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Rabindranath, Traveller of the Infinite (I) IN Rabindranath, in his
life as well as in his art, especially in his poetry, the thing that has taken
shape is what we call aspiration, an upward urge and longing of the inner soul.
In common parlance it is a seeking for the Divine, in philosophical terms it is
a spiritual quest. But Rabindranath is a poet, and he is a modern poet. He
cannot be wholly included in the older category, fixed in a mould of clear
definition. To be sure, the special characteristic of his consciousness is to
keep as far as possible the aim, the ideal, the goal and the Deity of the
worship indivisible and indefinable. To make' something definite and clear is
to limit and make it gross and material. Therefore to name the Deity whom he
loves, adores and worships he has used words that are expansive, general and
vague – infinite, boundless, formless and non-manifest. If the Deity appears in
a manifested form the worship of the worshipper ends. The Deity also will no
longer be a Deity of the worship. But it does not mean that the Deity of Rabindranath is the One beyond sound, touch, form and change' of the Upanishad.
His aspiration is for another realisation of the Upanishad: "One
who has taken this form, that form and all the forms." Or "He being bodiless dwells in the forms and non-forms
as well."
Page – 179 That
supreme truth cannot be called formless simply because it has no special form.
He is formless since His form has no limit. He is not exclusively bound by any
special form. He is not merely infinite and boundless but also delightful and
ambrosial. He is endearing and with His endearing form He dwells behind all
forms. It cannot be said definitely whether He is seen or not through forms –
in this way He attracts the soul of man perpetually towards Him. Rabindranath
has not seen his Beloved with his eyes open. He has not sensed Him with
unblinking eyes, nor even has he wished to do so. His delight and achievement
consist in making Him mysterious and nebulous by keeping Him aloof, and veiling
Him in innumerable names, forms, colours, rhythms, hints, gestures, ways and
means. That object is infinite and boundless; it is more so, because it is
unknown and unfamiliar or almost so. It
is, as it were, a damsel unfamiliar, remote and fond of mirth and play. It is a
constant separation from the Beloved – though it is an object of deep love –
that has made this love intense, sweet and poignant, moving and overflowing.
Such a longing for the far-off Beloved made Shelley restless. His 'Skylark' is
the living idol of this longing. Shelley's object of love also is a Deity
dwelling in a distant world: The desire of the moth for
the Star, Of the night for the
morrow, The devotion to something
afar – From
the sphere of our sorrow. This
is equally the quintessence of Tagore's message. For this reason people brought
up in European culture used to call Rabindranath the Shelley of Bengal. There
is a close kinship between the two in this upward urge. This
spiritual aspiration was called quest in the scriptures of the West. The quest
.of the Knights for the Holy Grail
Page – 180 inflamed
the heart of However,
due to the unique quality of the aspiration, curiosity and seeking which we
have mentioned as being in his heart, two qualities are perceptible in his
poetical style. First, the Style, the speed, the swing of
rhyme and rhythm and the cadence of tune. Starting from 'Nirjharer
Swapna Bhanga', the awakening of the fountain, 'My heart dances to-day', and
'Lo, he comes, he comes with rapture', to 'the restless, irresistible
flutterings of the wings', of 'Balaka', the same style shows itself in a fast
and almost merry stepping. A restlessness for an
uninterrupted forward march of the soul and the inner consciousness to proceed
ever still more, still further, still higher is the nature of the divine flame
residing in the heart. So the delight of journeying incessantly, without a
halt anywhere in any shelter, journeying for the sake of journeying – this
becomes the aim and ideal of man's life. The Vedic Mantra – 'caraiueti', 'move,
move on' – was therefore so dear to Tagore. Is there
such a thing as a definite and fixed ideal? We surpass the aim of today and
another appears on the horizon. Today's high precipice is left behind as a
foothill. A higher precipice looms ahead, and behind it rears one still higher,
thus an unending range. There is no stopping, never say there is 'no further'. The message of the poet's
heart runs: To every one Thou hast given a home, Me only the road to press on.
