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111 pages

English

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Poet, novelist, painter, musician and Nobel Laureate, Rabindranath Tagore was one of modern India's greatest literary figures. This collection brings together some of his best works poems, short stories and plays in one volume. Be it the wit, magic and lyricism of his poetry or the vividly etched social milieu of his stories, or the sheer power and vibrancy of his plays, Tagore's versatility and unceasing creativity come alive in these writings. The title play 'The Land of Cards' is a satire against the bondage of orthodox rules, while in 'The Post Office', a child suffocated by his confined existence dreams of freedom in the world outside. From a son's cherished desire to protect his mother in the poem 'Hero' to a fruit-seller longing for his daughter faraway in the story 'Kabuliwala', Tagore's works convey his humanism and his deep understanding of human relationships.

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Children's

Lettres et linguistique

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	09 février 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184753837
Langue	English

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Extrait

Rabindranath Tagore
The Land of Cards
Stories, Poems and Plays for Children
Translated from the Bengali by Radha Chakravarty
Introduction by Mahasweta Devi
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
Introduction
POEMS
I Wish
Hero
Odd Rhymes
The Invention of Shoes
The Little River
Madho
The Wise One
The Supreme Gift
Two Bighas of Land
The Boy
Sparks
PLAYS
The Post Office
A Poetic Mood and Lack of Food
The Land of Cards
STORIES
Hungry Stone
Kabuliwala
The Parrot s Tale
The Horse
A True Fairy
Bolai
Shiburam
A Feast for Rats
Translator s Note
Classic Plus
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Copyright
Introduction
I am delighted to see this collection of Rabindranath Tagore s poems, plays and stories for children. For in English translations of Tagore s writings, I feel that not enough attention has been paid, perhaps, to works that are suitable for infants and older children.
I have read the translations with great care. To offer young readers an anthology of Tagore s writings in English translation is indeed a laudable effort. In most regions of India, children do not study Bengali, except in the homes of some Bengali families living outside their home state. A time has come when we find children even in West Bengal studying in English-medium schools and for that reason, many children in Bengal also need to read Tagore in English translation. With the publication of this book, young boys and girls may now get a chance to acquaint themselves with Tagore s works, if their parents choose to take this matter seriously.
The minds of children are like fertile soil. Reading a fine literary anthology at this age can cultivate their literary taste. I studied in Shantiniketan from 1936 to 1938, from the age of ten to twelve. Tagore was not only alive, he was very active then. He was composing the dance dramas Chitrangada , Tasher Desh (The Land of Cards) and Shyama . Now, reading the translation of Bolai , I am reminded of a day in 1937 when Tagore took our Bengali class. That day, the poet taught us the story Bolai in the original Bengali. I had felt deeply touched by that story. We were taught in our school at Shantiniketan that every animal, every cat, every bird, had a right to live. From childhood, we were taught to care for nature, not to break a single leaf or flower from a tree. Today, when the planet Earth is endangered, Tagore s teachings are doubly relevant. Infancy and childhood are indeed the ideal stages in life for a love of reading to be instilled in one s heart, and to nurture a taste for literature.
The selections in this volume are very good, and the translations extremely well done. The Post Office and Kabuliwala are excellent choices. One could of course think of minor alterations, and of adding to or substituting some of the items included here. The story Anadhikar Prabesh ( Unlawful Entry ), for instance, would be highly appropriate for these times. The central message of this story concerns a Brahmin widow who ignores the question of untouchability and caste purity, to shelter a terrified pig inside a temple, because the animal is in mortal fear. The collection called Shishu also contains several pieces by Tagore that would be suitable for young readers who are ten to twelve years old. But those are matters of personal preference. The selections in the present anthology are very well chosen. I am sure that they will touch the pulse of today s children, and enhance their reading habits.
This collection is a good and positive effort. I am convinced that this book will also contribute greatly to the process of developing the literary taste of young readers.
November 2009 Mahasweta Devi
Poems
I Wish
The flower thought, just imagine the fun If I could fly to any place under the sun! Determined, it spread its wings one day, Became a butterfly and fluttered away.
The lamp, it wondered, day after day, How nice if I could simply fly away! Undaunted, its very own wings it grew, Became a firefly, and away it flew.
Alas! thought the pond: how still I lie. While all the birds can happily fly! And so, on wings of mist, one day, It became a cloud and floated away.
If I were a horse, through fields I d gallop free, If I were a fish, I would swim in the sea, As a bird, I d soar in the sky, so blue. Will none of my wishes ever come true?
