The Cabuliwallah – Rabindranath Tagore (Text and Summary)

Textual lesson for (VSKUB) B. Com I semester students

The Cabuliwallah – Rabindranath Tagore

My five-year-old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would like to stop her prattle, but I would not. For Mini to be quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it long. And so my own talk with her is always lively.

One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, my little Mini stole into the room, and putting her hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal, the door-keeper, calls a kak a kauwa!

He doesn't know anything, does he?"

Before I could explain to her the difference between one language and another in this world, she had embarked on the full tide of another subject. "What do you think, Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the clouds, blowing water out of his trunk, and that is why it rains!"

And then, darting off anew, while I sat still, trying to think of some reply to this: "Father! what relation is mother to you?"

With a grave face I contrived to say: "Go and play with Bhola, Mini! I am busy!"

The window of my room overlooks the road. The child had seated herself at my feet near my table, and was playing softly, drumming on her knees. I was hard at work on my seventeenth chapter, in which Pratap Singh, the hero, has just caught Kanchanlata, the heroine, in his arms, and is about to escape with her by the third storey window of the castle, when suddenly Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying: "A Cabuliwallah! A Cabuliwallah!' And indeed, in the street below, there was a Cabuliwallah, walking slowly along. He wore the loose, soiled clothing of his people, and a tall turban; he carried a bag on his back, and boxes of grapes in his hand.

I cannot tell what my daughter's feelings were when she saw this man, but she began to call him loudly. "Ah!" thought I, "he will come in, and my seventeenth chapter will never be finished!" At that very moment the Cabuliwallah turned, and looked up at the child. When she saw this, she was overcome by terror, and running to her mother's protection disappeared. She had a blind belief that inside the bag, which the big man carried, there were perhaps two or three other children like herself. The peddler meanwhile entered my doorway and greeted me with a smile.

So precarious was the position of my hero and my heroine, that my first impulse was to stop and buy something, since Mini had called the man to the house. I made some small purchases, and we began to talk about Abdur Rahman, the Russians, the English, and the Frontier Policy.

As he was about to leave, he asked: "And where is the little girl, Sir?"

And then, thinking that Mini must get rid of her false fear, I had her brought out.

She stood by my chair, and looked at the Cabuliwallah and his bag. He offered her nuts and raisins, but she would not be tempted, and only clung the closer to me, with all her doubts increased.

This was their first meeting.

A few mornings later, however, as I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talking, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it appeared, my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save her father. And already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. "Why did you give her those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna piece, I handed it to him. The man accepted the money without demur, and put it into his pocket.

Alas, on my return, an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to Mini, and her mother, catching sight of the bright round object, had pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna piece?"

"The Cabuliwallah gave it to me!" said Mini cheerfully.

"The Cabuliwallah gave it to you!" cried her mother greatly shocked, "O Mini! How could you take it from him?"

I entered at the moment, and saving her from impending disaster, proceeded to make my own inquiries.

It was not the first or the second time, I found, that the two had met. The Cabuliwallah had overcome the child's first terror by a judicious bribe of nuts and almonds, and the two were now great friends.

They had many quaint jokes, which amused them greatly. Mini would seat herself before him, look down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny dignity, and with her face rippling with laughter would begin: "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah: What have you got in your bag?"

And he would reply, in the nasal accent of the mountaineer: "An elephant!" Not much cause for merriment, perhaps: but how they both enjoyed the fun! And for me, this child's talk with a grown-up man had always in it something strangely fascinating.

Then the Cabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, would take his turn: "Well, little one, and when are you going to your father-in-law's house?"

Now nearly every small Bengali maiden had heard long ago about her father-in-law's house; but we were a little new-fangled, and had kept these things from our child, so that Mini at this question must have been a trifle bewildered. But she would not show it, and with ready tact replied: "Are you going there?"

Amongst men of the Cabuliwallah's class, however, it is well known that the words father-in-law's house have a double meaning. It is a euphemism for jail, the place where we are well cared for, at no expense to ourselves. In this sense would the sturdy peddler take my daughter's question. "Ah," he would say, shaking his fist at an invisible policeman. "I will thrash my father-in-law!" Hearing this, and picturing the poor discomfited relative, Mini would go off into peals of laughter in which her formidable friend would join.

These were autumn mornings, the very time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest, and I without stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. At the very name of another country, my heart would go out to it, and at the sight of a foreigner in the streets, I would fall to weaving a network of dreams—the mountains, the glens, and the forests of his distant land, with his cottage in their midst and the free and independent life, or far away wilds. Perhaps scenes of travel are conjured up before me and pass and re-pass in my imagination all the more vividly, because I lead an existence so like a vegetable that a call to travel would fall upon me like a thunder-bolt. In the presence of this Cabuliwallah, I was immediately transported to the foot of arid mountain peaks, with narrow little defiles twisting in and out amongst their towering heights. I could see the string of camels bearing the merchandise, and the company of turbaned merchants, some carrying their queer old firearms, and some their spears, journeying downward towards the plains. I could see_. But at some such point Mini's mother would intervene, and implore me to "beware of that man."

Mini's mother is unfortunately very timid. Whenever she hears a noise in the street, or sees people coming towards the house, she always jumps to the conclusion that they are either thieves, or drunkards, or snakes, or tigers, or malaria, or cockroaches, or caterpillars. Even after all these years of experience, she is not able to overcome her terror. So she was full of doubts about the Cabuliwallah, and used to beg me to keep a watchful eye on him.

If I tried to laugh her fear gently away, she would turn round seriously, and ask me solemn questions:

Were children never kidnapped?

Was it not true that there was slavery in Cabul?

Was it so very absurd that this big man should be able to carry off a tiny child?

I urged that, though not impossible, it was very improbable. But this was not enough, and her dread persisted. But as it was a very vague dread, it did not seem right to forbid the man the house, and the intimacy went on unchecked.

Once a year, in the middle of January, Rahman, the Cabuliwallah, used to return to his own country, and as the time approached, he would be very busy, going from house to house collecting his debts. This year, however, he could always find time to come and see Mini. It might have seemed to a stranger that there was some conspiracy between the two, for when he could not come in the morning, he would appear in the evening.

Even to me it was a little startling now and then suddenly to surprise this tall, loose-garmented man laden with his bags, in the corner of a dark room; but when Mini ran in smiling, with her "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah" and the two friends, so far apart in age, subsided into their old laughter and their old jokes, I felt reassured.

One morning, a few days before he had made up his mind to go, I was correcting proof-sheets in my study. The weather was chilly. Through the window the rays of the sun touched my feet, and the slight warmth was very welcome. It was nearly eight o'clock, and early pedestrians were returning home with their heads covered. Suddenly I heard an uproar in the street, and looking out saw Rahman being led away bound between two policemen, and behind them a crowd of inquisitive boys. There were blood-stains on his clothes, and one of the policemen carried a knife. I hurried out, and stopping them, inquired what it all meant. Partly from one, partly from another, I gathered that a certain neighbour had owed the peddler something for a Rampuri shawl, but had denied buying it, and that in the course of the quarrel Rahman had struck him. Now, in his excitement, the prisoner began calling his enemy all sorts of names, when suddenly in a verandah of my house appeared my little Mini, with her usual exclamation: "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" Rahman's face lighted up as he turned to her. He had no bag under his arm today, so that she could not talk about the elephant with him. She therefore at once proceeded to the next question: "Are you going to your father-in-law's house?" Rahman laughed and said: "That is just where I am going, little one!" Then seeing that the reply did not amuse the child, he held up his fettered hands, "Ah!" he said, "I would have thrashed that old father-in-law, but my hands are bound!"

