Selected Poems (Tagore, Rabindranath)

by Rabindranath Tagore

  Appendix Β

  The first two chapters of lok-sāhitya (Folk Literature), 1907, consist of a collection of Bengali nursery rhymes, with comments by Tagore. The translation below is of the beginning of Chapter I.

  For some time I have been engaged in collecting all the Bengali rhymes that women currently use to divert their children. These rhymes may indeed have special value in the determination of the history of our language and society, but it is the simple, natural, poetic quality in them that has made them especially attractive to me.

  I am fearful of making my simple likes or dislikes my critical starting-off point, because those who are expert critics condemn such writing as egoism.

  I would humbly submit to those who make this judgement that there is no conceit in such egoism, rather the reverse. Those who are proper critics carry a pair of scales; they ascribe to literary works a fixed weight by weighing them against certain fixed maxims; whatever composition is before them, they can give it an appropriate number and stamp.

  But those who through ignorance and inexperience are unable to determine weight in this way have to base their criticism on pleasure or displeasure; so for them it is arrogant to introduce gospel truth into the discussion of literature. They find it better to say which piece of writing they like or dislike than to say which is good or bad.

  If anyone asks me who wants to hear such things, my reply is that everyone comes to hear them in literature itself. The word ‘criticism’ is reserved for literary criticism, but most literature is nothing but a criticism of nature and human life. When a poet expresses his own joy or grief or surprise concerning nature, mankind or events, and tries to convey his feelings through passion and literary skill alone to another mind, no one condemns him. And all the reader does is to see, equally egotistically, ‘whether the poet’s words agree with my way of thinking or not’. So if the critic of poetry is also prepared to abandon logical argument and value-judgement and present to his readers the feeling of a reader, then it is not right to find fault with him.

  In particular, what I have sat down to communicate today will have to contain some autobiography. It is impossible for me to distinguish the aesthetic delight that I find in nursery rhymes from my own childhood memories. The present writer does not have the analytic power required to decide how much the sweetness of these rhymes is based on my own infant memories and how much on eternal literary excellence. It is best to admit this at the outset.

  ‘The rain falls pitter-patter, the river has overflowed.’1 This nursery rhyme was like a magic spell to me in childhood, and I still cannot forget its enchantment. I am unable to appreciate clearly the sweetness and appropriateness of nursery rhymes unless I remember that spellbound state of mind. I cannot understand why so many poems great and small, so much philosophical and moral discussion, such intense human endeavour, such sweated exertion should vanish every day into futile oblivion, while all these incongruous, nonsensical arbitrary verses remain perpetually current in popular memory.

  There is a timelessness in all these nursery rhymes. They never carry any indication of who wrote them, and no one ever thinks to ask on which day or in which year they were written. Because of this inherent timelessness, even if they were written in our own day they are ancient, and even if they were written thousands of years ago they are new.

  If you look closely, you see that there is nothing as ancient as infancy. Adults have been changed in many different ways by place, time, education and custom, but infants are the same today as they were a hundred thousand years ago. Unchanging ancientness is born into human homes again and again in the form of a baby, yet the freshness, beauty, innocence and sweetness it had at the beginning of history is the same today. The reason for this eternal newness is that infants are the creations of Nature. But adults are to a very great extent man’s own making. In the same way, nursery rhymes are infant-literature; they are born spontaneously and naturally in the human mind.

  There is a special significance in saying that they are born spontaneously. In their natural state, our minds are filled with images and echoes of the universe wandering about in a broken, disconnected way. They can take on a variety of shapes, and can suddenly shift from one subject to another. Just as the wind contains dust from the road, flower-pollen, countless odours, various sounds, stray leaves, drops of water, vapours from the earth – all the strange, uprooted, aerial bits and pieces of this swirling, churned-up world wandering around without meaning – so too our minds. There too in the ceaseless stream of consciousness many colours, scents and sounds, puffs of fancy, snatches of thought, broken pieces of language – all the many hundreds of abandoned, forgotten, detached materials of our experiential world – float about aimlessly and inconsequentially.

