Where goes the young Indian girl,
daughter of the pariahs,


When the moon it plays,
On the tall mimosa trees?
She runs over the moss

And she doesn't remember

That everywhere is shunned

The child of the pariahs;
Past the pink laurels,
Dreaming of sweet things, Ah!


She passes without noise
And smiles (laughs) at the night.

Over there in the forest more dark,
Who is the traveller, lost?
All around him

The eyes shine in the shadows,

He wanders on bewildered and lost!

The wild beasts roar with pleasure,
They go to pounce(jump) on their prey,


The young girl runs up
And braves their fury:


She has in her hand the wand
Where tinkle the bells of the enchanter!
The stranger looks at her,

She stands dazzled.
He is more beautiful than all the Rahjas!
He will blush, if he realizes(knows) that he owes

His life to the daughter of pariahs.
But he, lulling her to sleep in a dream,
He transports her to heaven,

And telling her: 'your place is there!'
It was Vishnu, son of Brahma!
Since that day in the depths of the forest,

The traveller may sometimes hear
The faint sound of the wand
Where tinkle the bells of the enchanter!