On a charge of murderous assault, Rahman was sentenced to several years' imprisonment.

Time passed, and he was forgotten. Our accustomed work in the accustomed place went on, and the thought of the once free mountaineer spending his years in prison seldom or never occurred to us. Even my light-hearted Mini, I am ashamed to say, forgot her old friend. New companions filled her life. As she grew older, she spent more of her time with girls. So much, indeed, did she spend with them that she came no more, as she used to do, to her father's room, so that I rarely had any opportunity of speaking to her.

Years had passed away. It was once more autumn, and we had made arrangements for our Mini's marriage. It was to take place during the Puja Holidays. With Durga returning to Kailas, the light of our home also would depart to her husband's house, and leave her father's in shadow.

The morning was bright. After the rains, it seemed as though the air had been washed clean and the rays of the sun looked like pure gold. So bright were they, that they made even the sordid brick-walls of our Calcutta lanes radiant. Since early dawn the wedding-pipes had been sounding, and at each burst of sound my own heart throbbed. The wail of the tune, Bhairavi, seemed to intensify the pain I felt at the approaching separation. My Mini was to be married that night.

From early morning, noise and bustle had pervaded the house. In the courtyard there was the canopy to be slung on its bamboo poles; there were chandeliers with their tinkling sound to be hung in each room and verandah. There was endless hurry and excitement. I was sitting in my study, looking through the accounts, when someone entered, saluting respectfully, and stood before me. It was Rahman, the Cabuliwallah. At first I did not recognise him. He carried no bag, his long hair was cut short and his old vigour seemed to have gone. But he smiled; and I knew him again.

"When did you come, Rahman?" I asked him.

"Last evening," he said, "I was released from jail."

The words struck harshly upon my ears. I had never before talked with one who had wounded his fellow-man, and my heart shrank within itself when I realised this; for I felt that the day would have been better-omened had he not appeared.

"There are ceremonies going on," I said, "and I am busy. Perhaps you could come another day?"

He immediately turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated, and said, "May I not see the little one, sir, for a moment?" It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her running to him as she used to do, calling. "O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!" He had imagined too that they would laugh and talk together, just as of old. Indeed, in memory of former days, he had brought, carefully wrapped up in paper, a few almonds and raisins and grapes, obtained somehow or other from a countryman; for what little money he had, had gone.

I repeated: "There is a ceremony in the house, and you will not be able to see anyone today."

The man's face fell. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, then said, "Good morning," and went out.

I felt a little sorry, and would have called him back but I found he was returning of his own accord. He came close up to me and held out his offerings with the words: "I have brought these few things, sir, for the little one. Will you give them to her?"

I took them, and was going to pay him, but he caught my hand, and said: "You are very kind, sir! Keep me in your memory. Do not offer me money!_You have a little girl. I too have one like her in my own home. I think of her, and bring this fruit to your child_not to make a profit for myself."

Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper. Unfolding it with great care, he smoothened it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of a little hand. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. Merely the impression of an ink-smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of the hand of his own little daughter he had carried always next to his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta to sell his wares in the streets.

Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was_. But no, what was I more than he? He also was a father.

That impression of the hand of his little Parvati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.

I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apartment. Many difficulties were raised, but I swept them aside. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, with sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned as a young bride, Mini came, and stood modestly before me.

The Cabuliwallah seemed amazed at the apparition. He could not revive their old friendship. At last he smiled and said: "Little one, are you going to your father-in-law's house?"

But Mini now understood the meaning of the word "father-in-law," and she could not answer him as of old. She blushed at the question, and stood before him with her head bowed down.

I remembered the day when the Cabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahman sighed deeply and sat down on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him that his daughter too must have grown up, while he had been away so long, and that he would have to make friends anew with her also. Assuredly he would not find her as she was when he left her. And besides, what might not have happened to her in these eight years?

The marriage-pipes sounded and the mild autumn sunlight streamed round us. But Rahman, standing in our narrow Calcutta lane, saw in his mind's eye the mountains of Afghanistan.

I took out a hundred rupee note, gave it to him, and said: "Go back to your daughter, Rahman, in your own country, and may the happiness of your meeting bring good fortune to my child!"

Having made this present, I had to curtail some of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies of the house were despondent about it. But to me the wedding feast was all the brighter for the thought that in a distant land a long-lost father was going to meet again his only child.

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The Summary of "The Cabuliwallah" – Rabindranath Tagore

The father of a five-year-old Mini narrates the well-knitted short story ‘The Cabuliwallah’. The most innocent and prattling girl Mini and Abdur Rahman, a street peddler of dry fruits from Kabul are the central characters of the story.

On one sunny morning, Mini saw a street peddler through the window of her house and called him “A Cabuliwallah! A Cabuliwallah!” A tall and gigantic man with a turban on his head and huge sack slung over his shoulder has answered to her call. As soon as he drew closer to the house to answer Mini’s call, Mini ran away and hid herself in the folds of her mother’s sari. Mini’s father bought some dry fruits for her, chatted with him, and came to know that he was from Kabul and his family was at Kabul. Then he called Mini from her hiding and introduced her to Abdur Rahman, The Cabuliwallah. In order to shed her fears of the Cabuliwallah, Rahman took some dry fruits from his bag and bundled them up on other free end of her sari like garment.  

Later, Mini’s father found that his daughter Mini and the Cabuliwallah had struck up in a happy friendly relationship and they met often almost every day. The Cabuliwallah was a patient listener to Mini’s prattle and gave her lavish amounts of nuts and raisins. The Cabuliwallah entertained her with the fascinating stories of his motherland.  However, the suspicious Mini’s mother was always worrying at their friendship and frightened that he would take away her daughter, Mini and sell her off as a slave to someone.

As it was going on, one day all of a sudden a disaster struck the Cabuliwallah. He was arrested and sentenced him to several years of imprisonment for stabbing one of his customers to death who owed him money.

After his release from the jail, the Cabuliwallah went to Mini’s house to see her. To his surprise, he found that Mini had grown up, and it was her wedding day. Mini’s father was not happy to see him on that day and considered it inauspicious to let him to see Mini. He persuaded him to go away. Before going away, the Cabuliwallah left a few grapes and raisins wrapped in a piece of paper for Mini. He then showed Mini’s father an old and shriveled piece of paper with a black impression of a small tiny hand of his daughter. Filled with pity for the Cabuliwallah, Mini’s father called his daughter. When the Cabuliwallah saw Mini in her wedding dress, he was surprised to find a young woman that he could not recognize. Mini embarrassed when she thought of their long-forgotten companionship. The Cabuliwallah found extremely difficult to reconcile with the reality.  Seeing the predicament of the Cabuliwallah, Mini’s father offered him one hundred rupees enough to return to his native place, Kabul to see his own daughter there. He gave him the money by cutting down some the expensive wedding celebrations to meet the expenses of a distressed father. Mini’s father is contended with his humanistic gesture to help someone who is in distress and helpless and he wanted see his own daughter after a long time.

