[adapted]

by
Rabindranath Tagore

I used to go to the same lady’s school with Surabala and play at a wedding with her. When I visited her house, her mother would be very kind to me, and putting us side by side would say to herself: ‘What a lovely pair!’

I was a child then, but I could understand what she meant well enough. The idea stayed in my mind that I had a special right to Surabala more than other people. So it happened that, because I felt I owned her, at times I punished and hurt her; and she, too, worked hard for me and took all my punishments without complaint. The village used to praise her beauty; but to a young wild boy like me that beauty was not special; — I knew only that Surabala had been born in her father’s house only to do as I said, and so she was the one I did not care for.

My father was the estate manager of the Chaudhuris, a family of landowners. He planned that, as soon as I had learnt to write neatly, he would train me in estate work and get me a job collecting rent somewhere. But in my heart I did not like the plan. Nilratan of our village had run away to Calcutta, had learnt English there, and finally became the Nazir (head of court officers) of the District Magistrate; that was my life’s ideal: I was secretly set on being the Head Clerk of the Judge’s Court, even if I could not become the Magistrate’s Nazir.

I saw that my father always treated these court officers with the greatest respect. I knew from my childhood that they had to be pleased with gifts of fish, vegetables, and even money. For this reason I had given a high place in my heart to the low court workers, even to the court guards. These are the gods prayed to in our Bengal, — a small, modern version of the 330 million gods of the Hindu religion. To get material success, people trust them more than the good Ganesh, the giver of success; so the people now offer to these officers everything that before was meant for Ganesh.

Because of the example of Nilratan, I too took a good chance and ran away to Calcutta. There I first stayed in the house of someone I knew from my village, and later got some money from my father for my education. So I continued with my studies regularly.

Also, I joined political and helping groups. I had no doubt at all that it was very necessary for me to give my life suddenly for my country. But I did not know how such a hard task could be done. Also no one showed me the way.

But still, my excitement did not become less at all. We country boys had not learned to make fun of everything like the clever boys of Calcutta, and so our belief was very strong. The ‘leaders’ of our groups gave speeches, and we went asking for donations from door to door in the hot noon sun without eating; or we stood by the roadside giving out flyers, or set up the chairs and benches in the lecture hall, and, if anybody said a word against our leader, we got ready to fight him. Because of these things the city boys used to laugh at us as country people.

I had come to Calcutta to be a clerk or a head clerk, but I was preparing to become like Mazzini or Garibaldi.

At this time Surabala’s father and my father talked together to get us married. I had come to Calcutta at the age of fifteen; Surabala was eight years old then. I was now eighteen, and my father thought I was almost too old to marry. But it was my secret promise to stay single all my life and to die for my country; so I told my father that I would not marry before I finished my studies.

In two or three months I learned that Surabala had been married to a lawyer named Ram Lochan. I was then busy collecting donations to lift up fallen India, and this news did not seem important to me.

I had passed the matriculation exam, and was about to take the Intermediate Examination, when my father died. I was not alone in the world, but had to support my mother and two sisters. So I had to leave college and look for a job. After a lot of effort I got the job of second master in the matriculation school of a small town in the Noakhali District.

I thought, this is the work for me! With my advice and encouragement I will train each of my students to be a general for future India.

I began to work, and then found that the coming exam was more important than the future of India. The head teacher got angry whenever I talked about anything that was not grammar or algebra. And in a few months my interest, too, became weaker.

I am no genius. In the quiet of the home I may make big plans; but when I go to work, I have to carry the wooden bar of the plow on my neck like the Indian ox, have my tail twisted by my boss, break hard soil all day, patiently and with my head down, and then at sunset have to be satisfied if I can get any food to chew. Such an animal does not have the energy to jump and play.

One of the teachers lived in the school-house, to stop fires. Because I was an unmarried man, this work was given to me. I lived in a shed with a straw roof close to the large cottage where the school was.

The school-house was a little way from the lived-in part of the town, and beside a big pond. Around it were betel-nut, cocoa-nut, and madar trees, and very near the school building two big very old nim trees grew close together, and gave a cool shade around.

One thing I have forgotten to say, and in fact, for a long time I did not think it was worth saying. The local government lawyer, Ram Lochan Ray, lived near our school. I also knew that his wife — my early playmate, Surabala — lived with him.

I got to know Ram Lochan Babu. I cannot say if he knew that I knew Surabala when I was a child. I did not think I should say this when I first met him. In fact, I did not clearly remember that Surabala had ever been in my life in any way.

One holiday I visited Ram Lochan Babu. I have forgotten the subject of our talk; maybe it was the sad situation of India today. He was not very worried or very sad about it; but it was the kind of subject that a person could easily talk about their sad feelings for an hour or two while smoking a hooka.

While I was doing this, I heard from the next room the very soft jingle of bracelets, the sound of a dress, and footsteps; and I was sure that two curious eyes were watching me through a small hole in the window.

All at once there came to my mind a pair of eyes, — a pair of large eyes, shining with trust, a simple heart, and a young girl’s love, — black pupils, — thick dark eyelashes, — a calm steady look. Suddenly some unseen force squeezed my heart in an iron grip, and it ached with strong pain.

I went back to my house, but the pain stayed with me. Whether I read, wrote, or did any other work, I could not take that weight off my heart; a heavy load was always hanging from my heart.