  When we aim our thoughts consciously in some particular direction, then all this humming activity suddenly stops, the web of particles flies away, the entire shadowy mirage is removed in a trice, our imagination and intelligence concentrate themselves into a unity, and proceed intently. The substance that we call Mind possesses such superior mastery that when it wakes and asserts itself then most of our inner and outer world is overwhelmed by its influence: under its discipline, rule, language, and by the commands of its servants, the whole world is reduced. Think of all the thousands of kinds of small and large noises that are perpetually sounding – bird-calls, rustling leaves, gurgling waters, the mingled noises of human habitations – and think of all the shaking, stirring, coming, going, the restless stream of mortal existence playing and swirling on and on: yet what a tiny part of it do we notice. The main reason for this is that, like a fisherman, our mind is able to throw only a single net and take up only that little bit that is caught in one throw: all the rest eludes it. When it sees, then it does not hear well; when it hears, then it does not see well; and when it thinks, then it does not see or hear well. It is able to a great degree to exclude all unnecessary materials from the path of its attention. This power is the chief thing that preserves its supremacy even in the midst of the boundless variety of the world. In the Purāas2 one can read that in ancient times certain great souls were able to achieve the power to live or die at will. Our mind has power to be blind or deaf at will, and because we have to use that power at every step, most of the world from the time we are born to the time we die carries on outside our consciousness. The mind takes up what it prepares for itself; it perceives whatever is formed by its own needs and nature; with what is happening or developing all around it – even in its own inner regions – it is not much concerned.

  If the reflected stream of all the dream-like shadows and sounds that wander about like endlessly-forming clouds in the sky of our mind in its simple state, sometimes combining, sometimes separating, going through various shapes and colours, moving at the chance dictate of invisible winds, could be projected on to some non-conscious screen,3 then we would see a considerable resemblance between that projection and these rhymes that we are discussing. These rhymes are nothing but the shadows of our ever-changing inner sky; they are like shadows projected on to the clear waters of a lake by clouds playing in the heavens. That is why I said that they are born spontaneously.

  Before I quote some nursery rhymes here by way of illustration, I must beg for my readers’ indulgence. Firstly, how can the sound of the affectionate, sweet, natural voice that always went with these rhymes issue from the pen of a man like me, sober, old and conscious of my position? My readers must recall to mind from their own homes, from their own childhood memories, that soothing sweetness of voice. What magic spell do I possess to bring before my readers the love, the music, the evening lamp-lit pictures of beauty that are forever intimately associated with it? I trust that the spell will lie in the rhymes themselves.

  Secondly, to place all these homely, unkempt, unsophisticated nursery rhymes4 in the middle of a guarded and conventional literary essay is to do them some unfairness – like putting an ordinary housewife in the witness-box of a court of law for cross-exam
ination. But I have no choice. Courts have to work according to the rules of courts; essays have to be written according to the rules of writing essays. Some cruelty is unavoidable.

  Glossary

  This Glossary is not a complete index, but I have given page references to the items included. It gives only the basic information required for this book. The most convenient source of further information is Benjamin Walker’s Hindu World, London, 1968. For musical rāgas, I have used Walter Kaufman’s The Rāgas of North India, Indiana, 1968: but I have also been greatly helped on musical matters by Jonathan Katz, of the Indian Institute, Oxford. My thanks to him and to Dr Jim Robinson, who kindly checked the mythological items; on names of flowers and trees, I should like to acknowledge the special assistance given me by Mrs Sujata Chaudhuri of Calcutta.

  Aghrā (108) Bengali month (strictly agrahāya), mid-November to mid-December; part of the season between autumn and winter known as hemanta.

  Äkanda (93) Flower, growing on a small tree; light mauvish-green calyx, small mauve budlike petals. In the right conditions it can bloom from February to October.

  Akbar (98)

  The third Moghul Emperor, from 1556 to 1605, and the real founder of the Moghul dynasty and empire. He strove for conciliation between Hindus and Muslims and tried to promulgate a new, universalist religion. He built the magnificent new city of Fatehpur Sikri near Agra, but after 1588 he ceased to use it as a capital and it became deserted.

