My Lord, the Baby by Rabindranath Tagore
Raicharan was twelve years old when he came as a servant to his master's
house. He belonged to the same caste as his master, and was given his
master's little son to nurse. As time went on the boy left Raicharan's
arms to go to school. From school he went on to college, and after college
he entered the judicial service. Always, until he married, Raicharan was
his sole attendant.
But, when a mistress came into the house, Raicharan found two masters
instead of one. All his former influence passed to the new mistress. This
was compensated for by a fresh arrival. Anukul had a son born to him, and
Raicharan by his unsparing attentions soon got a complete hold over the
child. He used to toss him up in his arms, call to him in absurd baby
language, put his face close to the baby's and draw it away again with a
Presently the child was able to crawl and cross the doorway. When
Raicharan went to catch him, he would scream with mischievous laughter and
make for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the profound skill and exact
judgment the baby showed when pursued. He would say to his mistress with a
look of awe and mystery: "Your son will be a judge some day."
New wonders came in their turn. When the baby began to toddle, that was to
Raicharan an epoch in human history. When he called his father Ba-ba and
his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan Chan-na, then Raicharan's ecstasy knew no
bounds. He went out to tell the news to all the world.
After a while Raicharan was asked to show his ingenuity in other ways. He
had, for instance, to play the part of a horse, holding the reins between
his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also to wrestle with his
little charge, and if he could not, by a wrestler's trick, fall on his
back defeated at the end, a great outcry was certain.
About this time Anukul was transferred to a district on the banks of the
Padma. On his way through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart. He
bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold-laced cap, and some gold
bracelets and anklets. Raicharan was wont to take these out, and put them
on his little charge with ceremonial pride, whenever they went for a walk.
Then came the rainy season, and day after day the rain poured down in
torrents. The hungry river, like an enormous serpent, swallowed down
terraces, villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood the tall
grasses and wild casuarinas on the sand-banks. From time to time there was
a deep thud, as the river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar of the rain
current could be beard from far away. Masses of foam, carried swiftly
past, proved to the eye the swiftness of the stream.
One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy, but cool and bright.
Raicharan's little despot did not want to stay in on such a fine
afternoon. His lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan, between the
shafts, dragged him slowly along till he reached the rice-fields on the
banks of the river. There was no one in the fields, and no boat on the
stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the clouds were rifted in
the west. The silent ceremonial of the setting sun was revealed in all its
glowing splendour. In the midst of that stillness the child, all of a
sudden, pointed with his finger in front of him and cried: "Chan-nal Pitty
Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kadamba tree in full flower. My lord,
the baby, looked at it with greedy eyes, and Raicharan knew his meaning.
Only a short time before he had made, out of these very flower balls, a
small go-cart; and the child had been so entirely happy dragging it about
with a string, that for the whole day Raicharan was not made to put on the
reins at all. He was promoted from a horse into a groom.
But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go splashing knee-deep through
the mud to reach the flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the
opposite direction, calling out: "Oh, look, baby, look! Look at the bird."
And with all sorts of curious noises he pushed the go-cart rapidly away
from the tree.
But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put off so easily. And
besides, there was at the time nothing to attract his eyes. And you cannot
keep up for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird.
The little Master's mind was made up, and Raicharan was at his wits' end.
"Very well, baby," he said at last, "you sit still in the cart, and I'll
go and get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don't go near the water."
As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee, and waded through the
oozing mud towards the tree.
The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Master went off at racing speed
to the forbidden water. The baby saw the river rushing by, splashing and
gurgling as it went. It seemed as though the disobedient wavelets
themselves were running away from some greater Raicharan with the laughter
of a thousand children. At the sight of their mischief, the heart of the
human child grew excited and restless. He got down stealthily from the
go-cart and toddled off towards the river. On his way he picked up a small
stick, and leant over the bank of the stream pretending to fish. The
mischievous fairies of the river with their mysterious voices seemed
inviting him into their play-house.
Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from the tree, and was carrying
them back in the end of his cloth, with his face wreathed in smiles. But
when he reached the go-cart, there was no one there. He looked on all
sides and there was no one there. He looked back at the cart and there was
no one there.
