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The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride

The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride

Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.

Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?

See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not overhurried
at meeting him.

Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.

It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the courtyard;
the sky overhead is bright.

Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.

Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.

If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.

Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.

Have no words with him if your are
shy.

Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.

Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?

Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?

Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?

O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?

Let your work be!
507

The Gardener LXXIX: I Often Wonder

The Gardener LXXIX: I Often Wonder

I often wonder where lie hidden
the boundaries of recognition between
man and the beast whose heart knows
no spoken language.
Through what primal paradise in a
remote morning of creation ran the
simple path by which their hearts
visited each other.
Those marks of their constant tread
have not been effaced though their
kinship has been long forgotten.
Yet suddenly in some wordless
music the dim memory wakes up
and the beast gazes into the man's
face with a tender trust, and the
man looks down into its eyes with
amused affection.
It seems that the two friends meet
masked, and vaguely know each other
through the disguise.
497

The Gardener LXXVI: The Fair Was On

The Gardener LXXVI: The Fair Was On

The fair was on before the temple.
It had rained from the early morning
and the day came to its end.

Brighter than all the gladness of
the crowd was the bright smile of
a girl who bought for a farthing a
whistle of palm leaf.

The shrill joy of that whistle floated
above all laughter and noise.

An endless throng of people came
and jostled together. The road was
muddy, the river in flood, the field
under water in ceaseless rain.

Greater than all the troubles of
the crowd was a little boy's trouble-he
had not a farthing to buy a painted
stick.

His wistful eyes gazing at the shop
made this whole meeting of men so
pitiful.
489

The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag

The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag

I hunt for the golden stag.

You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.

I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.

You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.

I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.

I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands--because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
494

The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart

The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart

Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.
457

The Gardener LI: Then Finish the Last Song

The Gardener LI: Then Finish the Last Song

Then finish the last song and let us
leave.
Forget this night when the night is
no more.
Whom do I try to clasp in my
arms? Dreams can never be made captive.
My eager hands press emptiness to
my heart and it bruises my breast.
463

The Gardener LV: It Was Mid-Day

The Gardener LV: It Was Mid-Day

It was mid-day when you went

away .

The sun was strong in the sky.

I had done my work and sat alone
on my balcony when you went away.

Fitful gusts came winnowing
through the smells of may distant
fields.

The doves cooed tireless in the shade,
and a bee strayed in my room humming
the news of many distant fields.

The village slept in the noonday
heat. The road lay deserted.

In sudden fits the rustling of the
leaves rose and died.

I gazed at the sky and wove in the
blue the letters of a name I had known,
while the village slept in the noonday
heat.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.
The languid breeze played with it upon
my cheek.

The river ran unruffled under the
shady bank.

The lazy white clouds did not move.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.

It was mid-day when you went
away.

The dust of the road was hot and
the fields panting.

The doves cooed among the dense
leaves.

I was alone in my balcony when you
went away.
483

The Gardener IV: Ah Me

The Gardener IV: Ah Me

Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?

They moor their laden boats near
my trees.

They come and go and wander at
their will.

I sit and watch them; my time
wears on.

Turn them away I cannot. And
thus my days pass by.

Night and day their steps sound
by my door.

Vainly I cry, "I do not know
you."

Some of them are known to my
fingers, some to my nostrils, the
blood in my veins seems to know
them, and some are known to my
dreams.

Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "Come to my house
whoever chooses. Yes, come."

In the morning the bell rings in the
temple.

They come with their baskets in
their hands.

Their feet are rosy red. The early
light of dawn is on their faces.

Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and I say, "Come to my garden
to gather flowers. Come hither."

In the mid-day the gong sounds
at the palace gate.

I know not why they leave their
work and linger near my hedge.

The flowers in their hair are pale
and faded; the notes are languid in
their flutes.

Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "The shade is cool
under my trees. Come, friends."

At night the crickets chirp in the
woods.

Who is it that comes slowly to my
door and gently knocks?

I vaguely see the face, not a word
is spoken, the stillness of the sky is
all around.

Turn away my silent guest I
cannot. I look at the face through the
dark, and hours of dreams pass by.
476

The Flower-School

The Flower-School

When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.

The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.

Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.

Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.

They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to
come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand
in a corner.

When the rain come they have their holidays.

Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle
in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.

Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
are.

Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you
know why they are in such a hurry?

Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they
have their mother as I have my own.
828

The Chanpa Flower

The Chanpa Flower

Supposing I became a chanpa flower, just for fun, and grew on a
branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and
danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?

You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to
myself and keep quite quiet.

I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.

When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders,
you walked through the shadow of the champ tree to the little court
where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the
flower, but not know that it cane from me.

When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading
ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap,
I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book,
just where you were reading.

But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your
little child?

When in the evening you went to the cow shed with the lighted
lamp in your hand I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and
be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.

"Where have you been, you naughty child?"

"I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would say
then.
734

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Identification and basic context

Rabindranath Tagore was a Bengali poet, writer, composer, playwright, philosopher, and painter. He is celebrated as the most significant literary figure of modern India. Born into a prominent Bengali Hindu family deeply involved in the Indian Renaissance, he inherited a rich cultural and intellectual legacy. His nationality was Indian, and he wrote primarily in Bengali, though many of his works were translated into English by himself and others. Tagore lived during a period of intense nationalistic fervor and social change in British India, contributing significantly to the intellectual and artistic landscape of his time.

