Till I read this collection, my reading of Tagore's work was limited to Chintha Lakshmi Sinharaachchi's translation of his novel Gora in Sinhalese. The book impressed me only so much, as I found it to be a little propagative of the ideals that Tagore held - despite the ideals being quite commendable. However at least one trust worthy book worm friend swears that Tagore to her is special on account of his novel Chokerbali, and his poems in Gitanjali. I came across this Penguin edition of "Selected Short Stories" from a bargain stall for SL Rs. 100, and I've been having this copy for the better part of ten years, if not more. I must admit that I have some nagging doubt about Tagore's suitability for the Nobel award in literature, which am sure is mostly due to my relative ignorance of his work. What best way to reduce it than explore more of his work - explore his work, I did, with Selected short stories.
So what did I find ? Thirty short stories, mostly written in the fertile periods in the 1890s, coupled with an introduction by William Radice, a scholar in Bengali poetry, which he had read for his D.Phil. at Oxford. I read the short stories first, and then the detailed, interesting, and impartial introduction by Radice, followed by the various letters included.
Of the thirty short stories, most hold up as engaging, and intriguing creations, if dated by a period of no less than 124 years. In a couple Tagore write about attraction, attachment, if not out right love, and I found these to be among the best in this collection, while the fetters of caste, status, etc. remain formidable obstacles ( 'The Postmaster', 'A Single Night', 'Skeleton'). 'False Hope' to me was one of the highlights in this collection, and it possibly held a direction similar to Gora, but in a more convincing and natural plot.
"Why didn't I know that the Brahminism that stole away my heart was nothing but custom and superstition? I thought it was dharma, unending and eternal. How else could I- after being so shamefully rejected when I offered on that moonlit night my freshly bloomed body and heart and soul, trembling with devotion, after leaving my father's house for the first time at the age of sixteen - how else could I have silently accepted the insult as a kind of initiation by a guru, and meekly dedicated myself to him with redoubled devotion ? Alas, Brahmin, you exchanged one set of habits for another, but I gave my life and youth, and how can I get them back again?"
Another interesting revelation was how a Bengali saw "a Hindusthani", at a time when India was not strictly a political unit, in the eyes of a Bengali. While the admiration of a fine language is apparent, it hinted of an awe a local Bengali had of a not too distant foreigner.
'Wealth Surrendered' (which brought to mind a parsimony as found in the Matta-kundali Jathaka of Buddhist tradition) , "Punishment" ( which was the most elaborate instance of how a wife was considered a subservient position - many other examples are present in this collection - 'the gift of sight', 'profit and loss', being others ), the love of a parent as found in "Kabuliwalah", "The Editor", "Little Master's Return", are some other highlights.
To turn to Radice's introduction; Radice shows that the primary reason why Tagore, primarily a lyrical poet wrote so many short stories, was he had to - given he was associated with so many periodicals> He shows how story after story has tragic ends in this kali-yuga, 'in which the gods have grown old.' Radice quotes at length from the letters, and interviews that Tagore has given, in which Tagore has argued that he was a realist, and he wanted present only the natural life of the typical Bengal. But the reason I like Radice's introduction is his objective summarization of Tagore, in few words:
"Tagore's art is a vulnerable art. Nearly all his writings are vulnerable to criticism, philistinism or contempt, because of his willingness to wear his heart on his sleeve, to take on themes that other writers would find grandiose, sentimental or embarrassing, and his refusal to cloak his utterances in cleverness, urbanity or double-talk."
To conclude, these short stories shed so much light of a recent time, in which age old tradition decided how one should live, and to challenge it was impossible, and even considered more respectful to succumb that object. As for reading Tagore himself, it is clear that immersed in a time in which change was still a distant reality, he had ideals for a more just society, as apparent in poetry like the below (which incidentally come across translated in a Sinhala song, by one of the best lyricists of his time ).
"Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake."
Rating: ****
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