My Lord, the Baby Page #3

"My Lord, the Baby" is a poignant novella by Rabindranath Tagore that explores themes of love, sacrifice, and the complexities of parenthood. The story revolves around a mother who is deeply devoted to her infant son, perceived as a divine presence in her life. Through a series of heartfelt reflections and interactions, she grapples with her aspirations, societal expectations, and the unconditional love that binds her to her child. Tagore’s lyrical prose captures the nuances of relationships and the profound emotional landscapes of familial bonds, ultimately celebrating the transformative power of love and the spiritual essence of motherhood.

• Short story

								

the hand.

Anukul's wife, without a question, took the boy into her lap, and was
wild with excitement, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, touching
him, kissing his hair and his forehead, and gazing into his face with
hungry, eager eyes. The boy was very good-looking and dressed like a
gentleman's son. The heart of Anukul brimmed over with a sudden rush of
affection.

Nevertheless the magistrate in him asked: "Have you any proofs?"
Raicharan said: "How could there be any proof of such a deed? God alone
knows that I stole your boy, and no one else in the world."

When Anukul saw how eagerly his wife was clinging to the boy, he
realised the futility of asking for proofs. It would be wiser to
believe. And then--where could an old man like Raicharan get such a boy
from? And why should his faithful servant deceive him for nothing?

"But," he added severely, "Raicharan, you must not stay here."

"Where shall I go, Master?" said Raicharan, in a choking voice, folding
his hands; "I am old. Who will take in an old man as a servant?"

The mistress said: "Let him stay. My child will be pleased. I forgive
him."

But Anukul's magisterial conscience would not allow him. "No," he said,
"he cannot be forgiven for what he has done."

Raicharan bowed to the ground, and clasped Anukul's feet. "Master," he
cried, "let me stay. It was not I who did it. It was God."

Anukul's conscience was worse stricken than ever, when Raicharan tried
to put the blame on God's shoulders.

"No," he said, "I could not allow it. I cannot trust you any more. You
have done an act of treachery."

Raicharan rose to his feet and said: "It was not I who did it."

"Who was it then?" asked Anukul.

Raicharan replied: "It was my fate."

But no educated man could take this for an excuse. Anukul remained
obdurate.

When Phailna saw that he was the wealthy magistrate's son, and not
Raicharan's, he was angry at first, thinking that he had been cheated
all this time of his birthright. But seeing Raicharan in distress, he
generously said to his father: "Father, forgive him. Even if you don't
let him live with us, let him have a small monthly pension."

After hearing this, Raicharan did not utter another word. He looked
for the last time on the face of his son; he made obeisance to his
old master and mistress. Then he went out, and was mingled with the
numberless people of the world.

At the end of the month Anukul sent him some money to his village. But
the money came back. There was no one there of the name of Raicharan.
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