Translation of Sister Nivedita, continued

What one notices most singularly about her is that as much as she was given to deep feeling, she was also extremely action oriented. The work that is the output of action will always carry the traces of the struggle to give it shape and form. Any piece of work, by its very nature, thus suffers from imperfection. Feeling, on the other hand, can remain perfect and autonomous. That is why one finds, that those who are prone towards deep feeling, are often either scornful of work or are afraid of it. Again, those who are extremely action oriented, may be cut off from feeling much, and consequently do not suffer if their work does not rise to a level of perfection.

However, where feeling is not an escape from work and work is simply not the flamboyant display of energy and entirely geared towards worldly ends, there the principle of work and feeling both meet and fuse. In such a case, work becomes the expression of feeling. In such cases, even the insignificant becomes significant, and the unfinished and imperfect imbued with the light of the sun even if it remains screened by clouds. Sister Nivedita’s work was like that.

Sister Nivedita (continued)

If we remain indifferent to this outstanding example of heroic self sacrifice, because it exists in our backyard, we will lose out significantly. We cannot simply presume upon it and claim it arrogantly as part of our natural inheritance given to us by our society. We have to rather, take very careful cognizance of the splendid power, the intelligence, the heart, the sacrifice and the overall luminousness of self which made a life such as Nivedita’s, possible.

If we truly realized the enormity and extent of Nivedita’s sacrifice, we would lose a great deal of the pride that we derive from being Hindu. We ascribe her greatness to the Hindu way of life or to the Hindu religion. We are simply making her an instrument for augmenting our cultural pride.  By attributing her greatness to the greatness of the Hindu religion, by arguing that her unique selflessness arises from her being Hindu at heart, we are significantly taking credit away from her and giving it to ourselves.

If we try to establish her as being just Hindu, we will face obstacles in our journey. I am afraid I can’t agree with the position that she was Hindu in the way one generally understands it. If we closely analyze how she assessed Hindu society through  scientific and historical perspectives, how she  refused to be tied to dogma, how she tried to explain the various moods and manifestations of Hinduism through  liberal understanding and  imagination, some of the central premises of what one considers ‘Hindu’ would perhaps be demolished or shaken. If   historical truth is asserted as greater than the truth of the Puranas, then may be that aids in determining what the truth of Puranic premises might be, but belief in historical truth does not come so readily. Whatever the case may be, she is worthy of our respect and reverence not because she was Hindu, but because she was great. We cannot pose as her equals, she was greater than us. It is not her Hinduism that enfolds us in her glory, but her Humanism, that does it. 

What on

Spring/Basanta/2015

One of the greatest benefits of being Bengali, is having Rabindranath lay out the parameters or provide frameworks for all significant emotion, viewing and feeling. Most Bengalis are raised within a tradition of Rabindrasangeet. Therefore, although, as I look out onto my verandah, typing in my room at 11.15 a.m., on a Sunday morning, and want to talk about Basantakal, the words and music from Rabindranath’s song ‘Basantibhuvanamohini’ ring through my ears, and the words provide a frame for my feelings.

One way of charting whether one grows or not emotionally, psychologically and also spiritually, is through the index of love of Nature, of the capacity to thrill to natural beauty. Rabindranath too at one point had said, that there was no lovelier sound than that of the musical human voice. I don’t know. I thought so too. But oh, the persistent call of the Kokil in spring! It drives me crazy. I feel I want to stop all my work, that work, which professional life imposes on all of us, and listen to the bird cry. Ki korbo, ingrejisahityadwara o je sensibility informed—taibhulteparina, Romantic kobirapakhikekiasadharonpradhhanyeinadieyecchilen.

Kokilerdakbaccha der hanshir moto. Abadh. Niyomjanena.nijerkhushite deke chole. Ektu them e abar-abar-abar. Ananda je shimahiny hoi—bisheshkore je anandeatmatustirknonjthakena.Shelley  proshnorekhechilen skylark erkache—‘ogotumikikoreetoanandegangao? Amaiektushekhaona.taholeamiamarmortyyo jammer koshtobhule jai?”

Bangla words shiktehoccheyi. As I write the kokila has called three times already—sa re gama  padhani. Have you noticed that it is a certain incredible musical scale that it follows?

Nature is not always happy. At least I don’t think so. When May comes, I curse the fact that I live in Kolkata. Rabindranath may have seen beauty in the ‘prokhorotapan o tape,’ but I don’t.

So as I look out from my verandah, upstairs, at 424 G Block, at eight in the morning, the sight is breathtaking. The kanchon is still in full bloom. That is one thing about Basanta. It is very, very temporary.

