The Miser

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.

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.

(Translated by Sugata Banerji)