The Home and the World

ld be able to bear whatever came from my God.

s, I am sure I did not exaggerate. Only I could never even imagine one thing, and today it is that of which I am thinking, and wondering whether I can really bear it. There is a thorn somewhere pricking in my heart, constan

h its falsehood; and the shame and sorrow which are coming close to me are losing their cover of privacy, all the more because they try

This penury, all unexpected, has taken its seat in the heart where plenitude seemed to reign. The fees which I paid

king in me? Possibly it is that unreasoning forcefulness which women love to find in men. But is s

annot be earned merely by disputing about

ess the unworthy with its own prodigality. For the worthy there are many r

ll duties. Did the love which I received from her, I asked myself, come from the deep spring of her heart,

e thing I forgot to calculate was, that one must give up all claims based o

aced the fullest trust upon love. I was vain enough to think that I had the power in me to bear the sight of truth in its a

dare not be just. They shirk their responsibility of fairness and try quickly to get at results through the short- cuts of injustice. Bima

sterous. From the tip of her tongue to the pit of her stomach she must tingle with red pepper in order to enjoy the simple fare of life. But my determination was, never to do my duty with frantic impetuosity, helped

carousals. They are certain that either I have a longing for some title, or else that I am afraid of the poli

country as it actually is, or those who cannot love men just because they are men-who needs must shout an

either some fantasy, or someone in authority, or a sanction from the pundits, in order to make it move. So long as we are impervious to truth and have to be moved by some hypnotic stimu

visible image, Bimala agreed with him. I did not say anything in my defence, because to win in argument does not lead to

cusation which I bring against them. I would say to them: "You are dark, even as the flints are. You must come to violent conflicts a

ect is keen, but his nature is coarse, and so he glorifies his selfish lusts under high-sounding names. The cheap consolations of hatred are as urgently necessary for him as the satisfaction of his appetites. Bimala h

ip of Sandip makes me hesitate all the more to talk to her about him, lest some touch of jealousy may lead me unwittingly into exaggeration. It may be that the