The Magical Spell

Santanu Dasgupta

[In popular perception, rocket science stands for the ultimate, unfathomable, and mysterious frontier of science. If we wish to convey something is not really complex, we say: It’s not rocket science! By extension therefore, rocket scientists are amongst the most brilliant, profound, and creative people. Thanks to my years in Thiruvananthapuram, I have come in close contact with some rocket scientists of the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO). And I believe they belong to the intellectual cream of their generation.

Dr. Santanu Dasgupta, one of them, is highly regarded by his peers. But unlike most of them, he wears several other hats too. He is an accomplished singer, a brilliant story teller (a field in which his wife Shyama gives him a good run for his money), and regularly pens plays that are staged by the Trivandrum Bengali Association. After retirement from the ISRO, he has been teaching at an engineering college in Thiruvananthapuram.

Here is a sample of his writing. I thank Santanuda for allowing me to publish this story.]

Whenever Tagore songs are being talked of, it is a cliché to say: “Oh! There is a kind of magic in them.” Much has been written and said about the magic of Tagore’s songs and poems, but I have been fortunate to have witnessed real magic woven by a Tagore song.

It was the morning of Rabindra Jayanti a few years ago. Even inTrivandrum, we could feel music in the air. Duly dressed and armed with books like Geetobitan, Sanchoita etc., we, the Bengali families had gathered in Tagore Theatre in Vazhuthacaud for yet another celebration of Rabindranath Tagore’s birth anniversary.

Children ran up and down the dark aisles of the auditorium chasing each other. Mothers sat in groups, most of them in animated conversation. Men moved around looking bored and showed interest only when their wife or children were on stage. All waited for the next event, politely clapping after every song or dance. … Generally speaking, Tagore was far from any serious thought of most, except one ….

As I learnt later, his name was Ashokan. Of about seventy years, he was very frail, had unkempt hair and he carried a small book of Geetanjali with him. He had translated it himself from Bengali to Malayalam, he said.

I had heard of translations of Bangla literature into Malayalam by many eminent scholars and poets of Kerala. Ashokan was certainly not one of them. Had he learnt Bengali? I wanted to find out.

‘A little, just to translate some of the poems,’ he said apologetically. Would I care to read his translations?

My knowledge (rather, ignorance) of Malayalam even after being in Kerala for over forty years is well-known. But courtesy demanded that I accept a copy of the book offered by the author himself. And I did.

‘I see that many of you can sing. Will you please sing one particular song for me?’ Ashokan was very polite in his request. The song he wanted to hear was Ami rupe tomay bholabo na (I will not entice you with my looks, but with my love). Rupe tomay is a difficult song to sing and I was not surprised when none of our singers could oblige him. I explained to him that without proper notations this song cannot be rendered and hence the reluctance of our singers to sing it in public.

His face paled and I could almost hear one of his ribs crackling in pain. He had come here hoping to hear that particular song. ‘Where can I go to listen to this?’  He despaired. Turning to me he said. ‘Will you please come to my home and sing it for me? I have the notations in Bengali.’

A stranger invites me to his house and wants me to sing one of Tagore’s most beautiful compositions for him. ‘Trust not’ said my intellect, for he is a stranger. ‘Why do you feign love and admiration for Rabindranath if you can’t fulfill this humble request?’ said my soul.

Soul prevailed over mind and soon I was ushered into a small dingy room laden with books and dust. Amidst the clutter and papers strewn all over the place stood a harmonium. It was an ancient piece in desperate need of overhaul.

Ashokan fumbled his way through the clutter. He was in a state of excited anticipation, much like a child about to be handed over an ice-cream. As I turned the pages of the book of notations to trace the right page, his eyes lit up. I bellowed the first two notes of the song which were a serene sa nicorresponding to the words ami …. His eyelids slowly came together and by the time I reached bholabo na … tears welled up behind those closed eyelids. I knew only the first few lines of the song but I sang them repeatedly for him. Tears rolled down his chapped, wrinkled cheeks in meandering lines.

For a long time after I had finished my song, Ashokan sat in a trance. We sat in silence until he woke up with a smile of bliss written on his face.

As he held my hands to bid good-bye, a realisation dawned upon me. What chord the song struck in Ashokan’s heart I may never know, but what I did witness was a magical spell that can only be cast by a Tagore song!

Rakta Karabi (“The Red Oleanders”)

Snippets of a dialogue between Nandini and Raja from Rabindranath Tagore’s play written in 1925, translated by Kaushik Chatterjee.

