On a mountain, in a forest
Roamed a boy, deep in thought.
He seemed worried, quite upset,
His future summed up to a naught.
He touched a tree from time to time,
Wondering how to earn a living.
For it was now a punishable crime.
There was a ban on lumbering.
His friends had nothing to worry about
They all had occupations.
They seemed to have not a single doubt.
To worry they had no reason.
Soon there would be a harvest
For Hariya, the farmer’s boy.
And here I walk the forest
He thought, with nothing to do, no joy.
Murli too will have his cows,
His family owns them all.
There they graze on grass and boughs,
While Murli plays his flute or calls.
Sukhiya is the shepherd’s son
And lives atop the mountain.
He has his sheep to fall upon.
His future’s clearly lain.
Bandhu is the potter’s boy.
He helps his father at the wheel.
They make pots and they make toys,
When sold, they make quite a deal.
Kundan is the goldsmith’s son.
He has no need to worry.
His father’s taught him trade and some
Craft, in gold and silver jewelry.
And so the boy was very sad.
His future seemed so bleak.
He bowed his head feeling bad.
And then he heard the breezes speak.
“See these trees have many seeds.
They’ll fall when hard I blow.
Pick them up, all you need
And plant them row by row”.
The lumberer’s son then straight away
Began to pick them all.
The monsoon clouds too clapped away
And made the rain to fall.
He dug a patch, outside the woods
And planted all the seeds.
He tended them and fed them food.
The sun too helped indeed.
The boy was happy with something to do.
His days were busy again.
The saplings peeped and when they grew.
He sold them for a gain.
It’s better to plant than cut a tree
Thought the lumberer’s son in contemplation.
He smiled his thanks to the laughing breezes
For pointing out his true vocation.