Me and my friend's house and the khir nodi in between, I wish I could fly to there, but God just did not give me the wings. (Shepehrd's song) This village and that village- and the empty field in between , Keep writing the story of Dhan kaon and keep always reading. This village is almost empty, and some trees here and there, And houses of the farmers beside them keep silently standing. That village out there does a deep darkness encircle, And embraces the houses and adds to the love of the same. This village looks to that one , that one looks to this, And it is as if a thousand years would skip as they keep looking. And the brook in between with its burning waters keep running, and look, it holds many a jol-kumudis upon it breasts. Two ways from two villages come and meet here, And celebrates the meeting with smiling poddo in the water. Some says of some distance past a farmer of this village, Loved a girl of that village and embraced death smiling. This boy walked the careless way to that village, And that girl was coming with the sweet sound of nupur. And it was here where they lost their way, And it is with those jol-kumudi that they are sleeping now. Who knows but dropping from their garlands , That these shapla-lota are smiling on the water. This village and that village - sperated by the singing water, But still there is an unseen bridge tying them up together. Some wife with her pitcher when waves the water of that bank, This bank receives that tide with cordial invitation. When peasants from this village cast the spell with their flute, Tears roll down from the wounded heart of the girls of that village. When from here the sad tune of songs makes its way to there, The awaitng ears spread their hearts to hear it from there.