The Child's Return Page #2

"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

								

aside with piteous entreaty and said: "Raicharan, give me back my baby.
Give me back my child. Take from me any money you ask, but give me back
my child!"

Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His mistress ordered him out
of the house.

Anukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly unjust suspicion:
"Why on earth," he said, "should he commit such a crime as that?"

The mother only replied: "The baby had gold ornaments on his body. Who
knows?"

It was impossible to reason with her after that.

II

Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to this time he had had no
son, and there was no hope that any child would now be born to him. But
it came about before the end of a year that his wife gave birth to a son
and died.

An overwhelming resentment at first grew up in Raicharan's heart at the
sight of this new baby. At the back of his mind was resentful suspicion
that it had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. He also
thought it would be a grave offence to be happy with a son of his own
after what had happened to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the new baby, it would not
have lived long.

But a change gradually came over Raicharan's mind. A wonderful thing
happened. This new baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed an amusing cleverness
in making its escape to safety. Its voice, its sounds of laughter and
tears, its gestures, were those of the little Master. On some days, when
Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart suddenly began thumping
wildly against his ribs, and it seemed to him that his former little
Master was crying somewhere in the unknown land of death because he had
lost his Chan-na.

Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister gave to the new baby)
soon began to talk. It learnt to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent.
When Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery suddenly became
clear. The little Master could not cast off the spell of his Chan-na and
therefore he had been reborn in his own house.

The three arguments in favour of this were, to Raicharan, altogether
beyond dispute:

The new baby was born soon after his little master's death.

His wife could never have accumulated such merit as to give birth to a
son in middle age.

The new baby walked with a toddle and called out Ba-ba and Ma-ma.--There
was no sign lacking which marked out the future judge.

Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that terrible accusation of the
mother. "Ah," he said to himself with amazement, "the mother's heart was
right. She knew I had stolen her child."

When once he had come to this conclusion, he was filled with remorse for
his past neglect. He now gave himself over, body and soul, to the new
baby and became its devoted attendant. He began to bring it up as if it
were the son of a rich man. He bought a go-cart, a yellow satin
waistcoat, and a gold-embroidered cap. He melted down the ornaments of
his dead wife and made gold bangles and anklets. He refused to let the
little child play with any one of the neighbourhood and became himself
its sole companion day and night. As the baby grew up to boyhood, he was
so petted and spoilt and clad in such finery that the village children
would call him "Your Lordship," and jeer at him; and older people
regarded Raicharan as unaccountably crazy about the child.

At last the time came for the boy to go to school. Raicharan sold his
small piece of land and went to Calcutta. There he got employment with
great difficulty as a servant and sent Phailna to school. He spared no
pains to give him the best education, the best clothes, the best food.
Meanwhile, he himself lived on a mere handful of rice and would say in
secret: "Ah, my little Master, my dear little Master, you loved me so
much that you came back to my house! You shall never suffer from any
neglect of mine."

Twelve years passed away in this manner. The boy was able to read and
write well. He was bright and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great
deal of attention to his personal appearance and was specially careful
in parting his hair. He was inclined to extravagance and finery and
spent money freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan as a father,
because, though fatherly in affection, he had the manner of a servant. A
further fault was this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that
he himself was the father of the child.

The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a boarder, were greatly
amused by Raicharan's country manners, and I have to confess that behind
his father's back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in the bottom of
their hearts, all the students loved the innocent and tender-hearted old
man, and Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have said before,
he loved him with a kind of condescension.

Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer was continually finding
fault with him for his incompetent work. He had been starving himself
for the boy's sake, so he had grown physically weak and no longer up to
his daily task. He would forget things and his mind became dull and
stupid. But his employer expected a full servant's work out of him and
would not brook excuses. The money that Raicharan had brought with him
from the sale of his land was exhausted. The boy was continually
grumbling about his clothes and asking for more money.

III

Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the situation where he was
working as a servant, and left some money with Phailna and said: "I have
some business to do at home in my village, and shall be back soon."

He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was magistrate. Anukul's
wife was still broken down with grief. She had had no other child.

One day Anukul was resting after a long and weary day in court. His wife
was buying, at an exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack, which
was said to ensure the birth of a child. A voice of greeting was heard
in the courtyard. Anukul went out to see who was there. It was
Raicharan. Anukul's heart was softened when he saw his old servant. He
asked him many questions and offered to take him back into service.

Raicharan smiled faintly and said in reply: "I want to make obeisance to
my mistress."

Anukul went with Raicharan into the house, where the mistress did not
receive him as warmly as his old master. Raicharan took no notice of
this, but folded his hands and said: "It was not the Padma that stole
your baby. It was I."

Anukul exclaimed: "Great God! Eh! What! Where is he?"

Raicharan replied: "He is with me. I will bring him the day after
to-morrow."

It was Sunday. There was no magistrate's court sitting. Both husband and
wife were looking expectantly along the road, waiting from early morning
for Raicharan's appearance. At ten o'clock he came leading Phailna by
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