Rathindranath Tagore’s Bengali biography of Rabindranath Tagore is an empathic and nuanced portrait of his father, creating a portrait of his life and fortune — an excerpt from Chaitali’s translation – an exclusive Special Feature on Tagore’s birth anniversary for Different Truths.
‘Pitrismriti’ (Publication date: 1960), written by Rathindranath Thakur (1888-1961), the eldest son of the poet laureate Rabindranath Thakur (Tagore), is a Bengali biography of Rabindranath Tagore. It is a well-paced, finely-honed narrative chronicling the details of Rabindranath’s life. Written with humility and full of historical and personal anecdotes, in this memoir, Rathindranath speaks about his brilliant father, acknowledging his life and fortune in a narrative that is both empathic and nuanced. His narrative alternates between heartfelt nostalgia and intimate ruminations, enabling him to impressively create an unvarnished portrait of the poet, his father. The book is relevant for the insider’s glimpse into the times of the Tagores.
An Excerpt from the Memoir Pitrismriti
Baba named our houseboat Padma. The name reflected the love he had for the river Padma. The boat was closely associated withShilaidaha, located at the estuary of the Padma and Gorai rivers. Although it was my father’s favourite boat, our family, too, have a close association with the Padma boat. So, many things will remain incomplete if I don’t talk about it.
The boat carried a history of its own.
The boat carried a history of its own. Most likely, it was built in Dhaka as commissioned by my great-grandfather Dwarakanath Tagore. Its structure was like that of a barrow, although a bit larger. The rooms were very spacious and as comfortable as the rooms in our home. At first, the boat remained moored on the banks of the Ganges in Calcutta. Maharshi Debendranath, my grandfather, travelled in this houseboat. As mentioned in his autobiography, it was with this boat that he left for Varanasi in 1846. When the news of his father’s death in London reached him, he was on his way to Varanasi. Hearing the news, he turned the boat around and came to Calcutta. When the Maharshi no longer used the boat, it was kept at Shilaidaha.
Before the railways, boats were the standard means of travel, especially in Bengal, where there was no dearth of rivers and canals. Landlords and well-off businessmen kept many types of boats. They used to have bajrah, pleasure boats for their use. These boats were rather wide in structure and flat-bottomed. This enabled the boats to break water and move forward, even in the shallow rivers. Usually, the bajrahs consisted of two rooms fitted with all the amenities. It was customary to get them made by the craftsmen in Dhaka; they’re masters in this profession! Once the steam engines came, waterways’ use decreased, and boats’ utility also disappeared. Bajrahs are rarely seen on the rivers these days!
Baba’s favourite boat was the Padma boat, and he loved spending time on it.
Baba’s favourite boat was the Padma boat, and he loved spending time on it. He liked living on a boat more than living at home, probably because on a boat, he found solitude, an opportunity to think and write like nowhere else. Apart from that, he could travel on the river as he wished. The ever-changing environment stimulated his imagination. Whenever he wanted complete seclusion, he requested his officials at Shilaidaha not to disturb him. Many times, he would travel aimlessly to places, using the riverways where no one could access him easily. Such lonely solitude was all he needed. He derived much solace from the ever-flowing Padma on one side, flanked by the sand banks, where on the horizon, far beyond the border of the river, the forest hugged the earth. His only companion in those days was the wild calls of the fowls.
Baba’s literary admirers must agree with Padma Boat’s vast contribution to his literary pursuits! The first youthful years of his life were spent in the seclusion of Seilaidaha. Later, he was obliged to stay amidst the crowd of Santiniketan. The mellow greenery in Seilaidaha and the drab greyness of Santiniketan were poles apart. The Padma in Seilaidaha, the gleaming sand banks, the deeply peaceful, evergreen Nature – the poet in him found his creative abode here.