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ON HIS BLINDNESS – JOHN MILTON (Text and Summary)

Textual poem for (VSKUB) B. Com. I semester students

ON HIS BLINDNESS – JOHN MILTON

John Milton, the poet who wrote the greatest epic in English, was born on 9 December 1608 in London, educated at St. Paul’s School and Christ’s college, Cambridge. Milton took his B.A. degree in 1629 and M.A. in 1632. He was an exceptional scholar, at ease in English, Hebrew, Latin and Italian. In his youth, His remarkable looks and refined manner led to his being called ‘the lady of Christ’s’. He got involved in the controversies of the time and wrote a number of pamphlets. He defended the execution of Charles I and was appointed Latin Secretary to Oliver Cromwell, a post which he held till the Restoration. After the restoration of monarchy in 1660, Milton retired from politics and devoted himself entirely to poetry. He died on 10 November 1674.

The following are his famous poems: Ode on the Morning of Christ’s Nativity, Comus, Lycidas, Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes.

Poem:

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent, which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He, returning chide,

‘Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?’

I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies: – ‘God doth not need

Either man’s work, or His own gifts; who best

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state

Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed,

And post o’er land and ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait’.

Notes:

The Poem "On His Blindness" is packed with biblical allusions. In this short poem or just fourteen lines Sonnet there are not less than five references to scriptural passages. Milton’s familiarity with the Bible caused it to be the main source of inspiration for many of his poems.

talent: Poetic genius.

(There is a reference to the parable given in St.Matthew’s gospel Ch.XXV, verses 14-30)

(lines 3 to 6) The servant of the parable did not make use of the talent (money) given to him by his master and was on that account, scolded by the master. Milton is afraid that he too may be taken to task by his divine Master for not making full use of his inborn or God-given talent for poetry. Instead of devoting his full attention to poetry he was engaged in writing prose pamphlets on controversial subjects.

day labour: reference to the parable of labourers in St.Matthew’s gospel Ch. XX verses 1-15

fondly: foolishly

prevent: anticipate

mild yoke: ‘yoke’ literally means, piece of wood palced across the necks of oxen pulling a cart or plough. Here it means ‘burden of difficulty’ in life. Again there is a reference to St. Matthew, Ch. XI verses 29-30. ‘Learn from me; I am gentle and humble of heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light’.

thousands: old Testament, Prophecy of Daniel Ch. VII verses 9-11. While giving an account of the vision he had, the prophet speaks of the greatness of God the supreme judge: ‘A thousand thousand they were that waited on his bidding, and for every one of these, a thousand others were standing there before him’.

Post: travel with speed.

Stand and wait: St. Luke Ch. I verses 19. ‘I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto him’. 

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Summary:

By forty-five Milton was completely blind while yet in the service of Cromwell. As he had not fulfilled his ambition in life, to write a great poem which posterity would not willingly let die, he felt the loss of his eyesight very much and gave expression to his grief on several occasions. ‘On His Blindness’ is the first expression of this intensely felt loss.

Becoming blind at the age of forty-five Milton feels unhappy about the way he has spent that best part of his life. He is especially sorry for having failed to make proper use of his inborn poetic talent. He thinks his conduct is similar to that of the servant who preserved (unused) the money given to him by his master. The servant was scolded by the master for his laziness. Milton is afraid that he too may be taken to task for his failure to serve God by making use of his talent. Patience reminds him that God is not in need of man’s service. Those who endure their small difficulties, without making complaints, are the people who serve God best. God is like a king who has many servants. Some of the servants will be moving about to carry out the king’s orders; but some others will be standing by his side ready to obey him at any moment. Those who stand and wait for orders are also serving the king.

‘On His Blindness’ is the most famous of Milton’s sonnets. This is the first expression of the poet’s sorrow over the loss of his eyesight. It was written when he became completely blind at the age of forty-five.

Becoming blind at an early age, Milton is very unhappy about the fact that he has wasted the best part of his life without producing any creative work of importance. He feels especially sorry for having failed to make proper use of his poetic genius. He thinks his guilt is similar to that of the servant who kept unused the money to him by the master. The master scolded the servant for neglecting to do his duty. The poet is afraid that he too may be taken to task by God for his dereliction of duty. In a bitter mood Milton is inclined to think of God as a hard task master.

Soon he overcomes this mood of bitterness and is able to think of God in a more sober way.   God is not in need of man’s services. He is like a king who has many servants at his disposal. Some of the will be moving about to carry out he king’s orders; but some others will be standing by his side, always ready to obey him. Those who stand and wait for orders are also serving the king.

The poem begins in a mood of bitterness, but it ends in a mood of reconciliation and consolation. What really lends beauty to the poem is the frequent reference to some of the beautiful biblical passages. There are not less than five biblical allusions in this small poem of fourteen lines: but the most appropriate one is the reference to the parable of the talent.

Thus, in conclusion, it may be said that the poem reveals the moral earnestness of the poet and his familiarity with Bible.

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THE GIFT OF INDIA -- Sarojini Naidu

THE GIFT OF INDIA  -- Sarojini Naidu

The Gift of India is one of the patriotic poems of Sarojini. It was written in 1915 and included in her volume of poems entitled The Broken Wing. Mahatma Gandhi had called upon the people of India to co-operate with the British Government during World War I, and in response to his call Indian youth in large numbers joined the army, and went to distant battlefields, and thus laid down their lives in the service of their motherland. They were the gifts of mother India to the world

In this moving lyric, Mother India herself speaks to the world. She asks the world what else does it require from her? Has she kept back any rich clothes and grains of gold from the world? If so, she is ready to give them also. She has already given to the world her most precious possessions i.e., her brave and heroic sons. She gave them to the world when she heard the call of duty, and they went away to distant lands only to meet their deaths there. When she did not keep back her sons and allowed to go to their death in distant parts of the world, there is nothing else, which she would withhold or refuse. Nothing was more precious to her than her sons and she has already given them to the world.

Mother India expresses her grief for her dead sons through a number of similes following each other in quick succession. They are now buried in their graves in foreign lands like pearls in their shells. Some of them are lying dead in distant Persia, as if they have been sent to sleep by the sweet rhythmic music of her murmuring rivers. There are others whose dead bodies are scattered on the sands of Egypt, as it they were empty shells. Their brave hands have been broken and their faces are deathly pale. There are still others who lie scattered on the bloodstained meadows of France and Flanders.  They lie there like flowers that have been plucked and scattered all over by the cruel hands of destiny. Thus mother India has given her most precious gifts, her sons, to the entire world.

The world cannot adequately measure the grief of Mother India, nor understand the suffering and anguish of the vigil, which she has kept over her dead sons. Her anguish and despair, no doubt, are intense and unfathomable, but her heart also thrills with pride when she remembers their heroic deeds. Full of anguish she prays for their souls, but hopes of the future also comfort her heart. She sees glorious visions of the future, of which her heroic sons fought and dies would be victorious. No doubt, even such victory would have a tinge of sadness, but visions of such a victorious future console her and make her proud of her heroic sons.

