Tuesday 21 February 2017

Kathmandu: The Green Eye Of The Little Yellow God

English: Durga, Kathmandu, Nepal EspaƱol: Durg...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There's a one-eyed yellow idol
to the north of Kathmandu;
there's a little marble cross below the town.
And a broken-hearted woman
tends the grave of 'Mad' Carew,
while the yellow god forever gazes down.

He was known as 'Mad Carew’
by the subs at Kathmandu.
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell.
But, for all his foolish pranks,
he was worshipped in the ranks
and the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along
with the passion of the strong
and that she returned his love was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one
and arrangements were begun,
to celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present
she would like from 'Mad' Carew;
they met next day as he dismissed a squad.
And jestingly she made pretence
that nothing else would do
but the green eye of the little yellow god.

On the night before the dance,
'Mad' Carew seemed in a trance
and they chaffed him,
as they pulled at their cigars.
But for once he failed to smile and he sat alone awhile,
then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned, before the dawn
with his shirt and tunic torn,
and a gash across his temples dripping red.
He was patched up right away
and he slept all through the day,
while the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked her
if she'd send his tunic through.
She brought it and he thanked her with a nod.
He bade her search the pocket,
saying, 'That's from "Mad" Carew,'
and she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew,
in the way that women do,
although her eyes were strangely hot and wet.
But she would not take the stone
and Carew was left alone
with the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height
on that still and tropic night,
she thought of him and hastened to his room.
As she crossed the barrack square
she could hear the dreamy air,
of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide,
with silver moonlight shining through.
The place was wet and slippery where she trod.
An ugly knife lay buried
in the heart of 'Mad' Carew:
'twas the vengeance of the little yellow god.

There's a one-eyed yellow idol
to the north of Kathmandu;
there's a little marble cross below the town.
And a broken-hearted woman
tends the grave of 'Mad' Carew,
while the yellow god forever gazes down.

(J. Milton Hayes)

This is my way of saying we're off to Nepal. Who knows what we're going to find... 

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