The Mixed-I/p City
In a city named Riko there lives a family of trees. There are about ten trees in the family. The trees eat pizzas with the help of cups. When a tree dies it lays an egg. After a minute the egg hatches, and a fly comes out. The moment it eats, it dies. After the fly dies it lays some eggs. The eggs hatch into a seed and the seed develops into a parrot. The parrots can do calculations. These parrots eat bananas. The monkeys are the only sensible characters in the city, because they eat bananas. The monkeys were really angry because there were only seven bananas left on the tree. So a fight took place between the parrots and the monkeys. The pigs could fly, so the pigs came and took the bananas away. The fight stopped. Then it started to rain. The monkeys quickly climbed down and ran off. The parrots were still on the tree. Then lightning struck the tree. The parrots died and the monkeys were safe.
Appendix
It is perhaps fitting that the father of English nonsense wrote and published nonsense in India. These texts were written by Lear while on a trip to India in 1873-74. ‘The Cummerbund’ was published in The Times of India (Bombay) on 22 June 1874.
I HE CUMMER.BI/ND An Indian Poem
She sate upon her Dobie,
To watch the Evening Star,
And all the Punkahs as they passed, Cried, ‘My! how fair you are!’ Around her bower, with quivering leaves, The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.
Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound, Where goldenTinned Chuprassies swam, In myriads circling round.
Above, on tallest trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan’d Its melancholy tone.
And where the purple Nullahs threw Their branches far and wide,— And silvery Goreewallahs flew In silence, side by side,—
The little Bheesties’ twittering cry
Rose on the fragrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled Deep in his hateful lair.
She sate upon her Dobie,—
She heard the Nimmak hum,— When all at once a cry arose,—
‘The Cummerbund is come!’
In vain she fled:—with open jaws The angry monster followed,
And so, (before assistance came,)
That Lady Fair was swollowed.
They sought in vain for even a bone Respectfully to bury,—
They said,—‘Hers was a dreadful fate!’ (And Echo answered ‘Very.’)
They nailed her Dobie to the wall, Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words, In yellow, blue, and green:-
‘Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,—
Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come, And swollow you outright.
For the existence of this potentate, see Indian newspapers, passim. The proper way to read the verses is to make an immense emphasis on the monosyllabic rhymes, which indeed ought to be shouted out by a chorus.
Who, or why, or which, or what , Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold or FiOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat or a COT,
The Akond of Swat?
^4u*cf^r
When he writes a copy in rounchhand size,
Does he cross his T’s and finish his Ps with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark GAROTTE,
O the Akond of Swat!
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn’t he care for public opinion a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one’s last new poem or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
204 a p p e n 4ix
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat Like the lady who lived in that isle remote | SHALLOTT, The Akond of Swat? |
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss? Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ | or a SCOT, The Akond of Swat? |
Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave | or a GROTT, The Akond of Swat? |
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? | or a POT The Akond of Swat? |
Does he beat his wife with a golcbtopped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends or a KNOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince^pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Someone, or nobody, knows I wot Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat!
Indian Limericks
♦
1
There was a small child at Narkunda,
Who said, ‘Don’t you hear! That is thunder!’
But they said, ‘It’s the Bonzes, awaking responses, In a temple eight miles from Narkunda.’
• « n
There was an old person ofFagoo,
Who purchased a ship and its Cargo;
When the Sails were all furled,
He sailed all round the world,
And returned all promiscuous to Fagoo.
♦ ♦ ♦ in
There was an old man in a Tonga,
Who said, ‘If this ride lasts much longer,— Between shaking and dust,
I shall probably bust,
And never ride more in a Tonga.’
We are able to present our readers with an inaccurate misrepresentation of the well known Author & Artist Mr Edward Lear, who has lately caused so much sensation in our city by having become a Fakeer. He may be seen any day beneath the 18th Banyan tree on the wrong hand as you descend the level road entering and leaving Poonah from Peshawar and Madras. He is constantly attended by a tame crow & a large dog of the Grumpsifactious species, & passes his days in placid conkimplation of the surrounding scenery.—
This poem, though written long before Lear visited India, was widely read in India before his arrival. He tells an anecdote of children raised in India with intimate knowledge of his work.
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’
Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows, And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
‘Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.