Categories
Excerpt Tagore Translations

The Parrot’s Tale by Tagore

Title: Rabindranth Tagore. The Land of Cards: Stories, Poems and Plays for Children.

Translator: Radha Chakravarty

Publishers: Penguin India: Puffin Classics.

The Parrot’s Tale

Once there was a bird.  He was uneducated.  He sang, but did not read the shastras.  He hopped about and flew, but didn’t know good manners.

“Such a bird is of no use,” declared the king, “but he harms the sale of fruit in the royal market by eating up the wild fruits in the forest.”

He sent for the minister. “Educate this bird,” he ordered.

2

The king’s nephews were given the responsibility of educating the bird.

The pundits assembled and considered the matter at length.  The question was: “What is the reason for this creature’s lack of education?”

They concluded that there was not much room for learning in the bird’s nest, made from a few humble straws and twigs.  Hence it was necessary, first of all, to make him a proper cage.

Receiving their dues, the royal pundits went home happily.

3

The goldsmith now set about making a golden cage.  So marvelous was the cage he made, people from far-off lands came there to admire it.  Some said, “It is the height of education.”  “Even if he doesn’t get an education, at least he has a cage,” declared others.  “What a lucky bird!”

The goldsmith was rewarded with a bagful of money as bakshish.  He went home happily.

The pundits got down to the business of educating the bird.  “This is not a task to be achieved with just a few books,” they declared, inhaling snuff.

Now the royal nephews summoned all the scribes.  Copying many textbooks and making copies of copies, they produced a mountain-high pile of books.  Anyone who saw it exclaimed:  “Shabash – congratulations!  This heap of knowledge is full to bursting!”

Loading a bullock with all the money they received as payment, the scribes rushed home.  They no longer had any trouble making both ends meet.

There was no end to the royal nephews’ fussing over the very expensive cage.  There was no end to all the repair and maintenance, either.  And there was such a to-do about dusting, wiping and polishing, that the sight made everyone declare:  “These are signs of progress.”

The work required a lot of manpower, and to keep an eye on the workers, even more men had to be deployed.  Month by month, they collected their payments by the fistful and stuffed the money in their safes.

These men, and all their maternal and paternal cousins, settled happily in palatial brick-built mansions.

4

Many other things are lacking in this world, but there is no dearth of fault-finders.  “The cage is improving,” they said, “but nobody asks after the bird.”

The matter reached the king’s ears.  He sent for the nephews and demanded:  “O nephews, what’s this I hear?”

“Maharaj,” said the nephews, “if you want to hear the truth, summon the goldsmiths, pundits, scribes, the maintenance workers and their supervisors.  It’s because the fault-finders don’t get enough to eat that they say such evil things.”

From this reply, the situation became clear to the king.  Golden necklaces were ordered at once, to adorn the nephews’ necks.

5

The king wanted to see for himself the tremendous pace at which the bird’s education was progressing.

At once, the area near the portico began to resound with the noise of conchs, bells, dhak, dhol, kada, nakada, turi, bheri, damama, kanshi, flutes, gongs, khol, cymbals, mridanga and jagajhampa.  With full-throated abandon, shaking the unshaven locks of their tikis, the pundits began to chant mantras.  The masons, workmen, goldsmith, scribes, supervisors and their maternal and paternal cousins, sang to the king’s glory.

“Maharaj, can you see what a to-do there is!” observed a nephew.

“Amazing!  The noise is quite extraordinary,” observed the Maharaja.

“It’s not just the noise; the money that’s gone into it is not inconsiderable either,” the nephew pointed out.

Delighted, the Maharaja crossed the portico and was about to mount his elephant when a fault-finder concealed in the bushes called out: “Maharaj, have you had a look at the bird?”

The king was startled.  “Oh no!” he exclaimed.  “I had clean forgotten.  I haven’t seen the bird.”

He went back and told the pundit, “I need to observe your technique for training the bird.”

He was duly shown the technique.  What he saw pleased him greatly. The method was so much more important than the bird, that the bird could not be seen at all; it seemed needless to see him at all.  The king realized that the arrangements lacked nothing.  There was no grain in the cage, no water, just a mass of pages torn from a mass of books, being stuffed down the bird’s throat by the end of a quill pen.  The bird’s song could not be heard of course, for it was too stifled even to scream.  It was a thrilling sight, enough to give one goose-pimples.

Now, while mounting his elephant, the king instructed the Chief Ear-puller to tweak the fault-finder thoroughly by the ears.

