English translation of Bankim Chandra Chatterjee's (Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay / Bankim Chandra Chatterji) Anandamath by Nares. Download; KB File Size; 1 File Count; January 14, Create Date; January 14, Last Updated; Download. Anandamath is a Bengali novel, written by Bankim Chandra Chatterjee and published in Set in the background of the Sannyasi Rebellion in the late 18th century, it is considered one of the most important novels in the history of Bengali and Indian literature. The national song.

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    Yet there are complicating factors in Chatterji's assessment of the British. Take for example an incident in his Bengali novel Anandamath, first translated into. Anandamath () is a Bengali political novel by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay, from English-language translations of আনন্দমঠ include. For other English-language translations of this work, see Anandamath. Translation of Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay's Anandamath.

    Anandamath Home Anandamath. Bankim Chandra Chatterji. Beginning his literary career as a writer of verse, he soon realised that poetry was not his metier and turned to fiction. Bengali fiction owes much of its present form to the trend that Bankim Chandra set with Durgesh Nandini , KapalKundala , Krishnakanter Will , Rajani and other books. He broke the dry monotony of Bengali prose, pruned its verbosity and gave it a twist of informality and intimacy. Anandmath established Bankim Chandras skill as a novelist and was a piece of historical fiction imbued with the spirit of nationalism and selfless patriotism. It gave tremendous impetus to the various religious, patriotic and national activities beginning with Hindu missionary activity and culminating in the militant movement in Bengal in the first decade of the twentieth century. William J. Chaudhuri, known for his caustic criticism and his refusal to flatter anyone for the sake of mere convention, wrote: The context in which this statement was written was a discussion of the colonialist British failure to understand the Hindu mind. The Englishman's knowledge of India, Chatterji had explained, was a situation like that of an owner of a large, abundant orchard being incapable of either eating its fruits or enjoying them. Yet there are complicating factors in Chatterji's assessment of the British. Take for example an incident in his Bengali novel Anandamath, first translated into English as Abbey of Bliss, The story, set in eighteenth century India, concerns a sanyasi revolt against the Muslim rule.

    She continued to walk the road with great difficulty, drinking muddy water from drying pools. The child was given to Mahendra. Now and then they rested in the shade of trees covered with green creepers and fragrant flowers. Mahendra was surprised at the endurance of his beloved.

    Once he went to a pool, soaked a piece of cloth in water, and moistened Kalyani's face, hands and feet. Kalyani felt much refreshed. But they all began to be overcome with pangs of hunger. Their own hunger, however, meant little to them; but the hunger and the thirst of the child were more than the father and mother could bear.

    Yet they continued their journey, swimming, as it were, through waves of fire and finally at sunset they reached an inn. Mahendra hoped that at the inn he would be able to provide his wife and child with food and water. He was bitterly disappointed, for the inn was deserted. Huge buildings stood empty. There was not a soul around. Sadly Mahendra, his wife and child entered one of the houses and lay down. Then he came out and repeatedly shouted to attract any human beings. No one responded.

    Mahendra entered the house again and 34 said: I am going to look for milk. By the grace of God, I hope to fetch milk for both of you. She was afraid. There was no human soul nearby. She could hear only the cries of dogs and jackals and she felt she had made a grave mistake in allowing her husband to leave her.

    It would have been so much better, she thought, if she had only endured the pangs of hunger and thirst a little longer. She thought of closing the doors of the house, but discovered that the doors and the latches were all missing. Then as she was examining the doorway, she saw something like a shadow in front of it. It had human form, but did not look like a human being. This frightful shadow of a man that stood at the door was dark and emaciated, and all but naked.

    In an instant the shadow lifted its hand, and with skeletons of long fingers signalled someone towards it. Kalyani was terror-stricken. Another shadow stood beside the first, then another and then yet another. In a few moments a crowd of countless shadows silently 35 entered the room. The dark room was as terrifying as a graveyard at night as these ghosts of human beings surrounded Kalyani and her child — the mother almost fainting — and carried them out of the house, across a meadow and into the jungle.

    Mahendra, returning to the house after a short while with a pitcher of milk, found no one there. Searching desperately for his wife and child, he found no trace of them. He called the names of his daughter and wife, but no one responded. But it was dark, and there were no eyes trained enough to appreciate its physical beauty. Like the nobility of a poor man's heart, the forest was beautiful sans appreciation.

    The entire countryside was starving, yet here were flowers whose fragrance lightened the darkness. The robbers having put Kalyani and her child on a clean plot of ground covered with flowers, sat in a circle around their victims.

    Soon they became involved in a heated discussion of how to dispose of the woman and her child. They had already taken possession of Kalyani s jewellery and one group was busy dealing out the ornaments. When the distribution was over, one man barked: Will someone here give me a handful of rice for this jewel?

    I am hungry — I'm about to die of hunger! For the last few days I have eaten only leaves from the trees. Give us rice, rice! We don't want gold or silver or precious stones. Louder and louder they talked in abusive language. Soon they were about to come to blows. Angrily they pelted the leader with the jewels.

    The leader fought them, until they all attacked him together and mercilessly beat him. He was so weak and so emaciated with hunger that struck by a few blows he fell to the ground and died. Then one of the hungry men cried angrily: Now lest we die of starvation, comrades, let us eat this man. One man began to prepare a fire for the feast. He gathered dry creepers, wood and straw, and lighted a flame with flint.

    Soon the growing fire revealed the green branches and the foliage of the surrounding trees — mango, palm, tamarind and date. The leaves looked almost ablaze with light; the grass became radiant; in the far corner the darkness by contrast appeared darker. The fire was ready.

    One of the crowd, dragging the dead body by its feet, was about to throw it into the hungry flames when another member of the group 37 shouted: We have decided to live today by eating human flesh.

    Why eat the dried flesh of this old man? Let us eat the flesh of those we have brought here today. Let us roast the young woman and her baby. Lets eat their tender meat. But lo! Neither the mother nor the daughter was there. Taking advantage of the quarrel, Kalyani had run away further into the jungle.

    Infuriated with the escape of their victims the ghosdy men shouted furiously, 'Catch! The trees, the creepers and the thorns were so thick that she could make little headway. Yet she must escape. Through the crowds of the trees and thorny bushes she waded to get further and further away from the hungry mob. Now and then the child's body, inspite of all the mothers care, was lacerated by thorns. The child cried. The cry attracted 38 the pursuers and they cried aloud for vengeance.

    Bleeding and exhausted Kalyani staggered on into the jungle. After a while the moon rose dispelling the darkness.

    Kalyani was hopeful that the robbers would not find her in the dark; that they would search for a while and then stop. But with the rising of the moon even that ray of hope vanished.

    With all its glory the moonlight flooded the forest. The darkness in the heart of the jungle lost some of its intensity, and now and then rays of light began to peep through the openings between the leaves.

    The higher the moon rose in the sky, the more light penetrated the jungle; and the darkness retreated further and further into the depth of the forest.

    In her constant effort to hide herself and her child, Kalyani moved always towards the shades of darkness. Disappointed, the pursuers became furious with anger. They shouted louder and louder, and enclosed on Kalyani from all sides.

    The frightened child cried loudly. Kalyani, feeling herself trapped, ceased her efforts to escape. She sat down on a thornless plot of green, velvety ground under a huge tree.

    With the child on her lap she prayed: I bow to Thee everyday. It was my faith in Thee that enabled me to enter this jungle with my child. Where, where art Thou now?

    She was as if in a trance. She awakened from it into a realm of luminous inner consciousness, and in that state she heard a singer chant divinely: At last it paused when it reached right over her head. Kalyani opened her eyes to see a Mahatma with long white hair and beard, dressed in pure white. She was moved by the sanctity and serenity of this holy man. In her effort to bow at his feet, she fainted and fell to the ground. Archaeologists could easily detect that it had first been a Buddhist vihara, then a Hindu temple and then a Mohammedan mosque.

    Now it seemed to have been finally converted into something else again. The building was twostoried and its compounds were so formidably surrounded by wild trees and creepers that no one could suspect its existence from a litde distance, even in broad daylight. At places the broken buildings had been repaired. One could see that human beings still lived in this impregnably dense forest. Inside a room of the main building a huge log of wood was burning. It was in this room that Kalyani regained her consciousness.

    She opened her eyes to see the white-haired and white-bearded Mahatma seated 40 beside her. Kalyani looked around with wonder as if in a dream. She had not yet regained her memory. Cast aside all fear from your heart.

    But as memory returned, she bowed in humility at the feet of the Mahatma. He blessed her; fetched a bowl of milk, warmed it over the fire and said: I shall then talk with you. Upon his return he found that Kalyani had finished feeding the baby; but she had not drunk any milk herself. In a tone of surprise, he said: I am going out again. I will not return until you drink that milk.


    I am a forest hermit. You are my daughter. What secret can you have that you do not want to tell me? When I saved you from the jungle I found you suffering from hunger and thirst. If you do not drink milk now, how can you expect to live? My husband is not fed yet. How can I eat or drink until I know that he is fed?

    When he went out to look for milk, we were carried away by that famine-stricken mob. Kalyani, according to the custom, was unable to utter the name of her husband. But from what she said the Mahatma guessed who she was, and said, 'So you are Mahendra's wife, my little mother!

    I shall go out to get news of your husband. But I cannot leave this room until you have finished drinking the milk. The Mahatma pointed to a pitcher of water in a corner of the room. Pouring a little on the palm of her hand, Kalyani requested the Mahatma to sanctify it with his touch.

    When the Mahatma had blessed the water, she drank it and said: Please do not ask me to drink anything else, for I will neither eat nor drink anything until I get news of my husband. Stay strictly within these protected walls in safety. I am going to find your husband. It was not a full moon; so it was not bright. Light, however, had fallen on the vast meadow making a shadow of the darkness.

    In such a light you could not see the borders of the meadow. Nor could you see what rested there. It was the very abode of fearful, endless loneliness.

    Anandamath - Wikisource, the free online library

    The highway to Calcutta and Murshidabad passed through it. Nearby was a little hill covered with mango and other trees. The treetops swung to and fro, bright in the moonbeams and their shadows danced joyously on the dark stones below. Mahatma Satya climbed to the top of the hill and became absorbed, intently listening. The broad meadow was almost soundless. Only now and then could you hear the whisper of leaves.

    At a certain point a vast jungle touched the hill. The hill stood at the top; the highway at the bottom; and the jungle in between.

    A litde noise mingled with the murmur of the trees. No one could know the nature of the noise. Satya walked in the direction of the murmur and entered the jungle. There he found rows of men seated amid the dark shadows of the trees. The men 43 were tall and armed. Here and there their polished equipment shone brighdy in the moonlight that filtered through the openings between the branches. Two hundred men were sitting in perfect silence. Satya walked gendy into their midst and made a sign.

    No one rose and no one uttered a word. Past the files of men he walked, looking at each face. He seemed to be searching for someone. At last he found the man he sought and touched his body by way of command. The man at once stood up. Satya took him aside. This man was young, his face covered with a black beard and moustache.

    He was strong and handsome, dressed in yellow, the holy colour, his body anointed with sacramental sandal paste.

    Who did that? Hunger has driven farmers into robbery. These days, who is not a robber? We ourselves robbed to eat today. We deprived the British chief of police of his two maunds of rice for our meal. I have left them at the ashram. Now, I assign you to find Mahendra Singh for his wife and child.

