Jungle Book

Look at that beautiful old man,

what a lovely head

India is filled with old men, Memsahib

But not like the man

with the yellow turban,

His is like the head of John the Baptist

Memsahib, refers to the story teller

Are these silent monsters in peace with us

It is but a truce they keep with men

But I, who have seen the task stained

red with blood

I could tell you a tale of the silent ones

for a few coppers

For a bowl of rice

What would you do with my image memsahib

I would keep it, for a memory of India

verily, you will have all India in your picture

Nay, you would have The Book of The Jungle

to read in my eyes

In the beginning, you must think

of nothing but silence,

a silence so vast that ears can't hear it

Great trees like the pillars of the temple

with furs like green carpets underneath

While above, under the dome of heaven

where live the winged ones

The wind woods restless whispering

across the roof of the world

These are the eaters of grass in a world

of tall flesh

early the little fawns must learn the lesson,

Feet theirs make no noise,

eyes that see in the dark,

ears that heard the Leopard

leading his herd.

But Leopard lays by the law of claws

and horns and fang,

he will kill for hunger, and eat there all,

but he'll

never kill for killing sake,

a law that all men break

but jungle folks obey

These are the lords of the jungle,

tribe of Hati,

the Silent ones, they go their way,

eaters of grass in a world of carnage

But the Wolfs are the true hunters of the jungle

and likes hunt while stick to their clan

with a strict regard for hunting

calls and tribal law

three companion of the woods,

they may fight and quarrel

among their selfs and the strongest

wolf must take the leadership

Yet jungle folks says that the wisest

among them is the tribe of Balu the bear

He is a teacher of the jungle law

Yet there is one who knows no law

the barrel border mudguard, the Crocodile

with his chin in his shallows

and lust in his cold hearth

hopping to drag dawn to the deeps

all who wonder in his river banks

And in the legends of the jungle

there is a black creeps

shredders to the law of claw, horn and fang

disposers of buffalos, as reckless

and wounded elephants

but the voice is soft as wild

honey dripping from the tree

and prier and master and afraid

Bagheera, the black panther

And now behold the villain of my tale

the killer, the man killer, the assassin

over spread murderous through the jungle clans

Shere Khan, the Tiger

It is said that when the first kill

when he was king of a poor able of the glades

when he run from the scene of

his first crime

the trees and creepers whip him

with their branches and straight

his yellow eye with the mark of Cain

This evil law they must have it's

dislikers, his bullies pretenders,

Tabaqui, the jackal

and the hyena, hungry for the scraps

of the murderers masters feast

But my tale is not alone about outcast and heroes

I will tell you also of rock snake Kha,

the wise one

the Oracle who thought mother Eve's

speech menus for treachery and sin

What is the book of life itself

but men bows at nature,

the struggle between village and jungle

under the mantle of wild creepers

and great trees

many ruin cities lays forgotten

in the pages of time

where a thousand war chariots

proclaim the might emigrated king

before whom all men bow their heads

nothing remains but a tradice

for wild flicks some apart

But what of the great Maharaja

the loser in this battles

he has left many such palaces

to his cousins the monkey pack,

the bender logs, the outcast of the jungle

You must picture who I was, Milords

Buldeo, the mighty hunter

Was a long time ago

and very far away,

on a summer evening in the Sioni hills

come closer, come closer

Gems on the leather, Buldeo's message

that fool makes speeches the all day.

Come Durga lets listen to him

You cannot build your houses anywhere

We have to plan our top village

Someday will be a mighty city here

A mighty city with marble houses

Temple shall be there,

facing the market place

Thats where I want the bean patch

No there is where market place, as Buldeo says

and the barbershop will face the temple

I will find a bean patch anyway

outside your mighty city

Go Durga take the child

and the old man to the car

Natu, come grandfather

Did you heard that

we are going to have a market place

and a temple and a mighty city

we have all that if we can beat the jungle

the view in your hundred years

seen men in a war with the nature

seat here grandfather

There Natu

Go back to your work

Natu, where are you my baby

Look, look, our little Natu is wonder away

Don't worry Messua the child couldn't go far

I look him for right away

Durga you search in there

Natu,...Natu...

Natu...Natu

Tiger....tiger

Natu...my husband

Abdullah, Ali, Mohammed

Poor master, poor Messua

But us all gone look for the child

All men bring your spears

Ali, Sims, Abdullah...torches

Follow me

Natu....Natu

Natu....Natuuuu

Poor little fellow, poor little Natu

And that poor mother

Poor mother!

Is every woman ought to have

a wolf nurse a baby boy

Do you believe that Tibarah

Oh, yes Memsahib, and his Excellency,

your father has many records

of those children from Indian Hills

It is true

True?, in the beginning wasn't not written

That the she wolfs love the children of men

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