The yellow bird sings in their tree 
and makes my heart dance with gladness.
We both live in the same village, 
and that is our one piece of joy.
Her pair of pet lambs come to graze in the shade of our garden trees.
If they stray into our barley field, I take them up in my arms.
The name of our village is Khanjana, 
and Anjana they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, 
and her name is Ranjana.

Only one field lies between us.
Bees that have hived in our grove go to seek honey in theirs.
Flowers launched from their landing-stairs 
come floating by the stream where we bathe.
Baskets of dried _kusm_ flowers 
come from their fields to our market.
The name of our village is Khanjana.
and Anjana they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, 
and her name is Ranjana.

The lane that winds to their house 
is fragrant in the spring with mango flowers.
When their linseed is ripe for harvest 
the hemp is in bloom in our field.
The stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling look.
The rain that floods their tank makes glad our _kadam_ forest.
The name of our village is Khanjana, 
and Anjana they call our river.
My name is known to all the village, 
and her name is Ranjana.