Stories from Tagore. Rabindranath Tagore

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СКАЧАТЬ He gaped and remained silent when the teacher asked him a question, and like an overladen ass patiently suffered all the blows that came down on his back. When other boys were out at play, he stood wistfully by the window and gazed at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance he espied children playing on the open terrace of any roof, his heart would ache with longing.

      One day he summoned up all his courage and asked his uncle: "Uncle, when can I go home?"

      His uncle answered: "Wait till the holidays come."

      But the holidays would not come till October and there was a long time still to wait.

      One day Phatik lost his lesson book. Even with the help of books he had found it very difficult indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it was impossible. Day after day the teacher would cane him unmercifully. His condition became so abjectly miserable that even his cousins were ashamed to own him. They began to jeer and insult him more than the other boys. He went to his aunt at last and told her that he had lost his book.

      His aunt pursed her lips in contempt and said: "You great clumsy, country lout! How can I afford, with all my family, to buy you new books five times a month?"

      That night, on his way back from school, Phatik had a bad headache with a fit of shivering. He felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. His one great fear was that he would be a nuisance to his aunt.

      The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. All searches in the neighbourhood proved futile. The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and those who went out in search of the boy got drenched through to the skin. At last Bishamber asked help from the police.

      At the end of the day a police van stopped at the door before the house. It was still raining and the streets were all flooded. Two constables brought out Phatik in their arms and placed him before Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, muddy all over, his face and eyes flushed red with fever and his limbs trembling. Bishamber carried him in his arms and took him into the inner apartments. When his wife saw him she exclaimed: "What a heap of trouble this boy has given us! Hadn't you better send him home?"

      Phatik heard her words and sobbed out loud: "Uncle, I was just going home; but they dragged me back again."

      The fever rose very high, and all that night the boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in a doctor. Phatik opened his eyes, flushed with fever, and looked up to the ceiling and said vacantly: "Uncle, have the holidays come yet?"

      Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes and took Phatik's lean and burning hands in his own and sat by him through the night. The boy began again to mutter. At last his voice became excited: "Mother!" he cried, "don't beat me like that. … Mother! I am telling the truth!"

      The next day Phatik became conscious for a short time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if expecting some one to come. At last, with an air of disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow. He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.

      Bishamber knew his thoughts and bending down his head whispered: "Phatik, I have sent for your mother."

      The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled voice that the boy's condition was very critical.

      Phatik began to cry out: "By the mark—three fathoms. By the mark—four fathoms. By the mark——." He had heard the sailor on the river-steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line. Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.

      Later in the day Phatik's mother burst into the room, like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.

      Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she flung herself on the bed, and cried: "Phatik, my darling, my darling."

      Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment. His hands ceased beating up and down. He said: "Eh?"

      The mother cried again: "Phatik, my darling, my darling."

      Phatik very slowly turned his head and without seeing anybody said: "Mother, the holidays have come."

WORDS TO BE STUDIED

       Table of Contents

      proposal. From the Latin word "ponere," to place. Compare position, post, depose, impose, component, composition, repose.

      unanimously. From the Latin "unus," one, and "animus," mind. Compare magnanimous, pusillanimous.

      philosopher. From the Greek "philos," a friend, and "sophia," wisdom. Compare philology, philanthropy, theosophy.

      moustache. A French word which has found its home in English. French is frequently giving to English new words. Compare, in this story, manœuvre, discomfit, mischief.

      juncture. From the Latin "jungere," to join. Compare junction, conjunction, subjunctive, adjunct.

      unattractive. From the negative "un," meaning "not," and the root "tract-," meaning to draw. Compare traction, tractor, attract, extract, subtract.

      atmosphere. From the Greek word "atmos," the air, and "sphaira," a "globe." Compare sphere, hemisphere, photosphere.

      wistfulness. Probably from the English word "wish," wishfulness. Several, however, regard it as coming from an old word "whist" or "wist," meaning silent. The vernacular word "udās" has the same meaning.

      abjectly. From the Latin word "jacere," to throw. Compare ad-jec-tive, subject, object, project, inject, reject.

      neighbourhood. From a Saxon word meaning near, nigh; "hood" or "head" is a common addition to Saxon words denoting the quality or character. Compare knighthood, manhood, boyhood, womanhood.

      holidays. This word is made up of two words, "holy" and "days." The religious days of the Church were those on which no one worked and thus they got the meaning of holidays as opposed to working days.

      ONCE THERE WAS A KING

III

       ONCE THERE WAS A KING

       Table of Contents

      "Once upon a time there was a king."

      When we were children there was no need to know who the king in the fairy story was. It didn't matter whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban, whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj. The thing that made a seven-year-old boy's heart go thump, thump with delight was this one sovereign truth, this reality of all realities: "Once there was a king."

      But the readers of this modern age are far more exact and exacting. When they hear such an opening to a story, they are at once critical and suspicious. They apply the searchlight of science СКАЧАТЬ