Chapter 38 "Kabulians"

(India) by Tagore Not a day goes by without my five-year-old daughter, Minnie, babbling away. I truly believe she has not passed a single minute of her life in silence.Her mother used to get mad about it and interrupt her all the time, but I don't do that.It was unnatural to see Minnie silent, and I could not bear her silence for a long time. So my conversation with her has been lively. For example, one morning when I was writing the seventeenth chapter of my new novel, my little Minnie slipped into the room, put her little hand in mine, and said: "Papa! Ramundaya, the gatekeeper, calls the crows the Crows. He doesn't understand anything, does he?"

Before I could explain to her that the world's languages ​​are different, she had moved on to a climax of another topic. "Guess what, Papa? Pula says there's an elephant in the cloud, and it's going to shoot water out of its trunk, and it's going to rain!" While I was sitting there quietly thinking about how to answer her last question, she suddenly asked a new question: "Father! What is your relationship with mother?" Unknowingly, I murmured to myself: "She is my dear sister legally. Kabul is the capital of Afghanistan. There are many Kabul people who are peddlers in India.—Translator sister!" But I scowled She said perfunctorily, "Go and play with Pula, Minnie! I'm busy!"

The windows of my house face the street.The kid sat down by my desk, near my feet, and tapped his hands on his knees to play.I am working intently on the seventeenth chapter of my novel.The protagonist in the novel, Prada Singh, has just embraced the heroine Kangchan Radha and is about to lead her to escape from the window of the third building of the castle. Suddenly, Minnie stops playing and runs to the window, shouting Said: "A Kabul man! A Kabul man!" Sure enough, there was a Kabul man walking slowly on the street below.He wore a baggy, filthy Kabul costume, wrapped in a high turban; he carried a pocket on his back, and in his hand were boxes of raisins.

I don't know how my daughter felt when she saw this man, but she started calling him loudly. "Hey!" I thought, "he's coming in, I'll never finish this seventeenth chapter!" At that moment the man from Kabul turned around and looked up at the boy.Seeing this scene, she was frightened, and ran to her mother to hide.She vaguely thought that there might be two or three children like herself in the pockets that the big man was carrying.At this time, the peddler had already entered the door and greeted me with a smile. The situation of the hero and heroine of my book was so urgent that I thought, now that I had called him in, I would stop and do a little shopping.I did some shopping and started talking to him about Abdul Rahman, the Russians, the British, and frontier policy.

When he was about to leave, he asked, "Sir, where is that little girl?" I thought that Minnie should not have such unnecessary fears, so I asked someone to take her out of the king of Afghanistan in the late nineteenth century. — Here comes the translator. She stood by my chair, looking at the Kabul man and his pockets.He handed her some dried fruit and raisins, but she wasn't tempted, she just moved closer to me, and her suspicions only increased. This is their first meeting. However, a few days later, one morning, as I was leaving the house, I was surprised to find Minnie sitting on a bench by the door, talking and laughing with the big Kabul man sitting at her feet.My youngest daughter never seemed to have met such a patient listener in all her life, except her father.The corners of her little sari are already stuffed with almonds and raisins – gifts from her guests. "Why did you give her these things?" I said, taking out an eight-anna piece and handing it to him.The man took it nonchalantly and put it in his pocket.

So bad that I came back an hour later to find that ominous coin had caused twice as much trouble as it was worth!Because the man from Kabul gave Minnie the silver coin, her mother kept asking, seeing the shiny little round thing, "Where did you get this little eight-anna coin?" "They gave it to me from Kabul," said Minnie cheerfully. "It was given to you by the people of Kabul!" cried her mother, terrified. "Oh, Minnie! How can you take his money?" It was at this moment that I entered the door, and having rescued her from imminent disaster, I questioned her myself.

I found out that these two met more than once or twice.People in Kabul use dried fruit and ①Indian currency name, one sixteenth of a rupee. ——Translator Raisin This powerful bribe overcame the child's initial fear, and now the two have become good friends. They often tell some funny jokes, which add a lot of fun to them.Minnie sat in front of the Kabul man with a smile on her face, and looked down at the tall man like a little adult: "Oh, Kabul man! Kabul man! What's in your pocket?" He replied in the nasal voice of a mountain man, "An elephant!" It may not be funny, but how the two men appreciated the wisecrack!In my opinion, there is something very fascinating about this kind of dialogue between children and adults.