Sarojini ends the lyric on a note of hope and prophecy. Today hate and strife rule the world and strike terror into the hearts of the people.  But a time will soon come when the reign of hate and war will end, and life will be shaped anew ‘on the anvils of Peace’. When the reign of falsehood will end and Truth shall prevail, the world would remember the deeds of her sons. The world would be grateful to them. The world would then honour the immortal deeds of her sons, and remember forever their heroic self-sacrifice. The martyrdom of her son has not been in vain and earned love and gratitude and a permanent place in history.

It might be a topical or occasional lyric, but the sons and daughters of Mother India with throbbing hearts will always read it. It is Sarojini’s tribute to the greatness and glory of her native land – India.

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Why I want a wife – Judy Brady

Why I want a wife – Judy Brady

The essay “Why I want a wife” by Judy Brady, a great feminist writer of 1970’s. The purpose of this essay is to show women how men think, act and feel about them. The essay had a great impact on the feminist movement of the early 70’s. Many men of those times heckled and despised this essay but it was a huge step towards emancipation of women in male chauvinistic society.

The tone of this essay is very serious, but at the same time, it is considered as humorous, sarcastic and even dramatic.  Judy Brady, being a feminist wants to show how men truly think of women. She writes this essay in the first person to enhance the intensity of women sufferings with innumerable responsibilities. She makes a list of the responsibilities of a typical woman of 1970’s.  She wanted women to know how men truly are. The list of responsibilities, she provides, are rather mind-boggling and proves that some of the things men require are just demanding. Every sentence she writes is emotionally charged description of what men expect from their women. She believes that this is not the way, how women live their lives.

Women are assigned the role of homemaker in the name of culture or tradition. As a result, women are forced to fall victim to perform such role and obliged to fulfill certain duties that have been earmarked for them. Although a woman is working and earning equal to her husband, she has to take care of the entire responsibility of the home. She has to look after of the children. She has to feed them properly and keep a track of children’s doctor and dentist appointments if anything goes wrong with the children’ health. She has to make sure that the children eat properly or not and keep them clean. If we wanted to tell it concisely, she has to take care of every responsibility of children in the process of bringing them up.

In spite of all these responsibilities, as a wife, she has to take care of her husband’s physical needs. She has to see that all her husband’s personal things and keep them in their proper place so that he can find them when he needs them instantly. She has to cook for him and shop for him.  She has to care for him when he suffers from any sickness.

Moreover, she (wife) should not trouble her husband with complaints about her duties. She has to treat his guests properly and she should not interrupt her husband, when he is talking with his guests or friends. She must be very sensitive to the sexual needs of her husband and at the same time, she should not demand sexual attention from her husband when he is not in mood for it. The husband expects her to be very faithful even such critical situations.   

Thus, Judy Brady vehemently rebukes at the male chauvinism, which reduces the status of the women to slaves and servants. Their individuality and self-respect is never recognized in the pro-male dominated society.   

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Nightingales – Robert Bridges

Nightingales - Robert Bridges

Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come,

And bright in the fruitful valleys, the streams, wherefrom

Ye learn your song:

Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there,

Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air

Bloom the year long!

Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams:

Our song is the voice of the desire, that hunts our dreams,

A throe of the heart,

Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,

No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound,

For all our art.

Along aloud in the ruptured ear of men

We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then,

As night is withdrawn

From these sweet-springing meads and bursting bough of May

Dream, while innumerable choir of day

Welcome the dawn.

Summary:

‘Nightingales’ is a poem that goes against all the Romantic qualities that are normally given to these birds. These (birds) are small; reddish brown birds usually migrate to warm places in the winter. They sing very sweetly by day as well as by night. Many poets including John Keats and W.B. Yeats have written in praise of the nightingale, because for them, the song of this bird meant perfection and beauty. Robert Bridges, however, associates the bird with deep sorrow. The poet’s attitude may be based on the Greek legend of Procene and Philomela which tells of the origin of the nightingale.

Procene and Philomela were sisters and daughters of the King of Athens. Procene was given in marriage to Tereus, who was king of the Thraciaus and who had helped the king of Athens. Tereus, however, was in love with Philomela and he seduced her after telling her that Procene was dead. He also tore Procene’s tongue but Procene wove a message for her sister into a robe. Philomela helped her sister escape from Tereus’s prison. Procene killed and cooked their son Itys for Tereus to eat. When Tereus discovered what he was eating, he chased the sisters with an axe but the gods changed all three into birds. Tereus became a hawk, Procene a swallow and Philomela, a nightingale.

The legend is a terrible, heartrending one and explains the poet’s anti-romantic view of the nightingale’s song. The poem is in two voices. The first verse is in the voice of the typical Romantic who imagines that nightingale belongs so a beautiful world filled with flowers and fruits equal to a paradise.

The second and third voices are in the voices of the nightingale who, in reply show how romantic and sad their world actually is. It is not of fullness fertility they sing, but of dreams and desires that never fulfilled. Even their song is unable to express the depth of their sorrow. The last two lines suggest that the more ordinary birds who greet the sunrise are the ones that are really joyful.

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Teaching English at College Level: Problems and Possibilities

Teaching English at College Level: Problems and Possibilities

English is being treated as a global language because of its vast presence all over the world. More or less English is enjoying the status of lingua franca of the world. With the IT revolution, most of the software and operating systems being in English Language, a new utility for written and oral communications in English language has emerged. English is used all over the world not out of any imposition but because of the realization that it has certain advantages. A very important reason for regarding English as a world language is that the most of the world’s knowledge is enshrined in English.  It is, undisputedly, a progressive, dynamic and flexible language. Over and above English is universally renowned for its power of expression and its rich literature. So, English has been lauded as the most successful language. In modern prospective, English symbolizes as better education, better future, better culture and higher intellect, therefore, in present times, English is the most preferred language for higher education as well as technical education.

The advent of English in India happened as early as in 1800 AD as the East India Company (EIC) imparted English education only to the children of the European employees of the company and to the very small percentage of Anglo-Indians in the country, hence English has a very limited sphere of dominance and it was an extremely marginalized language used only by the British. Invariably English has co-existed in the Indian sub-continent along with hundreds of local languages.

It was an historical movement when Lord Macaulay’s ideas took a clearer picture in 1835 when he presented his ‘minute’ on 2^nd February 1835 in the ‘Manifestation of English Education in India’. This ‘minute’ is often quoted as ‘the real beginning of bilingualism in India’.  This ‘minute’ was very clearly pushed for the English education for ease in administration and in civilizing ‘race of half-naked, uncivilized’ people in India. This controversial ‘minute’ was given the Seal of Approval by Lord William Bentinck in 1835 in spite of facing strong protests by the orientalists on the pretext that Indians ‘wanted’ English Education. This resolution “formed the cornerstone of the implementation of a language policy in India and ultimately resulted in the dissemination of bilingualism in English” and paved way to Christian missionaries to enter India to establish a number of schools and colleges.

Of course all these facilities are only benefited the students of cosmopolitan cities like Calcutta (Kolkata), Bombay (Mumbai), Madras (Chennai) etc., According to recent surveys, approximately 4% of the Indian population use English. This figure might seem insignificant, but out of the total population it represents 35 million people communicate in English. It means India is the largest English speaking community outside USA and UK.   English may be virtually the mother-tongue for many educated Indians, but for the vast majority of people, it remains as a second language.

