Vision

"Vision" by Rabindranath Tagore is a contemplative work that explores the intersection of spirituality, nature, and human experience. Through a series of essays and lyrical prose, Tagore delves into the deeper meanings of life, the role of the artist, and the quest for truth and beauty. His reflections often draw from his profound connection to the natural world and the Indian philosophical tradition, encouraging readers to seek a greater understanding of their existence and the universe around them. Tagore's poetic language and insightful observations invite readers to engage with their own perceptions and foster a sense of inner peace and enlightenment.

• Short story

								
I

When I was a very young wife, I gave birth to a dead child, and came
near to death myself. I recovered strength very slowly, and my eyesight
became weaker and weaker.

My husband at this time was studying medicine. He was not altogether
sorry to have a chance of testing his medical knowledge on me. So he
began to treat my eyes himself.

My elder brother was reading for his law examination. One day he came to
see me, and was alarmed at my condition.

"What are you doing?" he said to my husband. "You are ruining Kumo's
eyes. You ought to consult a good doctor at once."

My husband said irritably: "Why! what can a good doctor do more than I
am doing? The case is quite a simple one, and the remedies are all well
known."

Dada answered with scorn: "I suppose you think there is no difference
between you and a Professor in your own Medical College."

My husband replied angrily: "If you ever get married, and there is a
dispute about your wife's property, you won't take my advice about Law.
Why, then, do you now come advising me about Medicine?"

While they were quarrelling, I was saying to myself that it was always
the poor grass that suffered most when two kings went to war. Here was a
dispute going on between these two, and I had to bear the brunt of it.

It also seemed to me very unfair that, when my family had given me in
marriage, they should interfere afterwards. After all, my pleasure and
pain are my husband's concern, not theirs.

From that day forward, merely over this trifling matter of my eyes, the
bond between my husband and Dada was strained.

To my surprise one afternoon, while my husband was away, Dada brought
a doctor in to see me. He examined my eyes very carefully, and looked
grave. He said that further neglect would be dangerous. He wrote out a
prescription, and Dada for the medicine at once. When the strange doctor
had gone, I implored my Dada not to interfere. I was sure that only evil
would come from the stealthy visits of a doctor.

I was surprised at myself for plucking up courage speak to my brother
like that. I had always hitherto been afraid of him. I am sure also that
Dada was surprised at my boldness. He kept silence for a while, and then
said to me: "Very well, Kumo. I won't call in the doctor any more. But
when the medicine comes you must take it."

Dada then went away. The medicine came from chemist. I took it--bottles,
powders, prescriptions and all--and threw it down the well!

My husband had been irritated by Dada's interference, and he began to
treat my eyes with greater diligence than ever. He tried all sorts of
remedies. I bandaged my eyes as he told me, I wore his coloured glasses,
I put in his drops, I took all his powders. I even drank the cod-liver
oil he gave me, though my gorge rose against it.

Each time he came back from the hospital, he would ask me anxiously how
I felt; and I would answer: "Oh! much better." Indeed I became an expert
in self-delusion. When I found that the water in my eyes was still
increasing, I would console myself with the thought that it was a good
thing to get rid of so much bad fluid; and, when the flow of water in my
eyes decreased, I was elated at my husband's skill.

But after a while the agony became unbearable. My eyesight faded away,
and I had continual headaches day and night. I saw how much alarmed
my husband was getting. I gathered from his manner that he was casting
about for a pretext to call in a doctor. So I hinted that it might be as
well to call one in.

That he was greatly relieved, I could see. He called in an English
doctor that very day. I do not know what talk they had together, but I
gathered that the Sahib had spoken very sharply to my husband.

He remained silent for some time after the doctor had gone. I took
his hands in mine, and said: "What an ill-mannered brute that was! Why
didn't you call in an Indian doctor? That would have been much better.
Do you think that man knows better than you do about my eyes?"

My husband was very silent for a moment, and then said with a broken
voice: "Kumo, your eyes must be operated on."

I pretended to be vexed with him for concealing the fact from me so
long.

"Here you have known this all the time," said I, "and yet you have said
nothing about it! Do you think I am such a baby as to be afraid of an
operation?"

At that he regained his good spirits: "There are very few men," said
he, "who are heroic enough to look forward to an operation without
shrinking."

I laughed at him: "Yes, that is so. Men are heroic only before their
wives!"

He looked at me gravely, and said: "You are perfectly right. We men are
dreadfully vain."

I laughed away his seriousness: "Are you sure you can beat us women even
in vanity?"

When Dada came, I took him aside: "Dada, that treatment your doctor
recommended would have done me a world of good; only unfortunately.
I mistook the mixture for the lotion. And since the day I made the
mistake, my eyes have grown steadily worse; and now an operation is
needed."

Dada said to me: "You were under your husband's treatment, and that is
why I gave up coming to visit you."

"No," I answered. "In reality, I was secretly treating myself in
accordance with your doctor's directions."

Oh! what lies we women have to tell! When we are mothers, we tell lies
to pacify our children; and when we are wives, we tell lies to pacify
the fathers of our children. We are never free from this necessity.

My deception had the effect of bringing about a better feeling between
my husband and Dada. Dada blamed himself for asking me to keep a secret
from my husband: and my husband regretted that he had not taken my
brother's advice at the first.

At last, with the consent of both, an English doctor came, and operated
on my left eye. That eye, however, was too weak to bear the strain;
and the last flickering glimmer of light went out. Then the other eye
gradually lost itself in darkness.

One day my husband came to my bedside. "I cannot brazen it out before
you any longer," said he, "Kumo, it is I who have ruined your eyes."

I felt that his voice was choking with tears, and so I took up his right
hand in both of mine and said: "Why! you did exactly what was right. You
have dealt only with that which was your very own. Just imagine, if some
strange doctor had come and taken away my eyesight. What consolation
should I have had then? But now I can feel that all has happened for the
best; and my great comfort is to know that it is at your hands I have
lost my eyes. When Ramchandra found one lotus too few with which to
worship God, he offered both his eyes in place of the lotus. And I hate
dedicated my eyes to my God. From now, whenever you see something that
is a joy to you, then you must describe it to me; and I will feed upon
your words as a sacred gift left over from your vision."

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes