The Hungry Stones

by Rabindranath Tagore

Overview

My kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all subjects so confidently that you might think the Disposer of All Things consulted him at all times in all that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly happy, as we did not know that secret and unheard-of forces were at work, that the Russians had advanced close to us, that the English had deep and secret policies, that confusion among the native chiefs had come to a head. But our newly-acquired friend said with a sly smile: "There happen more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are reported in your newspapers." As we had never stirred out of our homes before, the demeanour of the man struck us dumb with wonder. Be the topic ever so trivial, he would quote science, or comment on the Vedas, or repeat quatrains from some Persian poet; and as we had no pretence to a knowledge of science or the Vedas or Persian, our admiration for him went on increasing, and my kinsman, a theosophist, was firmly convinced that our fellow-passenger must have been supernaturally inspired by some strange "magnetism" or "occult power," by an "astral body" or something of that kind.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9788892562189
Publisher:	Simone Vannini
Publication date:	03/05/2016
Sold by:	StreetLib SRL
Format:	eBook
File size:	2 MB

Read an Excerpt

ONCE THERE WAS A KING " Once upon a time there was a king." When we were children there was no need to know who the king in the fairy story was. It didn't matter whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban, whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj. The thing that made a seven-year-old boy's heart go thump, thump with delight was this one sovereign truth, this reality of all realities: "Once there was a king." But the readers of this modern age are far more exact and exacting. When they hear such an opening to a story, they are at once critical and suspicious. They apply the searchlight of science to its legendary haze and ask: " Which king? " The story-tellers have become more precise in their turn. They are no longer content with the old indefinite, " There was a king," but assume instead a look of profound learning, and begin: " Once there was a king named Ajatasatru." The modern reader's curiosity, however, is not soeasily satisfied. He blinks at the author through his scientific spectacles, and asks again: "Which Ajatasatru? " " Every schoolboy knows," the author proceeds, " that there were three Ajatasatrus. The first was born in the twentieth century B. c., and died at the tender age of two years and eight months. I deeply regret that it is impossible to find, from any trustworthy source, a detailed account of his reign. The second Ajatasatru is better known to historians. If you refer to the new Encyclopedia of History. . . ." By this time the modern reader's suspicions are dissolved. He feels he may safely trust his author. He says to himself: " Now we shall have a story that is both improving and instructive." Ahl how we all love to be deluded! We have asecret dread of being thought ignorant. And we end by being ignorant after all, only we have done i...