The Kabul man didn't miss the opportunity to joke, so he asked, "So, little man, when are you going to your father-in-law's house?" Most of the little girls in Bangladesh have heard about the father-in-law's house long ago.But we were a little new in keeping the children from knowing these things, and Minnie must have been a little puzzled by the question, but she wouldn't show it, but answered cleverly, "Are you going there?" But among the people of Kabul, everyone knows that the word "gonggongjia" has a double meaning.That's the elegant name for a "prison," a place where you don't have to spend your own money and you're well looked after.The rude vendor thought my daughter was referring to this. "Oh," he said, shaking his fist at the imaginary policeman:

"I'm going to beat my father-in-law!" Minnie laughed when he said that, and at the picture of the distraught "father-in-law," and her great big friend laughed with her. Those days were autumn mornings, the season when the ancient emperors went out to conquer; but I was in my little corner of Calcutta, never moving, but letting my mind roam the world.As soon as I hear the name of another country, my heart flies there; as soon as I see a foreigner in the street, my mind spins a web of dreams——the mountains of his distant homeland Lah, valley, forest, his hut and the free and independent life of the people in the distant mountains and fields in the background.

Maybe because I live a fixed life like a plant, asking me to travel is like being hit by a thunderbolt, so the wandering scenes that appear in front of my eyes are more vivid and repeatedly flashed in my imagination.Seeing this man from Kabul, I immediately wandered under the bare mountain peaks. Among the towering mountains, there are many narrow and small mountain trails winding in and out.I seem to see the continuous camels laden with goods, and groups of turbaned merchants, some with strange weapons and some with spears, walking from the mountains to the plains.I seemed to see—but just then Minnie's mother was about to interrupt, and she begged me to "look out for that man."

