_10th August 1894._
Last night a rushing sound in the water awoke me--a sudden boisterous
disturbance of the river current--probably the onslaught of a freshet: a
thing that often happens at this season. One's feet on the planking of the
boat become aware of a variety of forces at work beneath it. Slight
tremors, little rockings, gentle heaves, and sudden jerks, all keep me in
touch with the pulse of the flowing stream.
There must have been some sudden excitement in the night, which sent the
current racing away. I rose and sat by the window. A hazy kind of light
made the turbulent river look madder than ever. The sky was spotted with
clouds. The reflection of a great big star quivered on the waters in a
long streak, like a burning gash of pain. Both banks were vague with the
dimness of slumber, and between them was this wild, sleepless unrest,
running and running regardless of consequences.
To watch a scene like this in the middle of the night makes one feel
altogether a different person, and the daylight life an illusion. Then
again, this morning, that midnight world faded away into some dreamland,
and vanished into thin air. The two are so different, yet both are true
for man.
The day-world seems to me like European Music--its concords and discords
resolving into each other in a great progression of harmony; the
night-world like Indian Music--pure, unfettered melody, grave and
poignant. What if their contrast be so striking--both move us. This
principle of opposites is at the very root of creation, which is divided
between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the
Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving.
We Indians are under the rule of Night. We are immersed in the Eternal,
the One. Our melodies are to be sung alone, to oneself; they take us out
of the everyday world into a solitude aloof. European Music is for the
multitude and takes them along, dancing, through the ups and downs of the
joys and sorrows of men.