And yes, the fullness that one finds in Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Basantibhuvanamohini’ has the structured fullness of Art. Inspired bySavitri’s (great South Indian singer, living at Shantiniketan at that time)Meenakshivandana, set to raagBibhas, the reference to the ‘shyamalaprantere’,  ‘bonobonantare’ ‘pikosangeet e’ has something ornamental and studied about it, and that always happens when one tries to fit untrammelled Nature into the careful proportions of an art object. And, like Keats’s Grecian Urn, this is classical art. ‘BasantiBhuvanamohini’ does not have the unplanned excess of the Kokila, calling out ever so frequently, ever so obstreperously, ever so wildly and abundantly. Art cannot match Nature, although it is only through Art that Nature, may be memorialized in certain ways. 

The symphony of color, pale purple pink of the kanchan, with a crow gently roosting its eggs, the radhachuda, coming out with its tender green small leaves, the yellow bougainvillea and the profusion of the Kokila’s song, I wonder how to contain all this beauty within myself.

I request my friend Madhubani Ghosh to please put the Romanized Bengali words into Bangla type if possible, and I remember both Aniruddha Deb and she, great nature lovers, and the latter, a passionate bird lover!

Without human beings, how does one ever get to know the magical impact of Nature? So the human being, remains the ultimate reference point. As Rabindranath tells Einstein during his meeting with the great scientist in the 30’s of the last century, ‘the cosmos is a human view of the cosmos,’ and Einstein says in rejoinder, ‘that is purely a human view of the cosmos,’ Rabindranath says in reply, ‘there is nothing outside the human view/mind’. My quotations are approximate—if one wishes one could read Rabindranath’s ‘Religion of Man.’

Have to add a note on Vivekananda in this context. Rabindranath came much later to the view in Religion of Man, that God/Ultimate Spirit resided in the lowest of the low, and the humblest of the humble; ‘tiniachenjekhanechashachashkore.’ Swamiji was by no means anywhere even near Rabindranath in poetic or artistic talent, but his heart and his capacity to feel for the downtrodden, the deprived and the excluded, MUCH, MUCH, greater.

Once during a lecture tour of America, a black porter had come up to Swamiji, shaken his hand profusely and said that he was very happy that one of them had risen so high. Swamiji happily and robustly shook his hand. When an American friend/host who was with him at the hotel elevator point, asked him why he had not pointed out that he was not black, Swamiji said, ‘Rise at the expense of another? Vivekananda was not born to do that?!!!

These are golden moments that one has to treasure within oneself if one knows them. If Rabindranath set one kind of an absolute standard of beauty and poetic thought, Vivekananda set another! Let us be happy that we know about both of them. 

Sister Nivedita. Translation continued of Rabindranath Tagore's Bhagini Nivedita

I write all this with frankness today because as on the one hand I feared an onslaught on my being by her, on the other hand, she has done me the kind of exceptional favors, that I don’t recollect anybody else doing for me. There are numerous instances of when after meeting her, I have drawn strength from her strength and used my veneration for her as fuel for propelling me forward.

I have never seen any other person who was as capable as she of giving herself wholeheartedly to a cause or a purpose. She gave without restraint or reservation. In these matters neither considerations of health, habit, the sentiments of her near and dear ones, the indifference of Indian society, or the loss of purpose in those she sacrificed herself for, could deter her.  Those who knew her saw the extent to which a human being could exemplify Truth and Consciousness. Her ability to shred through all artificial constraints and hypocritical values, and move towards her goal with boundless energy, remains a magnificent instance of the reaches of human power. Those of us who witnessed this are indeed blessed.

The best things in life we usually get free. Because we do not have to pay for them, we usually don’t give them their proper value. Sister Nivedita’s life was like that. It was a great life from the example of which, other people benefitted. She tirelessly gave what was best in her, every moment and every day of her life. She did not spare herself in the least in living by this strenuous idealism. She refused to have any sense of personal comfort or desire, corrupt this ideal. She decided to live beyond hunger and thirst, loss and gain, fame and infamy. She decided to submit herself to this high ideal of giving without any consideration of fear, hesitation, comfort or rest. 

ENGLISH AS POETIC AND NARRATIVE EROS INTHE GOD OF SMALL THINGS

When we read The God of Small Things we will see how far the English language in Indian writing of narrative in English, has come from an uneasy balance between language and context, sometimes creating an alienation in the reader from the narrated realities of the text,  to a point where language and context enact a magical coalescence. It is certainly narrative, in that it tells a story; furthermore it is also a novel, because it holds up an entire society, inflected as it is by specific socio economic modalities, for the reader’s extension of her/his `own world. As Morrison says in a famous quote, ‘But narrative remains the best way to learn anything, whether history or theology, so I continue with the narrative form’.¹ This  is specially so because it does it through pleasure, through the medium of the story, and through affect, and that affect is what often leads the auditor to cognition.