In that first terrible moment his blood froze within him. Before his eyes
the whole universe swam round like a dark mist. From the depth of his
broken heart he gave one piercing cry; "Master, Master, little Master."
But no voice answered "Chan-na." No child laughed mischievously back; no
scream of baby delight welcomed his return. Only the river ran on, with
its splashing, gurgling noise as before,—as though it knew nothing
at all, and had no time to attend to such a tiny human event as the death
of a child.
As the evening passed by Raicharan's mistress became very anxious. She
sent men out on all sides to search. They went with lanterns in their
hands, and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There they found
Raicharan rushing up and down the fields, like a stormy wind, shouting the
cry of despair: "Master, Master, little Master!"
When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell prostrate at his mistress's
feet. They shook him, and questioned him, and asked him repeatedly where
he had left the child; but all he could say was, that he knew nothing.
Though every one held the opinion that the Padma had swallowed the child,
there was a lurking doubt left in the mind. For a band of gipsies had been
noticed outside the village that afternoon, and some suspicion rested on
them. The mother went so far in her wild grief as to think it possible
that Raicharan himself had stolen the child. She called him aside with
piteous entreaty and said: "Raicharan, give me back my baby. Oh! give me
back my child. Take from me any money you ask, but give me back my child!"
Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His mistress ordered him out of
Artukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly unjust suspicion: "Why
on earth," he said, "should he commit such a crime as that?"
The mother only replied: "The baby had gold ornaments on his body. Who
It was impossible to reason with her after that.
Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to this time he had had no son,
and there was no hope that any child would now be born to him. But it came
about before the end of a year that his wife gave birth to a son and died.
All overwhelming resentment at first grew up in Raicharan's heart at the
sight of this new baby. At the back of his mind was resentful suspicion
that it had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. He also
thought it would be a grave offence to be happy with a son of his own
after what had happened to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the new baby, it would not
have lived long.
But a change gradually came over Raicharan's mind. A wonderful thing
happened. This new baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed an amusing cleverness in
making its escape to safety. Its voice, its sounds of laughter and tears,
its gestures, were those of the little Master. On some days, when
Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart suddenly began thumping wildly
against his ribs, and it seemed to him that his former little Master was
crying somewhere in the unknown land of death because he had lost his
Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister gave to the new baby)
soon began to talk. It learnt to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent.
When Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery suddenly became
clear. The little Master could not cast off the spell of his Chan-na, and
therefore he had been reborn in his own house.
The arguments in favour of this were, to Raicharan, altogether beyond
(i.) The new baby was born soon after his little master's death.
(ii.) His wife could never have accumulated such merit as to give birth to
a son in middle age.
(iii.) The new baby walked with a toddle and called out Ba-ba and Ma-ma.
There was no sign lacking which marked out the future judge.
Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that terrible accusation of the mother.
"Ah," he said to himself with amazement, "the mother's heart was right.
She knew I had stolen her child." When once he had come to this
conclusion, he was filled with remorse for his past neglect. He now gave
himself over, body and soul, to the new baby, and became its devoted
attendant. He began to bring it up, as if it were the son of a rich man.
He bought a go-cart, a yellow satin waistcoat, and a gold-embroidered cap.
He melted down the ornaments of his dead wife, and made gold bangles and
anklets. He refused to let the little child play with any one of the
neighbourhood, and became himself its sole companion day and night. As the
baby grew up to boyhood, he was so petted and spoilt and clad in such
finery that the village children would call him "Your Lordship," and jeer
at him; and older people regarded Raicharan as unaccountably crazy about
At last the time came for the boy to go to school. Raicharan sold his
small piece of land, and went to Calcutta. There he got employment with
great difficulty as a servant, and sent Phailna to school. He spared no
pains to give him the best education, the best clothes, the best food.
Meanwhile he lived himself on a mere handful of rice, and would say in
secret: "Ah! my little Master, my dear little Master, you loved me so much
that you came back to my house. You shall never suffer from any neglect of
Twelve years passed away in this manner. The boy was able to read and
write well. He was bright and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great
deal of attention to his personal appearance, and was specially careful in
parting his hair. He was inclined to extravagance and finery, and spent
money freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan as a father, because,
though fatherly in affection, he had the manner of a servant. A further
fault was this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that himself was
the father of the child.
