fled, in the rainy night, with the heart of the village which he had stolen, back to the arms of his great world-mother, placid in her serene unconcern.
Translated by
Surendranath Tagore.
SIVA OR MAHADEV
By the Sister Nivedita.
EVERY well-born Hindu boy is taught that his ancestors have not always lived in India. The people's own name for themselves is Aryans and they believe that they came into the Peninsula from the North, across the mountain-passes of the Himalayas. Indeed, there are still a few tribes living in the Hindukush called the Lall Kafiir, or Fair Folk, because they are of pale complexion. The original stock of the Hindus probably have been left behind on the Southward march of their countrymen.
At any rate, the stories and present religion of the people have grown up since they crossed the mountains. In early days they had no images. Neither had they temples. They had open spaces or clearings and here they would gather in crowds to perform the Fire-Sacrifice. The fire was made of wood, borne to the spot on the back of a bull. And there were priests who recited chants and knew exactly how to pile up logs—for this was done in geometrical patterns, very carefully arranged—and how to make the offerings. This was the business of the priest, just as it is another man's work to grow corn or to understand weaving. He was paid for it and used his money to support his wife and children.
As far as we can go back however, Hindus have always believed that if a man wanted to be religious, he must give his whole life up to that. A good man may manage a home and family and business, they say. But if a man wants to be musical he gives all his care and thought to music; if clever, to study. And is it easier to know Truth than to do these things? So you see they have a very high ideal of what being religious means. But where do you think they expect a man to go in order to become this? The musician takes his place before some instrument—does he not?—the piano, or the organ, or the violin. And the student goes to school or college. But to become religious, the Hindu would send a man into the forest! There he would be expected to live in a cave or under trees; to eat only the wild roots and fruits that he could find in the wood and to wear pieces of the bark of the white birch for clothing. This is a curious picture that you see now with your eyes shut, is it not? But it is not finished. You see the idea is that a great part of religion consists in quieting the mind. And being alone, without any need to think of food or clothes or home, in silence, amongst the trees and the birds, must be a great help to this. But it goes further. What would become of a man's hair, ling far away from other men, without brushes and combs and scissors? It would grow thick and unkempt, would it not? And so great masses of hair coiled up hastily and fixed on the top of the head are amongst the best marks of religion in these forest-dwellers. They are expected to bathe constantly, even to wash the hair, but they can not spare time from meditation to make it beautiful. Now and then we see a man like this passing along the streets of some Indian city, with his long staff in one hand crowned by three points,—like the trident of Neptune,—and a begging-bowl with a handle in the other. But the place to find such people in great