The God of Small Things(1997), hereafter referred to as TGST, is also that Indian novel in English which represents the arrival of the Indian novel in English, in a definitive and resounding manner on  the global scene of novel writing in English.  It is a consummate moment not only validated through the author’s winning of the Booker Prize (1997), but through the bridging of  possible gaps between language and context since the language is English and not and indigenous one, between language and experience, between affect and cognition, grammatical structure and the highest levels of poetry, a linguistic space where the plenitude of imagination and that of language meet and reach spectacular and dramatic heights.Of course, one needs to be an anglophile to a certain extent to feel this subliminal reach of  the language, which takes us back to the old debates over whether  English is at all a suitable medium for artistic expression, within Indian contexts. 

That it is also a woman who performs this feat, is important if we wish to clinch issues of gender and creativity. in the writing of novels in English in India, where all doubts as to whether English is an adequate medium for representing Indian realities, should be erased. The artistic continuum we are studying here—peculiar triumph of gender and genre. Ashapurna writes the definitive feminist novel in Bengali and Arundhati in English.  

Sister Nivedita, continued

In time I had many opportunities to interact with her. I intuited her immense strength and also realized that she and I were meant for different paths. Immensely talented, she also was a warrior by nature. She was mighty and did not hesitate to impose her will on other people. She was dominating and single minded and liked molding other people to her opinions. If people agreed with her, she could get along with them, otherwise not. From my own experience I can say that although there were many occasions during which I had the opportunity to get really close to her, I resisted such intimacy because I felt an inner resistance. It was not a resistance born out of the fear of ideological difference, but a fear born out of having my entire being besieged.  

I write all this with frankness today because as on the one hand I feared an onslaught on my being by her, on the other hand, she has done me the kind of exceptional favors, that I don’t recollect anybody else doing for me. There are numerous instances of when after meeting her, I have drawn strength from her strength and used my veneration for her as fuel for propelling me forward.

I have never seen any other person who was as capable as she of giving herself wholeheartedly to a cause or a purpose. She gave without restraint or reservation. In these matters neither considerations of health, habit, the sentiments of her near and dear ones, the indifference of Indian society, or the loss of purpose in those she sacrificed herself for, could deter her.  Those who knew her saw the extent to which a human being could exemplify Truth and Consciousness. Her ability to shred through all artificial constraints and hypocritical values, and move towards her goal with boundless energy, remains a magnificent instance of the reaches of human power. Those of us who witnessed this are indeed blessed. 

My translation of Rabindranath Tagore's Bhagini Nivedita which in English becomes 'Sister Nivedita' which is what she is called...
I will upload the entire translation over the next couple of days. This was published by Sutradhar in 2016.

Sister Nivedita

                                                                       Rabindranath Tagore

When I first met Sister Nivedita, she had only shortly arrived in India. I had thought that she would be like any other missionary lady who came to India, only in her case, her religion was different.

It was because I had this impression that I approached her with the proposal that she accept the responsibility of teaching my daughter. She asked me, what kind of education did I want for my daughter? I answered that she give my daughter the kind of education that is structured around English as a medium of instruction. She said, ‘Why do you want to impose a form of education on the child that is foreign? To bring out the combined power of integral national excellence and individual ability in a person, is what I consider the right kind of education to be.  I don’t like suffocating this intrinsic ability under the weight of a foreign structure’.

I agreed with this position in its fundamentals.  However, how the  distilled  excellence of a national culture and the unique ability of the child, could be simultaneously identified and awakened , so that this child established harmony yet distinction within a world order of culture, was not known to me. I felt that although a very gifted educationist might pull off this extraordinary task, it would well remain outside the reach of an ordinary one. Therefore, most of us remain dependent on structures that are generally available. As a result, we often miss the targets we wish to achieve and involve the child in various trials of learning. A human being, who has the special characteristic of having a developed consciousness, should not be used carelessly like a commodity, but that is the general practice in society.

Although I had my doubts about whether she could impart to my daughter the kind of education whose formula she outlined, I told her that she could have her way with my child, and that I would not impose any demands on her. Perhaps for a fleeting moment she became inclined towards the project, but declined almost immediately after, saying that this was a task that was not meant for her to do. She had chosen a particular lane of Baghbazar in which to carry out her idealistic endeavors, and her purpose was to not impart education to the girls there, but to awaken the spirit of education that already existed dormant in them.  Unlike the missionaries, she was not interested in the numbers that she pulled into her camp, nor was she interested in increasing personal power and privilege within the individual families of these girls.