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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7951-8.txt b/7951-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d52e11 --- /dev/null +++ b/7951-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3451 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Glimpses of Bengal, by Sir Rabindranath Tagore + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Glimpses of Bengal + +Author: Sir Rabindranath Tagore + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7951] +This file was first posted on June 4, 2003 +Last Updated: May 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + + + + +Produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +GLIMPSES OF BENGAL + +SELECTED FROM THE LETTERS OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE + +1885 TO 1895 + +By Sir Rabindranath Tagore + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The letters translated in this book span the most productive period of my +literary life, when, owing to great good fortune, I was young and less +known. + +Youth being exuberant and leisure ample, I felt the writing of letters +other than business ones to be a delightful necessity. This is a form of +literary extravagance only possible when a surplus of thought and emotion +accumulates. Other forms of literature remain the author's and are made +public for his good; letters that have been given to private individuals +once for all, are therefore characterised by the more generous +abandonment. + +It so happened that selected extracts from a large number of such letters +found their way back to me years after they had been written. It had been +rightly conjectured that they would delight me by bringing to mind the +memory of days when, under the shelter of obscurity, I enjoyed the +greatest freedom my life has ever known. + +Since these letters synchronise with a considerable part of my published +writings, I thought their parallel course would broaden my readers' +understanding of my poems as a track is widened by retreading the same +ground. Such was my justification for publishing them in a book for my +countrymen. Hoping that the descriptions of village scenes in Bengal +contained in these letters would also be of interest to English readers, +the translation of a selection of that selection has been entrusted to one +who, among all those whom I know, was best fitted to carry it out. + +RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + +_20th June 1920._ + + + + +BANDORA, BY THE SEA, + +_October_ 1885. + + +The unsheltered sea heaves and heaves and blanches into foam. It sets me +thinking of some tied-up monster straining at its bonds, in front of whose +gaping jaws we build our homes on the shore and watch it lashing its tail. +What immense strength, with waves swelling like the muscles of a giant! + +From the beginning of creation there has been this feud between land and +water: the dry earth slowly and silently adding to its domain and +spreading a broader and broader lap for its children; the ocean receding +step by step, heaving and sobbing and beating its breast in despair. +Remember the sea was once sole monarch, utterly free. + +Land rose from its womb, usurped its throne, and ever since the maddened +old creature, with hoary crest of foam, wails and laments continually, +like King Lear exposed to the fury of the elements. + + +_July 1887._ + +I am in my twenty-seventh year. This event keeps thrusting itself before +my mind--nothing else seems to have happened of late. + +But to reach twenty-seven--is that a trifling thing?--to pass the meridian +of the twenties on one's progress towards thirty?--thirty--that is to say +maturity--the age at which people expect fruit rather than fresh foliage. +But, alas, where is the promise of fruit? As I shake my head, it still +feels brimful of luscious frivolity, with not a trace of philosophy. + +Folk are beginning to complain: "Where is that which we expected of +you--that in hope of which we admired the soft green of the shoot? Are we +to put up with immaturity for ever? It is high time for us to know what we +shall gain from you. We want an estimate of the proportion of oil which +the blindfold, mill-turning, unbiased critic can squeeze out of you." + +It has ceased to be possible to delude these people into waiting +expectantly any longer. While I was under age they trustfully gave me +credit; it is sad to disappoint them now that I am on the verge of thirty. +But what am I to do? Words of wisdom will not come! I am utterly +incompetent to provide things that may profit the multitude. Beyond a +snatch of song, some tittle-tattle, a little merry fooling, I have been +unable to advance. And as the result, those who held high hopes will turn +their wrath on me; but did any one ever beg them to nurse these +expectations? + +Such are the thoughts which assail me since one fine _Bysakh_ morning +I awoke amidst fresh breeze and light, new leaf and flower, to find that I +had stepped into my twenty-seventh year. + + + + +SHELIDAH, 1888. + + +Our house-boat is moored to a sandbank on the farther side of the river. A +vast expanse of sand stretches away out of sight on every side, with here +and there a streak, as of water, running across, though sometimes what +gleams like water is only sand. + +Not a village, not a human being, not a tree, not a blade of grass--the +only breaks in the monotonous whiteness are gaping cracks which in places +show the layer of moist, black clay underneath. + +Looking towards the East, there is endless blue above, endless white +beneath. Sky empty, earth empty too--the emptiness below hard and barren, +that overhead arched and ethereal--one could hardly find elsewhere such a +picture of stark desolation. + +But on turning to the West, there is water, the currentless bend of the +river, fringed with its high bank, up to which spread the village groves +with cottages peeping through--all like an enchanting dream in the evening +light. I say "the evening light," because in the evening we wander out, +and so that aspect is impressed on my mind. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, 1890. + + +The magistrate was sitting in the verandah of his tent dispensing justice +to the crowd awaiting their turns under the shade of a tree. They set my +palanquin down right under his nose, and the young Englishman received me +courteously. He had very light hair, with darker patches here and there, +and a moustache just beginning to show. One might have taken him for a +white-haired old man but for his extremely youthful face. I asked him over +to dinner, but he said he was due elsewhere to arrange for a pig-sticking +party. + +As I returned home, great black clouds came up and there was a terrific +storm with torrents of rain. I could not touch a book, it was impossible +to write, so in the I-know-not-what mood I wandered about from room to +room. It had become quite dark, the thunder was continually pealing, the +lightning gleaming flash after flash, and every now and then sudden gusts +of wind would get hold of the big _lichi_ tree by the neck and give +its shaggy top a thorough shaking. The hollow in front of the house soon +filled with water, and as I paced about, it suddenly struck me that I +ought to offer the shelter of the house to the magistrate. + +I sent off an invitation; then after investigation I found the only spare +room encumbered with a platform of planks hanging from the beams, piled +with dirty old quilts and bolsters. Servants' belongings, an excessively +grimy mat, hubble-bubble pipes, tobacco, tinder, and two wooden chests +littered the floor, besides sundry packing-cases full of useless odds and +ends, such as a rusty kettle lid, a bottomless iron stove, a discoloured +old nickel teapot, a soup-plate full of treacle blackened with dust. In a +corner was a tub for washing dishes, and from nails in the wall hung moist +dish-clouts and the cook's livery and skull-cap. The only piece of +furniture was a rickety dressing-table with water stains, oil stains, milk +stains, black, brown, and white stains, and all kinds of mixed stains. The +mirror, detached from it, rested against another wall, and the drawers +were receptacles for a miscellaneous assortment of articles from soiled +napkins down to bottle wires and dust. + +For a moment I was overwhelmed with dismay; then it was a case of--send +for the manager, send for the storekeeper, call up all the servants, get +hold of extra men, fetch water, put up ladders, unfasten ropes, pull down +planks, take away bedding, pick up broken glass bit by bit, wrench nails +from the wall one by one.--The chandelier falls and its pieces strew the +floor; pick them up again piece by piece.--I myself whisk the dirty mat +off the floor and out of the window, dislodging a horde of cockroaches, +messmates, who dine off my bread, my treacle, and the polish on my shoes. + +The magistrate's reply is brought back; his tent is in an awful state and +he is coming at once. Hurry up! Hurry up! Presently comes the shout: "The +sahib has arrived." All in a flurry I brush the dust off hair, beard, and +the rest of myself, and as I go to receive him in the drawing-room, I try +to look as respectable as if I had been reposing there comfortably all the +afternoon. + +I went through the shaking of hands and conversed with the magistrate +outwardly serene; still, misgivings about his accommodation would now and +then well up within. When at length I had to show my guest to his room, I +found it passable, and if the homeless cockroaches do not tickle the soles +of his feet, he may manage to get a night's rest. + + + + +KALIGRAM, 1891. + + +I am feeling listlessly comfortable and delightfully irresponsible. + +This is the prevailing mood all round here. There is a river but it has no +current to speak of, and, lying snugly tucked up in its coverlet of +floating weeds, seems to think--"Since it is possible to get on without +getting along, why should I bestir myself to stir?" So the sedge which +lines the banks knows hardly any disturbance until the fishermen come with +their nets. + +Four or five large-sized boats are moored near by, alongside each other. +On the upper deck of one the boatman is fast asleep, rolled up in a sheet +from head to foot. On another, the boatman--also basking in the +sun--leisurely twists some yarn into rope. On the lower deck in a third, +an oldish-looking, bare-bodied fellow is leaning over an oar, staring +vacantly at our boat. + +Along the bank there are various other people, but why they come or go, +with the slowest of idle steps, or remain seated on their haunches +embracing their knees, or keep on gazing at nothing in particular, no one +can guess. + +The only signs of activity are to be seen amongst the ducks, who, quacking +clamorously, thrust their heads under and bob up again to shake off the +water with equal energy, as if they repeatedly tried to explore the +mysteries below the surface, and every time, shaking their heads, had to +report, "Nothing there! Nothing there!" + +The days here drowse all their twelve hours in the sun, and silently sleep +away the other twelve, wrapped in the mantle of darkness. The only thing +you want to do in a place like this is to gaze and gaze on the landscape, +swinging your fancies to and fro, alternately humming a tune and nodding +dreamily, as the mother on a winter's noonday, her back to the sun, rocks +and croons her baby to sleep. + + + + +KALIGRAM, 1891. + + +Yesterday, while I was giving audience to my tenants, five or six boys +made their appearance and stood in a primly proper row before me. Before I +could put any question their spokesman, in the choicest of high-flown +language, started: "Sire! the grace of the Almighty and the good fortune +of your benighted children have once more brought about your lordship's +auspicious arrival into this locality." He went on in this strain for +nearly half an hour. Here and there he would get his lesson wrong, pause, +look up at the sky, correct himself, and then go on again. I gathered that +their school was short of benches and stools. "For want of these +wood-built seats," as he put it, "we know not where to sit ourselves, +where to seat our revered teachers, or what to offer our most respected +inspector when he comes on a visit." + +I could hardly repress a smile at this torrent of eloquence gushing from +such a bit of a fellow, which sounded specially out of place here, where +the ryots are given to stating their profoundly vital wants in plain and +direct vernacular, of which even the more unusual words get sadly twisted +out of shape. The clerks and ryots, however, seemed duly impressed, and +likewise envious, as though deploring their parents' omission to endow +them with so splendid a means of appealing to the _Zamindar_. + +I interrupted the young orator before he had done, promising to arrange +for the necessary number of benches and stools. Nothing daunted, he +allowed me to have my say, then took up his discourse where he had left +it, finished it to the last word, saluted me profoundly, and marched off +his contingent. He probably would not have minded had I refused to supply +the seats, but after all his trouble in getting it by heart he would have +resented bitterly being robbed of any part of his speech. So, though it +kept more important business waiting, I had to hear him out. + + + + +NEARING SHAZADPUR, + +_January_ 1891. + + +We left the little river of Kaligram, sluggish as the circulation in a +dying man, and dropped down the current of a briskly flowing stream which +led to a region where land and water seemed to merge in each other, river +and bank without distinction of garb, like brother and sister in infancy. + +The river lost its coating of sliminess, scattered its current in many +directions, and spread out, finally, into a _beel_ (marsh), with here +a patch of grassy land and there a stretch of transparent water, reminding +me of the youth of this globe when through the limitless waters land had +just begun to raise its head, the separate provinces of solid and fluid as +yet undefined. + +Round about where we have moored, the bamboo poles of fishermen are +planted. Kites hover ready to snatch up fish from the nets. On the ooze at +the water's edge stand the saintly-looking paddy birds in meditation. All +kinds of waterfowl abound. Patches of weeds float on the water. Here and +there rice-fields, untilled, untended,[1] rise from the moist, clay soil. +Mosquitoes swarm over the still waters.... + +[Footnote 1: On the rich river-side silt, rice seed is simply scattered +and the harvest reaped when ripe; nothing else has to be done.] + +We start again at dawn this morning and pass through Kachikata, where the +waters of the _beel_ find an outlet in a winding channel only six or +seven yards wide, through which they rush swiftly. To get our unwieldy +house-boat through is indeed an adventure. The current hurries it along at +lightning speed, keeping the crew busy using their oars as poles to +prevent the boat being dashed against the banks. We thus come out again +into the open river. + +The sky had been heavily clouded, a damp wind blowing, with occasional +showers of rain. The crew were all shivering with cold. Such wet and +gloomy days in the cold weather are eminently disagreeable, and I have +spent a wretched lifeless morning. At two in the afternoon the sun came +out, and since then it has been delightful. The banks are now high and +covered with peaceful groves and the dwellings of men, secluded and full +of beauty. + +The river winds in and out, an unknown little stream in the inmost +_zenana_ of Bengal, neither lazy nor fussy; lavishing the wealth of +her affection on both sides, she prattles about common joys and sorrows +and the household news of the village girls, who come for water, and sit +by her side, assiduously rubbing their bodies to a glowing freshness with +their moistened towels. + +This evening we have moored our boat in a lonely bend. The sky is clear. +The moon is at its full. Not another boat is to be seen. The moonlight +glimmers on the ripples. Solitude reigns on the banks. The distant village +sleeps, nestling within a thick fringe of trees. The shrill, sustained +chirp of the cicadas is the only sound. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_February_ 1891. + + +Just in front of my window, on the other side of the stream, a band of +gypsies have ensconced themselves, putting up bamboo frameworks covered +over with split-bamboo mats and pieces of cloth. There are only three of +these little structures, so low that you cannot stand upright inside. +Their life is lived in the open, and they only creep under these shelters +at night, to sleep huddled together. + +That is always the gypsies' way: no home anywhere, no landlord to pay rent +to, wandering about as it pleases them with their children, their pigs, +and a dog or two; and on them the police keep a vigilant eye. + +I frequently watch the doings of the family nearest me. They are dark but +good-looking, with fine, strongly-built bodies, like north-west country +folk. Their women are handsome, and have tall, slim, well-knit figures; +and with their free and easy movements, and natural independent airs, they +look to me like swarthy Englishwomen. + +The man has just put the cooking-pot on the fire, and is now splitting +bamboos and weaving baskets. The woman first holds up a little mirror to +her face, then puts a deal of pains into wiping and rubbing it, over and +over again, with a moist piece of cloth; and then, the folds of her upper +garment adjusted and tidied, she goes, all spick and span, up to her man +and sits beside him, helping him now and then in his work. + +These are truly children of the soil, born on it somewhere, bred by the +wayside, here, there, and everywhere, dying anywhere. Night and day under +the open sky, in the open air, on the bare ground, they lead a unique kind +of life; and yet work, love, children, and household duties--everything is +there. + +They are not idle for a moment, but always doing something. Her own +particular task over, one woman plumps herself down behind another, unties +the knot of her hair and cleans and arranges it for her; and whether at +the same time they fall to talking over the domestic affairs of the three +little mat-covered households I cannot say for certain from this distance, +but shrewdly suspect it. + +This morning a great disturbance invaded the peaceful gypsy settlement. It +was about half-past eight or nine. They were spreading out over the mat +roofs tattered quilts and sundry other rags, which serve them for beds, in +order to sun and air them. The pigs with their litters, lying in a hollow +all of a heap and looking like a dab of mud, had been routed out by the +two canine members of the family, who fell upon them and sent them roaming +in search of their breakfasts, squealing their annoyance at being +interrupted in enjoyment of the sun after the cold night. I was writing my +letter and absently looking out now and then when the hubbub suddenly +commenced. + +I rose and went to the window, and found a crowd gathered round the gypsy +hermitage. A superior-looking personage was flourishing a stick and +indulging in the strongest language. The headman of the gypsies, cowed and +nervous, was apparently trying to offer explanations. I gathered that some +suspicious happenings in the locality had led to this visitation by a +police officer. + +The woman, so far, had remained sitting, busily scraping lengths of split +bamboo as serenely as if she had been alone and no sort of row going on. +Suddenly, however, she sprang to her feet, advanced on the police officer, +gesticulated violently with her arms right in his face, and gave him, in +strident tones, a piece of her mind. In the twinkling of an eye +three-quarters of the officer's excitement had subsided; he tried to put +in a word or two of mild protest but did not get a chance, and so departed +crestfallen, a different man. + +After he had retreated to a safe distance, he turned and shouted back: +"All I say is, you'll have to clear out from here!" + +I thought my neighbours opposite would forthwith pack up their mats and +bamboos and move away with their bundles, pigs, and children. But there is +no sign of it yet. They are still nonchalantly engaged in splitting +bamboos, cooking food, or completing a toilet. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_February_ 1891. + + +The post office is in a part of our estate office building,--this is very +convenient, for we get our letters as soon as they arrive. Some evenings +the postmaster comes up to have a chat with me. I enjoy listening to his +yarns. + +He talks of the most impossible things in the gravest possible manner. + +Yesterday he was telling me in what great reverence people of this +locality hold the sacred river Ganges. If one of their relatives dies, he +said, and they have not the means of taking the ashes to the Ganges, they +powder a piece of bone from his funeral pyre and keep it till they come +across some one who, some time or other, has drunk of the Ganges. To him +they administer some of this powder, hidden in the usual offering of +_pán_[1], and thus are content to imagine that a portion of the +remains of their deceased relative has gained purifying contact with the +sacred water. + +[Footnote 1: Spices wrapped in betel leaf.] + +I smiled as I remarked: "This surely must be an invention." + +He pondered deeply before he admitted after a pause: "Yes, it may be." + + + + +ON THE WAY. + +_February_ 1891. + + +We have got past the big rivers and just turned into a little one. + +The village women are standing in the water, bathing or washing clothes; +and some, in their dripping _saris_, with veils pulled well over +their faces, move homeward with their water vessels filled and clasped +against the left flank, the right arm swinging free. Children, covered all +over with clay, are sporting boisterously, splashing water on each other, +while one of them shouts a song, regardless of the tune. + +Over the high banks, the cottage roofs and the tops of the bamboo clumps +are visible. The sky has cleared and the sun is shining. Remnants of +clouds cling to the horizon like fluffs of cotton wool. The breeze is +warmer. + +There are not many boats in this little river; only a few dinghies, laden +with dry branches and twigs, are moving leisurely along to the tired +plash! plash! of their oars. At the river's edge the fishermen's nets are +hung out to dry between bamboo poles. And work everywhere seems to be over +for the day. + + + + +CHUHALI. + +_June_ 1891. + + +I had been sitting out on the deck for more than a quarter of an hour when +heavy clouds rose in the west. They came up, black, tumbled, and tattered, +with streaks of lurid light showing through here and there. The little +boats scurried off into the smaller arm of the river and clung with their +anchors safely to its banks. The reapers took up the cut sheaves on their +heads and hied homewards; the cows followed, and behind them frisked the +calves waving their tails. + +Then came an angry roar. Torn-off scraps of cloud hurried up from the +west, like panting messengers of evil tidings. Finally, lightning and +thunder, rain and storm, came on altogether and executed a mad dervish +dance. The bamboo clumps seemed to howl as the raging wind swept the +ground with them, now to the east, now to the west. Over all, the storm +droned like a giant snake-charmer's pipe, and to its rhythm swayed +hundreds and thousands of crested waves, like so many hooded snakes. The +thunder was incessant, as though a whole world was being pounded to pieces +away there behind the clouds. + +With my chin resting on the ledge of an open window facing away from the +wind, I allowed my thoughts to take part in this terrible revelry; they +leapt into the open like a pack of schoolboys suddenly set free. When, +however, I got a thorough drenching from the spray of the rain, I had to +shut up the window and my poetising, and retire quietly into the darkness +inside, like a caged bird. + + + + +SHAZADPUR. + +_June_ 1891. + + +From the bank to which the boat is tied a kind of scent rises out of the +grass, and the heat of the ground, given off in gasps, actually touches my +body. I feel that the warm, living Earth is breathing upon me, and that +she, also, must feel my breath. + +The young shoots of rice are waving in the breeze, and the ducks are in +turn thrusting their heads beneath the water and preening their feathers. +There is no sound save the faint, mournful creaking of the gangway against +the boat, as she imperceptibly swings to and fro in the current. + +Not far off there is a ferry. A motley crowd has assembled under the +banyan tree awaiting the boat's return; and as soon as it arrives, they +eagerly scramble in. I enjoy watching this for hours together. It is +market-day in the village on the other bank; that is why the ferry is so +busy. Some carry bundles of hay, some baskets, some sacks; some are going +to the market, others coming from it. Thus, in this silent noonday, the +stream of human activity slowly flows across the river between two +villages. + +I sat wondering: Why is there always this deep shade of melancholy over +the fields arid river banks, the sky and the sunshine of our country? And +I came to the conclusion that it is because with us Nature is obviously +the more important thing. The sky is free, the fields limitless; and the +sun merges them into one blazing whole. In the midst of this, man seems so +trivial. He comes and goes, like the ferry-boat, from this shore to the +other; the babbling hum of his talk, the fitful echo of his song, is +heard; the slight movement of his pursuit of his own petty desires is seen +in the world's market-places: but how feeble, how temporary, how +tragically meaningless it all seems amidst the immense aloofness of the +Universe! + +The contrast between the beautiful, broad, unalloyed peace of +Nature--calm, passive, silent, unfathomable,--and our own everyday +worries--paltry, sorrow-laden, strife-tormented, puts me beside myself as +I keep staring at the hazy, distant, blue line of trees which fringe the +fields across the river. + +Where Nature is ever hidden, and cowers under mist and cloud, snow and +darkness, there man feels himself master; he regards his desires, his +works, as permanent; he wants to perpetuate them, he looks towards +posterity, he raises monuments, he writes biographies; he even goes the +length of erecting tombstones over the dead. So busy is he that he has not +time to consider how many monuments crumble, how often names are +forgotten! + + + + +SHAZADPUR. + +_June_ 1891. + + +There was a great, big mast lying on the river bank, and some little +village urchins, with never a scrap of clothing, decided, after a long +consultation, that if it could be rolled along to the accompaniment of a +sufficient amount of vociferous clamour, it would be a new and altogether +satisfactory kind of game. The decision was no sooner come to than acted +upon, with a "_Shabash_, brothers! All together! Heave ho!" And at +every turn it rolled, there was uproarious laughter. + +The demeanour of one girl in the party was very different. She was playing +with the boys for want of other companions, but she clearly viewed with +disfavour these loud and strenuous games. At last she stepped up to the +mast and, without a word, deliberately sat on it. + +So rare a game to come to so abrupt a stop! Some of the players seemed to +resign themselves to giving it up as a bad job; and retiring a little way +off, they sulkily glared at the girl in her impassive gravity. One made as +if he would push her off, but even this did not disturb the careless ease +of her pose. The eldest lad came up to her and pointed to other equally +suitable places for taking a rest; at which she energetically shook her +head, and putting her hands in her lap, steadied herself down still more +firmly on her seat. Then at last they had recourse to physical argument +and were completely successful. + +Once again joyful shouts rent the skies, and the mast rolled along so +gloriously that even the girl had to cast aside her pride and her +dignified exclusiveness and make a pretence of joining in the unmeaning +excitement. But one could see all the time that she was sure boys never +know how to play properly, and are always so childish! If only she had the +regulation yellow earthen doll handy, with its big, black top-knot, would +she ever have deigned to join in this silly game with these foolish boys? + +All of a sudden the idea of another splendid pastime occurred to the boys. +Two of them got hold of a third by the arms and legs and began to swing +him. This must have been great fun, for they all waxed enthusiastic over +it. But it was more than the girl could stand, so she disdainfully left +the playground and marched off home. + +Then there was an accident. The boy who was being swung was let fall. He +left his companions in a pet, and went and lay down on the grass with his +arms crossed under his head, desiring to convey thereby that never again +would he have anything to do with this bad, hard world, but would forever +lie, alone by himself, with his arms under his head, and count the stars +and watch the play of the clouds. + +The eldest boy, unable to bear the idea of such untimely +world-renunciation, ran up to the disconsolate one and taking his head on +his own knees repentantly coaxed him. "Come, my little brother! Do get up, +little brother! Have we hurt you, little brother?" And before long I found +them playing, like two pups, at catching and snatching away each other's +hands! Two minutes had hardly passed before the little fellow was swinging +again. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_June_ 1891. + + +I had a most extraordinary dream last night. The whole of Calcutta seemed +enveloped in some awful mystery, the houses being only dimly visible +through a dense, dark mist, within the veil of which there were strange +doings. + +I was going along Park Street in a hackney carriage, and as I passed St. +Xavier's College I found it had started growing rapidly and was fast +getting impossibly high within its enveloping haze. Then it was borne in +on me that a band of magicians had come to Calcutta who, if they were paid +for it, could bring about many such wonders. + +When I arrived at our Jorasanko house, I found these magicians had turned +up there too. They were ugly-looking, of a Mongolian type, with scanty +moustaches and a few long hairs sticking out of their chins. They could +make men grow. Some of the girls wanted to be made taller, and the +magician sprinkled some powder over their heads and they promptly shot up. +To every one I met I kept repeating: "This is most extraordinary,--just +like a dream!" + +Then some one proposed that our house should be made to grow. The +magicians agreed, and as a preliminary began to take down some portions. +The dismantling over, they demanded money, or else they would not go on. +The cashier strongly objected. How could payment be made before the work +was completed? At this the magicians got wild and twisted up the building +most fearsomely, so that men and brickwork got mixed together, bodies +inside walls and only head and shoulders showing. + +It had altogether the look of a thoroughly devilish business, as I told my +eldest brother. "You see," said I, "the kind of thing it is. We had better +call upon God to help us!" But try as I might to anathematise them in the +name of God, my heart felt like breaking and no words would come. Then I +awoke. + +A curious dream, was it not? Calcutta in the hands of Satan and growing +diabolically, within the darkness of an unholy mist! + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_June_ 1891. + + +The schoolmasters of this place paid me a visit yesterday. + +They stayed on and on, while for the life of me I could not find a word to +say. I managed a question or so every five minutes, to which they offered +the briefest replies; and then I sat vacantly, twirling my pen, and +scratching my head. + +At last I ventured on a question about the crops, but being schoolmasters +they knew nothing whatever about crops. + +About their pupils I had already asked them everything I could think of, +so I had to start over again: How many boys had they in the school? One +said eighty, another said a hundred and seventy-five. I hoped that this +might lead to an argument, but no, they made up their difference. + +Why, after an hour and a half, they should have thought of taking leave, I +cannot tell. They might have done so with as good a reason an hour +earlier, or, for the matter of that, twelve hours later! Their decision +was clearly arrived at empirically, entirely without method. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_July_ 1891. + + +There is another boat at this landing-place, and on the shore in front of +it a crowd of village women. Some are evidently embarking on a journey and +the others seeing them off; infants, veils, and grey hairs are all mixed +up in the gathering. + +One girl in particular attracts my attention. She must be about eleven or +twelve; but, buxom and sturdy, she might pass for fourteen or fifteen. She +has a winsome face--very dark, but very pretty. Her hair is cut short like +a boy's, which well becomes her simple, frank, and alert expression. She +has a child in her arms and is staring at me with unabashed curiosity, and +certainly no lack of straightforwardness or intelligence in her glance. +Her half-boyish, half-girlish manner is singularly attractive--a novel +blend of masculine nonchalance and feminine charm. I had no idea there +were such types among our village women in Bengal. + +None of this family, apparently, is troubled with too much bashfulness. +One of them has unfastened her hair in the sun and is combing it out with +her fingers, while conversing about their domestic affairs at the top of +her voice with another, on board. I gather she has no other children +except a girl, a foolish creature who knows neither how to behave or talk, +nor even the difference between kin and stranger. I also learn that +Gopal's son-in-law has turned out a ne'er-do-well, and that his daughter +refuses to go to her husband. + +When, at length, it was time to start, they escorted my short-haired +damsel, with plump shapely arms, her gold bangles and her guileless, +radiant face, into the boat. I could divine that she was returning from +her father's to her husband's home. They all stood there, following the +boat with their gaze as it cast off, one or two wiping their eyes with the +loose end of their _saris_. A little girl, with her hair tightly tied +into a knot, clung to the neck of an older woman and silently wept on her +shoulder. Perhaps she was losing a darling Didimani [1] who joined in her +doll games and also slapped her when she was naughty.... + +[Footnote 1: An elder sister is often called sister-jewel +(_Didimani_).] + +The quiet floating away of a boat on the stream seems to add to the pathos +of a separation--it is so like death--the departing one lost to sight, +those left behind returning to their daily life, wiping their eyes. True, +the pang lasts but a while, and is perhaps already wearing off both in +those who have gone and those who remain,--pain being temporary, oblivion +permanent. But none the less it is not the forgetting, but the pain which +is true; and every now and then, in separation or in death, we realise how +terribly true. + + + + +ON BOARD A CANAL STEAMER GOING TO CUTTACK, + +_August_ 1891. + + +My bag left behind, my clothes daily get more and more intolerably +disreputable,--this thought continually uppermost is not compatible with a +due sense of self-respect. With the bag I could have faced the world of +men head erect and spirits high; without it, I fain would skulk in +corners, away from the glances of the crowd. I go to bed in these clothes +and in them I appear in the morning, and on the top of that the steamer is +full of soot, and the unbearable heat of the day keeps one unpleasantly +moist. + +Apart from this, I am having quite a time of it on board the steamer. My +fellow-passengers are of inexhaustible variety. There is one, Aghore Babu, +who cannot allude to anything, animate or inanimate, except in terms of +personal abuse. There is another, a lover of music, who persists in +attempting variations on the Bhairab[1] mode at dead of night, convincing +me of the untimeliness of his performance in more senses than one. + +[Footnote: A Raga, or mode of Indian classical music, supposed to be +appropriate to the early dawn.] + +The steamer has been aground in a narrow ditch of a canal ever since last +evening, and it is now past nine in the morning. I spent the night in a +corner of the crowded deck, more dead than alive. I had asked the steward +to fry some _luchis_ for my dinner, and he brought me some +nondescript slabs of fried dough with no vegetable accompaniments to eat +them with. On my expressing a pained surprise, he was all contrition and +offered to make me some hotch-potch at once. But the night being already +far advanced, I declined his offer, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of +the stuff dry, and then, all lights on and the deck packed with +passengers, laid myself down to sleep. + +Mosquitoes hovered above, cockroaches wandered around. There was a +fellow-sleeper stretched crosswise at my feet whose body my soles every +now and then came up against. Four or five noses were engaged in snoring. +Several mosquito-tormented, sleepless wretches were consoling themselves +by pulls at their hubble-bubble pipes; and above all, there rose those +variations on the mode _Bhairab_! Finally, at half-past three in the +morning, some fussy busy-bodies began loudly inciting each other to get +up. In despair, I also left my bed and dropped into my deck-chair to await +the dawn. Thus passed that variegated nightmare of a night. + +One of the hands tells me that the steamer has stuck so fast that it may +take the whole day to get her off. I inquire of another whether any +Calcutta-bound steamer will be passing, and get the smiling reply that +this is the only boat on this line, and I may come back in her, if I like, +after she has reached Cuttack! By a stroke of luck, after a great deal of +tugging and hauling, they have just got her afloat at about ten o'clock. + + + + +TIRAN. + +7_th September_ 1891. + + +The landing-place at Balia makes a pretty picture with its fine big trees +on either side, and on the whole the canal somehow reminds me of the +little river at Poona. On thinking it over I am sure I should have liked +the canal much better had it really been a river. + +Cocoanut palms as well as mangoes and other shady trees line its banks, +which, turfed with beautifully green grass, slope gently down to the +water, and are sprinkled over with sensitive plants in flower. Here and +there are screwpine groves, and through gaps in the border of trees +glimpses can be caught of endless fields, stretching away into the +distance, their crops so soft and velvety after the rains that the eye +seems to sink into their depths. Then again, there are the little villages +under their clusters of cocoanut and date palms, nestling under the moist +cool shade of the low seasonal clouds. + +Through all these the canal, with its gentle current, winds gracefully +between its clean, grassy banks, fringed, in its narrower stretches, with +clusters of water-lilies with reeds growing among them. And yet the mind +keeps fretting at the idea that after all it is nothing but an artificial +canal. + +The murmur of its waters does not reach back to the beginning of time. It +knows naught of the mysteries of some distant, inaccessible mountain cave. +It has not flowed for ages, graced with an old-world feminine name, giving +the villages on its sides the milk of its breast. Even old artificial +lakes have acquired a greater dignity. + +However when, a hundred years hence, the trees on its banks will have +grown statelier; its brand-new milestones been worn down and moss-covered +into mellowness; the date 1871, inscribed on its lock-gates, left behind +at a respectable distance; then, if I am reborn as my great-grandson and +come again to inspect the Cuttack estates along this canal, I may feel +differently towards it. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_October_ 1891. + + +Boat after boat touches at the landing-place, and after a whole year +exiles are returning home from distant fields of work for the Poojah +vacation, their boxes, baskets, and bundles loaded with presents. I notice +one who, as his boat nears the shore, changes into a freshly folded and +crinkled muslin _dhoti_, dons over his cotton tunic a China silk +coat, carefully adjusts round his neck a neatly twisted scarf, and walks +off towards the village, umbrella held aloft. + +Rustling waves pass over the rice-fields. Mango and cocoanut tree-tops +rise into the sky, and beyond them there are fluffy clouds on the horizon. +The fringes of the palm leaves wave in the breeze. The reeds on the +sand-bank are on the point of flowering. It is altogether an exhilarating +scene. + +The feelings of the man who has just arrived home, the eager expectancy of +his folk awaiting him, this autumn sky, this world, the gentle morning +breeze, the universal responsive tremor in tree and shrub and in the +wavelets on the river, conspire to overwhelm this lonely youth, gazing +from his window, with unutterable joys and sorrows. + +Glimpses of the world received from wayside windows bring new desires, or +rather, make old desires take on new forms. The day before yesterday, as I +was sitting at the window of the boat, a little fisher-dinghy floated +past, the boatman singing a song--not a very tuneful song. But it reminded +me of a night, years ago, when I was a child. We were going along the +Padma in a boat. I awoke one night at about 2 o'clock, and, on raising the +window and putting out my head, I saw the waters without a ripple, +gleaming in the moonlight, and a youth in a little dinghy paddling along +all by himself and singing, oh so sweetly,--such sweet melody I had never +heard before. + +A sudden longing came upon me to go back to the day of that song; to be +allowed to make another essay at life, this time not to leave it thus +empty and unsatisfied; but with a poet's song on my lips to float about +the world on the crest of the rising tide, to sing it to men and subdue +their hearts; to see for myself what the world holds and where; to let men +know me, to get to know them; to burst forth through the world in life and +youth like the eager rushing breezes; and then return home to a fulfilled +and fruitful old age to spend it as a poet should. + +Not a very lofty ideal, is it? To benefit the world would have been much +higher, no doubt; but being on the whole what I am, that ambition does not +even occur to me. I cannot make up my mind to sacrifice this precious gift +of life in a self-wrought famine, and disappoint the world and the hearts +of men by fasts and meditations and constant argument. I count it enough +to live and die as a man, loving and trusting the world, unable to look on +it either as a delusion of the Creator or a snare of the Devil. It is not +for me to strive to be wafted away into the airiness of an Angel. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +2_nd Kartik_ (_October_) 1891. + + +When I come to the country I cease to view man as separate from the rest. +As the river runs through many a clime, so does the stream of men babble +on, winding through woods and villages and towns. It is not a true +contrast that _men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever_. +Humanity, with all its confluent streams, big and small, flows on and on, +just as does the river, from its source in birth to its sea of death;--two +dark mysteries at either end, and between them various play and work and +chatter unceasing. + +Over there the cultivators sing in the fields: here the fishing-boats +float by. The day wears on and the heat of the sun increases. Some bathers +are still in the river, others are finished and are taking home their +filled water-vessels. Thus, past both banks of the river, hundreds of +years have hummed their way, while the refrain rises in a mournful chorus: +_I go on for ever!_ + +Amid the noonday silence some youthful cowherd is heard calling at the top +of his voice for his companion; some boat splashes its way homewards; the +ripples lap against the empty jar which some village woman rests on the +water before dipping it; and with these mingle several other less definite +sounds,--the twittering of birds, the humming of bees, the plaintive +creaking of the house-boat as it gently swings to and fro,--the whole +making a tender lullaby, as of a mother trying to quiet a suffering child. +"Fret not," she sings, as she soothingly pats its fevered forehead. "Worry +not; weep no more. Let be your strugglings and grabbings and fightings; +forget a while, sleep a while." + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +3_rd Kartik_ (_October_) 1891. + + +It was the _Kojagar_ full moon, and I was slowly pacing the riverside +conversing with myself. It could hardly be called a conversation, as I was +doing all the talking and my imaginary companion all the listening. The +poor fellow had no chance of speaking up for himself, for was not mine the +power to compel him helplessly to answer like a fool? + +But what a night it was! How often have I tried to write of such, but +never got it done! There was not a line of ripple on the river; and from +away over there, where the farthest shore of the distant main stream is +seen beyond the other edge of the midway belt of sand, right up to this +shore, glimmers a broad band of moonlight. Not a human being, not a boat +in sight; not a tree, nor blade of grass on the fresh-formed island +sand-bank. + +It seemed as though a desolate moon was rising upon a devastated earth; a +random river wandering through a lifeless solitude; a long-drawn +fairy-tale coming to a close over a deserted world,--all the kings and the +princesses, their ministers and friends and their golden castles vanished, +leaving the Seven Seas and Thirteen Rivers and the Unending Moor, over +which the adventurous princes fared forth, wanly gleaming in the pale +moonlight. I was pacing up and down like the last pulse-beats of this +dying world. Every one else seemed to be on the opposite shore--the shore +of life--where the British Government and the Nineteenth Century hold +sway, and tea and cigarettes. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +9_th January_ 1892. + + +For some days the weather here has been wavering between Winter and +Spring. In the morning, perhaps, shivers will run over both land and water +at the touch of the north wind; while the evening will thrill with the +south breeze coming through the moonlight. + +There is no doubt that Spring is well on its way. After a long interval +the _papiya_ once more calls out from the groves on the opposite +bank. The hearts of men too are stirred; and after evening falls, sounds +of singing are heard in the village, showing that they are no longer in +such a hurry to close doors and windows and cover themselves up snugly for +the night. + +To-night the moon is at its full, and its large, round face peers at me +through the open window on my left, as if trying to make out whether I +have anything to say against it in my letter,--it suspects, maybe, that we +mortals concern ourselves more with its stains than its beams. + +A bird is plaintively crying tee-tee on the sand-bank. The river seems not +to move. There are no boats. The motionless groves on the bank cast an +unquivering shadow on the waters. The haze over the sky makes the moon +look like a sleepy eye kept open. + +Henceforward the evenings will grow darker and darker; and when, +to-morrow, I come over from the office, this moon, the favourite companion +of my exile, will already have drifted a little farther from me, doubting +whether she had been wise to lay her heart so completely bare last +evening, and so covering it up again little by little. + +Nature becomes really and truly intimate in strange and lonely places. I +have been actually worrying myself for days at the thought that after the +moon is past her full I shall daily miss the moonlight more and more; +feeling further and further exiled when the beauty and peace which awaits +my return to the riverside will no longer be there, and I shall have to +come back through darkness. + +Anyhow I put it on record that to-day is the full moon--the first full +moon of this year's springtime. In years to come I may perchance be +reminded of this night, with the tee-tee of the bird on the bank, the +glimmer of the distant light on the boat off the other shore, the shining +expanse of river, the blur of shade thrown by the dark fringe of trees +along its edge, and the white sky gleaming overhead in unconcerned +aloofness. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +7_th April_ 1892. + + +The river is getting low, and the water in this arm of it is hardly more +than waist-deep anywhere. So it is not at all extraordinary that the boat +should be anchored in mid-stream. On the bank, to my right, the ryots are +ploughing and cows are now and then brought down to the water's edge for a +drink. To the left there are the mango and cocoanut trees of the old +Shelidah garden above, and on the bathing slope below there are village +women washing clothes, filling water jars, bathing, laughing and gossiping +in their provincial dialect. + +The younger girls never seem to get through their sporting in the water; +it is a delight to hear their careless, merry laughter. The men gravely +take their regulation number of dips and go away, but girls are on much +more intimate terms with the water. Both alike babble and chatter and +ripple and sparkle in the same simple and natural manner; both may +languish and fade away under a scorching glare, yet both can take a blow +without hopelessly breaking under it. The hard world, which, but for them, +would be barren, cannot fathom the mystery of the soft embrace of their +arms. + +Tennyson has it that woman to man is as water to wine. I feel to-day it +should be as water is to land. Woman is more at home with the water, +laving in it, playing with it, holding her gatherings beside it; and +while, for her, other burdens are not seemly, the carrying of water from +the spring, the well, the bank of river or pool, has ever been held to +become her. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +2_nd May_ 1892. + + +There are many paradoxes in the world and one of them is this, that +wherever the landscape is immense, the sky unlimited, clouds intimately +dense, feelings unfathomable--that is to say where infinitude is +manifest--its fit companion is one solitary person; a multitude there +seems so petty, so distracting. + +An individual and the infinite are on equal terms, worthy to gaze on one +another, each from his own throne. But where many men are, how small both +humanity and infinitude become, how much they have to knock off each +other, in order to fit in together! Each soul wants so much room to expand +that in a crowd it needs must wait for gaps through which to thrust a +little craning piece of a head from time to time. + +So the only result of our endeavour to assemble is that we become unable +to fill our joined hands, our outstretched arms, with this endless, +fathomless expanse. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +8_th Jaistha_ (_May_) 1892. + + +Women who try to be witty, but only succeed in being pert, are +insufferable; and as for attempts to be comic they are disgraceful in +women whether they succeed or fail. The comic is ungainly and exaggerated, +and so is in some sort related to the sublime. The elephant is comic, the +camel and the giraffe are comic, all overgrowth is comic. + +It is rather keenness that is akin to beauty, as the thorn to the flower. +So sarcasm is not unbecoming in woman, though coming from her it hurts. +But ridicule which savours of bulkiness woman had better leave to our +sublime sex. The masculine Falstaff makes our sides split, but a feminine +Falstaff would only rack our nerves. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +12_th Jaistha_ (_May_) 1892. + + +I usually pace the roof-terrace, alone, of an evening. Yesterday afternoon +I felt it my duty to show my visitors the beauties of the local scenery, +so I strolled out with them, taking Aghore as a guide. + +On the verge of the horizon, where the distant fringe of trees was blue, a +thin line of dark blue cloud had risen over them and was looking +particularly beautiful. I tried to be poetical and said it was like blue +collyrium on the fringe of lashes enhancing a beautiful blue eye. Of my +companions one did not hear the remark, another did not understand, while +the third dismissed it with the reply: "Yes, very pretty." I did not feel +encouraged to attempt a second poetical flight. + +After walking about a mile we came to a dam, and along the pool of water +there was a row of _tâl_ (fan palm) trees, under which was a natural +spring. While we stood there looking at this, we found that the line of +cloud which we had seen in the North was making for us, swollen and grown +darker, flashes of lightning gleaming the while. + +We unanimously came to the conclusion that viewing the beauties of nature +could be better done from within the shelter of the house, but no sooner +had we turned homewards than a storm, making giant strides over the open +moorland, was on us with an angry roar. I had no idea, while I was +admiring the collyrium on the eyelashes of beauteous dame Nature, that she +would fly at us like an irate housewife, threatening so tremendous a slap! + +It became so dark with the dust that we could not see beyond a few paces. +The fury of the storm increased, and flying stony particles of the rubbly +soil stung our bodies like shot, as the wind took us by the scruff of the +neck and thrust us along, to the whipping of drops of rain which had begun +to fall. + +Run! Run! But the ground was not level, being deeply scarred with +watercourses, and not easy to cross at any time, much less in a storm. I +managed to get entangled in a thorny shrub, and was nearly thrown on my +face by the force of the wind as I stopped to free myself. + +When we had almost reached the house, a host of servants came hurrying +towards us, shouting and gesticulating, and fell upon us like another +storm. Some took us by the arms, some bewailed our plight, some were eager +to show the way, others hung on our backs as if fearing that the storm +might carry us off altogether. We evaded their attentions with some +difficulty and managed at length to get into the house, panting, with wet +clothes, dusty bodies, and tumbled hair. + +One thing I had learnt; and will never again write in novel or story the +lie that the hero with the picture of his lady-love in his mind can pass +unruffled through wind and rain. No one could keep any face in mind, +however lovely, in such a storm,--he has enough to do to keep the sand out +of his eyes!... + +The Vaishnava-poets have sung ravishingly of Radha going to her tryst with +Krishna through a stormy night. Did they ever pause to consider, I wonder, +in what condition she must have reached him? The kind of tangle her hair +got into is easily imaginable, and also the state of the rest of her +toilet. When she arrived in her bower with the dust on her body soaked by +the rain into a coating of mud, she must have been a sight! + +But when we read the Vaishnava poems, these thoughts do not occur. We only +see on the canvas of our mind the picture of a beautiful woman, passing +under the shelter of the flowering kadambas in the darkness of a stormy +_Shravan_[1] night, towards the bank of the Jumna, forgetful of wind +or rain, as in a dream, drawn by her surpassing love. She has tied up her +anklets lest they should tinkle; she is clad in dark blue raiment lest she +be discovered; but she holds no umbrella lest she get wet, carries no +lantern lest she fall! + +[Footnote 1: July-August, the rainy season.] + +Alas for useful things--how necessary in practical life, how neglected in +poetry! But poetry strives in vain to free us from their bondage--they +will be with us always; so much so, we are told, that with the march of +civilisation it is poetry that will become extinct, but patent after +patent will continue to be taken out for the improvement of shoes and +umbrellas. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +16_th Jaistha (May)_ 1892. + + +No church tower clock chimes here, and there being no other human +habitation near by, complete silence falls with the evening, as soon as +the birds have ceased their song. There is not much difference between +early night and midnight. A sleepless night in Calcutta flows like a huge, +slow river of darkness; one can count the varied sounds of its passing, +lying on one's back in bed. But here the night is like a vast, still lake, +placidly reposing, with no sign of movement. And as I tossed from side to +side last night I felt enveloped within a dense stagnation. + +This morning I left my bed a little later than usual and, coming +downstairs to my room, leant back on a bolster, one leg resting over the +other knee. There, with a slate on my chest, I began to write a poem to +the accompaniment of the morning breeze and the singing birds. I was +getting along splendidly--a smile playing over my lips, my eyes half +closed, my head swaying to the rhythm, the thing I hummed gradually taking +shape--when the post arrived. + +There was a letter, the last number of the _Sadhana Magazine_, one of +the _Monist_, and some proof-sheets. I read the letter, raced my eyes +over the uncut pages of the _Sadhana_, and then again fell to nodding +and humming through my poem. I did not do another thing till I had +finished it. + +I wonder why the writing of pages of prose does not give one anything like +the joy of completing a single poem. One's emotions take on such +perfection of form in a poem; they can, as it were, be taken up by the +fingers. But prose is like a sackful of loose material, heavy and +unwieldy, incapable of being lifted as you please. + +If I could finish writing one poem a day, my life would pass in a kind of +joy; but though I have been busy tending poetry for many a year it has not +been tamed yet, and is not the kind of winged steed to allow me to bridle +it whenever I like! The joy of art is in freedom to take a distant flight +as fancy will; then, even after return within the prison-world, an echo +lingers in the ear, an exaltation in the mind. + +Short poems keep coming to me unsought, and so prevent my getting on with +the play. Had it not been for these, I could have let in ideas for two or +three plays which have been knocking at the door. I am afraid I must wait +for the cold weather. All my plays except "Chitra" were written in the +winter. In that season lyrical fervour is apt to grow cold, and one gets +the leisure to write drama. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_31st May 1892._ + + +It is not yet five o'clock, but the light has dawned, there is a +delightful breeze, and all the birds in the garden are awake and have +started singing. The _koel_ seems beside itself. It is difficult to +understand why it should keep on cooing so untiringly. Certainly not to +entertain us, nor to distract the pining lover[1]--it must have some +personal purpose of its own. But, sadly enough, that purpose never seems +to get fulfilled. Yet it is not down-hearted, and its Coo-oo! Coo-oo! +keeps going, with now and then an ultra-fervent trill. What can it mean? + +[Footnote 1: A favourite conceit of the old Sanskrit poets.] + +And then in the distance there is some other bird with only a faint +chuck-chuck that has no energy or enthusiasm, as if all hope were lost; +none the less, from within some shady nook it cannot resist uttering this +little plaint: chuck, chuck, chuck. + +How little we really know of the household affairs of these innocent +winged creatures, with their soft, breasts and necks and their +many-coloured feathers! Why on earth do they find it necessary to sing so +persistently? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_31st Jaistha (June)1892._ + + +I hate these polite formalities. Nowadays I keep repeating the line: "Much +rather would I be an Arab Bedouin!" A fine, healthy, strong, and free +barbarity. + +I feel I want to quit this constant ageing of mind and body, with +incessant argument and nicety concerning ancient decaying things, and to +feel the joy of a free and vigorous life; to have,--be they good or +bad,--broad, unhesitating, unfettered ideas and aspirations, free from +everlasting friction between custom and sense, sense and desire, desire +and action. + +If only I could set utterly and boundlessly free this hampered life of +mine, I would storm the four quarters and raise wave upon wave of tumult +all round; I would career away madly, like a wild horse, for very joy of +my own speed! But I am a Bengali, not a Bedouin! I go on sitting in my +corner, and mope and worry and argue. I turn my mind now this way up, now +the other--as a fish is fried--and the boiling oil blisters first this +side, then that. + +Let it pass. Since I cannot be thoroughly wild, it is but proper that I +should make an endeavour to be thoroughly civil. Why foment a quarrel +between the two? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th June 1892._ + + +The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer +it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the +ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally. From the grasses +in the field to the stars in the sky, each one is doing just that; and +there is such profound peace and surpassing beauty in nature because none +of these tries forcibly to transgress its limitations. + +Yet what each one does is by no means of little moment. The grass has to +put forth all its energy to draw sustenance from the uttermost tips of its +rootlets simply to grow where it is as grass; it does not vainly strive to +become a banyan tree; and so the earth gains a lovely carpet of green. +And, indeed, what little of beauty and peace is to be found in the +societies of men is owing to the daily performance of small duties, not to +big doings and fine talk. + +Perhaps because the whole of our life is not vividly present at each +moment, some imaginary hope may lure, some glowing picture of a future, +untrammelled with everyday burdens, may tempt us; but these are illusory. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_2nd Asarh (June) 1892._ + + +Yesterday, the first day of _Asarh_,[1] the enthronement of the rainy +season was celebrated with due pomp and circumstance. It was very hot the +whole day, but in the afternoon dense clouds rolled up in stupendous +masses. + +[Footnote 1: June-July, the commencement of the rainy season.] + +I thought to myself, this first day of the rains, I would rather risk +getting wet than remain confined in my dungeon of a cabin. + +The year 1293 [1] will not come again in my life, and, +for the matter of that, how many more even of these first days +of _Asarh_ will come? My life would be sufficiently long could it +number thirty of these first days of _Asarh_ to which the poet of the +_Meghaduta_[2] has, for me at least, given special distinction. + +[Footnote 1: Of the Bengal era.] + +[Footnote 2: In the _Meghaduta_ (Cloud Messenger) of Kalidas a famous +description of the burst of the Monsoon begins with the words: _On the +first day of Asarh_.] + +It sometimes strikes me how immensely fortunate I am that each day should +take its place in my life, either reddened with the rising and setting +sun, or refreshingly cool with deep, dark clouds, or blooming like a white +flower in the moonlight. What untold wealth! + +A thousand years ago Kalidas welcomed that first day of _Asarh_; and +once in every year of my life that same day of _Asarh_ dawns in all +its glory--that self-same day of the poet of old Ujjain, which has brought +to countless men and women their joys of union, their pangs of separation. + +Every year one such great, time-hallowed day drops out of my life; and the +time will come when this day of Kalidas, this day of the _Meghaduta_, +this eternal first day of the Rains in Hindustan, shall come no more for +me. When I realise this I feel I want to take a good look at nature, to +offer a conscious welcome to each day's sunrise, to say farewell to each +day's setting sun, as to an intimate friend. + +What a grand festival, what a vast theatre of festivity! And we cannot +even fully respond to it, so far away do we live from the world! The light +of the stars travels millions of miles to reach the earth, but it cannot +reach our hearts--so many millions of miles further off are we! + +The world into which I have tumbled is peopled with strange beings. They +are always busy erecting walls and rules round themselves, and how careful +they are with their curtains lest they should see! It is a wonder to me +they have not made drab covers for flowering plants and put up a canopy to +ward off the moon. If the next life is determined by the desires of this, +then I should be reborn from our enshrouded planet into some free and open +realm of joy. + +Only those who cannot steep themselves in beauty to the full, despise it +as an object of the senses. But those who have tasted of its +inexpressibility know how far it is beyond the highest powers of mere eye +or ear--nay, even the heart is powerless to attain the end of its +yearning. + +_P.S._--I have left out the very thing I started to tell of. Don't be +afraid, it won't take four more sheets. It is this, that on the evening of +the first day of _Asarh_ it came on to rain very heavily, in great +lance-like showers. That is all. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO GOALUNDA, + +_21st June 1892._ + + +Pictures in an endless variety, of sand-banks, fields and their crops, and +villages, glide into view on either hand--of clouds floating in the sky, +of colours blossoming when day meets night. Boats steal by, fishermen +catch fish; the waters make liquid, caressing sounds throughout the +livelong day; their broad expanse calms down in the evening stillness, +like a child lulled to sleep, over whom all the stars in the boundless sky +keep watch--then, as I sit up on wakeful nights, with sleeping banks on +either side, the silence is broken only by an occasional cry of a jackal +in the woods near some village, or by fragments undermined by the keen +current of the Padma, that tumble from the high cliff-like bank into the +water. + +Not that the prospect is always of particular interest--a yellowish +sandbank, innocent of grass or tree, stretches away; an empty boat is tied +to its edge; the bluish water, of the same shade as the hazy sky, flows +past; yet I cannot tell how it moves me. I suspect that the old desires +and longings of my servant-ridden childhood--when in the solitary +imprisonment of my room I pored over the _Arabian Nights_, and shared +with Sinbad the Sailor his adventures in many a strange land--are not yet +dead within me, but are roused at the sight of any empty boat tied to a +sand-bank. + +If I had not heard fairy tales and read the _Arabian Nights_ and +_Robinson Crusoe_ in childhood, I am sure views of distant banks, or +the farther side of wide fields, would not have stirred me so--the whole +world, in fact, would have had for me a different appeal. + +What a maze of fancy and fact becomes tangled up within the mind of man! +The different strands--petty and great--of story and event and picture, +how they get knotted together! + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_22nd June 1892._ + + +Early this morning, while still lying in bed, I heard the women at the +bathing-place sending forth joyous peals of _Ulu! Ulu!_[1] The sound +moved me curiously, though it is difficult to say why. + +[Footnote 1: A peculiar shrill cheer given by women on auspicious or +festive occasions.] + +Perhaps such joyful outbursts put one in mind of the great stream of +festive activity which goes on in this world, with most of which the +individual man has no connection. The world is so immense, the concourse +of men so vast, yet with how few has one any tie! Distant sounds of life, +wafted near, bearing tidings from unknown homes, make the individual +realise that the greater part of the world of men does not, cannot own or +know him; then he feels deserted, loosely attached to the world, and a +vague sadness creeps over him. + +Thus these cries of _Ulu! Ulu!_ made my life, past and future, seem +like a long, long road, from the very ends of which they come to me. And +this feeling colours for me the beginning of my day. + +As soon as the manager with his staff, and the ryots seeking audience, +come upon the scene, this faint vista of past and future will be promptly +elbowed out, and a very robust present will salute and stand before me. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_25th June 1892._ + + +In to-day's letters there was a touch about A---'s singing which made my +heart yearn with a nameless longing. Each of the little joys of life, +which remain unappreciated amid the hubbub of the town, send in their +claims to the heart when far from home. I love music, and there is no +dearth of voices and instruments in Calcutta, yet I turn a deaf ear to +them. But, though I may fail to realise it at the time, this needs must +leave the heart athirst. + +As I read to-day's letters, I felt such a poignant desire to hear A---'s +sweet song, I was at once sure that one of the many suppressed longings of +creation which cry after fulfilment is for neglected joys within reach; +while we are busy pursuing chimerical impossibilities we famish our +lives.... + +The emptiness left by easy joys, untasted, is ever growing in my life. And +the day may come when I shall feel that, could I but have the past back, I +would strive no more after the unattainable, but drain to the full these +little, unsought, everyday joys which life offers. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_27th June 1892._ + + +Yesterday, in the afternoon, it clouded over so threateningly, I felt a +sense of dread. I do not remember ever to have seen before such +angry-looking clouds. + +Swollen masses of the deepest indigo blue were piled, one on top of the +other, just above the horizon, looking like the puffed-out moustaches of +some raging demon. + +Under the jagged lower edges of the clouds there shone forth a blood-red +glare, as through the eyes of a monstrous, sky-filling bison, with tossing +mane and with head lowered to strike the earth in fury. + +The crops in the fields and the leaves of the trees trembled with fear of +the impending disaster; shudder after shudder ran across the waters; the +crows flew wildly about, distractedly cawing. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_29th June 1892._ + + +I wrote yesterday that I had an engagement with Kalidas, the poet, for +this evening. As I lit a candle, drew my chair up to the table, and made +ready, not Kalidas, but the postmaster, walked in. A live postmaster +cannot but claim precedence over a dead poet, so I could not very well +tell him to make way for Kalidas, who was due by appointment,--he would +not have understood me! Therefore I offered him a chair and gave old +Kalidas the go-by. + +There is a kind of bond between this postmaster and me. When the post +office was in a part of this estate building, I used to meet him every +day. I wrote my story of "The Postmaster" one afternoon in this very room. +And when the story was out in the _Hitabadi_ he came to me with a +succession of bashful smiles, as he deprecatingly touched on the subject. +Anyhow, I like the man. He has a fund of anecdote which I enjoy listening +to. He has also a sense of humour. + +Though it was late when the postmaster left, I started at once on the +_Raghuvansa_[1], and read all about the _swayamuara_[2] of +Indumati. + +[Footnote 1: Book of poems by Kalidas, who is perhaps best known to +European readers as the author of _Sakuntala_.] + +[Footnote 2: An old Indian custom, according to which a princess chooses +among assembled rival suitors for her hand by placing a garland round the +neck of the one whose love she returns.] + +The handsome, gaily adorned princes are seated on rows of thrones in the +assembly hall. Suddenly a blast of conch-shell and trumpet resounds, as +Indumati, in bridal robes, supported by Sunanda, is ushered in and stands +in the walk left between them. It was delightful to dwell on the picture. + +Then as Sunanda introduces to her each one of the suitors, Indumati bows +low in loveless salutation, and passes on. How beautiful is this humble +courtesy! They are all princes. They are all her seniors. For she is a +mere girl. Had she not atoned for the inevitable rudeness of her rejection +by the grace of her humility, the scene would have lost its beauty. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_20th August 1892._ + + +"If only I could live there!" is often thought when looking at a beautiful +landscape painting. That is the kind of longing which is satisfied here, +where one feels alive in a brilliantly coloured picture, with none of the +hardness of reality. When I was a child, illustrations of woodland and +sea, in _Paul and Virginia_, or _Robinson Crusoe_, would waft me +away from the everyday world; and the sunshine here brings back to my mind +the feeling with which I used to gaze on those pictures. + +I cannot account for this exactly, or explain definitely what kind of +longing it is which is roused within me. It seems like the throb of some +current flowing through the artery connecting me with the larger world. I +feel as if dim, distant memories come to me of the time when I was one +with the rest of the earth; when on me grew the green grass, and on me +fell the autumn light; when a warm scent of youth would rise from every +pore of my vast, soft, green body at the touch of the rays of the mellow +sun, and a fresh life, a sweet joy, would be half-consciously secreted and +inarticulately poured forth from all the immensity of my being, as it lay +dumbly stretched, with its varied countries and seas and mountains, under +the bright blue sky. + +My feelings seem to be those of our ancient earth in the daily ecstasy of +its sun-kissed life; my own consciousness seems to stream through each +blade of grass, each sucking root, to rise with the sap through the trees, +to break out with joyous thrills in the waving fields of corn, in the +rustling palm leaves. + +I feel impelled to give expression to my blood-tie with the earth, my +kinsman's love for her; but I am afraid I shall not be understood. + + + + +BOALIA, + +_18th November 1892._ + + +I am wondering where your train has got to by now. This is the time for +the sun to rise over the ups and downs of the treeless, rocky region near +Nawadih station. The scene around there must be brightened by the fresh +sunlight, through which distant, blue hills are beginning to be faintly +visible. + +Cultivated fields are scarcely to be seen, except where the primitive +tribesmen have done a little ploughing with their buffaloes; on each side +of the railway cutting there are the heaped-up black rocks--the +boulder-marked footprints of dried-up streams--and the fidgety, black +wagtails, perched along the telegraph wires. A wild, seamed, and scarred +nature lies there in the sun, as though tamed at the touch of some soft, +bright, cherubic hand. + +Do you know the picture which this calls up for me? In the _Sakuntala_ of +Kalidas there is a scene where Bharat, the infant son of King Dushyanta, +is playing with a lion cub. The child is lovingly passing his delicate, +rosy fingers through the rough mane of the great beast, which lies quietly +stretched in trustful repose, now and then casting affectionate glances +out of the corner of its eyes at its little human friend. + +And shall I tell you what those dry, boulder-strewn watercourses put me in +mind of? We read in the English fairy tale of the Babes in the Wood, how +the little brother and sister left a trace of their wanderings, through +the unknown forest into which their stepmother had turned them out, by +dropping pebbles as they went. These streamlets are like lost babes in the +great world into which they are sent adrift, and that is why they leave +stones, as they go forth, to mark their course, so as not to lose their +way when they may be returning. But for them there is no return journey! + + + + +NATORE, + +_2nd December_ 1892. + + +There is a depth of feeling and breadth of peace in a Bengal sunset behind +the trees which fringe the endless solitary fields, spreading away to the +horizon. + +Lovingly, yet sadly withal, does our evening sky bend over and meet the +earth in the distance. It casts a mournful light on the earth it leaves +behind--a light which gives us a taste of the divine grief of the Eternal +Separation[1] and eloquent is the silence which then broods over earth, +sky, and waters. + +[Footnote 1: _I.e._ between Purusha and Prakriti--God and Creation.] + +As I gaze on in rapt motionlessness, I fall to wondering--If ever this +silence should fail to contain itself, if the expression for which this +hour has been seeking from the beginning of time should break forth, would +a profoundly solemn, poignantly moving music rise from earth to starland? + +With a little steadfast concentration of effort we can, for ourselves, +translate the grand harmony of light and colour which permeates the +universe into music. We have only to close our eyes and receive with the +ear of the mind the vibration of this ever-flowing panorama. + +But how often shall I write of these sunsets and sunrises? I feel their +renewed freshness every time; yet how am I to attain such renewed +freshness in my attempts at expression? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_9th December_ 1892. + + +I am feeling weak and relaxed after my painful illness, and in this state +the ministrations of nature are sweet indeed. I feel as if, like the rest, +I too am lazily glittering out my delight at the rays of the sun, and my +letter-writing progresses but absent-mindedly. + +The world is ever new to me; like an old friend loved through this and +former lives, the acquaintance between us is both long and deep. + +I can well realise how, in ages past, when the earth in her first youth +came forth from her sea-bath and saluted the sun in prayer, I must have +been one of the trees sprung from her new-formed soil, spreading my +foliage in all the freshness of a primal impulse. + +The great sea was rocking and swaying and smothering, like a foolishly +fond mother, its first-born land with repeated caresses; while I was +drinking in the sunlight with the whole of my being, quivering under the +blue sky with the unreasoning rapture of the new-born, holding fast and +sucking away at my mother earth with all my roots. In blind joy my leaves +burst forth and my flowers bloomed; and when the dark clouds gathered, +their grateful shade would comfort me with a tender touch. + +From age to age, thereafter, have I been diversely reborn on this earth. +So whenever we now sit face to face, alone together, various ancient +memories, gradually, one after another, come back to me. + +My mother earth sits to-day in the cornfields by the river-side, in her +raiment of sunlit gold; and near her feet, her knees, her lap, I roll +about and play. Mother of a multitude of children, she attends but +absently to their constant calls on her, with an immense patience, but +also with a certain aloofness. She is seated there, with her far-away look +fastened on the verge of the afternoon sky, while I keep chattering on +untiringly. + + + + +BALJA, + +_Tuesday, February 1893_. + + +I do not want to wander about any more. I am pining for a corner in which +to nestle down snugly, away from the crowd. + +India has two aspects--in one she is a householder, in the other a +wandering ascetic. The former refuses to budge from the home corner, the +latter has no home at all. I find both these within me. I want to roam +about and see all the wide world, yet I also yearn for a little sheltered +nook; like a bird with its tiny nest for a dwelling, and the vast sky for +flight. + +I hanker after a corner because it serves to bring calmness to my mind. My +mind really wants to be busy, but in making the attempt it knocks so +repeatedly against the crowd as to become utterly frenzied and to keep +buffeting me, its cage, from within. If only it is allowed a little +leisurely solitude, and can look about and think to its heart's content, +it will express its feelings to its own satisfaction. + +This freedom of solitude is what my mind is fretting for; it would be +alone with its imaginings, as the Creator broods over His own creation. + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_February 1893_. + + +Till we can achieve something, let us live incognito, say I. So long as we +are only fit to be looked down upon, on what shall we base our claim to +respect? When we have acquired a foothold of our own in the world, when we +have had some share in shaping its course, then we can meet others +smilingly. Till then let us keep in the background, attending to our own +affairs. + +But our countrymen seem to hold the opposite opinion. They set no store by +our more modest, intimate wants which have to be met behind the +scenes,--the whole of their attention is directed to momentary +attitudinising and display. + +Ours is truly a God-forsaken country. Difficult, indeed, is it for us to +maintain the strength of will to _do_. We get no help in any real +sense. There is no one, within miles of us, in converse with whom we might +gain an accession of vitality. No one near seems to be thinking, or +feeling, or working. Not a soul has any experience of big striving, or of +really and truly living. They all eat and drink, do their office work, +smoke and sleep, and chatter nonsensically. When they touch upon emotion +they grow sentimental, when they reason they are childish. One yearns for +a full-blooded, sturdy, and capable personality; these are all so many +shadows, flitting about, out of touch with the world. + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_10th February_ 1893. + + +He was a fully developed John Bull of the outrageous type--with a huge +beak of a nose, cunning eyes, and a yard-long chin. The curtailment of our +right to be tried by jury is now under consideration by the Government. +The fellow dragged in the subject by the ears and insisted on arguing it +out with our host, poor B---- Babu. He said the moral standard of the +people of this country was low; that they had no real belief in the +sacredness of life; so that they were unfit to serve on juries. + +The utter contempt with which we are regarded by these people was brought +home to me when I saw how they can accept a Bengali's hospitality and talk +thus, seated at his table, without a quiver of compunction. + +As I sat in a corner of the drawing-room after dinner, everything round me +looked blurred to my eyes. I seemed to be seated by the head of my great, +insulted Motherland, who lay there in the dust before me, disconsolate, +shorn of her glory. I cannot tell what a profound distress overpowered my +heart. + +How incongruous seemed the _mem-sahibs_ there, in their +evening-dresses, the hum of English conversation, and the ripples of +laughter! How richly true for us is our India of the ages; how cheap and +false the hollow courtesies of an English dinner-party! + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_March_ 1893. + + +If we begin to attach too much importance to the applause of Englishmen, +we shall have to be rid of much in us that is good, and to accept from +them much that is bad. + +We shall grow ashamed of going about without socks, and cease to feel +shame at the sight of their ball dresses. We shall have no compunction in +throwing overboard our ancient manners, nor any in emulating their lack of +courtesy. + +We shall leave off wearing our _achgans_ because they are susceptible of +improvement, but think nothing of surrendering our heads to their hats, +though no headgear could well be uglier. + +In short, consciously or unconsciously, we shall have to cut our lives +down according as they clap their hands or not. + +Wherefore I apostrophise myself and say: "O Earthen Pot! For goodness sake +keep away from that Metal Pot! Whether he comes to you in anger or merely +to give you a patronising pat on the back, you are done for, cracked in +either case. So pay heed to old Aesop's sage counsel, I pray--and keep +your distance." + +Let the metal pot ornament wealthy homes; you have work to do in those of +the poor. If you let yourself be broken, you will have no place in either, +but merely return to the dust; or, at best, you may secure a corner in a +bric-a-brac cabinet--as a curiosity, and it is more glorious far to be +used for fetching water by the meanest of village women. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_8th May 1893_. + + +Poetry is a very old love of mine--I must have been engaged to her when I +was only Rathi's[1] age. Long ago the recesses under the old banyan tree +beside our tank, the inner gardens, the unknown regions on the ground +floor of the house, the whole of the outside world, the nursery rhymes and +tales told by the maids, created a wonderful fairyland within me. It is +difficult to give a clear idea of all the vague and mysterious happenings +of that period, but this much is certain, that my exchange of garlands[2] +with Poetic Fancy was already duly celebrated. + +[Footnote 1: Rathi, his son, was then five years old.] + +[Footnote 2: The betrothal ceremony.] + +I must admit, however, that my betrothed is not an auspicious +maiden--whatever else she may bring one, it is not good fortune. I cannot +say she has never given me happiness, but peace of mind with her is out of +the question. The lover whom she favours may get his fill of bliss, but +his heart's blood is wrung out under her relentless embrace. It is not for +the unfortunate creature of her choice ever to become a staid and sober +householder, comfortably settled down on a social foundation. + +Consciously or unconsciously, I may have done many things that were +untrue, but I have never uttered anything false in my poetry--that is the +sanctuary where the deepest truths of my life find refuge. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_10th May_ 1893. + + +Here come black, swollen masses of cloud; they soak up the golden sunshine +from the scene in front of me like great pads of blotting-paper. Rain must +be near, for the breeze feels moist and tearful. + +Over there, on the sky-piercing peaks of Simla, you will find it hard to +realise exactly what an important event the coming of the clouds is here, +or how many are anxiously looking up to the sky, hailing their advent. + +I feel a great tenderness for these peasant folk--our ryots--big, +helpless, infantile children of Providence, who must have food brought to +their very lips, or they are undone. When the breasts of Mother Earth dry +up they are at a loss what to do, and can only cry. But no sooner is their +hunger satisfied than they forget all their past sufferings. + +I know not whether the socialistic ideal of a more equal distribution of +wealth is attainable, but if not, the dispensation of Providence is indeed +cruel, and man a truly unfortunate creature. For if in this world misery +must exist, so be it; but let some little loophole, some glimpse of +possibility at least, be left, which may serve to urge the nobler portion +of humanity to hope and struggle unceasingly for its alleviation. + +They say a terribly hard thing who assert that the division of the world's +production to afford each one a mouthful of food, a bit of clothing, is +only an Utopian dream. All these social problems are hard indeed! Fate has +allowed humanity such a pitifully meagre coverlet, that in pulling it over +one part of the world, another has to be left bare. In allaying our +poverty we lose our wealth, and with this wealth what a world of grace and +beauty and power is lost to us. + +But the sun shines forth again, though the clouds are still banked up in +the West. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_11th May 1893._ + + +There is another pleasure for me here. Sometimes one or other of our +simple, devoted, old ryots comes to see me--and their worshipful homage is +so unaffected! How much greater than I are they in the beautiful +simplicity and sincerity of their reverence. What if I am unworthy of +their veneration--their feeling loses nothing of its value. + +I regard these grown-up children with the same kind of affection that I +have for little children--but there is also a difference. They are more +infantile still. Little children will grow up later on, but these big +children never. + +A meek and radiantly simple soul shines through their worn and wrinkled, +old bodies. Little children are merely simple, they have not the +unquestioning, unwavering devotion of these. If there be any undercurrent +along which the souls of men may have communication with one another, then +my sincere blessing will surely reach and serve them. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th May_ 1893. + + +I walk about for an hour on the river bank, fresh and clean after my +afternoon bath. Then I get into the new jolly-boat, anchor in mid-stream, +and on a bed, spread on the planked over-stern, I lie silently there on my +back, in the darkness of the evening. Little S---- sits beside me and +chatters away, and the sky becomes more and more thickly studded with +stars. + +Each day the thought recurs to me: Shall I be reborn under this +star-spangled sky? Will the peaceful rapture of such wonderful evenings +ever again be mine, on this silent Bengal river, in so secluded a corner +of the world? + +Perhaps not. The scene may be changed; I may be born with a different +mind. Many such evenings may come, but they may refuse to nestle so +trustfully, so lovingly, with such complete abandon, to my breast. + +Curiously enough, my greatest fear is lest I should be reborn in Europe! +For there one cannot recline like this with one's whole being laid open to +the infinite above--one is liable, I am afraid, to be soundly rated for +lying down at all. I should probably have been hustling strenuously in +some factory or bank, or Parliament. Like the roads there, one's mind has +to be stone-metalled for heavy traffic--geometrically laid out, and kept +clear and regulated. + +I am sure I cannot exactly say why this lazy, dreamy, self-absorbed, +sky-filled state of mind seems to me the more desirable. I feel no whit +inferior to the busiest men of the world as I lie here in my jolly-boat. +Rather, had I girded up my loins to be strenuous, I might have seemed ever +so feeble compared to those chips of old oaken blocks. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_3rd July 1893._ + +All last night the wind howled like a stray dog, and the rain still pours +on without a break. The water from the fields is rushing in numberless, +purling streams to the river. The dripping ryots are crossing the river in +the ferryboat, some with their tokas[1] on, others with yam leaves held +over their heads. Big cargo-boats are gliding along, the boatman sitting +drenched at his helm, the crew straining at the tow-ropes through the +rain. The birds remain gloomily confined to their nests, but the sons of +men fare forth, for in spite of the weather the world's work must go on. + +[Footnote 1: Conical hats of straw or of split bamboo.] + +Two cowherd lads are grazing their cattle just in front of my boat. The +cows are munching away with great gusto, their noses plunged into the lush +grass, their tails incessantly busy flicking off the flies. The raindrops +and the sticks of the cowherd boys fall on their backs with the same +unreasonable persistency, and they bear both with equally uncritical +resignation, steadily going on with their munch, munch, munch. These cows +have such mild, affectionate, mournful eyes; why, I wonder, should +Providence have thought fit to impose all the burden of man's work on the +submissive shoulders of these great, gentle beasts? + +The river is rising daily. What I could see yesterday only from the upper +deck, I can now see from my cabin windows. Every morning I awake to find +my field of vision growing larger. Not long since, only the tree-tops near +those distant villages used to appear, like dark green clouds. To-day the +whole of the wood is visible. + +Land and water are gradually approaching each other like two bashful +lovers. The limit of their shyness has nearly been reached--their arms +will soon be round each other's necks. I shall enjoy my trip along this +brimful river at the height of the rains. I am fidgeting to give the order +to cast off. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_4th July_ 1893. + + +A little gleam of sunlight shows this morning. There was a break in the +rains yesterday, but the clouds are banked up so heavily along the skirts +of the sky that there is not much hope of the break lasting. It looks as +if a heavy carpet of cloud had been rolled up to one side, and at any +moment a fussy breeze may come along and spread it over the whole place +again, covering every trace of blue sky and golden sunshine. + +What a store of water must have been laid up in the sky this year. The +river has already risen over the low _chur_-lands,[1] threatening to +overwhelm all the standing crops. The wretched ryots, in despair, are +cutting and bringing away in boats sheaves of half-ripe rice. As they pass +my boat I hear them bewailing their fate. It is easy to understand how +heart-rending it must be for cultivators to have to cut down their rice on +the very eve of its ripening, the only hope left them being that some of +the ears may possibly have hardened into grain. + +[Footnote 1: Old sand-banks consolidated by the deposit of a layer of +culturable soil.] + +There must be some element of pity in the dispensations of Providence, +else how did we get our share of it? But it is so difficult to see where +it comes in. The lamentations of these hundreds of thousands of +unoffending creatures do not seem to get anywhere. The rain pours on as it +lists, the river still rises, and no amount of petitioning seems to have +the effect of bringing relief from any quarter. One has to seek +consolation by saying that all this is beyond the understanding of man. +And yet, it is so vitally necessary for man to understand that there are +such things as pity and justice in the world. + +However, this is only sulking. Reason tells us that creation never can be +perfectly happy. So long as it is incomplete it must put up with +imperfection and sorrow. It can only be perfect when it ceases to be +creation, and is God. Do our prayers dare go so far? + +The more we think over it, the oftener we come hack to the +starting-point--Why this creation at all? If we cannot make up our minds +to object to the thing itself, it is futile complaining about its +companion, sorrow. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_7th July_ 1893. + + +The flow of village life is not too rapid, neither is it stagnant. Work +and rest go together, hand in hand. The ferry crosses to and fro, the +passers-by with umbrellas up wend their way along the tow-path, women are +washing rice on the split-bamboo trays which they dip in the water, the +ryots are coming to the market with bundles of jute on their heads. Two +men are chopping away at a log of wood with regular, ringing blows. The +village carpenter is repairing an upturned dinghy under a big +_aswatha_ tree. A mongrel dog is prowling aimlessly along the canal +bank. Some cows are lying there chewing the cud, after a huge meal off the +luxuriant grass, lazily moving their ears backwards and forwards, flicking +off flies with their tails, and occasionally giving an impatient toss of +their heads when the crows perched on their backs take too much of a +liberty. + +The monotonous blows of woodcutter's axe or carpenter's mallet, the +splashing of oars, the merry voices of the naked little children at play, +the plaintive tune of the ryot's song, the more dominant creaking of the +turning oil-mill, all these sounds of activity do not seem out of harmony +with murmuring leaves and singing birds, and all combine like moving +strains of some grand dream-orchestra, rendering a composition of immense +though restrained pathos. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_10th July 1893._ + + +All I have to say about the discussion that is going on over "silent +poets" is that, though the strength of feeling may be the same in those +who are silent as in those who are vocal, that has nothing to do with +poetry. Poetry is not a matter of feeling, it is the creation of form. + +Ideas take shape by some hidden, subtle skill at work within the poet. +This creative power is the origin of poetry. Perceptions, feelings, or +language, are only raw material. One may be gifted with feeling, a second +with language, a third with both; but he who has as well a creative +genius, alone is a poet. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_13th August 1893._ + + +Coming through these _beels_[1] to Kaligram, an idea took shape in my +mind. Not that the thought was new, but sometimes old ideas strike one +with new force. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Sometimes a stream passing through the +flat Bengal country encounters a stretch of low land and spreads out into +a sheet of water, called a _beel_, of indefinite extent, ranging from a +large pool in the dry season to a shoreless expanse during the rains. + +Villages consisting of a cluster of huts, built on mounds, stand out here +and there like islands, and boats or round, earthen vessels are the only +means of getting about from village to village. + +Where the waters cover cultivated tracts the rice grows through, often +from considerable depths, giving to the boats sailing over them the +curious appearance of gliding over a cornfield, so clear is the water. +Elsewhere these _beels_ have a peculiar flora and fauna of water-lilies +and irises and various water-fowl. As a result, they resemble neither a +marsh nor a lake, but have a distinct character of their own.] + +The water loses its beauty when it ceases to be defined by banks and +spreads out into a monotonous vagueness. In the case of language, metre +serves for banks and gives form and beauty and character. Just as the +banks give each river a distinct personality, so does rhythm make each +poem an individual creation; prose is like the featureless, impersonal +_beel_. Again, the waters of the river have movement and progress; those +of the _beel_ engulf the country by expanse alone. So, in order to give +language power, the narrow bondage of metre becomes necessary; otherwise +it spreads and spreads, but cannot advance. + +The country people call these _beels_ "dumb waters"--they have no +language, no self-expression. The river ceaselessly babbles; so the words +of the poem sing, they are not "dumb words." Thus bondage creates beauty +of form, motion, and music; bounds make not only for beauty but power. + +Poetry gives itself up to the control of metre, not led by blind habit, +but because it thus finds the joy of motion. There are foolish persons who +think that metre is a species of verbal gymnastics, or legerdemain, of +which the object is to win the admiration of the crowd. That is not so. +Metre is born as all beauty is born the universe through. The current set +up within well-defined bounds gives metrical verse power to move the minds +of men as vague and indefinite prose cannot. + +This idea became clear to me as I glided on from river to _beel_ and +_beel_ to river. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_26th (Straven) August 1893._ + + +For some time it has struck me that man is a rough-hewn and woman a +finished product. + +There is an unbroken consistency in the manners, customs, speech, and +adornment of woman. And the reason is, that for ages Nature has assigned +to her the same definite rôle and has been adapting her to it. No +cataclysm, no political revolution, no alteration of social ideal, has yet +diverted woman from her particular functions, nor destroyed their +inter-relations. She has loved, tended, and caressed, and done nothing +else; and the exquisite skill which she has acquired in these, permeates +all her being and doing. Her disposition and action have become +inseparably one, like the flower and its scent. She has, therefore, no +doubts or hesitations. + +But the character of man has still many hollows and protuberances; each of +the varied circumstances and forces which have contributed to his making +has left its mark upon him. That is why the features of one will display +an indefinite spread of forehead, of another an irresponsible prominence +of nose, of a third an unaccountable hardness about the jaws. Had man but +the benefit of continuity and uniformity of purpose, Nature must have +succeeded in elaborating a definite mould for him, enabling him to +function simply and naturally, without such strenuous effort. He would not +have so complicated a code of behaviour; and he would be less liable to +deviate from the normal when disturbed by outside influences. + +Woman was cast in the mould of mother. Man has no such primal design to go +by, and that is why he has been unable to rise to an equal perfection of +beauty. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_19th February 1894._ + + +We have two elephants which come to graze on this bank of the river. They +greatly interest me. They give the ground a few taps with one foot, and +then taking hold of the grass with the end of their trunks wrench off an +enormous piece of turf, roots, soil, and all. This they go on swinging +till all the earth leaves the roots; they then put it into their mouths +and eat it up. + +Sometimes the whim takes them to draw up the dust into their trunks, and +then with a snort they squirt it all over their bodies; this is their +elephantine toilet. + +I love to look on these overgrown beasts, with their vast bodies, their +immense strength, their ungainly proportions, their docile harmlessness. +Their very size and clumsiness make me feel a kind of tenderness for +them--their unwieldy bulk has something infantile about it. Moreover, they +have large hearts. When they get wild they are furious, but when they calm +down they are peace itself. + +The uncouthness which goes with bigness does not repel, it rather +attracts. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_27th February 1894._ + + +The sky is every now and then overcast and again clears up. Sudden little +puffs of wind make the boat lazily creak and groan in all its seams. Thus +the day wears on. + +It is now past one o'clock. Steeped in this countryside noonday, with its +different sounds--the quacking of ducks, the swirl of passing boats, +bathers splashing the clothes they wash, the distant shouts from drovers +taking cattle across the ford,--it is difficult even to imagine the +chair-and-table, monotonously dismal routine-life of Calcutta. + +Calcutta is as ponderously proper as a Government office. Each of its days +comes forth, like coin from a mint, clear-cut and glittering. Ah! those +dreary, deadly days, so precisely equal in weight, so decently +respectable! + +Here I am quit of the demands of my circle, and do not feel like a wound +up machine. Each day is my own. And with leisure and my thoughts I walk +the fields, unfettered by bounds of space or time. The evening gradually +deepens over earth and sky and water, as with bowed head I stroll along. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_22nd March 1894._ + + +As I was sitting at the window of the boat, looking out on the river, I +saw, all of a sudden, an odd-looking bird making its way through the water +to the opposite bank, followed by a great commotion. I found it was a +domestic fowl which had managed to escape impending doom in the galley by +jumping overboard and was now trying frantically to win across. It had +almost gained the bank when the clutches of its relentless pursuers closed +on it, and it was brought back in triumph, gripped by the neck. I told the +cook I would not have any meat for dinner. + +I really must give up animal food. We manage to swallow flesh only because +we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do. There are many crimes +which are the creation of man himself, the wrongfulness of which is put +down to their divergence from habit, custom, or tradition. But cruelty is +not of these. It is a fundamental sin, and admits of no argument or nice +distinctions. If only we do not allow our heart to grow callous, its +protest against cruelty is always clearly heard; and yet we go on +perpetrating cruelties easily, merrily, all of us--in fact, any one who +does not join in is dubbed a crank. + +How artificial is our apprehension of sin! I feel that the highest +commandment is that of sympathy for all sentient beings. Love is the +foundation of all religion. The other day I read in one of the English +papers that 50,000 pounds of animal carcasses had been sent to some army +station in Africa, but the meat being found to have gone bad on arrival, +the consignment was returned and was eventually auctioned off for a few +pounds at Portsmouth. What a shocking waste of life! What callousness to +its true worth! How many living creatures are sacrificed only to grace the +dishes at a dinner-party, a large proportion of which will leave the table +untouched! + +So long as we are unconscious of our cruelty we may not be to blame. But +if, after our pity is aroused, we persist in throttling our feelings +simply in order to join others in their preying upon life, we insult all +that is good in us. I have decided to try a vegetarian diet. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_28th March 1894._ + + +It is getting rather warm here, but I do not mind the heat of the sun +much. The heated wind whistles on its way, now and then pauses in a whirl, +then dances away twirling its skirt of dust and sand and dry leaves and +twigs. + +This morning, however, it was quite cold--almost like a cold-weather +morning; in fact, I did not feel over-enthusiastic for my bath. It is so +difficult to account for what veritably happens in this big thing called +Nature. Some obscure cause turns up in some unknown corner, and all of a +sudden things look completely different. + +The mind of man works in just the same mysterious fashion as outside +Nature--so it struck me yesterday. A wondrous alchemy is being wrought in +artery, vein, and nerve, in brain and marrow. The blood-stream rushes on, +the nerve--strings vibrate, the heart-muscle rises and falls, and the +seasons in man's being change from one to another. What kind of breezes +will blow next, when and from what quarter--of that we know nothing. + +One day I am sure I shall get along splendidly; I feel strong enough to +leap over all the obstructing sorrows and trials of the world; and, as if +I had a printed programme for the rest of my life tucked safely away in my +pocket, I am at ease. The next day there is a nasty wind, sprung up from +some unknown _inferno_, the aspect of the sky is threatening, and I +begin to doubt whether I shall ever weather the storm. Merely because +something has gone wrong in some blood-vessel or nerve-fibre, all my +strength and intelligence seem to fail me. + +This mystery within frightens me. It makes me diffident about talking of +what I shall or shall not do. Why was this tacked on to me--this immense +mystery which I can neither understand nor control? I know not where it +may lead me or I lead it. I cannot see what is happening, nor am I +consulted about what is going to happen, and yet I have to keep up an +appearance of mastery and pretend to be the doer.... + +I feel like a living pianoforte with a vast complication of machinery and +wires inside, but with no means of telling who the player is, and with +only a guess as to why the player plays at all. I can only know what is +being played, whether the mode is merry or mournful, when the notes are +sharp or flat, the tune in or out of time, the key high-pitched or low. +But do I really know even that? + + + + +PATISAR, + +_30th March 1894._ + + +Sometimes when I realise that Life's journey is long, and that the sorrows +to be encountered are many and inevitable, a supreme effort is required to +keep up my strength of mind. Some evenings, as I sit alone staring at the +flame of the lamp on the table, I vow I will live as a brave man +should--unmoved, silent, uncomplaining. The resolve puffs me up, and for +the moment I mistake myself for a very, very brave person indeed. But as +soon as the thorns on the road worry my feet, I writhe and begin to feel +serious misgivings as to the future. The path of life again seems long, +and my strength inadequate. + +But this last conclusion cannot be the true one, for it is these petty +thorns which are the most difficult to bear. The household of the mind is +a thrifty one, and only so much is spent as is necessary. There is no +squandering on trifles, and its wealth of strength is saved up with +miserly strictness to meet the really big calamities. So any amount of +weeping and wailing over the lesser griefs fails to evoke a charitable +response. But when sorrow is deepest there is no stint of effort. Then the +surface crust is pierced, and consolation wells up, and all the forces of +patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. Thus great +suffering brings with it the power of great endurance. + +One side of man's nature has the desire for pleasure--there is another +side which desires self-sacrifice. When the former meets with +disappointment, the latter gains strength, and on its thus finding fuller +scope a grand enthusiasm fills the soul. So while we are cowards before +petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. +And in these, therefore, there is a joy. + +It is not an empty paradox to say that there is joy in sorrow, just as, on +the other hand, it is true that there is a dissatisfaction in pleasure. It +is not difficult to understand why this should be so. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_24th June 1894_. + + +I have been only four days here, but, having lost count of the hours, it +seems such a long while, I feel that if I were to return to Calcutta +to-day I should find much of it changed--as if I alone had been standing +still outside the current of time, unconscious of the gradually changing +position of the rest of the world. + +The fact is that here, away from Calcutta, I live in my own inner world, +where the clocks do not keep ordinary time; where duration is measured +only by the intensity of the feelings; where, as the outside world does +not count the minutes, moments change into hours and hours into moments. +So it seems to me that the subdivisions of time and space are only mental +illusions. Every atom is immeasurable and every moment infinite. + +There is a Persian story which I was greatly taken with when I read it as +a boy--I think I understood, even then, something of the underlying idea, +though I was a mere child. To show the illusory character of time, a +_faquir_ put some magic water into a tub and asked the King to take a +dip. The King no sooner dipped his head in than he found himself in a +strange country by the sea, where he spent a good long time going through +a variety of happenings and doings. He married, had children, his wife and +children died, he lost all his wealth, and as he writhed under his +sufferings he suddenly found himself back in the room, surrounded by his +courtiers. On his proceeding to revile the _faquir_ for his +misfortunes, they said: "But, Sire, you have only just dipped your head +in, and raised it out of the water!" + +The whole of our life with its pleasures and pains is in the same way +enclosed in one moment of time. However long or intense we may feel it to +be while it lasts, as soon as we have finished our dip in the tub of the +world, we shall find how like a slight, momentary dream the whole thing +has been.... + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_9th August 1894._ + + +I saw a dead bird floating down the current to-day. The history of its +death may easily be divined. It had a nest in some mango tree at the edge +of a village. It returned home in the evening, nestling there against +soft-feathered companions, and resting a wearied little body in sleep. All +of a sudden, in the night, the mighty Padma tossed slightly in her bed, +and the earth was swept away from the roots of the mango tree. The little +creature bereft of its nest awoke just for a moment before it went to +sleep again for ever. + +When I am in the presence of the awful mystery of all-destructive Nature, +the difference between myself and the other living things seems trivial. +In town, human society is to the fore and looms large; it is cruelly +callous to the happiness and misery of other creatures as compared with +its own. + +In Europe, also, man is so complex and so dominant, that the animal is too +merely an animal to him. To Indians the idea of the transmigration of the +soul from animal to man, and man to animal, does not seem strange, and so +from our scriptures pity for all sentient creatures has not been banished +as a sentimental exaggeration. + +When I am in close touch with Nature in the country, the Indian in me +asserts itself and I cannot remain coldly indifferent to the abounding joy +of life throbbing within the soft down-covered breast of a single tiny +bird. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_10th August 1894._ + + +Last night a rushing sound in the water awoke me--a sudden boisterous +disturbance of the river current--probably the onslaught of a freshet: a +thing that often happens at this season. One's feet on the planking of the +boat become aware of a variety of forces at work beneath it. Slight +tremors, little rockings, gentle heaves, and sudden jerks, all keep me in +touch with the pulse of the flowing stream. + +There must have been some sudden excitement in the night, which sent the +current racing away. I rose and sat by the window. A hazy kind of light +made the turbulent river look madder than ever. The sky was spotted with +clouds. The reflection of a great big star quivered on the waters in a +long streak, like a burning gash of pain. Both banks were vague with the +dimness of slumber, and between them was this wild, sleepless unrest, +running and running regardless of consequences. + +To watch a scene like this in the middle of the night makes one feel +altogether a different person, and the daylight life an illusion. Then +again, this morning, that midnight world faded away into some dreamland, +and vanished into thin air. The two are so different, yet both are true +for man. + +The day-world seems to me like European Music--its concords and discords +resolving into each other in a great progression of harmony; the +night-world like Indian Music--pure, unfettered melody, grave and +poignant. What if their contrast be so striking--both move us. This +principle of opposites is at the very root of creation, which is divided +between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the +Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving. + +We Indians are under the rule of Night. We are immersed in the Eternal, +the One. Our melodies are to be sung alone, to oneself; they take us out +of the everyday world into a solitude aloof. European Music is for the +multitude and takes them along, dancing, through the ups and downs of the +joys and sorrows of men. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_13th August 1894._ + + +Whatever I truly think, truly feel, truly realise,--its natural destiny is +to find true expression. There is some force in me which continually works +towards that end, but is not mine alone,--it permeates the universe. When +this universal force is manifested within an individual, it is beyond his +control and acts according to its own nature; and in surrendering our +lives to its power is our greatest joy. It not only gives us expression, +but also sensitiveness and love; this makes our feelings so fresh to us +every time, so full of wonder. + +When my little daughter delights me, she merges into the original mystery +of joy which is the Universe; and my loving caresses are called forth like +worship. I am sure that all our love is but worship of the Great Mystery, +only we perform it unconsciously. Otherwise it is meaningless. + +Like universal gravitation, which governs large and small alike in the +world of matter, this universal joy exerts its attraction throughout our +inner world, and baffles our understanding when we see it in a partial +view. The only rational explanation of why we find joy in man and nature +is given in the Upanishad: + + For of joy are born all created things. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_19th August 1894._ + + +The Vedanta seems to help many to free their minds from all doubt as to +the Universe and its First Cause, but my doubts remain undispelled. It is +true that the Vedanta is simpler than most other theories. The problem of +Creation and its Creator is more complex than appears at first sight; but +the Vedanta has certainly simplified it half way, by cutting the Gordian +knot and leaving out Creation altogether. + +There is only Brahma, and the rest of us merely imagine that we are,--it +is wonderful how the human mind should have found room for such a thought. +It is still more wonderful to think that the idea is not so inconsistent +as it sounds, and the real difficulty is, rather, to prove that anything +does exist. + +Anyhow, when as now the moon is up, and with half-closed eyes I am +stretched beneath it on the upper deck, the soft breeze cooling my +problem-vexed head, then the earth, waters, and sky around, the gentle +rippling of the river, the casual wayfarer passing along the tow-path, the +occasional dinghy gliding by, the trees across the fields, vague in the +moonlight, the sleepy village beyond, bounded by the dark shadows of its +groves,--verily seem an illusion of _Maya_; and yet they cling to and +draw the mind and heart more truly than truth itself, which is +abstraction, and it becomes impossible to realise what kind of salvation +there can be in freeing oneself from them. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_5th September 1894._ + + +I realise how hungry for space I have become, and take my fill of it in +these rooms where I hold my state as sole monarch, with all doors and +windows thrown open. Here the desire and power to write are mine as they +are nowhere else. The stir of outside life comes into me in waves of +verdure, and with its light and scent and sound stimulated my fancy into +story-writing. + +The afternoons have a special enchantment of their own. The glare of the +sun, the silence, the solitude, the bird cries, especially the cawings of +crows, and the delightful, restful leisure--these conspire to carry me +away altogether. + +Just such noondays seem to have gone to the making of the Arabian +Nights,--in Damascus, Bokhara, or Samarkhand, with their desert roadways, +files of camels, wandering horsemen, crystal springs, welling up under the +shade of feathery date groves; their wilderness of roses, songs of +nightingales, wines of Shiraz; their narrow bazaar paths with bright +overhanging canopies, the men, in loose robes and multi-coloured turbans, +selling dates and nuts and melons; their palaces, fragrant with incense, +luxurious with kincob-covered divans and bolsters by the window-side; +their Zobedia or Amina or Sufia with gaily decorated jacket, wide +trousers, and gold-embroidered slippers, a long narghilah pipe curled up +at her feet, with gorgeously liveried eunuchs on guard,--and all the +possible and impossible tales of human deeds and desires, and the laughter +and wailing, of that distant mysterious region. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO DIGHAPATIAYA, + +_20th September 1894._ + + +Big trees are standing in the flood water, their trunks wholly submerged, +their branches and foliage bending over the waters. Boats are tied up +under shady groves of mango and bo tree, and people bathe screened behind +them. Here and there cottages stand out in the current, their inner +quadrangles under water. + +As my boat rustles its way through standing crops it now and then comes +across what was a pool and is still to be distinguished by its clusters of +water-lilies, and diver-birds pursuing fish. + +The water has penetrated every possible place. I have never before seen +such a complete defeat of the land. A little more and the water will be +right inside the cottages, and their occupants will have to put up +_machans_ to live on. The cows will die if they have to remain +standing like this in water up to their knees. All the snakes have been +flooded out of their holes, and they, with sundry other homeless reptiles +and insects, will have to chum with man and take refuge on the thatch of +his roof. + +The vegetation rotting in the water, refuse of all kinds floating about, +naked children with shrivelled limbs and enlarged spleens splashing +everywhere, the long-suffering patient housewives exposed in their wet +clothes to wind and rain, wading through their daily tasks with tucked-up +skirts, and over all a thick pall of mosquitoes hovering in the noxious +atmosphere--the sight is hardly pleasing! + +Colds and fevers and rheumatism in every home, the malaria-stricken +infants constantly crying,--nothing can save them. How is it possible for +men to live in such unlovely, unhealthy, squalid, neglected surroundings? +The fact is we are so used to bear everything, hands down,--the ravages of +Nature, the oppression of rulers, the pressure of our _shastras_ to +which we have not a word to say, while they keep eternally grinding us +down. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO BOALIA, + +_22nd September 1894._ + + +It feels strange to be reminded that only thirty-two Autumns have come and +gone in my life; for my memory seems to have receded back into the dimness +of time immemorial; and when my inner world is flooded with a light, as of +an unclouded autumn morning, I feel I am sitting at the window of some +magic palace, gazing entranced on a scene of distant reminiscence, soothed +with soft breezes laden with the faint perfume of all the Past. + +Goethe on his death-bed wanted "more light." If I have any desire left at +all at such a time, it will be for "more space" as well; for I dearly love +both light and space. Many look down on Bengal as being only a flat +country, but that is just what makes me revel in its scenery all the more. +Its unobstructed sky is filled to the brim, like an amethyst cup, with the +descending twilight and peace of the evening; and the golden skirt of the +still, silent noonday spreads over the whole of it without let or +hindrance. + +Where is there another such country for the eye to look on, the mind to +take in? + + + + +CALCUTTA, + +_5th October 1894._ + + +To-morrow is the Durga Festival. As I was going to S----'s yesterday, I +noticed images being made in almost every big house on the way. It struck +me that during these few days of the Poojahs, old and young alike had +become children. + +When we come to think of it, all preparation for enjoyment is really a +playing with toys which are of no consequence in themselves. From outside +it may appear wasteful, but can that be called futile which raises such a +wave of feeling through and through the country? Even the driest of +worldly-wise people are moved out of their self-centred interests by the +rush of the pervading emotion. + +Thus, once every year there comes a period when all minds are in a melting +mood, fit for the springing of love and affection and sympathy. The songs +of welcome and farewell to the goddess, the meeting of loved ones, the +strains of the festive pipes, the limpid sky and molten gold of autumn, +are all parts of one great paean of joy. + +Pure joy is the children's joy. They have the power of using any and every +trivial thing to create their world of interest, and the ugliest doll is +made beautiful with their imagination and lives with their life. He who +can retain this faculty of enjoyment after he has grown up, is indeed the +true Idealist. For him things are not merely visible to the eye or audible +to the ear, but they are also sensible to the heart, and their narrowness +and imperfections are lost in the glad music which he himself supplies. + +Every one cannot hope to be an Idealist, but a whole people approaches +nearest to this blissful state at such seasons of festivity. And then what +may ordinarily appear to be a mere toy loses its limitations and becomes +glorified with an ideal radiance. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_19th October 1894._ + + +We know people only in dotted outline, that is to say, with gaps in our +knowledge which we have to fill in ourselves, as best we can. Thus, even +those we know well are largely made up of our imagination. Sometimes the +lines are so broken, with even the guiding dots missing, that a portion of +the picture remains darkly confused and uncertain. If, then, our best +friends are only pieces of broken outline strung on a thread of +imagination, do we really know anybody at all, or does anybody know us +except in the same disjointed fashion? But perhaps it is these very +loopholes, allowing entrance to each other's imagination, which make for +intimacy; otherwise each one, secure in his inviolate individuality, would +have been unapproachable to all but the Dweller within. + +Our own self, too, we know only in bits, and with these scraps of material +we have to shape the hero of our life-story,--likewise with the help of +our imagination. Providence has, doubtless, deliberately omitted portions +so that we may assist in our own creation. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_31st October 1894._ + + +The first of the north winds has begun to blow to-day, shiveringly. It +looks as if there had been a visitation of the tax-gatherer in the +_Amlaki_ groves,--everything beside itself, sighing, trembling, +withering. The tired impassiveness of the noonday sunshine, with its +monotonous cooing of doves in the dense shade of the mango-tops, seems to +overcast the drowsy watches of the day with a pang, as of some impending +parting. + +The ticking of the clock on my table, and the pattering of the squirrels +which scamper in and out of my room, are in harmony with all other midday +sounds. + +It amuses me to watch these soft, grey and black striped, furry squirrels, +with their bushy tails, their twinkling bead-like eyes, their gentle yet +busily practical demeanour. Everything eatable has to be put away in the +wire-gauze cupboard in the corner, safe from these greedy creatures. So, +sniffing with an irrepressible eagerness, they come nosing round and round +the cupboard, trying to find some hole for entrance. If any grain or crumb +has been dropped outside they are sure to find it, and, taking it between +their forepaws, nibble away with great industry, turning it over and over +to adjust it to their mouths. At the least movement of mine up go their +tails over their backs and off they run, only to stop short half-way, sit +up on their tails on the door-mat, scratching their ears with their +hind-paws, and then come back. + +Thus little sounds continue all day long--gnawing teeth, scampering feet, +and the tinkling of the china on the shelves. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_7th December 1894._ + + +As I walk on the moonlit sands, S---- usually comes up for a business +talk. + +He came last evening; and when silence fell upon me after the talk was +over, I became aware of the eternal universe standing before me in the +evening light. The trivial chatter of one person had been enough to +obscure the presence of its all-pervading manifestation. + +As soon as the patter of words came to an end, the peace of the stars +descended, and filled my heart to overflowing. I found my seat in one +corner, with these assembled millions of shining orbs, in the great +mysterious conclave of Being. + +I have to start out early in the evening so as to let my mind absorb the +tranquillity outside, before S---- comes along with his jarring inquiries +as to whether the milk has agreed with me, and if I have finished going +through the Annual Statement. + +How curiously placed are we between the Eternal and the Ephemeral! Any +allusion to the affairs of the stomach sounds so hopelessly discordant +when the mind is dwelling on the things of the spirit,--and yet the soul +and the stomach have been living together so long. The very spot on which +the moonlight falls is my landed property, but the moonlight tells me that +my _zamindari_ is an illusion, and my _zamindari_ tells me that +this moonlight is all emptiness. And as for poor me, I remain distracted +between the two. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_23rd February_ 1895. + + +I grow quite absent-minded when I try to write for the _Sadhana_ +magazine. + +I raise my eyes to every passing boat and keep staring at the ferry going +to and fro. And then on the bank, close to my boat, there are a herd of +buffaloes thrusting their massive snouts into the herbage, wrapping their +tongues round it to get it into their mouths, and then munching away, +blowing hard with great big gasps of contentment, and flicking the flies +off their backs with their tails. + +All of a sudden a naked weakling of a human cub appears on the scene, +makes sundry noises, and pokes one of the patient beasts with a cudgel, +whereupon, throwing occasional glances at the human sprig out of a corner +of its eye, and snatching at tufts of leaves or grass here and there on +the way, the unruffled beast leisurely moves on a few paces, and that imp +of a boy seems to feel that his duty as herdsman has been done. + +I fail to penetrate this mystery of the boy-cowherd's mind. Whenever a cow +or a buffalo has selected a spot to its liking and is comfortably grazing +there, I cannot divine what purpose is served by worrying it, as he +insists on doing, till it shifts somewhere else. I suppose it is man's +masterfulness glorying in triumph over the powerful creature it has tamed. +Anyhow, I love to see these buffaloes amongst the lush grass. + +But this is not what I started to say. I wanted to tell you how the least +thing distracts me nowadays from my duty to the _Sadhana_. In my last +letter[1] I told you of the bumble-bees which hover round me in some +fruitless quest, to the tune of a meaningless humming, with tireless +assiduity. + +[Footnote 1: Not included in this selection.] + +They come every day at about nine or ten in the morning, dart up to my +table, shoot down under the desk, go bang on to the coloured glass +window-pane, and then with a circuit or two round my head are off again +with a whizz. + +I could easily have thought them to be departed spirits who had left this +world unsatisfied, and so keep coming back to it again and again in the +guise of bees, paying me an inquiring visit in passing. But I think +nothing of the kind. I am sure they are real bees, otherwise known, in +Sanskrit, as honey-suckers, or on still rarer occasions as +double-proboscideans. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th (Phalgun) February_ 1895. + + +We have to tread every single moment of the way as we go on living our +life, but when taken as a whole it is such a very small thing, two hours +uninterrupted thought can hold all of it. + +After thirty years of strenuous living Shelley could only supply material +for two volumes of biography, of which, moreover, a considerable space is +taken up by Dowden's chatter. The thirty years of my life would not fill +even one volume. + +What a to-do there is over this tiny bit of life! To think of the quantity +of land and trade and commerce which go to furnish its commissariat alone, +the amount of space occupied by each individual throughout the world, +though one little chair is large enough to hold the whole of him! Yet, +after all is over and done, there remains only material for two hours' +thought, some pages of writing! + +What a negligible fraction of my few pages would this one lazy day of mine +occupy! But then, will not this peaceful day, on the desolate sands by the +placid river, leave nevertheless a distinct little gold mark even upon the +scroll of my eternal past and eternal future? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_28th February_ 1895. + + +I have got an anonymous letter to-day which begins: + + To give up one's self at the feet of another, + is the truest of all gifts. + +The writer has never seen me, but knows me from my writings, and goes on +to say: + + However petty or distant, the Sun[1]-worshipper gets a share of the + Sun's rays. You are the world's poet, yet to me it seems you are my own + poet! + +[Footnote 1: Rabi, the author's name, means the Sun.] + +and more in the same strain. + +Man is so anxious to bestow his love on some object, that he ends by +falling in love with his own Ideal. But why should we suppose the idea to +be less true than the reality? We can never know for certain the truth of +the substance underlying what we get through the senses. Why should the +doubt be greater in the case of the entity behind the ideas which are the +creation of mind? + +The mother realises in her child the great Idea, which is in every child, +the ineffableness of which, however, is not revealed to any one else. Are +we to say that what draws forth the mother's very life and soul is +illusory, but what fails to draw the rest of us to the same extent is the +real truth? + +Every person is worthy of an infinite wealth of love--the beauty of his +soul knows no limit.... But I am departing into generalities. What I +wanted to express is, that in one sense I have no right to accept this +offering of my admirer's heart; that is to say, for me, seen within my +everyday covering, such a person could not possibly have had these +feelings. But there is another sense in which I am worthy of all this, or +of even greater adoration. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO PABNA, + +_9th July_ 1895. + + +I am gliding through this winding little Ichamati, this streamlet of the +rainy season. With rows of villages along its banks, its fields of jute +and sugar-cane, its reed patches, its green bathing slopes, it is like a +few lines of a poem, often repeated and as often enjoyed. One cannot +commit to memory a big river like the Padma, but this meandering little +Ichamati, the flow of whose syllables is regulated by the rhythm of the +rains, I am gradually making my very own.... + +It is dusk, the sky getting dark with clouds. The thunder rumbles +fitfully, and the wild casuarina clumps bend in waves to the stormy gusts +which pass through them. The depths of bamboo thickets look black as ink. +The pallid twilight glimmers over the water like the herald of some weird +event. + +I am bending over my desk in the dimness, writing this letter. I want to +whisper low-toned, intimate talk, in keeping with this penumbra of the +dusk. But it is just wishes like these which baffle all effort. They +either get fulfilled of themselves, or not at all. That is why it is a +simple matter to warm up to a grim battle, but not to an easy, +inconsequent talk. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_14th August_ 1895. + + +One great point about work is that for its sake the individual has to make +light of his personal joys and sorrows; indeed, so far as may be, to +ignore them. I am reminded of an incident at Shazadpur. My servant was +late one morning, and I was greatly annoyed at his delay. He came up and +stood before me with his usual _salaam_, and with a slight catch in +his voice explained that his eight-year-old daughter had died last night. +Then, with his duster, he set to tidying up my room. + +When we look at the field of work, we see some at their trades, some +tilling the soil, some carrying burdens, and yet underneath, death, +sorrow, and loss are flowing, in an unseen undercurrent, every day,--their +privacy not intruded upon. If ever these should break forth beyond control +and come to the surface, then all this work would at once come to a stop. +Over the individual sorrows, flowing beneath, is a hard stone track, +across which the trains of duty, with their human load, thunder their way, +stopping for none save at appointed stations. This very cruelty of work +proves, perhaps, man's sternest consolation. + + + + +KUSHTEA, + +_5th October 1895_. + + +The religion that only comes to us from external scriptures never becomes +our own; our only tie with it is that of habit. To gain religion within is +man's great lifelong adventure. In the extremity of suffering must it be +born; on his life-blood it must live; and then, whether or not it brings +him happiness, the man's journey shall end in the joy of fulfilment. + +We rarely realise how false for us is that which we hear from other lips, +or keep repeating with our own, while all the time the temple of our Truth +is building within us, brick by brick, day after day. We fail to +understand the mystery of this eternal building when we view our joys and +sorrows apart by themselves, in the midst of fleeting time; just as a +sentence becomes unintelligible if one has to spell through every word of +it. + +When once we perceive the unity of the scheme of that creation which is +going on in us, we realise our relation to the ever-unfolding universe. We +realise that we are in the process of being created in the same way as are +the glowing heavenly orbs which revolve in their courses,--our desires, +our sufferings, all finding their proper place within the whole. + +We may not know exactly what is happening: we do not know exactly even +about a speck of dust. But when we feel the flow of life in us to be one +with the universal life outside, then all our pleasures and pains are seen +strung upon one long thread of joy. The facts: _I am, I move, I +grow_, are seen in all their immensity in connection with the fact that +everything else is there along with me, and not the tiniest atom can do +without me. + +The relation of my soul to this beautiful autumn morning, this vast +radiance, is one of intimate kinship; and all this colour, scent, and +music is but the outward expression of our secret communion. This constant +communion, whether realised or unrealised, keeps my mind in movement; out +of this intercourse between my inner and outer worlds I gain such +religion, be it much or little, as my capacity allows: and in its light I +have to test scriptures before I can make them really my own. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_12th December 1895._ + + +The other evening I was reading an English book of criticisms, full of all +manner of disputations about Poetry, Art, Beauty, and so forth and so on. +As I plodded through these artificial discussions, my tired faculties +seemed to have wandered into a region of empty mirage, filled with the +presence of a mocking demon. + +The night was far advanced. I closed the book with a bang and flung it on +the table. Then I blew out the lamp with the idea of turning into bed. No +sooner had I done so than, through the open windows, the moonlight burst +into the room, with a shock of surprise. + +That little bit of a lamp had been sneering drily at me, like some +Mephistopheles: and that tiniest sneer had screened off this infinite +light of joy issuing forth from the deep love which is in all the world. +What, forsooth, had I been looking for in the empty wordiness of the book? +There was the very thing itself, filling the skies, silently waiting for +me outside, all these hours! + +If I had gone off to bed leaving the shutters closed, and thus missed this +vision, it would have stayed there all the same without any protest +against the mocking lamp inside. Even if I had remained blind to it all my +life,--letting the lamp triumph to the end,--till for the last time I went +darkling to bed,--even then the moon would have still been there, sweetly +smiling, unperturbed and unobtrusive, waiting for me as she has throughout +the ages. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Glimpses of Bengal, by Sir Rabindranath Tagore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + +***** This file should be named 7951-8.txt or 7951-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/5/7951/ + +Produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Glimpses of Bengal + +Author: Sir Rabindranath Tagore + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7951] +This file was first posted on June 4, 2003 +Last Updated: May 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + + + + +Text file produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + GLIMPSES OF BENGAL + </h1> + <h3> + SELECTED FROM THE LETTERS<br /> OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE + </h3> + <h4> + 1885 to 1895 + </h4> + <h2> + By Sir Rabindranath Tagore + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BANDORA, BY THE SEA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SHELIDAH, 1888. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> SHAZADPUR, 1890. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> KALIGRAM, 1891. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> KALIGRAM, 1891. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> NEARING SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ON THE WAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> CHUHALI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> SHAZADPUR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> SHAZADPUR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> ON BOARD A CANAL STEAMER GOING TO CUTTACK, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> TIRAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> ON THE WAY TO GOALUNDA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> BOALIA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> NATORE, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> BALJA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> CUTTACK, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> CUTTACK, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> CUTTACK, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> PATISAR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> SHAZADPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> ON THE WAY TO DIGHAPATIAYA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> ON THE WAY TO BOALIA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> CALCUTTA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> BOLPUR, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> ON THE WAY TO PABNA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> KUSHTEA, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> SHELIDAH, </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + The letters translated in this book span the most productive period of my + literary life, when, owing to great good fortune, I was young and less + known. + </p> + <p> + Youth being exuberant and leisure ample, I felt the writing of letters + other than business ones to be a delightful necessity. This is a form of + literary extravagance only possible when a surplus of thought and emotion + accumulates. Other forms of literature remain the author's and are made + public for his good; letters that have been given to private individuals + once for all, are therefore characterised by the more generous + abandonment. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that selected extracts from a large number of such letters + found their way back to me years after they had been written. It had been + rightly conjectured that they would delight me by bringing to mind the + memory of days when, under the shelter of obscurity, I enjoyed the + greatest freedom my life has ever known. + </p> + <p> + Since these letters synchronise with a considerable part of my published + writings, I thought their parallel course would broaden my readers' + understanding of my poems as a track is widened by retreading the same + ground. Such was my justification for publishing them in a book for my + countrymen. Hoping that the descriptions of village scenes in Bengal + contained in these letters would also be of interest to English readers, + the translation of a selection of that selection has been entrusted to one + who, among all those whom I know, was best fitted to carry it out. + </p> + <p> + RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + </p> + <p> + <i>20th June 1920.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BANDORA, BY THE SEA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>October</i> 1885. + </h3> + <p> + The unsheltered sea heaves and heaves and blanches into foam. It sets me + thinking of some tied-up monster straining at its bonds, in front of whose + gaping jaws we build our homes on the shore and watch it lashing its tail. + What immense strength, with waves swelling like the muscles of a giant! + </p> + <p> + From the beginning of creation there has been this feud between land and + water: the dry earth slowly and silently adding to its domain and + spreading a broader and broader lap for its children; the ocean receding + step by step, heaving and sobbing and beating its breast in despair. + Remember the sea was once sole monarch, utterly free. + </p> + <p> + Land rose from its womb, usurped its throne, and ever since the maddened + old creature, with hoary crest of foam, wails and laments continually, + like King Lear exposed to the fury of the elements. + </p> + <p> + <i>July 1887.</i> + </p> + <p> + I am in my twenty-seventh year. This event keeps thrusting itself before + my mind—nothing else seems to have happened of late. + </p> + <p> + But to reach twenty-seven—is that a trifling thing?—to pass + the meridian of the twenties on one's progress towards thirty?—thirty—that + is to say maturity—the age at which people expect fruit rather than + fresh foliage. But, alas, where is the promise of fruit? As I shake my + head, it still feels brimful of luscious frivolity, with not a trace of + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + Folk are beginning to complain: "Where is that which we expected of you—that + in hope of which we admired the soft green of the shoot? Are we to put up + with immaturity for ever? It is high time for us to know what we shall + gain from you. We want an estimate of the proportion of oil which the + blindfold, mill-turning, unbiased critic can squeeze out of you." + </p> + <p> + It has ceased to be possible to delude these people into waiting + expectantly any longer. While I was under age they trustfully gave me + credit; it is sad to disappoint them now that I am on the verge of thirty. + But what am I to do? Words of wisdom will not come! I am utterly + incompetent to provide things that may profit the multitude. Beyond a + snatch of song, some tittle-tattle, a little merry fooling, I have been + unable to advance. And as the result, those who held high hopes will turn + their wrath on me; but did any one ever beg them to nurse these + expectations? + </p> + <p> + Such are the thoughts which assail me since one fine <i>Bysakh</i> morning + I awoke amidst fresh breeze and light, new leaf and flower, to find that I + had stepped into my twenty-seventh year. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, 1888. + </h2> + <p> + Our house-boat is moored to a sandbank on the farther side of the river. A + vast expanse of sand stretches away out of sight on every side, with here + and there a streak, as of water, running across, though sometimes what + gleams like water is only sand. + </p> + <p> + Not a village, not a human being, not a tree, not a blade of grass—the + only breaks in the monotonous whiteness are gaping cracks which in places + show the layer of moist, black clay underneath. + </p> + <p> + Looking towards the East, there is endless blue above, endless white + beneath. Sky empty, earth empty too—the emptiness below hard and + barren, that overhead arched and ethereal—one could hardly find + elsewhere such a picture of stark desolation. + </p> + <p> + But on turning to the West, there is water, the currentless bend of the + river, fringed with its high bank, up to which spread the village groves + with cottages peeping through—all like an enchanting dream in the + evening light. I say "the evening light," because in the evening we wander + out, and so that aspect is impressed on my mind. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, 1890. + </h2> + <p> + The magistrate was sitting in the verandah of his tent dispensing justice + to the crowd awaiting their turns under the shade of a tree. They set my + palanquin down right under his nose, and the young Englishman received me + courteously. He had very light hair, with darker patches here and there, + and a moustache just beginning to show. One might have taken him for a + white-haired old man but for his extremely youthful face. I asked him over + to dinner, but he said he was due elsewhere to arrange for a pig-sticking + party. + </p> + <p> + As I returned home, great black clouds came up and there was a terrific + storm with torrents of rain. I could not touch a book, it was impossible + to write, so in the I-know-not-what mood I wandered about from room to + room. It had become quite dark, the thunder was continually pealing, the + lightning gleaming flash after flash, and every now and then sudden gusts + of wind would get hold of the big <i>lichi</i> tree by the neck and give + its shaggy top a thorough shaking. The hollow in front of the house soon + filled with water, and as I paced about, it suddenly struck me that I + ought to offer the shelter of the house to the magistrate. + </p> + <p> + I sent off an invitation; then after investigation I found the only spare + room encumbered with a platform of planks hanging from the beams, piled + with dirty old quilts and bolsters. Servants' belongings, an excessively + grimy mat, hubble-bubble pipes, tobacco, tinder, and two wooden chests + littered the floor, besides sundry packing-cases full of useless odds and + ends, such as a rusty kettle lid, a bottomless iron stove, a discoloured + old nickel teapot, a soup-plate full of treacle blackened with dust. In a + corner was a tub for washing dishes, and from nails in the wall hung moist + dish-clouts and the cook's livery and skull-cap. The only piece of + furniture was a rickety dressing-table with water stains, oil stains, milk + stains, black, brown, and white stains, and all kinds of mixed stains. The + mirror, detached from it, rested against another wall, and the drawers + were receptacles for a miscellaneous assortment of articles from soiled + napkins down to bottle wires and dust. + </p> + <p> + For a moment I was overwhelmed with dismay; then it was a case of—send + for the manager, send for the storekeeper, call up all the servants, get + hold of extra men, fetch water, put up ladders, unfasten ropes, pull down + planks, take away bedding, pick up broken glass bit by bit, wrench nails + from the wall one by one.—The chandelier falls and its pieces strew + the floor; pick them up again piece by piece.—I myself whisk the + dirty mat off the floor and out of the window, dislodging a horde of + cockroaches, messmates, who dine off my bread, my treacle, and the polish + on my shoes. + </p> + <p> + The magistrate's reply is brought back; his tent is in an awful state and + he is coming at once. Hurry up! Hurry up! Presently comes the shout: "The + sahib has arrived." All in a flurry I brush the dust off hair, beard, and + the rest of myself, and as I go to receive him in the drawing-room, I try + to look as respectable as if I had been reposing there comfortably all the + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + I went through the shaking of hands and conversed with the magistrate + outwardly serene; still, misgivings about his accommodation would now and + then well up within. When at length I had to show my guest to his room, I + found it passable, and if the homeless cockroaches do not tickle the soles + of his feet, he may manage to get a night's rest. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KALIGRAM, 1891. + </h2> + <p> + I am feeling listlessly comfortable and delightfully irresponsible. + </p> + <p> + This is the prevailing mood all round here. There is a river but it has no + current to speak of, and, lying snugly tucked up in its coverlet of + floating weeds, seems to think—"Since it is possible to get on + without getting along, why should I bestir myself to stir?" So the sedge + which lines the banks knows hardly any disturbance until the fishermen + come with their nets. + </p> + <p> + Four or five large-sized boats are moored near by, alongside each other. + On the upper deck of one the boatman is fast asleep, rolled up in a sheet + from head to foot. On another, the boatman—also basking in the sun—leisurely + twists some yarn into rope. On the lower deck in a third, an + oldish-looking, bare-bodied fellow is leaning over an oar, staring + vacantly at our boat. + </p> + <p> + Along the bank there are various other people, but why they come or go, + with the slowest of idle steps, or remain seated on their haunches + embracing their knees, or keep on gazing at nothing in particular, no one + can guess. + </p> + <p> + The only signs of activity are to be seen amongst the ducks, who, quacking + clamorously, thrust their heads under and bob up again to shake off the + water with equal energy, as if they repeatedly tried to explore the + mysteries below the surface, and every time, shaking their heads, had to + report, "Nothing there! Nothing there!" + </p> + <p> + The days here drowse all their twelve hours in the sun, and silently sleep + away the other twelve, wrapped in the mantle of darkness. The only thing + you want to do in a place like this is to gaze and gaze on the landscape, + swinging your fancies to and fro, alternately humming a tune and nodding + dreamily, as the mother on a winter's noonday, her back to the sun, rocks + and croons her baby to sleep. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KALIGRAM, 1891. + </h2> + <p> + Yesterday, while I was giving audience to my tenants, five or six boys + made their appearance and stood in a primly proper row before me. Before I + could put any question their spokesman, in the choicest of high-flown + language, started: "Sire! the grace of the Almighty and the good fortune + of your benighted children have once more brought about your lordship's + auspicious arrival into this locality." He went on in this strain for + nearly half an hour. Here and there he would get his lesson wrong, pause, + look up at the sky, correct himself, and then go on again. I gathered that + their school was short of benches and stools. "For want of these + wood-built seats," as he put it, "we know not where to sit ourselves, + where to seat our revered teachers, or what to offer our most respected + inspector when he comes on a visit." + </p> + <p> + I could hardly repress a smile at this torrent of eloquence gushing from + such a bit of a fellow, which sounded specially out of place here, where + the ryots are given to stating their profoundly vital wants in plain and + direct vernacular, of which even the more unusual words get sadly twisted + out of shape. The clerks and ryots, however, seemed duly impressed, and + likewise envious, as though deploring their parents' omission to endow + them with so splendid a means of appealing to the <i>Zamindar</i>. + </p> + <p> + I interrupted the young orator before he had done, promising to arrange + for the necessary number of benches and stools. Nothing daunted, he + allowed me to have my say, then took up his discourse where he had left + it, finished it to the last word, saluted me profoundly, and marched off + his contingent. He probably would not have minded had I refused to supply + the seats, but after all his trouble in getting it by heart he would have + resented bitterly being robbed of any part of his speech. So, though it + kept more important business waiting, I had to hear him out. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NEARING SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>January</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + We left the little river of Kaligram, sluggish as the circulation in a + dying man, and dropped down the current of a briskly flowing stream which + led to a region where land and water seemed to merge in each other, river + and bank without distinction of garb, like brother and sister in infancy. + </p> + <p> + The river lost its coating of sliminess, scattered its current in many + directions, and spread out, finally, into a <i>beel</i> (marsh), with here + a patch of grassy land and there a stretch of transparent water, reminding + me of the youth of this globe when through the limitless waters land had + just begun to raise its head, the separate provinces of solid and fluid as + yet undefined. + </p> + <p> + Round about where we have moored, the bamboo poles of fishermen are + planted. Kites hover ready to snatch up fish from the nets. On the ooze at + the water's edge stand the saintly-looking paddy birds in meditation. All + kinds of waterfowl abound. Patches of weeds float on the water. Here and + there rice-fields, untilled, untended,{1} rise from the moist, clay soil. + Mosquitoes swarm over the still waters.... + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: On the rich river-side silt, rice seed is simply scattered + and the harvest reaped when ripe; nothing else has to be done.} + </p> + <p> + We start again at dawn this morning and pass through Kachikata, where the + waters of the <i>beel</i> find an outlet in a winding channel only six or + seven yards wide, through which they rush swiftly. To get our unwieldy + house-boat through is indeed an adventure. The current hurries it along at + lightning speed, keeping the crew busy using their oars as poles to + prevent the boat being dashed against the banks. We thus come out again + into the open river. + </p> + <p> + The sky had been heavily clouded, a damp wind blowing, with occasional + showers of rain. The crew were all shivering with cold. Such wet and + gloomy days in the cold weather are eminently disagreeable, and I have + spent a wretched lifeless morning. At two in the afternoon the sun came + out, and since then it has been delightful. The banks are now high and + covered with peaceful groves and the dwellings of men, secluded and full + of beauty. + </p> + <p> + The river winds in and out, an unknown little stream in the inmost <i>zenana</i> + of Bengal, neither lazy nor fussy; lavishing the wealth of her affection + on both sides, she prattles about common joys and sorrows and the + household news of the village girls, who come for water, and sit by her + side, assiduously rubbing their bodies to a glowing freshness with their + moistened towels. + </p> + <p> + This evening we have moored our boat in a lonely bend. The sky is clear. + The moon is at its full. Not another boat is to be seen. The moonlight + glimmers on the ripples. Solitude reigns on the banks. The distant village + sleeps, nestling within a thick fringe of trees. The shrill, sustained + chirp of the cicadas is the only sound. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>February</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + Just in front of my window, on the other side of the stream, a band of + gypsies have ensconced themselves, putting up bamboo frameworks covered + over with split-bamboo mats and pieces of cloth. There are only three of + these little structures, so low that you cannot stand upright inside. + Their life is lived in the open, and they only creep under these shelters + at night, to sleep huddled together. + </p> + <p> + That is always the gypsies' way: no home anywhere, no landlord to pay rent + to, wandering about as it pleases them with their children, their pigs, + and a dog or two; and on them the police keep a vigilant eye. + </p> + <p> + I frequently watch the doings of the family nearest me. They are dark but + good-looking, with fine, strongly-built bodies, like north-west country + folk. Their women are handsome, and have tall, slim, well-knit figures; + and with their free and easy movements, and natural independent airs, they + look to me like swarthy Englishwomen. + </p> + <p> + The man has just put the cooking-pot on the fire, and is now splitting + bamboos and weaving baskets. The woman first holds up a little mirror to + her face, then puts a deal of pains into wiping and rubbing it, over and + over again, with a moist piece of cloth; and then, the folds of her upper + garment adjusted and tidied, she goes, all spick and span, up to her man + and sits beside him, helping him now and then in his work. + </p> + <p> + These are truly children of the soil, born on it somewhere, bred by the + wayside, here, there, and everywhere, dying anywhere. Night and day under + the open sky, in the open air, on the bare ground, they lead a unique kind + of life; and yet work, love, children, and household duties—everything + is there. + </p> + <p> + They are not idle for a moment, but always doing something. Her own + particular task over, one woman plumps herself down behind another, unties + the knot of her hair and cleans and arranges it for her; and whether at + the same time they fall to talking over the domestic affairs of the three + little mat-covered households I cannot say for certain from this distance, + but shrewdly suspect it. + </p> + <p> + This morning a great disturbance invaded the peaceful gypsy settlement. It + was about half-past eight or nine. They were spreading out over the mat + roofs tattered quilts and sundry other rags, which serve them for beds, in + order to sun and air them. The pigs with their litters, lying in a hollow + all of a heap and looking like a dab of mud, had been routed out by the + two canine members of the family, who fell upon them and sent them roaming + in search of their breakfasts, squealing their annoyance at being + interrupted in enjoyment of the sun after the cold night. I was writing my + letter and absently looking out now and then when the hubbub suddenly + commenced. + </p> + <p> + I rose and went to the window, and found a crowd gathered round the gypsy + hermitage. A superior-looking personage was flourishing a stick and + indulging in the strongest language. The headman of the gypsies, cowed and + nervous, was apparently trying to offer explanations. I gathered that some + suspicious happenings in the locality had led to this visitation by a + police officer. + </p> + <p> + The woman, so far, had remained sitting, busily scraping lengths of split + bamboo as serenely as if she had been alone and no sort of row going on. + Suddenly, however, she sprang to her feet, advanced on the police officer, + gesticulated violently with her arms right in his face, and gave him, in + strident tones, a piece of her mind. In the twinkling of an eye + three-quarters of the officer's excitement had subsided; he tried to put + in a word or two of mild protest but did not get a chance, and so departed + crestfallen, a different man. + </p> + <p> + After he had retreated to a safe distance, he turned and shouted back: + "All I say is, you'll have to clear out from here!" + </p> + <p> + I thought my neighbours opposite would forthwith pack up their mats and + bamboos and move away with their bundles, pigs, and children. But there is + no sign of it yet. They are still nonchalantly engaged in splitting + bamboos, cooking food, or completing a toilet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>February</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + The post office is in a part of our estate office building,—this is + very convenient, for we get our letters as soon as they arrive. Some + evenings the postmaster comes up to have a chat with me. I enjoy listening + to his yarns. + </p> + <p> + He talks of the most impossible things in the gravest possible manner. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday he was telling me in what great reverence people of this + locality hold the sacred river Ganges. If one of their relatives dies, he + said, and they have not the means of taking the ashes to the Ganges, they + powder a piece of bone from his funeral pyre and keep it till they come + across some one who, some time or other, has drunk of the Ganges. To him + they administer some of this powder, hidden in the usual offering of <i>pán</i>{1}, + and thus are content to imagine that a portion of the remains of their + deceased relative has gained purifying contact with the sacred water. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Spices wrapped in betel leaf.} + </p> + <p> + I smiled as I remarked: "This surely must be an invention." + </p> + <p> + He pondered deeply before he admitted after a pause: "Yes, it may be." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WAY. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>February</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + We have got past the big rivers and just turned into a little one. + </p> + <p> + The village women are standing in the water, bathing or washing clothes; + and some, in their dripping <i>saris</i>, with veils pulled well over + their faces, move homeward with their water vessels filled and clasped + against the left flank, the right arm swinging free. Children, covered all + over with clay, are sporting boisterously, splashing water on each other, + while one of them shouts a song, regardless of the tune. + </p> + <p> + Over the high banks, the cottage roofs and the tops of the bamboo clumps + are visible. The sky has cleared and the sun is shining. Remnants of + clouds cling to the horizon like fluffs of cotton wool. The breeze is + warmer. + </p> + <p> + There are not many boats in this little river; only a few dinghies, laden + with dry branches and twigs, are moving leisurely along to the tired + plash! plash! of their oars. At the river's edge the fishermen's nets are + hung out to dry between bamboo poles. And work everywhere seems to be over + for the day. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHUHALI. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>June</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + I had been sitting out on the deck for more than a quarter of an hour when + heavy clouds rose in the west. They came up, black, tumbled, and tattered, + with streaks of lurid light showing through here and there. The little + boats scurried off into the smaller arm of the river and clung with their + anchors safely to its banks. The reapers took up the cut sheaves on their + heads and hied homewards; the cows followed, and behind them frisked the + calves waving their tails. + </p> + <p> + Then came an angry roar. Torn-off scraps of cloud hurried up from the + west, like panting messengers of evil tidings. Finally, lightning and + thunder, rain and storm, came on altogether and executed a mad dervish + dance. The bamboo clumps seemed to howl as the raging wind swept the + ground with them, now to the east, now to the west. Over all, the storm + droned like a giant snake-charmer's pipe, and to its rhythm swayed + hundreds and thousands of crested waves, like so many hooded snakes. The + thunder was incessant, as though a whole world was being pounded to pieces + away there behind the clouds. + </p> + <p> + With my chin resting on the ledge of an open window facing away from the + wind, I allowed my thoughts to take part in this terrible revelry; they + leapt into the open like a pack of schoolboys suddenly set free. When, + however, I got a thorough drenching from the spray of the rain, I had to + shut up the window and my poetising, and retire quietly into the darkness + inside, like a caged bird. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>June</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + From the bank to which the boat is tied a kind of scent rises out of the + grass, and the heat of the ground, given off in gasps, actually touches my + body. I feel that the warm, living Earth is breathing upon me, and that + she, also, must feel my breath. + </p> + <p> + The young shoots of rice are waving in the breeze, and the ducks are in + turn thrusting their heads beneath the water and preening their feathers. + There is no sound save the faint, mournful creaking of the gangway against + the boat, as she imperceptibly swings to and fro in the current. + </p> + <p> + Not far off there is a ferry. A motley crowd has assembled under the + banyan tree awaiting the boat's return; and as soon as it arrives, they + eagerly scramble in. I enjoy watching this for hours together. It is + market-day in the village on the other bank; that is why the ferry is so + busy. Some carry bundles of hay, some baskets, some sacks; some are going + to the market, others coming from it. Thus, in this silent noonday, the + stream of human activity slowly flows across the river between two + villages. + </p> + <p> + I sat wondering: Why is there always this deep shade of melancholy over + the fields arid river banks, the sky and the sunshine of our country? And + I came to the conclusion that it is because with us Nature is obviously + the more important thing. The sky is free, the fields limitless; and the + sun merges them into one blazing whole. In the midst of this, man seems so + trivial. He comes and goes, like the ferry-boat, from this shore to the + other; the babbling hum of his talk, the fitful echo of his song, is + heard; the slight movement of his pursuit of his own petty desires is seen + in the world's market-places: but how feeble, how temporary, how + tragically meaningless it all seems amidst the immense aloofness of the + Universe! + </p> + <p> + The contrast between the beautiful, broad, unalloyed peace of Nature—calm, + passive, silent, unfathomable,—and our own everyday worries—paltry, + sorrow-laden, strife-tormented, puts me beside myself as I keep staring at + the hazy, distant, blue line of trees which fringe the fields across the + river. + </p> + <p> + Where Nature is ever hidden, and cowers under mist and cloud, snow and + darkness, there man feels himself master; he regards his desires, his + works, as permanent; he wants to perpetuate them, he looks towards + posterity, he raises monuments, he writes biographies; he even goes the + length of erecting tombstones over the dead. So busy is he that he has not + time to consider how many monuments crumble, how often names are + forgotten! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>June</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + There was a great, big mast lying on the river bank, and some little + village urchins, with never a scrap of clothing, decided, after a long + consultation, that if it could be rolled along to the accompaniment of a + sufficient amount of vociferous clamour, it would be a new and altogether + satisfactory kind of game. The decision was no sooner come to than acted + upon, with a "<i>Shabash</i>, brothers! All together! Heave ho!" And at + every turn it rolled, there was uproarious laughter. + </p> + <p> + The demeanour of one girl in the party was very different. She was playing + with the boys for want of other companions, but she clearly viewed with + disfavour these loud and strenuous games. At last she stepped up to the + mast and, without a word, deliberately sat on it. + </p> + <p> + So rare a game to come to so abrupt a stop! Some of the players seemed to + resign themselves to giving it up as a bad job; and retiring a little way + off, they sulkily glared at the girl in her impassive gravity. One made as + if he would push her off, but even this did not disturb the careless ease + of her pose. The eldest lad came up to her and pointed to other equally + suitable places for taking a rest; at which she energetically shook her + head, and putting her hands in her lap, steadied herself down still more + firmly on her seat. Then at last they had recourse to physical argument + and were completely successful. + </p> + <p> + Once again joyful shouts rent the skies, and the mast rolled along so + gloriously that even the girl had to cast aside her pride and her + dignified exclusiveness and make a pretence of joining in the unmeaning + excitement. But one could see all the time that she was sure boys never + know how to play properly, and are always so childish! If only she had the + regulation yellow earthen doll handy, with its big, black top-knot, would + she ever have deigned to join in this silly game with these foolish boys? + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden the idea of another splendid pastime occurred to the boys. + Two of them got hold of a third by the arms and legs and began to swing + him. This must have been great fun, for they all waxed enthusiastic over + it. But it was more than the girl could stand, so she disdainfully left + the playground and marched off home. + </p> + <p> + Then there was an accident. The boy who was being swung was let fall. He + left his companions in a pet, and went and lay down on the grass with his + arms crossed under his head, desiring to convey thereby that never again + would he have anything to do with this bad, hard world, but would forever + lie, alone by himself, with his arms under his head, and count the stars + and watch the play of the clouds. + </p> + <p> + The eldest boy, unable to bear the idea of such untimely + world-renunciation, ran up to the disconsolate one and taking his head on + his own knees repentantly coaxed him. "Come, my little brother! Do get up, + little brother! Have we hurt you, little brother?" And before long I found + them playing, like two pups, at catching and snatching away each other's + hands! Two minutes had hardly passed before the little fellow was swinging + again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>June</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + I had a most extraordinary dream last night. The whole of Calcutta seemed + enveloped in some awful mystery, the houses being only dimly visible + through a dense, dark mist, within the veil of which there were strange + doings. + </p> + <p> + I was going along Park Street in a hackney carriage, and as I passed St. + Xavier's College I found it had started growing rapidly and was fast + getting impossibly high within its enveloping haze. Then it was borne in + on me that a band of magicians had come to Calcutta who, if they were paid + for it, could bring about many such wonders. + </p> + <p> + When I arrived at our Jorasanko house, I found these magicians had turned + up there too. They were ugly-looking, of a Mongolian type, with scanty + moustaches and a few long hairs sticking out of their chins. They could + make men grow. Some of the girls wanted to be made taller, and the + magician sprinkled some powder over their heads and they promptly shot up. + To every one I met I kept repeating: "This is most extraordinary,—just + like a dream!" + </p> + <p> + Then some one proposed that our house should be made to grow. The + magicians agreed, and as a preliminary began to take down some portions. + The dismantling over, they demanded money, or else they would not go on. + The cashier strongly objected. How could payment be made before the work + was completed? At this the magicians got wild and twisted up the building + most fearsomely, so that men and brickwork got mixed together, bodies + inside walls and only head and shoulders showing. + </p> + <p> + It had altogether the look of a thoroughly devilish business, as I told my + eldest brother. "You see," said I, "the kind of thing it is. We had better + call upon God to help us!" But try as I might to anathematise them in the + name of God, my heart felt like breaking and no words would come. Then I + awoke. + </p> + <p> + A curious dream, was it not? Calcutta in the hands of Satan and growing + diabolically, within the darkness of an unholy mist! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>June</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + The schoolmasters of this place paid me a visit yesterday. + </p> + <p> + They stayed on and on, while for the life of me I could not find a word to + say. I managed a question or so every five minutes, to which they offered + the briefest replies; and then I sat vacantly, twirling my pen, and + scratching my head. + </p> + <p> + At last I ventured on a question about the crops, but being schoolmasters + they knew nothing whatever about crops. + </p> + <p> + About their pupils I had already asked them everything I could think of, + so I had to start over again: How many boys had they in the school? One + said eighty, another said a hundred and seventy-five. I hoped that this + might lead to an argument, but no, they made up their difference. + </p> + <p> + Why, after an hour and a half, they should have thought of taking leave, I + cannot tell. They might have done so with as good a reason an hour + earlier, or, for the matter of that, twelve hours later! Their decision + was clearly arrived at empirically, entirely without method. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>July</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + There is another boat at this landing-place, and on the shore in front of + it a crowd of village women. Some are evidently embarking on a journey and + the others seeing them off; infants, veils, and grey hairs are all mixed + up in the gathering. + </p> + <p> + One girl in particular attracts my attention. She must be about eleven or + twelve; but, buxom and sturdy, she might pass for fourteen or fifteen. She + has a winsome face—very dark, but very pretty. Her hair is cut short + like a boy's, which well becomes her simple, frank, and alert expression. + She has a child in her arms and is staring at me with unabashed curiosity, + and certainly no lack of straightforwardness or intelligence in her + glance. Her half-boyish, half-girlish manner is singularly attractive—a + novel blend of masculine nonchalance and feminine charm. I had no idea + there were such types among our village women in Bengal. + </p> + <p> + None of this family, apparently, is troubled with too much bashfulness. + One of them has unfastened her hair in the sun and is combing it out with + her fingers, while conversing about their domestic affairs at the top of + her voice with another, on board. I gather she has no other children + except a girl, a foolish creature who knows neither how to behave or talk, + nor even the difference between kin and stranger. I also learn that + Gopal's son-in-law has turned out a ne'er-do-well, and that his daughter + refuses to go to her husband. + </p> + <p> + When, at length, it was time to start, they escorted my short-haired + damsel, with plump shapely arms, her gold bangles and her guileless, + radiant face, into the boat. I could divine that she was returning from + her father's to her husband's home. They all stood there, following the + boat with their gaze as it cast off, one or two wiping their eyes with the + loose end of their <i>saris</i>. A little girl, with her hair tightly tied + into a knot, clung to the neck of an older woman and silently wept on her + shoulder. Perhaps she was losing a darling Didimani {1} who joined in her + doll games and also slapped her when she was naughty.... + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: An elder sister is often called sister-jewel (<i>Didimani</i>).} + </p> + <p> + The quiet floating away of a boat on the stream seems to add to the pathos + of a separation—it is so like death—the departing one lost to + sight, those left behind returning to their daily life, wiping their eyes. + True, the pang lasts but a while, and is perhaps already wearing off both + in those who have gone and those who remain,—pain being temporary, + oblivion permanent. But none the less it is not the forgetting, but the + pain which is true; and every now and then, in separation or in death, we + realise how terribly true. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON BOARD A CANAL STEAMER GOING TO CUTTACK, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>August</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + My bag left behind, my clothes daily get more and more intolerably + disreputable,—this thought continually uppermost is not compatible + with a due sense of self-respect. With the bag I could have faced the + world of men head erect and spirits high; without it, I fain would skulk + in corners, away from the glances of the crowd. I go to bed in these + clothes and in them I appear in the morning, and on the top of that the + steamer is full of soot, and the unbearable heat of the day keeps one + unpleasantly moist. + </p> + <p> + Apart from this, I am having quite a time of it on board the steamer. My + fellow-passengers are of inexhaustible variety. There is one, Aghore Babu, + who cannot allude to anything, animate or inanimate, except in terms of + personal abuse. There is another, a lover of music, who persists in + attempting variations on the Bhairab{1} mode at dead of night, convincing + me of the untimeliness of his performance in more senses than one. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote: A Raga, or mode of Indian classical music, supposed to be + appropriate to the early dawn.} + </p> + <p> + The steamer has been aground in a narrow ditch of a canal ever since last + evening, and it is now past nine in the morning. I spent the night in a + corner of the crowded deck, more dead than alive. I had asked the steward + to fry some <i>luchis</i> for my dinner, and he brought me some + nondescript slabs of fried dough with no vegetable accompaniments to eat + them with. On my expressing a pained surprise, he was all contrition and + offered to make me some hotch-potch at once. But the night being already + far advanced, I declined his offer, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of + the stuff dry, and then, all lights on and the deck packed with + passengers, laid myself down to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Mosquitoes hovered above, cockroaches wandered around. There was a + fellow-sleeper stretched crosswise at my feet whose body my soles every + now and then came up against. Four or five noses were engaged in snoring. + Several mosquito-tormented, sleepless wretches were consoling themselves + by pulls at their hubble-bubble pipes; and above all, there rose those + variations on the mode <i>Bhairab</i>! Finally, at half-past three in the + morning, some fussy busy-bodies began loudly inciting each other to get + up. In despair, I also left my bed and dropped into my deck-chair to await + the dawn. Thus passed that variegated nightmare of a night. + </p> + <p> + One of the hands tells me that the steamer has stuck so fast that it may + take the whole day to get her off. I inquire of another whether any + Calcutta-bound steamer will be passing, and get the smiling reply that + this is the only boat on this line, and I may come back in her, if I like, + after she has reached Cuttack! By a stroke of luck, after a great deal of + tugging and hauling, they have just got her afloat at about ten o'clock. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TIRAN. + </h2> + <h3> + 7<i>th September</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + The landing-place at Balia makes a pretty picture with its fine big trees + on either side, and on the whole the canal somehow reminds me of the + little river at Poona. On thinking it over I am sure I should have liked + the canal much better had it really been a river. + </p> + <p> + Cocoanut palms as well as mangoes and other shady trees line its banks, + which, turfed with beautifully green grass, slope gently down to the + water, and are sprinkled over with sensitive plants in flower. Here and + there are screwpine groves, and through gaps in the border of trees + glimpses can be caught of endless fields, stretching away into the + distance, their crops so soft and velvety after the rains that the eye + seems to sink into their depths. Then again, there are the little villages + under their clusters of cocoanut and date palms, nestling under the moist + cool shade of the low seasonal clouds. + </p> + <p> + Through all these the canal, with its gentle current, winds gracefully + between its clean, grassy banks, fringed, in its narrower stretches, with + clusters of water-lilies with reeds growing among them. And yet the mind + keeps fretting at the idea that after all it is nothing but an artificial + canal. + </p> + <p> + The murmur of its waters does not reach back to the beginning of time. It + knows naught of the mysteries of some distant, inaccessible mountain cave. + It has not flowed for ages, graced with an old-world feminine name, giving + the villages on its sides the milk of its breast. Even old artificial + lakes have acquired a greater dignity. + </p> + <p> + However when, a hundred years hence, the trees on its banks will have + grown statelier; its brand-new milestones been worn down and moss-covered + into mellowness; the date 1871, inscribed on its lock-gates, left behind + at a respectable distance; then, if I am reborn as my great-grandson and + come again to inspect the Cuttack estates along this canal, I may feel + differently towards it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>October</i> 1891. + </h3> + <p> + Boat after boat touches at the landing-place, and after a whole year + exiles are returning home from distant fields of work for the Poojah + vacation, their boxes, baskets, and bundles loaded with presents. I notice + one who, as his boat nears the shore, changes into a freshly folded and + crinkled muslin <i>dhoti</i>, dons over his cotton tunic a China silk + coat, carefully adjusts round his neck a neatly twisted scarf, and walks + off towards the village, umbrella held aloft. + </p> + <p> + Rustling waves pass over the rice-fields. Mango and cocoanut tree-tops + rise into the sky, and beyond them there are fluffy clouds on the horizon. + The fringes of the palm leaves wave in the breeze. The reeds on the + sand-bank are on the point of flowering. It is altogether an exhilarating + scene. + </p> + <p> + The feelings of the man who has just arrived home, the eager expectancy of + his folk awaiting him, this autumn sky, this world, the gentle morning + breeze, the universal responsive tremor in tree and shrub and in the + wavelets on the river, conspire to overwhelm this lonely youth, gazing + from his window, with unutterable joys and sorrows. + </p> + <p> + Glimpses of the world received from wayside windows bring new desires, or + rather, make old desires take on new forms. The day before yesterday, as I + was sitting at the window of the boat, a little fisher-dinghy floated + past, the boatman singing a song—not a very tuneful song. But it + reminded me of a night, years ago, when I was a child. We were going along + the Padma in a boat. I awoke one night at about 2 o'clock, and, on raising + the window and putting out my head, I saw the waters without a ripple, + gleaming in the moonlight, and a youth in a little dinghy paddling along + all by himself and singing, oh so sweetly,—such sweet melody I had + never heard before. + </p> + <p> + A sudden longing came upon me to go back to the day of that song; to be + allowed to make another essay at life, this time not to leave it thus + empty and unsatisfied; but with a poet's song on my lips to float about + the world on the crest of the rising tide, to sing it to men and subdue + their hearts; to see for myself what the world holds and where; to let men + know me, to get to know them; to burst forth through the world in life and + youth like the eager rushing breezes; and then return home to a fulfilled + and fruitful old age to spend it as a poet should. + </p> + <p> + Not a very lofty ideal, is it? To benefit the world would have been much + higher, no doubt; but being on the whole what I am, that ambition does not + even occur to me. I cannot make up my mind to sacrifice this precious gift + of life in a self-wrought famine, and disappoint the world and the hearts + of men by fasts and meditations and constant argument. I count it enough + to live and die as a man, loving and trusting the world, unable to look on + it either as a delusion of the Creator or a snare of the Devil. It is not + for me to strive to be wafted away into the airiness of an Angel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + 2<i>nd Kartik</i> (<i>October</i>) 1891. + </h3> + <p> + When I come to the country I cease to view man as separate from the rest. + As the river runs through many a clime, so does the stream of men babble + on, winding through woods and villages and towns. It is not a true + contrast that <i>men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever</i>. + Humanity, with all its confluent streams, big and small, flows on and on, + just as does the river, from its source in birth to its sea of death;—two + dark mysteries at either end, and between them various play and work and + chatter unceasing. + </p> + <p> + Over there the cultivators sing in the fields: here the fishing-boats + float by. The day wears on and the heat of the sun increases. Some bathers + are still in the river, others are finished and are taking home their + filled water-vessels. Thus, past both banks of the river, hundreds of + years have hummed their way, while the refrain rises in a mournful chorus: + <i>I go on for ever!</i> + </p> + <p> + Amid the noonday silence some youthful cowherd is heard calling at the top + of his voice for his companion; some boat splashes its way homewards; the + ripples lap against the empty jar which some village woman rests on the + water before dipping it; and with these mingle several other less definite + sounds,—the twittering of birds, the humming of bees, the plaintive + creaking of the house-boat as it gently swings to and fro,—the whole + making a tender lullaby, as of a mother trying to quiet a suffering child. + "Fret not," she sings, as she soothingly pats its fevered forehead. "Worry + not; weep no more. Let be your strugglings and grabbings and fightings; + forget a while, sleep a while." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + 3<i>rd Kartik</i> (<i>October</i>) 1891. + </h3> + <p> + It was the <i>Kojagar</i> full moon, and I was slowly pacing the riverside + conversing with myself. It could hardly be called a conversation, as I was + doing all the talking and my imaginary companion all the listening. The + poor fellow had no chance of speaking up for himself, for was not mine the + power to compel him helplessly to answer like a fool? + </p> + <p> + But what a night it was! How often have I tried to write of such, but + never got it done! There was not a line of ripple on the river; and from + away over there, where the farthest shore of the distant main stream is + seen beyond the other edge of the midway belt of sand, right up to this + shore, glimmers a broad band of moonlight. Not a human being, not a boat + in sight; not a tree, nor blade of grass on the fresh-formed island + sand-bank. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though a desolate moon was rising upon a devastated earth; a + random river wandering through a lifeless solitude; a long-drawn + fairy-tale coming to a close over a deserted world,—all the kings + and the princesses, their ministers and friends and their golden castles + vanished, leaving the Seven Seas and Thirteen Rivers and the Unending + Moor, over which the adventurous princes fared forth, wanly gleaming in + the pale moonlight. I was pacing up and down like the last pulse-beats of + this dying world. Every one else seemed to be on the opposite shore—the + shore of life—where the British Government and the Nineteenth + Century hold sway, and tea and cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + 9<i>th January</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + For some days the weather here has been wavering between Winter and + Spring. In the morning, perhaps, shivers will run over both land and water + at the touch of the north wind; while the evening will thrill with the + south breeze coming through the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + There is no doubt that Spring is well on its way. After a long interval + the <i>papiya</i> once more calls out from the groves on the opposite + bank. The hearts of men too are stirred; and after evening falls, sounds + of singing are heard in the village, showing that they are no longer in + such a hurry to close doors and windows and cover themselves up snugly for + the night. + </p> + <p> + To-night the moon is at its full, and its large, round face peers at me + through the open window on my left, as if trying to make out whether I + have anything to say against it in my letter,—it suspects, maybe, + that we mortals concern ourselves more with its stains than its beams. + </p> + <p> + A bird is plaintively crying tee-tee on the sand-bank. The river seems not + to move. There are no boats. The motionless groves on the bank cast an + unquivering shadow on the waters. The haze over the sky makes the moon + look like a sleepy eye kept open. + </p> + <p> + Henceforward the evenings will grow darker and darker; and when, + to-morrow, I come over from the office, this moon, the favourite companion + of my exile, will already have drifted a little farther from me, doubting + whether she had been wise to lay her heart so completely bare last + evening, and so covering it up again little by little. + </p> + <p> + Nature becomes really and truly intimate in strange and lonely places. I + have been actually worrying myself for days at the thought that after the + moon is past her full I shall daily miss the moonlight more and more; + feeling further and further exiled when the beauty and peace which awaits + my return to the riverside will no longer be there, and I shall have to + come back through darkness. + </p> + <p> + Anyhow I put it on record that to-day is the full moon—the first + full moon of this year's springtime. In years to come I may perchance be + reminded of this night, with the tee-tee of the bird on the bank, the + glimmer of the distant light on the boat off the other shore, the shining + expanse of river, the blur of shade thrown by the dark fringe of trees + along its edge, and the white sky gleaming overhead in unconcerned + aloofness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + 7<i>th April</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + The river is getting low, and the water in this arm of it is hardly more + than waist-deep anywhere. So it is not at all extraordinary that the boat + should be anchored in mid-stream. On the bank, to my right, the ryots are + ploughing and cows are now and then brought down to the water's edge for a + drink. To the left there are the mango and cocoanut trees of the old + Shelidah garden above, and on the bathing slope below there are village + women washing clothes, filling water jars, bathing, laughing and gossiping + in their provincial dialect. + </p> + <p> + The younger girls never seem to get through their sporting in the water; + it is a delight to hear their careless, merry laughter. The men gravely + take their regulation number of dips and go away, but girls are on much + more intimate terms with the water. Both alike babble and chatter and + ripple and sparkle in the same simple and natural manner; both may + languish and fade away under a scorching glare, yet both can take a blow + without hopelessly breaking under it. The hard world, which, but for them, + would be barren, cannot fathom the mystery of the soft embrace of their + arms. + </p> + <p> + Tennyson has it that woman to man is as water to wine. I feel to-day it + should be as water is to land. Woman is more at home with the water, + laving in it, playing with it, holding her gatherings beside it; and + while, for her, other burdens are not seemly, the carrying of water from + the spring, the well, the bank of river or pool, has ever been held to + become her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + 2<i>nd May</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + There are many paradoxes in the world and one of them is this, that + wherever the landscape is immense, the sky unlimited, clouds intimately + dense, feelings unfathomable—that is to say where infinitude is + manifest—its fit companion is one solitary person; a multitude there + seems so petty, so distracting. + </p> + <p> + An individual and the infinite are on equal terms, worthy to gaze on one + another, each from his own throne. But where many men are, how small both + humanity and infinitude become, how much they have to knock off each + other, in order to fit in together! Each soul wants so much room to expand + that in a crowd it needs must wait for gaps through which to thrust a + little craning piece of a head from time to time. + </p> + <p> + So the only result of our endeavour to assemble is that we become unable + to fill our joined hands, our outstretched arms, with this endless, + fathomless expanse. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + 8<i>th Jaistha</i> (<i>May</i>) 1892. + </h3> + <p> + Women who try to be witty, but only succeed in being pert, are + insufferable; and as for attempts to be comic they are disgraceful in + women whether they succeed or fail. The comic is ungainly and exaggerated, + and so is in some sort related to the sublime. The elephant is comic, the + camel and the giraffe are comic, all overgrowth is comic. + </p> + <p> + It is rather keenness that is akin to beauty, as the thorn to the flower. + So sarcasm is not unbecoming in woman, though coming from her it hurts. + But ridicule which savours of bulkiness woman had better leave to our + sublime sex. The masculine Falstaff makes our sides split, but a feminine + Falstaff would only rack our nerves. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + 12<i>th Jaistha</i> (<i>May</i>) 1892. + </h3> + <p> + I usually pace the roof-terrace, alone, of an evening. Yesterday afternoon + I felt it my duty to show my visitors the beauties of the local scenery, + so I strolled out with them, taking Aghore as a guide. + </p> + <p> + On the verge of the horizon, where the distant fringe of trees was blue, a + thin line of dark blue cloud had risen over them and was looking + particularly beautiful. I tried to be poetical and said it was like blue + collyrium on the fringe of lashes enhancing a beautiful blue eye. Of my + companions one did not hear the remark, another did not understand, while + the third dismissed it with the reply: "Yes, very pretty." I did not feel + encouraged to attempt a second poetical flight. + </p> + <p> + After walking about a mile we came to a dam, and along the pool of water + there was a row of <i>tâl</i> (fan palm) trees, under which was a natural + spring. While we stood there looking at this, we found that the line of + cloud which we had seen in the North was making for us, swollen and grown + darker, flashes of lightning gleaming the while. + </p> + <p> + We unanimously came to the conclusion that viewing the beauties of nature + could be better done from within the shelter of the house, but no sooner + had we turned homewards than a storm, making giant strides over the open + moorland, was on us with an angry roar. I had no idea, while I was + admiring the collyrium on the eyelashes of beauteous dame Nature, that she + would fly at us like an irate housewife, threatening so tremendous a slap! + </p> + <p> + It became so dark with the dust that we could not see beyond a few paces. + The fury of the storm increased, and flying stony particles of the rubbly + soil stung our bodies like shot, as the wind took us by the scruff of the + neck and thrust us along, to the whipping of drops of rain which had begun + to fall. + </p> + <p> + Run! Run! But the ground was not level, being deeply scarred with + watercourses, and not easy to cross at any time, much less in a storm. I + managed to get entangled in a thorny shrub, and was nearly thrown on my + face by the force of the wind as I stopped to free myself. + </p> + <p> + When we had almost reached the house, a host of servants came hurrying + towards us, shouting and gesticulating, and fell upon us like another + storm. Some took us by the arms, some bewailed our plight, some were eager + to show the way, others hung on our backs as if fearing that the storm + might carry us off altogether. We evaded their attentions with some + difficulty and managed at length to get into the house, panting, with wet + clothes, dusty bodies, and tumbled hair. + </p> + <p> + One thing I had learnt; and will never again write in novel or story the + lie that the hero with the picture of his lady-love in his mind can pass + unruffled through wind and rain. No one could keep any face in mind, + however lovely, in such a storm,—he has enough to do to keep the + sand out of his eyes!... + </p> + <p> + The Vaishnava-poets have sung ravishingly of Radha going to her tryst with + Krishna through a stormy night. Did they ever pause to consider, I wonder, + in what condition she must have reached him? The kind of tangle her hair + got into is easily imaginable, and also the state of the rest of her + toilet. When she arrived in her bower with the dust on her body soaked by + the rain into a coating of mud, she must have been a sight! + </p> + <p> + But when we read the Vaishnava poems, these thoughts do not occur. We only + see on the canvas of our mind the picture of a beautiful woman, passing + under the shelter of the flowering kadambas in the darkness of a stormy <i>Shravan</i>{1} + night, towards the bank of the Jumna, forgetful of wind or rain, as in a + dream, drawn by her surpassing love. She has tied up her anklets lest they + should tinkle; she is clad in dark blue raiment lest she be discovered; + but she holds no umbrella lest she get wet, carries no lantern lest she + fall! + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: July-August, the rainy season.} + </p> + <p> + Alas for useful things—how necessary in practical life, how + neglected in poetry! But poetry strives in vain to free us from their + bondage—they will be with us always; so much so, we are told, that + with the march of civilisation it is poetry that will become extinct, but + patent after patent will continue to be taken out for the improvement of + shoes and umbrellas. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + 16<i>th Jaistha (May)</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + No church tower clock chimes here, and there being no other human + habitation near by, complete silence falls with the evening, as soon as + the birds have ceased their song. There is not much difference between + early night and midnight. A sleepless night in Calcutta flows like a huge, + slow river of darkness; one can count the varied sounds of its passing, + lying on one's back in bed. But here the night is like a vast, still lake, + placidly reposing, with no sign of movement. And as I tossed from side to + side last night I felt enveloped within a dense stagnation. + </p> + <p> + This morning I left my bed a little later than usual and, coming + downstairs to my room, leant back on a bolster, one leg resting over the + other knee. There, with a slate on my chest, I began to write a poem to + the accompaniment of the morning breeze and the singing birds. I was + getting along splendidly—a smile playing over my lips, my eyes half + closed, my head swaying to the rhythm, the thing I hummed gradually taking + shape—when the post arrived. + </p> + <p> + There was a letter, the last number of the <i>Sadhana Magazine</i>, one of + the <i>Monist</i>, and some proof-sheets. I read the letter, raced my eyes + over the uncut pages of the <i>Sadhana</i>, and then again fell to nodding + and humming through my poem. I did not do another thing till I had + finished it. + </p> + <p> + I wonder why the writing of pages of prose does not give one anything like + the joy of completing a single poem. One's emotions take on such + perfection of form in a poem; they can, as it were, be taken up by the + fingers. But prose is like a sackful of loose material, heavy and + unwieldy, incapable of being lifted as you please. + </p> + <p> + If I could finish writing one poem a day, my life would pass in a kind of + joy; but though I have been busy tending poetry for many a year it has not + been tamed yet, and is not the kind of winged steed to allow me to bridle + it whenever I like! The joy of art is in freedom to take a distant flight + as fancy will; then, even after return within the prison-world, an echo + lingers in the ear, an exaltation in the mind. + </p> + <p> + Short poems keep coming to me unsought, and so prevent my getting on with + the play. Had it not been for these, I could have let in ideas for two or + three plays which have been knocking at the door. I am afraid I must wait + for the cold weather. All my plays except "Chitra" were written in the + winter. In that season lyrical fervour is apt to grow cold, and one gets + the leisure to write drama. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>31st May 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + It is not yet five o'clock, but the light has dawned, there is a + delightful breeze, and all the birds in the garden are awake and have + started singing. The <i>koel</i> seems beside itself. It is difficult to + understand why it should keep on cooing so untiringly. Certainly not to + entertain us, nor to distract the pining lover{1}—it must have some + personal purpose of its own. But, sadly enough, that purpose never seems + to get fulfilled. Yet it is not down-hearted, and its Coo-oo! Coo-oo! + keeps going, with now and then an ultra-fervent trill. What can it mean? + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: A favourite conceit of the old Sanskrit poets.} + </p> + <p> + And then in the distance there is some other bird with only a faint + chuck-chuck that has no energy or enthusiasm, as if all hope were lost; + none the less, from within some shady nook it cannot resist uttering this + little plaint: chuck, chuck, chuck. + </p> + <p> + How little we really know of the household affairs of these innocent + winged creatures, with their soft, breasts and necks and their + many-coloured feathers! Why on earth do they find it necessary to sing so + persistently? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>31st Jaistha (June)1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + I hate these polite formalities. Nowadays I keep repeating the line: "Much + rather would I be an Arab Bedouin!" A fine, healthy, strong, and free + barbarity. + </p> + <p> + I feel I want to quit this constant ageing of mind and body, with + incessant argument and nicety concerning ancient decaying things, and to + feel the joy of a free and vigorous life; to have,—be they good or + bad,—broad, unhesitating, unfettered ideas and aspirations, free + from everlasting friction between custom and sense, sense and desire, + desire and action. + </p> + <p> + If only I could set utterly and boundlessly free this hampered life of + mine, I would storm the four quarters and raise wave upon wave of tumult + all round; I would career away madly, like a wild horse, for very joy of + my own speed! But I am a Bengali, not a Bedouin! I go on sitting in my + corner, and mope and worry and argue. I turn my mind now this way up, now + the other—as a fish is fried—and the boiling oil blisters + first this side, then that. + </p> + <p> + Let it pass. Since I cannot be thoroughly wild, it is but proper that I + should make an endeavour to be thoroughly civil. Why foment a quarrel + between the two? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>16th June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer + it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the + ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally. From the grasses + in the field to the stars in the sky, each one is doing just that; and + there is such profound peace and surpassing beauty in nature because none + of these tries forcibly to transgress its limitations. + </p> + <p> + Yet what each one does is by no means of little moment. The grass has to + put forth all its energy to draw sustenance from the uttermost tips of its + rootlets simply to grow where it is as grass; it does not vainly strive to + become a banyan tree; and so the earth gains a lovely carpet of green. + And, indeed, what little of beauty and peace is to be found in the + societies of men is owing to the daily performance of small duties, not to + big doings and fine talk. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps because the whole of our life is not vividly present at each + moment, some imaginary hope may lure, some glowing picture of a future, + untrammelled with everyday burdens, may tempt us; but these are illusory. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>2nd Asarh (June) 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday, the first day of <i>Asarh</i>,{1} the enthronement of the rainy + season was celebrated with due pomp and circumstance. It was very hot the + whole day, but in the afternoon dense clouds rolled up in stupendous + masses. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: June-July, the commencement of the rainy season.} + </p> + <p> + I thought to myself, this first day of the rains, I would rather risk + getting wet than remain confined in my dungeon of a cabin. + </p> + <p> + The year 1293 {1} will not come again in my life, and, for the matter of + that, how many more even of these first days of <i>Asarh</i> will come? My + life would be sufficiently long could it number thirty of these first days + of <i>Asarh</i> to which the poet of the <i>Meghaduta</i>{2} has, for me + at least, given special distinction. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Of the Bengal era.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: In the <i>Meghaduta</i> (Cloud Messenger) of Kalidas a famous + description of the burst of the Monsoon begins with the words: <i>On the + first day of Asarh</i>.} + </p> + <p> + It sometimes strikes me how immensely fortunate I am that each day should + take its place in my life, either reddened with the rising and setting + sun, or refreshingly cool with deep, dark clouds, or blooming like a white + flower in the moonlight. What untold wealth! + </p> + <p> + A thousand years ago Kalidas welcomed that first day of <i>Asarh</i>; and + once in every year of my life that same day of <i>Asarh</i> dawns in all + its glory—that self-same day of the poet of old Ujjain, which has + brought to countless men and women their joys of union, their pangs of + separation. + </p> + <p> + Every year one such great, time-hallowed day drops out of my life; and the + time will come when this day of Kalidas, this day of the <i>Meghaduta</i>, + this eternal first day of the Rains in Hindustan, shall come no more for + me. When I realise this I feel I want to take a good look at nature, to + offer a conscious welcome to each day's sunrise, to say farewell to each + day's setting sun, as to an intimate friend. + </p> + <p> + What a grand festival, what a vast theatre of festivity! And we cannot + even fully respond to it, so far away do we live from the world! The light + of the stars travels millions of miles to reach the earth, but it cannot + reach our hearts—so many millions of miles further off are we! + </p> + <p> + The world into which I have tumbled is peopled with strange beings. They + are always busy erecting walls and rules round themselves, and how careful + they are with their curtains lest they should see! It is a wonder to me + they have not made drab covers for flowering plants and put up a canopy to + ward off the moon. If the next life is determined by the desires of this, + then I should be reborn from our enshrouded planet into some free and open + realm of joy. + </p> + <p> + Only those who cannot steep themselves in beauty to the full, despise it + as an object of the senses. But those who have tasted of its + inexpressibility know how far it is beyond the highest powers of mere eye + or ear—nay, even the heart is powerless to attain the end of its + yearning. + </p> + <p> + <i>P.S.</i>—I have left out the very thing I started to tell of. + Don't be afraid, it won't take four more sheets. It is this, that on the + evening of the first day of <i>Asarh</i> it came on to rain very heavily, + in great lance-like showers. That is all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WAY TO GOALUNDA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>21st June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Pictures in an endless variety, of sand-banks, fields and their crops, and + villages, glide into view on either hand—of clouds floating in the + sky, of colours blossoming when day meets night. Boats steal by, fishermen + catch fish; the waters make liquid, caressing sounds throughout the + livelong day; their broad expanse calms down in the evening stillness, + like a child lulled to sleep, over whom all the stars in the boundless sky + keep watch—then, as I sit up on wakeful nights, with sleeping banks + on either side, the silence is broken only by an occasional cry of a + jackal in the woods near some village, or by fragments undermined by the + keen current of the Padma, that tumble from the high cliff-like bank into + the water. + </p> + <p> + Not that the prospect is always of particular interest—a yellowish + sandbank, innocent of grass or tree, stretches away; an empty boat is tied + to its edge; the bluish water, of the same shade as the hazy sky, flows + past; yet I cannot tell how it moves me. I suspect that the old desires + and longings of my servant-ridden childhood—when in the solitary + imprisonment of my room I pored over the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, and shared + with Sinbad the Sailor his adventures in many a strange land—are not + yet dead within me, but are roused at the sight of any empty boat tied to + a sand-bank. + </p> + <p> + If I had not heard fairy tales and read the <i>Arabian Nights</i> and <i>Robinson + Crusoe</i> in childhood, I am sure views of distant banks, or the farther + side of wide fields, would not have stirred me so—the whole world, + in fact, would have had for me a different appeal. + </p> + <p> + What a maze of fancy and fact becomes tangled up within the mind of man! + The different strands—petty and great—of story and event and + picture, how they get knotted together! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>22nd June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Early this morning, while still lying in bed, I heard the women at the + bathing-place sending forth joyous peals of <i>Ulu! Ulu!</i>{1} The sound + moved me curiously, though it is difficult to say why. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: A peculiar shrill cheer given by women on auspicious or + festive occasions.} + </p> + <p> + Perhaps such joyful outbursts put one in mind of the great stream of + festive activity which goes on in this world, with most of which the + individual man has no connection. The world is so immense, the concourse + of men so vast, yet with how few has one any tie! Distant sounds of life, + wafted near, bearing tidings from unknown homes, make the individual + realise that the greater part of the world of men does not, cannot own or + know him; then he feels deserted, loosely attached to the world, and a + vague sadness creeps over him. + </p> + <p> + Thus these cries of <i>Ulu! Ulu!</i> made my life, past and future, seem + like a long, long road, from the very ends of which they come to me. And + this feeling colours for me the beginning of my day. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the manager with his staff, and the ryots seeking audience, + come upon the scene, this faint vista of past and future will be promptly + elbowed out, and a very robust present will salute and stand before me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>25th June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + In to-day's letters there was a touch about A—-'s singing which made + my heart yearn with a nameless longing. Each of the little joys of life, + which remain unappreciated amid the hubbub of the town, send in their + claims to the heart when far from home. I love music, and there is no + dearth of voices and instruments in Calcutta, yet I turn a deaf ear to + them. But, though I may fail to realise it at the time, this needs must + leave the heart athirst. + </p> + <p> + As I read to-day's letters, I felt such a poignant desire to hear A—-'s + sweet song, I was at once sure that one of the many suppressed longings of + creation which cry after fulfilment is for neglected joys within reach; + while we are busy pursuing chimerical impossibilities we famish our + lives.... + </p> + <p> + The emptiness left by easy joys, untasted, is ever growing in my life. And + the day may come when I shall feel that, could I but have the past back, I + would strive no more after the unattainable, but drain to the full these + little, unsought, everyday joys which life offers. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>27th June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Yesterday, in the afternoon, it clouded over so threateningly, I felt a + sense of dread. I do not remember ever to have seen before such + angry-looking clouds. + </p> + <p> + Swollen masses of the deepest indigo blue were piled, one on top of the + other, just above the horizon, looking like the puffed-out moustaches of + some raging demon. + </p> + <p> + Under the jagged lower edges of the clouds there shone forth a blood-red + glare, as through the eyes of a monstrous, sky-filling bison, with tossing + mane and with head lowered to strike the earth in fury. + </p> + <p> + The crops in the fields and the leaves of the trees trembled with fear of + the impending disaster; shudder after shudder ran across the waters; the + crows flew wildly about, distractedly cawing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>29th June 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + I wrote yesterday that I had an engagement with Kalidas, the poet, for + this evening. As I lit a candle, drew my chair up to the table, and made + ready, not Kalidas, but the postmaster, walked in. A live postmaster + cannot but claim precedence over a dead poet, so I could not very well + tell him to make way for Kalidas, who was due by appointment,—he + would not have understood me! Therefore I offered him a chair and gave old + Kalidas the go-by. + </p> + <p> + There is a kind of bond between this postmaster and me. When the post + office was in a part of this estate building, I used to meet him every + day. I wrote my story of "The Postmaster" one afternoon in this very room. + And when the story was out in the <i>Hitabadi</i> he came to me with a + succession of bashful smiles, as he deprecatingly touched on the subject. + Anyhow, I like the man. He has a fund of anecdote which I enjoy listening + to. He has also a sense of humour. + </p> + <p> + Though it was late when the postmaster left, I started at once on the <i>Raghuvansa</i>{1}, + and read all about the <i>swayamuara</i>{2} of Indumati. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Book of poems by Kalidas, who is perhaps best known to + European readers as the author of <i>Sakuntala</i>.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: An old Indian custom, according to which a princess chooses + among assembled rival suitors for her hand by placing a garland round the + neck of the one whose love she returns.} + </p> + <p> + The handsome, gaily adorned princes are seated on rows of thrones in the + assembly hall. Suddenly a blast of conch-shell and trumpet resounds, as + Indumati, in bridal robes, supported by Sunanda, is ushered in and stands + in the walk left between them. It was delightful to dwell on the picture. + </p> + <p> + Then as Sunanda introduces to her each one of the suitors, Indumati bows + low in loveless salutation, and passes on. How beautiful is this humble + courtesy! They are all princes. They are all her seniors. For she is a + mere girl. Had she not atoned for the inevitable rudeness of her rejection + by the grace of her humility, the scene would have lost its beauty. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>20th August 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + "If only I could live there!" is often thought when looking at a beautiful + landscape painting. That is the kind of longing which is satisfied here, + where one feels alive in a brilliantly coloured picture, with none of the + hardness of reality. When I was a child, illustrations of woodland and + sea, in <i>Paul and Virginia</i>, or <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>, would waft me + away from the everyday world; and the sunshine here brings back to my mind + the feeling with which I used to gaze on those pictures. + </p> + <p> + I cannot account for this exactly, or explain definitely what kind of + longing it is which is roused within me. It seems like the throb of some + current flowing through the artery connecting me with the larger world. I + feel as if dim, distant memories come to me of the time when I was one + with the rest of the earth; when on me grew the green grass, and on me + fell the autumn light; when a warm scent of youth would rise from every + pore of my vast, soft, green body at the touch of the rays of the mellow + sun, and a fresh life, a sweet joy, would be half-consciously secreted and + inarticulately poured forth from all the immensity of my being, as it lay + dumbly stretched, with its varied countries and seas and mountains, under + the bright blue sky. + </p> + <p> + My feelings seem to be those of our ancient earth in the daily ecstasy of + its sun-kissed life; my own consciousness seems to stream through each + blade of grass, each sucking root, to rise with the sap through the trees, + to break out with joyous thrills in the waving fields of corn, in the + rustling palm leaves. + </p> + <p> + I feel impelled to give expression to my blood-tie with the earth, my + kinsman's love for her; but I am afraid I shall not be understood. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOALIA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>18th November 1892.</i> + </h3> + <p> + I am wondering where your train has got to by now. This is the time for + the sun to rise over the ups and downs of the treeless, rocky region near + Nawadih station. The scene around there must be brightened by the fresh + sunlight, through which distant, blue hills are beginning to be faintly + visible. + </p> + <p> + Cultivated fields are scarcely to be seen, except where the primitive + tribesmen have done a little ploughing with their buffaloes; on each side + of the railway cutting there are the heaped-up black rocks—the + boulder-marked footprints of dried-up streams—and the fidgety, black + wagtails, perched along the telegraph wires. A wild, seamed, and scarred + nature lies there in the sun, as though tamed at the touch of some soft, + bright, cherubic hand. + </p> + <p> + Do you know the picture which this calls up for me? In the <i>Sakuntala</i> + of Kalidas there is a scene where Bharat, the infant son of King + Dushyanta, is playing with a lion cub. The child is lovingly passing his + delicate, rosy fingers through the rough mane of the great beast, which + lies quietly stretched in trustful repose, now and then casting + affectionate glances out of the corner of its eyes at its little human + friend. + </p> + <p> + And shall I tell you what those dry, boulder-strewn watercourses put me in + mind of? We read in the English fairy tale of the Babes in the Wood, how + the little brother and sister left a trace of their wanderings, through + the unknown forest into which their stepmother had turned them out, by + dropping pebbles as they went. These streamlets are like lost babes in the + great world into which they are sent adrift, and that is why they leave + stones, as they go forth, to mark their course, so as not to lose their + way when they may be returning. But for them there is no return journey! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NATORE, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>2nd December</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + There is a depth of feeling and breadth of peace in a Bengal sunset behind + the trees which fringe the endless solitary fields, spreading away to the + horizon. + </p> + <p> + Lovingly, yet sadly withal, does our evening sky bend over and meet the + earth in the distance. It casts a mournful light on the earth it leaves + behind—a light which gives us a taste of the divine grief of the + Eternal Separation{1} and eloquent is the silence which then broods over + earth, sky, and waters. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>I.e.</i> between Purusha and Prakriti—God and + Creation.} + </p> + <p> + As I gaze on in rapt motionlessness, I fall to wondering—If ever + this silence should fail to contain itself, if the expression for which + this hour has been seeking from the beginning of time should break forth, + would a profoundly solemn, poignantly moving music rise from earth to + starland? + </p> + <p> + With a little steadfast concentration of effort we can, for ourselves, + translate the grand harmony of light and colour which permeates the + universe into music. We have only to close our eyes and receive with the + ear of the mind the vibration of this ever-flowing panorama. + </p> + <p> + But how often shall I write of these sunsets and sunrises? I feel their + renewed freshness every time; yet how am I to attain such renewed + freshness in my attempts at expression? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>9th December</i> 1892. + </h3> + <p> + I am feeling weak and relaxed after my painful illness, and in this state + the ministrations of nature are sweet indeed. I feel as if, like the rest, + I too am lazily glittering out my delight at the rays of the sun, and my + letter-writing progresses but absent-mindedly. + </p> + <p> + The world is ever new to me; like an old friend loved through this and + former lives, the acquaintance between us is both long and deep. + </p> + <p> + I can well realise how, in ages past, when the earth in her first youth + came forth from her sea-bath and saluted the sun in prayer, I must have + been one of the trees sprung from her new-formed soil, spreading my + foliage in all the freshness of a primal impulse. + </p> + <p> + The great sea was rocking and swaying and smothering, like a foolishly + fond mother, its first-born land with repeated caresses; while I was + drinking in the sunlight with the whole of my being, quivering under the + blue sky with the unreasoning rapture of the new-born, holding fast and + sucking away at my mother earth with all my roots. In blind joy my leaves + burst forth and my flowers bloomed; and when the dark clouds gathered, + their grateful shade would comfort me with a tender touch. + </p> + <p> + From age to age, thereafter, have I been diversely reborn on this earth. + So whenever we now sit face to face, alone together, various ancient + memories, gradually, one after another, come back to me. + </p> + <p> + My mother earth sits to-day in the cornfields by the river-side, in her + raiment of sunlit gold; and near her feet, her knees, her lap, I roll + about and play. Mother of a multitude of children, she attends but + absently to their constant calls on her, with an immense patience, but + also with a certain aloofness. She is seated there, with her far-away look + fastened on the verge of the afternoon sky, while I keep chattering on + untiringly. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BALJA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Tuesday, February 1893</i>. + </h3> + <p> + I do not want to wander about any more. I am pining for a corner in which + to nestle down snugly, away from the crowd. + </p> + <p> + India has two aspects—in one she is a householder, in the other a + wandering ascetic. The former refuses to budge from the home corner, the + latter has no home at all. I find both these within me. I want to roam + about and see all the wide world, yet I also yearn for a little sheltered + nook; like a bird with its tiny nest for a dwelling, and the vast sky for + flight. + </p> + <p> + I hanker after a corner because it serves to bring calmness to my mind. My + mind really wants to be busy, but in making the attempt it knocks so + repeatedly against the crowd as to become utterly frenzied and to keep + buffeting me, its cage, from within. If only it is allowed a little + leisurely solitude, and can look about and think to its heart's content, + it will express its feelings to its own satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + This freedom of solitude is what my mind is fretting for; it would be + alone with its imaginings, as the Creator broods over His own creation. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CUTTACK, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>February 1893</i>. + </h3> + <p> + Till we can achieve something, let us live incognito, say I. So long as we + are only fit to be looked down upon, on what shall we base our claim to + respect? When we have acquired a foothold of our own in the world, when we + have had some share in shaping its course, then we can meet others + smilingly. Till then let us keep in the background, attending to our own + affairs. + </p> + <p> + But our countrymen seem to hold the opposite opinion. They set no store by + our more modest, intimate wants which have to be met behind the scenes,—the + whole of their attention is directed to momentary attitudinising and + display. + </p> + <p> + Ours is truly a God-forsaken country. Difficult, indeed, is it for us to + maintain the strength of will to <i>do</i>. We get no help in any real + sense. There is no one, within miles of us, in converse with whom we might + gain an accession of vitality. No one near seems to be thinking, or + feeling, or working. Not a soul has any experience of big striving, or of + really and truly living. They all eat and drink, do their office work, + smoke and sleep, and chatter nonsensically. When they touch upon emotion + they grow sentimental, when they reason they are childish. One yearns for + a full-blooded, sturdy, and capable personality; these are all so many + shadows, flitting about, out of touch with the world. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CUTTACK, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>10th February</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + He was a fully developed John Bull of the outrageous type—with a + huge beak of a nose, cunning eyes, and a yard-long chin. The curtailment + of our right to be tried by jury is now under consideration by the + Government. The fellow dragged in the subject by the ears and insisted on + arguing it out with our host, poor B—— Babu. He said the moral + standard of the people of this country was low; that they had no real + belief in the sacredness of life; so that they were unfit to serve on + juries. + </p> + <p> + The utter contempt with which we are regarded by these people was brought + home to me when I saw how they can accept a Bengali's hospitality and talk + thus, seated at his table, without a quiver of compunction. + </p> + <p> + As I sat in a corner of the drawing-room after dinner, everything round me + looked blurred to my eyes. I seemed to be seated by the head of my great, + insulted Motherland, who lay there in the dust before me, disconsolate, + shorn of her glory. I cannot tell what a profound distress overpowered my + heart. + </p> + <p> + How incongruous seemed the <i>mem-sahibs</i> there, in their + evening-dresses, the hum of English conversation, and the ripples of + laughter! How richly true for us is our India of the ages; how cheap and + false the hollow courtesies of an English dinner-party! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CUTTACK, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>March</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + If we begin to attach too much importance to the applause of Englishmen, + we shall have to be rid of much in us that is good, and to accept from + them much that is bad. + </p> + <p> + We shall grow ashamed of going about without socks, and cease to feel + shame at the sight of their ball dresses. We shall have no compunction in + throwing overboard our ancient manners, nor any in emulating their lack of + courtesy. + </p> + <p> + We shall leave off wearing our <i>achgans</i> because they are susceptible + of improvement, but think nothing of surrendering our heads to their hats, + though no headgear could well be uglier. + </p> + <p> + In short, consciously or unconsciously, we shall have to cut our lives + down according as they clap their hands or not. + </p> + <p> + Wherefore I apostrophise myself and say: "O Earthen Pot! For goodness sake + keep away from that Metal Pot! Whether he comes to you in anger or merely + to give you a patronising pat on the back, you are done for, cracked in + either case. So pay heed to old Aesop's sage counsel, I pray—and + keep your distance." + </p> + <p> + Let the metal pot ornament wealthy homes; you have work to do in those of + the poor. If you let yourself be broken, you will have no place in either, + but merely return to the dust; or, at best, you may secure a corner in a + bric-a-brac cabinet—as a curiosity, and it is more glorious far to + be used for fetching water by the meanest of village women. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>8th May 1893</i>. + </h3> + <p> + Poetry is a very old love of mine—I must have been engaged to her + when I was only Rathi's{1} age. Long ago the recesses under the old banyan + tree beside our tank, the inner gardens, the unknown regions on the ground + floor of the house, the whole of the outside world, the nursery rhymes and + tales told by the maids, created a wonderful fairyland within me. It is + difficult to give a clear idea of all the vague and mysterious happenings + of that period, but this much is certain, that my exchange of garlands{2} + with Poetic Fancy was already duly celebrated. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Rathi, his son, was then five years old.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: The betrothal ceremony.} + </p> + <p> + I must admit, however, that my betrothed is not an auspicious maiden—whatever + else she may bring one, it is not good fortune. I cannot say she has never + given me happiness, but peace of mind with her is out of the question. The + lover whom she favours may get his fill of bliss, but his heart's blood is + wrung out under her relentless embrace. It is not for the unfortunate + creature of her choice ever to become a staid and sober householder, + comfortably settled down on a social foundation. + </p> + <p> + Consciously or unconsciously, I may have done many things that were + untrue, but I have never uttered anything false in my poetry—that is + the sanctuary where the deepest truths of my life find refuge. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>10th May</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + Here come black, swollen masses of cloud; they soak up the golden sunshine + from the scene in front of me like great pads of blotting-paper. Rain must + be near, for the breeze feels moist and tearful. + </p> + <p> + Over there, on the sky-piercing peaks of Simla, you will find it hard to + realise exactly what an important event the coming of the clouds is here, + or how many are anxiously looking up to the sky, hailing their advent. + </p> + <p> + I feel a great tenderness for these peasant folk—our ryots—big, + helpless, infantile children of Providence, who must have food brought to + their very lips, or they are undone. When the breasts of Mother Earth dry + up they are at a loss what to do, and can only cry. But no sooner is their + hunger satisfied than they forget all their past sufferings. + </p> + <p> + I know not whether the socialistic ideal of a more equal distribution of + wealth is attainable, but if not, the dispensation of Providence is indeed + cruel, and man a truly unfortunate creature. For if in this world misery + must exist, so be it; but let some little loophole, some glimpse of + possibility at least, be left, which may serve to urge the nobler portion + of humanity to hope and struggle unceasingly for its alleviation. + </p> + <p> + They say a terribly hard thing who assert that the division of the world's + production to afford each one a mouthful of food, a bit of clothing, is + only an Utopian dream. All these social problems are hard indeed! Fate has + allowed humanity such a pitifully meagre coverlet, that in pulling it over + one part of the world, another has to be left bare. In allaying our + poverty we lose our wealth, and with this wealth what a world of grace and + beauty and power is lost to us. + </p> + <p> + But the sun shines forth again, though the clouds are still banked up in + the West. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>11th May 1893.</i> + </h3> + <p> + There is another pleasure for me here. Sometimes one or other of our + simple, devoted, old ryots comes to see me—and their worshipful + homage is so unaffected! How much greater than I are they in the beautiful + simplicity and sincerity of their reverence. What if I am unworthy of + their veneration—their feeling loses nothing of its value. + </p> + <p> + I regard these grown-up children with the same kind of affection that I + have for little children—but there is also a difference. They are + more infantile still. Little children will grow up later on, but these big + children never. + </p> + <p> + A meek and radiantly simple soul shines through their worn and wrinkled, + old bodies. Little children are merely simple, they have not the + unquestioning, unwavering devotion of these. If there be any undercurrent + along which the souls of men may have communication with one another, then + my sincere blessing will surely reach and serve them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>16th May</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + I walk about for an hour on the river bank, fresh and clean after my + afternoon bath. Then I get into the new jolly-boat, anchor in mid-stream, + and on a bed, spread on the planked over-stern, I lie silently there on my + back, in the darkness of the evening. Little S—— sits beside + me and chatters away, and the sky becomes more and more thickly studded + with stars. + </p> + <p> + Each day the thought recurs to me: Shall I be reborn under this + star-spangled sky? Will the peaceful rapture of such wonderful evenings + ever again be mine, on this silent Bengal river, in so secluded a corner + of the world? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps not. The scene may be changed; I may be born with a different + mind. Many such evenings may come, but they may refuse to nestle so + trustfully, so lovingly, with such complete abandon, to my breast. + </p> + <p> + Curiously enough, my greatest fear is lest I should be reborn in Europe! + For there one cannot recline like this with one's whole being laid open to + the infinite above—one is liable, I am afraid, to be soundly rated + for lying down at all. I should probably have been hustling strenuously in + some factory or bank, or Parliament. Like the roads there, one's mind has + to be stone-metalled for heavy traffic—geometrically laid out, and + kept clear and regulated. + </p> + <p> + I am sure I cannot exactly say why this lazy, dreamy, self-absorbed, + sky-filled state of mind seems to me the more desirable. I feel no whit + inferior to the busiest men of the world as I lie here in my jolly-boat. + Rather, had I girded up my loins to be strenuous, I might have seemed ever + so feeble compared to those chips of old oaken blocks. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>3rd July 1893.</i> + </h3> + <p> + All last night the wind howled like a stray dog, and the rain still pours + on without a break. The water from the fields is rushing in numberless, + purling streams to the river. The dripping ryots are crossing the river in + the ferryboat, some with their tokas{1} on, others with yam leaves held + over their heads. Big cargo-boats are gliding along, the boatman sitting + drenched at his helm, the crew straining at the tow-ropes through the + rain. The birds remain gloomily confined to their nests, but the sons of + men fare forth, for in spite of the weather the world's work must go on. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Conical hats of straw or of split bamboo.} + </p> + <p> + Two cowherd lads are grazing their cattle just in front of my boat. The + cows are munching away with great gusto, their noses plunged into the lush + grass, their tails incessantly busy flicking off the flies. The raindrops + and the sticks of the cowherd boys fall on their backs with the same + unreasonable persistency, and they bear both with equally uncritical + resignation, steadily going on with their munch, munch, munch. These cows + have such mild, affectionate, mournful eyes; why, I wonder, should + Providence have thought fit to impose all the burden of man's work on the + submissive shoulders of these great, gentle beasts? + </p> + <p> + The river is rising daily. What I could see yesterday only from the upper + deck, I can now see from my cabin windows. Every morning I awake to find + my field of vision growing larger. Not long since, only the tree-tops near + those distant villages used to appear, like dark green clouds. To-day the + whole of the wood is visible. + </p> + <p> + Land and water are gradually approaching each other like two bashful + lovers. The limit of their shyness has nearly been reached—their + arms will soon be round each other's necks. I shall enjoy my trip along + this brimful river at the height of the rains. I am fidgeting to give the + order to cast off. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>4th July</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + A little gleam of sunlight shows this morning. There was a break in the + rains yesterday, but the clouds are banked up so heavily along the skirts + of the sky that there is not much hope of the break lasting. It looks as + if a heavy carpet of cloud had been rolled up to one side, and at any + moment a fussy breeze may come along and spread it over the whole place + again, covering every trace of blue sky and golden sunshine. + </p> + <p> + What a store of water must have been laid up in the sky this year. The + river has already risen over the low <i>chur</i>-lands,{1} threatening to + overwhelm all the standing crops. The wretched ryots, in despair, are + cutting and bringing away in boats sheaves of half-ripe rice. As they pass + my boat I hear them bewailing their fate. It is easy to understand how + heart-rending it must be for cultivators to have to cut down their rice on + the very eve of its ripening, the only hope left them being that some of + the ears may possibly have hardened into grain. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Old sand-banks consolidated by the deposit of a layer of + culturable soil.} + </p> + <p> + There must be some element of pity in the dispensations of Providence, + else how did we get our share of it? But it is so difficult to see where + it comes in. The lamentations of these hundreds of thousands of + unoffending creatures do not seem to get anywhere. The rain pours on as it + lists, the river still rises, and no amount of petitioning seems to have + the effect of bringing relief from any quarter. One has to seek + consolation by saying that all this is beyond the understanding of man. + And yet, it is so vitally necessary for man to understand that there are + such things as pity and justice in the world. + </p> + <p> + However, this is only sulking. Reason tells us that creation never can be + perfectly happy. So long as it is incomplete it must put up with + imperfection and sorrow. It can only be perfect when it ceases to be + creation, and is God. Do our prayers dare go so far? + </p> + <p> + The more we think over it, the oftener we come hack to the starting-point—Why + this creation at all? If we cannot make up our minds to object to the + thing itself, it is futile complaining about its companion, sorrow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>7th July</i> 1893. + </h3> + <p> + The flow of village life is not too rapid, neither is it stagnant. Work + and rest go together, hand in hand. The ferry crosses to and fro, the + passers-by with umbrellas up wend their way along the tow-path, women are + washing rice on the split-bamboo trays which they dip in the water, the + ryots are coming to the market with bundles of jute on their heads. Two + men are chopping away at a log of wood with regular, ringing blows. The + village carpenter is repairing an upturned dinghy under a big <i>aswatha</i> + tree. A mongrel dog is prowling aimlessly along the canal bank. Some cows + are lying there chewing the cud, after a huge meal off the luxuriant + grass, lazily moving their ears backwards and forwards, flicking off flies + with their tails, and occasionally giving an impatient toss of their heads + when the crows perched on their backs take too much of a liberty. + </p> + <p> + The monotonous blows of woodcutter's axe or carpenter's mallet, the + splashing of oars, the merry voices of the naked little children at play, + the plaintive tune of the ryot's song, the more dominant creaking of the + turning oil-mill, all these sounds of activity do not seem out of harmony + with murmuring leaves and singing birds, and all combine like moving + strains of some grand dream-orchestra, rendering a composition of immense + though restrained pathos. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>10th July 1893.</i> + </h3> + <p> + All I have to say about the discussion that is going on over "silent + poets" is that, though the strength of feeling may be the same in those + who are silent as in those who are vocal, that has nothing to do with + poetry. Poetry is not a matter of feeling, it is the creation of form. + </p> + <p> + Ideas take shape by some hidden, subtle skill at work within the poet. + This creative power is the origin of poetry. Perceptions, feelings, or + language, are only raw material. One may be gifted with feeling, a second + with language, a third with both; but he who has as well a creative + genius, alone is a poet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>13th August 1893.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Coming through these <i>beels</i>{1} to Kaligram, an idea took shape in my + mind. Not that the thought was new, but sometimes old ideas strike one + with new force. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—Sometimes a stream passing + through the flat Bengal country encounters a stretch of low land and + spreads out into a sheet of water, called a <i>beel</i>, of indefinite + extent, ranging from a large pool in the dry season to a shoreless expanse + during the rains. + </p> + <p> + Villages consisting of a cluster of huts, built on mounds, stand out here + and there like islands, and boats or round, earthen vessels are the only + means of getting about from village to village. + </p> + <p> + Where the waters cover cultivated tracts the rice grows through, often + from considerable depths, giving to the boats sailing over them the + curious appearance of gliding over a cornfield, so clear is the water. + Elsewhere these <i>beels</i> have a peculiar flora and fauna of + water-lilies and irises and various water-fowl. As a result, they resemble + neither a marsh nor a lake, but have a distinct character of their own.} + </p> + <p> + The water loses its beauty when it ceases to be defined by banks and + spreads out into a monotonous vagueness. In the case of language, metre + serves for banks and gives form and beauty and character. Just as the + banks give each river a distinct personality, so does rhythm make each + poem an individual creation; prose is like the featureless, impersonal <i>beel</i>. + Again, the waters of the river have movement and progress; those of the <i>beel</i> + engulf the country by expanse alone. So, in order to give language power, + the narrow bondage of metre becomes necessary; otherwise it spreads and + spreads, but cannot advance. + </p> + <p> + The country people call these <i>beels</i> "dumb waters"—they have + no language, no self-expression. The river ceaselessly babbles; so the + words of the poem sing, they are not "dumb words." Thus bondage creates + beauty of form, motion, and music; bounds make not only for beauty but + power. + </p> + <p> + Poetry gives itself up to the control of metre, not led by blind habit, + but because it thus finds the joy of motion. There are foolish persons who + think that metre is a species of verbal gymnastics, or legerdemain, of + which the object is to win the admiration of the crowd. That is not so. + Metre is born as all beauty is born the universe through. The current set + up within well-defined bounds gives metrical verse power to move the minds + of men as vague and indefinite prose cannot. + </p> + <p> + This idea became clear to me as I glided on from river to <i>beel</i> and + <i>beel</i> to river. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>26th (Straven) August 1893.</i> + </h3> + <p> + For some time it has struck me that man is a rough-hewn and woman a + finished product. + </p> + <p> + There is an unbroken consistency in the manners, customs, speech, and + adornment of woman. And the reason is, that for ages Nature has assigned + to her the same definite rôle and has been adapting her to it. No + cataclysm, no political revolution, no alteration of social ideal, has yet + diverted woman from her particular functions, nor destroyed their + inter-relations. She has loved, tended, and caressed, and done nothing + else; and the exquisite skill which she has acquired in these, permeates + all her being and doing. Her disposition and action have become + inseparably one, like the flower and its scent. She has, therefore, no + doubts or hesitations. + </p> + <p> + But the character of man has still many hollows and protuberances; each of + the varied circumstances and forces which have contributed to his making + has left its mark upon him. That is why the features of one will display + an indefinite spread of forehead, of another an irresponsible prominence + of nose, of a third an unaccountable hardness about the jaws. Had man but + the benefit of continuity and uniformity of purpose, Nature must have + succeeded in elaborating a definite mould for him, enabling him to + function simply and naturally, without such strenuous effort. He would not + have so complicated a code of behaviour; and he would be less liable to + deviate from the normal when disturbed by outside influences. + </p> + <p> + Woman was cast in the mould of mother. Man has no such primal design to go + by, and that is why he has been unable to rise to an equal perfection of + beauty. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>19th February 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + We have two elephants which come to graze on this bank of the river. They + greatly interest me. They give the ground a few taps with one foot, and + then taking hold of the grass with the end of their trunks wrench off an + enormous piece of turf, roots, soil, and all. This they go on swinging + till all the earth leaves the roots; they then put it into their mouths + and eat it up. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the whim takes them to draw up the dust into their trunks, and + then with a snort they squirt it all over their bodies; this is their + elephantine toilet. + </p> + <p> + I love to look on these overgrown beasts, with their vast bodies, their + immense strength, their ungainly proportions, their docile harmlessness. + Their very size and clumsiness make me feel a kind of tenderness for them—their + unwieldy bulk has something infantile about it. Moreover, they have large + hearts. When they get wild they are furious, but when they calm down they + are peace itself. + </p> + <p> + The uncouthness which goes with bigness does not repel, it rather + attracts. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>27th February 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + The sky is every now and then overcast and again clears up. Sudden little + puffs of wind make the boat lazily creak and groan in all its seams. Thus + the day wears on. + </p> + <p> + It is now past one o'clock. Steeped in this countryside noonday, with its + different sounds—the quacking of ducks, the swirl of passing boats, + bathers splashing the clothes they wash, the distant shouts from drovers + taking cattle across the ford,—it is difficult even to imagine the + chair-and-table, monotonously dismal routine-life of Calcutta. + </p> + <p> + Calcutta is as ponderously proper as a Government office. Each of its days + comes forth, like coin from a mint, clear-cut and glittering. Ah! those + dreary, deadly days, so precisely equal in weight, so decently + respectable! + </p> + <p> + Here I am quit of the demands of my circle, and do not feel like a wound + up machine. Each day is my own. And with leisure and my thoughts I walk + the fields, unfettered by bounds of space or time. The evening gradually + deepens over earth and sky and water, as with bowed head I stroll along. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>22nd March 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + As I was sitting at the window of the boat, looking out on the river, I + saw, all of a sudden, an odd-looking bird making its way through the water + to the opposite bank, followed by a great commotion. I found it was a + domestic fowl which had managed to escape impending doom in the galley by + jumping overboard and was now trying frantically to win across. It had + almost gained the bank when the clutches of its relentless pursuers closed + on it, and it was brought back in triumph, gripped by the neck. I told the + cook I would not have any meat for dinner. + </p> + <p> + I really must give up animal food. We manage to swallow flesh only because + we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do. There are many crimes + which are the creation of man himself, the wrongfulness of which is put + down to their divergence from habit, custom, or tradition. But cruelty is + not of these. It is a fundamental sin, and admits of no argument or nice + distinctions. If only we do not allow our heart to grow callous, its + protest against cruelty is always clearly heard; and yet we go on + perpetrating cruelties easily, merrily, all of us—in fact, any one + who does not join in is dubbed a crank. + </p> + <p> + How artificial is our apprehension of sin! I feel that the highest + commandment is that of sympathy for all sentient beings. Love is the + foundation of all religion. The other day I read in one of the English + papers that 50,000 pounds of animal carcasses had been sent to some army + station in Africa, but the meat being found to have gone bad on arrival, + the consignment was returned and was eventually auctioned off for a few + pounds at Portsmouth. What a shocking waste of life! What callousness to + its true worth! How many living creatures are sacrificed only to grace the + dishes at a dinner-party, a large proportion of which will leave the table + untouched! + </p> + <p> + So long as we are unconscious of our cruelty we may not be to blame. But + if, after our pity is aroused, we persist in throttling our feelings + simply in order to join others in their preying upon life, we insult all + that is good in us. I have decided to try a vegetarian diet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>28th March 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + It is getting rather warm here, but I do not mind the heat of the sun + much. The heated wind whistles on its way, now and then pauses in a whirl, + then dances away twirling its skirt of dust and sand and dry leaves and + twigs. + </p> + <p> + This morning, however, it was quite cold—almost like a cold-weather + morning; in fact, I did not feel over-enthusiastic for my bath. It is so + difficult to account for what veritably happens in this big thing called + Nature. Some obscure cause turns up in some unknown corner, and all of a + sudden things look completely different. + </p> + <p> + The mind of man works in just the same mysterious fashion as outside + Nature—so it struck me yesterday. A wondrous alchemy is being + wrought in artery, vein, and nerve, in brain and marrow. The blood-stream + rushes on, the nerve—strings vibrate, the heart-muscle rises and + falls, and the seasons in man's being change from one to another. What + kind of breezes will blow next, when and from what quarter—of that + we know nothing. + </p> + <p> + One day I am sure I shall get along splendidly; I feel strong enough to + leap over all the obstructing sorrows and trials of the world; and, as if + I had a printed programme for the rest of my life tucked safely away in my + pocket, I am at ease. The next day there is a nasty wind, sprung up from + some unknown <i>inferno</i>, the aspect of the sky is threatening, and I + begin to doubt whether I shall ever weather the storm. Merely because + something has gone wrong in some blood-vessel or nerve-fibre, all my + strength and intelligence seem to fail me. + </p> + <p> + This mystery within frightens me. It makes me diffident about talking of + what I shall or shall not do. Why was this tacked on to me—this + immense mystery which I can neither understand nor control? I know not + where it may lead me or I lead it. I cannot see what is happening, nor am + I consulted about what is going to happen, and yet I have to keep up an + appearance of mastery and pretend to be the doer.... + </p> + <p> + I feel like a living pianoforte with a vast complication of machinery and + wires inside, but with no means of telling who the player is, and with + only a guess as to why the player plays at all. I can only know what is + being played, whether the mode is merry or mournful, when the notes are + sharp or flat, the tune in or out of time, the key high-pitched or low. + But do I really know even that? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PATISAR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>30th March 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Sometimes when I realise that Life's journey is long, and that the sorrows + to be encountered are many and inevitable, a supreme effort is required to + keep up my strength of mind. Some evenings, as I sit alone staring at the + flame of the lamp on the table, I vow I will live as a brave man should—unmoved, + silent, uncomplaining. The resolve puffs me up, and for the moment I + mistake myself for a very, very brave person indeed. But as soon as the + thorns on the road worry my feet, I writhe and begin to feel serious + misgivings as to the future. The path of life again seems long, and my + strength inadequate. + </p> + <p> + But this last conclusion cannot be the true one, for it is these petty + thorns which are the most difficult to bear. The household of the mind is + a thrifty one, and only so much is spent as is necessary. There is no + squandering on trifles, and its wealth of strength is saved up with + miserly strictness to meet the really big calamities. So any amount of + weeping and wailing over the lesser griefs fails to evoke a charitable + response. But when sorrow is deepest there is no stint of effort. Then the + surface crust is pierced, and consolation wells up, and all the forces of + patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. Thus great + suffering brings with it the power of great endurance. + </p> + <p> + One side of man's nature has the desire for pleasure—there is + another side which desires self-sacrifice. When the former meets with + disappointment, the latter gains strength, and on its thus finding fuller + scope a grand enthusiasm fills the soul. So while we are cowards before + petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. + And in these, therefore, there is a joy. + </p> + <p> + It is not an empty paradox to say that there is joy in sorrow, just as, on + the other hand, it is true that there is a dissatisfaction in pleasure. It + is not difficult to understand why this should be so. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>24th June 1894</i>. + </h3> + <p> + I have been only four days here, but, having lost count of the hours, it + seems such a long while, I feel that if I were to return to Calcutta + to-day I should find much of it changed—as if I alone had been + standing still outside the current of time, unconscious of the gradually + changing position of the rest of the world. + </p> + <p> + The fact is that here, away from Calcutta, I live in my own inner world, + where the clocks do not keep ordinary time; where duration is measured + only by the intensity of the feelings; where, as the outside world does + not count the minutes, moments change into hours and hours into moments. + So it seems to me that the subdivisions of time and space are only mental + illusions. Every atom is immeasurable and every moment infinite. + </p> + <p> + There is a Persian story which I was greatly taken with when I read it as + a boy—I think I understood, even then, something of the underlying + idea, though I was a mere child. To show the illusory character of time, a + <i>faquir</i> put some magic water into a tub and asked the King to take a + dip. The King no sooner dipped his head in than he found himself in a + strange country by the sea, where he spent a good long time going through + a variety of happenings and doings. He married, had children, his wife and + children died, he lost all his wealth, and as he writhed under his + sufferings he suddenly found himself back in the room, surrounded by his + courtiers. On his proceeding to revile the <i>faquir</i> for his + misfortunes, they said: "But, Sire, you have only just dipped your head + in, and raised it out of the water!" + </p> + <p> + The whole of our life with its pleasures and pains is in the same way + enclosed in one moment of time. However long or intense we may feel it to + be while it lasts, as soon as we have finished our dip in the tub of the + world, we shall find how like a slight, momentary dream the whole thing + has been.... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>9th August 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + I saw a dead bird floating down the current to-day. The history of its + death may easily be divined. It had a nest in some mango tree at the edge + of a village. It returned home in the evening, nestling there against + soft-feathered companions, and resting a wearied little body in sleep. All + of a sudden, in the night, the mighty Padma tossed slightly in her bed, + and the earth was swept away from the roots of the mango tree. The little + creature bereft of its nest awoke just for a moment before it went to + sleep again for ever. + </p> + <p> + When I am in the presence of the awful mystery of all-destructive Nature, + the difference between myself and the other living things seems trivial. + In town, human society is to the fore and looms large; it is cruelly + callous to the happiness and misery of other creatures as compared with + its own. + </p> + <p> + In Europe, also, man is so complex and so dominant, that the animal is too + merely an animal to him. To Indians the idea of the transmigration of the + soul from animal to man, and man to animal, does not seem strange, and so + from our scriptures pity for all sentient creatures has not been banished + as a sentimental exaggeration. + </p> + <p> + When I am in close touch with Nature in the country, the Indian in me + asserts itself and I cannot remain coldly indifferent to the abounding joy + of life throbbing within the soft down-covered breast of a single tiny + bird. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>10th August 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Last night a rushing sound in the water awoke me—a sudden boisterous + disturbance of the river current—probably the onslaught of a + freshet: a thing that often happens at this season. One's feet on the + planking of the boat become aware of a variety of forces at work beneath + it. Slight tremors, little rockings, gentle heaves, and sudden jerks, all + keep me in touch with the pulse of the flowing stream. + </p> + <p> + There must have been some sudden excitement in the night, which sent the + current racing away. I rose and sat by the window. A hazy kind of light + made the turbulent river look madder than ever. The sky was spotted with + clouds. The reflection of a great big star quivered on the waters in a + long streak, like a burning gash of pain. Both banks were vague with the + dimness of slumber, and between them was this wild, sleepless unrest, + running and running regardless of consequences. + </p> + <p> + To watch a scene like this in the middle of the night makes one feel + altogether a different person, and the daylight life an illusion. Then + again, this morning, that midnight world faded away into some dreamland, + and vanished into thin air. The two are so different, yet both are true + for man. + </p> + <p> + The day-world seems to me like European Music—its concords and + discords resolving into each other in a great progression of harmony; the + night-world like Indian Music—pure, unfettered melody, grave and + poignant. What if their contrast be so striking—both move us. This + principle of opposites is at the very root of creation, which is divided + between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the + Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving. + </p> + <p> + We Indians are under the rule of Night. We are immersed in the Eternal, + the One. Our melodies are to be sung alone, to oneself; they take us out + of the everyday world into a solitude aloof. European Music is for the + multitude and takes them along, dancing, through the ups and downs of the + joys and sorrows of men. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>13th August 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Whatever I truly think, truly feel, truly realise,—its natural + destiny is to find true expression. There is some force in me which + continually works towards that end, but is not mine alone,—it + permeates the universe. When this universal force is manifested within an + individual, it is beyond his control and acts according to its own nature; + and in surrendering our lives to its power is our greatest joy. It not + only gives us expression, but also sensitiveness and love; this makes our + feelings so fresh to us every time, so full of wonder. + </p> + <p> + When my little daughter delights me, she merges into the original mystery + of joy which is the Universe; and my loving caresses are called forth like + worship. I am sure that all our love is but worship of the Great Mystery, + only we perform it unconsciously. Otherwise it is meaningless. + </p> + <p> + Like universal gravitation, which governs large and small alike in the + world of matter, this universal joy exerts its attraction throughout our + inner world, and baffles our understanding when we see it in a partial + view. The only rational explanation of why we find joy in man and nature + is given in the Upanishad: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For of joy are born all created things. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>19th August 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + The Vedanta seems to help many to free their minds from all doubt as to + the Universe and its First Cause, but my doubts remain undispelled. It is + true that the Vedanta is simpler than most other theories. The problem of + Creation and its Creator is more complex than appears at first sight; but + the Vedanta has certainly simplified it half way, by cutting the Gordian + knot and leaving out Creation altogether. + </p> + <p> + There is only Brahma, and the rest of us merely imagine that we are,—it + is wonderful how the human mind should have found room for such a thought. + It is still more wonderful to think that the idea is not so inconsistent + as it sounds, and the real difficulty is, rather, to prove that anything + does exist. + </p> + <p> + Anyhow, when as now the moon is up, and with half-closed eyes I am + stretched beneath it on the upper deck, the soft breeze cooling my + problem-vexed head, then the earth, waters, and sky around, the gentle + rippling of the river, the casual wayfarer passing along the tow-path, the + occasional dinghy gliding by, the trees across the fields, vague in the + moonlight, the sleepy village beyond, bounded by the dark shadows of its + groves,—verily seem an illusion of <i>Maya</i>; and yet they cling + to and draw the mind and heart more truly than truth itself, which is + abstraction, and it becomes impossible to realise what kind of salvation + there can be in freeing oneself from them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHAZADPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>5th September 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + I realise how hungry for space I have become, and take my fill of it in + these rooms where I hold my state as sole monarch, with all doors and + windows thrown open. Here the desire and power to write are mine as they + are nowhere else. The stir of outside life comes into me in waves of + verdure, and with its light and scent and sound stimulated my fancy into + story-writing. + </p> + <p> + The afternoons have a special enchantment of their own. The glare of the + sun, the silence, the solitude, the bird cries, especially the cawings of + crows, and the delightful, restful leisure—these conspire to carry + me away altogether. + </p> + <p> + Just such noondays seem to have gone to the making of the Arabian Nights,—in + Damascus, Bokhara, or Samarkhand, with their desert roadways, files of + camels, wandering horsemen, crystal springs, welling up under the shade of + feathery date groves; their wilderness of roses, songs of nightingales, + wines of Shiraz; their narrow bazaar paths with bright overhanging + canopies, the men, in loose robes and multi-coloured turbans, selling + dates and nuts and melons; their palaces, fragrant with incense, luxurious + with kincob-covered divans and bolsters by the window-side; their Zobedia + or Amina or Sufia with gaily decorated jacket, wide trousers, and + gold-embroidered slippers, a long narghilah pipe curled up at her feet, + with gorgeously liveried eunuchs on guard,—and all the possible and + impossible tales of human deeds and desires, and the laughter and wailing, + of that distant mysterious region. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WAY TO DIGHAPATIAYA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>20th September 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + Big trees are standing in the flood water, their trunks wholly submerged, + their branches and foliage bending over the waters. Boats are tied up + under shady groves of mango and bo tree, and people bathe screened behind + them. Here and there cottages stand out in the current, their inner + quadrangles under water. + </p> + <p> + As my boat rustles its way through standing crops it now and then comes + across what was a pool and is still to be distinguished by its clusters of + water-lilies, and diver-birds pursuing fish. + </p> + <p> + The water has penetrated every possible place. I have never before seen + such a complete defeat of the land. A little more and the water will be + right inside the cottages, and their occupants will have to put up <i>machans</i> + to live on. The cows will die if they have to remain standing like this in + water up to their knees. All the snakes have been flooded out of their + holes, and they, with sundry other homeless reptiles and insects, will + have to chum with man and take refuge on the thatch of his roof. + </p> + <p> + The vegetation rotting in the water, refuse of all kinds floating about, + naked children with shrivelled limbs and enlarged spleens splashing + everywhere, the long-suffering patient housewives exposed in their wet + clothes to wind and rain, wading through their daily tasks with tucked-up + skirts, and over all a thick pall of mosquitoes hovering in the noxious + atmosphere—the sight is hardly pleasing! + </p> + <p> + Colds and fevers and rheumatism in every home, the malaria-stricken + infants constantly crying,—nothing can save them. How is it possible + for men to live in such unlovely, unhealthy, squalid, neglected + surroundings? The fact is we are so used to bear everything, hands down,—the + ravages of Nature, the oppression of rulers, the pressure of our <i>shastras</i> + to which we have not a word to say, while they keep eternally grinding us + down. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WAY TO BOALIA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>22nd September 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + It feels strange to be reminded that only thirty-two Autumns have come and + gone in my life; for my memory seems to have receded back into the dimness + of time immemorial; and when my inner world is flooded with a light, as of + an unclouded autumn morning, I feel I am sitting at the window of some + magic palace, gazing entranced on a scene of distant reminiscence, soothed + with soft breezes laden with the faint perfume of all the Past. + </p> + <p> + Goethe on his death-bed wanted "more light." If I have any desire left at + all at such a time, it will be for "more space" as well; for I dearly love + both light and space. Many look down on Bengal as being only a flat + country, but that is just what makes me revel in its scenery all the more. + Its unobstructed sky is filled to the brim, like an amethyst cup, with the + descending twilight and peace of the evening; and the golden skirt of the + still, silent noonday spreads over the whole of it without let or + hindrance. + </p> + <p> + Where is there another such country for the eye to look on, the mind to + take in? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CALCUTTA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>5th October 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + To-morrow is the Durga Festival. As I was going to S——'s + yesterday, I noticed images being made in almost every big house on the + way. It struck me that during these few days of the Poojahs, old and young + alike had become children. + </p> + <p> + When we come to think of it, all preparation for enjoyment is really a + playing with toys which are of no consequence in themselves. From outside + it may appear wasteful, but can that be called futile which raises such a + wave of feeling through and through the country? Even the driest of + worldly-wise people are moved out of their self-centred interests by the + rush of the pervading emotion. + </p> + <p> + Thus, once every year there comes a period when all minds are in a melting + mood, fit for the springing of love and affection and sympathy. The songs + of welcome and farewell to the goddess, the meeting of loved ones, the + strains of the festive pipes, the limpid sky and molten gold of autumn, + are all parts of one great paean of joy. + </p> + <p> + Pure joy is the children's joy. They have the power of using any and every + trivial thing to create their world of interest, and the ugliest doll is + made beautiful with their imagination and lives with their life. He who + can retain this faculty of enjoyment after he has grown up, is indeed the + true Idealist. For him things are not merely visible to the eye or audible + to the ear, but they are also sensible to the heart, and their narrowness + and imperfections are lost in the glad music which he himself supplies. + </p> + <p> + Every one cannot hope to be an Idealist, but a whole people approaches + nearest to this blissful state at such seasons of festivity. And then what + may ordinarily appear to be a mere toy loses its limitations and becomes + glorified with an ideal radiance. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>19th October 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + We know people only in dotted outline, that is to say, with gaps in our + knowledge which we have to fill in ourselves, as best we can. Thus, even + those we know well are largely made up of our imagination. Sometimes the + lines are so broken, with even the guiding dots missing, that a portion of + the picture remains darkly confused and uncertain. If, then, our best + friends are only pieces of broken outline strung on a thread of + imagination, do we really know anybody at all, or does anybody know us + except in the same disjointed fashion? But perhaps it is these very + loopholes, allowing entrance to each other's imagination, which make for + intimacy; otherwise each one, secure in his inviolate individuality, would + have been unapproachable to all but the Dweller within. + </p> + <p> + Our own self, too, we know only in bits, and with these scraps of material + we have to shape the hero of our life-story,—likewise with the help + of our imagination. Providence has, doubtless, deliberately omitted + portions so that we may assist in our own creation. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOLPUR, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>31st October 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + The first of the north winds has begun to blow to-day, shiveringly. It + looks as if there had been a visitation of the tax-gatherer in the <i>Amlaki</i> + groves,—everything beside itself, sighing, trembling, withering. The + tired impassiveness of the noonday sunshine, with its monotonous cooing of + doves in the dense shade of the mango-tops, seems to overcast the drowsy + watches of the day with a pang, as of some impending parting. + </p> + <p> + The ticking of the clock on my table, and the pattering of the squirrels + which scamper in and out of my room, are in harmony with all other midday + sounds. + </p> + <p> + It amuses me to watch these soft, grey and black striped, furry squirrels, + with their bushy tails, their twinkling bead-like eyes, their gentle yet + busily practical demeanour. Everything eatable has to be put away in the + wire-gauze cupboard in the corner, safe from these greedy creatures. So, + sniffing with an irrepressible eagerness, they come nosing round and round + the cupboard, trying to find some hole for entrance. If any grain or crumb + has been dropped outside they are sure to find it, and, taking it between + their forepaws, nibble away with great industry, turning it over and over + to adjust it to their mouths. At the least movement of mine up go their + tails over their backs and off they run, only to stop short half-way, sit + up on their tails on the door-mat, scratching their ears with their + hind-paws, and then come back. + </p> + <p> + Thus little sounds continue all day long—gnawing teeth, scampering + feet, and the tinkling of the china on the shelves. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>7th December 1894.</i> + </h3> + <p> + As I walk on the moonlit sands, S—— usually comes up for a + business talk. + </p> + <p> + He came last evening; and when silence fell upon me after the talk was + over, I became aware of the eternal universe standing before me in the + evening light. The trivial chatter of one person had been enough to + obscure the presence of its all-pervading manifestation. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the patter of words came to an end, the peace of the stars + descended, and filled my heart to overflowing. I found my seat in one + corner, with these assembled millions of shining orbs, in the great + mysterious conclave of Being. + </p> + <p> + I have to start out early in the evening so as to let my mind absorb the + tranquillity outside, before S—— comes along with his jarring + inquiries as to whether the milk has agreed with me, and if I have + finished going through the Annual Statement. + </p> + <p> + How curiously placed are we between the Eternal and the Ephemeral! Any + allusion to the affairs of the stomach sounds so hopelessly discordant + when the mind is dwelling on the things of the spirit,—and yet the + soul and the stomach have been living together so long. The very spot on + which the moonlight falls is my landed property, but the moonlight tells + me that my <i>zamindari</i> is an illusion, and my <i>zamindari</i> tells + me that this moonlight is all emptiness. And as for poor me, I remain + distracted between the two. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>23rd February</i> 1895. + </h3> + <p> + I grow quite absent-minded when I try to write for the <i>Sadhana</i> + magazine. + </p> + <p> + I raise my eyes to every passing boat and keep staring at the ferry going + to and fro. And then on the bank, close to my boat, there are a herd of + buffaloes thrusting their massive snouts into the herbage, wrapping their + tongues round it to get it into their mouths, and then munching away, + blowing hard with great big gasps of contentment, and flicking the flies + off their backs with their tails. + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden a naked weakling of a human cub appears on the scene, + makes sundry noises, and pokes one of the patient beasts with a cudgel, + whereupon, throwing occasional glances at the human sprig out of a corner + of its eye, and snatching at tufts of leaves or grass here and there on + the way, the unruffled beast leisurely moves on a few paces, and that imp + of a boy seems to feel that his duty as herdsman has been done. + </p> + <p> + I fail to penetrate this mystery of the boy-cowherd's mind. Whenever a cow + or a buffalo has selected a spot to its liking and is comfortably grazing + there, I cannot divine what purpose is served by worrying it, as he + insists on doing, till it shifts somewhere else. I suppose it is man's + masterfulness glorying in triumph over the powerful creature it has tamed. + Anyhow, I love to see these buffaloes amongst the lush grass. + </p> + <p> + But this is not what I started to say. I wanted to tell you how the least + thing distracts me nowadays from my duty to the <i>Sadhana</i>. In my last + letter{1} I told you of the bumble-bees which hover round me in some + fruitless quest, to the tune of a meaningless humming, with tireless + assiduity. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Not included in this selection.} + </p> + <p> + They come every day at about nine or ten in the morning, dart up to my + table, shoot down under the desk, go bang on to the coloured glass + window-pane, and then with a circuit or two round my head are off again + with a whizz. + </p> + <p> + I could easily have thought them to be departed spirits who had left this + world unsatisfied, and so keep coming back to it again and again in the + guise of bees, paying me an inquiring visit in passing. But I think + nothing of the kind. I am sure they are real bees, otherwise known, in + Sanskrit, as honey-suckers, or on still rarer occasions as + double-proboscideans. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>16th (Phalgun) February</i> 1895. + </h3> + <p> + We have to tread every single moment of the way as we go on living our + life, but when taken as a whole it is such a very small thing, two hours + uninterrupted thought can hold all of it. + </p> + <p> + After thirty years of strenuous living Shelley could only supply material + for two volumes of biography, of which, moreover, a considerable space is + taken up by Dowden's chatter. The thirty years of my life would not fill + even one volume. + </p> + <p> + What a to-do there is over this tiny bit of life! To think of the quantity + of land and trade and commerce which go to furnish its commissariat alone, + the amount of space occupied by each individual throughout the world, + though one little chair is large enough to hold the whole of him! Yet, + after all is over and done, there remains only material for two hours' + thought, some pages of writing! + </p> + <p> + What a negligible fraction of my few pages would this one lazy day of mine + occupy! But then, will not this peaceful day, on the desolate sands by the + placid river, leave nevertheless a distinct little gold mark even upon the + scroll of my eternal past and eternal future? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>28th February</i> 1895. + </h3> + <p> + I have got an anonymous letter to-day which begins: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To give up one's self at the feet of another, + is the truest of all gifts. +</pre> + <p> + The writer has never seen me, but knows me from my writings, and goes on + to say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + However petty or distant, the Sun{1}-worshipper gets a share of the + Sun's rays. You are the world's poet, yet to me it seems you are my own + poet! +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Rabi, the author's name, means the Sun.} + </p> + <p> + and more in the same strain. + </p> + <p> + Man is so anxious to bestow his love on some object, that he ends by + falling in love with his own Ideal. But why should we suppose the idea to + be less true than the reality? We can never know for certain the truth of + the substance underlying what we get through the senses. Why should the + doubt be greater in the case of the entity behind the ideas which are the + creation of mind? + </p> + <p> + The mother realises in her child the great Idea, which is in every child, + the ineffableness of which, however, is not revealed to any one else. Are + we to say that what draws forth the mother's very life and soul is + illusory, but what fails to draw the rest of us to the same extent is the + real truth? + </p> + <p> + Every person is worthy of an infinite wealth of love—the beauty of + his soul knows no limit.... But I am departing into generalities. What I + wanted to express is, that in one sense I have no right to accept this + offering of my admirer's heart; that is to say, for me, seen within my + everyday covering, such a person could not possibly have had these + feelings. But there is another sense in which I am worthy of all this, or + of even greater adoration. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WAY TO PABNA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>9th July</i> 1895. + </h3> + <p> + I am gliding through this winding little Ichamati, this streamlet of the + rainy season. With rows of villages along its banks, its fields of jute + and sugar-cane, its reed patches, its green bathing slopes, it is like a + few lines of a poem, often repeated and as often enjoyed. One cannot + commit to memory a big river like the Padma, but this meandering little + Ichamati, the flow of whose syllables is regulated by the rhythm of the + rains, I am gradually making my very own.... + </p> + <p> + It is dusk, the sky getting dark with clouds. The thunder rumbles + fitfully, and the wild casuarina clumps bend in waves to the stormy gusts + which pass through them. The depths of bamboo thickets look black as ink. + The pallid twilight glimmers over the water like the herald of some weird + event. + </p> + <p> + I am bending over my desk in the dimness, writing this letter. I want to + whisper low-toned, intimate talk, in keeping with this penumbra of the + dusk. But it is just wishes like these which baffle all effort. They + either get fulfilled of themselves, or not at all. That is why it is a + simple matter to warm up to a grim battle, but not to an easy, + inconsequent talk. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>14th August</i> 1895. + </h3> + <p> + One great point about work is that for its sake the individual has to make + light of his personal joys and sorrows; indeed, so far as may be, to + ignore them. I am reminded of an incident at Shazadpur. My servant was + late one morning, and I was greatly annoyed at his delay. He came up and + stood before me with his usual <i>salaam</i>, and with a slight catch in + his voice explained that his eight-year-old daughter had died last night. + Then, with his duster, he set to tidying up my room. + </p> + <p> + When we look at the field of work, we see some at their trades, some + tilling the soil, some carrying burdens, and yet underneath, death, + sorrow, and loss are flowing, in an unseen undercurrent, every day,—their + privacy not intruded upon. If ever these should break forth beyond control + and come to the surface, then all this work would at once come to a stop. + Over the individual sorrows, flowing beneath, is a hard stone track, + across which the trains of duty, with their human load, thunder their way, + stopping for none save at appointed stations. This very cruelty of work + proves, perhaps, man's sternest consolation. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KUSHTEA, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>5th October 1895</i>. + </h3> + <p> + The religion that only comes to us from external scriptures never becomes + our own; our only tie with it is that of habit. To gain religion within is + man's great lifelong adventure. In the extremity of suffering must it be + born; on his life-blood it must live; and then, whether or not it brings + him happiness, the man's journey shall end in the joy of fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + We rarely realise how false for us is that which we hear from other lips, + or keep repeating with our own, while all the time the temple of our Truth + is building within us, brick by brick, day after day. We fail to + understand the mystery of this eternal building when we view our joys and + sorrows apart by themselves, in the midst of fleeting time; just as a + sentence becomes unintelligible if one has to spell through every word of + it. + </p> + <p> + When once we perceive the unity of the scheme of that creation which is + going on in us, we realise our relation to the ever-unfolding universe. We + realise that we are in the process of being created in the same way as are + the glowing heavenly orbs which revolve in their courses,—our + desires, our sufferings, all finding their proper place within the whole. + </p> + <p> + We may not know exactly what is happening: we do not know exactly even + about a speck of dust. But when we feel the flow of life in us to be one + with the universal life outside, then all our pleasures and pains are seen + strung upon one long thread of joy. The facts: <i>I am, I move, I grow</i>, + are seen in all their immensity in connection with the fact that + everything else is there along with me, and not the tiniest atom can do + without me. + </p> + <p> + The relation of my soul to this beautiful autumn morning, this vast + radiance, is one of intimate kinship; and all this colour, scent, and + music is but the outward expression of our secret communion. This constant + communion, whether realised or unrealised, keeps my mind in movement; out + of this intercourse between my inner and outer worlds I gain such + religion, be it much or little, as my capacity allows: and in its light I + have to test scriptures before I can make them really my own. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHELIDAH, + </h2> + <h3> + <i>12th December 1895.</i> + </h3> + <p> + The other evening I was reading an English book of criticisms, full of all + manner of disputations about Poetry, Art, Beauty, and so forth and so on. + As I plodded through these artificial discussions, my tired faculties + seemed to have wandered into a region of empty mirage, filled with the + presence of a mocking demon. + </p> + <p> + The night was far advanced. I closed the book with a bang and flung it on + the table. Then I blew out the lamp with the idea of turning into bed. No + sooner had I done so than, through the open windows, the moonlight burst + into the room, with a shock of surprise. + </p> + <p> + That little bit of a lamp had been sneering drily at me, like some + Mephistopheles: and that tiniest sneer had screened off this infinite + light of joy issuing forth from the deep love which is in all the world. + What, forsooth, had I been looking for in the empty wordiness of the book? + There was the very thing itself, filling the skies, silently waiting for + me outside, all these hours! + </p> + <p> + If I had gone off to bed leaving the shutters closed, and thus missed this + vision, it would have stayed there all the same without any protest + against the mocking lamp inside. Even if I had remained blind to it all my + life,—letting the lamp triumph to the end,—till for the last + time I went darkling to bed,—even then the moon would have still + been there, sweetly smiling, unperturbed and unobtrusive, waiting for me + as she has throughout the ages. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Glimpses of Bengal, by Sir Rabindranath Tagore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + +***** This file should be named 7951-h.htm or 7951-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/5/7951/ + + +Text file produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Glimpses of Bengal + +Author: Sir Rabindranath Tagore + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7951] +This file was first posted on June 4, 2003 +Last Updated: May 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + + + + +Produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +GLIMPSES OF BENGAL + +SELECTED FROM THE LETTERS OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE + +1885 TO 1895 + +By Sir Rabindranath Tagore + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The letters translated in this book span the most productive period of my +literary life, when, owing to great good fortune, I was young and less +known. + +Youth being exuberant and leisure ample, I felt the writing of letters +other than business ones to be a delightful necessity. This is a form of +literary extravagance only possible when a surplus of thought and emotion +accumulates. Other forms of literature remain the author's and are made +public for his good; letters that have been given to private individuals +once for all, are therefore characterised by the more generous +abandonment. + +It so happened that selected extracts from a large number of such letters +found their way back to me years after they had been written. It had been +rightly conjectured that they would delight me by bringing to mind the +memory of days when, under the shelter of obscurity, I enjoyed the +greatest freedom my life has ever known. + +Since these letters synchronise with a considerable part of my published +writings, I thought their parallel course would broaden my readers' +understanding of my poems as a track is widened by retreading the same +ground. Such was my justification for publishing them in a book for my +countrymen. Hoping that the descriptions of village scenes in Bengal +contained in these letters would also be of interest to English readers, +the translation of a selection of that selection has been entrusted to one +who, among all those whom I know, was best fitted to carry it out. + +RABINDRANATH TAGORE. + +_20th June 1920._ + + + + +BANDORA, BY THE SEA, + +_October_ 1885. + + +The unsheltered sea heaves and heaves and blanches into foam. It sets me +thinking of some tied-up monster straining at its bonds, in front of whose +gaping jaws we build our homes on the shore and watch it lashing its tail. +What immense strength, with waves swelling like the muscles of a giant! + +From the beginning of creation there has been this feud between land and +water: the dry earth slowly and silently adding to its domain and +spreading a broader and broader lap for its children; the ocean receding +step by step, heaving and sobbing and beating its breast in despair. +Remember the sea was once sole monarch, utterly free. + +Land rose from its womb, usurped its throne, and ever since the maddened +old creature, with hoary crest of foam, wails and laments continually, +like King Lear exposed to the fury of the elements. + + +_July 1887._ + +I am in my twenty-seventh year. This event keeps thrusting itself before +my mind--nothing else seems to have happened of late. + +But to reach twenty-seven--is that a trifling thing?--to pass the meridian +of the twenties on one's progress towards thirty?--thirty--that is to say +maturity--the age at which people expect fruit rather than fresh foliage. +But, alas, where is the promise of fruit? As I shake my head, it still +feels brimful of luscious frivolity, with not a trace of philosophy. + +Folk are beginning to complain: "Where is that which we expected of +you--that in hope of which we admired the soft green of the shoot? Are we +to put up with immaturity for ever? It is high time for us to know what we +shall gain from you. We want an estimate of the proportion of oil which +the blindfold, mill-turning, unbiased critic can squeeze out of you." + +It has ceased to be possible to delude these people into waiting +expectantly any longer. While I was under age they trustfully gave me +credit; it is sad to disappoint them now that I am on the verge of thirty. +But what am I to do? Words of wisdom will not come! I am utterly +incompetent to provide things that may profit the multitude. Beyond a +snatch of song, some tittle-tattle, a little merry fooling, I have been +unable to advance. And as the result, those who held high hopes will turn +their wrath on me; but did any one ever beg them to nurse these +expectations? + +Such are the thoughts which assail me since one fine _Bysakh_ morning +I awoke amidst fresh breeze and light, new leaf and flower, to find that I +had stepped into my twenty-seventh year. + + + + +SHELIDAH, 1888. + + +Our house-boat is moored to a sandbank on the farther side of the river. A +vast expanse of sand stretches away out of sight on every side, with here +and there a streak, as of water, running across, though sometimes what +gleams like water is only sand. + +Not a village, not a human being, not a tree, not a blade of grass--the +only breaks in the monotonous whiteness are gaping cracks which in places +show the layer of moist, black clay underneath. + +Looking towards the East, there is endless blue above, endless white +beneath. Sky empty, earth empty too--the emptiness below hard and barren, +that overhead arched and ethereal--one could hardly find elsewhere such a +picture of stark desolation. + +But on turning to the West, there is water, the currentless bend of the +river, fringed with its high bank, up to which spread the village groves +with cottages peeping through--all like an enchanting dream in the evening +light. I say "the evening light," because in the evening we wander out, +and so that aspect is impressed on my mind. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, 1890. + + +The magistrate was sitting in the verandah of his tent dispensing justice +to the crowd awaiting their turns under the shade of a tree. They set my +palanquin down right under his nose, and the young Englishman received me +courteously. He had very light hair, with darker patches here and there, +and a moustache just beginning to show. One might have taken him for a +white-haired old man but for his extremely youthful face. I asked him over +to dinner, but he said he was due elsewhere to arrange for a pig-sticking +party. + +As I returned home, great black clouds came up and there was a terrific +storm with torrents of rain. I could not touch a book, it was impossible +to write, so in the I-know-not-what mood I wandered about from room to +room. It had become quite dark, the thunder was continually pealing, the +lightning gleaming flash after flash, and every now and then sudden gusts +of wind would get hold of the big _lichi_ tree by the neck and give +its shaggy top a thorough shaking. The hollow in front of the house soon +filled with water, and as I paced about, it suddenly struck me that I +ought to offer the shelter of the house to the magistrate. + +I sent off an invitation; then after investigation I found the only spare +room encumbered with a platform of planks hanging from the beams, piled +with dirty old quilts and bolsters. Servants' belongings, an excessively +grimy mat, hubble-bubble pipes, tobacco, tinder, and two wooden chests +littered the floor, besides sundry packing-cases full of useless odds and +ends, such as a rusty kettle lid, a bottomless iron stove, a discoloured +old nickel teapot, a soup-plate full of treacle blackened with dust. In a +corner was a tub for washing dishes, and from nails in the wall hung moist +dish-clouts and the cook's livery and skull-cap. The only piece of +furniture was a rickety dressing-table with water stains, oil stains, milk +stains, black, brown, and white stains, and all kinds of mixed stains. The +mirror, detached from it, rested against another wall, and the drawers +were receptacles for a miscellaneous assortment of articles from soiled +napkins down to bottle wires and dust. + +For a moment I was overwhelmed with dismay; then it was a case of--send +for the manager, send for the storekeeper, call up all the servants, get +hold of extra men, fetch water, put up ladders, unfasten ropes, pull down +planks, take away bedding, pick up broken glass bit by bit, wrench nails +from the wall one by one.--The chandelier falls and its pieces strew the +floor; pick them up again piece by piece.--I myself whisk the dirty mat +off the floor and out of the window, dislodging a horde of cockroaches, +messmates, who dine off my bread, my treacle, and the polish on my shoes. + +The magistrate's reply is brought back; his tent is in an awful state and +he is coming at once. Hurry up! Hurry up! Presently comes the shout: "The +sahib has arrived." All in a flurry I brush the dust off hair, beard, and +the rest of myself, and as I go to receive him in the drawing-room, I try +to look as respectable as if I had been reposing there comfortably all the +afternoon. + +I went through the shaking of hands and conversed with the magistrate +outwardly serene; still, misgivings about his accommodation would now and +then well up within. When at length I had to show my guest to his room, I +found it passable, and if the homeless cockroaches do not tickle the soles +of his feet, he may manage to get a night's rest. + + + + +KALIGRAM, 1891. + + +I am feeling listlessly comfortable and delightfully irresponsible. + +This is the prevailing mood all round here. There is a river but it has no +current to speak of, and, lying snugly tucked up in its coverlet of +floating weeds, seems to think--"Since it is possible to get on without +getting along, why should I bestir myself to stir?" So the sedge which +lines the banks knows hardly any disturbance until the fishermen come with +their nets. + +Four or five large-sized boats are moored near by, alongside each other. +On the upper deck of one the boatman is fast asleep, rolled up in a sheet +from head to foot. On another, the boatman--also basking in the +sun--leisurely twists some yarn into rope. On the lower deck in a third, +an oldish-looking, bare-bodied fellow is leaning over an oar, staring +vacantly at our boat. + +Along the bank there are various other people, but why they come or go, +with the slowest of idle steps, or remain seated on their haunches +embracing their knees, or keep on gazing at nothing in particular, no one +can guess. + +The only signs of activity are to be seen amongst the ducks, who, quacking +clamorously, thrust their heads under and bob up again to shake off the +water with equal energy, as if they repeatedly tried to explore the +mysteries below the surface, and every time, shaking their heads, had to +report, "Nothing there! Nothing there!" + +The days here drowse all their twelve hours in the sun, and silently sleep +away the other twelve, wrapped in the mantle of darkness. The only thing +you want to do in a place like this is to gaze and gaze on the landscape, +swinging your fancies to and fro, alternately humming a tune and nodding +dreamily, as the mother on a winter's noonday, her back to the sun, rocks +and croons her baby to sleep. + + + + +KALIGRAM, 1891. + + +Yesterday, while I was giving audience to my tenants, five or six boys +made their appearance and stood in a primly proper row before me. Before I +could put any question their spokesman, in the choicest of high-flown +language, started: "Sire! the grace of the Almighty and the good fortune +of your benighted children have once more brought about your lordship's +auspicious arrival into this locality." He went on in this strain for +nearly half an hour. Here and there he would get his lesson wrong, pause, +look up at the sky, correct himself, and then go on again. I gathered that +their school was short of benches and stools. "For want of these +wood-built seats," as he put it, "we know not where to sit ourselves, +where to seat our revered teachers, or what to offer our most respected +inspector when he comes on a visit." + +I could hardly repress a smile at this torrent of eloquence gushing from +such a bit of a fellow, which sounded specially out of place here, where +the ryots are given to stating their profoundly vital wants in plain and +direct vernacular, of which even the more unusual words get sadly twisted +out of shape. The clerks and ryots, however, seemed duly impressed, and +likewise envious, as though deploring their parents' omission to endow +them with so splendid a means of appealing to the _Zamindar_. + +I interrupted the young orator before he had done, promising to arrange +for the necessary number of benches and stools. Nothing daunted, he +allowed me to have my say, then took up his discourse where he had left +it, finished it to the last word, saluted me profoundly, and marched off +his contingent. He probably would not have minded had I refused to supply +the seats, but after all his trouble in getting it by heart he would have +resented bitterly being robbed of any part of his speech. So, though it +kept more important business waiting, I had to hear him out. + + + + +NEARING SHAZADPUR, + +_January_ 1891. + + +We left the little river of Kaligram, sluggish as the circulation in a +dying man, and dropped down the current of a briskly flowing stream which +led to a region where land and water seemed to merge in each other, river +and bank without distinction of garb, like brother and sister in infancy. + +The river lost its coating of sliminess, scattered its current in many +directions, and spread out, finally, into a _beel_ (marsh), with here +a patch of grassy land and there a stretch of transparent water, reminding +me of the youth of this globe when through the limitless waters land had +just begun to raise its head, the separate provinces of solid and fluid as +yet undefined. + +Round about where we have moored, the bamboo poles of fishermen are +planted. Kites hover ready to snatch up fish from the nets. On the ooze at +the water's edge stand the saintly-looking paddy birds in meditation. All +kinds of waterfowl abound. Patches of weeds float on the water. Here and +there rice-fields, untilled, untended,[1] rise from the moist, clay soil. +Mosquitoes swarm over the still waters.... + +[Footnote 1: On the rich river-side silt, rice seed is simply scattered +and the harvest reaped when ripe; nothing else has to be done.] + +We start again at dawn this morning and pass through Kachikata, where the +waters of the _beel_ find an outlet in a winding channel only six or +seven yards wide, through which they rush swiftly. To get our unwieldy +house-boat through is indeed an adventure. The current hurries it along at +lightning speed, keeping the crew busy using their oars as poles to +prevent the boat being dashed against the banks. We thus come out again +into the open river. + +The sky had been heavily clouded, a damp wind blowing, with occasional +showers of rain. The crew were all shivering with cold. Such wet and +gloomy days in the cold weather are eminently disagreeable, and I have +spent a wretched lifeless morning. At two in the afternoon the sun came +out, and since then it has been delightful. The banks are now high and +covered with peaceful groves and the dwellings of men, secluded and full +of beauty. + +The river winds in and out, an unknown little stream in the inmost +_zenana_ of Bengal, neither lazy nor fussy; lavishing the wealth of +her affection on both sides, she prattles about common joys and sorrows +and the household news of the village girls, who come for water, and sit +by her side, assiduously rubbing their bodies to a glowing freshness with +their moistened towels. + +This evening we have moored our boat in a lonely bend. The sky is clear. +The moon is at its full. Not another boat is to be seen. The moonlight +glimmers on the ripples. Solitude reigns on the banks. The distant village +sleeps, nestling within a thick fringe of trees. The shrill, sustained +chirp of the cicadas is the only sound. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_February_ 1891. + + +Just in front of my window, on the other side of the stream, a band of +gypsies have ensconced themselves, putting up bamboo frameworks covered +over with split-bamboo mats and pieces of cloth. There are only three of +these little structures, so low that you cannot stand upright inside. +Their life is lived in the open, and they only creep under these shelters +at night, to sleep huddled together. + +That is always the gypsies' way: no home anywhere, no landlord to pay rent +to, wandering about as it pleases them with their children, their pigs, +and a dog or two; and on them the police keep a vigilant eye. + +I frequently watch the doings of the family nearest me. They are dark but +good-looking, with fine, strongly-built bodies, like north-west country +folk. Their women are handsome, and have tall, slim, well-knit figures; +and with their free and easy movements, and natural independent airs, they +look to me like swarthy Englishwomen. + +The man has just put the cooking-pot on the fire, and is now splitting +bamboos and weaving baskets. The woman first holds up a little mirror to +her face, then puts a deal of pains into wiping and rubbing it, over and +over again, with a moist piece of cloth; and then, the folds of her upper +garment adjusted and tidied, she goes, all spick and span, up to her man +and sits beside him, helping him now and then in his work. + +These are truly children of the soil, born on it somewhere, bred by the +wayside, here, there, and everywhere, dying anywhere. Night and day under +the open sky, in the open air, on the bare ground, they lead a unique kind +of life; and yet work, love, children, and household duties--everything is +there. + +They are not idle for a moment, but always doing something. Her own +particular task over, one woman plumps herself down behind another, unties +the knot of her hair and cleans and arranges it for her; and whether at +the same time they fall to talking over the domestic affairs of the three +little mat-covered households I cannot say for certain from this distance, +but shrewdly suspect it. + +This morning a great disturbance invaded the peaceful gypsy settlement. It +was about half-past eight or nine. They were spreading out over the mat +roofs tattered quilts and sundry other rags, which serve them for beds, in +order to sun and air them. The pigs with their litters, lying in a hollow +all of a heap and looking like a dab of mud, had been routed out by the +two canine members of the family, who fell upon them and sent them roaming +in search of their breakfasts, squealing their annoyance at being +interrupted in enjoyment of the sun after the cold night. I was writing my +letter and absently looking out now and then when the hubbub suddenly +commenced. + +I rose and went to the window, and found a crowd gathered round the gypsy +hermitage. A superior-looking personage was flourishing a stick and +indulging in the strongest language. The headman of the gypsies, cowed and +nervous, was apparently trying to offer explanations. I gathered that some +suspicious happenings in the locality had led to this visitation by a +police officer. + +The woman, so far, had remained sitting, busily scraping lengths of split +bamboo as serenely as if she had been alone and no sort of row going on. +Suddenly, however, she sprang to her feet, advanced on the police officer, +gesticulated violently with her arms right in his face, and gave him, in +strident tones, a piece of her mind. In the twinkling of an eye +three-quarters of the officer's excitement had subsided; he tried to put +in a word or two of mild protest but did not get a chance, and so departed +crestfallen, a different man. + +After he had retreated to a safe distance, he turned and shouted back: +"All I say is, you'll have to clear out from here!" + +I thought my neighbours opposite would forthwith pack up their mats and +bamboos and move away with their bundles, pigs, and children. But there is +no sign of it yet. They are still nonchalantly engaged in splitting +bamboos, cooking food, or completing a toilet. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_February_ 1891. + + +The post office is in a part of our estate office building,--this is very +convenient, for we get our letters as soon as they arrive. Some evenings +the postmaster comes up to have a chat with me. I enjoy listening to his +yarns. + +He talks of the most impossible things in the gravest possible manner. + +Yesterday he was telling me in what great reverence people of this +locality hold the sacred river Ganges. If one of their relatives dies, he +said, and they have not the means of taking the ashes to the Ganges, they +powder a piece of bone from his funeral pyre and keep it till they come +across some one who, some time or other, has drunk of the Ganges. To him +they administer some of this powder, hidden in the usual offering of +_pan_[1], and thus are content to imagine that a portion of the +remains of their deceased relative has gained purifying contact with the +sacred water. + +[Footnote 1: Spices wrapped in betel leaf.] + +I smiled as I remarked: "This surely must be an invention." + +He pondered deeply before he admitted after a pause: "Yes, it may be." + + + + +ON THE WAY. + +_February_ 1891. + + +We have got past the big rivers and just turned into a little one. + +The village women are standing in the water, bathing or washing clothes; +and some, in their dripping _saris_, with veils pulled well over +their faces, move homeward with their water vessels filled and clasped +against the left flank, the right arm swinging free. Children, covered all +over with clay, are sporting boisterously, splashing water on each other, +while one of them shouts a song, regardless of the tune. + +Over the high banks, the cottage roofs and the tops of the bamboo clumps +are visible. The sky has cleared and the sun is shining. Remnants of +clouds cling to the horizon like fluffs of cotton wool. The breeze is +warmer. + +There are not many boats in this little river; only a few dinghies, laden +with dry branches and twigs, are moving leisurely along to the tired +plash! plash! of their oars. At the river's edge the fishermen's nets are +hung out to dry between bamboo poles. And work everywhere seems to be over +for the day. + + + + +CHUHALI. + +_June_ 1891. + + +I had been sitting out on the deck for more than a quarter of an hour when +heavy clouds rose in the west. They came up, black, tumbled, and tattered, +with streaks of lurid light showing through here and there. The little +boats scurried off into the smaller arm of the river and clung with their +anchors safely to its banks. The reapers took up the cut sheaves on their +heads and hied homewards; the cows followed, and behind them frisked the +calves waving their tails. + +Then came an angry roar. Torn-off scraps of cloud hurried up from the +west, like panting messengers of evil tidings. Finally, lightning and +thunder, rain and storm, came on altogether and executed a mad dervish +dance. The bamboo clumps seemed to howl as the raging wind swept the +ground with them, now to the east, now to the west. Over all, the storm +droned like a giant snake-charmer's pipe, and to its rhythm swayed +hundreds and thousands of crested waves, like so many hooded snakes. The +thunder was incessant, as though a whole world was being pounded to pieces +away there behind the clouds. + +With my chin resting on the ledge of an open window facing away from the +wind, I allowed my thoughts to take part in this terrible revelry; they +leapt into the open like a pack of schoolboys suddenly set free. When, +however, I got a thorough drenching from the spray of the rain, I had to +shut up the window and my poetising, and retire quietly into the darkness +inside, like a caged bird. + + + + +SHAZADPUR. + +_June_ 1891. + + +From the bank to which the boat is tied a kind of scent rises out of the +grass, and the heat of the ground, given off in gasps, actually touches my +body. I feel that the warm, living Earth is breathing upon me, and that +she, also, must feel my breath. + +The young shoots of rice are waving in the breeze, and the ducks are in +turn thrusting their heads beneath the water and preening their feathers. +There is no sound save the faint, mournful creaking of the gangway against +the boat, as she imperceptibly swings to and fro in the current. + +Not far off there is a ferry. A motley crowd has assembled under the +banyan tree awaiting the boat's return; and as soon as it arrives, they +eagerly scramble in. I enjoy watching this for hours together. It is +market-day in the village on the other bank; that is why the ferry is so +busy. Some carry bundles of hay, some baskets, some sacks; some are going +to the market, others coming from it. Thus, in this silent noonday, the +stream of human activity slowly flows across the river between two +villages. + +I sat wondering: Why is there always this deep shade of melancholy over +the fields arid river banks, the sky and the sunshine of our country? And +I came to the conclusion that it is because with us Nature is obviously +the more important thing. The sky is free, the fields limitless; and the +sun merges them into one blazing whole. In the midst of this, man seems so +trivial. He comes and goes, like the ferry-boat, from this shore to the +other; the babbling hum of his talk, the fitful echo of his song, is +heard; the slight movement of his pursuit of his own petty desires is seen +in the world's market-places: but how feeble, how temporary, how +tragically meaningless it all seems amidst the immense aloofness of the +Universe! + +The contrast between the beautiful, broad, unalloyed peace of +Nature--calm, passive, silent, unfathomable,--and our own everyday +worries--paltry, sorrow-laden, strife-tormented, puts me beside myself as +I keep staring at the hazy, distant, blue line of trees which fringe the +fields across the river. + +Where Nature is ever hidden, and cowers under mist and cloud, snow and +darkness, there man feels himself master; he regards his desires, his +works, as permanent; he wants to perpetuate them, he looks towards +posterity, he raises monuments, he writes biographies; he even goes the +length of erecting tombstones over the dead. So busy is he that he has not +time to consider how many monuments crumble, how often names are +forgotten! + + + + +SHAZADPUR. + +_June_ 1891. + + +There was a great, big mast lying on the river bank, and some little +village urchins, with never a scrap of clothing, decided, after a long +consultation, that if it could be rolled along to the accompaniment of a +sufficient amount of vociferous clamour, it would be a new and altogether +satisfactory kind of game. The decision was no sooner come to than acted +upon, with a "_Shabash_, brothers! All together! Heave ho!" And at +every turn it rolled, there was uproarious laughter. + +The demeanour of one girl in the party was very different. She was playing +with the boys for want of other companions, but she clearly viewed with +disfavour these loud and strenuous games. At last she stepped up to the +mast and, without a word, deliberately sat on it. + +So rare a game to come to so abrupt a stop! Some of the players seemed to +resign themselves to giving it up as a bad job; and retiring a little way +off, they sulkily glared at the girl in her impassive gravity. One made as +if he would push her off, but even this did not disturb the careless ease +of her pose. The eldest lad came up to her and pointed to other equally +suitable places for taking a rest; at which she energetically shook her +head, and putting her hands in her lap, steadied herself down still more +firmly on her seat. Then at last they had recourse to physical argument +and were completely successful. + +Once again joyful shouts rent the skies, and the mast rolled along so +gloriously that even the girl had to cast aside her pride and her +dignified exclusiveness and make a pretence of joining in the unmeaning +excitement. But one could see all the time that she was sure boys never +know how to play properly, and are always so childish! If only she had the +regulation yellow earthen doll handy, with its big, black top-knot, would +she ever have deigned to join in this silly game with these foolish boys? + +All of a sudden the idea of another splendid pastime occurred to the boys. +Two of them got hold of a third by the arms and legs and began to swing +him. This must have been great fun, for they all waxed enthusiastic over +it. But it was more than the girl could stand, so she disdainfully left +the playground and marched off home. + +Then there was an accident. The boy who was being swung was let fall. He +left his companions in a pet, and went and lay down on the grass with his +arms crossed under his head, desiring to convey thereby that never again +would he have anything to do with this bad, hard world, but would forever +lie, alone by himself, with his arms under his head, and count the stars +and watch the play of the clouds. + +The eldest boy, unable to bear the idea of such untimely +world-renunciation, ran up to the disconsolate one and taking his head on +his own knees repentantly coaxed him. "Come, my little brother! Do get up, +little brother! Have we hurt you, little brother?" And before long I found +them playing, like two pups, at catching and snatching away each other's +hands! Two minutes had hardly passed before the little fellow was swinging +again. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_June_ 1891. + + +I had a most extraordinary dream last night. The whole of Calcutta seemed +enveloped in some awful mystery, the houses being only dimly visible +through a dense, dark mist, within the veil of which there were strange +doings. + +I was going along Park Street in a hackney carriage, and as I passed St. +Xavier's College I found it had started growing rapidly and was fast +getting impossibly high within its enveloping haze. Then it was borne in +on me that a band of magicians had come to Calcutta who, if they were paid +for it, could bring about many such wonders. + +When I arrived at our Jorasanko house, I found these magicians had turned +up there too. They were ugly-looking, of a Mongolian type, with scanty +moustaches and a few long hairs sticking out of their chins. They could +make men grow. Some of the girls wanted to be made taller, and the +magician sprinkled some powder over their heads and they promptly shot up. +To every one I met I kept repeating: "This is most extraordinary,--just +like a dream!" + +Then some one proposed that our house should be made to grow. The +magicians agreed, and as a preliminary began to take down some portions. +The dismantling over, they demanded money, or else they would not go on. +The cashier strongly objected. How could payment be made before the work +was completed? At this the magicians got wild and twisted up the building +most fearsomely, so that men and brickwork got mixed together, bodies +inside walls and only head and shoulders showing. + +It had altogether the look of a thoroughly devilish business, as I told my +eldest brother. "You see," said I, "the kind of thing it is. We had better +call upon God to help us!" But try as I might to anathematise them in the +name of God, my heart felt like breaking and no words would come. Then I +awoke. + +A curious dream, was it not? Calcutta in the hands of Satan and growing +diabolically, within the darkness of an unholy mist! + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_June_ 1891. + + +The schoolmasters of this place paid me a visit yesterday. + +They stayed on and on, while for the life of me I could not find a word to +say. I managed a question or so every five minutes, to which they offered +the briefest replies; and then I sat vacantly, twirling my pen, and +scratching my head. + +At last I ventured on a question about the crops, but being schoolmasters +they knew nothing whatever about crops. + +About their pupils I had already asked them everything I could think of, +so I had to start over again: How many boys had they in the school? One +said eighty, another said a hundred and seventy-five. I hoped that this +might lead to an argument, but no, they made up their difference. + +Why, after an hour and a half, they should have thought of taking leave, I +cannot tell. They might have done so with as good a reason an hour +earlier, or, for the matter of that, twelve hours later! Their decision +was clearly arrived at empirically, entirely without method. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_July_ 1891. + + +There is another boat at this landing-place, and on the shore in front of +it a crowd of village women. Some are evidently embarking on a journey and +the others seeing them off; infants, veils, and grey hairs are all mixed +up in the gathering. + +One girl in particular attracts my attention. She must be about eleven or +twelve; but, buxom and sturdy, she might pass for fourteen or fifteen. She +has a winsome face--very dark, but very pretty. Her hair is cut short like +a boy's, which well becomes her simple, frank, and alert expression. She +has a child in her arms and is staring at me with unabashed curiosity, and +certainly no lack of straightforwardness or intelligence in her glance. +Her half-boyish, half-girlish manner is singularly attractive--a novel +blend of masculine nonchalance and feminine charm. I had no idea there +were such types among our village women in Bengal. + +None of this family, apparently, is troubled with too much bashfulness. +One of them has unfastened her hair in the sun and is combing it out with +her fingers, while conversing about their domestic affairs at the top of +her voice with another, on board. I gather she has no other children +except a girl, a foolish creature who knows neither how to behave or talk, +nor even the difference between kin and stranger. I also learn that +Gopal's son-in-law has turned out a ne'er-do-well, and that his daughter +refuses to go to her husband. + +When, at length, it was time to start, they escorted my short-haired +damsel, with plump shapely arms, her gold bangles and her guileless, +radiant face, into the boat. I could divine that she was returning from +her father's to her husband's home. They all stood there, following the +boat with their gaze as it cast off, one or two wiping their eyes with the +loose end of their _saris_. A little girl, with her hair tightly tied +into a knot, clung to the neck of an older woman and silently wept on her +shoulder. Perhaps she was losing a darling Didimani [1] who joined in her +doll games and also slapped her when she was naughty.... + +[Footnote 1: An elder sister is often called sister-jewel +(_Didimani_).] + +The quiet floating away of a boat on the stream seems to add to the pathos +of a separation--it is so like death--the departing one lost to sight, +those left behind returning to their daily life, wiping their eyes. True, +the pang lasts but a while, and is perhaps already wearing off both in +those who have gone and those who remain,--pain being temporary, oblivion +permanent. But none the less it is not the forgetting, but the pain which +is true; and every now and then, in separation or in death, we realise how +terribly true. + + + + +ON BOARD A CANAL STEAMER GOING TO CUTTACK, + +_August_ 1891. + + +My bag left behind, my clothes daily get more and more intolerably +disreputable,--this thought continually uppermost is not compatible with a +due sense of self-respect. With the bag I could have faced the world of +men head erect and spirits high; without it, I fain would skulk in +corners, away from the glances of the crowd. I go to bed in these clothes +and in them I appear in the morning, and on the top of that the steamer is +full of soot, and the unbearable heat of the day keeps one unpleasantly +moist. + +Apart from this, I am having quite a time of it on board the steamer. My +fellow-passengers are of inexhaustible variety. There is one, Aghore Babu, +who cannot allude to anything, animate or inanimate, except in terms of +personal abuse. There is another, a lover of music, who persists in +attempting variations on the Bhairab[1] mode at dead of night, convincing +me of the untimeliness of his performance in more senses than one. + +[Footnote: A Raga, or mode of Indian classical music, supposed to be +appropriate to the early dawn.] + +The steamer has been aground in a narrow ditch of a canal ever since last +evening, and it is now past nine in the morning. I spent the night in a +corner of the crowded deck, more dead than alive. I had asked the steward +to fry some _luchis_ for my dinner, and he brought me some +nondescript slabs of fried dough with no vegetable accompaniments to eat +them with. On my expressing a pained surprise, he was all contrition and +offered to make me some hotch-potch at once. But the night being already +far advanced, I declined his offer, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of +the stuff dry, and then, all lights on and the deck packed with +passengers, laid myself down to sleep. + +Mosquitoes hovered above, cockroaches wandered around. There was a +fellow-sleeper stretched crosswise at my feet whose body my soles every +now and then came up against. Four or five noses were engaged in snoring. +Several mosquito-tormented, sleepless wretches were consoling themselves +by pulls at their hubble-bubble pipes; and above all, there rose those +variations on the mode _Bhairab_! Finally, at half-past three in the +morning, some fussy busy-bodies began loudly inciting each other to get +up. In despair, I also left my bed and dropped into my deck-chair to await +the dawn. Thus passed that variegated nightmare of a night. + +One of the hands tells me that the steamer has stuck so fast that it may +take the whole day to get her off. I inquire of another whether any +Calcutta-bound steamer will be passing, and get the smiling reply that +this is the only boat on this line, and I may come back in her, if I like, +after she has reached Cuttack! By a stroke of luck, after a great deal of +tugging and hauling, they have just got her afloat at about ten o'clock. + + + + +TIRAN. + +7_th September_ 1891. + + +The landing-place at Balia makes a pretty picture with its fine big trees +on either side, and on the whole the canal somehow reminds me of the +little river at Poona. On thinking it over I am sure I should have liked +the canal much better had it really been a river. + +Cocoanut palms as well as mangoes and other shady trees line its banks, +which, turfed with beautifully green grass, slope gently down to the +water, and are sprinkled over with sensitive plants in flower. Here and +there are screwpine groves, and through gaps in the border of trees +glimpses can be caught of endless fields, stretching away into the +distance, their crops so soft and velvety after the rains that the eye +seems to sink into their depths. Then again, there are the little villages +under their clusters of cocoanut and date palms, nestling under the moist +cool shade of the low seasonal clouds. + +Through all these the canal, with its gentle current, winds gracefully +between its clean, grassy banks, fringed, in its narrower stretches, with +clusters of water-lilies with reeds growing among them. And yet the mind +keeps fretting at the idea that after all it is nothing but an artificial +canal. + +The murmur of its waters does not reach back to the beginning of time. It +knows naught of the mysteries of some distant, inaccessible mountain cave. +It has not flowed for ages, graced with an old-world feminine name, giving +the villages on its sides the milk of its breast. Even old artificial +lakes have acquired a greater dignity. + +However when, a hundred years hence, the trees on its banks will have +grown statelier; its brand-new milestones been worn down and moss-covered +into mellowness; the date 1871, inscribed on its lock-gates, left behind +at a respectable distance; then, if I am reborn as my great-grandson and +come again to inspect the Cuttack estates along this canal, I may feel +differently towards it. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_October_ 1891. + + +Boat after boat touches at the landing-place, and after a whole year +exiles are returning home from distant fields of work for the Poojah +vacation, their boxes, baskets, and bundles loaded with presents. I notice +one who, as his boat nears the shore, changes into a freshly folded and +crinkled muslin _dhoti_, dons over his cotton tunic a China silk +coat, carefully adjusts round his neck a neatly twisted scarf, and walks +off towards the village, umbrella held aloft. + +Rustling waves pass over the rice-fields. Mango and cocoanut tree-tops +rise into the sky, and beyond them there are fluffy clouds on the horizon. +The fringes of the palm leaves wave in the breeze. The reeds on the +sand-bank are on the point of flowering. It is altogether an exhilarating +scene. + +The feelings of the man who has just arrived home, the eager expectancy of +his folk awaiting him, this autumn sky, this world, the gentle morning +breeze, the universal responsive tremor in tree and shrub and in the +wavelets on the river, conspire to overwhelm this lonely youth, gazing +from his window, with unutterable joys and sorrows. + +Glimpses of the world received from wayside windows bring new desires, or +rather, make old desires take on new forms. The day before yesterday, as I +was sitting at the window of the boat, a little fisher-dinghy floated +past, the boatman singing a song--not a very tuneful song. But it reminded +me of a night, years ago, when I was a child. We were going along the +Padma in a boat. I awoke one night at about 2 o'clock, and, on raising the +window and putting out my head, I saw the waters without a ripple, +gleaming in the moonlight, and a youth in a little dinghy paddling along +all by himself and singing, oh so sweetly,--such sweet melody I had never +heard before. + +A sudden longing came upon me to go back to the day of that song; to be +allowed to make another essay at life, this time not to leave it thus +empty and unsatisfied; but with a poet's song on my lips to float about +the world on the crest of the rising tide, to sing it to men and subdue +their hearts; to see for myself what the world holds and where; to let men +know me, to get to know them; to burst forth through the world in life and +youth like the eager rushing breezes; and then return home to a fulfilled +and fruitful old age to spend it as a poet should. + +Not a very lofty ideal, is it? To benefit the world would have been much +higher, no doubt; but being on the whole what I am, that ambition does not +even occur to me. I cannot make up my mind to sacrifice this precious gift +of life in a self-wrought famine, and disappoint the world and the hearts +of men by fasts and meditations and constant argument. I count it enough +to live and die as a man, loving and trusting the world, unable to look on +it either as a delusion of the Creator or a snare of the Devil. It is not +for me to strive to be wafted away into the airiness of an Angel. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +2_nd Kartik_ (_October_) 1891. + + +When I come to the country I cease to view man as separate from the rest. +As the river runs through many a clime, so does the stream of men babble +on, winding through woods and villages and towns. It is not a true +contrast that _men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever_. +Humanity, with all its confluent streams, big and small, flows on and on, +just as does the river, from its source in birth to its sea of death;--two +dark mysteries at either end, and between them various play and work and +chatter unceasing. + +Over there the cultivators sing in the fields: here the fishing-boats +float by. The day wears on and the heat of the sun increases. Some bathers +are still in the river, others are finished and are taking home their +filled water-vessels. Thus, past both banks of the river, hundreds of +years have hummed their way, while the refrain rises in a mournful chorus: +_I go on for ever!_ + +Amid the noonday silence some youthful cowherd is heard calling at the top +of his voice for his companion; some boat splashes its way homewards; the +ripples lap against the empty jar which some village woman rests on the +water before dipping it; and with these mingle several other less definite +sounds,--the twittering of birds, the humming of bees, the plaintive +creaking of the house-boat as it gently swings to and fro,--the whole +making a tender lullaby, as of a mother trying to quiet a suffering child. +"Fret not," she sings, as she soothingly pats its fevered forehead. "Worry +not; weep no more. Let be your strugglings and grabbings and fightings; +forget a while, sleep a while." + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +3_rd Kartik_ (_October_) 1891. + + +It was the _Kojagar_ full moon, and I was slowly pacing the riverside +conversing with myself. It could hardly be called a conversation, as I was +doing all the talking and my imaginary companion all the listening. The +poor fellow had no chance of speaking up for himself, for was not mine the +power to compel him helplessly to answer like a fool? + +But what a night it was! How often have I tried to write of such, but +never got it done! There was not a line of ripple on the river; and from +away over there, where the farthest shore of the distant main stream is +seen beyond the other edge of the midway belt of sand, right up to this +shore, glimmers a broad band of moonlight. Not a human being, not a boat +in sight; not a tree, nor blade of grass on the fresh-formed island +sand-bank. + +It seemed as though a desolate moon was rising upon a devastated earth; a +random river wandering through a lifeless solitude; a long-drawn +fairy-tale coming to a close over a deserted world,--all the kings and the +princesses, their ministers and friends and their golden castles vanished, +leaving the Seven Seas and Thirteen Rivers and the Unending Moor, over +which the adventurous princes fared forth, wanly gleaming in the pale +moonlight. I was pacing up and down like the last pulse-beats of this +dying world. Every one else seemed to be on the opposite shore--the shore +of life--where the British Government and the Nineteenth Century hold +sway, and tea and cigarettes. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +9_th January_ 1892. + + +For some days the weather here has been wavering between Winter and +Spring. In the morning, perhaps, shivers will run over both land and water +at the touch of the north wind; while the evening will thrill with the +south breeze coming through the moonlight. + +There is no doubt that Spring is well on its way. After a long interval +the _papiya_ once more calls out from the groves on the opposite +bank. The hearts of men too are stirred; and after evening falls, sounds +of singing are heard in the village, showing that they are no longer in +such a hurry to close doors and windows and cover themselves up snugly for +the night. + +To-night the moon is at its full, and its large, round face peers at me +through the open window on my left, as if trying to make out whether I +have anything to say against it in my letter,--it suspects, maybe, that we +mortals concern ourselves more with its stains than its beams. + +A bird is plaintively crying tee-tee on the sand-bank. The river seems not +to move. There are no boats. The motionless groves on the bank cast an +unquivering shadow on the waters. The haze over the sky makes the moon +look like a sleepy eye kept open. + +Henceforward the evenings will grow darker and darker; and when, +to-morrow, I come over from the office, this moon, the favourite companion +of my exile, will already have drifted a little farther from me, doubting +whether she had been wise to lay her heart so completely bare last +evening, and so covering it up again little by little. + +Nature becomes really and truly intimate in strange and lonely places. I +have been actually worrying myself for days at the thought that after the +moon is past her full I shall daily miss the moonlight more and more; +feeling further and further exiled when the beauty and peace which awaits +my return to the riverside will no longer be there, and I shall have to +come back through darkness. + +Anyhow I put it on record that to-day is the full moon--the first full +moon of this year's springtime. In years to come I may perchance be +reminded of this night, with the tee-tee of the bird on the bank, the +glimmer of the distant light on the boat off the other shore, the shining +expanse of river, the blur of shade thrown by the dark fringe of trees +along its edge, and the white sky gleaming overhead in unconcerned +aloofness. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +7_th April_ 1892. + + +The river is getting low, and the water in this arm of it is hardly more +than waist-deep anywhere. So it is not at all extraordinary that the boat +should be anchored in mid-stream. On the bank, to my right, the ryots are +ploughing and cows are now and then brought down to the water's edge for a +drink. To the left there are the mango and cocoanut trees of the old +Shelidah garden above, and on the bathing slope below there are village +women washing clothes, filling water jars, bathing, laughing and gossiping +in their provincial dialect. + +The younger girls never seem to get through their sporting in the water; +it is a delight to hear their careless, merry laughter. The men gravely +take their regulation number of dips and go away, but girls are on much +more intimate terms with the water. Both alike babble and chatter and +ripple and sparkle in the same simple and natural manner; both may +languish and fade away under a scorching glare, yet both can take a blow +without hopelessly breaking under it. The hard world, which, but for them, +would be barren, cannot fathom the mystery of the soft embrace of their +arms. + +Tennyson has it that woman to man is as water to wine. I feel to-day it +should be as water is to land. Woman is more at home with the water, +laving in it, playing with it, holding her gatherings beside it; and +while, for her, other burdens are not seemly, the carrying of water from +the spring, the well, the bank of river or pool, has ever been held to +become her. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +2_nd May_ 1892. + + +There are many paradoxes in the world and one of them is this, that +wherever the landscape is immense, the sky unlimited, clouds intimately +dense, feelings unfathomable--that is to say where infinitude is +manifest--its fit companion is one solitary person; a multitude there +seems so petty, so distracting. + +An individual and the infinite are on equal terms, worthy to gaze on one +another, each from his own throne. But where many men are, how small both +humanity and infinitude become, how much they have to knock off each +other, in order to fit in together! Each soul wants so much room to expand +that in a crowd it needs must wait for gaps through which to thrust a +little craning piece of a head from time to time. + +So the only result of our endeavour to assemble is that we become unable +to fill our joined hands, our outstretched arms, with this endless, +fathomless expanse. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +8_th Jaistha_ (_May_) 1892. + + +Women who try to be witty, but only succeed in being pert, are +insufferable; and as for attempts to be comic they are disgraceful in +women whether they succeed or fail. The comic is ungainly and exaggerated, +and so is in some sort related to the sublime. The elephant is comic, the +camel and the giraffe are comic, all overgrowth is comic. + +It is rather keenness that is akin to beauty, as the thorn to the flower. +So sarcasm is not unbecoming in woman, though coming from her it hurts. +But ridicule which savours of bulkiness woman had better leave to our +sublime sex. The masculine Falstaff makes our sides split, but a feminine +Falstaff would only rack our nerves. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +12_th Jaistha_ (_May_) 1892. + + +I usually pace the roof-terrace, alone, of an evening. Yesterday afternoon +I felt it my duty to show my visitors the beauties of the local scenery, +so I strolled out with them, taking Aghore as a guide. + +On the verge of the horizon, where the distant fringe of trees was blue, a +thin line of dark blue cloud had risen over them and was looking +particularly beautiful. I tried to be poetical and said it was like blue +collyrium on the fringe of lashes enhancing a beautiful blue eye. Of my +companions one did not hear the remark, another did not understand, while +the third dismissed it with the reply: "Yes, very pretty." I did not feel +encouraged to attempt a second poetical flight. + +After walking about a mile we came to a dam, and along the pool of water +there was a row of _tal_ (fan palm) trees, under which was a natural +spring. While we stood there looking at this, we found that the line of +cloud which we had seen in the North was making for us, swollen and grown +darker, flashes of lightning gleaming the while. + +We unanimously came to the conclusion that viewing the beauties of nature +could be better done from within the shelter of the house, but no sooner +had we turned homewards than a storm, making giant strides over the open +moorland, was on us with an angry roar. I had no idea, while I was +admiring the collyrium on the eyelashes of beauteous dame Nature, that she +would fly at us like an irate housewife, threatening so tremendous a slap! + +It became so dark with the dust that we could not see beyond a few paces. +The fury of the storm increased, and flying stony particles of the rubbly +soil stung our bodies like shot, as the wind took us by the scruff of the +neck and thrust us along, to the whipping of drops of rain which had begun +to fall. + +Run! Run! But the ground was not level, being deeply scarred with +watercourses, and not easy to cross at any time, much less in a storm. I +managed to get entangled in a thorny shrub, and was nearly thrown on my +face by the force of the wind as I stopped to free myself. + +When we had almost reached the house, a host of servants came hurrying +towards us, shouting and gesticulating, and fell upon us like another +storm. Some took us by the arms, some bewailed our plight, some were eager +to show the way, others hung on our backs as if fearing that the storm +might carry us off altogether. We evaded their attentions with some +difficulty and managed at length to get into the house, panting, with wet +clothes, dusty bodies, and tumbled hair. + +One thing I had learnt; and will never again write in novel or story the +lie that the hero with the picture of his lady-love in his mind can pass +unruffled through wind and rain. No one could keep any face in mind, +however lovely, in such a storm,--he has enough to do to keep the sand out +of his eyes!... + +The Vaishnava-poets have sung ravishingly of Radha going to her tryst with +Krishna through a stormy night. Did they ever pause to consider, I wonder, +in what condition she must have reached him? The kind of tangle her hair +got into is easily imaginable, and also the state of the rest of her +toilet. When she arrived in her bower with the dust on her body soaked by +the rain into a coating of mud, she must have been a sight! + +But when we read the Vaishnava poems, these thoughts do not occur. We only +see on the canvas of our mind the picture of a beautiful woman, passing +under the shelter of the flowering kadambas in the darkness of a stormy +_Shravan_[1] night, towards the bank of the Jumna, forgetful of wind +or rain, as in a dream, drawn by her surpassing love. She has tied up her +anklets lest they should tinkle; she is clad in dark blue raiment lest she +be discovered; but she holds no umbrella lest she get wet, carries no +lantern lest she fall! + +[Footnote 1: July-August, the rainy season.] + +Alas for useful things--how necessary in practical life, how neglected in +poetry! But poetry strives in vain to free us from their bondage--they +will be with us always; so much so, we are told, that with the march of +civilisation it is poetry that will become extinct, but patent after +patent will continue to be taken out for the improvement of shoes and +umbrellas. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +16_th Jaistha (May)_ 1892. + + +No church tower clock chimes here, and there being no other human +habitation near by, complete silence falls with the evening, as soon as +the birds have ceased their song. There is not much difference between +early night and midnight. A sleepless night in Calcutta flows like a huge, +slow river of darkness; one can count the varied sounds of its passing, +lying on one's back in bed. But here the night is like a vast, still lake, +placidly reposing, with no sign of movement. And as I tossed from side to +side last night I felt enveloped within a dense stagnation. + +This morning I left my bed a little later than usual and, coming +downstairs to my room, leant back on a bolster, one leg resting over the +other knee. There, with a slate on my chest, I began to write a poem to +the accompaniment of the morning breeze and the singing birds. I was +getting along splendidly--a smile playing over my lips, my eyes half +closed, my head swaying to the rhythm, the thing I hummed gradually taking +shape--when the post arrived. + +There was a letter, the last number of the _Sadhana Magazine_, one of +the _Monist_, and some proof-sheets. I read the letter, raced my eyes +over the uncut pages of the _Sadhana_, and then again fell to nodding +and humming through my poem. I did not do another thing till I had +finished it. + +I wonder why the writing of pages of prose does not give one anything like +the joy of completing a single poem. One's emotions take on such +perfection of form in a poem; they can, as it were, be taken up by the +fingers. But prose is like a sackful of loose material, heavy and +unwieldy, incapable of being lifted as you please. + +If I could finish writing one poem a day, my life would pass in a kind of +joy; but though I have been busy tending poetry for many a year it has not +been tamed yet, and is not the kind of winged steed to allow me to bridle +it whenever I like! The joy of art is in freedom to take a distant flight +as fancy will; then, even after return within the prison-world, an echo +lingers in the ear, an exaltation in the mind. + +Short poems keep coming to me unsought, and so prevent my getting on with +the play. Had it not been for these, I could have let in ideas for two or +three plays which have been knocking at the door. I am afraid I must wait +for the cold weather. All my plays except "Chitra" were written in the +winter. In that season lyrical fervour is apt to grow cold, and one gets +the leisure to write drama. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_31st May 1892._ + + +It is not yet five o'clock, but the light has dawned, there is a +delightful breeze, and all the birds in the garden are awake and have +started singing. The _koel_ seems beside itself. It is difficult to +understand why it should keep on cooing so untiringly. Certainly not to +entertain us, nor to distract the pining lover[1]--it must have some +personal purpose of its own. But, sadly enough, that purpose never seems +to get fulfilled. Yet it is not down-hearted, and its Coo-oo! Coo-oo! +keeps going, with now and then an ultra-fervent trill. What can it mean? + +[Footnote 1: A favourite conceit of the old Sanskrit poets.] + +And then in the distance there is some other bird with only a faint +chuck-chuck that has no energy or enthusiasm, as if all hope were lost; +none the less, from within some shady nook it cannot resist uttering this +little plaint: chuck, chuck, chuck. + +How little we really know of the household affairs of these innocent +winged creatures, with their soft, breasts and necks and their +many-coloured feathers! Why on earth do they find it necessary to sing so +persistently? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_31st Jaistha (June)1892._ + + +I hate these polite formalities. Nowadays I keep repeating the line: "Much +rather would I be an Arab Bedouin!" A fine, healthy, strong, and free +barbarity. + +I feel I want to quit this constant ageing of mind and body, with +incessant argument and nicety concerning ancient decaying things, and to +feel the joy of a free and vigorous life; to have,--be they good or +bad,--broad, unhesitating, unfettered ideas and aspirations, free from +everlasting friction between custom and sense, sense and desire, desire +and action. + +If only I could set utterly and boundlessly free this hampered life of +mine, I would storm the four quarters and raise wave upon wave of tumult +all round; I would career away madly, like a wild horse, for very joy of +my own speed! But I am a Bengali, not a Bedouin! I go on sitting in my +corner, and mope and worry and argue. I turn my mind now this way up, now +the other--as a fish is fried--and the boiling oil blisters first this +side, then that. + +Let it pass. Since I cannot be thoroughly wild, it is but proper that I +should make an endeavour to be thoroughly civil. Why foment a quarrel +between the two? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th June 1892._ + + +The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer +it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the +ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally. From the grasses +in the field to the stars in the sky, each one is doing just that; and +there is such profound peace and surpassing beauty in nature because none +of these tries forcibly to transgress its limitations. + +Yet what each one does is by no means of little moment. The grass has to +put forth all its energy to draw sustenance from the uttermost tips of its +rootlets simply to grow where it is as grass; it does not vainly strive to +become a banyan tree; and so the earth gains a lovely carpet of green. +And, indeed, what little of beauty and peace is to be found in the +societies of men is owing to the daily performance of small duties, not to +big doings and fine talk. + +Perhaps because the whole of our life is not vividly present at each +moment, some imaginary hope may lure, some glowing picture of a future, +untrammelled with everyday burdens, may tempt us; but these are illusory. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_2nd Asarh (June) 1892._ + + +Yesterday, the first day of _Asarh_,[1] the enthronement of the rainy +season was celebrated with due pomp and circumstance. It was very hot the +whole day, but in the afternoon dense clouds rolled up in stupendous +masses. + +[Footnote 1: June-July, the commencement of the rainy season.] + +I thought to myself, this first day of the rains, I would rather risk +getting wet than remain confined in my dungeon of a cabin. + +The year 1293 [1] will not come again in my life, and, +for the matter of that, how many more even of these first days +of _Asarh_ will come? My life would be sufficiently long could it +number thirty of these first days of _Asarh_ to which the poet of the +_Meghaduta_[2] has, for me at least, given special distinction. + +[Footnote 1: Of the Bengal era.] + +[Footnote 2: In the _Meghaduta_ (Cloud Messenger) of Kalidas a famous +description of the burst of the Monsoon begins with the words: _On the +first day of Asarh_.] + +It sometimes strikes me how immensely fortunate I am that each day should +take its place in my life, either reddened with the rising and setting +sun, or refreshingly cool with deep, dark clouds, or blooming like a white +flower in the moonlight. What untold wealth! + +A thousand years ago Kalidas welcomed that first day of _Asarh_; and +once in every year of my life that same day of _Asarh_ dawns in all +its glory--that self-same day of the poet of old Ujjain, which has brought +to countless men and women their joys of union, their pangs of separation. + +Every year one such great, time-hallowed day drops out of my life; and the +time will come when this day of Kalidas, this day of the _Meghaduta_, +this eternal first day of the Rains in Hindustan, shall come no more for +me. When I realise this I feel I want to take a good look at nature, to +offer a conscious welcome to each day's sunrise, to say farewell to each +day's setting sun, as to an intimate friend. + +What a grand festival, what a vast theatre of festivity! And we cannot +even fully respond to it, so far away do we live from the world! The light +of the stars travels millions of miles to reach the earth, but it cannot +reach our hearts--so many millions of miles further off are we! + +The world into which I have tumbled is peopled with strange beings. They +are always busy erecting walls and rules round themselves, and how careful +they are with their curtains lest they should see! It is a wonder to me +they have not made drab covers for flowering plants and put up a canopy to +ward off the moon. If the next life is determined by the desires of this, +then I should be reborn from our enshrouded planet into some free and open +realm of joy. + +Only those who cannot steep themselves in beauty to the full, despise it +as an object of the senses. But those who have tasted of its +inexpressibility know how far it is beyond the highest powers of mere eye +or ear--nay, even the heart is powerless to attain the end of its +yearning. + +_P.S._--I have left out the very thing I started to tell of. Don't be +afraid, it won't take four more sheets. It is this, that on the evening of +the first day of _Asarh_ it came on to rain very heavily, in great +lance-like showers. That is all. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO GOALUNDA, + +_21st June 1892._ + + +Pictures in an endless variety, of sand-banks, fields and their crops, and +villages, glide into view on either hand--of clouds floating in the sky, +of colours blossoming when day meets night. Boats steal by, fishermen +catch fish; the waters make liquid, caressing sounds throughout the +livelong day; their broad expanse calms down in the evening stillness, +like a child lulled to sleep, over whom all the stars in the boundless sky +keep watch--then, as I sit up on wakeful nights, with sleeping banks on +either side, the silence is broken only by an occasional cry of a jackal +in the woods near some village, or by fragments undermined by the keen +current of the Padma, that tumble from the high cliff-like bank into the +water. + +Not that the prospect is always of particular interest--a yellowish +sandbank, innocent of grass or tree, stretches away; an empty boat is tied +to its edge; the bluish water, of the same shade as the hazy sky, flows +past; yet I cannot tell how it moves me. I suspect that the old desires +and longings of my servant-ridden childhood--when in the solitary +imprisonment of my room I pored over the _Arabian Nights_, and shared +with Sinbad the Sailor his adventures in many a strange land--are not yet +dead within me, but are roused at the sight of any empty boat tied to a +sand-bank. + +If I had not heard fairy tales and read the _Arabian Nights_ and +_Robinson Crusoe_ in childhood, I am sure views of distant banks, or +the farther side of wide fields, would not have stirred me so--the whole +world, in fact, would have had for me a different appeal. + +What a maze of fancy and fact becomes tangled up within the mind of man! +The different strands--petty and great--of story and event and picture, +how they get knotted together! + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_22nd June 1892._ + + +Early this morning, while still lying in bed, I heard the women at the +bathing-place sending forth joyous peals of _Ulu! Ulu!_[1] The sound +moved me curiously, though it is difficult to say why. + +[Footnote 1: A peculiar shrill cheer given by women on auspicious or +festive occasions.] + +Perhaps such joyful outbursts put one in mind of the great stream of +festive activity which goes on in this world, with most of which the +individual man has no connection. The world is so immense, the concourse +of men so vast, yet with how few has one any tie! Distant sounds of life, +wafted near, bearing tidings from unknown homes, make the individual +realise that the greater part of the world of men does not, cannot own or +know him; then he feels deserted, loosely attached to the world, and a +vague sadness creeps over him. + +Thus these cries of _Ulu! Ulu!_ made my life, past and future, seem +like a long, long road, from the very ends of which they come to me. And +this feeling colours for me the beginning of my day. + +As soon as the manager with his staff, and the ryots seeking audience, +come upon the scene, this faint vista of past and future will be promptly +elbowed out, and a very robust present will salute and stand before me. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_25th June 1892._ + + +In to-day's letters there was a touch about A---'s singing which made my +heart yearn with a nameless longing. Each of the little joys of life, +which remain unappreciated amid the hubbub of the town, send in their +claims to the heart when far from home. I love music, and there is no +dearth of voices and instruments in Calcutta, yet I turn a deaf ear to +them. But, though I may fail to realise it at the time, this needs must +leave the heart athirst. + +As I read to-day's letters, I felt such a poignant desire to hear A---'s +sweet song, I was at once sure that one of the many suppressed longings of +creation which cry after fulfilment is for neglected joys within reach; +while we are busy pursuing chimerical impossibilities we famish our +lives.... + +The emptiness left by easy joys, untasted, is ever growing in my life. And +the day may come when I shall feel that, could I but have the past back, I +would strive no more after the unattainable, but drain to the full these +little, unsought, everyday joys which life offers. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_27th June 1892._ + + +Yesterday, in the afternoon, it clouded over so threateningly, I felt a +sense of dread. I do not remember ever to have seen before such +angry-looking clouds. + +Swollen masses of the deepest indigo blue were piled, one on top of the +other, just above the horizon, looking like the puffed-out moustaches of +some raging demon. + +Under the jagged lower edges of the clouds there shone forth a blood-red +glare, as through the eyes of a monstrous, sky-filling bison, with tossing +mane and with head lowered to strike the earth in fury. + +The crops in the fields and the leaves of the trees trembled with fear of +the impending disaster; shudder after shudder ran across the waters; the +crows flew wildly about, distractedly cawing. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_29th June 1892._ + + +I wrote yesterday that I had an engagement with Kalidas, the poet, for +this evening. As I lit a candle, drew my chair up to the table, and made +ready, not Kalidas, but the postmaster, walked in. A live postmaster +cannot but claim precedence over a dead poet, so I could not very well +tell him to make way for Kalidas, who was due by appointment,--he would +not have understood me! Therefore I offered him a chair and gave old +Kalidas the go-by. + +There is a kind of bond between this postmaster and me. When the post +office was in a part of this estate building, I used to meet him every +day. I wrote my story of "The Postmaster" one afternoon in this very room. +And when the story was out in the _Hitabadi_ he came to me with a +succession of bashful smiles, as he deprecatingly touched on the subject. +Anyhow, I like the man. He has a fund of anecdote which I enjoy listening +to. He has also a sense of humour. + +Though it was late when the postmaster left, I started at once on the +_Raghuvansa_[1], and read all about the _swayamuara_[2] of +Indumati. + +[Footnote 1: Book of poems by Kalidas, who is perhaps best known to +European readers as the author of _Sakuntala_.] + +[Footnote 2: An old Indian custom, according to which a princess chooses +among assembled rival suitors for her hand by placing a garland round the +neck of the one whose love she returns.] + +The handsome, gaily adorned princes are seated on rows of thrones in the +assembly hall. Suddenly a blast of conch-shell and trumpet resounds, as +Indumati, in bridal robes, supported by Sunanda, is ushered in and stands +in the walk left between them. It was delightful to dwell on the picture. + +Then as Sunanda introduces to her each one of the suitors, Indumati bows +low in loveless salutation, and passes on. How beautiful is this humble +courtesy! They are all princes. They are all her seniors. For she is a +mere girl. Had she not atoned for the inevitable rudeness of her rejection +by the grace of her humility, the scene would have lost its beauty. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_20th August 1892._ + + +"If only I could live there!" is often thought when looking at a beautiful +landscape painting. That is the kind of longing which is satisfied here, +where one feels alive in a brilliantly coloured picture, with none of the +hardness of reality. When I was a child, illustrations of woodland and +sea, in _Paul and Virginia_, or _Robinson Crusoe_, would waft me +away from the everyday world; and the sunshine here brings back to my mind +the feeling with which I used to gaze on those pictures. + +I cannot account for this exactly, or explain definitely what kind of +longing it is which is roused within me. It seems like the throb of some +current flowing through the artery connecting me with the larger world. I +feel as if dim, distant memories come to me of the time when I was one +with the rest of the earth; when on me grew the green grass, and on me +fell the autumn light; when a warm scent of youth would rise from every +pore of my vast, soft, green body at the touch of the rays of the mellow +sun, and a fresh life, a sweet joy, would be half-consciously secreted and +inarticulately poured forth from all the immensity of my being, as it lay +dumbly stretched, with its varied countries and seas and mountains, under +the bright blue sky. + +My feelings seem to be those of our ancient earth in the daily ecstasy of +its sun-kissed life; my own consciousness seems to stream through each +blade of grass, each sucking root, to rise with the sap through the trees, +to break out with joyous thrills in the waving fields of corn, in the +rustling palm leaves. + +I feel impelled to give expression to my blood-tie with the earth, my +kinsman's love for her; but I am afraid I shall not be understood. + + + + +BOALIA, + +_18th November 1892._ + + +I am wondering where your train has got to by now. This is the time for +the sun to rise over the ups and downs of the treeless, rocky region near +Nawadih station. The scene around there must be brightened by the fresh +sunlight, through which distant, blue hills are beginning to be faintly +visible. + +Cultivated fields are scarcely to be seen, except where the primitive +tribesmen have done a little ploughing with their buffaloes; on each side +of the railway cutting there are the heaped-up black rocks--the +boulder-marked footprints of dried-up streams--and the fidgety, black +wagtails, perched along the telegraph wires. A wild, seamed, and scarred +nature lies there in the sun, as though tamed at the touch of some soft, +bright, cherubic hand. + +Do you know the picture which this calls up for me? In the _Sakuntala_ of +Kalidas there is a scene where Bharat, the infant son of King Dushyanta, +is playing with a lion cub. The child is lovingly passing his delicate, +rosy fingers through the rough mane of the great beast, which lies quietly +stretched in trustful repose, now and then casting affectionate glances +out of the corner of its eyes at its little human friend. + +And shall I tell you what those dry, boulder-strewn watercourses put me in +mind of? We read in the English fairy tale of the Babes in the Wood, how +the little brother and sister left a trace of their wanderings, through +the unknown forest into which their stepmother had turned them out, by +dropping pebbles as they went. These streamlets are like lost babes in the +great world into which they are sent adrift, and that is why they leave +stones, as they go forth, to mark their course, so as not to lose their +way when they may be returning. But for them there is no return journey! + + + + +NATORE, + +_2nd December_ 1892. + + +There is a depth of feeling and breadth of peace in a Bengal sunset behind +the trees which fringe the endless solitary fields, spreading away to the +horizon. + +Lovingly, yet sadly withal, does our evening sky bend over and meet the +earth in the distance. It casts a mournful light on the earth it leaves +behind--a light which gives us a taste of the divine grief of the Eternal +Separation[1] and eloquent is the silence which then broods over earth, +sky, and waters. + +[Footnote 1: _I.e._ between Purusha and Prakriti--God and Creation.] + +As I gaze on in rapt motionlessness, I fall to wondering--If ever this +silence should fail to contain itself, if the expression for which this +hour has been seeking from the beginning of time should break forth, would +a profoundly solemn, poignantly moving music rise from earth to starland? + +With a little steadfast concentration of effort we can, for ourselves, +translate the grand harmony of light and colour which permeates the +universe into music. We have only to close our eyes and receive with the +ear of the mind the vibration of this ever-flowing panorama. + +But how often shall I write of these sunsets and sunrises? I feel their +renewed freshness every time; yet how am I to attain such renewed +freshness in my attempts at expression? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_9th December_ 1892. + + +I am feeling weak and relaxed after my painful illness, and in this state +the ministrations of nature are sweet indeed. I feel as if, like the rest, +I too am lazily glittering out my delight at the rays of the sun, and my +letter-writing progresses but absent-mindedly. + +The world is ever new to me; like an old friend loved through this and +former lives, the acquaintance between us is both long and deep. + +I can well realise how, in ages past, when the earth in her first youth +came forth from her sea-bath and saluted the sun in prayer, I must have +been one of the trees sprung from her new-formed soil, spreading my +foliage in all the freshness of a primal impulse. + +The great sea was rocking and swaying and smothering, like a foolishly +fond mother, its first-born land with repeated caresses; while I was +drinking in the sunlight with the whole of my being, quivering under the +blue sky with the unreasoning rapture of the new-born, holding fast and +sucking away at my mother earth with all my roots. In blind joy my leaves +burst forth and my flowers bloomed; and when the dark clouds gathered, +their grateful shade would comfort me with a tender touch. + +From age to age, thereafter, have I been diversely reborn on this earth. +So whenever we now sit face to face, alone together, various ancient +memories, gradually, one after another, come back to me. + +My mother earth sits to-day in the cornfields by the river-side, in her +raiment of sunlit gold; and near her feet, her knees, her lap, I roll +about and play. Mother of a multitude of children, she attends but +absently to their constant calls on her, with an immense patience, but +also with a certain aloofness. She is seated there, with her far-away look +fastened on the verge of the afternoon sky, while I keep chattering on +untiringly. + + + + +BALJA, + +_Tuesday, February 1893_. + + +I do not want to wander about any more. I am pining for a corner in which +to nestle down snugly, away from the crowd. + +India has two aspects--in one she is a householder, in the other a +wandering ascetic. The former refuses to budge from the home corner, the +latter has no home at all. I find both these within me. I want to roam +about and see all the wide world, yet I also yearn for a little sheltered +nook; like a bird with its tiny nest for a dwelling, and the vast sky for +flight. + +I hanker after a corner because it serves to bring calmness to my mind. My +mind really wants to be busy, but in making the attempt it knocks so +repeatedly against the crowd as to become utterly frenzied and to keep +buffeting me, its cage, from within. If only it is allowed a little +leisurely solitude, and can look about and think to its heart's content, +it will express its feelings to its own satisfaction. + +This freedom of solitude is what my mind is fretting for; it would be +alone with its imaginings, as the Creator broods over His own creation. + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_February 1893_. + + +Till we can achieve something, let us live incognito, say I. So long as we +are only fit to be looked down upon, on what shall we base our claim to +respect? When we have acquired a foothold of our own in the world, when we +have had some share in shaping its course, then we can meet others +smilingly. Till then let us keep in the background, attending to our own +affairs. + +But our countrymen seem to hold the opposite opinion. They set no store by +our more modest, intimate wants which have to be met behind the +scenes,--the whole of their attention is directed to momentary +attitudinising and display. + +Ours is truly a God-forsaken country. Difficult, indeed, is it for us to +maintain the strength of will to _do_. We get no help in any real +sense. There is no one, within miles of us, in converse with whom we might +gain an accession of vitality. No one near seems to be thinking, or +feeling, or working. Not a soul has any experience of big striving, or of +really and truly living. They all eat and drink, do their office work, +smoke and sleep, and chatter nonsensically. When they touch upon emotion +they grow sentimental, when they reason they are childish. One yearns for +a full-blooded, sturdy, and capable personality; these are all so many +shadows, flitting about, out of touch with the world. + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_10th February_ 1893. + + +He was a fully developed John Bull of the outrageous type--with a huge +beak of a nose, cunning eyes, and a yard-long chin. The curtailment of our +right to be tried by jury is now under consideration by the Government. +The fellow dragged in the subject by the ears and insisted on arguing it +out with our host, poor B---- Babu. He said the moral standard of the +people of this country was low; that they had no real belief in the +sacredness of life; so that they were unfit to serve on juries. + +The utter contempt with which we are regarded by these people was brought +home to me when I saw how they can accept a Bengali's hospitality and talk +thus, seated at his table, without a quiver of compunction. + +As I sat in a corner of the drawing-room after dinner, everything round me +looked blurred to my eyes. I seemed to be seated by the head of my great, +insulted Motherland, who lay there in the dust before me, disconsolate, +shorn of her glory. I cannot tell what a profound distress overpowered my +heart. + +How incongruous seemed the _mem-sahibs_ there, in their +evening-dresses, the hum of English conversation, and the ripples of +laughter! How richly true for us is our India of the ages; how cheap and +false the hollow courtesies of an English dinner-party! + + + + +CUTTACK, + +_March_ 1893. + + +If we begin to attach too much importance to the applause of Englishmen, +we shall have to be rid of much in us that is good, and to accept from +them much that is bad. + +We shall grow ashamed of going about without socks, and cease to feel +shame at the sight of their ball dresses. We shall have no compunction in +throwing overboard our ancient manners, nor any in emulating their lack of +courtesy. + +We shall leave off wearing our _achgans_ because they are susceptible of +improvement, but think nothing of surrendering our heads to their hats, +though no headgear could well be uglier. + +In short, consciously or unconsciously, we shall have to cut our lives +down according as they clap their hands or not. + +Wherefore I apostrophise myself and say: "O Earthen Pot! For goodness sake +keep away from that Metal Pot! Whether he comes to you in anger or merely +to give you a patronising pat on the back, you are done for, cracked in +either case. So pay heed to old Aesop's sage counsel, I pray--and keep +your distance." + +Let the metal pot ornament wealthy homes; you have work to do in those of +the poor. If you let yourself be broken, you will have no place in either, +but merely return to the dust; or, at best, you may secure a corner in a +bric-a-brac cabinet--as a curiosity, and it is more glorious far to be +used for fetching water by the meanest of village women. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_8th May 1893_. + + +Poetry is a very old love of mine--I must have been engaged to her when I +was only Rathi's[1] age. Long ago the recesses under the old banyan tree +beside our tank, the inner gardens, the unknown regions on the ground +floor of the house, the whole of the outside world, the nursery rhymes and +tales told by the maids, created a wonderful fairyland within me. It is +difficult to give a clear idea of all the vague and mysterious happenings +of that period, but this much is certain, that my exchange of garlands[2] +with Poetic Fancy was already duly celebrated. + +[Footnote 1: Rathi, his son, was then five years old.] + +[Footnote 2: The betrothal ceremony.] + +I must admit, however, that my betrothed is not an auspicious +maiden--whatever else she may bring one, it is not good fortune. I cannot +say she has never given me happiness, but peace of mind with her is out of +the question. The lover whom she favours may get his fill of bliss, but +his heart's blood is wrung out under her relentless embrace. It is not for +the unfortunate creature of her choice ever to become a staid and sober +householder, comfortably settled down on a social foundation. + +Consciously or unconsciously, I may have done many things that were +untrue, but I have never uttered anything false in my poetry--that is the +sanctuary where the deepest truths of my life find refuge. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_10th May_ 1893. + + +Here come black, swollen masses of cloud; they soak up the golden sunshine +from the scene in front of me like great pads of blotting-paper. Rain must +be near, for the breeze feels moist and tearful. + +Over there, on the sky-piercing peaks of Simla, you will find it hard to +realise exactly what an important event the coming of the clouds is here, +or how many are anxiously looking up to the sky, hailing their advent. + +I feel a great tenderness for these peasant folk--our ryots--big, +helpless, infantile children of Providence, who must have food brought to +their very lips, or they are undone. When the breasts of Mother Earth dry +up they are at a loss what to do, and can only cry. But no sooner is their +hunger satisfied than they forget all their past sufferings. + +I know not whether the socialistic ideal of a more equal distribution of +wealth is attainable, but if not, the dispensation of Providence is indeed +cruel, and man a truly unfortunate creature. For if in this world misery +must exist, so be it; but let some little loophole, some glimpse of +possibility at least, be left, which may serve to urge the nobler portion +of humanity to hope and struggle unceasingly for its alleviation. + +They say a terribly hard thing who assert that the division of the world's +production to afford each one a mouthful of food, a bit of clothing, is +only an Utopian dream. All these social problems are hard indeed! Fate has +allowed humanity such a pitifully meagre coverlet, that in pulling it over +one part of the world, another has to be left bare. In allaying our +poverty we lose our wealth, and with this wealth what a world of grace and +beauty and power is lost to us. + +But the sun shines forth again, though the clouds are still banked up in +the West. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_11th May 1893._ + + +There is another pleasure for me here. Sometimes one or other of our +simple, devoted, old ryots comes to see me--and their worshipful homage is +so unaffected! How much greater than I are they in the beautiful +simplicity and sincerity of their reverence. What if I am unworthy of +their veneration--their feeling loses nothing of its value. + +I regard these grown-up children with the same kind of affection that I +have for little children--but there is also a difference. They are more +infantile still. Little children will grow up later on, but these big +children never. + +A meek and radiantly simple soul shines through their worn and wrinkled, +old bodies. Little children are merely simple, they have not the +unquestioning, unwavering devotion of these. If there be any undercurrent +along which the souls of men may have communication with one another, then +my sincere blessing will surely reach and serve them. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th May_ 1893. + + +I walk about for an hour on the river bank, fresh and clean after my +afternoon bath. Then I get into the new jolly-boat, anchor in mid-stream, +and on a bed, spread on the planked over-stern, I lie silently there on my +back, in the darkness of the evening. Little S---- sits beside me and +chatters away, and the sky becomes more and more thickly studded with +stars. + +Each day the thought recurs to me: Shall I be reborn under this +star-spangled sky? Will the peaceful rapture of such wonderful evenings +ever again be mine, on this silent Bengal river, in so secluded a corner +of the world? + +Perhaps not. The scene may be changed; I may be born with a different +mind. Many such evenings may come, but they may refuse to nestle so +trustfully, so lovingly, with such complete abandon, to my breast. + +Curiously enough, my greatest fear is lest I should be reborn in Europe! +For there one cannot recline like this with one's whole being laid open to +the infinite above--one is liable, I am afraid, to be soundly rated for +lying down at all. I should probably have been hustling strenuously in +some factory or bank, or Parliament. Like the roads there, one's mind has +to be stone-metalled for heavy traffic--geometrically laid out, and kept +clear and regulated. + +I am sure I cannot exactly say why this lazy, dreamy, self-absorbed, +sky-filled state of mind seems to me the more desirable. I feel no whit +inferior to the busiest men of the world as I lie here in my jolly-boat. +Rather, had I girded up my loins to be strenuous, I might have seemed ever +so feeble compared to those chips of old oaken blocks. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_3rd July 1893._ + +All last night the wind howled like a stray dog, and the rain still pours +on without a break. The water from the fields is rushing in numberless, +purling streams to the river. The dripping ryots are crossing the river in +the ferryboat, some with their tokas[1] on, others with yam leaves held +over their heads. Big cargo-boats are gliding along, the boatman sitting +drenched at his helm, the crew straining at the tow-ropes through the +rain. The birds remain gloomily confined to their nests, but the sons of +men fare forth, for in spite of the weather the world's work must go on. + +[Footnote 1: Conical hats of straw or of split bamboo.] + +Two cowherd lads are grazing their cattle just in front of my boat. The +cows are munching away with great gusto, their noses plunged into the lush +grass, their tails incessantly busy flicking off the flies. The raindrops +and the sticks of the cowherd boys fall on their backs with the same +unreasonable persistency, and they bear both with equally uncritical +resignation, steadily going on with their munch, munch, munch. These cows +have such mild, affectionate, mournful eyes; why, I wonder, should +Providence have thought fit to impose all the burden of man's work on the +submissive shoulders of these great, gentle beasts? + +The river is rising daily. What I could see yesterday only from the upper +deck, I can now see from my cabin windows. Every morning I awake to find +my field of vision growing larger. Not long since, only the tree-tops near +those distant villages used to appear, like dark green clouds. To-day the +whole of the wood is visible. + +Land and water are gradually approaching each other like two bashful +lovers. The limit of their shyness has nearly been reached--their arms +will soon be round each other's necks. I shall enjoy my trip along this +brimful river at the height of the rains. I am fidgeting to give the order +to cast off. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_4th July_ 1893. + + +A little gleam of sunlight shows this morning. There was a break in the +rains yesterday, but the clouds are banked up so heavily along the skirts +of the sky that there is not much hope of the break lasting. It looks as +if a heavy carpet of cloud had been rolled up to one side, and at any +moment a fussy breeze may come along and spread it over the whole place +again, covering every trace of blue sky and golden sunshine. + +What a store of water must have been laid up in the sky this year. The +river has already risen over the low _chur_-lands,[1] threatening to +overwhelm all the standing crops. The wretched ryots, in despair, are +cutting and bringing away in boats sheaves of half-ripe rice. As they pass +my boat I hear them bewailing their fate. It is easy to understand how +heart-rending it must be for cultivators to have to cut down their rice on +the very eve of its ripening, the only hope left them being that some of +the ears may possibly have hardened into grain. + +[Footnote 1: Old sand-banks consolidated by the deposit of a layer of +culturable soil.] + +There must be some element of pity in the dispensations of Providence, +else how did we get our share of it? But it is so difficult to see where +it comes in. The lamentations of these hundreds of thousands of +unoffending creatures do not seem to get anywhere. The rain pours on as it +lists, the river still rises, and no amount of petitioning seems to have +the effect of bringing relief from any quarter. One has to seek +consolation by saying that all this is beyond the understanding of man. +And yet, it is so vitally necessary for man to understand that there are +such things as pity and justice in the world. + +However, this is only sulking. Reason tells us that creation never can be +perfectly happy. So long as it is incomplete it must put up with +imperfection and sorrow. It can only be perfect when it ceases to be +creation, and is God. Do our prayers dare go so far? + +The more we think over it, the oftener we come hack to the +starting-point--Why this creation at all? If we cannot make up our minds +to object to the thing itself, it is futile complaining about its +companion, sorrow. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_7th July_ 1893. + + +The flow of village life is not too rapid, neither is it stagnant. Work +and rest go together, hand in hand. The ferry crosses to and fro, the +passers-by with umbrellas up wend their way along the tow-path, women are +washing rice on the split-bamboo trays which they dip in the water, the +ryots are coming to the market with bundles of jute on their heads. Two +men are chopping away at a log of wood with regular, ringing blows. The +village carpenter is repairing an upturned dinghy under a big +_aswatha_ tree. A mongrel dog is prowling aimlessly along the canal +bank. Some cows are lying there chewing the cud, after a huge meal off the +luxuriant grass, lazily moving their ears backwards and forwards, flicking +off flies with their tails, and occasionally giving an impatient toss of +their heads when the crows perched on their backs take too much of a +liberty. + +The monotonous blows of woodcutter's axe or carpenter's mallet, the +splashing of oars, the merry voices of the naked little children at play, +the plaintive tune of the ryot's song, the more dominant creaking of the +turning oil-mill, all these sounds of activity do not seem out of harmony +with murmuring leaves and singing birds, and all combine like moving +strains of some grand dream-orchestra, rendering a composition of immense +though restrained pathos. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_10th July 1893._ + + +All I have to say about the discussion that is going on over "silent +poets" is that, though the strength of feeling may be the same in those +who are silent as in those who are vocal, that has nothing to do with +poetry. Poetry is not a matter of feeling, it is the creation of form. + +Ideas take shape by some hidden, subtle skill at work within the poet. +This creative power is the origin of poetry. Perceptions, feelings, or +language, are only raw material. One may be gifted with feeling, a second +with language, a third with both; but he who has as well a creative +genius, alone is a poet. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_13th August 1893._ + + +Coming through these _beels_[1] to Kaligram, an idea took shape in my +mind. Not that the thought was new, but sometimes old ideas strike one +with new force. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Sometimes a stream passing through the +flat Bengal country encounters a stretch of low land and spreads out into +a sheet of water, called a _beel_, of indefinite extent, ranging from a +large pool in the dry season to a shoreless expanse during the rains. + +Villages consisting of a cluster of huts, built on mounds, stand out here +and there like islands, and boats or round, earthen vessels are the only +means of getting about from village to village. + +Where the waters cover cultivated tracts the rice grows through, often +from considerable depths, giving to the boats sailing over them the +curious appearance of gliding over a cornfield, so clear is the water. +Elsewhere these _beels_ have a peculiar flora and fauna of water-lilies +and irises and various water-fowl. As a result, they resemble neither a +marsh nor a lake, but have a distinct character of their own.] + +The water loses its beauty when it ceases to be defined by banks and +spreads out into a monotonous vagueness. In the case of language, metre +serves for banks and gives form and beauty and character. Just as the +banks give each river a distinct personality, so does rhythm make each +poem an individual creation; prose is like the featureless, impersonal +_beel_. Again, the waters of the river have movement and progress; those +of the _beel_ engulf the country by expanse alone. So, in order to give +language power, the narrow bondage of metre becomes necessary; otherwise +it spreads and spreads, but cannot advance. + +The country people call these _beels_ "dumb waters"--they have no +language, no self-expression. The river ceaselessly babbles; so the words +of the poem sing, they are not "dumb words." Thus bondage creates beauty +of form, motion, and music; bounds make not only for beauty but power. + +Poetry gives itself up to the control of metre, not led by blind habit, +but because it thus finds the joy of motion. There are foolish persons who +think that metre is a species of verbal gymnastics, or legerdemain, of +which the object is to win the admiration of the crowd. That is not so. +Metre is born as all beauty is born the universe through. The current set +up within well-defined bounds gives metrical verse power to move the minds +of men as vague and indefinite prose cannot. + +This idea became clear to me as I glided on from river to _beel_ and +_beel_ to river. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_26th (Straven) August 1893._ + + +For some time it has struck me that man is a rough-hewn and woman a +finished product. + +There is an unbroken consistency in the manners, customs, speech, and +adornment of woman. And the reason is, that for ages Nature has assigned +to her the same definite role and has been adapting her to it. No +cataclysm, no political revolution, no alteration of social ideal, has yet +diverted woman from her particular functions, nor destroyed their +inter-relations. She has loved, tended, and caressed, and done nothing +else; and the exquisite skill which she has acquired in these, permeates +all her being and doing. Her disposition and action have become +inseparably one, like the flower and its scent. She has, therefore, no +doubts or hesitations. + +But the character of man has still many hollows and protuberances; each of +the varied circumstances and forces which have contributed to his making +has left its mark upon him. That is why the features of one will display +an indefinite spread of forehead, of another an irresponsible prominence +of nose, of a third an unaccountable hardness about the jaws. Had man but +the benefit of continuity and uniformity of purpose, Nature must have +succeeded in elaborating a definite mould for him, enabling him to +function simply and naturally, without such strenuous effort. He would not +have so complicated a code of behaviour; and he would be less liable to +deviate from the normal when disturbed by outside influences. + +Woman was cast in the mould of mother. Man has no such primal design to go +by, and that is why he has been unable to rise to an equal perfection of +beauty. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_19th February 1894._ + + +We have two elephants which come to graze on this bank of the river. They +greatly interest me. They give the ground a few taps with one foot, and +then taking hold of the grass with the end of their trunks wrench off an +enormous piece of turf, roots, soil, and all. This they go on swinging +till all the earth leaves the roots; they then put it into their mouths +and eat it up. + +Sometimes the whim takes them to draw up the dust into their trunks, and +then with a snort they squirt it all over their bodies; this is their +elephantine toilet. + +I love to look on these overgrown beasts, with their vast bodies, their +immense strength, their ungainly proportions, their docile harmlessness. +Their very size and clumsiness make me feel a kind of tenderness for +them--their unwieldy bulk has something infantile about it. Moreover, they +have large hearts. When they get wild they are furious, but when they calm +down they are peace itself. + +The uncouthness which goes with bigness does not repel, it rather +attracts. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_27th February 1894._ + + +The sky is every now and then overcast and again clears up. Sudden little +puffs of wind make the boat lazily creak and groan in all its seams. Thus +the day wears on. + +It is now past one o'clock. Steeped in this countryside noonday, with its +different sounds--the quacking of ducks, the swirl of passing boats, +bathers splashing the clothes they wash, the distant shouts from drovers +taking cattle across the ford,--it is difficult even to imagine the +chair-and-table, monotonously dismal routine-life of Calcutta. + +Calcutta is as ponderously proper as a Government office. Each of its days +comes forth, like coin from a mint, clear-cut and glittering. Ah! those +dreary, deadly days, so precisely equal in weight, so decently +respectable! + +Here I am quit of the demands of my circle, and do not feel like a wound +up machine. Each day is my own. And with leisure and my thoughts I walk +the fields, unfettered by bounds of space or time. The evening gradually +deepens over earth and sky and water, as with bowed head I stroll along. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_22nd March 1894._ + + +As I was sitting at the window of the boat, looking out on the river, I +saw, all of a sudden, an odd-looking bird making its way through the water +to the opposite bank, followed by a great commotion. I found it was a +domestic fowl which had managed to escape impending doom in the galley by +jumping overboard and was now trying frantically to win across. It had +almost gained the bank when the clutches of its relentless pursuers closed +on it, and it was brought back in triumph, gripped by the neck. I told the +cook I would not have any meat for dinner. + +I really must give up animal food. We manage to swallow flesh only because +we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do. There are many crimes +which are the creation of man himself, the wrongfulness of which is put +down to their divergence from habit, custom, or tradition. But cruelty is +not of these. It is a fundamental sin, and admits of no argument or nice +distinctions. If only we do not allow our heart to grow callous, its +protest against cruelty is always clearly heard; and yet we go on +perpetrating cruelties easily, merrily, all of us--in fact, any one who +does not join in is dubbed a crank. + +How artificial is our apprehension of sin! I feel that the highest +commandment is that of sympathy for all sentient beings. Love is the +foundation of all religion. The other day I read in one of the English +papers that 50,000 pounds of animal carcasses had been sent to some army +station in Africa, but the meat being found to have gone bad on arrival, +the consignment was returned and was eventually auctioned off for a few +pounds at Portsmouth. What a shocking waste of life! What callousness to +its true worth! How many living creatures are sacrificed only to grace the +dishes at a dinner-party, a large proportion of which will leave the table +untouched! + +So long as we are unconscious of our cruelty we may not be to blame. But +if, after our pity is aroused, we persist in throttling our feelings +simply in order to join others in their preying upon life, we insult all +that is good in us. I have decided to try a vegetarian diet. + + + + +PATISAR, + +_28th March 1894._ + + +It is getting rather warm here, but I do not mind the heat of the sun +much. The heated wind whistles on its way, now and then pauses in a whirl, +then dances away twirling its skirt of dust and sand and dry leaves and +twigs. + +This morning, however, it was quite cold--almost like a cold-weather +morning; in fact, I did not feel over-enthusiastic for my bath. It is so +difficult to account for what veritably happens in this big thing called +Nature. Some obscure cause turns up in some unknown corner, and all of a +sudden things look completely different. + +The mind of man works in just the same mysterious fashion as outside +Nature--so it struck me yesterday. A wondrous alchemy is being wrought in +artery, vein, and nerve, in brain and marrow. The blood-stream rushes on, +the nerve--strings vibrate, the heart-muscle rises and falls, and the +seasons in man's being change from one to another. What kind of breezes +will blow next, when and from what quarter--of that we know nothing. + +One day I am sure I shall get along splendidly; I feel strong enough to +leap over all the obstructing sorrows and trials of the world; and, as if +I had a printed programme for the rest of my life tucked safely away in my +pocket, I am at ease. The next day there is a nasty wind, sprung up from +some unknown _inferno_, the aspect of the sky is threatening, and I +begin to doubt whether I shall ever weather the storm. Merely because +something has gone wrong in some blood-vessel or nerve-fibre, all my +strength and intelligence seem to fail me. + +This mystery within frightens me. It makes me diffident about talking of +what I shall or shall not do. Why was this tacked on to me--this immense +mystery which I can neither understand nor control? I know not where it +may lead me or I lead it. I cannot see what is happening, nor am I +consulted about what is going to happen, and yet I have to keep up an +appearance of mastery and pretend to be the doer.... + +I feel like a living pianoforte with a vast complication of machinery and +wires inside, but with no means of telling who the player is, and with +only a guess as to why the player plays at all. I can only know what is +being played, whether the mode is merry or mournful, when the notes are +sharp or flat, the tune in or out of time, the key high-pitched or low. +But do I really know even that? + + + + +PATISAR, + +_30th March 1894._ + + +Sometimes when I realise that Life's journey is long, and that the sorrows +to be encountered are many and inevitable, a supreme effort is required to +keep up my strength of mind. Some evenings, as I sit alone staring at the +flame of the lamp on the table, I vow I will live as a brave man +should--unmoved, silent, uncomplaining. The resolve puffs me up, and for +the moment I mistake myself for a very, very brave person indeed. But as +soon as the thorns on the road worry my feet, I writhe and begin to feel +serious misgivings as to the future. The path of life again seems long, +and my strength inadequate. + +But this last conclusion cannot be the true one, for it is these petty +thorns which are the most difficult to bear. The household of the mind is +a thrifty one, and only so much is spent as is necessary. There is no +squandering on trifles, and its wealth of strength is saved up with +miserly strictness to meet the really big calamities. So any amount of +weeping and wailing over the lesser griefs fails to evoke a charitable +response. But when sorrow is deepest there is no stint of effort. Then the +surface crust is pierced, and consolation wells up, and all the forces of +patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. Thus great +suffering brings with it the power of great endurance. + +One side of man's nature has the desire for pleasure--there is another +side which desires self-sacrifice. When the former meets with +disappointment, the latter gains strength, and on its thus finding fuller +scope a grand enthusiasm fills the soul. So while we are cowards before +petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. +And in these, therefore, there is a joy. + +It is not an empty paradox to say that there is joy in sorrow, just as, on +the other hand, it is true that there is a dissatisfaction in pleasure. It +is not difficult to understand why this should be so. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_24th June 1894_. + + +I have been only four days here, but, having lost count of the hours, it +seems such a long while, I feel that if I were to return to Calcutta +to-day I should find much of it changed--as if I alone had been standing +still outside the current of time, unconscious of the gradually changing +position of the rest of the world. + +The fact is that here, away from Calcutta, I live in my own inner world, +where the clocks do not keep ordinary time; where duration is measured +only by the intensity of the feelings; where, as the outside world does +not count the minutes, moments change into hours and hours into moments. +So it seems to me that the subdivisions of time and space are only mental +illusions. Every atom is immeasurable and every moment infinite. + +There is a Persian story which I was greatly taken with when I read it as +a boy--I think I understood, even then, something of the underlying idea, +though I was a mere child. To show the illusory character of time, a +_faquir_ put some magic water into a tub and asked the King to take a +dip. The King no sooner dipped his head in than he found himself in a +strange country by the sea, where he spent a good long time going through +a variety of happenings and doings. He married, had children, his wife and +children died, he lost all his wealth, and as he writhed under his +sufferings he suddenly found himself back in the room, surrounded by his +courtiers. On his proceeding to revile the _faquir_ for his +misfortunes, they said: "But, Sire, you have only just dipped your head +in, and raised it out of the water!" + +The whole of our life with its pleasures and pains is in the same way +enclosed in one moment of time. However long or intense we may feel it to +be while it lasts, as soon as we have finished our dip in the tub of the +world, we shall find how like a slight, momentary dream the whole thing +has been.... + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_9th August 1894._ + + +I saw a dead bird floating down the current to-day. The history of its +death may easily be divined. It had a nest in some mango tree at the edge +of a village. It returned home in the evening, nestling there against +soft-feathered companions, and resting a wearied little body in sleep. All +of a sudden, in the night, the mighty Padma tossed slightly in her bed, +and the earth was swept away from the roots of the mango tree. The little +creature bereft of its nest awoke just for a moment before it went to +sleep again for ever. + +When I am in the presence of the awful mystery of all-destructive Nature, +the difference between myself and the other living things seems trivial. +In town, human society is to the fore and looms large; it is cruelly +callous to the happiness and misery of other creatures as compared with +its own. + +In Europe, also, man is so complex and so dominant, that the animal is too +merely an animal to him. To Indians the idea of the transmigration of the +soul from animal to man, and man to animal, does not seem strange, and so +from our scriptures pity for all sentient creatures has not been banished +as a sentimental exaggeration. + +When I am in close touch with Nature in the country, the Indian in me +asserts itself and I cannot remain coldly indifferent to the abounding joy +of life throbbing within the soft down-covered breast of a single tiny +bird. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_10th August 1894._ + + +Last night a rushing sound in the water awoke me--a sudden boisterous +disturbance of the river current--probably the onslaught of a freshet: a +thing that often happens at this season. One's feet on the planking of the +boat become aware of a variety of forces at work beneath it. Slight +tremors, little rockings, gentle heaves, and sudden jerks, all keep me in +touch with the pulse of the flowing stream. + +There must have been some sudden excitement in the night, which sent the +current racing away. I rose and sat by the window. A hazy kind of light +made the turbulent river look madder than ever. The sky was spotted with +clouds. The reflection of a great big star quivered on the waters in a +long streak, like a burning gash of pain. Both banks were vague with the +dimness of slumber, and between them was this wild, sleepless unrest, +running and running regardless of consequences. + +To watch a scene like this in the middle of the night makes one feel +altogether a different person, and the daylight life an illusion. Then +again, this morning, that midnight world faded away into some dreamland, +and vanished into thin air. The two are so different, yet both are true +for man. + +The day-world seems to me like European Music--its concords and discords +resolving into each other in a great progression of harmony; the +night-world like Indian Music--pure, unfettered melody, grave and +poignant. What if their contrast be so striking--both move us. This +principle of opposites is at the very root of creation, which is divided +between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the +Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving. + +We Indians are under the rule of Night. We are immersed in the Eternal, +the One. Our melodies are to be sung alone, to oneself; they take us out +of the everyday world into a solitude aloof. European Music is for the +multitude and takes them along, dancing, through the ups and downs of the +joys and sorrows of men. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_13th August 1894._ + + +Whatever I truly think, truly feel, truly realise,--its natural destiny is +to find true expression. There is some force in me which continually works +towards that end, but is not mine alone,--it permeates the universe. When +this universal force is manifested within an individual, it is beyond his +control and acts according to its own nature; and in surrendering our +lives to its power is our greatest joy. It not only gives us expression, +but also sensitiveness and love; this makes our feelings so fresh to us +every time, so full of wonder. + +When my little daughter delights me, she merges into the original mystery +of joy which is the Universe; and my loving caresses are called forth like +worship. I am sure that all our love is but worship of the Great Mystery, +only we perform it unconsciously. Otherwise it is meaningless. + +Like universal gravitation, which governs large and small alike in the +world of matter, this universal joy exerts its attraction throughout our +inner world, and baffles our understanding when we see it in a partial +view. The only rational explanation of why we find joy in man and nature +is given in the Upanishad: + + For of joy are born all created things. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_19th August 1894._ + + +The Vedanta seems to help many to free their minds from all doubt as to +the Universe and its First Cause, but my doubts remain undispelled. It is +true that the Vedanta is simpler than most other theories. The problem of +Creation and its Creator is more complex than appears at first sight; but +the Vedanta has certainly simplified it half way, by cutting the Gordian +knot and leaving out Creation altogether. + +There is only Brahma, and the rest of us merely imagine that we are,--it +is wonderful how the human mind should have found room for such a thought. +It is still more wonderful to think that the idea is not so inconsistent +as it sounds, and the real difficulty is, rather, to prove that anything +does exist. + +Anyhow, when as now the moon is up, and with half-closed eyes I am +stretched beneath it on the upper deck, the soft breeze cooling my +problem-vexed head, then the earth, waters, and sky around, the gentle +rippling of the river, the casual wayfarer passing along the tow-path, the +occasional dinghy gliding by, the trees across the fields, vague in the +moonlight, the sleepy village beyond, bounded by the dark shadows of its +groves,--verily seem an illusion of _Maya_; and yet they cling to and +draw the mind and heart more truly than truth itself, which is +abstraction, and it becomes impossible to realise what kind of salvation +there can be in freeing oneself from them. + + + + +SHAZADPUR, + +_5th September 1894._ + + +I realise how hungry for space I have become, and take my fill of it in +these rooms where I hold my state as sole monarch, with all doors and +windows thrown open. Here the desire and power to write are mine as they +are nowhere else. The stir of outside life comes into me in waves of +verdure, and with its light and scent and sound stimulated my fancy into +story-writing. + +The afternoons have a special enchantment of their own. The glare of the +sun, the silence, the solitude, the bird cries, especially the cawings of +crows, and the delightful, restful leisure--these conspire to carry me +away altogether. + +Just such noondays seem to have gone to the making of the Arabian +Nights,--in Damascus, Bokhara, or Samarkhand, with their desert roadways, +files of camels, wandering horsemen, crystal springs, welling up under the +shade of feathery date groves; their wilderness of roses, songs of +nightingales, wines of Shiraz; their narrow bazaar paths with bright +overhanging canopies, the men, in loose robes and multi-coloured turbans, +selling dates and nuts and melons; their palaces, fragrant with incense, +luxurious with kincob-covered divans and bolsters by the window-side; +their Zobedia or Amina or Sufia with gaily decorated jacket, wide +trousers, and gold-embroidered slippers, a long narghilah pipe curled up +at her feet, with gorgeously liveried eunuchs on guard,--and all the +possible and impossible tales of human deeds and desires, and the laughter +and wailing, of that distant mysterious region. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO DIGHAPATIAYA, + +_20th September 1894._ + + +Big trees are standing in the flood water, their trunks wholly submerged, +their branches and foliage bending over the waters. Boats are tied up +under shady groves of mango and bo tree, and people bathe screened behind +them. Here and there cottages stand out in the current, their inner +quadrangles under water. + +As my boat rustles its way through standing crops it now and then comes +across what was a pool and is still to be distinguished by its clusters of +water-lilies, and diver-birds pursuing fish. + +The water has penetrated every possible place. I have never before seen +such a complete defeat of the land. A little more and the water will be +right inside the cottages, and their occupants will have to put up +_machans_ to live on. The cows will die if they have to remain +standing like this in water up to their knees. All the snakes have been +flooded out of their holes, and they, with sundry other homeless reptiles +and insects, will have to chum with man and take refuge on the thatch of +his roof. + +The vegetation rotting in the water, refuse of all kinds floating about, +naked children with shrivelled limbs and enlarged spleens splashing +everywhere, the long-suffering patient housewives exposed in their wet +clothes to wind and rain, wading through their daily tasks with tucked-up +skirts, and over all a thick pall of mosquitoes hovering in the noxious +atmosphere--the sight is hardly pleasing! + +Colds and fevers and rheumatism in every home, the malaria-stricken +infants constantly crying,--nothing can save them. How is it possible for +men to live in such unlovely, unhealthy, squalid, neglected surroundings? +The fact is we are so used to bear everything, hands down,--the ravages of +Nature, the oppression of rulers, the pressure of our _shastras_ to +which we have not a word to say, while they keep eternally grinding us +down. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO BOALIA, + +_22nd September 1894._ + + +It feels strange to be reminded that only thirty-two Autumns have come and +gone in my life; for my memory seems to have receded back into the dimness +of time immemorial; and when my inner world is flooded with a light, as of +an unclouded autumn morning, I feel I am sitting at the window of some +magic palace, gazing entranced on a scene of distant reminiscence, soothed +with soft breezes laden with the faint perfume of all the Past. + +Goethe on his death-bed wanted "more light." If I have any desire left at +all at such a time, it will be for "more space" as well; for I dearly love +both light and space. Many look down on Bengal as being only a flat +country, but that is just what makes me revel in its scenery all the more. +Its unobstructed sky is filled to the brim, like an amethyst cup, with the +descending twilight and peace of the evening; and the golden skirt of the +still, silent noonday spreads over the whole of it without let or +hindrance. + +Where is there another such country for the eye to look on, the mind to +take in? + + + + +CALCUTTA, + +_5th October 1894._ + + +To-morrow is the Durga Festival. As I was going to S----'s yesterday, I +noticed images being made in almost every big house on the way. It struck +me that during these few days of the Poojahs, old and young alike had +become children. + +When we come to think of it, all preparation for enjoyment is really a +playing with toys which are of no consequence in themselves. From outside +it may appear wasteful, but can that be called futile which raises such a +wave of feeling through and through the country? Even the driest of +worldly-wise people are moved out of their self-centred interests by the +rush of the pervading emotion. + +Thus, once every year there comes a period when all minds are in a melting +mood, fit for the springing of love and affection and sympathy. The songs +of welcome and farewell to the goddess, the meeting of loved ones, the +strains of the festive pipes, the limpid sky and molten gold of autumn, +are all parts of one great paean of joy. + +Pure joy is the children's joy. They have the power of using any and every +trivial thing to create their world of interest, and the ugliest doll is +made beautiful with their imagination and lives with their life. He who +can retain this faculty of enjoyment after he has grown up, is indeed the +true Idealist. For him things are not merely visible to the eye or audible +to the ear, but they are also sensible to the heart, and their narrowness +and imperfections are lost in the glad music which he himself supplies. + +Every one cannot hope to be an Idealist, but a whole people approaches +nearest to this blissful state at such seasons of festivity. And then what +may ordinarily appear to be a mere toy loses its limitations and becomes +glorified with an ideal radiance. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_19th October 1894._ + + +We know people only in dotted outline, that is to say, with gaps in our +knowledge which we have to fill in ourselves, as best we can. Thus, even +those we know well are largely made up of our imagination. Sometimes the +lines are so broken, with even the guiding dots missing, that a portion of +the picture remains darkly confused and uncertain. If, then, our best +friends are only pieces of broken outline strung on a thread of +imagination, do we really know anybody at all, or does anybody know us +except in the same disjointed fashion? But perhaps it is these very +loopholes, allowing entrance to each other's imagination, which make for +intimacy; otherwise each one, secure in his inviolate individuality, would +have been unapproachable to all but the Dweller within. + +Our own self, too, we know only in bits, and with these scraps of material +we have to shape the hero of our life-story,--likewise with the help of +our imagination. Providence has, doubtless, deliberately omitted portions +so that we may assist in our own creation. + + + + +BOLPUR, + +_31st October 1894._ + + +The first of the north winds has begun to blow to-day, shiveringly. It +looks as if there had been a visitation of the tax-gatherer in the +_Amlaki_ groves,--everything beside itself, sighing, trembling, +withering. The tired impassiveness of the noonday sunshine, with its +monotonous cooing of doves in the dense shade of the mango-tops, seems to +overcast the drowsy watches of the day with a pang, as of some impending +parting. + +The ticking of the clock on my table, and the pattering of the squirrels +which scamper in and out of my room, are in harmony with all other midday +sounds. + +It amuses me to watch these soft, grey and black striped, furry squirrels, +with their bushy tails, their twinkling bead-like eyes, their gentle yet +busily practical demeanour. Everything eatable has to be put away in the +wire-gauze cupboard in the corner, safe from these greedy creatures. So, +sniffing with an irrepressible eagerness, they come nosing round and round +the cupboard, trying to find some hole for entrance. If any grain or crumb +has been dropped outside they are sure to find it, and, taking it between +their forepaws, nibble away with great industry, turning it over and over +to adjust it to their mouths. At the least movement of mine up go their +tails over their backs and off they run, only to stop short half-way, sit +up on their tails on the door-mat, scratching their ears with their +hind-paws, and then come back. + +Thus little sounds continue all day long--gnawing teeth, scampering feet, +and the tinkling of the china on the shelves. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_7th December 1894._ + + +As I walk on the moonlit sands, S---- usually comes up for a business +talk. + +He came last evening; and when silence fell upon me after the talk was +over, I became aware of the eternal universe standing before me in the +evening light. The trivial chatter of one person had been enough to +obscure the presence of its all-pervading manifestation. + +As soon as the patter of words came to an end, the peace of the stars +descended, and filled my heart to overflowing. I found my seat in one +corner, with these assembled millions of shining orbs, in the great +mysterious conclave of Being. + +I have to start out early in the evening so as to let my mind absorb the +tranquillity outside, before S---- comes along with his jarring inquiries +as to whether the milk has agreed with me, and if I have finished going +through the Annual Statement. + +How curiously placed are we between the Eternal and the Ephemeral! Any +allusion to the affairs of the stomach sounds so hopelessly discordant +when the mind is dwelling on the things of the spirit,--and yet the soul +and the stomach have been living together so long. The very spot on which +the moonlight falls is my landed property, but the moonlight tells me that +my _zamindari_ is an illusion, and my _zamindari_ tells me that +this moonlight is all emptiness. And as for poor me, I remain distracted +between the two. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_23rd February_ 1895. + + +I grow quite absent-minded when I try to write for the _Sadhana_ +magazine. + +I raise my eyes to every passing boat and keep staring at the ferry going +to and fro. And then on the bank, close to my boat, there are a herd of +buffaloes thrusting their massive snouts into the herbage, wrapping their +tongues round it to get it into their mouths, and then munching away, +blowing hard with great big gasps of contentment, and flicking the flies +off their backs with their tails. + +All of a sudden a naked weakling of a human cub appears on the scene, +makes sundry noises, and pokes one of the patient beasts with a cudgel, +whereupon, throwing occasional glances at the human sprig out of a corner +of its eye, and snatching at tufts of leaves or grass here and there on +the way, the unruffled beast leisurely moves on a few paces, and that imp +of a boy seems to feel that his duty as herdsman has been done. + +I fail to penetrate this mystery of the boy-cowherd's mind. Whenever a cow +or a buffalo has selected a spot to its liking and is comfortably grazing +there, I cannot divine what purpose is served by worrying it, as he +insists on doing, till it shifts somewhere else. I suppose it is man's +masterfulness glorying in triumph over the powerful creature it has tamed. +Anyhow, I love to see these buffaloes amongst the lush grass. + +But this is not what I started to say. I wanted to tell you how the least +thing distracts me nowadays from my duty to the _Sadhana_. In my last +letter[1] I told you of the bumble-bees which hover round me in some +fruitless quest, to the tune of a meaningless humming, with tireless +assiduity. + +[Footnote 1: Not included in this selection.] + +They come every day at about nine or ten in the morning, dart up to my +table, shoot down under the desk, go bang on to the coloured glass +window-pane, and then with a circuit or two round my head are off again +with a whizz. + +I could easily have thought them to be departed spirits who had left this +world unsatisfied, and so keep coming back to it again and again in the +guise of bees, paying me an inquiring visit in passing. But I think +nothing of the kind. I am sure they are real bees, otherwise known, in +Sanskrit, as honey-suckers, or on still rarer occasions as +double-proboscideans. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_16th (Phalgun) February_ 1895. + + +We have to tread every single moment of the way as we go on living our +life, but when taken as a whole it is such a very small thing, two hours +uninterrupted thought can hold all of it. + +After thirty years of strenuous living Shelley could only supply material +for two volumes of biography, of which, moreover, a considerable space is +taken up by Dowden's chatter. The thirty years of my life would not fill +even one volume. + +What a to-do there is over this tiny bit of life! To think of the quantity +of land and trade and commerce which go to furnish its commissariat alone, +the amount of space occupied by each individual throughout the world, +though one little chair is large enough to hold the whole of him! Yet, +after all is over and done, there remains only material for two hours' +thought, some pages of writing! + +What a negligible fraction of my few pages would this one lazy day of mine +occupy! But then, will not this peaceful day, on the desolate sands by the +placid river, leave nevertheless a distinct little gold mark even upon the +scroll of my eternal past and eternal future? + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_28th February_ 1895. + + +I have got an anonymous letter to-day which begins: + + To give up one's self at the feet of another, + is the truest of all gifts. + +The writer has never seen me, but knows me from my writings, and goes on +to say: + + However petty or distant, the Sun[1]-worshipper gets a share of the + Sun's rays. You are the world's poet, yet to me it seems you are my own + poet! + +[Footnote 1: Rabi, the author's name, means the Sun.] + +and more in the same strain. + +Man is so anxious to bestow his love on some object, that he ends by +falling in love with his own Ideal. But why should we suppose the idea to +be less true than the reality? We can never know for certain the truth of +the substance underlying what we get through the senses. Why should the +doubt be greater in the case of the entity behind the ideas which are the +creation of mind? + +The mother realises in her child the great Idea, which is in every child, +the ineffableness of which, however, is not revealed to any one else. Are +we to say that what draws forth the mother's very life and soul is +illusory, but what fails to draw the rest of us to the same extent is the +real truth? + +Every person is worthy of an infinite wealth of love--the beauty of his +soul knows no limit.... But I am departing into generalities. What I +wanted to express is, that in one sense I have no right to accept this +offering of my admirer's heart; that is to say, for me, seen within my +everyday covering, such a person could not possibly have had these +feelings. But there is another sense in which I am worthy of all this, or +of even greater adoration. + + + + +ON THE WAY TO PABNA, + +_9th July_ 1895. + + +I am gliding through this winding little Ichamati, this streamlet of the +rainy season. With rows of villages along its banks, its fields of jute +and sugar-cane, its reed patches, its green bathing slopes, it is like a +few lines of a poem, often repeated and as often enjoyed. One cannot +commit to memory a big river like the Padma, but this meandering little +Ichamati, the flow of whose syllables is regulated by the rhythm of the +rains, I am gradually making my very own.... + +It is dusk, the sky getting dark with clouds. The thunder rumbles +fitfully, and the wild casuarina clumps bend in waves to the stormy gusts +which pass through them. The depths of bamboo thickets look black as ink. +The pallid twilight glimmers over the water like the herald of some weird +event. + +I am bending over my desk in the dimness, writing this letter. I want to +whisper low-toned, intimate talk, in keeping with this penumbra of the +dusk. But it is just wishes like these which baffle all effort. They +either get fulfilled of themselves, or not at all. That is why it is a +simple matter to warm up to a grim battle, but not to an easy, +inconsequent talk. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_14th August_ 1895. + + +One great point about work is that for its sake the individual has to make +light of his personal joys and sorrows; indeed, so far as may be, to +ignore them. I am reminded of an incident at Shazadpur. My servant was +late one morning, and I was greatly annoyed at his delay. He came up and +stood before me with his usual _salaam_, and with a slight catch in +his voice explained that his eight-year-old daughter had died last night. +Then, with his duster, he set to tidying up my room. + +When we look at the field of work, we see some at their trades, some +tilling the soil, some carrying burdens, and yet underneath, death, +sorrow, and loss are flowing, in an unseen undercurrent, every day,--their +privacy not intruded upon. If ever these should break forth beyond control +and come to the surface, then all this work would at once come to a stop. +Over the individual sorrows, flowing beneath, is a hard stone track, +across which the trains of duty, with their human load, thunder their way, +stopping for none save at appointed stations. This very cruelty of work +proves, perhaps, man's sternest consolation. + + + + +KUSHTEA, + +_5th October 1895_. + + +The religion that only comes to us from external scriptures never becomes +our own; our only tie with it is that of habit. To gain religion within is +man's great lifelong adventure. In the extremity of suffering must it be +born; on his life-blood it must live; and then, whether or not it brings +him happiness, the man's journey shall end in the joy of fulfilment. + +We rarely realise how false for us is that which we hear from other lips, +or keep repeating with our own, while all the time the temple of our Truth +is building within us, brick by brick, day after day. We fail to +understand the mystery of this eternal building when we view our joys and +sorrows apart by themselves, in the midst of fleeting time; just as a +sentence becomes unintelligible if one has to spell through every word of +it. + +When once we perceive the unity of the scheme of that creation which is +going on in us, we realise our relation to the ever-unfolding universe. We +realise that we are in the process of being created in the same way as are +the glowing heavenly orbs which revolve in their courses,--our desires, +our sufferings, all finding their proper place within the whole. + +We may not know exactly what is happening: we do not know exactly even +about a speck of dust. But when we feel the flow of life in us to be one +with the universal life outside, then all our pleasures and pains are seen +strung upon one long thread of joy. The facts: _I am, I move, I +grow_, are seen in all their immensity in connection with the fact that +everything else is there along with me, and not the tiniest atom can do +without me. + +The relation of my soul to this beautiful autumn morning, this vast +radiance, is one of intimate kinship; and all this colour, scent, and +music is but the outward expression of our secret communion. This constant +communion, whether realised or unrealised, keeps my mind in movement; out +of this intercourse between my inner and outer worlds I gain such +religion, be it much or little, as my capacity allows: and in its light I +have to test scriptures before I can make them really my own. + + + + +SHELIDAH, + +_12th December 1895._ + + +The other evening I was reading an English book of criticisms, full of all +manner of disputations about Poetry, Art, Beauty, and so forth and so on. +As I plodded through these artificial discussions, my tired faculties +seemed to have wandered into a region of empty mirage, filled with the +presence of a mocking demon. + +The night was far advanced. I closed the book with a bang and flung it on +the table. Then I blew out the lamp with the idea of turning into bed. No +sooner had I done so than, through the open windows, the moonlight burst +into the room, with a shock of surprise. + +That little bit of a lamp had been sneering drily at me, like some +Mephistopheles: and that tiniest sneer had screened off this infinite +light of joy issuing forth from the deep love which is in all the world. +What, forsooth, had I been looking for in the empty wordiness of the book? +There was the very thing itself, filling the skies, silently waiting for +me outside, all these hours! + +If I had gone off to bed leaving the shutters closed, and thus missed this +vision, it would have stayed there all the same without any protest +against the mocking lamp inside. Even if I had remained blind to it all my +life,--letting the lamp triumph to the end,--till for the last time I went +darkling to bed,--even then the moon would have still been there, sweetly +smiling, unperturbed and unobtrusive, waiting for me as she has throughout +the ages. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Glimpses of Bengal, by Sir Rabindranath Tagore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLIMPSES OF BENGAL *** + +***** This file should be named 7951.txt or 7951.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/5/7951/ + +Produced by S.R.Ellison, Eric Eldred, and the Distributed +Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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