Finally Saved Part 1 - Translation From Rabindranath Tagore
This is a translation from a Poem (Title - Niskriti) by Rabindranath Tagore, Nobel-Laureate philosopher poet (1861 - 1941) from India. The story successfully depicts the status of women in a patriarchal society of nineteenth century.
Mother cried and said - " Manjuli is my baby girl
You are going to get her married, to someone
who is five times older than her -
my darling is scared to see him.
I can't allow this marriage".
Father answered "keep your wails aside.
We found Panchanan after a long search -
Don't you know how high his status is according to the caste!
Do you ever realize that we have to move higher in the society?
Where am I going to get another groom if I let him go? "
Mother said, "Why? There is Pulin from the Chatterjee family,
He may not be of the highest caste,
But he is good-looking, so pleasant as well,
He has graduated, also got a scholarship,
He is like a piece of gold.
They live in the same community; playing and laughing with him
My daughter grew up - if I ask him today
He is going to give his consent right now."
Father said, "Stop it.
That's utter nonsense!
They are the lowest in the society,
Can everybody become a Brahmin only if they have the sacred thread?
Is a groom acceptable only if he is good-looking and pleasant?
This is why our scriptures condemn the intellect of the women! "
From the day the family met the bride with the gift of a gold coin,
Manjulika's heart
started bleeding every minute with a hidden prick.
Mother's love knew everything, nothing could be hidden from her,
Mother's pain, daughter's pain, while moving or eating or sleeping,
A lightning stroke every moment in the sky of their dwelling.
Father was proud of being so decisive -
In happiness, in sorrow, in enmity, in anger,
He did not deviate from his religion, he had no weakness,
The wheels of his life-chariot moved
On a route made of iron, every minute,
No way it was going to move an inch to one side, or the other.
He said, his commitment was very strict,
Nothing else, it was all mental strength -
It was comparable with the saints like Astabakra, or Jamadagni,
Women were not going to understand its value!
With a quiet stream of the river of tears concealed underneath,
The days of two women quietly passed by.
At last one night in Baisakh (the first month of Bengali Calendar)
Manjulika got married to Panchanon.
When bidding farewell, Father touched his daughter's forehead, and blessed her -
"Become like Savitri - that's my blessing".
What a surprise! How strong was the father's prayer!
In two months the first part of the blessing came true -
The God of Death attacked Panchanon;
But unfortunately for the daughter,
The second part did not come true, God of Death did not return his life;
Manjulika wiped off the sindur on her forehead, and returned to her father's house.
Days went by in sorrow and in happiness,
Like floating flowers dropped in the tide of a river.
At last it happened,
Manjulika became sixteen.
Sometime in the childhood
Hiding behind the leaves of the creeper-like heart,
blossomed a bud,
bloomed from the hidden mysterious corner of the heart -
it didn't know itself,
the wild breeze from outside did not ask its name ever,
That bud was unfolding now in her heart
Filled with an enchanting nectar.
That was the flower of love.
It was overwhelmed with its own radiant petals.
It took no time to recognize itself -
That was why so often
She was shocked looking at her own self.
The message from beyond the horizon called her through the fountain of lights;
In the darkness of night
Which heartbreaking pain from the infinite dawned on her!
From the outside
All her jewellery had disappeared,
Her heart became lustrous with layers and layers -
Realizing, she herself became preoccupied.
Holding the windows, quietly she looked outside -
Where the cluster of Sajina flowers beside the fence,
like bunches of smiling faces striking
and turning the sky infatuated day and night.
The one who was her companion at play in the childhood,
How he had
Filled her heart on water and on land,
As if without having any form, now he had been fused into all forms,
Blending secretly.
The sound of his footsteps,
synthesized with the murmuring rustle of the leaves.
His compassionate messages in her ears
Were the buzzing of the bees.
At daughter's speechless face,
What was it only a Mother could see? Something stroke her heart,
What an untold appeal of a hidden message,
A shadow filled with water in Manjulika's dark eyes,
A tearful sadness from the depth of her heart,
Brought to her face a hushed anticipation of a Spring evening,
Mother detested her meals,
Cried, "Oh God, Where are you, leaving this wretched woman? "
One day, Father finished his lunch
And holding the pipe in his mouth
As his long-time habit was, before a nap,
Was reading an English romantic novel.
Mother said, fanning him sometimes,
Or sometimes touching his feet,
" I don't care what people say, or die of jealousy,
I will, whatever way it takes,
get Manjulika married again".
Father said, in a very cruel tone, "Both of you - Mother and Daughter
should marry at the same time after I pass away,
Please have your patience and wait for a few more days."
Mother said, " Oh, how merciless you are!
Your heart doesn't have a bit of a compassion! "
Father answered, " I am merciless!
The route to salvation is hard! If I were made of butter,
By now I would melt from crying! ".
Mother said, "Curse my luck! Who am I explaining to?
In the middle of all enjoyment, locking the door,
getting scorched every second from denial,
is alone only that little girl -
There is no other sin than that in the three worlds.
There is no life in the dry pages of your scriptures.
Only God the divine knows how it hurts the compassionate! "
THIS IS PART ONE of the poem. Please look for the second part.
TRANSLATED BY: Malabika Ray Choudhury
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