[A note from the blog owner:

I was amazed by the beauty of Kaushik’s translation. I consider it a privilege to share his work with my readers. Thanks, Kaushik, for letting me do so.

Nandini characterizes all that is simple and spontaneous, joyous and free. She is an antithesis to the Raja of Yakshapuri who has shut himself up in his chamber, sitting on piles of gold and obsessed with wealth and power. 

Rakta karabi was immortalised on stage through Bohurupee’s eponymous trailblazer, first staged in 1954. The two inimitable Mitras, Sambhu and Tripti, were the main protagonists.]

In the following tête-à-tête, between the two, Raja remains invisible as his resonant voice can only be heard, at times haltingly, from his locked chamber. 

Nandini: (banging on the netted door) Can you hear me?

Raja: Yes, I can. But don’t pester me, I don’t have time.

Nandini: I’m so happy today. I would like to share it with you. Let me enter your room, Raja.

Raja: No, don’t . Tell me from there, whatever you want to.

Nandini: I’ve brought a garland of jasmine, covered with lotus leaves.

Raja: Wear it yourself.

Nandini: It doesn’t suit me. Mine is the red oleander.

Raja: I’m like the crest of a cliff; loneliness is my decor.

Nandini: Even a stream bursts forth from a rocky crevice; you too shall wear the garland. Come on, cast off the net and let me in. 

Raja: I can’t. I have no time. Tell me quickly, whatever you want to say.

Nandini: Can you hear that distant song?

Raja: What song?

Nandini: the autumnal song- the song of harvest.

“Come and join the autumnal invite,
O everyone of you,
Laden with ripened fruits, her branches bow down to you”

Nandini: Can’t you see the ripened corn glazing in the beautiful autumn sun? 

“The flowing breeze has driven the village women crazy 
As they come out in the open fields,
The golden hues of the sun cascade onto the auburn earth…” 

Nandini: Raja, come out of your closet. I’ll take you to the open fields.

“The sky exults as it tunes in to the sounds of flute wafting across the distant plains,
Don’t stay indoors, open the door and join us…” 

Raja: To the fields ? What would I do there?

Nandini: Don’t you know, Raja? It’s much simpler working there than in your closet.

Raja: Ah! I find the easier task a real botheration. Can a placid lake dance to the cadences of a gurgling frothy stream? Now, go away. It’s enough. I’ve run out of time.

Nandini: Sublime is your power. The day you allowed me into your treasury, I wasn’t much impressed seeing the mounds of gold. But I was beyond words to see how effortlessly you were arranging those into a mighty, orderly heap! But tell me, do these crusts respond to your gait, your rhythm just like the golden cornfields out there? Aren’t you afraid always trying to caress with these lifeless lumps buried within the earth’s crypts?

Raja: Why should I be?

Nandini: The earth happily gifts everything she holds dear to herself. But when you rip her apart, plundering her buried entrails as your most cherished wealth, you simply can’t afford to ignore the wails that come out of that darkness like a huge demonic curse. Can’t you see everyone here is fretting, fuming and in a state of perpetual doubt and worry?

Raja: Did I hear you saying ‘curse’?

Nandini: Yes, it’s the very bane of loot and murder!

Raja: I’m not sure about any curse! I can tell you that we wield power. Aren’t you happy with that?

Nandini: Yes, very much. That’s why I implore you to come out in the open, tread your feet on the soft earth, she will be infinitely happy too!

“With the glistening dew drops, the cornstalks are aflame
The nature’s joy knows no bounds as it overflows in myriad profusion…” 

Raja: Nandini, do you know that you extol an unearthly beauty that’s beyond the bewitching charm that you exude? I would like to snatch it away, hold you firmly in my grip. But I can’t. I would like to roll and turn you again and again to get at your core and if I fail, I’ll simply destroy you!

Nandini: What is it that you are saying?

Raja: Why can’t I sieve the glow out of your red oleander and make it the salve for my eyes? The soft, sodden petals are standing in my way! I feel the same resistance in you; it’s too supple to be prised open. Tell me Nandin, what do you make out of me.

Nandini: I’ll tell you some other day! You’ve no time, you’ve just told me! 

Raja: No, don’t go away. Tell me.

Nandini: I’ve told you many a time, I’m enchanted looking at you. A great strength, a mighty power swells and heaves, just like the stormy clouds near the seas! My mind dances to look at you!

Raja: But Ranjan also makes your mind leap in joy!

Nandini: Let’s leave it for another day. I’ll not waste your time. 

Raja: I’ve time. Please tell me.