Page – 181 Or O there is no home for
you, No bed of flowers, Only
two wings and the vast expanse Of the
sky. O Soul, O Bird of my heart! Close not, O blind one,
your wings. Further: O Charioteer of my life's journey! I am a pilgrim on the eternal road, I bow to Thee on my
wayfaring. This
sense of ever progressive movement is very evident in Rabindranath. Several
critics have compared Bergson with him in this connection. There is much
similarity between the two; but, I think, their difference also is vital and
fundamental. The progression of Bergson is the final, ultimate, sole and
primeval truth. It is mere progressiveness without any cause. It is doubtful
if it has any other quality. A line of evolution may be noticed there but that
is a secondary sign of this progression. There is no purpose behind it. If
there be any, then this movement loses its natural, spontaneous rhythm. But
Tagore is a child of the Orient. However enamoured he might be of
progressiveness, there is somewhere behind him "the static poise in
home" of the Upanishads. However great might be his advance for the sake
of advance, he knows after all that there is: Peace
boundless where comes a mighty halt Quiet, sublime, deep and silent Glory.
Page – 182 The movement in
Rabindranath is not for its own sake, neither aimless nor eyeless. It is open
to the light, it is luminous. Each star of the sky invites the human soul. The invitation to him is from all the worlds, To the horizon of the East in teeming light. Again, Let thy deathless flower bloom towards the light In the world and the worlds beyond, ever anew. We
have said that this movement is fundamentally a spiritual aspiration, a longing
for the Divine – this aspiration and this longing are sweet, deep and
penetrating and at once refined and transparent. The élan vital of
Bergson is mainly a movement of nature and the life-force, however he might
have tried to put on it towards the end a veneer of spirituality, of Christian
religiosity. Indeed
this dynamism has given a unique stamp to Tagore's mode of expression. The
peace and silence about which he specks often dwell in the consciousness hidden
at the core as a refuge or as a hope and anticipation, an
intimation from beyond – even as there is a pause in the heart of
rhythm or at the end of a bar of tune there is a stillness. Cadence in Tagore
represents the movement of progression in life and consciousness. The natural
echo of time-flow and sound and melody and motion we find in the following
lines: Whoever moves goes on singing To the land of abundance. Or, Farther and farther The road goes on ringing with a thin, poignant, Lengthening
note.
Page – 183 Dance
and music almost run abreast. From the
viewpoint of spiritual realisation we find that aspiration and invocation
have the same origin. The spontaneous utterance of the heart is but the. mounting self-revelation and self-declaration of the
aspiration. All that I have not attained, All that I have not struck Are vibrating on the chords Of thy
Lyre. Let us recollect in this
connection Shelley's And singing
still dost soar and soaring ever singest. Tagore is known to us as
music incarnate. The simple, natural form of his poetic soul has expressed
itself through songs and lyrics. Let
us now deal with the second quality that derives from a free, unbarred movement
and proceeds towards the indefinable at its best. According to many a critic it
is a great flaw. To some it means nothing but ambiguity, while to others it is,
to say the least, lack of objectivity. Let us examine it. Listen, for example, The teeming clouds rumble With
heavy showers. Alone I sit on the rim of
the rill Empty of
hope. Sheaves of sickled paddy are collected in heaps; The fleeting current of the river, full to the brim, Is chill
to the touch. Rains interrupt the
harvest-work. Our
mind and heart are carried away by the seductive charm of beautiful language,
fine rhythm and an enchanting
Page – 184 picture.
But our physical eyes fail to seize a meaningful substance or a direct and
clear experience behind the words. No doubt, evidently there is an effort to
formulate some realisation, but nothing solid has been achieved. Everything is
fluid and thin and tenuous, about to vanish like vapour. That is why critics of
the classical school accused Tagore of obscurity and enigmatic vagueness – all
a play of whims, caprices and fancies – the clear, direct and positive certainty
of the truth-seer is lacking there – Rabindranath cannot sing in unison with
the Vedic sages, jyok ca Saryam drse" – "May we
behold the Sun with open and undazed eyes." To
some extent, perhaps, it is true that if we compare Tagore with those who
stand on the peaks in world literature, we find in their creation an utmost,
flawless harmony and synthesis between speech and substance, while in Tagore we
find on the whole speech carrying more weight than substance and this is why
his poetic genius, as it were, somewhat falls short of perfect perfection –
except in a few instances. But that, it may be answered, would be demanding
something from Tagore which is not germane to his nature and genius; it would
be, as it were, to measure him by a standard different from his own. To be sure,
substance does not mean mere wealth of clear intellectual thoughts or solidity
of subject-matter. Substance means the real essence, the very core, the thing
in itself, a delight-truth gleaned in consciousness, made vibrant with life.
