He fell seriously ill, and through unbearble physical pain and agony, he saw new visions. He translated them into semi-aesthetic, quasi philosophical verses, loosely knit together and entirely lacking the usual Tagorian finish. He recovered and dictated some more of his recollections and these two collections are called Sick-bed (roga-shayya), and Recovery (Arogyn). His last poems are called Shesh-lekha.
The reader will remember how stoutly Tagore had maintained in his youth that deliverance was not for him through renunciation of world (of rupa-rasa-gandha-sparsha) by means of any yogic practice. Now, for the first time, the world, including his body, became nothing but a continuous source of the most excruciating agony. He cried in despair, Through pain and pain again, I have realised the world is not unreal.
Aghate aghate janilam
E jivan mithya nay.
What! Not beauty, not truth, but pain, the Buddhist point of departure should be the raison detre of all existence!
There are many such wonders for the reader of the three collections mentioned above. Personally I feel certain, although I cannot prove it except by means of aesthetic logic, that Tagore had turned to concentration in the rajayoga style at this last phase of his spiritual experience which alone can explain many of the visions, e. g. those describing his body and mind floating away while the soul watches on, the dumb creatures with masses of inert matter on the eve of the first creation.
The last poem, composed half an hour before the fatal operation, absolves him once again, of the accusation that he was an escapist. Thou has scattered on the path of Creation many a deceitful snare, O Deceitful one (Chhalanamayi), many a false hope (mithya-vishvas)!
This is the final recognition of Untruth, Per se by the poet. This brings him closer to the Sankhya system, nearer to Zarathustra who accepted both the principle of Good and the principle of Evil as co-existing from Eternity. In the dynamic process of arriving at a harmony beyond the conflicting diversity of reality, the Poet has covered the entire gamut of all the Indo-Aryan and Indo-Iranian systems of philosophy in aesthetic realizations. This harmony, this weltanschauung, this summum honum is known to us all in the simple word, shanti.
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A letter from India
I am sure when you hear my English accent you will not believe me that I was ever in England, but it is Allahs truth that I spent several months there– believe it or not as the Americans say. But then I spent most of my time in the Reading Room of the British Museum where hailing each other across the tables and discussions on weather in general and the one prevailing in London in particular are not very highly appreciated. Indeed, I should say even in the House of Commons you get better opportunities to improve your conversational English than in the British Museum.
But that is not the point, any way. What I mean is that if it was possible for me to visit England, why should you not be able to come to this country next winter? Now, do not suspect me as being the representative of a tourist organisation, hotel keeper or a guide. I am suggesting the trip for, I really believe, having seen many of the winter resorts of Europe that India is worth visiting in winter.
Naturally the first question you will ask is what we have here to offer you?
Well, to begin with the weather. Right from the beginning of October till, let us say, the middle of March you will have nothing but bright sunshine, a deep blue sky with a few white clouds once in a while, nice comfortable warm days and slightly chilly nights when all you need is a wamn pull-over even for going out for a stroll by moon-light. It may rain for a day or two during this period which will be quite a pleasant change and you will have the experience of what is called warm rains in the East.
Are you interested in architecture? Well, Delhi is the Mecca of architecture. There are at least five distance architectural styles to be seen here which will take your breath away. The Kutb Minar is supposed to be the most graceful tower in the whole world and Fergusson considers it to be superior to Giottos campanegla. The remains of the Quwwat al-Islam mosque just near the kutb, built from the remains of ancient Hindu temples with its noble arches and delicate ornamentations on the stone walls, the spandrels with medallions of lotus-motif, the forts of the Tughlus with massive walls, sometimes as much as sixty feet deep, which loom large against glorious sunsets every evening, the noble but sweet Humayuns tomb built in red stone and white marble, the audience halls in the Red Fort and finally the Taj Mahal at Agra-only an hundred and twenty miles far from Delhi.
