Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol. 7

IF Bengali has become a world language transcending its form of a provincial sub-tongue, then at the root of it there is Rabindranath. To-day its richness has become so common and natural that we cannot conceive immediately that it was not so before Tagore's mighty and ceaseless 'creation worked at it for half a century. I am not speaking of the literature, I am speaking only of the richness of the vocabulary, the diversity of the speech form, its modes and rhythms. The capacity of a language lies in its power of expression, that is to say, how many subjects can it express itself on and how appropriately? In the gradual progression of the Bengali language Bankimchandra was one of the main and foremost stepping-stones. But in Bankim's time Bengali was only in its adolescence – at best, its early youth – its formation and movement were rather narrow, experimental and prone to uncertainty. In Rabindranath we find it in its full-blossoming, mature capacity, definiteness and diversified genius. The growth and spread of Bengali has not reached its culmination, the process is still in full swing. And I need not dwell here upon its still more advanced stage and maturity in the future. Up to Bankim's time, the modern and therefore somewhat European way of thought and expression did not come naturally to Bengali – it became difficult, laboured, artificial: e.g., 'An enquiry into the relation between other phenomena and human nature' of Akshay Kumar Dutta or even 'Bodhodaya' of Ishwar Chandra. It was Bankimchandra who was the

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pioneer in whose hand this line of development attained something like an ease and naturalness of manner. Even then it was no better than a beginning. But to-day Bengali possesses the capacity to express easily and adequately any literature from Greenland to Zululand, from the most ancient Egypt and Babylon down to modern Europe and America. The goddess of speech who inspired Tagore is a maker of miracles. It was Tagore who, it might be said, all by himself worked this mighty change and transformation.

Directly – and more indirectly, that is to say, through an impalpable influence – it was his personality that lay behind this achievement.

Should a catalogue be ever made of the new words coined by Rabindranath, it would be a very instructive lesson. Numerous are the words – old words found only in the dictionary – that he has made current coin. In the same way innumerable are the words – used one time colloquially or in a regional dialect – that Rabindranath has elevated to the level of literary distinction. Moreover, he had a special genius in coining words and that expressed a characteristic trait of his creative genius. Primarily, his words seem to spring from the heart, from the élan vital, natural to the Bengali consciousness. There were two rocks on .his way to linguistic transformation. And he beautifully escaped and eluded them both. On the one hand, there is no heaviness in him, none of the massiveness of correct and flawless words composed by pedants and grammarians. On the other hand, there is no grotesqueness, nothing of what personal whim and. fancy and idiosyncrasy engender. If his words in their structure break certain strict rules and regulations, they yet are quite in tune with the inner nature and form of the language; if free, they are still natural. Secondly, the grace and beauty of the words raise no question. A word, in order to fulfil its role, must have an easy and inherent power of expression – it must be living and full of vitality. Still more it must be sweet and beautiful.

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In the lexicography of Tagore all these qualities are in abundance. Moreover, in his language there is nothing squalid, lifeless, heavy, feeble, harsh and jarring to the ear; indeed, his language is perfectly graceful, beautiful and nonpareil from all sides –

"Graceful, more graceful, the most beautiful surpassing all beautiful things."

Tagore's Goddess of speech is a pinnacled exquisiteness of beauty, harmony, balance and skill. Bankim's language also is beautiful and graceful – it is not rough and masculine; it is also charming but there is not in it such profusion, intensity and almost exclusiveness of grace, sweetness, beauty and tenderness as are found in Rabindranath. Prodigality, luxuriance and even complexity are hall-marks of Tagore's style. Bankim's is more simple and straight and transparent, less decorating and ambulating. There is in Bankim what is called decorum, restraint, stability and clarity, qualities of the classics; he reminds us of the French language – the French of Racine and Voltaire. In Rabindranath's nature and atmosphere we find the blossoming heart of the Romantics. That is why the manner of his expression is not so much simple arid straight as it is skillful and ornamental. There is less of transparency than the play of hues. Eloquence overweighs reticence. Echoes and pitches of many kinds of different thoughts, sentiments and emotions intermingle – his language moves on spreading all around, sparkling at every step. Subtlety of suggestion, irony and obliquity, a lilting grace of movement carry us over, almost without our knowing it, to the threshold of some other world. Rabindranath's style is neither formed nor regulated by the laws and patterns of reason, the arguments and counter-arguments of logic. It is an inherent discernment, the choice of a deep and aspiring idealism, the poignant power of an intuition welling out of a sensitive

