It was disappointing not to have brought back in the evening some important I statement, some authentic fact. Women are poorer than men because- this or that. Perhaps now it would be better to give up seeking for the truth, and receiving on one’s head an avalanche of opinion hot as lava, discoloured as dish-water. It would be better to draw the curtains; to shut out distractions; to light the lamp; to narrow the enquiry and to ask the historian, who records not opinions but facts, to describe under what conditions women lived, not throughout the ages, but in England, say in the time of Elizabeth.
Shaam ke waqt kuch khaas baat ya asal sach wapas na laa pana thoda mayoosi wali baat thi. Auratein mardon se zyada gareeb kyun hain – is ka sach dhoondhna mushkil hai. Shayad behtar yeh hota ke hum sach ki talaash chhod dete, aur har taraf se garam garam raayein (opinions) sunne ki bajaye, khud ko thoda chup rakhte. Parda khenchte, lamp jala lete, aur apna sawaal chhota kar ke kisi historian (tareekhi likhne wale) se poochhte ke asal mein us waqt auratein kaise jeeti thin – England mein, Elizabeth ke time mein.
For it is a perennial puzzle why no woman wrote a word of that extraordi-nary literature when every other man, it seemed, was capable of song or sonnet.
Aik ajeeb sawal hamesha rehta hai ke jab har dusra mard gaane likh raha tha ya sonnet likh raha tha, to kisi aurat ne us waqt kuch kyun nahi likha?
What were the conditions in which women lived, I asked myself; for fiction, imaginative work that is, is not dropped like a pebble upon the ground, as science may be; fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible; Shakespeare’s plays, for instance, seem to hang there complete by themselves. But when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in midair by incorporeal creatures, but are the work of suffering human beings, and are attached to grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in.
Maine socha, aurat kis halat mein jeeti thi? Kyun ke fiction – kahani ya kalpana wali likhai – zameen pe pathar ki tarah nahi girti jaise science. Fiction to makri ke jaal ki tarah hoti hai, zindagi se har kone mein judi hoti hai. Shakespeare ke plays bhi, chahe lagay akelay khud hi latak rahay hon, asal mein kisi halat, kisi mushkil, kisi dukh, kisi paisay, kisi ghar se hi juday hotay hain.
I went, therefore, to the shelf where the histories stand and took down one of the latest, Professor Trevelyan’s History of England. Once more I looked up Women, found “position of,” and turned to the pages indicated.
“Wife-beating,” I read, “was a recognised right of man, and was practised without shame by high as well as low\…. Similarly,” the historian goes on, “the daughter who refused to marry the gentleman of her parents’ choice was liable to be locked up, beaten and flung about the room, without any shock being inflicted on public opinion.
Main gaya us shelf ki taraf jahan history ki kitaabein rakhi thi. Wahan se maine Professor Trevelyan ki History of England uthayi. Aur “Women” ke section mein dekha – likha tha, “Wife-beating” (biwi ko maarna) ek aam aur maane hui baat thi, aur isay chhoti ya badi class dono mein bina sharm ke kiya jaata tha. Agar koi ladki apne maa baap ke pasand ke ladke se shaadi se inkaar karti, to use band kar diya jaata, maara jaata, aur kamre mein ghaseeta jaata – bina kisi society ke shock ke.
Marriage was not an affair of personal affection, but of family avarice, particularly in the ‘chivalrous’ upper classes. Betrothal often took place while one or both of the parties was in the cradle, and marriage when they were scarcely out of the nurses’ charge.”
Shaadi mohabbat ka kaam nahi hoti thi, balke paisa kamaane ka zariya thi – khaaskar un logo ke liye jo upar ke class ke hote thay. Kabhi kabhi to ladke-ladkiyon ki engagement us waqt karwa di jaati thi jab woh abhi jhoolay mein hote thay.
That was about 1470, soon after Chaucer’s time. The next reference to the position of women is some two hundred years later, in the time of the Stuarts. “It was still the exception for women of the upper and middle class to choose their own husbands, and when the husband had been assigned, he was lord and master, so far at least as law and custom could make him. Yet even so,” Professor Trevelyan concludes, “neither Shakespeare’s women nor those of authentic seventeenth-century memoirs, like the Verneys and the Hutchinsons, seem wanting in personality and character.”
Yeh baat lagbhag 1470 ki hai, Chaucer ke zamane ke thodi der baad ki. Agli baar aurton ke haal ka zikr lagbhag do sau saal baad milta hai, jab Stuart family ka raaj tha.
