16 
The Bengali Poem , Candi. 
The following adventure introduces him to the reader:— 
The merchant and some gay young friends forth sally one bright holiday, 
Bearing their pigeons in their hands, to wander in the fields and play. 
Leaving their palkis they alight and fly their birds in aimless fun, 
Their garments and their ornaments slip down unnoticed as they run. 
Then “ Let each hold the female bird,” he cries, “ and let the other fly, 
And whosesoever bird comes back the first shall win the victory.” 
The city lads troop round to see and clap their hands in wild delight; 
Up flies the merchant’s pet white bird, nor lag its fellows in their flight. 
Each player holds the female bird in his left hand a prisoner fast, 
While the male pigeons soaring up dart to and fro in hurried haste. 
None had as yet turned back, when lo ! a falcon hovers in the skies : 
At the fell sight the birds disperse, each for dear life in terror flies. 
Elies like the rest the merchant’s ‘ white,’ and towards Icchani speeds 
its way; 
Through thorns and briars, with upturned face, its master follows as he may. 
Holding the female in his left, he calls and calls, but calls in vain; 
Walls, fences, ditches stop him not, he struggles on through grass or cane, 
And close behind his brahman friend Janardan toils with might and main. 
Just at that moment Khullana was playing, by a strange good hap, 
With some girl-playmates out of doors, when drops the pigeon in her lap; 
She covers it beneath her dress, and while the rest in wonderment 
Crowd round about her, she runs home to hide the prize good luck has sent. 
The merchant follows after her, charging her with the robbery; 
u Why have you stol’n my priceless bird ? were I to lose it I should die. 
Come, give it back, for, if I’m forced the theft in earnest to report, 
I am the merchant to the king, and great my influence at the court. 
Come, give it back, and end the jest; I see it hid beneath your dress. 
You know I must not venture force, ’t would break all rules of politesse.” 
Smiling, she whispers to herself, “ My cousin’s husband, who can doubt? ” 
And then aloud, “ Your favourite bird you must e’en learn to do without. 
It will not be your meal just yet; thank heaven you ’scape that guilt to-day; 
It grieved my heart to see you run like some low fowler for his prey. 
It came a suppliant to my breast—a suppliant is inviolate; 
This is a rule which overrules e’en merchants of the royal gate. 
Still, if you ’ll turn a suppliant too, and all these highflown airs forget, 
And come with straw between your teeth, I may give back your pigeon yet.” 
