The Home and the World by Rabindranath Tagore (children's ebooks online .txt) 📖

of his seething

passions, so immense, so tumultuous!

I began with a feeling of worship, but that soon passed away. I

ceased even to respect Sandip; on the contrary, I began to look

down upon him. Nevertheless this flesh-and-blood lute of mine,

fashioned with my feeling and fancy, found in him a master-

player. What though I shrank from his touch, and even came to

loathe the lute itself; its music was conjured up all the same.

I must confess there was something in me which ... what shall I

say? ... which makes me wish I could have died!

Chandranath Babu, when he finds leisure, comes to me. He has the

power to lift my mind up to an eminence from where I can see in a

moment the boundary of my life extended on all sides and so

realize that the lines, which I took from my bounds, were merely

imaginary.

But what is the use of it all? Do I really desire emancipation?

Let suffering come to our house; let the best in me shrivel up

and become black; but let this infatuation not leave me--such

seems to be my prayer.

When, before my marriage, I used to see a brother-in-law of mine,

now dead, mad with drink--beating his wife in his frenzy, and

then sobbing and howling in maudlin repentance, vowing never to

touch liquor again, and yet, the very same evening, sitting down

to drink and drink--it would fill me with disgust. But my

intoxication today is still more fearful. The stuff has not to

be procured or poured out: it springs within my veins, and I know

not how to resist it.

Must this continue to the end of my days? Now and again I start

and look upon myself, and think my life to be a nightmare which

will vanish all of a sudden with all its untruth. It has become

so frightfully incongruous. It has no connection with its past.

What it is, how it could have come to this pass, I cannot

understand.

One day my sister-in-law remarked with a cutting laugh: "What a

wonderfully hospitable Chota Rani we have! Her guest absolutely

will not budge. In our time there used to be guests, too; but

they had not such lavish looking after--we were so absurdly taken

up with our husbands. Poor brother Nikhil is paying the penalty

of being born too modern. He should have come as a guest if he

wanted to stay on. Now it looks as if it were time for him to

quit ... O you little demon, do your glances never fall, by

chance, on his agonized face?"

This sarcasm did not touch me; for I knew that these women had it

not in them to understand the nature of the cause of my devotion.

I was then wrapped in the protecting armour of the exaltation of

sacrifice, through which such shafts were powerless to reach and

shame me.

VIII

For some time all talk of the country's cause has been dropped.

Our conversation nowadays has become full of modern sex-problems,

and various other matters, with a sprinkling of poetry, both old

Vaishnava and modern English, accompanied by a running undertone

of melody, low down in the bass, such as I have never in my life

heard before, which seems to me to sound the true manly note, the

note of power.

The day had come when all cover was gone. There was no longer

even the pretence of a reason why Sandip Babu should linger on,

or why I should have confidential talks with him every now and

then. I felt thoroughly vexed with myself, with my sister-in-

law, with the ways of the world, and I vowed I would never again

go to the outer apartments, not if I were to die for it.

For two whole days I did not stir out. Then, for the first time,

I discovered how far I had travelled. My life felt utterly

tasteless. Whatever I touched I wanted to thrust away. I felt

myself waiting--from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes

--waiting for something, somebody; my blood kept tingling with

some expectation.

I tried busying myself with extra work. The bedroom floor was

clean enough but I insisted on its being scrubbed over again

under my eyes. Things were arranged in the cabinets in one kind

of order; I pulled them all out and rearranged them in a

different way. I found no time that afternoon even to do up my

hair; I hurriedly tied it into a loose knot, and went and worried

everybody, fussing about the store-room. The stores seemed

short, and pilfering must have been going on of late, but I could

not muster up the courage to take any particular person to task--

for might not the thought have crossed somebody's mind: "Where

were your eyes all these days!"

In short, I behaved that day as one possessed. The next day I

tried to do some reading. What I read I have no idea, but after

a spell of absentmindedness I found I had wandered away, book in

hand, along the passage leading towards the outer apartments, and

was standing by a window looking out upon the verandah running

along the row of rooms on the opposite side of the quadrangle.

One of these rooms, I felt, had crossed over to another shore,

and the ferry had ceased to ply. I felt like the ghost of myself

of two days ago, doomed to remain where I was, and yet not really

there, blankly looking out for ever.

