Write a summary on the short story "Bolai" written by Rabindranath Tagore .
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Answer:
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Explanation:
The main character of this story is a simple girl, named Bholi. Her real name is Sulekha and she is the fourth daughter of Numberdar Ramlal. She fell out of her cot when she was ten months old and probably, a part of her brain was damaged. Pretty at the time of her birth, her body was disfigured and at the age of two, by an attack of smallpox. Only her eyes were saved. As late speaker, she could not speak clearly and so children made fun of her.
Bholi was the weakest child, while her brother and sisters were healthy. Her sisters, who were good looking, were married off and her brothers were sent to the city to study. When a primary school was opened in their village, Bholi’s father who was a revenue officer, wanted her to study there. He sent Bholi to school even though her mother protested against it.
Dressed in new clothes, she was sent to school. Happy to see other girls there, she hoped that one of them would become her friend. The teacher asked her, her name but Bholi was too scared to answer. The teacher smilingly encouraged her to speak. She also asked Bholi to come to the school daily. She gave her a book with many colourful pictures in it. She also told Bholi that she would soon be able to read it and everyone would treat her with respect. Bholi was filled with hope.
As the village progressed, the primary school became a high school.
When Bholi was of marriageable age, her father fixed her match with a person named Bishamber, as he had a big shop, house and a large bank balance. Nearly fifty years old, he also walked with a limp. Not only that, he was a widower and had grown up children.
Bholi was not consulted when this marriage was fixed. The day of her marriage came, and Bishamber arrived with a big baraat. He was pleased with the arrangements but when Bholi’s silken veil was removed, he was shocked to see her pock-marked face.
The story of humankind forms the conclusion to the many chapters that tell the history of the earth’s many creatures--this we have heard. In any human society we sometimes encounter the various animals that live hidden within us--this we know. In reality we call that human which has blended all the animals within ourselves, combined them into one: penned our tigers and cows into one enclosure, trapped our snakes and mongooses in the same cage. In the same way we give the name raag to that which combines all the sa-re-ga-mas within itself and creates music--after which the notes can no longer make trouble--but still, even within the music an individual note may stand out from the others: in one raag the ma, in another the ga, in yet another the flat dha.
My nephew Bolai, my brother’s son: in his nature, somehow, the fundamental notes of plants and trees sounded the loudest. Right from childhood he had the habit of standing and staring silently, not exploring places like other boys. When dark clouds massed themselves in layers in the eastern sky, it was as if his soul became dense with the moist fragrance of the forest in July; when the rain came thrumming down, his whole body would listen to what it said. When the sunshine lay on the roof in the afternoon, he walked about bare-chested, as if gathering something into himself from all the sky. When the mango trees bloomed in the month of Magh, a deep happiness would enter his blood, in memory of something inexpressible; his inner nature would spread itself in all directions, like a grove of sal trees flowering in Phalgun, would become suffused, become deeply colored. At these times he liked to sit alone and talk to himself, patching together whatever fairy-tales he had heard, the tales of the pair of aged tattlers that had built their nest in a crevice of the ancient banyan tree. This wide-eyed-always-staring boy didn’t talk very much; he would stay quiet, thinking things over in his head. Once I took him into the mountains. When he saw the green grass that covered the slope all the way down to our house, he was delighted. He didn’t think the coverlet of grass was any fixed thing; he felt it was a playful, rolling mass, always rolling down. Often he would climb up the slope and roll down himself--his entire body itself become grass--and as he rolled, the blades of grass would tickle the back of his neck, and he would laugh out loud.
After the night’s rains, the early-morning sun would peer over the mountain tops, and its pale golden rays fell on the deodar forest; and without telling anyone he’d go quietly and stand awestruck in the motionless shadows of the deodars, his body thrilling all over, as if he could see the people within these gigantic trees--they wouldn’t speak, but they seemed to know everything, these grandfathers from long ago, from the days of "Once-upon-a-time-there-lived-a-king."