Tagore Omnibus, Volume 1

by Rabindranath Tagore

  I don’t like to deceive because that’s a sign of cowardice. But if I’m unable to deceive even when required, that is also a form of cowardice. If you raise walls around that which you want, I’ll have to break in to get what I want. You raise walls because you covet and I break in because I crave. If you play tricks I resort to capers. This is the whole truth of Nature, All the states and kingdoms on this earth and all things that happen here, work on this same principle. And when some godly creature comes from the heavens and speaks in the language of that kingdom, it is unreal. Hence, after much shouting and screaming, those words find a place only in the corner of the weak man’s home. The ones who are resilient and have taken to ruling the world cannot accept those words because that leads to loss of power and strength. That’s because the words are not true in themselves. Those who don’t hesitate to admit this, don’t feel ashamed to accept this, are the ones who are successful; and those hapless ones who straddle both the boats of the real and the unreal, torn between Nature and the godly creature, can neither move ahead nor live.

  A bunch of people are born in this world having vowed that they will not live life. There is a beauty in the sky when the sun is setting and those people are floored by that faint beauty. Our Nikhilesh belongs to that category; he seems almost lifeless. Almost four years ago, he and I had a great verbal battle on this issue. He said to me, ‘I accept that you can’t achieve something without power. But the debate is about what is called power and achievement. My power is more inclined towards sacrifice.’

  ‘Meaning, you are addicted to the passion for loss.’

  ‘Yes , just as the bird within the egg gets restless to lose the shell. The shell is very real indeed but in its stead it achieves air and light. In your opinion perhaps the bird is cheated.’

  Nikhilesh talks like this, in metaphors. Thereafter it is difficult to get him to understand that those metaphors are still mere words and not the truth. Well, if he is happy with these metaphors, let him be—we are the carnivores of this earth. We have teeth and nails, we can run, catch and rip things apart—we cannot spend the entire day romanticizing about the grass we chewed in the morning. Hence, we are not ready to accept it if you, the group of metaphor-people, stand guard at the door to the feast that’s laid out for us on this earth. We will either steal or rob or we will die. We are not ready to lie around on lotus leaves, in love with death, and draw our last breath in the tenth chapter, however much it offends my Vaishnava friends!

  People dismiss my thoughts with, ‘Oh, it’s just something you say.’ That’s because those people live by the same rules as I do in this world, but they spout something else. Hence, they do not know that these rules are what constitute morality. I know. It has been tested through my life that my words are not mere opinions. The rules I live by make it easy for me to win the hearts of women. They are the ones who are beings of this real world and they don’t wander the clouds on balloons of vacant ‘Ideas’ like men. In my eyes and face, my body and soul, they can sense a tremendous desire—that desire isn’t dried up by some penance, turned the other way by some logic, it is just pure and full desire—which growls away like a juggernaut: ‘I want, I want, I’ll have, I’ll have.’ From deep within, women know that this desire is the life force of this world. That life force wins out everywhere only because it refuses to acknowledge anyone other than itself. Many a time I have seen that women just let themselves go on the face of my desire, irrespective of whether they’ll live or die. The power that lets you win these women is the power of the true brave, the power to win the real world. The ones who imagine they’ll achieve some other world are most welcome to elevate their desire from its place on the earth and lift it skywards. Let me see how high their fountain rises and how long it lasts. Women haven’t been created for these subtle beings, who rove the world of ‘Ideas’.

  Affinity! God has paired men and women as couples in a special way and sent them into this world; their union is truer than the harmony of the chants—I have said this several times when required, on different occasions. The problem is that people want to accept Nature, but they need to hide behind the veil of words. That’s why the world is now full of lies. Why should there be one affinity? There should be thousands. No one has given it to Nature in writing that we’ll have to dismiss all other affinities for the sake of just one of them. I have enjoyed several affinities in my life and that wouldn’t stop me from pursuing one more. I can see her quite clearly and she has felt my affinity as well. Then? Then if I fail to win her over, I am not a man.

  Bimala

  WHERE HAD MY SENSE OF SHAME DISAPPEARED, I NOW WONDER. I HAD NO time to look at myself—my days and nights were swirling me around like a tornado. Hence, shame found no way to enter my soul.

  One day in my presence, my second sister-in-law laughingly remarked to my husband, ‘Dear brother-in-law, until today in this household only the women have cried their heart out; now it’s the men’s turn. From now on, we’ll make you cry. Isn’t that so, little princess? You’ve already donned the armour and now you need to just assail the hearts of men.’ She looked me over from head to toe. The shades of hue that radiated from me, through my dress and manner, my every gesture, did not escape her eyes in the least. Today I feel ashamed to write this, but that day I felt no shame whatsoever. That day my very Nature was working from within, I was not thinking or understanding any of this.

  Those days I know I used to dress up specially. But it was unconscious to an extent. I could clearly sense which outfit of mine pleased Sandipbabu the most. Besides, there was no need for any guesswork. Sandipbabu discussed it openly in front of everybody. In my presence, one day he said to my husband, ‘Nikhil, the day I saw our Queen Bee for the first time—sitting silently, dressed in a zari-bordered sari, her eyes looking through eternity like stars that have lost their way, as if for thousands of years she has waited thus, on the banks of darkness, in search of something, waiting for someone—my heart trembled. I felt the fire in her heart was wrapped around her in the borders of her sari. This fire is what we need, these palpable flames. Queen Bee, I request you—once more, could you appear before us dressed like the fiery flame?’

  Up until then I had been a nameless river in a village—I had a certain rhythm, a language. But suddenly, with no warning, the ocean flooded me and my breast swelled and heaved, my banks overflowed and on their own, my waves pulsated to the rhythm of the ocean’s drumbeat, I could never really fathom the true meaning of the throbbing in my veins. Where was the old me? Suddenly, from where did these waves of beauty come lapping at my shores? Sandipbabu’s famished eyes lit up like a pair of lamps to worship my beauty. Through his glances and words, he declared it like the cymbals and bells of the temple: I was awe-inspiring in my beauty and power. At that moment that sound drowned out all other sounds on this earth.

  Did God create me anew today? Did He make up for his neglect of so many years? The one who was plain suddenly blossomed into a beauty. The one who was ordinary suddenly perceived the glory of the entire land within herself. Sandipbabu wasn’t just one man. He alone symbolized the overflowing hearts of millions in the nation. Hence when he designated me as the Queen Bee of the beehive, I was crowned that very day amidst the whispered hymns of praise by all those who served the country. After that, in one corner of our home, my elder sister-in-law’s silent disregard and my second sister-in-law’s strident mockery didn’t affect me at all. My relationship with the whole world changed.

  Sandipbabu had successfully convinced me that the entire nation needed me badly. That day I had no trouble believing those words. I have the ability—the ability to do anything as I am now blessed by a divine strength. It was something that I’d never experienced before. There was no time for me to stop and try to comprehend the nature of this colossal wave of emotions that rose in my heart; it was as if it was mine always and yet not quite my own; as if it were somewhere beyond me, belonging to the entire nation. It was like a deluge and no backyard pond was
answerable for it.

  Sandipbabu consulted me about every little matter pertaining to the country. At first I was very hesitant, but that soon disappeared. Whatever I said, Sandipbabu’s reaction was amazement. He’d always say, ‘We, men, can only think but you can plumb the depths of Truth and so you don’t need to think anymore. God created women from inspiration but the men, He beat into shape with a hammer in hand.’ Listening to him, I’d begun to feel that both natural intellect and power were innate parts of me in a way that I myself hadn’t realized before.

  Many letters came to Sandipbabu from different parts of the country regarding various matters. I read each and every one of them and none was answered without a consultation with me. On some days, Sandipbabu and I would disagree over something. I never argued with him. But a couple of days later, he’d have a realization as it were and calling me out from the inner chambers he’d say, ‘Look, what you said the other day was absolutely right and all my arguments were wrong.’ Sometimes he’d say, ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t take your advice then. Really, can you explain to me the mystery behind this?’

