Rabindranath: A hero comes once, not again and again

You, Rabindranath, did not believe in the state; you believed in society. In your view, in the Indian subcontinent, society was paramount, while the state was an imposition—an intrusive entity. The state was external; society was our own. You held a firm belief that we could shape society in our own image.

But the intrusiveness of the state has only increased. It has become a highly efficient and all-consuming instrument of exploitation and plunder—an instrument in the hands of rulers, and the rulers themselves are subordinates to imperialist powers. Today, we see the state more skilled and domineering than ever before. Alongside it are NGOs, which resemble missionaries in many ways. They are promoting a new religion—capitalism. The state itself is both capitalist and bureaucratic, and the aid provided by the NGOs is capitalist in nature. Their goal is to integrate people into the global capitalist order.

After the Russian Revolution, you visited the Soviet Union. It felt like a pilgrimage to you. You were moved by the new arrangements for human emancipation. That Soviet Union no longer exists. It has been torn apart. Now, the land is trampled by foreign profiteers and local opportunists. All efforts to create a new kind of human being have been destroyed. If you were to return today, you would be heartbroken. Even back in 1930, when Stalin had consolidated power, you sensed a dark shadow—mechanisation. That shadow has since materialized, grown enormous, and taken the form of a crushing bureaucracy, bolstered by foreign capital, undoing the achievements of the revolution.

You feared the state—as do all social revolutionaries. They hope the state will eventually lose power and become unnecessary, paving the way for human freedom, for what you called "society". But the state could not be diminished. Even if the roots of exploitation are pulled out, their base often remains, nourished from outside by capitalists. The state is both a child and guardian of inequality. In fact, growing inequality across the world is evidenced by the increasing tyranny of the state. This is a dangerous reality of our times.

You once said to Mother Bengal: "You have kept us Bengali, but not made us human." Has the Bengali become human yet? To what extent? We've become Hindus and Muslims, rich and poor—but have we truly become human? The first condition of becoming human is to become Bengali. Not that every Bengali automatically becomes human, as you pointed out, but one cannot truly become human without being Bengali.

And what does it mean to be Bengali? Not just speaking the Bengali language—that can be done by foreigners too, if they wish. Being Bengali means not only using the language but also possessing empathy for other Bengalis. One who feels distressed by another Bengali’s suffering and wants to help—that is a true Bengali. You were the greatest Bengali—because you were the greatest poet of the language, and also the one most pained by the sorrow of Bengal.

Yet today, this union of excellence and empathy is absent among Bengalis. The privileged are disconnected from the poor, and even the poor are disconnected from each other. You would have seen the outward pride in progress, but you would also have seen the inner fragmentation—and that would have saddened you.

You wanted the children of Bengal to be homeless—but in the sense that they would not be confined to their homes, but venture out into the world and conquer it. But only those who have homes can choose to leave them. Most Bengalis today are homeless not by choice but by force—famine, partition, war, communal unrest, and class oppression have uprooted them. Today, the number of landless Upens is not in hundreds or thousands, but in millions—Hindus and Muslims alike—who migrate to cities only to become slum dwellers. This stream of displacement would have deeply pained you.

You said Bengalis must sing your songs. And indeed, they do. Your compositions are national anthems of three nations—Bangladesh, India, and even Sri Lanka was inspired by your work. Yet your songs are under threat—drowned out by the aggressive sounds of band music, as a speeding truck crushes a defenseless pedestrian.

Bengali culture itself is under siege. People are becoming “global,” which in reality means they are becoming aliens in their own homes. Once, literature was a source of pride for Bengalis. From the era of Ishwar Gupta, it progressed a great deal. You carried it a long way forward. But now, that literature is regressing—back toward the spirit of Ishwar Gupta’s time.

But Rabindranath will not return. Nor can he. If someone appears pretending to be him, know that it is an imitation. For history moves forward—it does not return. A hero comes only once, not again and again.

Yet we still desperately need him—need him to teach us how to be human. If he were to come today, he would tell us to connect—to each other. He would emphasize education—not just of the intellect, but of the heart.

He would not ignore politics. He would not fail to see that the Bengali's enemies lie not only outside but also within. Internally, inequality is the enemy. To end inequality, people must take control of state power. Bankim Chandra turned toward religion in his later life. Vidyasagar wanted to retire to the tribal areas. You did neither. You stayed among the people, took part in politics—not to seize power but to weaken the state, to empower society. You kept moving forward, as you always had.

Today is 25 Boishakh, your birth anniversary. Though you are no longer with us, you are still here—and will remain. You left us your literature, and your life. We will never be Rabindranath. None of us possess your genius. But we can still walk the path you showed. That is the path of becoming Bengali. You told us to overcome disconnection and embrace unity; to be both wise and compassionate; to be generous and courageous. Progress is not just in concrete buildings. We need those, yes—but more importantly, we must grow and develop as human beings. That is to say, we must not be Rabindranath, but become like Rabindranath.

Serajul Islam Choudhury, thinker and Emeritus Professor, University of Dhaka