The yellow bird sings in their tree and makes my heart dance with gladness.
We both live in the same village, and that is our one piece of joy.
Her pair of pet lambs come to graze in the shade of our garden trees.
If they stray into our barley field, I take them up in my arms.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.
Only one field lies between us.
Bees that have hived in our grove go to seek honey in theirs.
Flowers launched from their landing-stairs come floating by the stream where we bathe.
Baskets of dried kusm flowers come from their fields to our market.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.
The lane that winds to their house is fragrant in the spring with mango flowers.
When their linseed is ripe for harvest the hemp is in bloom in our field.
The stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling look.
The rain that floods their tank makes glad our kadam forest.
The name of our village is Khanjan, and Anjan they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, and her name is Ranjan.