On the other hand, he had to juggle Santiniketan and Calcutta for his work. I wonder: In his old age, did his mind not crave to be back into the lap of rural Bengal, where the river breathed under the layers of clouds, where the golden crops beside the desolate sand banks waved in the breeze, where nature dissolved into a mirage and reached its climax?
Inspite of Ma’s unwillingness, Baba started taking me with him on his various river trips.
Inspite of Ma’s unwillingness, Baba started taking me with him on his various river trips. I was young at that time. Being with him, I learned how he spent his days on the boat. I also experienced some adventurous moments on these boat trips.
I just wanted to remind you of a particular incident in this context. I believe it happened on my first trip with him on the boat – or probably the next time.
It was evening. Baba and I were sitting on the top deck of the boat. He sat very close to the deck, overlooking the river, when suddenly one of his favourite slippers, dangling from his feet, fell into the water. The sun, by then, had set, spreading the golden rays on the waters of Padma. Hearing a splash sound, I saw Baba plunging into the river to rescue his favourite slipper. By then, the strong currents had floated it far away. Baba tried to fetch it. After a long time, he came up, holding the slipper in his hand and sporting a smile of deep contentment.
This childhood memory is vivid in my mind. I could also never forget the expression of deep satisfaction flushing Baba’s face!
The first time I accompanied him, we stayed in a boat on the Gorai River.
For me, living on a boat was a new experience…
Living on a boat was a new experience, and I stepped on the ship with much trepidation. But the fear vanished as we entered the houseboat. It felt almost like being at home. After having a delicious meal with rice and hilsa fish curry, Baba sat down to write. At the same time, I went to the other room and watched with intense curiosity the busy movement of the boats on the river and the interaction of the crowd at the ghats.
Baba was on an estate tour and had travelled to Kushtia to inspect the work of the ‘Tagore & Co. company. He was quite efficient in managing these tasks, and after finishing his job, he almost certainly went back to writing. When he wasn’t writing, most of the time, we sat in silence, watching in amazement the innumerable sights on the river in the descending light of evening.
As the vibrant glow of sunset spread across the western sky, the fishermen’s canoes drifted in the stream at a languid pace. Sometimes the fishermen would row the canoes, breaking into a bhatiyali song, the traditional song of the boatmen. Their songs would rise and fall in complete sync with the rhythm of the flowing water. Gradually the inky darkness suffused the surroundings, and the tunes of the boatmen’s song faded into it. One by one, the stars came up in the sky while the sound of the brass bells from the temple on the other side floated across the water. With deepening darkness, our old cook Phatik announced that dinner was served. I ate his monotonous dishes and retired to bed while Baba lit the lamp and sat with his books and note copies.
Books were Baba’s constant companion, irrespective of where he travelled.
Books were Baba’s constant companion, irrespective of where he travelled. He always carried a small library that included books by foreign authors like Goethe, Turgenev, Balzac, Maupassant, and Walt Whitman, together with a few of his Sanskrit books. Apart from literature, he loved to read thick books on astronomy, anthropology, and the history of linguistics.
Baba’s early years were closely connected with the Padma houseboat. Most of the poems, stories, and essays he penned at the time were written in this boat’s cabin. When the milling crowd of people and the world’s complexity tormented him, he got absolute peace, retreating to the seclusion of Padma River and this houseboat. The boat took him into the deeper heart of rural Bengal. It comforted him; he returned it by giving it a permanent place in his literature.
In his book, he wrote: ‘It feels like my home, where I‘m the master. Here no one holds the right over me or my time. I’m allowed to think, write, and imagine as I wish. I can stare at the flowing river for uninterrupted hours, immersing myself completely in the bright, lazy day filled with the sky above. Padma is very dear to me; just as the mythical elephant Airavata was Indra’s carrier, Padma is my carrier. Floating on the river on this boat, I feel oneness with the sky, earth, this old, green earth! That’s how my time goes on this boat, and I witness the myriad transformations of Nature.’
Translated by Chaitali Sengupta
Picture design by Anumita Roy
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