Name: Red Oleanders
ISBN: 9780333169186

Rabindranath Tagore

Red Oleanders

shen

VOICE: Once upon a time this frog got into a hole in a stone, and in that shelter it existed for three thousand years. I have learnt from it the secret of continuing to exist, but to live it does not know. Today I felt bored and smashed its shelter. I’ve thus saved it from existing forever. Isn’t that good news?

NANDINI: The waker of your grief, Bishu? BISHU: Yes, you are my messenger from the unreachable shore.

BISHU: Ever since coming to Yaksha Town the sky has dropped out of my life. I felt as if they had pounded me in the same mortar with all the fractions of men here, and rolled us into a solid lump. Then you came and looked into my face in a way that made me sure some light could still be seen through me.

NANDINI: The gods have all eternity for their worship, they’re not pressed for time. But the sorrows of men cannot wait.

If it gives you pleasure to say that one must die to live, well, say so by all means; but those who say that others must die that they themselves may live, it’s only they who are actually alive. You may cry out that this shows a lack of humanity, but you forget, in your indignation, that this is what humanity itself happens to be. The tiger does not feed on the tiger, it’s only man who fattens on his fellow-man.

this is an extremely abstract play, but to understand 

 one thing it wants to drive home is not difficult: tagore uses a great deal of his beautiful prose to tell you the cause of nandini in the narrative; her figure in yakshapuri, why exactly it is necessary that she resides there, why she must be considered a "beauty," — a startling light, a bird perching on a lonely branch, a tiny blade of grass, and two of my personal favorite descriptors: the king's "The rhythm that lightens the enormous weight of matter," and bishu's "Waker of my grief." at first i grew tired of the men describing nandini as these, while some of the only women we meet consider her as a witch and a corruptor. if this had not ended the way that it did i would still consider this a big remiss; though im sure it's intentional so the term might be inappropriate. this truly is what the play was — about nandini being the waker of everybody's grief. an escape from tyranny, a reflection of power and struggle and greed, a reminder that the beauty that we speak of is no less than love, taking the form of nandini, which can and will serve as hope even in the darkest of places; or that we can have every material wealth in the world and still be parched, unless we give happiness a chance. still a very timely read. 

although the scenes can cause confusion due to the lack of action cues, i enjoyed it more than i thought i would. the prose is gorgeous and reads very easily, if just read on its own and without the surrounding context. there's so much of the world in which this takes place left unexplored, some scenes you can lose track of because tagore apparently did not care for having clear transitions between different conversations, which is troubling because this is a play, and even if this is a one-act play meaning there is obviously just a single setting, it's very vaguely described. i am fond of abstraction, though, and ive grown used to it, so i consider this an enjoyable read. it's even unexpectedly touching. im looking back at it very well now, which wasn't the case after i finished. i gave my notes a revisit. looking forward to reading more of tagore in the future 

But can blocks of gold ever answer to the swinging rhythm of your arms in the same way as fields of corn? Are you not afraid, King, of handling the dead wealth of the earth?

PHAGULAL: Shall we be able to win through?
KING: We shall at least be able to die!


this is an extremely abstract play, but to understand the one thing it wants to drive home is not difficult: tagore uses a great deal of his beautiful prose to tell you the cause of nandini in the narrative; her figure in yakshapuri, why exactly it is necessary that she resides there, why she must be considered a "beauty," — a startling light, a bird perching on a lonely branch, a tiny blade of grass, and two of my personal favorite descriptors: the king's "The rhythm that lightens the enormous weight of matter," and bishu's "Waker of my grief." at first i grew tired of the men describing nandini as these, while some of the only women we meet consider her as a witch and a corruptor. if this had not ended the way that it did i would still consider this a big remiss; though im sure it's intentional so the term might be inappropriate. this truly is what the play was — about nandini being the waker of everybody's grief. an escape from tyranny, a reflection of power and struggle and greed, a reminder that the beauty that we speak of is no less than love, taking the form of nandini, which can and will serve as hope even in the darkest of places; or that we can have every material wealth in the world and still be parched, unless we give happiness a chance. still a very timely read. 

although the scenes can cause confusion due to the lack of action cues, i enjoyed it more than i thought i would. the prose is gorgeous and reads very easily, if just read on its own and without the surrounding context. there's so much of the world in which this takes place left unexplored, some scenes you can lose track of because tagore apparently did not care for having clear transitions between different conversations, which is troubling because this is a play, and even if this is a one-act play meaning there is obviously just a single setting, it's very vaguely described. i am fond of abstraction, though, and ive grown used to it, so i consider this an enjoyable read. it's even unexpectedly touching. im looking back at it very well now, which wasn't the case after i finished. i gave my notes a revisit. looking forward to reading more of tagore in the future 

Red Oleanders

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