The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a boarder, were greatly
amused by Raicharan's country manners, and I have to confess that behind
his father's back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in the bottom of their
hearts, all the students loved the innocent and tender-hearted old man,
and Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have said before, he
loved him with a kind of condescension.
Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer was continually finding
fault with him for his incompetent work. He had been starving himself for
the boy's sake. So he had grown physically weak, and no longer up to his
work. He would forget things, and his mind became dull and stupid. But his
employer expected a full servant's work out of him, and would not brook
excuses. The money that Raicharan had brought with him from the sale of
his land was exhausted. The boy was continually grumbling about his
clothes, and asking for more money.
Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the situation where he was working
as a servant, and left some money with Phailna and said: "I have some
business to do at home in my village, and shall be back soon."
He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was magistrate. Anukul's wife
was still broken down with grief. She had had no other child.
One day Anukul was resting after a long and weary day in court. His wife
was buying, at an exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack, which
was said to ensure the birth of a child. A voice of greeting was heard in
the courtyard. Anukul went out to see who was there. It was Raicharan.
Anukul's heart was softened when he saw his old servant. He asked him many
questions, and offered to take him back into service.
Raicharan smiled faintly, and said in reply; "I want to make obeisance to
Anukul went with Raicharan into the house, where the mistress did not
receive him as warmly as his old master. Raicharan took no notice of this,
but folded his hands, and said: "It was not the Padma that stole your
baby. It was I."
Anukul exclaimed: "Great God! Eh! What! Where is he?" Raicharan replied:
"He is with me, I will bring him the day after to-morrow."
It was Sunday. There was no magistrate's court sitting. Both husband and
wife were looking expectantly along the road, waiting from early morning
for Raicharan's appearance. At ten o'clock he came, leading Phailna by the
Anukul's wife, without a question, took the boy into her lap, and was wild
with excitement, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, touching him,
kissing his hair and his forehead, and gazing into his face with hungry,
eager eyes. The boy was very good-looking and dressed like a gentleman's
son. The heart of Anukul brimmed over with a sudden rush of affection.
Nevertheless the magistrate in him asked: "Have you any proofs?" Raicharan
said: "How could there be any proof of such a deed? God alone knows that I
stole your boy, and no one else in the world."
When Anukul saw how eagerly his wife was clinging to the boy, he realised
the futility of asking for proofs. It would be wiser to believe. And then—where
could an old man like Raicharan get such a boy from? And why should his
faithful servant deceive him for nothing?
"But," he added severely, "Raicharan, you must not stay here."
"Where shall I go, Master?" said Raicharan, in a choking voice, folding
his hands; "I am old. Who will take in an old man as a servant?"
The mistress said: "Let him stay. My child will be pleased. I forgive
But Anukul's magisterial conscience would not allow him. "No," he said,
"he cannot be forgiven for what he has done."
Raicharan bowed to the ground, and clasped Anukul's feet. "Master," he
cried, "let me stay. It was not I who did it. It was God."
Anukul's conscience was worse stricken than ever, when Raicharan tried to
put the blame on God's shoulders.
"No," he said, "I could not allow it. I cannot trust you any more. You
have done an act of treachery."
Raicharan rose to his feet and said: "It was not I who did it."
"Who was it then?" asked Anukul.
Raicharan replied: "It was my fate."
But no educated man could take this for an excuse. Anukul remained
When Phailna saw that he was the wealthy magistrate's son, and not
Raicharan's, he was angry at first, thinking that he had been cheated all
this time of his birthright. But seeing Raicharan in distress, he
generously said to his father: "Father, forgive him. Even if you don't let
him live with us, let him have a small monthly pension."
After hearing this, Raicharan did not utter another word. He looked for
the last time on the face of his son; he made obeisance to his old master
and mistress. Then he went out, and was mingled with the numberless people
of the world.
At the end of the month Anukul sent him some money to his village. But the
money came back. There was no one there of the name of Raicharan.