Stories from Tagore
The subject, as a matter of fact, had been raised by Kiran, who had
proposed to take him along with them. But her husband and his mother and
brother had all objected so strenuously that she let the matter drop. A
couple of days before they were to start, she sent for the boy, and with
kind words advised him to go back to his own home.
So many days had he felt neglected that this touch of kindness was too
much for him; he burst into tears. Kiran's eyes were also brimming
over. She was filled with remorse at the thought that she had created a
tie of affection, which could not be permanent.
But Satish was much annoyed at the blubbering of this overgrown boy.
"Why does the fool stand there howling instead of speaking?" said he.
When Kiran scolded him for an unfeeling creature, he replied: "My dear
sister, you do not understand. You are too good and trustful. This
fellow turns up from the Lord knows where, and is treated like a king.
Naturally the tiger has no wish to become a mouse again. And he has
evidently discovered that there is nothing like a tear or two to soften
your heart."
Nilkanta hurriedly left the spot. He felt he would like to be a knife to
cut Satish to pieces; a needle to pierce him through and through; a fire
to burn him to ashes. But Satish was not even scared. It was only his
own heart that bled and bled.
Satish had brought with him from Calcutta a grand inkstand. The inkpot
was set in a mother-of-pearl boat drawn by a German-silver goose
supporting a penholder. It was a great favourite of his, and he cleaned
it carefully every day with an old silk handkerchief. Kiran would laugh,
and tapping the silver bird's beak would say--
Twice-born bird, ah! wherefore stirred
To wrong our royal lady?
and the usual war of words would break out between her and her
brother-in-law.
The day before they were to start, the inkstand was missing and could
nowhere be found. Kiran smiled, and said: "Brother-in-law, your goose
has flown off to look for your Damayanti."
But Satish was in a great rage. He was certain that Nilkanta had stolen
it--for several people said they had seen him prowling about the room
the night before. He had the accused brought before him. Kiran also was
there. "You have stolen my inkstand, you thief!" he blurted out. "Bring
it back at once." Nilkanta had always taken punishment from Sharat,
deserved or undeserved, with perfect equanimity. But, when he was called
a thief in Kiran's presence, his eyes blazed with a fierce anger, his
breast swelled, and his throat choked. If Satish had said another word,
he would have flown at him like a wild cat and used his nails like
claws.
Kiran was greatly distressed at the scene, and taking the boy into
another room said in her sweet, kind way: "Nilu, if you really have
taken that inkstand give it to me quietly, and I shall see that no one
says another word to you about it." Big tears coursed down the boy's
cheeks, till at last he hid his face in his hands, and wept bitterly.
Kiran came back from the room and said: "I am sure Nilkanta has not
taken the inkstand." Sharat and Satish were equally positive that no
other than Nilkanta could have done it.
But Kiran said determinedly: "Never."
Sharat wanted to cross-examine the boy, but his wife refused to allow
it.
Then Satish suggested that his room and box should be searched. And
Kiran said: "If you dare do such a thing I will never forgive you. You
shall not spy on the poor innocent boy." And as she spoke, her wonderful
eyes filled with tears. That settled the matter and effectually
prevented any further molestation of Nilkanta.
Kiran's heart overflowed with pity at this attempted outrage on a
homeless lad. She got two new suits of clothes and a pair of shoes, and
with these and a banknote in her hand she quietly went into Nilkanta's
room in the evening. She intended to put these parting presents into his
box as a surprise. The box itself had been her gift.
From her bunch of keys she selected one that fitted and noiselessly
opened the box. It was so jumbled up with odds and ends that the new
clothes would not go in. So she thought she had better take everything
out and pack the box for him. At first knives, tops, kite-flying reels,
bamboo twigs, polished shells for peeling green mangoes, bottoms of
broken tumblers and such like things dear to a boy's heart were
discovered. Then there came a layer of linen, clean and otherwise. And
from under the linen there emerged the missing inkstand, goose and all.
Kiran, with flushed face, sat down helplessly with the inkstand in her
hand, puzzled and wondering.
In the meantime, Nilkanta had come into the room from behind without
Kiran knowing it. He had seen the whole thing and thought that Kiran had
come like a thief to catch him in his thieving,--and that his deed was
out. How could he ever hope to convince her that he was not a thief, and
that only revenge had prompted him to take the inkstand, which he meant
to throw into the river at the first chance? In a weak moment he had put
it in the box instead. "He was not a thief," his heart cried out, "not a
thief!" Then what was he? What could he say? That he had stolen, and yet
he was not a thief? He could never explain to Kiran how grievously wrong
she was. And then, how could he bear the thought that she had tried to
spy on him?
At last Kiran with a deep sigh replaced the inkstand in the box, and, as
if she were the thief herself, covered it up with the linen and the
trinkets as they were before; and at the top she placed the presents,
together with the banknote which she had brought for him.
