Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/30

Rh hidden in a Kanak Chámpá flower—is there?

"When I walked, I was conscious that every movement of my body sent forth waves of beauty in all directions, just as light sparkles from every facet of a piece of diamond in motion. Sometimes, I would gaze and gaze on my own pretty arms—two arms such as could bridle the mouth of the entire manhood of the world, and bring it under sweet control. Subhadra, perhaps, had arms such as mine, round though delicate, two such roseate palms and such tapering fingers like flames of beauty—when she drove the chariot of her lover Arjuna through the three worlds looking on in silent amazement.

"But that shameless, bare skeleton bore false testimony to you against myself. At that time I was mute and helpless. That is why I am most angry with you—of all men in the world. How I wish I could hold before you that form of mine, adorned with the beauty-roses of sixteen summers and banish sleep from your eyes for a long time to come, and the knowledge of Anatomy from your head".

"Believe me, dear lady", I exclaimed—"my head is entirely free now from the least trace of that knowledge—and as regards your all-enchanting beauty, it is before my mental vision, glowing against the dismal background of night."

She continued—"I had no companions of my own sex. My brother had decided not to marry—so I was the only woman in the family. In the evening I would sit underneath a tree in our garden and imagine that all the world was loving me—all the stars were gazing at me—and the breeze, pretending unconcern, passed and repassed me sighing mournfully. I indulged in the fancy that the turf on which my feet were laid might have gone into ecstasy were it capable of feeling,—and that the young men of all the world had come there in the guise of grass to lie there in silent adoration. Such thoughts as these made my heart inexpressibly sad.

"My brother had a friend, Sasi Sekhar, who passed out of the Medical College and became our family physician. Before this, I had seen him occasionally, myself unseen. My brother was a peculiar sort of an individual—he did not condescend to look at the world around him with open eyes. Life to him was not airy enough—so he gradually moved away to a remote corner of it, giving himself as little concern about others as possible.

"Sasi Sekhar was the only friend that he had,—so this was the young man outside the family circle whom I had frequent opportunities of seeing. In the evenings when I sat alone like a queen, in our garden under some flower-tree, holding an imaginary reception,—all the young men of the world presented themselves to me in the form of Sasi Sekhar. But, are you listening? What is passing in your mind?"

"I was wishing I were Sasi Sekhar myself"—I said with a sigh.

"Hear the whole story first.—It was a rainy day. I was suffering from fever. The doctor came to see me—that was the first time that we met face to face.

"I was looking towards an open window so that the ruddy glow of the setting sun might fall on my face and conceal its paleness. The Doctor came in and looked at me. At that moment I imagined myself to be the doctor and a mental picture floated before my eyes. And what was that picture?—Reclining on a soft pillow, in the subdued light of approaching evening, a face delicate as a flower, indicating perhaps a little weariness,—ringlets of hair lying unrestrained on the forehead and two large bashful eyelids casting shadows on the cheeks below.

"In a tone politely low, the doctor said to my brother—'Might I feel her pulse?'

"From beneath the folds of my shawl I gently put out my wearied arm. I shot a glance at it and felt how prettier it would have looked, if I had on bracelets made of blue-crystal. Never before had I seen a doctor hesitating so in feeling the pulse of a patient. His fingers trembled as he held my wrist. He gauged the strength of my fever, but I could also form an idea to some extent of how his mental pulse was beating. Can't you believe it?"

"Oh, quite"—I replied—"The human pulse isn't the same in all circumstances."

Then she resumed her story.—"After a few more occasions of illness and recovery I found that the number of young men who attended my imaginary reception in the evenings dwindled into one single being