Mother

"For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world."

—Montgomery

Equal love and equal blessing when they go together are called mother. Rabindranath's mother breathed her last when he was but a child. What an emotional thrill flashes across our mind when we read Tagore's recollection of his mother's love filled with blessing.

"When in later life, I wandered about like a madcap, at the first coming of spring, with a handful of half-blown jasmines tied in a corner of my muslin scarf, and as I stroked my forehead with the soft, rounded tapering buds, the touch of my mother's fingers would come back to me; and I clearly realised that the tenderness which dwelt in the tips of those lovely fingers was the same as that which blossoms every day in the purity of these jasmine buds; and that whether we know it or not, this tenderness is on the earth in boundless measure."

—My Reminiscences