163rd birth anniversary of Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore
Tagore and Gandhi : The beauty of in-depth debates
When Mahatma Gandhi came and
opened up the path of freedom for India, he had no obvious medium of power in his
hand, no overwhelming authority of coercion. The influence which emanated from his
personality was ineffable, like music, like beauty. Its claim upon others was great
because of its revelation of a spontaneous self-giving. This is the reason why our
people have hardly ever laid emphasis upon his natural cleverness in manipulating
recalcitrant facts. They have rather dwelt upon the truth which shines through his
character in lucid simplicity.
Rabindranath Tagore
Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore and Mahatma Gandhi maintained a unique relationship despite their differences on some key issues. Gandhi returned to India in 1915 and Gurudev welcomed his Phoenix party at Shantiniketan and gave Gandhi a free hand to undertake experiments in education at his ashram, and described it as key to swaraj. This reveals Gurudev’s acceptance of Gandhi’s ideas and ideals. It continued throughout their lives while expressing their difference on certain issues publicly. It was Dr.Pranjivan Mehta who hinted first about Gandhi’s evolution to the status of a Mahatma in a letter addressed to G. K. Gokhale in 1909. However, the credit goes to Rabindranath Tagore for giving the name Mahatma to M. K. Gandhi.
In a Webinar jointly organized by Sevagram Ashram Pratishthan Wardha, Maharashtra;Centre for
Gandhian Studies, Central University of Kerala and ProbhodhaTrust, Kochi in May 2021, Prof. John Moolakkattu, the Chief Editor of
Gandhi Marg, New Delhi while delivering the presidential address said Only a
person like Tagore can say: “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” Both Tagore and Gandhi were ardent seekers of truth with a universal
vision. We need to look at their views to understand truth in a comprehensive
way though they understood truth differently. What is missing in India is lack
of such in-depth debates which is essential for preserving the rich democratic
traditions of our country.
The Poet and the Charkha
When
Sir Rabindranath’s criticism of charkha was published some time ago, several
friends asked me to reply to it. Being heavily engaged, I was unable then to
study it in full. But I had read enough of it to know its trend. I was in no
hurry to reply. Those who had read it were too much agitated or influenced to
be able to appreciate what I might have then written even if I had the time.
Now, therefore, is really the time for me to write on it and to ensure a
dispassionate view being taken of the Poet’s criticism or my reply, if such it
may be called.
The
criticism is a sharp rebuke to Acharya Ray for his impatience of the Poet’s and Acharya
Seal’s position regarding the charkha, and gentle rebuke to me for my exclusive
and excessive love of it. Let the public understand that the Poet does not deny
its great economic value. Let them know that he signed the appeal for the All India
Deshbandhu Memorial after he had written his criticism. He signed the appeal
after studying its contents carefully and, even as he signed it, he sent me the
message that he had written something on the charkha which might not quite
please me. I knew, therefore, what was coming. But it has not displeased me.
Why should mere disagreement with my views displease? If every disagreement
were to displease, since no two men agree exactly on all points, life would be
a bundle of unpleasant sensations and, therefore, a perfect nuisance. On the
contrary the frank criticism pleases me. For our friendship becomes all the
richer for our disagreements. Friends to be friends are not called upon to
agree even on most points, Only disagreements must have no sharpness, much less
bitterness, about them. And I gratefully admit that there is none about the
Poet’s criticism.
I
am obliged to make these prefatory remarks as dame rumour has whispered that
jealousy is the root of all that criticism. Such baseless suspicion betrays an
atmosphere of weakness and intolerance. A little reflection must remove all
ground for such a cruel charge. Of what should the Poet be jealous in me?