  Alak

  (38, 52, 116, 131, 135, 169, 170, 181) Capital city and paradise of Kubera, chief of the Yaksas. Because by Kālidāsa’s time Kubera was also lord of riches, Alakā was regarded as the wealthiest of the many paradisical lokas (regions) of Hindu cosmology.

  Ämrakūa (51)Mountain in the Vindhya range.

  Ärākān (86) Coastal region of Burma, on the east side of the Bay of Bengal. For the station-master in ‘Deception’, it is Timbuctoo.

  Äāh (50, 51, 118) Bengali month, mid-June to mid-July; the rainy season in Bengal.

  Äśvin (87, 152) Bengali month, mid-September to mid-October; autumn in Bengal.

  Avanti (51, 180, 181, 182) Region of central India, whose capital was Ujjayini. Both region and city are now known as Ujjain.

  Baiśākh (94, 98, 101) First month of the Bengali year, mid-April to mid-May; summer in Bengal.

  Bakul (58, 67, 73)

  Small creamy-white star-like flower, growing on a large tree. It is sweet-scented, can bloom from February to July, and is celebrated in poetry.

  Balarām Dās (182)

  A Bengali Vaiava poet of the sixteenth century.

  Bāul (168, 169) Name of a heterodox religious sect in Bengal. Their faith belongs to a mystical tradition known as sahajīyā (sahaj means ‘simple, direct’), and the Bāul relationship with God is direct and personal, bypassing all scripture, ritual or priestcraft. They are not ascetics or celibates, but have traditionally led a wandering life, singing songs for a living. Tagore was much influenced by their religion, their freedom from convention, and their devotional songs. The Paus Melā (a fair held in the month of Paus), when Baul singers congregate, is an important event in the Santiniketan calendar.

  Bhairav (163) Musical rāga, performed in the morning. Bhairava is a name of Śiva in his terrifying aspect, and the rāga is serious and even awesome in character.

  Bhairavi (152) A morning rāga, traditionally often performed at the end of a concert. Bhairavi is one of the names of Śiva’s consort, and the rāga is named after her. It is calm and pensive in mood.

  Bhai (119, 172) White flower with dark red spots, growing in bunches on a bush. It has a strong, sweet smell, and can bloom from January to April. The plant is supposed to have medicinal properties, especially good for skin ailments.

  Bhūpāli (54) Pentatonic rāga, sung in the first part of the night. It is simple in structure, dignified and calm.

  Bighā (84, 134)

  Unit of land measurement, roughly equal to a third of an acre.

  Bilāspur (83, 85, 148) Town in Madhya Pradesh, Central India.

  Brahmā (45) Creator and first god of the triad of classical Hinduism. He was popular at one time, but is now worshipped much less than the great gods Vi§nu and Śiva. He is depicted as red in colour, with four faces and four arms. The ‘fire-matted hair’ that Tagore gives him in ‘Brahmā, Vinu, Śiva’ does not feature in the traditional iconography of Brahmā.

  Brahman (17, 24, 37, 130, 144, 160, 167, 170, 171) The absolute, eternal and universal God or Spirit of the Upaniads, corresponding to the ātman or Soul in man. ‘Brahman’ is the stem-form of the word, and is used by most modern writers. Tagore, however, frequently writes ‘Brahma’ in his English lectures, the neuter nominative form, not to be confused with Brahmā, the masculine nominative.

  Brahmāvarta (52) One of the ancient names used for the territory settled by the Indo-Aryans: originally the land between the Ganges and the Jumna.

  Brahmin (60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 169, 172, 174) Name of the first of the four main Hindu castes. Strictly it should be ‘brāhman’; but it is conventionally spelt ‘brahmin’ to distinguish it from Brahman (the Supreme Spirit) and the Brāhmaas, sacred scriptures used by Brahmins, who are hereditary priests.

  Caitra (88, 93, 94, 110, 119, 156) The last month of the Bengali year, mid-March to mid-April; spring in Bengal.