Minnie's mother happened to be a very timid woman.As soon as she heard a noise in the street, or saw anyone approaching our house, she immediately concluded that they were thieves, drunks, vipers, tigers, malaria, cockroaches, caterpillars, or British sailor.Even with years of experience, she couldn't take away her terror.So she was full of misgivings about the Kabul man, and often called my attention to his actions. I always smile, trying to get rid of her fear slowly, but she will ask me some serious questions very seriously. Has the child ever been abducted? So, isn't there really slavery in Kabul? So, would it be absurd to say that this big man took a little doll away? I argued that, while not impossible, it was unlikely to happen.But this explanation was not enough, her terror was always there.Since there was no basis for such a thing, it seemed wrong to keep this person from our house, so their close friendship continued unchecked. Every year in mid-January, Raman, a native of Kabul, would go back to his country. When he was about to leave, he was always busy going door-to-door to collect the money owed.This year, however, he spared time to see Minnie.Others may think that the two of them have some kind of secret agreement, because if he can't come in the morning, he will always come in the evening.Sometimes in a dark corner, I suddenly found this tall man in baggy clothes with a big bag on his back. Even I couldn't help but startled, but when Minnie ran in laughing, calling "Oh, Kabul people! Kabul people!" People!" At that time, the two friends with such a huge difference in age were immersed in their old laughter and jokes, and I felt relieved. A few days before he decided to go, I was in the study one morning, looking over the proofs.It was cold.The sun shines on my feet from the window, and the slight warmth makes people very comfortable.It was almost eight o'clock, and the early hawkers went home with their heads covered. Suddenly, I heard noises on the street. Looking outside, I saw Laman being taken away by two policemen, followed by a group of children watching the excitement.There was some blood on the clothes of the Kabulites, and a policeman had a knife in his hand.I ran out quickly, stopped them, and asked what was going on.In the midst of the various opinions, I found out that a neighbor owed the peddler money for a Soft Po scarf, but he denied that he had bought it, and during the quarrel, Raman stabbed him.Then, in a fit of rage, the prisoner was cursing his enemy, when suddenly, on the verandah of my house, my little Minnie appeared, shouting in the same way: "O Kabul! Kabul!" When Man looked back at her, a smile appeared on his face.He didn't have a pocket under his arm today, so she couldn't talk to him about the elephant.She immediately asked the second question: "Are you going to your father-in-law's house?" Laman, an Indian city not far from Delhi. —The translator laughed and said: "That's where I'm going, little man!" Seeing that his answer did not make the child laugh, he raised his chained hands. "Ah," said he, "Otherwise I'd beat that old man, but unfortunately my hands were handcuffed!" Rahman was sentenced to several years in prison for premeditated murder. Time passed day by day, and he was forgotten.We're still in the same places and doing the same things, and it seldom or never occurs to us that the once-free mountain man is spending time in prison.I am ashamed to say that even my jolly Minnie forgot her old friend.She has a new partner in her life.She's grown up and she spends more time with the girls.She was always with them and didn't even come into her father's room as usual.I hardly ever talk to her. Year after year passed.It's fall again and we're getting things ready for Minnie's wedding.The wedding is scheduled to take place on the Durga festival.When Durga goes back to Kailas, the light of our house will also go to her husband's house and leave her father's house in the shadow. The morning is sunny.The air after the rain was refreshing, and the sun was as bright as pure gold, and even the dirty brick walls in the alleys of Calcutta were reflected beautifully.Early in the morning, the trumpet of the happy event starts to blow, and every beat makes my heart beat.Palabi's sad tone seemed to deepen my pain of parting.My Minnie is getting married tonight. From early morning there was noise and bustle in the house.In the yard, bamboo poles should be used to prop up the cloth tent; every room and corridor should be hung with tinkling chandeliers.It was endlessly hectic and bustling.I was sitting in my study looking over the ledger ① the name of an Indian music tune. ——Translator head.A man came in, saluted respectfully, and stood before me.It was Rahman, the Kabul man.I didn't know him at first.He had no pockets, no long hair, and no liveliness like he used to.But he smiled and I recognized him again. "When did you come, Raman?" I asked him. "Last night," he said, "I was released from prison." Those words sound harsh.I have never spoken to anyone who has hurt my companions, and when I think about it, my heart shudders, and I think it is not a good omen that it happens that he is here today. "There's a wedding going on here," I said. "I'm busy. Can you come back in a few days?" He immediately turned and went out, but when he reached the door, he hesitated for a while and said: "May I have a look at the little man, sir, just for a moment?" He believed Minnie was still the same.He thought she would come running to him as usual, shouting, "Oh, Kabul! Kabul!" and he imagined they would laugh together as usual.In fact, as a memento of the old days, he had brought some almonds, raisins, and grapes, nicely wrapped in paper, which he had procured from a fellow countryman, for his own little capital had been spent up. I said again: "There is a wedding going on at home, and you won't see anyone today." There was a look of disappointment on the man's face.He looked at me dissatisfied for a while, said "goodbye", and walked out. I felt a little sorry, and was about to stop him, only to find that he had automatically turned around and returned.He approached me, handed him his present, and said, "Sir, I have brought this to give to the little man. Will you give it to her for me?" I took it, and was about to give him the money, but he took my hand and said: "You are very kind, sir, remember me always. But don't give me money!—You have a little girl; in I also have a little girl as big as her in my family. When I think of her, I will bring some fruit to your child—not to make money." Having said this, he reached into his baggy robes and produced a small, dirty sheet of paper.He unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out with both hands on my desk.There is a small handprint on it.Not a photo.Nor is it a portrait.The ink-smeared handprint lay flat on the paper.This imprint of his own little daughter was always on his mind as he went to sell his goods in the streets of Calcutta every year. Tears welled up in my eyes.I forgot that he was a poor Kabul peddler and I was—but, no, how could I be better than him?He is also a father. His little Parbati's handprints in that remote cottage reminded me of my own little Minnie. I called Minnie out of the closet at once.Others tried to obstruct me in many ways, but I refused to listen.Minnie came out, dressed in a red silk wedding dress, with sandalwood paste on her forehead, dressed as a little bride, and stood shyly in front of me. Looking at this scene, the people of Kabul looked a little surprised.He couldn't relive their past friendship.At last he smiled and said, "Little man, do you want to go to your father-in-law's house?" But Minnie knew now what the word "father-in-law" meant, and she could not answer him as before.Hearing his question, she blushed, and stood before him, lowering her bridal face. I feel sad when I think of the day the Kabu man and my Minny first met.After she left, Laman let out a long breath and sat down on the ground.It occurred to him that his daughter must have grown up during these long years, and he must be friends with her again.When he saw her again, she must be different from before.Moreover, during these eight years, how could nothing happen to her? The wedding trumpets are blowing and the warm autumn sun is pouring down around us.Rahman sits in this alley in Calcutta, contemplating the bare mountains of Afghanistan. I took out a bill, gave it to him, and said, "Go back to your hometown, to your own daughter, Laman, and may the joy of your reunion bring luck to my child!" Because of this gift, I must economize on the pomp and circumstance of the wedding.The women in the family were disappointed that I couldn't use the electric lights I wanted, and I couldn't have a marching band.But I thought the wedding feast was all the more glorious, because I thought of the reunion of a father who had been absent for a long time and his only daughter in that far away place.