The Home and the World

outside view-to see myself as Bimal sees me. What a dismally s

our food and rest, only because we can dismiss, as so many empty shadows, the sorrows scattered everywhere, both in

e shadows, and so the load of my sorrow li

he immense, age-long concourse of humanity, what is Bimal to you? Your wife? What is a wife? A bubble of a name bl

f she says: "No, I am myself"-am I to re

mount to an argument,

whole personality

from my bosom to the dust? What incense of worship, what music of passion, what flowers of my spring and of my autumn, have I no

t mine, she is not; and no fuming, or fretting, or arguing will serve to prove that she is. If my heart is breaking-let it break! That will not make the world ba

onsider! If I weep it is for myself, not for Society. If Bimal sho

y life loses its value because of any neglect it may suffer. The full value of my life does not all go to buy my narrow domestic wo

. I was too greedy. I created an angel of Bimala, in order to exaggerate my own enjoyment. But Bimala is what she is. It is preposterous to expect that she should

st not, in false modesty, accept my rejection as my desert. Sandip certainly has attractive qualities, which had their sway also upon myself; but yet, I feel sure,

rom utter desolation I must recognize all the value that I truly possess. Therefore, through the, terri

s account has been settled, and that which remains is myself-not a crippled self, dressed in rags and tatters,

and said with his hand on my shoulder. "Get aw

ast asleep. In the day-time we meet, and even converse, but what am I to say when we

urn. My master smiled a little, as he left me, saying: "My

eavy pall of July cloud suddenly part a little, and a big star shine through. It seemed to say to me: "Dreamland

s. Through many a life, in many a mirror, have I seen her image-broken mirrors, crooked mirrors, dusty mirrors. Whenever I have sought to make the mir

and every dawn there shall appear fresh f

n," mocks some devil from his dark corne

ries, have to be kept quiet. Can it be that all this multitude is quiete

ugh the thickest mist of tears. I have seen her and lost her in the crowd of life's market-place, a

steps on the way, by the scent of your tresses lingering in the air, make me not weep for that

thout waking her-that shall be the flower-offering of my worship. I believe I could forget everything after death-all my mistakes, all my sufferings-but some vib

you doing, brother dear?" [16] she cried. "For pity's sake go to bed and stop worrying so. I cannot bear to look

but took the dust of her f

-

ding arising out of special friendship or affection, the persons so relate

la's