Language learning is a natural process for the natives of any country. The approach to this learning process is called the ‘behavioristic approach’. But the students of other languages, deliberate efforts are required to learn a foreign language which requires a ‘mentalistic approach’. The students of rural and semi-urban areas in India face such problems because English is not their mother-tongue. It is either instinctive nor intuitive. Language acquisition seems to be a process of both of analogy and application, nature and nurture. In the process of teaching English as a second language in India the teachers of English language have adopted, invented and developed a variety of methods to teach English. Edward M. Anthony says in his book “Approach, Method and Technique – Teaching English as a Second Language”, “Method is an overall plan for the orderly presentation of language material no part of which contradicts and all of which is based upon, the selected approach. Approach is axiomatic and a method is procedural”. The orderly presentation of language to students is influenced by several factors. The teacher has to keep in mind the age of the student, his native language, his cultural background and his previous experience with English. The experience of the teacher and his level of mastery over his English language are equally important. To achieve desired effects, the goal of course must be kept in mind – whether it is aimed at reading, fluency in speech, inculcating translation skill. All these objects shape methodology.

Being English as a second language, Students of rural colleges face a number of problems. Learning second language means acquiring a system of rules with little knowledge of those rules. Students learn basic grammar at school level for the purpose of passing in the school examinations and not to face any real life situations.  Application-oriented grammar is rarely taught. Inadequate practice and facilities are provided to students to learn English language. In this phase a student grows from a small child to a grown-up when he/she completes higher secondary examinations. In this transition period each student has his own whims and fancies about college life because of the tremendous influence of mass-media. Many a time the media project a false perception about colleges and life of a student. On seeing such things in movies, students take it for granted. As a result of this, they have formed an image for a college and want to act upon those images.

The twelve years of school life is considered as a restricted life of students. They are taught with heavy dose of discipline and obedience. The moment they enter into college life; they think as if they got freedom from their confinement. During adolescence students usually embark to learn all bad things and forget good things, which have learnt through twelve years of rigorous training in schools. Carefree life and without responsibilities give them opportunity to implement whatever they can think off. No compulsion for attending classes and being away from family elders’ supervision make them feel difficulty to sit in the classes and listen to the lessons. The students of UG Courses are neither immature nor fully matured group. This adolescence is really a challenging age to deal with. They are egoistic in many ways. The students of this group are tend to be identified by many means. They are more idiotic than rationalistic understanding. For them, sitting and listening a language class is something an uphill task. 

English is made compulsory as a second language for all students who seek admission at U G level. A large number of students are really not interested in studying English however they are all forced to undergo this trouble despite their lack of basic knowledge in English in previous classes. Many students in B.A. and B. Com classes are not able to read the simplest sentences even though they are very familiar to them. Further, they are not able to mange to read the sentences meaningfully dividing them into meaningful units. Such students do really lose interest in learn English and fail in the examinations.

The hackneyed, stereotyped and traditional pattern of exams aims at clearing English not as a language but as a subject. The students, therefore, are guided to practice pick and choose method from the sub-standard material available in the market. So, the students merely pass the subject far away from learning any level of the Language. It is shocking to learn that even the questions that students supposed to answer are told to learn through their own vernacular. Lack of proper vocabulary, lack of skill in making the sentences, no knowledge of English usage forces the student to adopt a casual approach. Even after studying English for 14 to 15 years the level of student’s skills in English remain poor.

Generally, the classrooms are often overflowing with students in rural and semi-urban colleges which have a name and little fame despite the poor performance of students. The strength of each class may usually ranging from 250 to 300 students comprising with students of mixed ability. English Language Teaching (ELT) experts suggest ways for teachers to teach English meaningfully by grouping them according to their ability as ‘very able’ ‘able’ ‘less able’ and ‘unable’ students.  No doubt some good teachers are trying to group the students with the limited resources and time available to them. However, a large number of college teachers do not do such activities because of their apprehension that they won’t be able to complete the syllabus within the set time frame. Teachers cannot be blamed for this because they are answerable to the stakeholders as well as institutional authorities and hence their aim is to teach in such large classes and make a good number of students pass in the examinations. Thus, testing and evaluating designed by boards of education and universities have a negative effect on their teaching efforts in the classrooms.

It often surprises to hear that many of the ‘less able’ and ‘unable’ students have scored first class marks in their previous qualifying examinations although spellings of simple words are also a great puzzle for them.  For obvious reasons, let us not discuss their failure in constructing simple meaningful sentences. Such weak knowledge of English underscores the fact that there is something awfully wrong in the way the typical student is ‘brought up’ to do his graduation in colleges where all efforts of teachers to reform their English language skills prove futile.

To solve above discussed problems a systematic approach is required. Governments of the states should develop sufficient infrastructure in the schools and appoint well trained teachers to teach English more impressively on modern lines not knowledge but skill. Teachers of English should be very resourceful to help students to enjoy their language activities in the classroom. Exposing students to the language laboratories may enhance their confidence in the process of learning language. Students learn by way of imitation, similarly, the students tend to follow the example set by their teacher.  The English teacher should be more resourceful with considerable amount of enthusiasm and imagination in inculcating the habit of learning new words in them. Students newly learnt words will become a part of their vocabulary and they will be in a position to use those words purposefully and meaningfully. This enhancement of vocabulary will result into better expression. Timings for English teaching in the college time-table should be convenient for the students who travel from remote places. Appointing good number of language lecturers and reducing student and teacher ratio may yield better results. Minimum student strength of each class, regular attendance and personal assessment of each student are to be exercised in every college. Personal guidance is to be provided for the students who are less able and unable students through remedial classes.

At the outset, teachers should motivate students for participative learning. This will solve all the stumbling blocks in students. Above all, a teacher is not only a teacher but also a friend, guide and a philosopher to students. The teacher guides not only to pass in the exam but also to face challenges and take right decisions during the time of crisis in life. This is, of course, a real and tough task ahead of a good teacher.

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ODE TO PSYCHE - John Keats

ODE TO PSYCHE - John Keats

 

The legend:

Psyche was a damsel so beautiful that Venus became jealous of her. Venus sent Cupid to make Psyche fall in love with some ugly creature, but Cupid himself fell in love with her. He placed her in a palace, but only visited her in the dark and forbade her to attempt to see him, Her sisters out of jealousy told her that her lover was a monster and would devour her. One night she secretly lighted a lamp, and looked at Cupid when he was asleep. Amazed, wonder struck and agitated at the sight of his beauty, she let fall on him a drop of oil from the lamp, and woke him. There upon the god left her, angry at her disobedience. Psyche, lonely and repentant, searched for her lover all over the earth. Venus imposed various superhuman tasks upon her, which, however, she was able to accomplish, except the last. Jupiter, at Cupid's entreaty, at last consented to her marriage to her lover, and she was taken to heaven and deified.  The myth symbolizes the purification of human soul by passion and suffering.  

 

Psyche is the Greek word for the soul. Keats seems to regard Psyche not only as the personification of the human soul but also as the personification of beauty.