6

Day by day, the bird arrived at a half-dead state, in a civilized fashion.  His guardians saw this as a hopeful sign.  But still, by natural instinct, the bird would gaze at the morning light and flutter his wings in a way that was unacceptable.  In fact, one day he was seen struggling to cut through the bars of his cage with his fragile beak.

“What audacity!” cried the Kotwal, the law-maker.

Now the blacksmith appeared in the training quarters, armed with bellows, hammer and fire.  How hard he beat the iron!  Iron shackles were forged, and the bird’s wings were clipped.

Gravely shaking their heads, the king’s associates declared: “In this kingdom, the birds lack not only brains, but gratitude as well.”

Now, armed with pen in one hand and rod in the other, the pundits accomplished the dramatic feat called education.

The blacksmiths gained so much importance, their wives bedecked themselves with ornaments, and seeing the alertness of the Kotwal, the king bestowed him with a shiropa, a turban of honour.

7

The parrot died.  Nobody could say when.

The wretched fault-finder spread the word: “The bird is dead.”

“Nephews, what is this I hear?” demanded the king.

“Maharaj, the bird’s training is complete,” declared the nephews.

“Does he hop about anymore” the king enquired.

“Arre Rama! No,” demurred the nephew.

“Does he fly anymore?”

“No.”

“Does he sing anymore?”

“No.”

“Does he scream if he does not receive grain for his feed?”

“No.”

“Bring the bird to me once,” the king ordered.  “Let me see him.”

The bird was brought.  Along with the bird came the Kotwal, paiks, and horsemen.

The king prodded the bird.  But the bird neither opened his beak, nor made any sound.  Only the dry pages torn from books rustled and sighed in his belly.

Outside, stirred by the fresh spring breeze blowing in from the south, the sighing of new leaves spread anguish in the sky, above the newly blossoming woods.

 (Published with permission from Penguin Random House India.)

About the Book:

Poet, novelist, painter, musician and Nobel Laureate, Rabindranath Tagore was one of modern India’s greatest literary figures. This collection brings together some of his best works—poems, short stories and plays—in one volume for today’s young readers.

Be it the wit, magic and lyricism of his poetry or the vividly etched social milieu of his stories, or the sheer power and vibrancy of his plays, Tagore’s versatility and unceasing creativity come alive in these writings. The title play ‘The Land of Cards’ is a satire against the bondage of orthodox rules, while in ‘The Post Office’, a child suffocated by his confined existence dreams of freedom in the world outside. From a son’s cherished desire to protect his mother in the poem ‘Hero’ to a fruit-seller’s sentiments for his faraway daughter in the story ‘Kabuliwala’, Tagore’s works convey his broad humanism and his deep awareness of the poignancy of human relationships.

Radha Chakravarty’s lucid translation captures the sheer genius of Tagore’s evocative language, making these works accessible to contemporary readers.

About the Translator: Radha Chakravarty is a writer, critic and translator. She has co-edited The Essential Tagore (Harvard and Visva Bharati), nominated Book of the Year 2011 by Martha Nussbaum, and edited Shades of Difference: Selected Writings of Rabindranath Tagore (Social Science Press, 2015). She is the author of Feminism and Contemporary Women Writers (Routledge, 2008) and Novelist Tagore: Gender and Modernity in Selected Texts (Routledge, 2013). Her translations of Tagore include Gora, Chokher Bali, Boyhood Days, Farewell Song: Shesher Kabita and The Land of Cards: Stories, Poems and Plays for Children.  Other works in translation are Bankimchandra Chatterjee’s Kapalkundala, In the Name of the Mother by Mahasweta Devi (nominated for the Crossword Translation Award, 2004), Vermillion Clouds: Stories by Bengali Women,and Crossings: Stories from Bangladesh and India. She has edited Bodymaps: Stories by South Asian Women and co-edited Writing Feminism: South Asian Voices and Writing Freedom: South Asian Voices. Her poems have appeared in Journal of the Poetry Society of India, Contemporary Major Indian Women Poets, The Poet, Hakara, Narrow Road Journal, Krishna in Indian Thought, Literature and Music, The Fib Review, The Skinny Poetry Journal and Indian Poetry through the Passage of Time. Forthcoming books include Our Santiniketan (translation of Mahasweta Devi’s memoirs; Seagull Publishers); The Tagore Phenomenon (Allen Lane), Kazi Nazrul Islam: Selected Essays (Nazrul Centre for Social and Cultural Studies) and Mahasweta Devi: Writer, Activist, Visionary (Routledge, UK).  She is Professor of Comparative Literature & Translation Studies at Ambedkar University Delhi.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s