The Frog And The

Nightingale

Once upon a time a frogCroaked away in Bingle BogEvery night from dusk to dawnHe croaked awn and awn and awn

Other creatures loathed his voice,But, alas, they had no choice,And the crass cacophonyBlared out from the sumac treeAt whose foot the frog each nightMinstrelled on till morning night

Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.Insults or complaints or bricksStilled the frogs determinationTo display his heart's elation.

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

The Poem

But one night a nightingaleIn the moonlight cold and palePerched upon the sumac treeCasting forth her melodyDumbstruck sat the gaping frog

And the whole admiring bogStared towards the sumac, rapt,And, when she had ended, clapped,Ducks had swum and herons wadedTo her as she serenaded

And a solitary loonWept, beneath the summer moon.Toads and teals and tiddlers, capturedBy her voice, cheered on, enraptured:“Bravo!” “Too divine!” “Encore!”

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

So the nightingale once more,Quite unused to such applause,Sang till dawn without a pause.

Next night when the NightingaleShook her head and twitched her tail,Closed an eye and fluffed a wingAnd had cleared her throat to singShe was startled by a croak.“Sorry – was that you who spoke?”

She enquired when the frogHopped towards her from the bog.“Yes,” the frog replied. “You see,I'm the frog who owns this treeIn this bog I've long been knownFor my splendid baritone

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

And, of course, I wield my penFor Bog Trumpet now and then”“Did you… did you like my song?”“Not too bad – but far too long.

The technique was fine of course,But it lacked a certain force”.“Oh!” the nightingale confessed.Greatly flattered and impressedThat a critic of such noteHad discussed her art and throat:“I don't think the song's divine.But – oh, well – at least it's mine”.

“That's not much to boast about”.Said the heartless frog. “WithoutProper training such as I- And few others can supply.You'll remain a mere beginner.But with me you'll be a winner”

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

“Dearest frog”, the nightingaleBreathed: “This is a fairy tale –And you are Mozart in disguiseCome to earth before my eyes”.“Well I charge a modest fee.”“Oh!” “But it won't hurt, you'll see”

Now the nightingale inspired,Flushed with confidence, and firedWith both art and adoration,Sang – and was a huge sensation.Animals for miles aroundFlocked towards the magic sound,And the frog with great precisionCounted heads and charged admission.

Though next morning it was raining,He began her vocal training.“But I can't sing in this weather”“Come my dear – we'll sing together

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’ Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

Just put on your scarf and sash,Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”So the frog and nightingaleJourneyed up and down the scaleFor six hours, till she was shiveringand her voice was hoarse and quivering. Though subdued and sleep

deprived,In the night her throat revived,And the sumac tree was bowed,With a breathless, titled crowd:

Owl of Sandwich, Duck of Kent,Mallard and Milady Trent,Martin Cardinal Mephisto,And the Coot of Monte Cristo,

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

Ladies with tiaras glitteringIn the interval sat twittering –And the frog observed them glitterWith a joy both sweet and bitter.

Every day the frog who'd sold herSongs for silver tried to scold her:“You must practice even longerTill your voice, like mine grows stronger.In the second song last nightYou got nervous in mid-flight.And, my dear, lay on more trills:

Audiences enjoy such frills.You must make your public happier:Give them something sharper snappier.We must aim for better billings.You still owe me sixty shillings.”

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

Day by day the nightingaleGrew more sorrowful and pale.Night on night her tired songZipped and trilled and bounced along,

Till the birds and beasts grew tiredAt a voice so uninspiredAnd the ticket office grossCrashed, and she grew more morose -For her ears were now addicted

To applause quite unrestricted,And to sing into the nightAll alone gave no delight.

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

Now the frog puffed up with rage.“Brainless bird – you're on the stage –Use your wits and follow fashion.Puff your lungs out with your passion.” Trembling, terrified to fail,

Blind with tears, the nightingaleHeard him out in silence, tried,Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.Said the frog: “I tried to teach her,But she was a stupid creature –Far too nervous, far too tense.Far too prone to influence.

Well, poor bird – she should have knownThat your song must be your own.That's why I sing with panache:“Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”And the foghorn of the frogBlared unrivalled through the bog.

Divyanshu Gupta, X- ‘C’

SummaryOnce upon a time a frog croaked in Bingle Bog all the night beginning from dusk to dawn. All the creatures hated his loud and unpleasant voice but still they did not have any other option. The voice came out from the sumac tree where every night the frog sang till morning. He was so determined and also shameless that neither stones, prayers or sticks nor the insults or complaints could divert him from singing. 

One night, a nightingale started casting her melody in the moonlight to which both the frog and the other creatures were left dumbstruck. The whole bog remained, rapt and admired her voice and applauded her when she ended. The frog was obviously jealous of his rival and had finally decided to eliminate her. So, the next night when the nightingale was again preparing to sing, the frog’s croak disturbed her. On being asked about himself by the nightingale he answered that he owned the sumac tree and he had been known for his splendid voice. Also he said that he had written a number of songs for the Bog Trumpet. 

The nightingale asked him whether he liked her song or not. The frog said that the song wasn’t bad but too long and it lacked some force. The nightingale was greatly impressed that such a critic had discussed her song. She said that she was happy that the song was her own creation. To this the frog said that she needed a proper training to obtain a strong voice otherwise she would remain a beginner only. He also said that he would train her but would charge some fee. 

Now, the nightingale was flushed with confidence and was a huge sensation, attracting animals from miles away and the frog with a great accuracy charged all of them admission fee. The frog began her vocal training despite of the bad and rainy weather where even the nightingale had first refused to sing. But the frog forced her to sing for six hours continuously till she was shivering and her voice had become rough and unclear. But, somehow her neck got clear the next day and she was able to sing again collecting a breathless crowd including rich ladies kings queens etc. To all this, the frog had both sweet and bitter feelings. Sweet because he was earning lots of money and bitter because of jealously as his rival was earning name and fame. 

Summary

Everyday, the frog scolded her to practice even longer finding out her little mistakes like nervousness not laying more trills and frills etc. He reminded her that she still owed him sixty shillings and that s why the crowd should increase. But the condition of nightingale was getting worsened. Her tired and uninspired song could no longer attract the crowd. She could not resist this as she had become used to applause and thus had become miserable too. The heartless frog scolded her even then calling her a brainless bird. She trembled, puffed up, burst a vein and died. The frog said that he had tried to teach her but she was foolish, nervous and tensed and moreover much prone to influence. Then, once again the frog’s fog horn started blearing unrivalled in the bog.

Summary

Moral Of The PoemThe moral of the poem is that being inspired and influenced by someone much unknown and strange is indeed a foolish work. The nightingale could have very well judged that how could the frog with such a harsh voice be music maestro and she had to suffer for her misjudgment. 

Many people in the human society also try to take advantage of the innocence or ignorance of the people. 

THE FROG The Nightingale

Polite, soft, timorous. – “sorry was that you who spoke”Nervous and shy- “Did you, did you like my song”Timid and polite – “This is a fairy tale. And you are Mozart in disguise..”

Territorial and boastful – “I’m the frog who owns the tree.” “Technique was fine, But it lacked certain force”Patronizing – “Without proper training …You’ll remain a beginner.”Possessive, greedy – “We must aim for better billings…..”Arrogant and condescending – “I tried to teach her… a stupid creature”

THE POET

Vikram Seth was born in Calcutta in 1952. He left India to study at Oxford . His first novel, The Golden Gate, is written entirely in tetrameter sonnets. He won the Commonwealth Poetry Prize in 1986and the Sahitya Academy award in 1988.

This Story Is About a Frog and a Nightingale

This poem by Vikram Seth is a musical poem where the Frog and the Nightingale represent two contrasting characters.

The frog is the boastful, domineering character, whereas the nightingale has been portrayed as a nervous and polite bird who wants to sing like the frog. She submits to him without any protest.

The poem has been told in the style of a story. Starts “Once upon a time …” then the poem progresses in a definite direction and finally concludes with the death of the bird.

Presented by-Nishtha BatraX-B

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