As I stood there, I saw Sandip come out of his room into the

verandah, a newspaper in his hand. I could see that he looked

extraordinarily disturbed. The courtyard, the railings, in

front, seemed to rouse his wrath. He flung away his newspaper

with a gesture which seemed to want to rend the space before him.

I felt I could no longer keep my vow. I was about to move on

towards the sitting-room, when I found my sister-in-law behind

me. "O Lord, this beats everything!" she ejaculated, as she

glided away. I could not proceed to the outer apartments.

The next morning when my maid came calling, "Rani Mother, it is

getting late for giving out the stores," I flung the keys to her,

saying, "Tell Harimati to see to it," and went on with some

embroidery of English pattern on which I was engaged, seated near

the window.

Then came a servant with a letter. "From Sandip Babu," said he.

What unbounded boldness! What must the messenger have thought?

There was a tremor within my breast as I opened the envelope.

There was no address on the letter, only the words: _An urgent

matter--touching the Cause. Sandip_.

I flung aside the embroidery. I was up on my feet in a moment,

giving a touch or two to my hair by the mirror. I kept the

sari I had on, changing only my jacket--for one of my

jackets had its associations.

I had to pass through one of the verandahs, where my sister-in-

law used to sit in the morning slicing betel-nut. I refused to

feel awkward. "Whither away, Chota Rani?" she cried.

"To the sitting-room outside."

"So early! A matin�e, eh?"

And, as I passed on without further reply, she hummed after me a

flippant song.

IX

When I was about to enter the sitting-room, I saw Sandip immersed

in an illustrated catalogue of British Academy pictures, with his

back to the door. He has a great notion of himself as an expert

in matters of Art.

One day my husband said to him: "If the artists ever want a

teacher, they need never lack for one so long as you are there."

It had not been my husband's habit to speak cuttingly, but

latterly there has been a change and he never spares Sandip.

"What makes you suppose that artists need no teachers?" Sandip

retorted.

"Art is a creation," my husband replied. "So we should humbly be

content to receive our lessons about Art from the work of the

artist."

Sandip laughed at this modesty, saying: "You think that meekness

is a kind of capital which increases your wealth the more you use

it. It is my conviction that those who lack pride only float

about like water reeds which have no roots in the soil."

My mind used to be full of contradictions when they talked thus.

On the one hand I was eager that my husband should win in

argument and that Sandip's pride should be shamed. Yet, on the

other, it was Sandip's unabashed pride which attracted me so. It

shone like a precious diamond, which knows no diffidence, and

sparkles in the face of the sun itself.

I entered the room. I knew Sandip could hear my footsteps as I

went forward, but he pretended not to, and kept his eyes on the

book.

I dreaded his Art talks, for I could not overcome my delicacy

about the pictures he talked of, and the things he said, and had

much ado in putting on an air of overdone insensibility to hide

my qualms. So, I was almost on the point of retracing my steps,

when, with a deep sigh, Sandip raised his eyes, and affected to

be startled at the sight of me. "Ah, you have come!" he said.

In his words, in his tone, in his eyes, there was a world of

suppressed reproach, as if the claims he had acquired over me

made my absence, even for these two or three days, a grievous

wrong. I knew this attitude was an insult to me, but, alas, I

had not the power to resent it.

I made no reply, but though I was looking another way, I could

not help feeling that Sandip's plaintive gaze had planted itself

right on my face, and would take no denial. I did so wish he

would say something, so that I could shelter myself behind his

words. I cannot tell how long this went on, but at last I could

stand it no longer. "What is this matter," I asked, "you are

wanting to tell me about?"

Sandip again affected surprise as he said: "Must there always be

some matter? Is friendship by itself a crime? Oh, Queen Bee, to

think that you should make so light of the greatest thing on

earth! Is the heart's worship to be shut out like a stray cur?"

There was again that tremor within me. I could feel the crisis

coming, too importunate to be put off. Joy and fear struggled

for the mastery. Would my shoulders, I wondered, be broad enough

to stand its shock, or would it not leave me overthrown, with my

face in the dust?

I was trembling all over. Steadying myself with an effort I

repeated: "You summoned me for something touching the Cause, so I

have left my household duties to attend to it."

"That is just what I was trying to explain," he said, with a dry

laugh. "Do you not know that I come to worship? Have I not told

you that, in you, I visualize the Shakti of our country?

The Geography of a country is not the whole truth. No one can

give up his life for a map! When I see you before me, then only

do I realize how lovely my country is. When you have anointed me

with