Childhood and education

Tagore's childhood was privileged, growing up in a large, cultured family in Calcutta. His father, Debendranath Tagore, was a leader of the Brahmo Samaj, a monotheistic reformist movement. Rabindranath received a home-based education, with tutors instructing him in literature, music, and languages. He briefly attended a local school but found the formal system stifling. His education was largely shaped by his immersion in Bengali literature, Sanskrit classics, and his father's spiritual teachings. He began composing poetry at a young age, showing an early aptitude for creative expression. His youthful experiences instilled in him a deep appreciation for nature and a critical perspective on rigid social structures.

Literary trajectory

Tagore's literary career began in his youth with the publication of his first collection of poems, 'Sandhya Sangeet' (Evening Songs), in 1875. He gained significant recognition with his lyrical work 'Gitanjali' (Song Offerings), the English translation of which earned him the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. This marked a turning point in his career, bringing him international acclaim. He was incredibly prolific, producing a vast body of work that included novels like 'Gora' (1910) and 'Ghare-Baire' (The Home and the World, 1916), short stories such as those collected in 'Galpaguchchha' (A Collection of Stories), and numerous dramas, essays, and thousands of songs. He also founded Visva-Bharati University in Santiniketan, an institution dedicated to the synthesis of Eastern and Western cultures and a nurturing ground for creative arts.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Tagore's major works are too numerous to list comprehensively, but include 'Gitanjali', 'Gora', 'Chokher Bali', 'Kabuliwala', and the Rabindra Sangeet (songs composed by him). His dominant themes are profound and diverse: the beauty and spiritual significance of nature, the complexities of human love and relationships, the joys and sorrows of life, nationalism and internationalism, social justice, and the spiritual quest for truth. His style is characterized by its lyrical beauty, musicality, and profound emotional depth. He mastered various forms, from intricate metrical verse to free verse, and his songs are known for their exquisite blend of poetry and music. His poetic voice is often tender, introspective, and philosophical, embracing both the personal and the universal. His language is rich, evocative, and infused with imagery drawn from nature and human experience. Tagore's work is deeply rooted in Bengali culture but possesses a universal resonance.

Cultural and historical context

Tagore was a product of and a significant contributor to the Bengal Renaissance, a period of artistic and intellectual awakening in the 19th and early 20th centuries. He lived through the era of British colonial rule in India and was a vocal critic of its oppressive aspects, yet he also advocated for a synthesis of Indian and Western values, rather than outright rejection of the West. He was associated with intellectuals and artists of his time, both in India and internationally, and his founding of Visva-Bharati University aimed to foster cross-cultural understanding. His work reflects the tensions and aspirations of a nation grappling with identity, tradition, and modernity.

Personal life

Tagore's personal life was marked by deep familial ties and personal losses that often found expression in his work. He married Mrinalini Devi in 1883, and they had two surviving children. His wife's death in 1902 was a profound grief that influenced his poetry. He maintained close relationships with his children, particularly his son Rathindranath, who helped him in establishing Visva-Bharati. His spiritual inclinations were shaped by his father and the Brahmo Samaj, but he developed his own unique philosophy emphasizing the divine in humanity and nature. His later years were dedicated to his university and his literary pursuits.

Recognition and reception

Tagore achieved unparalleled recognition during his lifetime, most notably with the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913 for 'Gitanjali'. This award brought him immense international fame and established him as a global literary figure. He was celebrated in India as a national poet and cultural icon. His works have been translated into numerous languages, and he received honorary doctorates from various universities worldwide. While his literary genius was widely acknowledged, his philosophical and social ideas also garnered considerable attention and sometimes debate.

Influences and legacy

Tagore was influenced by ancient Indian scriptures (Upanishads), classical Sanskrit literature, and the devotional poetry of the Bhakti movement. He was also open to Western influences, particularly Romantic poetry and the ideas of thinkers like Emerson. His legacy is immense and multifaceted. He is credited with modernizing Bengali literature and art. His songs (Rabindra Sangeet) remain an integral part of Bengali culture. His philosophy of education, humanism, and internationalism continues to be influential. He inspired numerous artists, writers, and thinkers across India and the world.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Tagore's work is often praised for its lyrical beauty, spiritual depth, and humanistic outlook. Critics have explored his engagement with themes of nationalism versus cosmopolitanism, the sacredness of nature, and the complexities of human experience. His writings are seen as a bridge between the East and the West, offering universal insights into the human condition. While celebrated, some interpretations have also focused on the potential for his universalism to sometimes abstract or overlook specific socio-political realities.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Tagore was also an accomplished painter, beginning his artistic career in his late sixties, producing a distinctive body of work characterized by its surreal and expressive quality. He was known for his long, flowing beard and simple attire, which contributed to his iconic image. He had a deep connection with nature, often finding inspiration in his surroundings at Santiniketan. He was a prolific letter-writer, maintaining correspondence with prominent figures globally.

Death and memory

Rabindranath Tagore died on August 7, 1941, at the age of 80, in his ancestral home in Jorasanko, Calcutta. His death was a profound loss for India and the world. His memory is kept alive through his vast literary and artistic legacy, the continued performance and study of his songs, and the enduring influence of his philosophical and educational ideals. Visva-Bharati University remains a living testament to his vision.