RABINDRANATH TAGORE AND I COMPARE SCHOOLS
“Rabindranath Tagore taught us to sing, as a natural form of
self-expression, like the birds.”
Bhola Nath, a bright fourteen-year-old lad at my Ranchi school,
gave me this explanation after I had complimented him one morning
on his melodious outbursts. With or without provocation, the boy
poured forth a tuneful stream. He had previously attended the famous
Tagore school of “Santiniketan” (Haven of Peace) at Bolpur.
“The songs of Rabindranath have been on my lips since early youth,”
I told my companion. “All Bengal, even the unlettered peasants,
delights in his lofty verse.”
Bhola and I sang together a few refrains from Tagore, who has set
to music thousands of Indian poems, some original and others of
hoary antiquity.
“I met Rabindranath soon after he had received the Nobel Prize
for literature,” I remarked after our vocalizing. “I was drawn to
visit him because I admired his undiplomatic courage in disposing
of his literary critics.” I chuckled.
Bhola curiously inquired the story.
“The scholars severely flayed Tagore for introducing a new style
into Bengali poetry,” I began. “He mixed colloquial and classical
expressions, ignoring all the prescribed limitations dear to
the pundits’ hearts. His songs embody deep philosophic truth in
emotionally appealing terms, with little regard for the accepted
literary forms.
“One influential critic slightingly referred to Rabindranath
as a ‘pigeon-poet who sold his cooings in print for a rupee.’ But
Tagore’s revenge was at hand; the whole Western world paid homage
at his feet soon after he had translated into English his GITANJALI
(‘Song Offerings’). A trainload of pundits, including his one-time
critics, went to Santiniketan to offer their congratulations.
“Rabindranath received his guests only after an intentionally long
delay, and then heard their praise in stoic silence. Finally he
turned against them their own habitual weapons of criticism.
“‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘the fragrant honors you here bestow are
incongruously mingled with the putrid odors of your past contempt.
Is there possibly any connection between my award of the Nobel
Prize, and your suddenly acute powers of appreciation? I am still
the same poet who displeased you when I first offered my humble
flowers at the shrine of Bengal.’
“The newspapers published an account of the bold chastisement given
by Tagore. I admired the outspoken words of a man unhypnotized by
flattery,” I went on. “I was introduced to Rabindranath in Calcutta
by his secretary, Mr. C. F. Andrews, {FN29-1} who was simply attired
in a Bengali DHOTI. He referred lovingly to Tagore as his GURUDEVA.
“Rabindranath received me graciously. He emanated a soothing aura
of charm, culture, and courtliness. Replying to my question about
his literary background, Tagore told me that one ancient source of
his inspiration, besides our religious epics, had been the classical
poet, Bidyapati.”
Inspired by these memories, I began to sing Tagore’s version of an
old Bengali song, “Light the Lamp of Thy Love.” Bhola and I chanted
joyously as we strolled over the VIDYALAYA grounds.
About two years after founding the Ranchi school, I received an
invitation from Rabindranath to visit him at Santiniketan in order
to discuss our educational ideals. I went gladly. The poet was
seated in his study when I entered; I thought then, as at our first
meeting, that he was as striking a model of superb manhood as any
painter could desire. His beautifully chiseled face, nobly patrician,
was framed in long hair and flowing beard. Large, melting eyes; an
angelic smile; and a voice of flutelike quality which was literally
enchanting. Stalwart, tall, and grave, he combined an almost
womanly tenderness with the delightful spontaneity of a child. No
idealized conception of a poet could find more suitable embodiment
than in this gentle singer.
[Illustration: Rabindranath Tagore, inspired poet of Bengal, and
Nobel Prizeman in literature—see tagore.jpg]
Tagore and I were soon deep in a comparative study of our schools,
both founded along unorthodox lines. We discovered many identical
features-outdoor instruction, simplicity, ample scope for the
child’s creative spirit. Rabindranath, however, laid considerable
stress on the study of literature and poetry, and the self-expression
through music and song which I had already noted in the case of
Bhola. The Santiniketan children observed periods of silence, but
were given no special yoga training.
The poet listened with flattering attention to my description of the
energizing “Yogoda” exercises and the yoga concentration techniques
which are taught to all students at Ranchi.