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heart, that have given form and pace to his language. Reason or argument in itself finds no room here. That is only an indirect support of a direct feeling, a throb in vitality. This language has no love, no need for set rules, for a prescribed technique, so that it may attain to a tranquil and peaceful gait. It has need of emotion, impetus and sharpness. It is like the free stepping of a lightning flare, as if an Urvasie dancing in Tagore's own hall of music.

But it does not mean that this language is overflowing with mere emotion. Here too there is a regulated order and restraint. The ultimate growth and perfection of a language has something of the rhythm of an athlete's body in movement – in the steadied measure of the strides of a sprinter, for example. The transparency of intelligence as reflected in the classical manner, the firmness and fixity delivered by reason, the simplicity of syllogistic orderliness are not to be found here. But in our poet's creation, even in his prose the logic of intelligence may not be evident but there is a logic of feeling which is still, cogent and convincing, yet more living and dynamic.

As regards the third creator of Bengali literature, I mean Saratchandra, we may notice here the difference between him, and Tagore. The language of Saratchandra is as straight, translucent and simple as that of Bankim; but Bankim was not always averse to decoration and embellishment, whereas Saratchandra was wholly without any ornamentation. But the demand of reason and rationality is not the cause of Saratchandra's simplicity. It is because he has shaped his language to suit the common thought, the available feeling, a natural life. But he has polished it in his own way and made it extremely bright, often scintillating. With all its clarity and directness Bankim's language is for the cultured mind – urban or metropolitan, Saratchandra's manner can be called rural. It will be wrong to call it vulgar, even in the Latin sense (plebeina or popular), that is, commonplace – or a language of the country-side.

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The similarity between Saratchandra and Tagore is that both are progressive, rather very progressive, speedy, rather very speedy, but there is a dissimilarity in the manner of their progressiveness and speed. Tagore's Muse moves speedily but in a zigzag way, observing all sides, throwing out various judgments and opinions, scattering flashes all around. Here are all the playful lines of a baroque painting at its best. Saratchandra goes straight to his goal – as straight as it is possible for a romantic soul to be. He allows himself, we may say, a curvilinear path, as that of an arrow heading direct towards its goal. There is a vibration lent to it by the drive of a flashing Damascus blade. It is flexible and yet firm. The flow of Tagore can be compared to that of a fountain – it is rich in sounds and hues. Saratchandra's is the light-pinioned bird that flies in the sky in silence. We find in Bankim a wide calm, happiness, clarity and beauty. In Tagore it is a tapestry woven by the free outpourings of the mind and the heart. In Saratchandra it is the dynamic simplicity of a vitality meaning business.

I spoke of Rabindranath's ornamentation. But we must bear in mind that this ornament is not an ostentatious one. Not in the least heavy, loaded, luxurious like that which an old-world beauty carried on her limbs; it is as light as the jewellery which a belle puts on to-day. The tapestry of myriad forms has been wrought in gold threads, made thin and fine and almost tenuous and yet firmly holding together. This embroidery is beauteousness itself, for it is a work subtle and refined and meant to be beautiful. It is a beauty requiring no outer grandeur, no wrought-out gold and satin of volubility and rhetoric. It bears in its own limbs, as it were, the glow of an inherent grace and charm.

To-day the Bengali language is eager and zealous to go forward for an ever new creation. It is quite natural that it may go astray at times in the hands of many of its adorers. In this connection it is good to bear in mind and to

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keep to the fore the example of Rabindranath as a supreme exemplar even if one does not want to follow or imitate him. Rabindranath himself has also created many new things from his aristocratic pedestal, even he came down and attempted the ultra-modern style. But his speciality and power lie here that he has never transgressed the limit of the beautiful and the appropriate. Besides, wherever or however far he might have ranged, he has given beauty its supreme place. In following the new and modern style he has founded everywhere beauty and bloom and fulfilment. And at the same time he has laid bare his inner soul.

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