In the evening, I calmed myself a little and began to think: ‘What is wrong with me?’ A question came from inside me: ‘Where is your Surabala now?’ I replied: ‘I let her go by my own choice. Of course I did not expect her to wait for me forever.’

But something kept saying: ‘Then you could have got her just by asking. Now you do not have the right to look at her even once, no matter what you do. That Surabala of your boyhood may come very close to you; you may hear the jingle of her bracelets; you may breathe the air filled with the scent of her hair, — but there will always be a wall between you two.’

I answered: ‘All right. What is Surabala to me?’

My heart replied: ‘Today Surabala is nobody to you. But what could she have been to you?’

Ah! that’s true. What could she have been to me? Dearest to me of all things, closer to me than all the world, the one who shared all my life’s joys and sadness, — she might have been. And now, she is so far from me, such a stranger, that to look at her is not allowed, to talk with her is not right, and to think of her is a sin! — while this Ram Lochan, suddenly coming from nowhere, has said in a low voice a few set holy words, and in one go has taken away Surabala from the rest of all people!

I have not come to teach a new set of rules about right and wrong, or to change society completely; I have no wish to break families apart. I am only saying exactly how my mind works, even if it may not make sense. I could not, in any way, stop the feeling that Surabala, living there safely in Ram Lochan’s home, was much more mine than his. I admit, the thought did not make sense and was wrong, — but it was not strange.

After that I could not pay attention to any kind of work. At noon when the boys in my class hummed, when Nature outside was hot in the sun, when the sweet smell of the nim blossoms entered the room on the warm breeze, I then wished, — I did not know what I wished for; but this I can say, that I did not wish to spend all my life in correcting the grammar exercises of those future hopes of India.

When school was over, I could not stand to live in my large lonely house; but if anyone came to see me, it bored me. In the evening as I sat by the pond and listened to the soft wind blowing through the betel and coconut palms, I used to think that human life is full of mistakes; no one knows how to do the right thing at the right time, and when the chance is gone we break our hearts over useless wishes.

I could have married Surabala and lived happily. But I had to be a hero like Garibaldi, — and I ended up becoming the assistant teacher of a village school! And lawyer Ram Lochan Ray, who had no special reason to be Surabala’s husband, — to whom, before his marriage, Surabala was in no way different from a hundred other young women, — has very quietly married her, and is earning lots of money as a Government lawyer; when his dinner is badly cooked he shouts at Surabala, and when he is in a good mood he gives her a bangle! He is well-fed and fat, neatly dressed, free from every kind of worry; he never spends his evenings by the pond looking at the stars and sighing.

Ram Lochan had to go away from our town for a few days because of a big case in another place. Surabala in her house was as lonely as I was in my school building.

I remember it was a Monday. The sky was covered with clouds from the morning. It began to rain lightly at ten o’clock. Seeing the sky, our headmaster closed the school early. All day the black separate clouds began to move around in the sky as if getting ready for some big show. Next day, toward the afternoon, the rain poured down, and there was a storm. As the night went on the force of wind and water grew. At first the wind was from the east; slowly it changed direction, and blew towards the south and south-west.

It was no use to try to sleep on such a night. I remembered that in this terrible weather Surabala was alone in her house. Our school was built much stronger than her small house. Many times I planned to invite her to the school, while I planned to spend the night alone by the pond. But I could not find the courage to do it.

When it was 1:30 in the morning, we suddenly heard the loud roar of a big sea wave — the sea was rushing at us! I left my room and ran to Surabala’s house. In the way there was a bank of our pond, and as I was walking through the water to it, the flood water had already reached my knees. When I climbed up the bank, a second wave hit it. The highest part of the bank was more than seventeen feet above the ground.

As I climbed up the bank, another person came to it from the other side. Who she was, every part of my body knew at once, and my whole soul was excited with this knowledge. I was sure that she also knew me.

On a small island about three yards across we both stood; everything else was covered with water.

It was a time of great disaster; the stars were gone from the sky; all the lights on earth were dark; it would have done no harm if we had talked then. But we could not make ourselves say a word; neither of us even asked politely about the other’s health. We only stood looking at the darkness. At our feet the thick, black, wild, roaring river of death moved around.

Today Surabala has come to my side, leaving the whole world. Today she has no one except me. In our childhood long ago this Surabala had come from some dark ancient world of mystery,

from a life in another world, and stood by my side on this bright earth full of people; and today, after a long time, she has left that earth, so full of light and people, to stand alone by my side in this terrible empty dark of Nature’s death struggle. The stream of birth had thrown that soft bud before me, and the flood of death had carried the same flower, now in full bloom, to me and to no one else. One more wave and we will be swept away from this far edge of the earth, torn from the stems on which we now sit apart, and made one in death.

May that wave never come! May Surabala live long and happily, surrounded by her husband and children, home and relatives! This one night, standing at the edge of nature being destroyed, I have tasted joy that lasts forever.

The night passed, the storm stopped, the flood went down; without saying a word, Surabala went back to her house, and I, too, returned to my shed without saying a word.

I thought: True, I have not become a Nazir or Head Clerk, nor a hero like Garibaldi; I am only the assistant head teacher of a very poor school. But one night, for a short time, shone on my whole life’s path.

That one night, out of all the days and nights of my life, has been the best moment of my simple life.