Autobiography of a Yogi
Paramhansa Yogananda
Chapter 29
Rabindranath Tagore and I Compare Schools
"Rabindranath
Tagore taught us to sing, as a natural form of self-expression, like the birds."
Bhola Nath, a
bright fourteen-year-old lad at my Ranchi school, gave me this explanation after I had
complimented him one morning on his melodious outbursts. With or without provocation, the
boy poured forth a tuneful stream. He had previously attended the famous Tagore school of
"Santiniketan" (Haven of Peace) at Bolpur.
"The
songs of Rabindranath have been on my lips since early youth," I told my companion.
"All Bengal, even the unlettered peasants, delights in his lofty verse."
Bhola and I
sang together a few refrains from Tagore, who has set to music thousands of Indian poems,
some original and others of hoary antiquity.
"I met
Rabindranath soon after he had received the Nobel Prize for literature," I remarked
after our vocalizing. "I was drawn to visit him because I admired his undiplomatic
courage in disposing of his literary critics." I chuckled.
Bhola
curiously inquired the story.
"The
scholars severely flayed Tagore for introducing a new style into Bengali poetry," I
began. "He mixed colloquial and classical expressions, ignoring all the prescribed
limitations dear to the pundits' hearts. His songs embody deep philosophic truth in
emotionally appealing terms, with little regard for the accepted literary forms.
"One
influential critic slightingly referred to Rabindranath as a 'pigeon-poet who sold his
cooings in print for a rupee.' But Tagore's revenge was at hand; the whole Western world
paid homage at his feet soon after he had translated into English his Gitanjali
("Song Offerings"). A trainload of pundits, including his one-time critics, went
to Santiniketan to offer their congratulations.
"Rabindranath
received his guests only after an intentionally long delay, and then heard their praise in
stoic silence. Finally he turned against them their own habitual weapons of criticism.
"'Gentlemen,'
he said, 'the fragrant honors you here bestow are incongruously mingled with the putrid
odors of your past contempt. Is there possibly any connection between my award of the
Nobel Prize, and your suddenly acute powers of appreciation? I am still the same poet who
displeased you when I first offered my humble flowers at the shrine of Bengal.'
"The
newspapers published an account of the bold chastisement given by Tagore. I admired the
outspoken words of a man unhypnotized by flattery," I went on. "I was introduced
to Rabindranath in Calcutta by his secretary, Mr. C. F. Andrews, who was simply
attired in a Bengali dhoti. He referred lovingly to Tagore as his gurudeva.
"Rabindranath
received me graciously. He emanated a soothing aura of charm, culture, and courtliness.
Replying to my question about his literary background, Tagore told me that one ancient
source of his inspiration, besides our religious epics, had been the classical poet,
Bidyapati."
Inspired by
these memories, I began to sing Tagore's version of an old Bengali song, "Light the
Lamp of Thy Love." Bhola and I chanted joyously as we strolled over the Vidyalaya
grounds.
About two
years after founding the Ranchi school, I received an invitation from Rabindranath to
visit him at Santiniketan in order to discuss our educational ideals. I went gladly. The
poet was seated in his study when I entered; I thought then, as at our first meeting, that
he was as striking a model of superb manhood as any painter could desire. His beautifully
chiseled face, nobly patrician, was framed in long hair and flowing beard. Large, melting
eyes; an angelic smile; and a voice of flutelike quality which was literally enchanting.
Stalwart, tall, and grave, he combined an almost womanly tenderness with the delightful
spontaneity of a child. No idealized conception of a poet could find more suitable
embodiment than in this gentle singer.
Tagore and I
were soon deep in a comparative study of our schools, both founded along unorthodox lines.
We discovered many identical features—outdoor instruction, simplicity, ample scope
for the child's creative spirit. Rabindranath, however, laid considerable stress on the
study of literature and poetry, and the self-expression through music and song which I had
already noted in the case of Bhola. The Santiniketan children observed periods of silence,
but were given no special yoga training.
The poet
listened with flattering attention to my description of the energizing "Yogoda"
exercises and the yoga concentration techniques which are taught to all students at
Ranchi.
Tagore told
me of his own early educational struggles. "I fled from school after the fifth
grade," he said, laughing. I could readily understand how his innate poetic delicacy
had been affronted by the dreary, disciplinary atmosphere of a schoolroom.
"That is
why I opened Santiniketan under the shady trees and the glories of the sky." He
motioned eloquently to a little group studying in the beautiful garden. "A child is
in his natural setting amidst the flowers and songbirds. Only thus may he fully express
the hidden wealth of his individual endowment. True education can never be crammed and
pumped from without; rather it must aid in bringing spontaneously to the surface the
infinite hoards of wisdom within."
I agreed.
"The idealistic and hero-worshiping instincts of the young are starved on an
exclusive diet of statistics and chronological eras."
The poet
spoke lovingly of his father, Devendranath, who had inspired the Santiniketan beginnings.
"Father
presented me with this fertile land, where he had already built a guest house and
temple," Rabindranath told me. "I started my educational experiment here in
1901, with only ten boys. The eight thousand pounds which came with the Nobel Prize all
went for the upkeep of the school."
The elder
Tagore, Devendranath, known far and wide as "Maharishi," was a very remarkable
man, as one may discover from his Autobiography. Two years of his manhood were spent in
meditation in the Himalayas. In turn, his father, Dwarkanath Tagore, had been celebrated
throughout Bengal for his munificent public benefactions. From this illustrious tree has
sprung a family of geniuses. Not Rabindranath alone; all his relatives have distinguished
themselves in creative expression. His brothers, Gogonendra and Abanindra, are among the
foremost artists of India;
another brother, Dwijendra, is a deep-seeing philosopher, at whose gentle call the birds
and woodland creatures respond.
Rabindranath
invited me to stay overnight in the guest house. It was indeed a charming spectacle, in
the evening, to see the poet seated with a group in the patio. Time unfolded backward: the
scene before me was like that of an ancient hermitage—the joyous singer encircled by
his devotees, all aureoled in divine love. Tagore knitted each tie with the cords of
harmony. Never assertive, he drew and captured the heart by an irresistible magnetism.
Rare blossom of poesy blooming in the garden of the Lord, attracting others by a natural
fragrance!
In his
melodious voice, Rabindranath read to us a few of his exquisite poems, newly created. Most
of his songs and plays, written for the delectation of his students, have been composed at
Santiniketan. The beauty of his lines, to me, lies in his art of referring to God in
nearly every stanza, yet seldom mentioning the sacred Name. "Drunk with the bliss of
singing," he wrote, "I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord."
The following
day, after lunch, I bade the poet a reluctant farewell. I rejoice that his little school
has now grown to an international university, "Viswa-Bharati," where scholars of
all lands have found an ideal setting.
"Where
the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by
narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening
thought and action;
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country
awake!"
RABINDRANATH
TAGORE