! 



Darksome are those slimy thickets, 

 thickets of the Pakhal Naddi. 



Waning moon not long since risen, 

 yellow o'er the eastern levels, 

 shimmers faint on winding covert, 

 covert sleeping soft, where crickets, 

 crickets, cicadae, are trilling. 



O'er the fields a solemn silence, 

 silence of the coming gilding, 

 green and golden, of the morning, 

 to eye-rubbing, yawning, waking, 

 stirring, waking Mother Nature. 



Trembles higher star of morning ; 

 grows soft light ere first false dawning ; 

 stir the birds, cry " Chee !" in brambles j 

 dim lie fields beyond the brambles 

 bare reaped fields beyond the brambles 

 Where the grey and fleeting shadows, 

 prowling jackal, foul hyaena, 

 slink before compelling fingers, 

 first pale fingers of the morning. 



From the trees beyond the river 

 flutes the koel koel fluty , 

 scream they, early flying parrots j 

 stream they, arrow-like, o'erhead to 

 join their fellows mid the her trees. 

 Partridge wakes "Ka-teetur; tee- 



tur ! " 



Antelopes, capricious moving, 

 yellow flanks turn towards the morning. 



Far o'er furrow, through palati~ 

 dry-stalked, cotton-picked paldti 

 comes a slowly moving darkness j 