Tagore told me of his own early educational struggles. “I fled from
school after the fifth grade,” he said, laughing. I could readily
understand how his innate poetic delicacy had been affronted by
the dreary, disciplinary atmosphere of a schoolroom.
“That is why I opened Santiniketan under the shady trees and
the glories of the sky.” He motioned eloquently to a little group
studying in the beautiful garden. “A child is in his natural setting
amidst the flowers and songbirds. Only thus may he fully express
the hidden wealth of his individual endowment. True education can
never be crammed and pumped from without; rather it must aid in
bringing spontaneously to the surface the infinite hoards of wisdom
within.” {FN29-2}
I agreed. “The idealistic and hero-worshiping instincts of the young
are starved on an exclusive diet of statistics and chronological
eras.”
The poet spoke lovingly of his father, Devendranath, who had inspired
the Santiniketan beginnings.
“Father presented me with this fertile land, where he had already
built a guest house and temple,” Rabindranath told me. “I started
my educational experiment here in 1901, with only ten boys. The
eight thousand pounds which came with the Nobel Prize all went for
the upkeep of the school.”
The elder Tagore, Devendranath, known far and wide as “Maharishi,”
was a very remarkable man, as one may discover from his AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Two years of his manhood were spent in meditation in the Himalayas. In
turn, his father, Dwarkanath Tagore, had been celebrated throughout
Bengal for his munificent public benefactions. From this illustrious
tree has sprung a family of geniuses. Not Rabindranath alone; all
his relatives have distinguished themselves in creative expression.
His brothers, Gogonendra and Abanindra, are among the foremost artists
{FN29-3} of India; another brother, Dwijendra, is a deep-seeing
philosopher, at whose gentle call the birds and woodland creatures
respond.
Rabindranath invited me to stay overnight in the guest house. It
was indeed a charming spectacle, in the evening, to see the poet
seated with a group in the patio. Time unfolded backward: the scene
before me was like that of an ancient hermitage-the joyous singer
encircled by his devotees, all aureoled in divine love. Tagore
knitted each tie with the cords of harmony. Never assertive, he drew
and captured the heart by an irresistible magnetism. Rare blossom
of poesy blooming in the garden of the Lord, attracting others by
a natural fragrance!
In his melodious voice, Rabindranath read to us a few of his exquisite
poems, newly created. Most of his songs and plays, written for the
delectation of his students, have been composed at Santiniketan.
The beauty of his lines, to me, lies in his art of referring to
God in nearly every stanza, yet seldom mentioning the sacred Name.
“Drunk with the bliss of singing,” he wrote, “I forget myself and
call thee friend who art my lord.”
The following day, after lunch, I bade the poet a reluctant farewell.
I rejoice that his little school has now grown to an international
university, “Viswa-Bharati,” where scholars of all lands have found
an ideal setting.
“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by
narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening
thought and action;
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country
awake!” {FN29-4}
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
{FN29-1} The English writer and publicist, close friend of Mahatma
Gandhi. Mr. Andrews is honored in India for his many services to
his adopted land.
{FN29-2} “The soul having been often born, or, as the Hindus say,
‘traveling the path of existence through thousands of births’ . .
. there is nothing of which she has not gained the knowledge; no
wonder that she is able to recollect . . . what formerly she knew.
. . . For inquiry and learning is reminiscence all.”-EMERSON.
{FN29-3} Rabindranath, too, in his sixties, engaged in a serious
study of painting. Exhibitions of his “futuristic” work were given
some years ago in European capitals and New York.
{FN29-4} GITANJALI (New York: Macmillan Co.). A thoughtful study
of the poet will be found in THE PHILOSOPHY OF RABINDRANATH TAGORE,
by the celebrated scholar, Sir S. Radhakrishnan (Macmillan, 1918).
Another expository volume is B. K. Roy’s RABINDRANATH TAGORE: THE MAN
AND HIS POETRY (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1915). BUDDHA AND THE GOSPEL
OF BUDDHISM (New York: Putnam’s, 1916), by the eminent Oriental art
authority, Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, contains a number of illustrations
in color by the poet’s brother, Abanindra Nath Tagore.