And it may be said that even this is the law of a particular formula of
creation – but Rabindranath has followed another law. We may take here an
example. As a sculptor Michael Angelo had no parallel among the artists. One
special trait of his carving was this that he hardly ever completed a figure to
a final finish; he left it unfinished to a certain extent; the unfinished
portion in its rawness was suggestive of things unsaid. Probably he would
indicate in this way that the statue as a statue has not an independent value
of its own
Page – 185 but is part of nature's
own beauty around a statue; it was not a model according to the Greek ideal – a
creation flawless, exquisite and perfect in every feature, complete and sufficient in itself but quite
separate from other creations. In our country the practice of carving out some
portion of a whole hill and shaping out of it some idol or cave temple was in
vogue. The inner sense of that practice was perhaps to prove the unity and
indivisibility of art and nature and how they harmonise and commune with each
other. A similar excuse may be put forward on behalf of Tagore. A lightness and
sinuosity, turns and returns in the movement, weave out the essential theme,
because of the pressure, the necessity, the very law of the consciousness. And
that also has characterised the impetus of the upward drive of aspiration – a
thirst for attaining a farther and farther progression – the ever burning and
increasing flame of the psychic Being, the everspreading rays of the immortal
light. This unending, ceaseless, free and absolute aspiration, this voyage to
the Unknown finds expression in lines like Behold The boundless main in the West, The flickering light like hope Quivers in
the water – or, Not here,
elsewhere, elsewhere, in some other clime. The
poet did not put a limit to his quest – the uniqueness of his own nature
implanted itself perceptible and living in his style and manner. Realisation
signifies union; the poet was not after union – but the yearning for union: Where is light, O where is light! Kindle it with the fire of
separation.
Page – 186 (2) It
is an interesting study how the upward urge of aspiration, the basic note of
consciousness runs like a golden thread through all different modes and manners
and reveals itself under various names and forms. To begin from the beginning
with 'The Awakening of the Fountain': I shall rush from peak to
peak, I shall sweep from mount
to mount, With peals of laughter and songs of murmur I shall clap to tune and
rhythm. Here
is the first awakening of aspiration – the poet is still in his early youth,
full of fun and frolic, laughter and dance, and looking outward and given to outer
things. Let
us next come to the 'Golden Boat'. It presents another mood, another state: Who comes singing to the shore as he rows? It seems to be an old
familiar face. He moves with full sail
on, Looks
neither right nor left. The helpless waves break on either side. It seems to be an old
familiar face. Consciousness
is turned inward; the first fervour of aspiration, at once sweet, intense,
full of pathos, has struck the chords of life. No loud demonstrations, there is
a profound and touching cadence, the sharp call of a one-stringed lyre – a
condensed realisation, the gait easy and rhythmic in
Page –
187 its
simple sincerity. Side by side there woke up a curiosity and an enquiry that
made the mystery of life more mysterious, more delightful. Further
on we hear in 'The Philosopher's Stone': The long way of the past
lies lifeless behind. How far from here the end
cannot be measured. From
horizon to horizon It is all the glistening
sands of the desert. The whole region is dimmed
by the oncoming night. According
to the Christian saints this state is the 'dark night of the soul'. They say, the familiar past has been left behind, the new life
has not been achieved, the foretaste of it has slipped away; there is no return
to the past, the path to the new life is not known – a helpless anxiety surges
up. But the night of our poet is by no means as dark as that of the Christian
saints. The journey towards the unknown destination has almost the same aspect
as a description of the dark night usually gives us, but in the midst of this
darkness glitters the noiseless laughter of that 'feminine absconder'; the
poet is able to say even when engulfed in that night: Only the sweet scent of thy body is wafted by the wind, Thy hair
driven by the wind is scattered on my bare body... Rabindranath's
