Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/237

Rh He only began to describe to me what had happened in this ruined building some fifteen years before.

I found that he was the schoolmaster of the place. From beneath an enormous bald head his two eyes shone out from their sockets with an unnatural brightness in a face that was thin with hunger and illness.

The boatmen, having finished their evening prayer, turned their attention to their cooking. As the last light of the day faded the dark and empty house stood silent and ghostly above the deserted ghat.

The schoolmaster said:

"Nearly ten years ago, when I came to this place, Bhusan Saha used to live in this house. He was the heir to the large property and business of his uncle Durga Saha, who was childless.

But he was modernised. He had been educated, and not only spoke faultless English but actually entered sahibs' offices with his shoes on. In addition to that he grew a beard; thus he had not the least chance of bettering himself so far as the sahibs were concerned. You had only to look at him to see that he was a modernised Bengali.

In his own home too he had another drawback. His wife was beautiful. With his college education on the one hand, and on the other his beautiful wife, what chance was there of his preserving our good old traditions in his home?

Sir, you are certainly a married man, so that it is hardly necessary to tell you that the ordinary female is fond of sour green mangoes, hot chillies, and a stern husband. A man need not necessarily be ugly or poor to be cheated of his wife's love, but he is sure to be too gentle.

If you ask me why this is so, I have much to say on this subject, for I have thought a good deal about it. A stag chooses a hardwood tree on which to sharpen its horns, and would get no pleasure in rubbing them against a banana tree. From the very moment that man and woman became separate sexes woman has been exercising all her faculties in trying by various devices to fascinate and bring man under her control. The wife of a man who is, of his own accord, submissive is altogether out of employment. All those weapons which she has inherited from her grand-mothers of the untold centuries, are useless in her hands: the force of her tears, the fire of her anger, and the snare of her glances lie idle.

Under the spell of modern civilisation man has lost the God-given power of his barbaric nature and this has loosened the conjugal ties. The unfortunate Bhusan had been turned out of the machine of modern civilisation an absolutely faultless man. He was therefore neither successful in business, nor in his own home.

Mani was Bhusan's wife. She used to get her caresses without asking, her Dacca muslin saris without tears, and her bangles without being able to pride herself on a victory. In this way her woman's nature became atrophied and with it her love for her husband. She simply accepted things without giving anything in return. Her harmless and foolish husband used to imagine that to give is the way to get. The fact was just the contrary.

The result of this was that Mani looked upon her husband as a mere machine for turning out her Dacca muslins and her bangles—so perfect a machine indeed that never for a single day did she need to oil its wheels.

Bhusan's wife did not talk very much, nor did she mix much with her neighbours. To feed Brahmans in obedience to a sacred vow, or to give a few pice to a religious mendicant was not her way. In her hands nothing was ever lost: whatever she got she saved up most carefully, with the one exception of the memory of her husband's caresses. The extraordinary thing was that she did not seem to lose the least atom of her youthful beauty. People said that whatever her age was she never looked older than sixteen. I suppose youth is best preserved with the aid of the heart that is an ice chest.

But as far as work was concerned Manimalika was very efficient. She never kept more servants than were absolutely necessary. She thought that to pay wages to anyone to do work which she herself could do was like playing the pickpocket with her own money.

Not being anxious about anyone, never being distracted by love, always working and saving, she was never sick nor sorry.

For the majority of husbands this is quite sufficient, not only sufficient, but fortunate. For the loving wife is a wife who makemakes [sic] it difficult for her husband to forget her and the fatigue of perpetual