Summary:

Addressing the divinity, Psyche, Keats says that he writing this poem under a sweet compulsion and in order to record his feeling of affection for her. He seeks her pardon for singing her secrets in to her own soft and shell-shaped ears. He then goes on to describe what he thinks might have been a dream or an actual experience. Wandering in a forest thoughtlessly, he was astonished to see two lovely creatures lying side by side in deep grass under the leaves and blossoms of trees, near a stream, which was hardly visible. The two lovely creatures lay in the midst silent, cool and sweet-smelling flowers of blue, silver-white, and purple colours. They lay in an embrace. Their lips did not touch but seemed to have temporarily parted to renew their kisses very soon. Keats recognised the winged boy as Cupid, the god of love, but he was a little doubtful about the identity of the goddess who was probably Psyche, the devoted and loyal beloved of Cupid.  (Lines 1 - 23)

Keats addresses Psyche as the latest-born and the loveliest of all the gods and goddesses who lived on Mount Olympus. He considers her to be fairer than Venus (the morning star), and fairer than Vesper (the evening star).  It is unfortunate, however, that Psyche was never made the object of worship in ancient times because she became a goddess too late. Describing the Paraphernalia of religious worship, Keats laments the fact that Psyche did not receive her due as a goddess. No temple was built to her; no altar was heaped with flowers; no tribute of musical composition on her either on the lute or on the pipe; no incense was burnt in censers; no priest showed any fervour of worship in relation to her or uttered prophecies in her behalf.  She was certainly the brightest of all divinities, but she came too late for ancient vows, and too late for the lyric poets of antiquity to celebrate her. The ancient people believed that divinities lived amongst the trees, in the air, in water, and in fire; but because Psyche attained the status of a divinity when the age of mythical beliefs had almost passed, she was not worshipped. The fact does not, however, discourage the poet from paying his tribute to her. He can see her even in these days, which are so far paying his tribute to her.  He can see her even in these days, which are so far removed from the ancient ages of mythical beliefs. The poet himself will serve as her choir, and sing sweet songs in her honour; he will himself serve as her lute, her pipe, her sweet incense, her shrine, her oracle, and her priest. (Lines 24 - 49)

The poet reiterates that he will himself act as a priest or worshipper of Psyche. He will build a temple to her in some unexplored region of his mind. In that region of his mind, new thoughts will grow like branches of pine trees and will make him experience a feeling of pain accompanied by pleasure. His mind will serve as a forest and his thoughts will serve as pine trees. There, in that region of his mind, will the wood-nymphs lie on the moss in the midst of streams, birds, and bees, with cool breezes blowing around. In the midst of such an extensive and peaceful region, the poet would build a rose-covered shrine for Psyche and he will worship her with the loveliest buds and blossoms of verse with the gardener Fancy can produce. Fancy, the gardener, has an infinite productive capacity and does not repeat herself.  This poet, using his Fancy, will provide for Psyche all those soft pleasures, which his brain can devise. He will also provide a bright torch in open window of the temple so that Psyche may be able to enter the temple. (Lines 50 -60)

(In the concluding stanza, Keats expresses his idea by means of an elaborate metaphor. " His mind is the forest, full of the varied beauty of Nature and myth: his thoughts are the pine trees, in the midst of which, he will build a temple dedicated to the worship of Psyche; the flowers are apparently his verses, tended by the worship of Fancy, and the rose-clad temple of poetry is to be prepared and thrown open for the entrance of Psyche. Probably by the 'fane' he means the ode which, with this beautiful imagery, he brings to a close.")

Appreciation

This Ode is addressed to Psyche, a king’s beautiful daughter with whom Cupid, the god of love, fell in love and who was, after many vicissitudes, united with him. It was only in the age of Apuleius (in the second century A.D.) that Psyche was given the status of divinity and it is for this reason that Keats refers to her as the latest born of all gods and goddesses who had their abode on Mount Olympus.  Keats emphasizes the fact that Psyche was not made immortal till the days of simple religious faith and observance were gone by and  he, therefore, deplores the fact that Psyche has never been duly worshipped.  In the Ode, eats offers himself as her worshipper. However, he seems to regard Psyche as the personification of Beauty rather than of the human Soul, which she is normally believed to symbolize. (Psyche in the Greek word for the soul.) In a letter to George, Keats wrote: “you must recollect the Psyche was not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apuleius, the Platonist, who lived after the Augustan age, and consequently the goddess was never worshipped or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour—and perhaps never thought of in the religion. I am more orthodox than to let a heathen goddess be so neglected.”

Sensuous Imagery:

The poem is remarkable for its concrete and sensuous imagery, which constitutes one of the most striking characteristics of Keats poetry. There is, first of all, the lovely picture of Cupid and Psyche lying in an embrace in deep grass, beneath a roof of leaves and blossoms, by the side of a brooklet. Keats imagines the two fair creatures.

                                    Couched side by side

In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof

Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran

A brooklet, scarce espied:

The Lovers lay in the midst of flowers of varied colours, We get one of the most exquisite pictures in Keats’s poetry in the two lines in which he describes with and unsurpassed felicity of word and phrase,

’Mid hush’d, cool-rooted flowers fragrant-eyed,

Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian ……

The use of the compound epithets ‘cool-rooted’ and ‘fragrant-eyed’ shows Keats’s genius for original Phrase-making. Another sensuous shows picture follows in the lines where the lovers described as lying with lips that touched not but which had not at the same time bidden farewell:

As if dis-joined by soft-handed slumber,

And ready still past kisses to outnumber

At tender eye-drawn of aurorean love….

Keats means that on waking up the two lovers will start kissing each other again and that the number of their kisses this time will exceed the number f kissed they have already exchanged before falling asleep.

Concrete and sensuous imagery continues in the poem when Keats describes the superior beauty of Psyche as compared with Venus and Vesper. Venus and Vesper are themselves described in lovely phrases: “Phoebe’s Sapphire-region’s star”; and “vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky”. Psyche is not only the latest-born but also the loveliest of all the half forgotten gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus. Then follows a description of the paraphernalia of worship in a temple: altar, Virgin-choir, lute, pipe, sweet incense burning in a chain-swung censor, shrine, oracle and the fervour of a priest.

In the concluding stanza, we have more of concrete and sensuous imagery. We are given pictures of a forest, wild ridged mountains, streams, birds, breezes, and wood-nymphs lulled to sleep. One of the most exquisite pictures comes at the end where we see a bright torch burning in the casement to make it possible for cupid to enter the temple in order to make love to Psyche.

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The Old Man and the Sea - Earnest Hemingway

The Old Man ad the Sea - Earnest Hemingway

The Old Man and the Sea is the story of a battle between an old, experienced fisherman and a large marlin. The novel opens with the explanation that the fisherman, who is named Santiago, has gone 84 days without catching a fish. Santiago is considered "salao", the worst form of unluckiness. In fact, he is so unlucky that his young apprentice, Manolin, has been forbidden by his parents to sail with the old man and been ordered to fish with more successful fishermen. Still dedicated to the old man, however, the boy visits Santiago's shack each night, hauling back his fishing gear, getting him food and discussing American baseball and his favorite player Joe DiMaggio. Santiago tells Manolin that on the next day, he will venture far out into the Gulf Stream, north of Cuba in the Straits of Florida to fish, confident that his unlucky streak is near its end. Thus on the eighty-fifth day, Santiago sets out alone, taking his skiff far onto the Gulf Stream. He sets his lines and, by noon of the first day, a big fish that he is sure is a marlin takes his bait. Unable to pull in the great marlin, Santiago instead finds the fish pulling his skiff.