Nandini: That’s a different rhythm altogether. You’ll not understand.

Raja: I will. I want to.

Nandini: I can’t explain everything to you. Let me go.

Raja: No, don’t. Tell me, do you like me?

Nandini: Yes.

Raja: Like Ranjan?

Nandini: Aah, you’re rambling now. I told you, you’ll not be able to make out all this.

Raja: I can vaguely make out, though. I know our differences. I’ve might, Ranjan has the magic.

Nandini: Magic? What’s that?

Raja: Would I need to explain more? There are mounds of gold and stones and iron, stashed away in the bowels of this earth. That personifies power. On the surface, the moist earth makes the grass grow, the flowers blossom and that's the play of the magic. I extract the diamonds and gems from the deepest crevices of the earth but I can’t steal the magic that embodies life in all its rugged simplicity!

Nandini: You are rich! Why do you have to be so ravenous?

Raja: Whatever I have, it has become an awful burden for me. I cannot make a touchstone out of gold. Even with so much wealth and power, youth still eludes me. That’s why I’d like to lay a siege and get you. If I had the exuberance of Ranjan, I could have easily entranced you. I’ve been trying to tighten the noose of the rope all day long! Everything gets ensnared here but for joy. It can’t be fettered!

Nandini: You have trapped yourself! Now it’s strange to see you fidgeting in desperation!

Raja: You won't understand. I’m like an arid desert, turning to the little tuft of grass in you, telling you, ‘I’m burning within, empty and tired’. The parched desert has extended itself, lapping up so many of those fertile plains in the process and yet it so desperately fails to draw close to the little bit of life that clings to the soft, green reed!

Nandini: I didn’t know you are so fatigued! I’ve always marvelled at the mighty power that you command!

Raja: Nandini, once I saw a mountain at a faraway place, weary and desolate. I didn’t realize from its outward appearance that its stones were in terrible, silent pain! At the dead of night I heard a rumbling noise as if it were a nightmare of some distant demon, suffering and suppressed for ages, suddenly blowing itself up in pieces! In the morning I was amazed to see that an earthquake has reduced the mighty mountain to dust, lost in the indistinguishable granules of this earth. I took a lesson from this incident. Of power unknowingly getting crushed under its own deadweight! And I’ve seen just the opposite in you!

Nandini: And what’s that ?

Raja: The same rhythm that plays out in the cosmic flute of Nature!

Nandini: I can’t make out.

Raja: The unique rhythm that lightens up a heavy burden! The same quiver that makes the galaxies of stars and planets dance in unison like some children of the lesser Gods, playing out a well-rehearsed drama! That inner poise has made you so simple and radiant! You are absolutely insignificant to me and yet I envy you!

Nandini: You have withdrawn yourself from everyone! Why don’t you simply let others know you?

Raja: Invisibly, I’ve laid my hands on some of the crudest finds of the world’s large storehouses! Your soft petal-like fingers can easily reach the offerings that nature clasps in her delicate grasp but I, with my whole bodily force, can’t. I have to anyhow unclasp that grip!

Nandini: I don’t quite get you always, let me go now!

Raja: Okay, but before that, please hold my hand. I’m stretching it from this window!

Nandini: Oh no! I can’t see you; I’ll be just too scared finding only an outstretched arm!

Raja: When I try to get hold of you with my bare hands, you all flee away! But tell me, if I try to get you with my entire being, will you let me, Nandin?

Nandini: You didn’t let me enter your room! Now it’s pointless to say all that!

Raja: I don’t dare to ride against the inopportune tide to draw you close. When you’ll freely set your sails to touch my shores, it would be the most auspicious moment! Even I’ll not care if it’s a storm that casts you ashore! No, this is not the time!

Nandini: I’m assuring you Raja, Ranjan would surely set the sail for me! He always comes with a whiff of fresh air, of a happy break.

Raja: Now, I know for sure who charmingly drips the freedom that Ranjan brings with dollops of nectar from the Red Oleander! I’ve mine, left high and dry; Who’ll dip it with honey?

Nandini: Let me go now.

Raja: Yes, but not before you have cared to reply me!

Nandini: You’ll get yours if you see Ranjan! He’s so beautiful!

Raja: Only a beautiful person can feel his resonance! If a brute tries to strike a chord forcefully, the harp doesn't play, the strings only get ripped off! Yes, now it’s time you take leave. Otherwise you’ll be in danger!

Nandini: Yes, I’m going away but don't forget that Ranjan would certainly be coming! You can’t stop him in any way! No, never!