(The song that Toomai’s mother sang to the baby)
Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow,
Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago,
Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate,
From the King upon the guddee to the Beggar at the gate.
All things made he — Shiva the Preserver.
Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all, —
Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine,
And mother’s heart for sleepy head, O little son of mine!
Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor,