Stories from Tagore

by Rabindranath Tagore

Perhaps the scenes of travel conjure themselves up before me and pass and repass in my imagination all the more vividly, because I lead such a vegetable existence that a call to travel would fall upon me like a thunder-bolt.

I forgot that he was a poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was—. But no, what was I more than he? He also was a father.