Home and the World | Page 8

Rabindranath Tagore
caught fire from my eyes; for
we women are not only the deities of the household fire, but the flame
of the soul itself.
I returned home that evening radiant with a new pride and joy. The
storm within me had shifted my whole being from one centre to another.
Like the Greek maidens of old, I fain would cut off my long,
resplendent tresses to make a bowstring for my hero. Had my outward
ornaments been connected with my inner feelings, then my necklet, my
armlets, my bracelets, would all have burst their bonds and flung
themselves over that assembly like a shower of meteors. Only some
personal sacrifice, I felt, could help me to bear the tumult of my
exaltation.
When my husband came home later, I was trembling lest he should
utter a sound out of tune with the triumphant paean which was still
ringing in my ears, lest his fanaticism for truth should lead him to
express disapproval of anything that had been said that afternoon. For
then I should have openly defied and humiliated him. But he did not
say a word ... which I did not like either.
He should have said: "Sandip has brought me to my senses. I now
realize how mistaken I have been all this time."
I somehow felt that he was spitefully silent, that he obstinately refused
to be enthusiastic. I asked how long Sandip Babu was going to be with
us.
"He is off to Rangpur early tomorrow morning," said my husband.
"Must it be tomorrow?"

"Yes, he is already engaged to speak there."
I was silent for a while and then asked again: "Could he not possibly
stay a day longer?"
"That may hardly be possible, but why?"
"I want to invite him to dinner and attend on him myself."
My husband was surprised. He had often entreated me to be present
when he had particular friends to dinner, but I had never let myself be
persuaded. He gazed at me curiously, in silence, with a look I did not
quite understand.
I was suddenly overcome with a sense of shame. "No, no," I exclaimed,
"that would never do!"
"Why not!" said he. "I will ask him myself, and if it is at all possible he
will surely stay on for tomorrow."
It turned out to be quite possible.
I will tell the exact truth. That day I reproached my Creator because he
had not made me surpassingly beautiful--not to steal any heart away,
but because beauty is glory. In this great day the men of the country
should realize its goddess in its womanhood. But, alas, the eyes of men
fail to discern the goddess, if outward beauty be lacking. Would Sandip
Babu find the __Shakti__ of the Motherland manifest in me? Or would
he simply take me to be an ordinary, domestic woman?
That morning I scented my flowing hair and tied it in a loose knot,
bound by a cunningly intertwined red silk ribbon. Dinner, you see, was
to be served at midday, and there was no time to dry my hair after my
bath and do it up plaited in the ordinary way. I put on a gold-bordered
white __sari__, and my short-sleeve muslin jacket was also
gold-bordered.
I felt that there was a certain restraint about my costume and that
nothing could well have been simpler. But my sister-in-law, who
happened to be passing by, stopped dead before me, surveyed me from
head to foot and with compressed lips smiled a meaning smile. When I
asked her the reason, "I am admiring your get-up!" she said.
"What is there so entertaining about it?" I enquired, considerably
annoyed.
"It's superb," she said. "I was only thinking that one of those
low-necked English bodices would have made it perfect." Not only her
mouth and eyes, but her whole body seemed to ripple with suppressed

laughter as she left the room.
I was very, very angry, and wanted to change everything and put on my
everyday clothes. But I cannot tell exactly why I could not carry out my
impulse. Women are the ornaments of society-- thus I reasoned with
myself--and my husband would never like it, if I appeared before
Sandip Babu unworthily clad.
My idea had been to make my appearance after they had sat down to
dinner. In the bustle of looking after the serving the first awkwardness
would have passed off. But dinner was not ready in time, and it was
getting late. Meanwhile my husband had sent for me to introduce the
guest.
I was feeling horribly shy about looking Sandip Babu in the face.
However, I managed to recover myself enough to say: "I am so sorry
dinner is getting late."
He boldly came and sat right beside me as he
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 89
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.