A Day

(Found here)

That afternoon comes back to my mind. From time to time the downpour grows feeble; then, suddenly, a gust of wind whips it to fury.

The room has darkened and I have no mind for work. I take in my hand the setar and play on it a melody of the rains.

From the next room she comes to the doorway and retires again. Then she enters silently and sits down. In her hand she has a piece of needlework – with bowed head she begins to sew. After a while she ceases and, through the window, looks out into the trees shrouded in mist.

The rain has stopped and my playing has ended. She rises and retires to do her hair. 

Nothing has happened; just that one afternoon made and music, darkness and indolence. 

History is littered with tales of emperors, accounts of wars and revolutions. But the tiny incident of one afternoon remains hidden like a rare jewel in the casket of Time. Only two people have heard it. 

~Rabindranath Tagore (1921), translated from the Bengali by Aurobindo Bose