The next day the boy was nowhere to be found. The villagers had not seen
him; the police could discover no trace of him. Said Sharat: "Now, as a
matter of curiosity, let us have a look at his box." But Kiran was
obstinate in her refusal to allow that to be done.
She had the box brought up to her own room; and taking out the inkstand
alone, she threw it into the river.
The whole family went home. In a day the garden became desolate. And
only that starving mongrel of Nilkanta's remained prowling along the
river-bank, whining and whining as if its heart would break.
WORDS TO BE STUDIED
=favourite.= A certain number of words such as _honour_, _colour_,
_favour_, _ardour_, _fervour_ have come into English through the
French from the Latin. There is a constant tendency to-day in
modern English to leave out the letter "u" and spell _color_,
_favor_, etc. But this movement has not yet gained much ground in
England.
=wiseacres.= This form originally comes from the Dutch. The ending
"acres" is a corruption of the Dutch "seggen" which is the same as
the English to say. The word is equivalent to "wise-sayers."
=deign.= This is a word which comes through the French from the Latin
"dignus," meaning worthy. Compare _indignant_, _dignitary_,
_condign_, _indignity_.
=troupe.= An example of two words, with slightly different meanings,
coming from one and the same French word. The French word is
"troupe," meaning a company. This form is used in English for a
company of players or actors. But the form "troop" is used chiefly
of soldiers.
=automatically.= This is a modern English word from the Greek "autos,"
meaning self. Compare _autobiography_, _autonomy_, _autocracy_.
Modern English is drawing largely from the Greek language for its
new words.
=alliteration.= The Latin word for letter is "littera." From this we
get many English words, e.g. _letter_, _literate_, _literal_,
_literature_, _illiterate_, _obliterate_, _transliterate_, etc.
=mirage.= From the Latin "mirari," to wonder. Compare _mirror_,
_miracle_, _admire_. This is one of the words in English which
keeps the old French accent on the last syllable--mirAige. The
tendency in English is always to throw the accent back as far as
possible. Many words have changed their pronunciation in the
course of time. Obdurate, in Milton's time, was pronounced
obdAšrate, but to-day it is pronounced A cubedbdurate. Trafalgar was
pronounced TrafalgAir last century. Now we pronounce it TrafAilgar.
THE SON OF RASHMANI
IX
THE SON OF RASHMANI
I
Kalipada's mother was Rashmani, but she had to do the duty of the father
as well, because when both of the parents are "mother" then it is bad
for the child. Bhavani, her husband, was wholly incapable of keeping his
children under discipline. To know why he was bent on spoiling his son,
you must hear something of the former history of the family.
Bhavani was born in the famous house of Saniari. His father, Abhaya
Charan, had a son, Shyama Charan, by his first wife. When he married
again after her death he had himself passed the marriageable age, and
his new father-in-law took advantage of the weakness of his position to
have a special portion of his estate settled on his daughter. In this
way he was satisfied that proper provision had been made, if his
daughter should become a widow early in life. She would be independent
of the charity of Shyama Charan.
The first part of his anticipation came true. For very soon after the
birth of a son, whom she called Bhavani, Abhaya Charan died. It gave the
father-in-law great peace and consolation, as he looked forward to his
own death, to know that his daughter was properly looked after.
Shyama Charan was quite grown up. In fact his own eldest boy was a year
older than Bhavani. He brought up the latter with his own son. In doing
this he never took a farthing from the property allotted to his
step-mother, and every year he got a receipt from her after submitting
detailed accounts. His honesty in this affair surprised the
neighbourhood. In fact they thought that such honesty was another name
for foolishness. They did not like the idea of a division being made in
the undivided ancestral property. If Shyama Charan in some underhand
manner had been able to annul the dowry, his neighbours would have
admired his sagacity; and there were good advisers ready to hand who
could have rendered him material aid in the attainment of such an
object. But Shyama Charan, in spite of the risk of crippling his
patrimony, strictly set aside the dowry which came to the share of his
step-mother; and the widow, Vraja Sundari, being naturally affectionate
and trustful, had every confidence in Shyama Charan whom she trusted as
her own son. More than once she had chided him for being so particular
about her portion of the property. She would tell him that, as she was
not going to take her property with her when she died, and as it would
in any case revert to the family, it was not necessary to be so very
strict about rendering accounts. But he never listened to her.
Shyama Charan was a severe disciplinarian by habit and his children were
perfectly aware of the fact. But Bhavani had every possible freedom, and
this gave rise to the impression that he was more partial to his
step-brother than to his own sons. But Bhavani's education was sadly
neglected and he completely relied on Shyama Charan for the management
of his share of the property. He merely had to sign documents
occasionally without ever spending a thought on their contents. On the
other hand, Tarapada, the eldest son of Shyama Charan, was quite an
expert in the management of the estate, having to act as an assistant to
his father.
After the death of Shyama Charan, Tarapada said to Bhavani, "Uncle, we
must not live together as we have done for so long, because some
trifling misunderstanding may come at any moment and cause utter
disruption."
Bhavani never imagined, even in his dream, that a day might come when he