    Jiban alone will be able to take care of the duties here and win success. Mahatma Satya departed. He decided to go into the town, and from there to search for his wife and child with the help of government officials. He had not gone far when he found a bullockcart trudging along with a heavy guard of sepoys of the British army of occupation. The British had long been expert in collecting revenue. At different centres they had their collectors who realised taxes and revenues to be shipped to the treasury of the East India Company in Calcutta.

    Thousands of men, women and children might die of starvation; yet there must be no cessation in the collection of taxes. This years collection, however, fell short of expectations. If mother earth refused to yield wealth, humans could not create it.

    All that could be collected, however, was being shipped at once to the British treasuries in Calcutta. In those days robberies were so prevalent that the bullock-carts bearing the tax money were guarded by fifty fully armed sepoys with bayonets drawn. Their captain was an Englishman, who rode a horse in the 45 rear. During the daytime the heat was so great that the sepoys were forced to travel by night. Confronted with this procession of the tax-cart and its guards, Mahendra stepped aside.

    The sepoys spotted him. Realising that it was not the time for quarrels, Mahendra moved to the edge of the jungle. When the sepoy saw the rifle in Mahendras hands, he was all the more convinced of this. He rushed towards Mahendra, shook him by the shoulders, called him thief, struck him and snatched the rifle away from him.

    Mahendra, furious with anger, returned a mighty blow. The sepoy reeled under Mahendras blow and fell unconscious on the road. Three others then grabbed Mahendra, and dragged him forcibly to the English captain, alleging that he had killed a soldier with one blow.

    Anandamath (The Abbey of Bliss)

    The English captain was smoking his pipe, and under the influence of liquor. He said stupidly: How could they marry a male armed robber! They hoped the captain would, of course, change his order when he became sober.

    So they tied Mahendra's hands and feet and placed him on the bullock-cart. Mahendra knew it was useless to exert his strength against such odds. And again, what would he gain by freedom? He was so sad at his separation from his wife and child that he cherished no desire to prolong his life. The sepoys tied Mahendra well and routinely proceeded along the road as before.

    He followed such a route that very soon he, too, faced the sepoys and the tax-cart. He, too, stepped aside as Mahendra had done. But the suspicion of the sepoys was now so aroused that they at once seized Bhavan.

    How can I be a robber? Do I look like one? In the dark Bhavan's eyes flashed with anger. But he controlled himself, and said with much humility, 'My Lord, deign to command, and your orders shall be obeyed at once. Tie him tight in the spot where the other robber lies. So he dropped the load from his head, and slapped the sepoy who tried to put it the load back on 47 his head.

    The sepoy then tied him hand and foot, and threw him beside the other captive. Bhavan recognised Mahendra Singh. The sepoys became noisy again and the wheels of the cart began screeching. It is not necessary now that you know who I am.

    Please do as I tell you; and do it carefully. Place the knot of the rope that ties your hands on the moving wheel of the cart. Moving a little in the dark, he pressed the knot against the wheel.

    The knot was soon cut by the friction. In the same way he freed his feet. Thus freed, he lay quiet on the cart beside Bhavan, until Bhavan, too, had freed himself. Both kept silent. The sepoys had to pass by the hill from where the Mahatma had reconnoitered the landscape. The moment the sepoys reached the spot, they noticed a man standing on a mound at the foot of the hill.

    We will make him carry some of our things. The sepoy caught him, and the man said nothing. The sepoy brought him to the lieutenant. Still the man did not utter a word. The lieutenant ordered that a bundle be placed upon the man's head. It was done. The lieutenant turned and walked alongside the 48 moving cart.

    Just then the sound of a pistol shot was heard. The lieutenant, shot in the head, fell on the road. In a moment he was dead. A sepoy caught the silent man by his hand and said: This bandit has killed the lieutenant. He threw down the bundle from his head; and struck the sepoy with the butt end of his pistol. The sepoys head was fractured, and he could not molest the man anymore.

    As if at a signal, two hundred armed men rushed out of the jungle and surrounded the sepoys with victory calls. The sepoys were awaiting the arrival of their English captain.