Jealousy presupposes the possibility of rivalry. Well, I have never succeeded
in writing a single rhyme in my life. There is nothing of the Poet about me. I
cannot aspire after his greatness. He is the undisputed master of it. The world
today does not possess his equal as a poet. My ‘mahatmaship’ has no relation to
the Poet’s undisputed position. It is time to realize that our fields are
absolutely different and at no point overlapping. The Poet lives in a
magnificent world of his own creation—his world of ideas. I am a slave of
somebody else’s creation—the spinning-wheel. The Poet makes his gopis dance to
the tune of his flute. I wander after my beloved Sita, the charkha, and seek to
deliver her from the ten-headed monster from Japan, Manchester, Paris, etc. The
Poet is an inventor— he creates, destroys and recreates. I am an explorer and
having discovered a thing, I must cling to it. The Poet presents the world with
new and attractive things from day to day. I can merely show the hidden
possibilities of old and even worn-out things. The world easily finds an
honourable place for the magician who produces new and dazzling things. I have
to struggle laboriously to find a corner for my worn-out things. Thus there is
no competition between us. But I may say in all humility that we complement
each other’s activity.
The
fact is that the Poet’s criticism is a poetic licence and he who takes it
literally is in danger of finding himself in an awkward corner. An ancient poet
has said that Solomon arrayed in all his glory was not like one of the lilies
of the field. He clearly referred to the natural beauty and innocence of the
lily contrasted with the artificiality of Solomon’s glory and his sinfulness in
spite of his many good deeds. Or take the poetical licence in: ‘It is easier
for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter
the Kingdom of Heaven.’ We know that no camel has ever passed through the eye of
a needle and we know too that rich men like Janaka have entered the Kingdom of
Heaven. Or take the beautiful simile of human teeth being likened to the
pomegranate seed. Foolish women who have taken the poetical exaggeration
literally have been found to disfigure, and even harm, their teeth. Painters
and poets are obliged to exaggerate the proportions of their figures in order
to give a true perspective. Those therefore who take the Poet’s denunciation of
the charkha literally will be doing an injustice to the Poet and an injury to
themselves.
The
Poet does not, he is not expected, he has no need, to read Young India. All he
knows about the movement is what he has picked up from table talk. He has,
therefore, denounced what he has imagined to be the excesses of the charkha
cult.
He
thinks, for instance, that I want everybody to spin the whole of his or her
time to the exclusion of all other activity, that is to say, that I want the
poet to forsake his muse, the farmer his plough, the lawyer his brief and the
doctor his lancet. So far is this from truth that I have asked no one to
abandon his calling but, on the contrary, to adorn it by giving every day only
thirty minutes to spinning as sacrifice for the whole nation. I have, indeed,
asked the famishing man or woman who is idle for want of any work whatsoever to
spin for a living and the half-starved farmer to spin during his leisure hours
to supplement his slender resources. If the Poet span half an hour daily his
poetry would gain in richness. For it would then represent the poor man’s wants
and woes in a more forcible manner than now.
The
Poet thinks that the charkha is calculated to bring about a death-like sameness
in the nation and, thus imagining, he would shun it if he could. The truth is
that the charkha is intended to realize the essential and living oneness of
interest among India’s myriads. Behind the magnificent and kaleidoscopic
variety, one discovers in nature a unity of purpose, design and form which is
equally unmistakable. No two men are absolutely alike, not even twins, and yet
there is much that is indispensably common to all mankind. And behind the
commonness of form there is the same life pervading all. The idea of sameness
or oneness was carried by Shankara to its utmost logical and natural limit and
he exclaimed that there was only one truth, one God—Brahman—and all form, nam,
rupa was illusion or illusory, evanescent. We need not debate whether what we
see isunreal; and whether the real behind the unreality is what we do not see.
