When shall we celebrate the Bihu-day,

Tell me, O dear, dear?

I gaze east and west

And count twelve days clear.

O dear is my muga¹ quilt

And dear is the shuttle,²

But dearer far is the Bahag-Bihu

With grace, gaiety indescribable.

Bihu is coming in gorgeous garments,

Nahar³ is decked with flowery garlands.

Rustic damsels are mad with its fragrance,

And stumble over the spinning wheel

In haste and love’s expectation.

Cheerless Chot ⁴ has just departed,

Bahag has come with lustre and laughter,

Bhebeli creepers have blossomed,

But, ah, long years shall take

To end the praise of my beloved.

He calls her fair,

They call her fair,

But I call her dear sweet-heart,

The full-orbed moon of my hearth.

Beautifully shines the milky moon,

Brightly flicker the heavenly stars,

Gracefully appears from the cottage green

My maiden fair

In beauty beyond compare.

When I finger my bamboo pipe

And sing a Bihu song in glee,

Like a butterfly my fairy

Dances responsive to the melody.

A cluster of blue-bees in water shines,

Fragrant petals in flower smile,

My love in beauty, youth and prime

Brings to my cottage mirthful rhyme.

You are in me

And I am thine,

Two hearts by love entwined,

O, who is the divinity

That brings this inseparable unity?

Dear Dikhow⁵ I may forget,

Jingling Janjhi⁵ may not I see,

Let frustration and starvation

Be ever my company!

Ah, I cannot shun the thought

Of my maiden lovely.

The glorious sun is setting in the west,

Countless cranes fly through the air

The wild waves of thoughts are swollen in me,

A heart cordial is rare to find.

O Lord, why dost thou create us?

O mother, why dost thou bring forth daught

Ah, what a curse to woman-kind

A husband is rare and difficult to find.

While at the harvest field

I got the tiding of my ‘herd-boy.’

O, were I a bird, I could fly to thee!

But alas, that bridgeless Dhanshree

Stands between you and me.

What flowers you give me, O dear.

Tell me what love you avow?

I scent, but cannot put them in the tress,

Ah, they are withering in my bosom’s vase.

How can I forget you, O love?

How can I forget you?

I wish, I forget thee

By tasting poison from the Misimi.^*

I take naga lemon in hills,

Hide salt in my tresses dark as night,

The memory of my darling dear

In my breast I bear

With grief and tear.

From my father, I depart,

For my mother, I weep no more;

Woe, if I were to lose my love,

I take poison and hasten to the grave.