  Cāmelā (79, 145) Strictly, the Spanish jasmine; small white flower growing in clusters on a creeper. It is sweetly scented, and can bloom from February to July. But the name is commonly given to the jasmine or jātī (q.v.).

  Cāpā (campā, campak) (94) The Champak tree; its elongated golden-yellow flowers bloom in summer and are compared by poets to beautiful tapering fingers.

  Conch (45, 60, 70, 71, 72, 77, 128, 144) Shell that (perforated at one end) can be blown like a horn. In the Mahābhārata, each hero has a conch which he blows in battle and which often has a name. The most important conch in Hindu mythology is the Pāncajanya, which was once inhabited by a demon killed by Viu, and which is therefore associated with Viu and his chief incarnation Ka (see notes to ‘The Conch’, p. 144). Śiva also carries a conch, along with his trident and drum. Because of these divine associations, conches are blown in temple worship and on festive occasions such as the arrival of a bride or bridegroom. In Tagore’s poetry the conch can be an emblem of destructive power, or victory, or celebration.

  Cūrī (64)

  River of West Bengal, joining the Hooghly from the east, south of Rānāghā.

  Daśāra 131, 180) Name of a people and a region somewhere in North or Central India, mentioned in Kālidāsa’s Meghadūta.

  Devagiri (180)

  Name of a mountain mentioned in Kālidāsa’s Meghadūta.

  Dhaleśvarī (97, 98, 158)

  River in Assam, east of the Silhyet district of present-day Bangladesh.

  Dhūrjati (131,157) Name of Śiva: ‘having heavy matted locks’.

  Dīpak (144) Musical rāga. Ancient musicians are said to have kindled flame by the performance of this rāga: there is a story of the great sixteenth-century musician Tānsen lighting up all the candles in Akbar’s palace when he sang it once. There is therefore superstition attached to it, and many musicians shy away from performing it or even mentioning its name.

  Diwali (dipāli, dīpāvalī, dīpānvitā) (165) Late autumn Festival of Lamps (dīpa), when lights are put outside houses or floated on rivers in honour of Lakmī in many parts of India, but in Bengal usually in honour of Kālī (whence the festival is often known as Kālī-pūjā).

  Dolan-cāpā (94, 156) White or cream-yellow flower, growing on a small bush. It is sweet-scented and blooms in spring.

  Durgā (54, 64, 133) The form of Śiva’s śakti or consort that is most popular in Bengal. Bengal’s main religious festival, Durgā-pūjā, held in October/November, goes back to Rāma’s worship of Durgā for victory over the demon king Rāvana, as mentioned in the medieval Bengali version of the Rāmāyana. The festival starts with her supposed coming fr
om her husband’s home to her parental home, and ends with her tearful return to her husband on the day known as bijayā daśamī (‘the Victorious Tenth’). Two types of song are sung through the autumn in connection with these events: āgamanā, welcoming Durgā’s arrival at her parents’ home, and bijayā, songs of sorrow at her departure. (See Pārvatī for Durgā’s parentage.)

  Ganesa (96) Elephant-headed god, son of Śiva and Pārvatī, bringer of good luck, including good luck in business or shop-keeping.

  Ganges (Gagā) (50, 52, 88, 128, 131) Sacred river of North India; eldest daughter of Himavat (see ‘Himālaya’). Originally a heavenly river, she was brought down to earth by the prayers of the saint Bhagīratha; but Śiva, to save the earth from the shock of her fall, caught the river on his matted hair, and checked her course. Pārvatī, Śiva’s wife, was jealous of her sister Gagā for being allowed to play with Śiva’s hair.

  Gaurī (70, 131) Another name for Durgā or Pārvatī: the ‘Golden One’.

  Ghāt (107) A mooring-place; or steps leading down to a tank or river where people can bathe or wash clothes.

  Himālaya (86, 88, 131, 153, 180, 181) The great northern mountain range of the Indian sub-continent, the Himalayas. The name means ‘abode of snow’. In Hindu mythology, Himālaya (or Himavat) is the husband of Menakā and father of Pārvatī and Gagā (see Ganges).