    An Englishman never stays drunk when danger comes. The captain, suspecting bandits, had rushed to the cart and at once ordered his sepoys to form themselves into a column. The column formation was instantly executed.

    Then at the second command the sepoys pointed their rifles. All of a sudden someone snatched the captains sword away from his belt; and in a second cut off his head. The captain fell headless on the road, and his order to fire remained unuttered. A man, standing on the cart, was waving a blood-stained sword in the air as he shouted: Kill the sepoys, kill the sepoys. The sepoys were terror-stricken and helpless for a moment to see their English captain's head so dramatically chopped off.

    Taking advantage of this hesitation the energetic invading forces killed or wounded many of them. Then they approached the 49 tax-cart and took possession of the boxes full of coins. Defeated and discouraged the remnant of the sepoys ran away in all directions. The man who had first stood up on the mound and had then taken the leadership in the fight approached Bhavan.

    They embraced each other affectionately. Then Jiban began making preparations for the removal of the treasure to its proper place. And soon he departed with his attendants for another destination.

    Bhavan stood there alone. But at second thought he felt convinced that these new people were really robbers. They had attacked the sepoys only for money. So he stepped aside, feeling that if he helped the robbers in any way he would have to bear a share of the sin of this hold-up. When the fight was over, he threw the sword aside, and began slowly to walk away.

    It was then that Bhavan walked towards him, and stood close to him. It is not necessary for you to know that. I am gready indebted to you today.

    You are a wealthy zamindar. In consuming lavish dishes for breakfast, luncheon and dinner you are second to none. Yet when it comes to doing something useful, you are nothing better than a baboon.

    But you cannot deny the fact that we did some good to you and may render further favours. But what more can you do for me?

    And again, it is certainly correct behaviour not to accept favours from robbers. But you may come with me if you so desire.

    I want you to meet your wife and child again. Bhavan said no more, but started walking. Mahendra, of course, followed him while he thought within himself: Mahendra was silent and sad. He was also curious. Bhavan, on the other hand, suddenly changed himself into a different personality.

    He was no longer the quiet and grave holy man nor the heroic warriorslayer of the English captain. He was no longer the proud chastiser of Mahendra Singh. He seemed to have been uplifted into supreme joyousness by the unique grandeur of the enchanting panorama. He smiled as the ocean smiles at the rising of the moon. He grew jubilant, talkative and most cordial. He seemed very anxious to talk. In various ways he tried to engage Mahendra in a conversation.

    When he failed, he sang softly to himself: Thou with sweet springs flowing, Thou fair fruits bestowing, Cool with zephyrs blowing, Green with corn-crops growing, Mother, hail! He was also at a loss to know for whom these sweet attributes were meant and who this mother was! Thou of the shivering joyous moon-blanched night, Thou with fair groups of flowering tree-clumps bright, Sweetly smiling Speech beguiling Pouring bliss and blessing, Mother, hail!

    This refers to a country, and not to a mortal mother, I see,' Mahendra remarked. The Motherland is our only mother. Our Motherland is higher than heaven. Mother India is our mother. We have no other mother. We have no father, no brother, no sister, no wife, no children, no home, no hearth — all we have is the Mother: With sweet springs flowing, Fair fruits bestowing, Cool with zephyrs blowing, Green with corn-crops growing —.

    Then, please, sing the song again. Mother, hail! Thou with sweet springs flowing, Thou fair fruits bestowing, Cool with zephyrs blowing, 53 Green with corn-crops growing, Mother, hail! Thou of the shivering joyous moon-blanched night, Thou with fair groups of flowering tree-clumps bright, Sweedy smiling Speech beguiling Pouring bliss and blessing, Mother, hail! Though now million voices through thy mouth sonorous shout, Though million hands hold thy trenchant sword blades out, Yet with all this power now, Mother, wherefore powerless thou?