Hero
Imagine, if I travel to distant lands, far and wide, Taking Ma along with me, on a long, long ride. Ma, inside the palanquin you would be, Door open just a crack, for you to see. And astride the chestnut horse, that s me, Galloping along by your palanquin s side. The flying horsehooves strike the ground, Raising clouds of brown dust, all around.
Imagine, as the sun sets at the end of the day, Through the Field of Twin Lakes we make our way. Wherever we look, the land is bare; Not a human soul in sight, anywhere! The lonely landscape gives you a scare. Where are we? you wonder, in secret dread. Have no fear, my dearest Ma, I say: There you can see the dried-up river bed.
Through a wide expanse of thorny grass, Along a winding track, suppose we pass. No cows and calves in sight; they ve gone away, Back to their own village, at the end of day. Where you and I are heading, who can say? In the dark, it s really very hard to see. What s that light? Out there, beside the lake? Supposing that I hear you call to me. Ha re re re re re! A cry we suddenly hear. Who are those hordes, yelling as they draw near? You cower inside the palki, terrified, Praying to all the gods to take your side. The bearers drop the palki and they hide, Trembling, in the thorn-woods somewhere near. Supposing, then, I call to you: No fear! Ma, why should you be scared when I am here?
The armed bandits shake their shaggy hair; Behind their ears, hibiscus flowers they wear. I shout at them: I warn you! Stop right there! Not one step closer! If any of you dare, You ll meet a deadly fate, for I declare, I ll slash you all to bits with my bare sword! At this, the bandits leapt up in the air Ha re re re re re! they all roared.
O Khoka, don t go there! you plead with me. Be calm, I answer you, just wait and see! I storm into their midst upon my steed, Flashing sword and shield, I make them bleed. O Ma, it was a fearsome fight, indeed! Your flesh will surely creep when you are told Of all the bandits who ran off in fright, And of the many bandit-heads that rolled.
After fighting so many dangerous men, Khoka must be dead, you think. And then, All smeared in sweat and blood, I reappear, The battle s done. It s over! I declare. You now step out into the open air, To kiss and hold me tight, in a close embrace. What luck my Khoka was with me! you sigh. Or else, what dire dangers I would face!
Every day, such dull things come to pass. Why can t this tale come true as well, alas? For like a made-up yarn it would have sounded. And all who heard it would be left dumbfounded. How can this be? Dada would ask, astounded, Can Khoka be so strong? My little brother? But our neighbours would insist, It was a blessing That Khoka was right there, beside his mother!
Odd rhymes
Said Baba Giraffe, O Khoka, the quaint Shape of your body Makes my love grow faint. With hind legs so short And forelegs so tall, I wonder you re able To walk at all! Said Baby Giraffe, See your own shape too. No one can fathom Why Ma loves you.
***
So freezing was the winter air, He longed for a pair of gloves to wear. But when to the market he went, to buy Some gloves, their price was much too high.
Instead, a pair of socks he chose At a lower price, and went home with those. But on his hands they would not fit! He had been wrong, he had to admit.
***
The cat said when he met the fish, O listen to me, you tasty dish! Come into my mouth, so rosy, There you will be safe and cosy, For that is your Maker s constant wish. The scheming kingfisher lies in wait By the pond s steep shore; it s tempting fate To catch your enemy s evil eye, For then it s certain that you would die!
***
Three fours make ninety, Wrote Bholanath. He scored a zero When tested in math. Three fours make twelve! The schoolmaster cried. My figure was greater, Said Bhola with pride.
***
A hundred million Years from now, If a heavenly boon Should suddenly allow The water creatures To find their voice, The sea would resound With all sorts of noise! The whales would roar And the lobsters bleat, And the hilsa would practise Ragas so sweet! In the southern breeze The conch-shells would trill, And the porpoise band Play a military drill.
The Invention of Shoes
O Minister Gobu! King Hobu declared, Do you hear? I stayed up all night, Wondering why my feet should be smeared With dust when I walk? It s not right! The money you earn is your sole concern; As for serving the king, no one cares. For my feet to be soiled by the land I govern- What a terrible state of affairs! You must do something about it fast, Or this very day shall be your last!
Worried to death, Gobu started to sweat, For the king s words had given him a fright. All the pundits paled at this royal threat, And the courtiers were sleepless all night. No stoves were lit, no food prepared In their homes, for they wept instead. With tears flowing down his greying beard, Gobu fell at Hobu s feet, and said: If we get rid of dust, what blessings sweet Shall we obtain, when we bow at your feet?
At this, King Hobu rocked to and fro In thought, then said: That s spoken truly. But first the wretched dirt must go, Then think about my blessings, duly. If blessings are lost for lack of dust, You are not worthy of your wages. Why then should I place my trust In all these scientists, all these sages? First things first; once that is done, All other battles will be won.
Reeling at the king s commands, The minister hunted everywhere For learned men and expert hands From every land, both far and near. They donned their glasses, all those men, Took nineteen kegs of snuff in vain, And having pondered, said, But then