Free He: (Shey) (Modern Classics (Penguin)) by Rabindranath Tagore Page B

other creature on earth feels such shame.’
    ‘Tigers must be very haughty creatures.’
    ‘Oh, they are. That’s why they’re so anxious to preserve their caste. Why, a human girl once put a tiger quite off its food by hinting it would lose caste if it ate her. Our He has composed a poem about it.’
    ‘I’m sure He can’t write poems like you do.’
    ‘Well, he thinks he can, and it’s not a case you can call in the police to solve.’
    ‘Let’s hear it.’
    ‘All right.’
     
    A black-striped tiger, huge and hulking,
    Into a mansion one day skulking
    After a footman—O toothsome delight!—
    Encountered a mirror, and got quite a fright.
     
    The footman fled in a single bound
    And the beast in the mirror his own image found.
    His fur stood on end; he shouted, ‘Alack!
    My body is branded with stripes of black!’
     
    With the rice-paddle Putu stood husking some rice:
    The tiger arrived at the spot in a trice.
    He puffed out his whiskers (his only hope!)
    And fiercely demanded some glycerine soap.
     
    Putu was puzzled. ‘Now what was that word?
    It isn’t one I can claim to have heard.
    Of high-flown learning I’ve suffered a dearth,
    The sad result of my lowly birth.’
     
    ‘Lies!’ the tiger exclaimed with a scowl.
    ‘D’you think I’m blind?’ he began to growl.
    ‘The glycerine soap must be all-effacing:
    ‘What else could remove the stripes from your casing?’
     
    Putu was vexed. ‘I’m dark!’ she moped.
    Nobody’s seen me glycerine-soap’d.
    You’re joking: I’m not a memsahib’s aunt.
    Supply you with soap, therefore, I can’t.’
     
    ‘Aren’t you ashamed?’ hear the tiger shout.
    ’I’ll crunch up your bones and your flesh, you lout!’
     
    Putu exclaimed, ‘You shameless old sinner!
    You’re doomed if you try to devour me for dinner!
    Of humble caste am I, don’t you know?
    Mahatma Gandhi loves my tribe so! 46
    Calm down, don’t lose your temper, I pray.’
     
    Yelled the tiger in fright, ‘Don’t touch me, I say!
    Oh, fie upon me! Oh, woe and disgrace!
    In Tiger-Town what scorn I’ll face!
    My name will be sunk; full of daughters my house—
    Not one of the girls will find her a spouse.
    The Tiger-Goddess will with curses assail me:
    No glycerine soap—I’m off to bewail me!
     
    ‘You know, Pupu-didi, there’s a great to-do among the tigers now in the name of progress. The speakers for the movement are going around telling everyone that rejecting certain kinds of flesh as profane is disrespectful to the blessed spirit of the dead animal. They declare, “From now on, we’ll eat whatever we can kill; we’ll eat with both right paw and left paw, fore-paw and hind-paw; we’ll eat whether we’ve chanted the snarl-spell or not.” They’ve gone to the extent of resolving to claw their prey on Thursdays and bite it on Saturdays—such enlightened emancipation! These tigers are great ones for arguments, and make a great show of respect for all forms of life. They’re so noble-minded that they want to eat even the kaibarta farmers on the west bank of the Ganga. They’ve got into a huge row about all this. The puritan tigers have dubbed them “ Kaibarta-Clawers”. They’ve come in for a lot of chaffing, as a result.’
    Pupe asked, ‘Dadamashai, have you ever written a poem about tigers?’
    Loath to admit defeat, I said I had.
    ‘Do let me hear it.’
    Gravely, I began to recite:
     
    O God our Maker, you have not belittled might,
    But with powerful hand bestowed it as right
    In him that is strongest—amazing your grace!
    An awesome predator, keen-clawed, with face
    As fearsome as comely; a frame like a streak
    Of lightning—crashing down to wreak
    Splendid havoc—Lord Shiva’s passion 47
    Rages in the creature you have fashioned.
    The storm unstemmed by creation’s decree,
    Reared hood of froth in the foaming sea,
    The raging lion that your mercy defies,
    The awful thunder of giants’ war cries,
    The tongues of hungry fire that dart
    Through