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The Hungry Stones and Other Stories

My kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all subjects so confidently that you might think the Disposer of All Things consulted him at all times in all that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly happy, as we did not know that secret and unheard-of forces were at work, that the Russians had advanced close to us, that the English had deep and secret policies, that confusion among the native chiefs had come to a head. But our newly-acquired friend said with a sly smile: "There happen more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are reported in your newspapers." As we had never stirred out of our homes before, the demeanour of the man struck us dumb with wonder. Be the topic ever so trivial, he would quote science, ......

The Post Office

Rabindranath Tagore

[Madhav's House] Madhav. What a state I am in! Before he came, nothing mattered; I felt so free. But now that he has come, goodness knows from where, my heart is filled with his dear self, and my home will be no home to me when he leaves. Doctor, do you think he— Physician. If there's life in his fate, then he will live long. But what the medical scriptures say, it seems— Madhav. Great heavens, what? Physician. The scriptures have it: "Bile or palsey, cold or gout spring all alike." Madhav. Oh, get along, don't fling your scriptures at me; you only make me more anxious; tell me what I can do. Physician [Taking snuff] The patient needs the most scrupulous care. Madhav. That's true; but tell me how. Physician. I have already mentioned, on no account must he be let out of doors. Madhav Poor child, it is very hard to keep him indoors all day long.

The King of the Dark Chamber

Rabindranath Tagore

Sings. We are all Kings in the kingdom of our King. Were it not so, how could we hope in our heart to meet him! We do what we like, yet we do what he likes; We are not bound with the chain of fear at the feet of a slave-owning King. Were it not so, how could we hope in our heart to meet him! Our King honours each one of us, thus honours his own very self. No littleness can keep us shut up in its walls of untruth for aye. Were it not so, how could we have hope in our heart to meet him! We struggle and dig our own path, thus reach his path at the end. We can never get lost in the abyss of dark night. Were it not so, how could we hope in our heart to meet him! Song. My beloved is ever in my heart That is why I see him everywhere, He is in the pupils of my eyes That is why I see him everywhere. I went far away to hear his own words,.....

Stray Birds

Rabindranath Tagore

1 STRAY birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. 2 O TROUPE of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words. 3 THE world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal. 4 IT is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom. 5 THE mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away. 6 IF you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars. 7 HE sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness? 8 HER wistful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night. 9 ONCE we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.

SÄ?dhanÄ?

Rabindranath Tagore

The civilisation of ancient Greece was nurtured within city walls. In fact, all the modern civilisations have their cradles of brick and mortar. These walls leave their mark deep in the minds of men. They set up a principle of "divide and rule" in our mental outlook, which begets in us a habit of securing all our conquests by fortifying them and separating them from one another. We divide nation and nation, knowledge and knowledge, man and nature. It breeds in us a strong suspicion of whatever is beyond the barriers we have built, and everything has to fight hard for its entrance into our recognition. When the first Aryan invaders appeared in India it was a vast land of forests, and the new-comers rapidly took advantage of them. These forests afforded them shelter from the fierce heat of the sun and the ravages of tropical storms, pastures for cattle, fuel for sacrificial fire, and materials for building cottages.

Songs of Kabir

Rabindranath Tagore

KABIR'S POEMS I I. 13. mo ko kahÃ¢n dhÃ»nro bande O servant, where dost thou seek Me? Lo! I am beside thee. I am neither in temple nor in mosque: I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash: Neither am I in rites and ceremonies, nor in Yoga and renunciation. If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at once see Me: thou shalt meet Me in a moment of time. KabÃ®r says, "O Sadhu! God is the breath of all breath." II I. 16. Santan jÃ¢t na pÃ»cho nirguniyÃ¢n It is needless to ask of a saint the caste to which he belongs; For the priest, the warrior. the tradesman, and all the thirty-six castes, alike are seeking for God. It is but folly to ask what the caste of a saint may be; The barber has sought God, the washerwoman, and the carpenter– Even Raidas was a seeker after God. The Rishi Swapacha was a tanner by caste. Hindus and Moslems alike have achieved that End, where remains no mark of distinction.

The Crescent Moon

Rabindranath Tagore

I PACED alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser. The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent. Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening. His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark green jack-fruit trees. I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers' hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.

Gitanjali: Song Offerings

Rabindranath Tagore

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes. All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony–and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea. I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.

My Reminiscences

Rabindranath Tagore

I know not who paints the pictures on memory's canvas; but whoever he may be, what he is painting are pictures; by which I mean that he is not there with his brush simply to make a faithful copy of all that is happening. He takes in and leaves out according to his taste. He makes many a big thing small and small thing big. He has no compunction in putting into the background that which was to the fore, or bringing to the front that which was behind. In short he is painting pictures, and not writing history. Thus, over Life's outward aspect passes the series of events, and within is being painted a set of pictures. The two correspond but are not one. We do not get the leisure to view thoroughly this studio within us. Portions of it now and then catch our eye, but the greater part remains out of sight in the darkness. Why the ever-busy painter is painting; when he will have done; for what gallery his pictures are destined—who can tell?

The Lover of God

Rabindranath Tagore

• First time in English • Nobel laureate Tagore is one of the 20th century’s great poets • In 2001, Tagore’s work entered the public domain, so new, refreshing translations are becoming available. (His work was tightly guarded by Visva Bharati University [the university Tagore created], so much of Tagore’s poetry that exists in English translation is wooden—even Tagore’s own translations.) • When Tagore published these poems he claimed them to be from an unknown Bengali religious poet.