Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering . efore themaster. There came Satyakama. He bowed low at the feet of thesage, and stood silent. Tell me, the great teacher askedhim, of what clan art thou.^ My lord, he answered, I know itnot. My mother said when I askedher, I had served many masters in myyouth, and thou hadst come to thymother Jabalas arms, who had nohusband. FRUIT-GATHERING 189 There rose a murmur like the angryhum of bees disturbed in their hive;and the students muttered at theshameless insolence of that outcast. Master Guatama rose from his seat,stretched out his arms, took the boyto his bosom
Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering . efore themaster. There came Satyakama. He bowed low at the feet of thesage, and stood silent. Tell me, the great teacher askedhim, of what clan art thou.^ My lord, he answered, I know itnot. My mother said when I askedher, I had served many masters in myyouth, and thou hadst come to thymother Jabalas arms, who had nohusband. FRUIT-GATHERING 189 There rose a murmur like the angryhum of bees disturbed in their hive;and the students muttered at theshameless insolence of that outcast. Master Guatama rose from his seat,stretched out his arms, took the boyto his bosom, and said, Best of allBrahmins art thou, my child. Thouhast the noblest heritage of truth. 190 FRUIT-GATHERING LXV May be there is one house in this citywhere the gate opens for ever thismorning at the touch of the sunrise,where the errand of the light is flowers have opened in hedgesand gardens, and may be there is oneheart that has found in them thismorning the gift that has been on itsvoyage from endless Painted bij Abaniiulrauatli Tagore Maybe there is one house in this city FRUIT-GATHERING 191 LXVI Listen, my heart, in his flute is themusic of the smell of wild flowers, ofthe glistening leaves and gleamingwater, of shadows resonant with bees*wings. The flute steals his smile from myfriends lips and spreads it over my life. 192 FRUIT-GATHERING LXVII You always stand alone beyond thestream of my songs. The waves of my tunes wash yourfeet but I know not how to reach them. This play of mine with you is a playfrom afar. It is the pain of separation thatmelts into melody through my flute. I wait for the time when your boatcrosses over to my shore and you takemy flute into your own hands. FRUIT-GATHERING 193 LXVIII Suddenly the window of my heartflew open this morning, the windowthat looks out on your heart. I wondered to see that the name bywhich you know me is written in Aprilleaves and flowers, and I sat silent. The curtain was blown away for amoment betw
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