154 THE HIGHLANDS OF CENTRAL INDIA 



Swinging in a swing and snoozing, 

 By her penance greatly moved 



was — 

 Moved to rise and look about Mm ; 

 Sent the messenger Narayan, 

 Sent Mm forth to Dewalgiri, 

 Sent to see what she was up to, 

 Why so sadly she was grieving. 

 Soon she told her little grievance, 



How her pleasant-smelling Gonds 



had 

 Disappeared from Dewalgiri. 

 Then Bhagwantal sent and told 



her 

 He would try if he could find 



them; 

 And betook Mm to Ms swinging, 

 And bethought Mm how to do it. 



II.— THE COMING OP LINGO. 



On the moimtain Lingawangad, 



Grew the flowering-tree PaMndi. 



Flowers budding, still unopened, 



Yellow flowers of the Pahindi, 



Saw the King of Gods Bhag- 

 wantal ; 



Saw and thought Mm of the 

 Koitor, 



Wandering sadly in the moun- 

 tains. 



Pining deep in Dewalgiri ; 



Saw, and came as comes a rain- 

 cloud, 



Spreading f anhke, came in thunder. 



Lightning flashed, the sky was 

 darkened, 



Thus the God came to the Flower. 



Darkness spread around her cover, 



Gently oped the flower her 

 blossom, 



Softly fell the quickening shower — 



Thus conceived the flower PaMndi. 

 In the fourth watch of the night 

 time 



Fell a heap of yellow saffron ; 



Fell beneath the tree Pahindi. 



Morning dawned, the clouds were 

 opened ; 



Thundering stiU the clouds were 

 opened. 



Burst the yeUow flower PaMndi, 



Cracking burst it in the sunlight. 



Sprang to life from it my Lingo, 



Sprang into the heap of safiron ; 



Sat and wept among the saffron. 



Till his tears the God Paternal 



Dried with sprinkling of the 



saffron ; 

 Sent the Gular tree beside Mm, 

 Honey dropping from its branches. 

 Dropped it in the mouth of Lingo. 

 Sweetness drinking then he cried 



not. 

 Blew around Mm noontide 



zephyrs ; 

 Grew my Lingo in their breathing. 

 In a God-sent swing reposing 

 Gently slept he tiU the evening. 

 Purest water may be stainfed ; 

 Stainless all and pure was Lingo. 

 Diamond sparkled on Ms navel ; 

 On Ms forehead beamed the Tika, 

 Mark divine of fragrant sandal, 

 Mark of godhead in my Lingo. 

 Pla)dng grew he in the safiron. 

 Swinging slept he in Ms cradle, 

 Honey sucking, nothing eating 

 Of the wild fruits in the forest. 



Nine years old became my Lingo, 

 When Ms soul began to wonder 

 Whether all alone his lot was 

 In that forest shade primeval. 

 There no wild deer cropped the 



herbage, 

 Manlike form there none appearM ; 

 Somewhere they must b.e, thought 



Lingo; 

 I will seek them, I may find them. 

 Then he rose and wandered on- 

 wards. 

 Wandered on by brook and 



meadow, 



