Shilaidaha
Monday, 3 July 1893
Yesterday the wind howled all night like a street dog—and the rain, too, was unending. The water on the field was flowing through it from every direction like small waterfalls and entering the river with a gurgling sound. The farmers were getting wet as they crossed over on the ferry to cut the rice on the sandbank on the other shore, some with togās [hats] and some holding a broad kacu leaf over their heads—the boatman sitting at the helm of these large, fully loaded boats, getting drenched, and the oarsmen towing the boat along from the shore, getting soaked as they walked. Such a calamity, yet the world’s business cannot come to a stop; the birds sit dejectedly in their nests, but the sons of men have left their homes and come out. Two cowherd boys have brought a herd of cows to graze in front of my boat; the cows wander around, chewing on the luscious, green, rain-freshened wet grass with a munching sound, their mouths full and their tails swishing to drive away the flies from their backs, their eyes calm and peaceful as they eat—the rain and the cowherd boys’ sticks come down ceaselessly upon their backs, both equally irrationally, unfairly and unnecessarily, and they’re putting up with both without comment, with the utmost patience, continuing to chew noisily on the grass. The look in the eyes of these cows is strangely melancholy, calm, deep and affectionate—why do these large animals have to be burdened with the load of man’s work in the middle of all this? The river’s water rises every day. One can see from the window of the boat today almost as much as could be seen day before yesterday from the top of the boat—every morning I wake up and see that the landscape is gradually getting extended. All these days I could see the heads of the trees of that distant village like so many clouds of green leaves; today, the entire forest presents itself in front of me from end to end—land and water approach each other slowly like two shy lovers—their timidity has almost overflowed, they are almost in an embrace now. It will be wonderful to travel on this full river during the full monsoons on this boat—I’m impatient to untie the boat’s mooring and take off.