Us waqt bhi, ameer aur madhyam varg (middle class) ki auratein apne pati ka chunav khud nahi kar sakti thi. Jab ek baar pati tay ho jata, to wo aurat ka malik aur hukmaran samjha jata — qanoon aur riwaj ke mutabiq. Lekin phir bhi, Professor Trevelyan kehte hain:
“Na to Shakespeare ke naatkon mein aur na hi 1600 ke asli yaadon mein, jaise ke Verneys aur Hutchinsons ki kahaniyon mein, auratein shakhsiyat (personality) ya kirdaar (character) mein kamzor lagti hain.”
Certainly, if we consider it, Cleopatra must have had a way with her; Lady Macbeth, one would suppose, had a will of her own; Rosalind, one might conclude, was an attractive girl. Professor Trevelyan is speaking no more than the truth when he remarks that Shakespeare’s women do not seem wanting in personality and character.
Bilkul, agar hum dhyan se sochein, to lagta hai ke Cleopatra mein koi baat zaroor thi jo use khaas banati thi. Lady Macbeth ke baare mein bhi lagta hai ke uski apni marzi thi, aur Rosalind ek khoobsurat aur pyari ladki thi. Professor Trevelyan sach hi kehte hain jab woh bolte hain ke Shakespeare ke natkon ki auratein kabhi bhi shakhsiyat (personality) aur kirdaar (character) mein kamzor nahi lagti hain.
Not being a historian, one might go even further and say that women have burnt like beacons in all the works of all the poets from the beginning of time-Clytemnestra, Antigone, Cleopatra, Lady Macbeth, Phedre, Cressida, Rosalind, Desdemona, the Duchess of Malfi, among the dramatists; then among the prose writers: Millamant, Clarissa, Becky Sharp, Anna Karenina, Emma Bovary, Madame de Guermantes-the names flock to mind, nor do they recall women “lacking in personality and character.”
Main itihaskar (historian) nahi hoon, lekin phir bhi main keh sakta hoon ke auratein hamesha se shaairon ke likhe har kaam mein ek chamakti roshni ki tarah jalti rahi hain. Chahe woh drama likhne wale hoon – jaise Clytemnestra, Antigone, Cleopatra, Lady Macbeth, Phedre, Cressida, Rosalind, Desdemona, ya Duchess of Malfi – ya woh kahaniaan likhne wale hoon – jaise Millamant, Clarissa, Becky Sharp, Anna Karenina, Emma Bovary, aur Madame de Guermantes – in sab ke naam sunte hi yaad aata hai ke yeh auratein kabhi bhi “shakhsiyat aur kirdaar se khaali” nahi thi.
Indeed, if woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance, very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man, some think even greater. But this is woman in fiction. In fact, as Professor Trev-elyan points out, she was locked up, beaten and flung about the room.
Sach yeh hai ke agar aurat sirf unhi kahaniyon mein hoti jo mardo ne likhi hoti, to lagta woh duniya ki sabse important shakhs hoti – kabhi hero, kabhi kamzor, kabhi bahut sundar, kabhi darawani – mardon ke barabar ya kabhi unse bhi upar. Lekin yeh sirf fiction (kalpana) ki baat hai. Haqeeqat mein, jaise Professor Trevelyan ne kaha – auratein band ki jati thi, peeti jati thi, aur kamre ke ek kone se doosre kone tak phenki jati thi.
A very queer, composite being thus emerges. Imaginatively she is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignificant. She pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history. She dominates the lives of kings and conquerors in fiction; in fact she was the slave of any boy whose parents forced a ring upon her finger. Some of the most inspired words, some of the most profound thoughts in literature fall from her lips; in real life she could hardly read, could scarcely spell, and was the property of her husband.
To ek ajeeb si aurat saamne aati hai – kalpana mein woh bohot important hai, lekin asal mein uski koi ahmiyat nahi thi. Poetry mein woh har jagah hai, par history mein gayab. Kahaniyon mein woh raaniyon ki maa lagti hai, lekin asal mein kisi ladke ki ghulaam ban jaati thi jiske maa baap ne uske haath mein chhalla (ring) pehna diya. Uske moo se literature ke kuch gehre aur khoobsurat alfaaz nikalte thay – lekin asal mein woh mushkil se padh paati thi, spelling bhi nahi aati thi, aur apne pati ki milkiyat hoti thi.