Two days and two nights pass in this manner, during which the old man bears the tension of the line with his body. Though he is wounded by the struggle and in pain, Santiago expresses a compassionate appreciation for his adversary, often referring to him as a brother. He also determines that because of the fish's great dignity, no one will be worthy of eating the marlin. On the third day of the ordeal, the fish begins to circle the skiff, indicating his tiredness to the old man. Santiago, now completely worn out and almost in delirium, uses all the strength he has left in him to pull the fish onto its side and stab the marlin with a harpoon, ending the long battle between the old man and the tenacious fish. Santiago straps the marlin to the side of his skiff and heads home, thinking about the high price the fish will bring him at the market and how many people he will feed.

While Santiago continues his journey back to the shore, sharks are attracted to the trail of blood left by the marlin in the water. The first, a great mako shark, Santiago kills with his harpoon, losing that weapon in the process. He makes a new harpoon by strapping his knife to the end of an oar to help ward off the next line of sharks; in total, five sharks are slain and many others are driven away. But the sharks keep coming, and by nightfall the sharks have almost devoured the marlin's entire carcass, leaving a skeleton consisting mostly of its backbone, its tail and its head. Finally reaching the shore before dawn on the next day, Santiago struggles on the way to his shack, carrying the heavy mast on his shoulder. Once home, he slumps onto his bed and falls into a deep sleep. A group of fishermen gather the next day around the boat where the fish's skeleton is still attached. One of the fishermen measures it to be 18 feet (5.5 m) from nose to tail. Tourists at the nearby café mistakenly take it for a shark. Manolin, worried during the old man's endeavor, cries upon finding him safe asleep. The boy brings him newspapers and coffee. When the old man wakes, they promise to fish together once again. Upon his return to sleep, Santiago dreams of his youth—of lions on an African beach.

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Philosophy for Laymen – Bertrand Russell

Philosophy for Laymen – Bertrand Russell

Bertrand Russell achieved an international reputation as a philosopher, mathematician, thinker, social critic, pacifist and a fighter for freedom. Born in a family of English aristocrats, he consistently advocated democracy and was an inveterate opponent and enemy of colonialism, racism and totalitarianism. He waged a relentless war against massive armament, especially nuclear arms, in which the major countries of the world are now involved. As a rationalist, he tried to expose every kind of irrational humbug prevalent in a contemporary society. He was a prolific writer and expressed his ideas with great power and precision on a variety of subjects, but he was essentially a philosopher.

In the essay ‘Philosophy for Laymen’ Russell explains very briefly the uses of philosophy. Philosophy, he says, means a love of wisdom. Philosophy, in this sense, is what people must acquire if new technical powers achieved by man are not to plunge mankind into the greatest that the ordinary people should be taught is not the same thing as the philosophy of specialists.

The theoretical function of philosophy:

Philosophy has always had two different objects: to arrive at a theoretical understanding of the structure of the world; and to discover and propagate the best possible way a life. Philosophy has thus been closely related to science on the one hand and to religion on the on the other. On its theoretical side philosophy partly consists in the framing of large general hypotheses they become part of science, and no longer belong to philosophy. There are a number of purely theoretical questions, of everlasting interest, which science is unable to answer at present. Do we survive after death? Can mind dominate matter? or does matter completely dominate mind?  Does this universe has a purpose, or is it driven by blind necessity? To keep alive the interest in such questions is one of the functions of philosophy.

The practical aspect of philosophy:

On its practical side, philosophy can greatly increase a man’s value as a human being and as a citizen. It can give a habit of exact and careful thought. It can give an impressive breadth and scope to the conception of the aims of life. It can give to the individual a correct estimate of himself in relation to society and of man in the present to man in the past and in the future. It can offer a cure, or at least a palliative, for the anxieties and the anguish, which afflict mankind at present.

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Milton’s portrayal of Satan in the first two Books of "Paradise Lost".

Milton’s portrayal of Satan in the first two Books of 'Paradise Lost'.

Satan, before fall, was called Lucifer and was far superior to all other angels in shape, pomp, authority, worthiness and dwelling. His pride was responsible for his fallen state. Milton accepted the image of Satan as conceived by the ethnologists and depicted Satan as an embodiment of the spirit of pride and ambition in ‘Paradise Lost’. This ambition is the fevered lust for power, which sprang from self-exaltation; This pride and egotism vitiate all that is noble and good in him. He declares to his followers that they might have lost Heaven, but still possesses the unconquerable will, courage never to submit or yield. This is heroic quality. He is also presented by the poet as a noble rebel and acts as poet’s mouthpiece. Milton’s republican fervor and his Fustian sense of freedom are reflected in Satan.

Satan’s firm conviction is that it is better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven. He succeeds in achieving unanimity among his followers about this. In Hell, he cherishes the desire of being the leader and gives a call to his legions “to Arise, awake, or be for ever fallen”. Like an able leader, he intelligently tells his legions that Heaven is not at all lost, because “The mind its own place; it can make a Hell of Heaven and Heaven of Hell”.

Thus Satan with his heroic qualities as presented in Book I makes most readers feel that he is the real hero of "Paradise Lost".

     

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My Last Duchess - Robert Browning

My Last Duchess – Robert Browning

Ferrara

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive.   I call

That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her?    I said

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus.    Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps

Fra Pandolf chanced to say “her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat”: Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy.     She had

A heart – how shall I say? – too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace – all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men – good! But thanked

Somehow – I know not how – as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech – (Which I have not) – to make your will

Quite clear to such a one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark” – and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse

--E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

the company below, then. I repeat

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretence

Of mine dowry will be disallowed

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, Sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

My Last Duchess (Summary)

The duke of Ferrara, a powerful, and hard-hearted Italian Duke of the 16^th century, has been widowed recently, He intends to marry a second time. The messenger of the powerful count, who has his estate in the neighborhood, comes to the Duke’s palace to negotiate with him the marriage of the Count’s daughter. The Duke takes him round his picture-gallery and shows to him the portrait of his last Duchess. The portrait is life-like and realistic, and the Duke, who is a great lover of the fine arts, is justly proud of it.

The Duke points out the portrait to the messenger and tells him that he alone uncovers the picture and nobody else is allowed to do so. At this point, the Duke notices an inquiring look in the eyes of the messenger and at once understands that he wants to know the cause of the deep, passionate look in the eyes of the Duchess, and proceeds to satisfy his curiosity.

In response to the inquiring look of the messenger, the Duke tells him that the deep passion in the eyes of the Duchess does not result from any sex-intrigue of guilty of love. He did not give her any occasion to be unfaithful to him. Even the portrait on the wall was done not by an ordinary artist, but by a monk, and he was allowed only one day to it. He did not allow the Monk any longer time, for he did not want to provide them any occasion for intimacy. This shows that the Duke is a jealous tyrant and the poor Duchess could not have enjoyed any freedom of movement as the wife of such a man.