  Gradually I began to feel more and more that at the time all that was happening in the country had Sandipbabu at its root and behind him lay the common sense of an ordinary woman. My heart was filled to the brim with the sense of a glorious duty.

  My husband had no place in all these discussions that we had. Sandipbabu’s manner towards my husband was like that of an older brother who loved his younger brother very much but didn’t really trust his judgement on important matters. He’d often laugh patronizingly and imply that in these matters my husband was quite childish and his opinions were really quite contrary. He made it clear that he loved my husband all the more because there was a quaint humour in these strange opinions and erroneous beliefs that he held. Hence, out of this exceptional fondness for my husband, Sandipbabu kept him out of doing any work for the country.

  Nature, the physician, has several ways of dulling one’s pain. When a profound relationship gradually starts slipping away, one doesn’t even know when those antidotes start working within oneself. Suddenly one day we wake up and realize a great chasm has opened up. When the scalpel was cutting away at the most important relationship of my life, my mind was thus shrouded by the vapours of emotion and I didn’t even know about the cruel turn of events. Perhaps this is a woman’s nature. When our heart is involved in one arena, we lose all our senses of other spaces. This is why we are devastating; we cause havoc through our innate nature and not through logic. We are like flowing water—when we flow between two shores, we nurture with all our might and when we overflow the banks, we destroy with equal vehemence.

  Sandip

  I COULD FEEL THAT SOMETHING WAS AMISS. THE OTHER DAY I GOT A WHIFF of it.

  Since my arrival, the drawing room in Nikhilesh’s home had turned into an ambiguous space, neither indoors nor outdoors. From the outside I had access to it and from within, the Queen Bee did. If we had used this privilege in some moderation, perhaps people would soon have got used to it. But when the dam bursts, the flow of the water is at its highest. Our meetings in the drawing room continued with such gusto that neither of us was aware of anything else.

  Whenever the Bee came into the drawing room, I could somehow sense it from my room. There’d be some sounds of tinkling bangles and some other noises. She opened the door perhaps a little too loudly, needlessly. Then the door of the bookshelf, which was a little stiff, made a lot of noise when it was opened. As I came into the room, I’d find the Bee intently picking a book from the shelf, her back to the doorway. When I’d offer to help her in this arduous task, she’d be startled and protest, and then some other topic would come up.

  The other day, on a Thursday afternoon, I started from my room after hearing some of the usual noises. On the way, in the corridor I found a guard standing duty. I proceeded without glancing at him. But he stood in my way and said, ‘Babu, please don’t go that way.’

  ‘Don’ t go! But why!’

  ‘The mistress is in the drawing room.’

  ‘Fine. Tell the mistress that Sandipbabu would like to see her.’

  ‘No, that’s not possible. Those are the orders.’

  I was very angry. I raised my voice a little and said, ‘I am ordering you to go and ask her.’

  The guard was a little daunted by all this. So I pushed him aside and proceeded towards the room. When I was almost at the door, he ran up to me and grabbed me by the hands, ‘Babu, please don’t go.’

  What was this! How dare he touch me! I snatched my hand away and slapped him hard on the cheek. At this point, the Bee came out of the room and found the guard on the verge of retaliating.

  I’ll never forget the look on her face. It was I who discovered the beauty of the Bee. In our country most people wouldn’t look at her twice. She was tall and lissome, a quality which connoisseurs of beauty would mock as ‘lanky’. It was this litheness of hers that I admired the most, as if in making her a fountain of life had emanated from the cavernous heart of the maker and shot upwards animatedly. Her colour was dark, but it was the dark of a sword of steel—powerful and razor-sharp. That power blazed in her eyes and face that day. Standing on the threshold, she raised her index finger and said, ‘Nanku, go away.’

  I said, ‘Please don’t be angry. Since there are orders, I’d better leave.’

  In a trembling voice, the Bee said, ‘No, please don’t leave. Come inside.’