It was certainly an odd monster that one made up by reading the historians first and the poets afterwards-a worm winged like an eagle; the spirit of life and beauty in a kitchen chopping up suet. But these monsters, however amusing to the imagination, have no existence in fact. What one must do to bring her to life was to think poetically and prosaically at one and the same moment, thus keeping in touch with fact-that she is Mrs Martin, aged thirty-six, dressed in blue, wearing a black hat and brown shoes; but not losing sight of fiction either-that she is a vessel in which all sorts of spirits and forces are coursing and flashing perpetually. The moment, however, that one tries this method with the Elizabethan woman, one branch of illumination fails; one is held up by the scarcity of facts. One knows nothing detailed, nothing perfectly true and substantial about her. History scarcely mentions her. And I turned to Professor Trevelyan again to see what history meant to him. I found by looking at his chapter headings that it meant-
Yeh waqai ek ajeeb sa janwar lagta hai jo insaan tab banata hai jab pehle historian (itihaaskar) ki kitab padhta hai aur baad mein shaairon (poets) ka kaam. Jaise ek keera jis ke par baaz jaise hoon; ya zindagi aur khoobsurti ki rooh jo rasoi (kitchen) mein baith kar gosht ka charbi (suet) kaat rahi ho. Lekin yeh ajeeb o garib tasavvurat sirf zehan mein hi ache lagte hain — asal zindagi mein yeh monsters nahi hote. Aurat ko asal mein zinda karne ke liye zaruri hai ke ek waqt mein dono soch rakhein — shaairana bhi aur seedhi sadhi (asli) bhi. Jaise: Aurat ka naam hai Mrs Martin, umr 36 saal, neela kapda pehna hai, kaali topi aur bhoore jootay — yeh sab haqeeqat hai. Lekin saath hi hum yeh na bhoolain ke woh ek aisi hasti bhi hai jismein har tarah ki roohon, jazbaton aur taqaton ka toofan chhupa hua hai — woh lagataar uske andar ghoomti rehti hain. Lekin jaise hi hum Elizabethan daur (Queen Elizabeth ke zamane) ki aurat par yeh tareeqa lagana chahte hain, wahan ek mushkil aati hai: Tareekhi roshni ka ek hisa band ho jata hai — kyun ke facts (haqeeqatein) bohot kam hain. Humein uske baare mein kuch bhi theek se nahi pata — na hi poori sachchai, na hi theek maloomat. Tareekh mein uska zyada zikr nahi milta. Phir maine Professor Trevelyan ki kitab uthai — dekhne ke liye ke uske liye tareekh ka matlab kya tha. Maine uske chapter ke titles dekhe — aur yeh samjha ke tareekh ka matlab tha:
“The Manor Court aur Open-field Agriculture ke tareeqay… Cistercians aur sheep-farming… The Crusades… University… House of Commons… Hundred Years’ War… Wars of the Roses… Renaissance ke scholars… Monasteries ka band hona… Zameeni aur mazhabi jhagde… England ki samundari taqat ka aaghaz… The Armada… aur aise hi aur topics.” Kabhi kabhi kisi ek aurat ka naam milta hai — jaise Elizabeth ya Mary — koi rani ya bohot ameer aurat. Lekin kisi bhi tareeqay se ek middle-class aurat, jiske paas sirf akal aur kirdaar ho, wo kabhi in bade tareekhi movements ka hissa nahi ban saki. Aur na hi humein uska zikr kahaniyon ki kitaabon mein milta hai.
Aubrey jaise likhne walon ne uska mushkil se hi zikr kiya hai. Usne kabhi apni zindagi khud nahi likhi. Na hi rozana diary likhi. Sirf kuch hi uske khat milte hain. Usne koi play ya nazm nahi chhodi jisse hum uska andaaza laga sakein. Phir mujhe khayal aaya: Koi tez dimaag student Newnham ya Girton college se yeh kaam kyun nahi karta? Humein chahiye ek poori maloomat ki kitaab — Usne kis umr mein shaadi ki? Uske kitne bachay the? Uska ghar kaisa tha? Kya uske paas apna kamra tha? Kya wo khud khana banati thi? Kya uske paas naukrani thi? Yeh sab facts kahin na kahin likhe honge — church ke records, account books, waghera mein. Elizabethan daur ki ek aam aurat ki zindagi kahin na kahin chhupi hui hai. Agar kisi ne sab ikattha kiya, to ek kitaab ban sakti hai.
Mujhe lagta hai yeh kaam karne ki himmat mujh mein nahi hai, jab mein shelf par un kitaabon ko dekh raha tha jo wahan nahi thi. Lekin shayad un colleges ke students tareekh ko phir se likhne ka kaam shuru karein. Agar yeh mumkin na bhi ho, to kam az kam tareekh mein ek extra hisa add karein — jiska naam halka ho, taake auratein usmein asaani se dikh sakein. Kyunkay hum unhe aksar badi shakhsiyat ke jeevan mein ek jhalak ke roop mein dekhte hain — jaise piche se chhupte hue, kabhi muskurahat, kabhi aansu ke saath. Aur waise bhi, Jane Austen ke jeevan par to bohot kuch likha ja chuka hai. Joanna Baillie ke natakon ka Edgar Allan Poe par kya asar tha, yeh bhi hum jaante hain. Main to yeh bhi bardaasht kar loonga ke Mary Russell Mitford ke ghar log 100 saal tak dekhne na jaayein.