    Holder thou of myriad might, I salute thee, saviour bright, Thou who dost all foes afright, Mother, hail! Thou sole creed and wisdom art, Thou our very mind and heart, And the life-breath in our bodies. Thou as strength in arms of men, Thou as faith in hearts dost reign. Himalaya-crested one, rivalless, Radiant in thy spotlessness, Thou whose fruits and waters bless, Mother, hail! Who are the Children? Whose children are you? What kind of mother-worship is this?

    Whose money did we capture? What right has an English King to the wealth of our land? Original translation mentioned three hundred million voices and twice three hundred million hands. In conformity with the translation in the official Indian website, this edition says simply million voices and million hands.

    It is to be noted that earlier translations like that of Rishi Aurobindo said saventy million voices and twice seventy million hands. We encountered quite a few today, you know' 'You have not faced them yet. Some day you will really know them. A man never dies more than once in one life. Now I see you are just like any other habitual gourmand. Look here, Mahendra Singh, the serpent crawls on its breast in order to move about. It is the lowest of animals in creation.

    And yet, if you tread on a snake it raises its head to bite you. But nothing can disturb your criminal composure! Can you find another country on earth outside India where human beings are forced by starvation to live on grass? Here in India famine-stricken people today are eating creepers, ant-hills, jackals, dogs and even human flesh! And the British are shipping our wealth to their treasuries in Calcutta; and from there that wealth is to be shipped again to England.

    There is no hope for India until we drive the British out. Only then will the Motherland live again. Yes, most decidedly. The bullet does not travel faster nor further because a stronger man fires a rifle. The Indian soldier runs away when he begins to perspire; he seeks cold drinks. The Englishman surpasses the Indian in tenacity. He never abandons his duty before he finishes it.

    Then consider the question of courage: A cannon ball falls only on one spot. But a whole company of Indian soldiers would run away if one single cannon ball fell among them. On the other hand, British soldiers would not run away even if dozens of cannon balls should fall in their midst.

    We have to acquire them by patient practice and unyielding perseverance. Satyananda goes with his Guru to the Himalayas for penances. Bhavananda: A brave commander of Anandamath who dies during the battle against the British.

    Jivananda: The most accomplished and loyal disciple of Satyananda. He rescues Mahendra's family and reunites them. His wife and lover, Shanti, later becomes the first and only woman to join the Anandamath and fights alongside Jivananda.

    In the end Jivananda is grievously injured in battle but is revived by Shanti. The young married couple decide to go on a pilgrimage and live as ascetics. Nibanananda a. Shanti: She is the tomboyish daughter of a Brahmin and is well educated. Shanti was orphaned at a young age and became physically fit and strong. Shanti met Jivananda who married her out of pity as Shanti had no one to take care of her. Jivananda left Shanti as a part of renouncing his attachments and to fight for Anandamath.

    Shanti is left in the care of Jivananda's married sister. However, Shanti is deeply in love with her husband and cannot bear to live away from him. She disguises herself as a man and joins Anandamath as a freedom fighter.

    Satyananda tries to forbid her from entering, but he is shocked at Shanti's physical strength when she strings a mighty bow which only he and Jivananda were the only Sannyasins to be able to do so. Satyananda allows Shanti to stay and gives her the name Navinananda. Shanti rescues Kalyani from dacoits. She gathers intelligence from the British and fights in battles alongside her husband. At least skim it Starving and desperate, a wealthy man named Mahendra Singh, with his wife Kalyani and their little daughter, sets out for one of the cities: a city is the only place they can now hope to find food.

    What they find is disaster: their daughter nearly dies, Kalyani ostensibly kills herself, and Mahendra comes in contact with Mahatma Satya, the revolutionary who heads the Children. The Children have only one ideal, one deity, one faith, one goal: the protection of Mother India.

    Disguised as yellow-robed sanyasis and chanting Bande Mataram, the Children gather arms, build fortifications, attack Englishmen and loot tax collectors of their revenues. Of Shanti, the tomboy wife whom Jiban—who like all the other Children, has renounced the rest of the world—has left behind.

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