Rabindranath Tagore , livre ebook

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68 pages

English

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The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. Gitanjali Born in 1861 in one of the foremost families of Bengal, Little Rabi grew up to become a great nationalist, a gifted writer, a talented artist, a brilliant visionary and a reformer of education. He was also Asia s first Nobel Laureate. His contribution to India s freedom movement is forever immortalized in Jana Gana Mana, a song he wrote to inspire the nation. This wonderfully insightful biography, rich in anecdotesand little-known facts, brings alive this legendary figure to contemporary readers. Monideepa Sahu vividly recounts Rabindranth s experiences at school that helped to formulate his vision of Shantiniketan. She also traces the evolution of his poetry from schoolboy rhymes in dog-eared notebooks to universally loved poetry, prose, novels and short stories. Explore the life and times of this remarkable personality in this compelling biography.

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Lettres et linguistique

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	15 mai 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184759914
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

MONIDEEPA SAHU

RABINDRANATH TAGORE

THE RENAISSANCE MAN

PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents

About the Author
By the Same Author
Chapter One It All Began in the Thakurbari
Chapter Two The Budding Poet
Chapter Three Rabi s Family
Chapter Four Thakurbari and Its Influences
Chapter Five Bhanu Singh Thakur Takes Up the Pen
Chapter Six Voyage to England
Chapter Seven Marriage
Chapter Eight Shelidah
Chapter Nine Santiniketan: The Abode of Learning
Chapter Ten Where the Mind is Without Fear
Chapter Eleven The Nobel Prize
Chapter Twelve A Citizen of the World
Chapter Thirteen The Final Journey
Trivia Treasury
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PUFFIN BOOKS RABINDRANATH TAGORE
Monideepa Sahu is a former banker, who had a whale of a time writing her fantasy adventure novel, Riddle of the Seventh Stone . Her short stories for both adults and young people have been widely anthologized in India and abroad. She enjoys concocting tall tales, and can also wax eloquent on deathly serious subjects. She lives in Bangalore with her extended family of people, a vintage PC and countless arthropods. You can connect with her at www.monideepa.blogspot.in
Other books in the Puffin Lives series
Mother Teresa: Apostle of Love by Rukmini Chawla Jawaharlal Nehru: The Jewel of India by Aditi De Ashoka: The Great and Compassionate King by Subhadra Sen Gupta Rani Lakhsmibai: The Valiant Queen of Jhansi by Deepa Agarwal Akbar: The Mighty Emperor by Kavitha Mandana Mahatma Gandhi: The Father of the Nation by Subhadra Sen Gupta The 14th Dalai Lama: Buddha of Compassion by Aravinda Anantharaman Swami Vivekananda: A Man with a Vision by Devika Rangachari Gautama Buddha: The Lord of Wisdom by Rohini Chowdhury Guru Nanak: The Enlightened Master by Sreelata Menon Chanakya: The Master of Statecraft by Deepa Agarwal
1
It All Began in the Thakurbari