Continuing further with his explanation, the Duke tells the envoy that his last Duchess had very childish and foolish nature. She was pleased with trifles, would thank others for even the slightest service they happened to render to her, and had no sense of dignity and decorum. For example, the faint blush of joy on her cheek and neck was not caused by the presence of her husband alone. If the painter happened to mention that her cloak covered her wrist too much, or that paint could never hope to capture the light pink glow on her throat, she would take such chance remarks as compliments and blush with pleasure. She had a childish heart, and was pleased too easily by such trifles as the gift of a branch laden with cherries, the beautiful sunset, or the mule presented to her by someone for her rides round the terrace. She would blush with pleasure at such trifles, just as much as she would at some costly ornament presented by him. She was the wife of a Duke who belonged to an ancient family, nine hundred years old. But she considered even this gift of his at par with the trifling services rendered to her by others.

As a matter of fact, she had no discrimination, and no sense of dignity and decorum. She smiled at everybody without any distinction; she thanked everybody in the same way. He expected better sense from his wife. He did not correct her, for even to notice such frivolity would have meant loss of dignity, and he did not like to suffer this loss. Besides, she would have argued and discussed with him, instead of listening to his advice. Her habit of smiling continued to grow will it became intolerable to him. At last he gave orders, and, “Then all smiles stopped together”. Te line has been left intentionally enigmatic; we cannot say certain how the smiling stopped. But, most probably, the poor, innocent Duchess was murdered at the command of her brutal and stony-hearted husband.

The duke then asks the messenger to come down, where the other guests of his are waiting. In passing, he tells the messenger that he would expect a rich dowry from his master, the Count, though, of course, he adds very cleverly, his primary concern is the daughter, and not the dowry. The duke is not only hard-hearted, proud and tyrannical, but also greedy and cunning. He is a hypocrite of the first water. The only good point about him is his love of art. As they go down the stairs, he asks the messenger to have a good look at the bronze statue of Neptune, the sea-god. In this statue, the god is shown riding and controlling a sea horse. It was done specially for him by the great sculptor, Claus of Innsbruck. It is the name of an imaginary artist invented to impress the messenger; just as earlier he invented the name of the painter, Fra Pandolf

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Mukta-Dhara - Rabindranath Tagore

Mukta-Dhara, from which the play takes its name, is a mountain spring whose waters, rushing down the slopes of Uttarakut, irrigate the plains of Shiva-tarai, whose people are held in subjection to the king of Uttarakut. In order to enforce this subjection more effectively, the King of Uttarakut desires to control the source of their economic well being. In order to cherish this end he wanted  a great dam to be erected to prevent the waters of Mukata-dhara from reaching the plains below. It was a difficult and hazardous operation, but the skill of the royal engineer Bibhuti, utilizing the resources of modern science and technology with the help of conscripted labour, has at last successfully achieved the feat, though with considerable loss of life. A mighty engine-tower, out- soaring the trident of the Temple of Shiva on a mountain peak, has been erected. The play opens with the King and the citizens of Uttarakut preparing to participate in a religious festival in honour of the Machine. The King as well as the bulk of the people of Uttarakut, are very proud of the Machine and quite confident that the poor defenseless people of Shiva-tarai will now forever be at their mercy. Neither the recurring wail of the poor, demented mother, Amba, looking for her son, one of the conscripted victims sacrificed in the building of the dam, nor the warnings of the simple, god-fearing folk who presage ill for such colossal pride and greed, touch their hearts. 

The crown Prince Abhijit, however, professes open sympathy for the people of Shiva-tarai and protests against Bibhuti’s soulless achievement. The character of the Prince provides the main psychological interest in the play. In him, love of freedom and sympathy for the oppressed discover their appropriate symbolism, or as the author so aptly puts it, their objective counterpart, in the fate of Mukta-dhara, whose free current has been imprisoned by the dam.  The emotional significance of this symbolism gains intensity till it becomes a passion, when the Price learns that he is not the son of the king but a foundling picked up near the source of Mukta-dhara. ‘This unexpected revelation profoundly affects his mind, making him believe that his life has a spiritual relationship with this waterfall; that its voice was the first voice which greeted him with a message when he came to the world. From that movement the fulfillment of that message becomes the sole aim of his life, which is to open out paths for the adventurous spirit of Man’. He determines to sacrifice his life in an attempt to liberate the imprisoned current by forcing the dam at a point, which he happens know was weakly built. He succeeds. The leaping torrent breaks free, carrying away the body of its foster-child in its turbulent rush. The social motive of the play, if it had any, is sense of mystic self-fulfillment, as in some of Ibsen’s later dramas. 

The author has also re-introduced into the play the remarkable character, the Ascetic Dhananjaya, who first appeared in Prayaschitta (Atonement), published in 1909. In that play as in the present one, Dhananjaya teaches the people to resist their ruler’s unjust claims non-violently but fearlessly.  He exhorts the subject people, ‘as soon as one can hold up your head and say that nothing has power to hurt you, the roots of violence will be cut … nothing can hurt your real man hood, for that is a flame of fire. The animal, that is flesh, feels the blow and whines. But you stand there gaping – don’t you understand?’  A disciple answers, ‘we understand you, but your words we don’t understand.’ Dhananjaya replies, ‘Then you are done for.’ Both the personality and the words of Dhananjaya are a remarkable anticipation of the shape that the struggle for Indian Independence was to assume later under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. In the earlier play Dhananjaya even leads the people in a sort of no-rent campaign.   

Perhaps no other play of Rabindranath expresses his political convictions with such directness and force. Technically too the drama is not overburdened with any sub-plot or extraneous incidents, which might break the continuity of the main theme. Incidentally the Greek classical unites of time and place are fully observed.

The drama is packed with meaning and rich in suggestions, which may tempt critics into a variety of interpretations. But he has gently warned his readers against missing the main significance of the play, which is psychological and lies in the growing identity that is achieved in the Prince’s mind between his own spirit and the current of Mukta-dhara. The last desperate act of self-sacrifice, the awful nature of the consummation sought and achieved by the Prince, which brings the play to its close, leaves one with a sense of the tragic splendour of man's spirit, silencing all contentions for the moment. What happens to the people of Shiva-tarai, we have forgotten to inquire.

There is no doubt the Mukta-dhara is one of the most moving and well-knit of the author’s dramas. Mr Edward Thompson has called it ‘the best of his prose dramas’. Without endorsing so categorical a judgement, it is well quoting the English critic’s excellent appreciation of the play.

‘It is a reasoned though highly allegorical presentation of his convictions, as expressed during many previous years, on modern politics. It has many strands of significance woven into it, so that it is like shot silk suggesting many colours; the play’s achievement is that in it he has attained a synthesis of his different convictions and message. His deep distrust of all government machinery and of all prostitution of science to serve violence and oppression. His hatred of a slavish system of education, his scorn of race-hatred and of all politics, which seek to make one tribe dependent on another instead of risking the gift of the fullest freedom. His certitude that it is in freedom that God is found – all these are so prominent that each may with justice be claimed as the play’s message.  Through all, as a tender undertone, runs the murmur of the Free Current, a haunting sound in the soul of the boy whose foster-mother she was, and whose lifeless body, after he has broken her fetters, her waves are to carry majestically away. There are impressive passages, as where the Machine is seen, sinister against the sunset, crouching over the land and its life, over topping even God’s temple; or where the noise of the breaking dam and the raging waters is first heard. All through the play sounds the menace of God’s gathering anger at the hardness of men’s hearts and the sordidness of their hopes. Finest of all is the constant quiet drift of folk along the roads, the procession of life. It is the greatest of his symbolical plays.  

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