Normally I post a translation of a Tagore poem every year on Rabindranath Tagore's birth anniversary. This year I already posted an extra one on Holi, and here's one for the big day. The original can be found here.
The Miser
~Rabindranath Tagore
Begging for alms back and forth
The village lanes I strolled,
You were then passing on
Your chariot of gold.
As a magnificent dream
In my eyes it did seem
Such wondrous appearance,
Wonderful attire.
I was thinking in my mind,
“Who are you, Sire?”
The morning brought a good omen
I had then thought,
Today, to beg door to door
I will need not.
Outside as I set my foot
I met the one on my route,
Who would throw, riding by,
Riches on the wayside---
I would just pick handfuls,
Opening my arms wide.
That chariot stopped suddenly
As it reached me
Looking at my face, you
Alit smilingly.
Observing your serene face
My pains left without a trace,
At this time, for some reason
Suddenly you said
“Please give me something”
With your palm spread.
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| Image source |
What is this you say, my Lord,
“Give me something please!”
Hearing this, for a few moments
My head I couldn’t raise.
What is it that you could want,
That a begging beggar can grant.
This is just jest for you
For me, a mean trick.
From my bag I gave you
One tiny speck.
On returning home, that container I
Pour out, and behold!
Among my alms, I can see
A tiny speck of gold.
Royal-beggar, what I gave thee
In gold it came back to me,
Then tears swelled in my eyes
And I sat crying---
Oh, why didn’t I give you then
All that was mine.
