The World of Tagore

First story in the book

1. The Guest

Original title: Atithi

Motilal Babu, the Zamindar of Kathaliya, was returning to his village, with his family. At noon, his boat was anchored at a market-town and his servants got busy in preparing lunch. A young, Brahmin1 boy came towards the boat and asked Motilal Babu where his boat was going. “Kathaliya,” Motilal told the young lad, who was about fifteen or sixteen years old. “Can you please drop me at Nandigram on your way?” asked the boy. Motilal agreed readily. “What is your name?” he asked the boy. “Tarapada,” said the boy. The young stranger looked handsome and graceful. He had beautiful eyes and a smile around his lips. He wore a worn-out dhoti. His bare body seemed to have been chiselled out by a sculptor.

Motilal spoke to Tarapada with deep affection, asking him to take a bath and join them for lunch. Tarapada was in no hurry to freshen up or eat. Without the slightest hesitation, he joined the cooks. Motilal Babu’s Hindustani cook2 was not too good at cutting fish. Tarapada took over the task gladly and even cooked a couple of dishes. Having finished with his cooking, Tarapada took a dip in the river and wore a fresh dhoti. He took out a wooden comb from his little bundle and brushed his long hair back to the nape of his neck. He adjusted his poite3 and went to Motilal, who took him inside. Motilal’s wife Annapurna and nine-year old daughter Charushoshi were inside the boat. Annapurna was delighted to see Tarapada. “How could a mother stay away from such a beautiful child?” thought Annapurna, wondering where the boy had come from. Motilal and Tarapada sat on two mats next to each other and lunch was served. Tarapada had a small appetite. Annapurna thought that he was feeling shy and she requested him to eat a little more, but Tarapada would just not listen. After everyone had eaten, Annapurna sat down with Tarapada and learnt that the boy had left home out of his own will, at the age of seven or eight.

“Don’t you have a mother?” asked Annapurna. “I do,” said Tarapada. “Doesn’t she love you?” enquired Annapurna. To her, that could have been a reason for him to escape. Tarapada was rather amused by such a question. “Why wouldn’t she love me?” he asked. “Then why did you leave her?” Annapurna wanted to know. “She has four more sons and three daughters,” said Tarapada. Annapurna was bewildered by the answer. “Oh, just because you have five fingers, can you just abandon one?” she asked. Tarapada was one of a kind. He was the fourth child of his parents and had lost his father at a very young age. Despite being part of a very large family, Tarapada was everyone’s darling. His mother, brothers, sisters and neighbours doted on him. He was never beaten up in school either. So, Tarapada had no reason for leaving home. Despite being loved by everyone, he left home with a jatra-troupe and seemed quite unperturbed about it. The entire village got busy searching for the lost child and at last, he was found. His mother wept as she embraced him and so did his sisters. His elder brother made a feeble attempt to scold him, but repented almost immediately. Ladies in the neighbourhood tried to lure him with attractive little gifts, but no show of affection could entangle the little boy’s heart. His stars seemed to have separated him from home, at the very moment of his birth. When Tarapada saw an approaching boat or a sadhu seated under a great banyan tree, groups of nomads weaving wicker baskets with crude, hand-made tools, his free spirit longed for freedom. Tarapada first left home to join a troupe of jatra artistes. In due course, the chief of the troupe began to adore him like his own son and everyone in the group loved him. Wherever the troupe performed, the patrons of the house showered their affection on him. All the love that began to bind itself around Tarapada, worried him and one day, he left without a word.