The Essential Works of Tagore. Rabindranath Tagore

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СКАЧАТЬ some peaceful pilgrim shrine.

      RAMA. I am ready: but first must tread into dust every sprout of sin and shame that has sprung from the soil of our life. A daughter's infamy stains her mother's honour. That black shame shall feed glowing fire to-night, and raise a true wife's memorial over the ashes of my daughter.

      AMA. Mother, if by force you unite me in death with one who was not my husband, then will you bring a curse upon yourself for desecrating the shrine of the Eternal Lord of Death.

      RAMA. Soldiers, light the fire; surround the woman!

      AMA. Father!

      VINAYAKA. Do not fear. Alas, my child, that you should ever have to call your father to save you from your mother's hands!

      AMA. Father!

      VINAYAKA. Come to me, my darling child! Mere vanity are these man-made laws, splashing like spray against the rock of heaven's ordinance. Bring your son to me, and we will live together, my daughter. A father's love, like God's rain, does not judge but is poured forth from an abounding source.

      RAMA. Where would you go? Turn back!—Soldiers, stand firm in your loyalty to your master Jivaji! do your last sacred duty by him!

      AMA. Father!

      VINAYAKA. Free her, soldiers! She is my daughter.

      SOLDIERS. She is the widow of our master.

      VINAYAKA. Her husband, though a Mussulman, was staunch in his own faith.

      RAMA. Soldiers, keep this old man under control!

      AMA. I defy you, mother!—You, soldiers, I defy!—for through death and love I win to freedom.

      30

      A painter was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter's father so that he had died of a broken heart.

      The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself. The painter flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.

      After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a large price. But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and grimly sat before it, saying to himself, "This is my revenge."

      The sole form this painter's worship took was to trace an image of his god every morning.

      And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used to paint.

      This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were those of the minister, and so were the lips.

      He tore up the picture, crying, "My revenge has returned on my head!"

      31

      The General came before the silent and angry King and saluting him said: "The village is punished, the men are stricken to dust, and the women cower in their unlit homes afraid to weep aloud."

      The High Priest stood up and blessed the King and cried: "God's mercy is ever upon you."

      The Clown, when he heard this, burst out laughing and startled the court.

       The King's frown darkened.

      "The honour of the throne," said the minister, "is upheld by the King's prowess and the blessing of Almighty God."

      Louder laughed the Clown, and the King growled,—"Unseemly mirth!"

      "God has showered many blessings upon your head," said the Clown; "the one he bestowed on me was the gift of laughter."

      "This gift will cost you your life," said the King, gripping his sword with his right hand.

      Yet the Clown stood up and laughed till he laughed no more.

      A shadow of dread fell upon the Court, for they heard that laughter echoing in the depth of God's silence.

THE MOTHER'S PRAYER

       Table of Contents

       Prince Duryodhana, the son of the blind Kaurava King Dhritarashtra, and of Queen Gandhari, has played with his cousins the Pandava Kings for their kingdom, and won it by fraud.

      DHRITARASHTRA. You have compassed your end.

      DURYODHANA. Success is mine!

      DHRITARASHTRA. Are you happy?

      DURYODHANA. I am victorious.

      DHRITARASHTRA. I ask you again, what happiness have you in winning the undivided kingdom?

      DURYODHANA. Sire, a Kshatriya thirsts not after happiness but victory, that fiery wine pressed from seething jealousy. Wretchedly happy we were, like those inglorious stains that lie idly on the breast of the moon, when we lived in peace under the friendly dominance of our cousins. Then these Pandavas milked the world of its wealth, and allowed us a share, in brotherly tolerance. Now that they own defeat and expect banishment, I am no longer happy but exultant.

      DHRITARASHTRA. Wretch, you forget that both Pandavas and Kauravas have the same forefathers.

      DURYODHANA. It was difficult to forget that, and therefore our inequalities rankled in my heart. At midnight the moon is never jealous of the noonday sun. But the struggle to share one horizon between both orbs cannot last forever. Thank heaven, that struggle is over, and we have at last won solitude in glory.

      DHRITARASHTRA. The mean jealousy!

      DURYODHANA. Jealousy is never mean—it is in the essence of greatness. Grass can grow in crowded amity, not giant trees. Stars live in clusters, but the sun and moon are lonely in their splendour. The pale moon of the Pandavas sets behind the forest shadows, leaving the new-risen sun of the Kauravas to rejoice.

      DHRITARASHTRA. But right has been defeated.

      DURYODHANA. Right for rulers is not what is right in the eyes of the people. The people thrive by comradeship: but for a king, equals are enemies. They are obstacles ahead, they are terrors from behind. There is no place for brothers or friends in a king's polity; its one solid foundation is conquest.

      DHRITARASHTRA. I refuse to call a conquest what was won by fraud in gambling.

      DURYODHANA. A man is not shamed by refusing to challenge a tiger on equal terms with teeth and nails. Our weapons are those proper for success, not for suicide. Father, I am proud of the result and disdain regret for the means.

      DHRITARASHTRA. But justice——

      DURYODHANA. Fools alone dream of justice—success is not yet theirs: but those born to rule rely on power, merciless and unhampered with scruples.

      DHRITARASHTRA. Your success will bring down on you a loud and angry flood of detraction.

      DURYODHANA. СКАЧАТЬ