One hundred and fifty years ago when the British Raj was at the peak of its glory, Calcutta flourished as an important hub of commerce and culture. In this big city, a boy named Rabi lived in a sprawling mansion with his brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins. He was the fourteenth among fifteen brothers and sisters. However the last child died young, so Rabi grew up as the youngest in the family.
In those days, Calcutta was quite different from how it is today. There were no trams, buses or cars. People travelled in horse-drawn carts, and those who could afford it rode palanquins. Life was slow and relaxed. While Rabi was very young, gaslights and electricity hadn t yet been introduced into the city. The children studied their evening lessons by the light of oil lamps. When kerosene lanterns were first brought into Thakurbari, the family mansion of the Tagores where Rabi lived, everyone was amazed by the bright light.
One day Rabi was excited to hear of a fairy-tale place in his home. It was the king s house. A cousin of Rabi s age described it as a wonderland filled with enchanting games and toys. Yes, it really was here, in this very house, Rabi s playmate would assert. Why, she had just been there this very morning. Rabi looked into every room and corridor, but he never could find out who the king was, nor discover his enchanted kingdom.
Rabi s father Maharshi Debendranath Tagore s private room was another magical place. The Maharshi was often away from home, and the room would be locked up. Rabi would secretly steal into this mysterious room, smelling of deep secrets. He would curl up on the sofa, look out at the empty terrace lit by the blazing midday sun and lose himself in daydreams. He was fascinated by a certain delightful object in the Maharshi s room. It was a water tap! This wonderful machine, which had just been introduced to the people of Calcutta, carried water all the way up to the third floor and into the Maharshi s bathroom. Rabi would sneak in at the oddest hours and turn on the shower. He was thrilled to enjoy this forbidden pleasure.
The Tagore family was among the richest and most prominent of those times. However, little Rabi and the other children of the house led a spartan life without the slightest hint of luxury. Rabi did not remember wearing socks before he was ten. As for warm wraps, one plain shirt on top of another was considered enough to keep out the winter chill. The children did own slippers, but usually kept them as far as possible from their feet. It never occurred to Rabi to curse his luck for the missing socks and woollies. But he was unhappy because the family tailor didn t stitch pockets into his shirts. After all, even the poorest children had precious little treasures to store in their pockets.
Servants employed to care for the Tagore children kept a strict watch over them all. Rabi and the other little ones spent much of their time in the servants quarters. The grand lifestyle, clothes, feasts, entertainment and intellectual discussions of the elders seemed far away from Rabi s world. In the 19th century, Bengal was swept by radical social, cultural and religious transformations. Historians call this the Bengal Renaissance. The Tagore family was at the forefront of these changes, leading the way in literature, arts and culture, social and religious reform. Little Rabi could, however, catch only glimpses of this charmed circle of his elders. Their world was as yet out of bounds for a child like him.
Rabi learned to make the most of everything because privileges did not come to him easily. The children weren t allowed to leave the mansion. Rabi however tried to catch glimpses of the world outside like a bird from a cage. He found joy in his surroundings by colouring everything with his imagination. It was fun for him to explore the huge house and peep out from the terrace at the street below. Hawkers would come and go, calling out their wares. On the other side of their boundary wall, Rabi could see a calm pond with a banyan tree on its bank. He would observe his neighbours coming one by one for a dip. By noon, when all the bathers had left, the swans and ducks would remain, diving into the water for snails or preening themselves with their beaks.
This dreamy boy loved stories and books. His introduction to literature began with the books popular among the household servants. A Bengali translation of Chanakya s shlokas and Krittibas Ramayana were their favourites.
One of the family retainers employed to look after the Tagore children was Ishwar, a former village schoolmaster. Ishwar was a grave man, who spoke in high-flown language. To keep the children busy in the evenings, he would recite from the Bengali translations of the Ramayana by Krittibas and the Mahabharata, and engage in discussions around the ancient epics. Rabindranath was enchanted by the beautiful rhythms of Krittibas poetry.
Rabi s elder brother Somendranath and his sister s son Satyabrata (Satya), both two years his senior, were his constant companions. When a tutor was called to teach them their letters, Rabi joined the group. The words and the rhythm of Bengali nursery rhymes filled little Rabi s soul with wonder. This was his first initiation to the magic of poetry. Long after the words were spoken, their rhythm and musicality lingered on in his mind.

One cloudy day, Rabi was playing on the long verandah at the entrance of the mansion. Policeman! Policeman! Satya cried as he ran in frantically. Rabi had only vague notions about the grim duties of policemen. If someone pointed out a wrongdoer, the policeman would catch him and the man would disappear forever. A policeman was like a crocodile, which dives into the deep river with its hapless prey. Where could the little boy hide from the terrors awaiting him in the police station? Rabi rushed into his mother s room for protection. But she didn t seem particularly upset. Despite her calm reaction, Rabi didn t feel it safe to leave her side. To soothe his mind, he took up a well-worn copy of the Ramayana which belonged to his grandmother, and began to read. He soon forgot the terrors of the police. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sat on the doorstep caught up in the narative.
As Rabi grew, his heart filled with wonder at the beauty of this earth. The soil, the trees, the water, the sky would all speak to him in those dreamy days of childhood, never giving him the chance to harbour a sad thought. He often wondered at the fact that only the outermost layer of the earth could be seen. What lay underneath? When wooden pillars were planted into the ground to erect tents for the winter festival in his home, Rabi would watch with bated breath. The pits were dug deeper and deeper, until the digger seemed to disappear into it. But still, Rabi could not discover the secret route through which fairy-tale princes entered Patal Puri . If only they would dig a little deeper, he thought, the mystery might finally be solved.
The mystery of the blue dome of the sky was equally exciting. One day, their tutor told them that the blue sky was not a solid barrier at all. You can build as many stairs as you like and go on climbing. Nothing will stand in your way, he said.
What if you added more, and more, and even more steps? asked Rabi. He was amazed to learn that even an endless number of stairs would make no difference. The schoolmasters of this world must have been extraordinary people to understand such mind-boggling ideas.
Rabi grew up in a huge household, where people were always doing new and unusual things. The Tagore elders once held a planchette to summon spirits of dead people. The pencil moved to spell out the name of Kailash Mukherjee. He had served the family for many years as a secretary before his death. Tell us what happens after death, everyone asked the spirit. Pat came the reply: You want to cheat and find out what I ve learnt only after dying? Sorry. I won t tell.

One day Rabi watched his brother and Satya going off to school. He felt insignificant and unworthy when they