The Modern Review/Volume 26/Number 2/The Trial of the Horse
THE TRIAL OF THE HORSE
By Rabindranath Tagore.
BRAHMÁ, the creator, was very near the end of his task of creation when a new idea struck him.
He sent for the Store-keeper and said: "O keeper of the stores, bring to my factory a quantity of each of the five elements. For I am ready to create another creature." "Lord of the universe," the store-keeper replied, "when in the first flush of creative extravagance you began to turn out such exaggerations as elephants and whales and pythons and tigers, you took no count of the stock. Now, all the elements that have density and force are nearly used up. The supply of earth and water and fire has become inconveniently scanty, while of air and ether there is as much as is good for us and a good deal more."
The four-headed deity looked perplexed and pulled at his four pairs of moustaches. At last he said, "The limitedness of material gives all the more scope to originality. Send me whatever you have left."
This time Brahmā was excessively sparing with the earth, water and fire. The new creature was not given either horns or claws, and his teeth were only meant for chewing, not for biting. The prudent care with which fire was used in is formation made him necessary in war without making him warlike.
This animal was the Horse.
The reckless expenditure of air and ether, which went into his composition, was amazing. And in consequence he perpetually struggled to outreach the wind, to outrun space itself. The other animals run only when they have a reason, but the horse would run for nothing whatever, as if to run out of his own skin. He had no desire to chase, or to kill, but only to fly on and on till he dwindled into a dot, melted into a swoon, blurred into a shadow, and vanished into vacancy.
The Creator was glad. He had given for his other creatures' habitations,—to some the forests, to others the caves. But in his enjoyment of the disinterested spirit of speed in the Horse, he gave him an open meadow under the very eye of heaven.
By the side of this meadow lived Man.
Man has his delight in pillaging and piling things up. And he is never happy till these grow into a burden. So, when he saw this new creature pursuing the wind and kicking at the sky, he said to himself: "If only I can bind and secure this Horse, I can use his broad back for carrying my loads."
So one day he caught the Horse.
Then man put a saddle on the Horse's back and a spiky bit in his mouth. He regularly had hard rubbing and scrubbing to keep him fit, and there were the whip and spurs to remind him that it was wrong to have his own will.
Man also put high walls round the Horse, lest if left at large in the open the creature might escape him. So it came to pass, that while the Tiger who had his forest remained in the forest, the Lion who had his cave remained in the cave, the Horse who once had his open meadow came to spend his days in a stable. Air and ether had roused in the horse longings for deliverance, but they swiftly delivered him into bondage.
When he felt that bondage did not suit him, the Horse kicked at the stable walls.
But this hurt his hoofs much more than it hurt the wall. Still some of the plaster came off and the wall lost its beauty.
Man felt aggrieved.
"What ingratitude!" he cried. "Do I not give him food and drink? Do I not keep highly-paid men-servants to watch over him day and night? Indeed he is hard to please."
In their desperate attempts to please the Horse, the men-servants fell upon him and so vigorously applied all their winning methods that he lost his power to kick and a great deal more besides.
Then Man called his friends and neighbours together, and said to them exultingly,—"Friends, did you ever see so devoted a steed as mine?"
"Never!" they replied. "He seems as still as ditch water and as mild as the religion you profess."
The Horse, as is well known, had no horns, no claws, nor adequate teeth, at his birth. And, when on the top of this, all kicking at the walls and even into emptiness had been stopped, the only way to give vent to his feelings was to neigh.
But that disturbed Man's sleep.
Moreover, this neighing was not likely to impress the neighbours as a pæan of devotion and thankfulness. So Man invented devices to shut the Horse's mouth.
But the voice cannot be altogether suppressed so long as the mistake is made of leaving any breath in the body. Therefore a spasmodic sound of moaning came from his throat now and then.
One day this noise reached Brahmā's ears.
The Creator woke up from his meditation. It gave him a start when he glanced at the meadow and saw no sign of the Horse.
"This is all your doing," cried Brahmā, in anger to Yama, the God of death. "You have taken away the Horse!"
"Lord of all creatures!" Death replied: "All your worst suspicions you keep only for me. But most of the calamities in your beautiful world will be explained if you turn your eyes in the direction of Man."
Brahmā looked below. He saw a small enclosure, walled in, from which the dolorous moaning of his Horse came fitfully.
Brahmā frowned in anger.
"Unless you set free my Horse", said he, "I shall take care that he grows teeth and claws like the Tiger."
"That would be ungodly", cried man, "to encourage ferocity. All the same, if I may speak plain truth about a creature of your own make, this Horse is not fit to be set free. It was for his eternal good that I built him this stable—this marvel of architecture."
Brahmā remained obdurate.
"I bow to your wisdom," said Man, "but if, after seven days, you still think that your meadow is better for him than my stable, I will humbly own defeat."
After this Man set to work.
He made the Horse go free, but hobbled his front legs. The result was so vastly diverting that it was enough to make even a frog burst his sides with laughter.
Brahmā, from the height of his heaven, could see the comic gait of his Horse, but not the tragic rope which hobbled him. He was mortified to find his own creature openly exposing its divine maker to ridicule.
"It was an absurd blunder of mine", he cried, "closely touching the sublime."
"Grandsire," said Man with a pathetic show of sympathy, "what can I do for this unfortunate creature? If there is a meadow in your heaven, I am willing to take trouble to transport him thither."
"Take him back to your stable!" cried Brahmā in dismay.
"Merciful God!" cried Man, "what a great burden it will be for mankind!"
"It is the burden of humanity," muttered Brahmā.