Let both be equally real, if you will. All I say is that there is a sameness,
identity or oneness behind the multiplicity and variety. And so do I hold that
behind a variety of occupations there is an indispensable sameness also of
occupation. Is not agriculture common to the vast majority of mankind? Even so,
was spinning common not long ago to a vast majority of mankind? Just as both
prince and peasant must eat and clothe themselves so must both labour for
supplying their primary wants. The prince may do so if only by way of symbol
and sacrifice, but that much is indispensable for him if he will be true to
himself and his people. Europe may not realize this vital necessity at the
present moment, because it has made of exploitation of non-European races a
religion. But it is a false religion bound to perish in the near future. The
non-European races will not for ever allow themselves to be exploited. I have
endeavoured to show a way out that is peaceful, humane and, therefore, noble.
It may be rejected if it is, the alternative is a tug of war, in which each
will try to pull down the other. Then, when non-Europeans will seek to exploit
the Europeans, the truth of the charkha will have to be realized. Just as, if
we are to live, we must breathe not air imported from England nor eat food so
imported, so may we not import cloth made in England. I do not hesitate to
carry the doctrine to its logical limit and say that Bengal dare not import her
cloth even from Bombay or from Banga Lakshmi. If Bengal will live her natural
and free life without exploiting the rest of India or the world outside, she
must manufacture her cloth in her own villages as she grows her corn there.
Machinery has its place; it has come to stay. But it must not be allowed to
displace the necessary human labour. An improved plough is a good thing. But
if, by some chance, one man could plough up by some mechanical invention of his
the whole of the land of India and control all the agricultural produce and if
the millions had no other occupation, they would starve, and being idle, they
would become dunces, as many have already become. There is hourly danger of
many more being reduced to that unenviable state. I would welcome every
improvement in the cottage machine, but I know that it is criminal to displace
the hand labour by the introduction of power driven spindles unless one is, at
the same time, ready to give millions of farmers some other occupation in their
homes.
The
Irish analogy does not take us very far. It is perfect in so far as it enables
us to realize the necessity of economic co-operation. But Indian circumstances
being different, the method of working out cooperation is necessarily
different. For Indian distress every effort at co-operation has to centre round
the charkha if it is to apply to the majority of the inhabitants of this vast
peninsula 1,900 miles long and 1,500 broad. Sir Gangaram may give us a model
farm which can be no model for the penniless Indian farmer, who has hardly two
to three acres of land which every day runs the risk of being still further cut
up.
Round
the charkha, that is amidst the people who have shed their idleness and who
have understood the value of co-operation, a national servant would build up a
programme of anti-malaria campaign, improved sanitation, settlement of village
disputes, conservation and breeding of cattle and hundreds of other beneficial
activities. Wherever charkha work is fairly established, all such ameliorative
activity is going on according to the capacity of the villagers and the workers
concerned.
It
is not my purpose to traverse all the Poet’s arguments in detail. Where the
differences between us are not fundamental—and these I have endeavoured to
state—there is nothing in the Poet’s argument which I cannot endorse and still
maintain my position regarding the charkha. The many things about the charkha
which he has ridiculed I have never said. The merits I have claimed for the
charkha remain undamaged by the Poet’s battery.
One
thing, and one thing only, has hurt me, the Poet’s belief, again picked up from
table talk, that I look upon Ram Mohan Roy as a ‘pigmy’. Well, I have never
anywhere described that great reformer as a pigmy much less regarded him as
such. He is to me as much a giant as he is to the Poet. I do not remember any
occasion save one when I had to use Ram Mohan Roy’s name. That was in
connection with Western education. This was on the Cuttack sands now four years
ago. What I do remember having said was that it was possible to attain highest
culture without Western education. And when someone mentioned Ram Mohan Roy, I
remember having said that he was a pigmy compared to the unknown authors, say,
of the Upanishads. This is altogether different from looking upon Ram Mohan Roy
as a pigmy. I do not think meanly of Tennyson if I say that he was a pigmy
before Milton or Shakespeare. I claim that I enhance the greatness of both. If
I adore the Poet, as he knows I do in spite of differences between us, I am not
likely to disparage the greatness of the man who made the great reform movement
of Bengal possible and of which the Poet is one of the finest of fruits.
Young
India
5-11-1925
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