The Boat on the Sleepy River

At the end of the day, old Majhi Baba untied his little boat. He did not need to fish any more today. He was only going home, down the river, with the sun setting behind him.

Dip and pull went the oars. Dip and pull.

The river was wide and slow. It was the colour of tea with milk. The boat left a soft line behind it, and the line slowly closed again.

On the left bank, the buffaloes were walking home in a row. Their bells went tong, tong, tong. The sound came across the water and grew fainter.

Dip and pull. Dip and pull.

On the right bank, a woman was lighting a lamp at a small shrine under a tree. The little flame shook, then stood straight. Its light lay on the water like a gold thread.

A white egret flew low over the boat, going to its tree for the night. Its wings made no sound at all.

The sky turned from orange to purple. One star came out, then another. The river held them, so that there were stars above the boat and stars below it.

Majhi Baba stopped rowing. He laid the oars inside the boat. The river would do the rest. It knew the way home. It had carried boats home every evening for longer than anyone could remember.

The boat turned gently, like a leaf. The water whispered along its sides. Sshh. Sshh.

And the boat floated on, slowly, slowly, around the last bend, to where a lamp was waiting in a window.