The Home and the World, Rabindranath Tagore [robert munsch read aloud txt] 📗
- Author: Rabindranath Tagore
- Performer: -
Book online «The Home and the World, Rabindranath Tagore [robert munsch read aloud txt] 📗». Author Rabindranath Tagore
feet of him, who has received all my sin into the depths of his
own pain.
Tonight we go to Calcutta. My inward troubles have so long
prevented my looking after my things. Now let me arrange and
pack them.
After a while I found my husband had come in and was taking a
hand in the packing.
"This won't do," I said. "Did you not promise me you would have
a sleep?"
"I might have made the promise," he replied, "but my sleep did
not, and it was nowhere to be found."
"No, no," I repeated, "this will never do. Lie down for a while,
at least."
"But how can you get through all this alone?"
"Of course I can."
"Well, you may boast of being able to do without me. But frankly
I can't do without you. Even sleep refused to come to me, alone,
in that room." Then he set to work again.
But there was an interruption, in the shape of a servant, who
came and said that Sandip Babu had called and had asked to be
announced. I did not dare to ask whom he wanted. The light of
the sky seemed suddenly to be shut down, like the leaves of a
sensitive plant.
"Come, Bimal," said my husband. "Let us go and hear what Sandip
has to tell us. Since he has come back again, after taking his
leave, he must have something special to say."
I went, simply because it would have been still more embarrassing
to stay. Sandip was staring at a picture on the wall. As we
entered he said: "You must be wondering why the fellow has
returned. But you know the ghost is never laid till all the
rites are complete." With these words he brought out of his
pocket something tied in his handkerchief, and laying it on the
table, undid the knot. It was those sovereigns.
"Don't you mistake me, Nikhil," he said. "You must not imagine
that the contagion of your company has suddenly turned me honest;
I am not the man to come back in slobbering repentance to return
ill-gotten money. But..."
He left his speech unfinished. After a pause he turned towards
Nikhil, but said to me: "After all these days, Queen Bee, the
ghost of compunction has found an entry into my hitherto
untroubled conscience. As I have to wrestle with it every night,
after my first sleep is over, I cannot call it a phantom of my
imagination. There is no escape even for me till its debt is
paid. Into the hands of that spirit, therefore, let me make
restitution. Goddess! From you, alone, of all the world, I
shall not be able to take away anything. I shall not be rid of
you till I am destitute. Take these back!"
He took out at the same time the jewel-casket from under his
tunic and put it down, and then left us with hasty steps.
"Listen to me, Sandip," my husband called after him.
"I have not the time, Nikhil," said Sandip as he paused near the
door. "The Mussulmans, I am told, have taken me for an
invaluable gem, and are conspiring to loot me and hide me away in
their graveyard. But I feel that it is necessary that I should
live. I have just twenty-five minutes to catch the North-bound
train. So, for the present, I must be gone. We shall have our
talk out at the next convenient opportunity. If you take my
advice, don't you delay in getting away either. I salute you,
Queen Bee, Queen of the bleeding hearts, Queen of desolation!"
Sandip then left almost at a run. I stood stock-still; I had
never realized in such a manner before, how trivial, how paltry,
this gold and these jewels were. Only a short while ago I was so
busy thinking what I should take with me, and how I should pack
it. Now I felt that there was no need to take anything at all.
To set out and go forth was the important thing.
My husband left his seat and came up and took me by the hand.
"It is getting late," he said. "There is not much time left to
complete our preparations for the journey."
At this point Chandranath Babu suddenly came in. Finding us both
together, he fell back for a moment. Then he said, "Forgive me,
my little mother, if I intrude. Nikhil, the Mussulmans are out
of hand. They are looting Harish Kundu's treasury. That does
not so much matter. But what is intolerable is the violence that
is being done to the women of their house."
"I am off," said my husband.
"What can you do there?" I pleaded, as I held him by the hand.
"Oh, sir," I appealed to his master. "Will you not tell him not
to go?"
"My little mother," he replied, "there is no time to do anything
else."
"Don't be alarmed, Bimal," said my husband, as he left us.
When I went to the window I saw my husband galloping away on
horseback, with not a weapon in his hands.
In another minute the Bara Rani came running in. "What have you
done, Chotie darling," she cried. "How could you let him go?"
"Call the Dewan at once," she said, turning to a servant.
The Ranis never appeared before the Dewan, but the Bara Rani had
no thought that day for appearances.
"Send a mounted man to bring back the Maharaja at once," she
said, as soon as the Dewan came up.
"We have all entreated him to stay, Rani Mother," said the Dewan,
"but he refused to turn back."
"Send word to him that the Bara Rani is ill, that she is on her
death-bed," cried my sister-in-law wildly.
When the Dewan had left she turned on me with a furious outburst.
"Oh, you witch, you ogress, you could not die yourself, but needs
must send him to his death! ..."
The light of the day began to fade. The sun set behind the
feathery foliage of the blossoming Sajna tree. I can see
every different shade of that sunset even today. Two masses of
cloud on either side of the sinking orb made it look like a great
bird with fiery-feathered wings outspread. It seemed to me that
this fateful day was taking its flight, to cross the ocean of
night.
It became darker and darker. Like the flames of a distant
village on fire, leaping up every now and then above the horizon,
a distant din swelled up in recurring waves into the darkness.
The bells of the evening worship rang out from our temple. I
knew the Bara Rani was sitting there, with palms joined in silent
prayer. But I could not move a step from the window.
The roads, the village beyond, and the still more distant fringe
of trees, grew more and more vague. The lake in our grounds
looked up into the sky with a dull lustre, like a blind man's
eye. On the left the tower seemed to be craning its neck to
catch sight of something that was happening.
The sounds of night take on all manner of disguises. A twig
snaps, and one thinks that somebody is running for his life. A
door slams, and one feels it to be the sudden heart-thump of a
startled world.
Lights would suddenly flicker under the shade of the distant
trees, and then go out again. Horses' hoofs would clatter, now
and again, only to turn out to be riders leaving the palace
gates.
I continually had the feeling that, if only I could die, all this
turmoil would come to an end. So long as I was alive my sins
would remain rampant, scattering destruction on every side. I
remembered the pistol in my box. But my feet refused to leave
the window in quest of it. Was I not awaiting my fate?
The gong of the watch solemnly struck ten. A little later,
groups of lights appeared in the distance and a great crowd wound
its way, like some great serpent, along the roads in the
darkness, towards the palace gates.
The Dewan rushed to the gate at the sound. Just then a rider
came galloping in. "What's the news, Jata?" asked the Dewan.
"Not good," was the reply.
I could hear these words distinctly from my window. But
something was next whispered which I could not catch.
Then came a palanquin, followed by a litter. The doctor was
walking alongside the palanquin.
"What do you think, doctor?" asked the Dewan.
"Can't say yet," the doctor replied. "The wound in the head is a
serious one."
"And Amulya Babu?"
"He has a bullet through the heart. He is done for."
The Home and the World by Rabindranath Tagore.
Translated [from Bengali to English] by Surendranath Tagore.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Home and the World, by Rabindranath Tagore
END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOME AND THE WORLD
This file should be named 8wrld10.txt or 8wrld10.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8wrld11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8wrld10a.txt
Original html version created at eldritchpress.org by Eric Eldred.
This eBook was produced by Chetan Jain, Viswas G and Anand Rao
at Bharat Literature
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.
Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg
These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour
Comments (0)