pain did never become extreme or tragic, the note of union is there hidden in
his pang of separation: "O Death, thou art an equivalent to my Lord
Krishna." Death is not death pure and simple; immortality lies hidden
therein. The poet had always a glimpse of the One whom he pursued in a
ceaseless quest. In his 'Urvasi' this urge has reached its acme. It is there
that his insight has fully opened up. The poet has attuned all the strings of
his
Page – 188 life-energy
to the highest note of his inner consciousness. The realisation is as profound
as the language is gathered and condensed, the metre
and rhythm too are of the finest and richest quality. Here at least once the
glory of a real Epic has shown itself in his poetry. The full-throated Epic
tune is sounded in the voice of the poet: O Urvasi swaying soft and
sweet, When thou dancest before the assembly of the gods, Thrills of delight course
through thy limbs, Waves upon waves swirl rhythmically in the bosom of the ocean, The undulating tips of the
shivering corn Appear like the fluttering skirt of mother earth. From the necklace hung
upon thy breast Drop down the stars on the
floor of the sky. And all at once man loses his heart in sheer rapture. The blood flows leaping
and gurgling, In the twinkling of an eye
thy girdle gives way At the far horizon, O
naked Beauty! In
the next phase, in his middle age when the poet arrived at a mature
consciousness, when he wrote his 'Ferry Boat', he seems to have come down to a
more normal, ordinary and homely tune in his expression, suited to the movements
of every-day life. Superabundance of robes and ornaments has fallen away; what
is normal, common, commonplace – not the pomp of vernal lush but merely the
sobriety of autumn – is now enough; the aspiration of these mellow days resembles
the sweet, pastoral tune of the religious mendicant's one-stringed lyre. From the golden beach of
the other shore Imbedded in darkness What enchantment came with
a song upsetting my work?
Page – 189 This
tune has been uppermost in most of the poems of 'Gitanjali' and 'Gitali'. Afterwards
we hear once again the resonance of a high emotional, impassioned voice. The
tune reaches a lofty pitch, the melody is far flung, but it is more steady and
firm; no longer something fluid and amorphous but a formulation in solid
concepts, an upsurge from a deeper and self-possessed source – I am referring
to 'Balaka': I hear the wild restless
flutterings of wings In the depth of silence, in the air, on land and sea. Herbs and shrubs flap their wings over the earthly sky. Who can say, what is there
in the tenebrous womb of the earth? Millions of seeds open out their wings Even like flights of
cranes. I see ranges of those hillocks, those, forests Moving with outspread wings from isle to isle, From the
unknown to the unknown. With the flutter of starry
wings Darkness glimmers in the
weeping light. Tagore,
as it appears to me, never again reached such heights of bold imageries and in
such an amplitude of melody. Enchanting moods and
manners, figures and symbols, diverse and varied, were there, every one of
them with its own speciality, beauty and gracefulness but it is doubtful
whether they possess the sense of vastness and loftiness and epic sweep and
grandeur to that extent as here. The urge, the movement that finds expression
here is not concerned merely with the aspiration of human beings or individuals;
here is expressed in a profound, grandiose voice the aspiration of the inert
soil and the mute earth; not merely in conscious beings but also in the
subconscient world there vibrates an intense, passionate, vast, upward longing.
A sleepless march proceeds towards the light from
Page – 190 the
bottom of the entire creation – not only it is finely and adequately expressed
but that reality has assumed its own form as it were in word and rhythm, as a
living embodiment. In 'The Awakening of the Fountain' we notice the lisping of
this grand message, although the .fountain there is a mere symbol or an image,
and the significance too is to a considerable extent of the nature of an oration
or discourse, nevertheless fundamentally the poet's dream remains the same. So,
we can say, what commenced with the 'Fountain', with the cry of a chord and the
invocation of a single limb, has become a full-fledged orchestral symphony in
'Balaka': the wheel has come full circle.
Page – 191
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