The Child's Return

"The Child's Return" is a poignant work by Rabindranath Tagore that explores themes of love, nostalgia, and the innocence of childhood. The story revolves around the emotional journey of a child who, after being away from home, returns to rekindle lost connections and rediscover the bonds of family and community. Through Tagore's lyrical prose, readers are invited to reflect on the joys and complexities of growing up and the enduring impact of childhood memories. This narrative captures the essence of longing and the universal experience of seeking one's roots.

• Short story

								
I

Raicharan was twelve years old when he came as a servant to his master's
house. He belonged to the same caste as his master and was given his
master's little son to nurse. As time went on the boy left Raicharan's
arms to go to school. From school he went on to college, and after
college he entered the judicial service. Always, until he married,
Raicharan was his sole attendant.

But when a mistress came into the house, Raicharan found two masters
instead of one. All his former influence passed to the new mistress.
This was compensated by a fresh arrival. Anukul had a son born to him
and Raicharan by his unsparing attentions soon got a complete hold over
the child. He used to toss him up in his arms, call to him in absurd
baby language, put his face close to the baby's and draw it away again
with a laugh.

Presently the child was able to crawl and cross the doorway. When
Raicharan went to catch him, he would scream with mischievous laughter
and make for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the profound skill and
exact judgment the baby showed when pursued. He would say to his
mistress with a look of awe and mystery: "Your son will be a judge some
day."

New wonders came in their turn. When the baby began to toddle, that was
to Raicharan an epoch in human history. When he called his father Ba-ba
and his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan Chan-na, then Raicharan's ecstasy
knew no bounds. He went out to tell the news to all the world.

After a while Raicharan was asked to show his ingenuity in other ways.
He had, for instance, to play the part of a horse, holding the reins
between his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also to wrestle
with his little charge; and if he could not, by a wrestler's trick, fall
on his back defeated at the end a great outcry was certain.

About this time Anukul was transferred to a district on the banks of the
Padma. On his way through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart.
He bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold-laced cap, and some
gold bracelets and anklets. Raicharan was wont to take these out and put
them on his little charge, with ceremonial pride, whenever they went for
a walk.

Then came the rainy season and day after day the rain poured down in
torrents. The hungry river, like an enormous serpent, swallowed down
terraces, villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood the tall
grasses and wild casuarinas on the sandbanks. From time to time there
was a deep thud as the river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar of the
main current could be heard from far away. Masses of foam, carried
swiftly past, proved to the eye the swiftness of the stream.

One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy, but cool and bright.
Raicharan's little despot did not want to stay in on such a fine
afternoon. His lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan, between the
shafts, dragged him slowly along till he reached the rice-fields on the
banks of the river. There was no one in the fields and no boat on the
stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the clouds were rifted in
the west. The silent ceremonial of the setting sun was revealed in all
its glowing splendour. In the midst of that stillness the child, all of
a sudden, pointed with his finger in front of him and cried: "Chan-na!
Pitty fow."

Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kadamba tree in full flower. My
lord, the baby, looked at it with greedy eyes and Raicharan knew his
meaning. Only a short time before he had made, out of these very flower
balls, a small go-cart; and the child had been so entirely happy
dragging it about with a string, that for the whole day Raicharan was
not asked to put on the reins at all. He was promoted from a horse into
a groom.

But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go splashing knee-deep through
the mud to reach the flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the
opposite direction, calling out: "Look, baby, look! Look at the bird."
And with all sorts of curious noises he pushed the go-cart rapidly away
from the tree.

But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put off so easily. And
besides, there was at the time nothing to attract his eyes. And you
cannot keep up for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird.

The little Master's mind was made up, and Raicharan was at his wits'
end. "Very well, baby," he said at last, "you sit still in the cart, and
I'll go and get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don't go near the
water."

As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee, and waded through
the oozing mud towards the tree.

The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Master's thoughts went off at
racing speed to the forbidden water. The baby saw the river rushing by,
splashing and gurgling as it went. It seemed as though the disobedient
wavelets themselves were running away from some greater Raicharan with
the laughter of a thousand children. At the sight of their mischief, the
heart of the human child grew excited and restless. He got down
stealthily from the go-cart and toddled off towards the river. On his
way he picked up a small stick and leant over the bank of the stream
pretending to fish. The mischievous fairies of the river with their
mysterious voices seemed inviting him into their play-house.

Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from the tree and was
carrying them back in the end of his cloth, with his face wreathed in
smiles. But when he reached the go-cart there was no one there. He
looked on all sides and there was no one there. He looked back at the
cart and there was no one there.

In that first terrible moment his blood froze within him. Before his
eyes the whole universe swam round like a dark mist. From the depth of
his broken heart he gave one piercing cry: "Master, Master, little
Master."

But no voice answered "Chan-na." No child laughed mischievously back: no
scream of baby delight welcomed his return. Only the river ran on with
its splashing, gurgling noise as before,--as though it knew nothing at
all and had no time to attend to such a tiny human event as the death
of a child.

As the evening passed by Raicharan's mistress became very anxious. She
sent men out on all sides to search. They went with lanterns in their
hands and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There they found
Raicharan rushing up and down the fields, like a stormy wind, shouting
the cry of despair: "Master, Master, little Master!"

When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell prostrate at the feet of
his mistress. They shook him, and questioned him, and asked him
repeatedly where he had left the child; but all he could say was that he
knew nothing.

Though every one held the opinion that the Padma had swallowed the
child, there was a lurking doubt left in the mind. For a band of gipsies
had been noticed outside the village that afternoon, and some suspicion
rested on them. The mother went so far in her wild grief as to think it
possible that Raicharan himself had stolen the child. She called him

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