  This wasn’t a request, it was an order. I came into the room, sat down and began to fan myself with a hand-held fan. The Bee wrote something on a piece of paper with a pencil and handed it to the bearer saying, ‘Give this to the master.’

  I said, ‘Please forgive me, I was impatient and I hit the guard.’

  The Bee said, ‘Serves him right.’

  ‘But that poor man did nothing wrong. He was following orders.’

  At this point Nikhil came into the room. Hastily I got up, turned my back to him and went and stood by the window.

  The Bee said to Nikhil, ‘Today Nanku, the guard, has insulted Sandipbabu.’

  Nikhil pretended to be such a simpleton as he said, ‘Why?’ that I could no longer control myself. I turned around and looked at his face steadily and thought, ‘So the truthful person does lie to his wife, if she is the right sort.’

  The Bee said, ‘Sandipbabu was coming this way and he stopped him saying that he has orders.’

  Nikhil asked, ‘Whose orders?’

  The Bee retorted, ‘How should I know that?’

  Anger and frustration almost brought tears to her eyes.

  Nikhil sent for the guard. He said, ‘Sire, I am not at fault. I was following orders.’

  ‘Whose orders?’

  ‘The elder and second mistresses called me and gave me instructions.’

  For a few moments all of us were silent.

  After he left, the Bee said, ‘Nanku has to be sacked.’

  Nikhil was silent. I knew his moral and ethical senses were strained. He was under great stress. But the problem was a difficult one. The Bee was no simple woman. On the pretext of sacking Nanku, she wanted to take revenge on her sisters-in-law.

  Nikhil continued to be silent. The Bee’s eyes were showering sparks of fire. Her hatred towards Nikhil’s good-heartedness knew no bounds.

  Without saying another word, Nikhil left the room.

  From the next day, that guard was not to be seen anywhere. Upon inquiry I learnt that Nikhil had transferred him to a position in some village—the guard’s losses were compensated amply.

  Over this small matter, I could tell, that a few storms had blown over the house. At every point I couldn’t help feeling one thing—Nikhil is strange, an absolutely insane person.

  The upshot of this incident was that for the next few days the Bee started coming into the drawing room daily and sending the bearer for me to spend some time chatting with me; she didn’t even bother to use any excuse of coincidence or necessity.


  In this fashion the friendship, through words and gestures, spoken and unspoken, progressed. This was the lady of a household who is usually like a star in a sky, beyond an outsider’s reach. There were no trodden paths here. Through this nameless vacuum we navigated our way: the gradual tension, knowing and awareness, each veil of inhibition ripping away into a formless sky and suddenly exposing nature in its naked form—this was a strange, victorious journey of Truth!

  Of course this is Truth! The force of attraction between a man and a woman is a very tangible one. From the dust particle on the ground to the stars in the sky, all material things support it. And man would like to keep it shrouded by a few words, to make it his domestic property by some rules and regulations ! As if it’s a demand to fashion a watch-chain for one’s son-in-law out of the solar system. Then, when reality awakens to the call of matter, and in an instant, brushes aside all pretense of man’s words and takes its own place, neither faith nor morality can stop its progress. So many charges, regrets and commands come forth! But you need more than mere words to grapple with a storm. It doesn’t answer to you, it only shakes you up—it is reality.

  Hence, I am really enjoying this palpable revelation of Truth before my eyes. So much shame and fear, so many dilemmas! But without that what’s the charm of Truth? This tremble in one’s step, this turning away every now and then—it’s all very sweet. And the deception is more against oneself than others. When reality wages war on the artificial, deception is its primary weapon because the enemies of matter mock it by calling it coarse. Hence, it needs to either keep itself hidden or use a masquerade. The way things are, it can’t say boldly, ‘Yes I am coarse, because I am Truth, I am corporeal, I am instinct, I am hunger, shameless and heartless—just as shameless and heartless as the gigantic boulder that’s dislodged from the mountainside by the rains and comes rolling onto the heads of human habitation, irrespective of lives lost or saved.’