The Prince journeys beyond the borders of
his own country, crossing the kingdoms of the seven kings, to a land where no
king can claim any kingdoms. This tale is of a time that has no
beginning, nor any end. In the towns and villages all the others trade
in markets, raise families and homes, or quarrel among themselves;
only the eternal Prince among us, he continually journeys on, carelessly
leaving behind kingdoms to travel through the unknown world. Why does he go? The water of a well stays content in the
well, the waters of the canals and ponds remain quietly stored within the pools
and canals. But, the water from the mountain peaks can never be amicably contained
in the peaks alone, the water contained in the clouds revolts against the limiting
constraint of the clouds. Who can confine the Prince within the
small boundary of his kingdom? He never turns back once he reaches the
boundless horizon of the tepantar fields, he traverses beyond to the
seven seas and thirteen rivers of yore. Forever and always, as a child takes
birth in the human world, he listens anew to this age old tale, enchanted again
and again. The flicker of the evening lamp remains
steady, the young boys, enamoured with the tale, sit silently, their palms
supporting their cheeks, and marvel in awe-struck amazement, ‘We are those
Princes.’ Even if the extensive wilderness of the desolate
tepantar
fields ultimately ends somewhere, there is always the beckoning, limitless
ocean that lies beyond. The island stands unapproachable in the middle of the
ocean, and there, in the impenetrable giant’s castle, the Princess lies a prisoner. All others in this world search for wealth,
for fame or for a little leisure, and yet, time after time, he, who is our
Prince, embarks on an adventure to rescue the forlorn Princess from the giant’s
castle. The ocean tosses and turns in a thunderous tempest, no boat comes to his
rescue, to ferry him across to safety, yet he ceaselessly goes on, searching
for a way out of danger. It is this that forms the basis as well
as the essence of all fairytales in all human communities. Those who are born
anew in this world, they acquire the eternal intelligence through their
grandmothers that, the Princess lies imprisoned, the ocean is insurmountable,
the giant unvanquished; and the small child stands alone and pledges, ‘I’ll
rescue the captive Princess.’ Outside,
in the darkness of the forest, rain drizzles, the crickets cry
out in incessant symphony, and the little boy, touching his palm to his cheek, swears
in silent wonder, ‘It is for me to brave the danger. My mission is to venture out to the giant’s
castle.’ II The boundless ocean, like a blue slumber
in which dreams surge in waves, stands insuperable before him. There the Prince
steps down from his steed. But, as soon as his feet touch the
ground, all of a sudden a miracle happens. Oh, what magic is this, of what
wizard! The scene transforms into a city.
Tramcars tinkle on. The streets remain difficult to navigate, congested with
the unruly crowds of office-going cars. The palm-leaf-flute-seller puts his
flute to his lips, breathes magical tunes into them, tempting the naked urchins
playing and jostling by the side of the lane. And, what strange dress does the Prince
wear. Oh, what stranger gait. An open-button shirt on his body, the dhoti he
wears is neither spotless nor white, his pair of shoes worn out. A boy hailing from
a remote village, he is forced to live in the city to pursue his studies, and he
gives tuitions to pay for his rent and earn his living. And where is the Princess. In the house just beside his. She does not boast of a complexion as
golden as the champak flowers, nor do rubies sparkle at
her smile. She can never be compared with the stars in the sky,
her comparison can be found only in the nameless flower that blossoms hidden
amidst the newly sprouted monsoon grass The mother-less daughter was once beloved
of her father. The father was poor, he did not wish to marry his daughter off to
any unsuitable groom; the years grew on the girl, and there was censure all
around. The father died, now the girl came to
seek shelter at her uncle’s home. A groom was found. He had heaps of money,
loads of years, and the number of his grandchildren too was not very few. There
was no limit, it seemed, to his overbearing authority. The uncle declared, ‘The girl is blessed
with an excellent fate’. Just then, on the day of the gaye halud, the ritual
turmeric bath just before marriage, the girl could not be found, and that boy next
door had
vanished too. The news came, they had married secretly.
Their castes did not match, the only match they had was in the feelings of
their heart. Again everyone blamed them. The millionaire promised a gold throne to
his deity and pompously retorted, ‘Now, let’s see who dares to save this boy.’ Putting the boy in the courtroom dock,
the wise and wealthy lawyers and wizened old witnesses, by the blessings of the
Almighty, turned the clear light of day
into a ghoulish night—the fair into foul, the foul into fair. It was all so
stupendously astounding. On that day a pair of goats was
sacrificed to the deity, ceremonial drums reverberated amidst the celebratory
feast, and everyone went home happy. Smugly, they said, ‘It might be the infernal
Kalikaal,
yet, Dharma still wakes vigilant. Even in such
a sinful age righteous morality reigns supreme.’ III Thereafter many tales still remain
untold. The boy returned from jail. But, the long road never seemed to end for
him. It was more lonely and far-off than even the endless wilderness, the
boundless unreachable extension of the tepantar fields.
Countless times he has had to hear the familiar cannibalistic chant, ‘Haunmaunkhaun,
we smell the scrumptious scent of a human.’ Oh the age-old insatiable lust for
human flesh all around. The road has no limit yet a journey
always has an end. One day he reached
that ultimate end of his quest and
finally regained a calm, all passions spent. No one was left to look after him The moment Yama’s golden
wand touched him, surprisingly a strange
miracle happened again. The city simply vanished into thin air, the charmed
dream was shattered. And just that instant, the Prince came
into view once more. The regal mark of eternal time adorned his forehead. He is
determined to tear down the remote gates of the giant’s castle,
he vows to break open the fetters that bind the Princess. Across the ages, sitting secure on the
laps of their mothers, the children, sense the truth—how that restive homeless
man wanders evermore in search of unknown lands across the boundless eternity of
tepantar.
The unruly waves of seven seas roar ceaselessly in front of him. In history he has acquired myriad faces
through time; in the world beyond history, he has only one everlasting embodiment,
he is the Prince. Published in Parabaas August, 2013.
The original story by Rabindranath Tagore, Rajputtur (রাজপুত্তুর) was collected in Lipika published in 1922 (BE 1329; লিপিকা, ১৩২৯). Illustrated by Sanchari Mukherjee. Sanchari is in the second year studying Accountancy in the South City College, Kolkata.
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