Because I have seen Bengal face I will seek no more;
The world has not anything more beautiful to show me.
Waking up in darkness, gazing at the fig-tree, I behold
Dawn swallows roosting under huge umbrella-like leaves. I look around me
And discover a leafy dome-Jam, Kanthal, Bat, Hijol and Aswatha trees
All in a hush, shadowing clumps of cactus and zedoary bushes.
When long, long ago, Chand came in his honeycombed boat
To a blue Hijal, Bat and Tamal shade near the Champa, he too sighted
Bengal incomparable beauty. One day, alas. In the Ganguri,
On a raft, as the waning moon sank on the river sandbanks,
Behula too saw countless aswaths bats besides golden rice fields
And heard the thrush soft song. One day, arriving in Amara,
Where gods held court, when she danced like a desolate wagtail,
Benga rivers, fields, flowers, wailed like strings of bells on her feet