Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/51

290 its image on them; the thoughts sometimes dilate upon them, at other times contract; now they light up brightly and now they turn dim; at one moment they gaze steadily like the setting moon and at another they reflect and refract in all directions like a sudden, swift flash of lightning. The eloquence of the eyes of one who has, from her birth, no other language than the expression of the face, is unlimited, unfathomable, deep and vast—much like the transparent sky, the silent stage of the rising and setting of the bright orbs, of light and shade. In this speechless creature there was a lonesome majesty as that of Great Nature herself. For these reasons, she was held in something like an awe by the common herd of boys and girls; and they did not play with her. She was silent and solitary like the still mid-day.

Chandipur was the name of the village. The river was a little stream of Bengal—a village maiden, as it were. She did not stretch far; the tiny rivulet flowed along 'without haste, without rest'; doing her work and never straying beyond the bourne of her banks; she was connected, as it were, in one way or another with everybody in the villages along her course. On either sides stood human habitations and high banks over-shadowed by trees and the stream, like a veritable goddess of plenty presiding over the village, glided along swiftly and merrily all forgetful of self, busy with her numberless beneficent deeds.

Right on the bank of the river was Banikantha's house; his bamboo fencing, his thatched house, his cow-shed, his shed for the husking pedal, hashis [sic] straw-heap, his tamarind tree, his orchards of mango-trees, jack-fruit-trees, and plantain-trees attracted the notice of every one sailing by. I cannot say whether any one noticed the dumb maiden in the midst of this domestic ease and affluence; but whenever she found leisure, she came to the river-side.

Nature compensated, as it were, for her lack of language. Nature seemed to speak for her. The babbling of the brook, the busy hum of men, the songs of boatmen, the twittering of birds, the rustling of leaves, all blended together into one harmonious whole with the bustle and movement on all sides, broke against the ever-silent beach of the girl's heart, like the surging waves of the sea. These various notes and strange motions of Nature, too, are, as it were, a language of the mute—a world-wide expansion of the long-eye-lashed Subha's language; from the grassy plot resonant with the chirpings of the crickets up to the starry regions beyond the range of sound—there are only signs, gestures, songs, sobs and sighs.

And when in the mid-day, the fishermen and the boatmen retired for their meals, when the householders enjoyed their siesta, the birds hushed their singing, the ferry-boats stopped their course, when the noisy world suddenly stopped in the midst of its work and assumed an awful aspect of solitude, then under the great fiery firmament sat silent and face to face, mute Nature and a mute maiden, one under the wide expanse of sunlight, the other under the shade of trees.

Not that Subha had not a number of intimate friends. These were the two cows of the cow-shed—Sharvasi and Panguli. They had never heard their names pronounced by her lips but they knew the sound of her foot-steps which had for them a speechless pathetic tune and was more eloquent and suggestive to them than any language. They could understand Subha's caresses, rebukes, and entreaties more clearly and fully than human beings.

Entering the cow-shed and encircling her arms round Sharvasi's neck Subha rubbed her own cheek against her ear and Panguli gazed at her and licked her body. The girl regularly visited the cow-shed thrice a day and besides that, there were surprise visits too; and when she met with any hard words at home she repaired to these her dumb friends at unexpected hours; they could, by some blind instinct, feel, as it were, the heart-ache of the girl from her sad, gentle looks of patient endurance and drawing closer to her they rubbed their horn against her arms and thus tried to solace her with a mute eargernesseagerness [sic].

Besides these, there were a goat and a kitten; but with them Subha's friendship was not on such a footing of equality; yet they shewed enough of obedience to her. Day and night, in season and out of season, little pussy unhesitatingly