But what I find deplorable, I continued, looking about the bookshelves again, is that nothing is known about women before the eighteenth century. I have no model in my mind to turn about this way and that. Here am I asking why women did not write poetry in the Elizabethan age, and I am not sure how they were educated; whether they were taught to write; whether they had sitting-rooms to themselves; how many women had children before they were twenty-one; what, in short, they did from eight in the morning till eight at night.
Lekin jo baat mujhe sabse zyada afsosnaak lagi — jab mein bookshelf ki taraf phir se dekhta hoon — wo yeh hai ke: 18th century se pehle auraton ke baare mein kuch bhi jaankari nahi milti. Mere zehan mein koi bhi aisi aurat ka model nahi hai jisse mein samajh sakun. Main poochti hoon: Elizabethan daur ki auratein shaayari kyun nahi likhti thi? Lekin mujhe nahi pata ke unki taleem (education) kaise thi. Kya unhe likhna sikhaya jaata tha? Kya unke paas apna kamra hota tha? Kya 21 saal se pehle hi unke bachay ho jaate the? Subah 8 baje se le kar raat 8 baje tak wo karti kya thi?
They had no money evidently; according to Professor Trevelyan they were married whether they liked it or not before they were out of the nursery, at fifteen or sixteen very likely. It would have been extremely odd, even upon this showing, had one of them suddenly written the plays of Shakespeare, I concluded, and I thought of that old gentleman, who is dead now, but was a bishop, I think, who declared that it was impossible for any woman, past, present, or to come, to have the genius of Shakespeare.
Unke paas paise to bilkul nahi hote the; Professor Trevelyan kehte hain ke unki shaadi zabardasti karwa di jaati thi, aksar jab wo sirf 15 ya 16 saal ki hoti thi. Aise mein, yeh sochna bhi ajeeb lagta hai ke koi aisi ladki Shakespeare jaise plays likh deti. Aur phir mujhe yaad aaya ek buzurg sahab ka — jo ab mar chuke hain — shaayad wo bishop the. Unhone kaha tha ke koi bhi aurat, na to past mein, na ab, aur na future mein, kabhi Shakespeare jaise genius nahi ho sakti.
He wrote to the papers about it. He also told a lady who applied to him for information that cats do not as a matter of fact go to heaven, though they have, he added, souls of a sort. How much thinking those old gentlemen used to save one! How the borders of ignorance shrank back at their approach! Cats do not go to heaven. Women cannot write the plays of Shakespeare.
Unhone yeh baat akhbaar mein bhi likhi thi. Aur ek aurat ne jab unse poocha ke kya billiyaan swarg jaati hain, to unhone kaha: “Nahi, lekin unke paas kuch hadd tak rooh hoti hai.” Aise buzurg log insaan ka bohot sa sochne ka kaam asaan kar dete hain. Jaise hi wo bolte, jahalat ke andhere peeche hat jaate. “Billiyaan swarg nahi jaati.” “Auratein Shakespeare jaise plays nahi likh sakti.”
This is in process…
Thank you for your patience!
A Room of One’s Own Vocabulary
| English Phrase | Urdu (اردو) | Hindi (हिंदी) | Bengali (বাংলা) |
|---|---|---|---|
| disappointing | مایوس کن | निराशाजनक | হতাশাজনক |
| authentic | اصل / حقیقی | प्रामाणिक | প্রামাণিক |
| avalanche of opinion | رائے کا طوفان | राय का हिमस्खलन | মতামতের প্রলয় |
| draw the curtains | پردہ ڈالنا | पर्दा खींचना | পর্দা টানা |
| narrow the enquiry | تحقیقات کو محدود کرنا | जांच को सीमित करना | অনুসন্ধান সীমাবদ্ধ করা |
| perennial puzzle | ہمیشہ کا معمہ | स्थायी पहेली | চিরন্তন ধাঁধা |
| extraordinary literature | غیرمعمولی ادب | असाधारण साहित्य | অসাধারণ সাহিত্য |
| pebble | چھوٹا کنکر | कंकड़ | নুড়ি পাথর |
| scarcely perceptible | مشکل سے محسوس ہونے والا | मुश्किल से दिखने योग्य | অস্পষ্টভাবে দেখা যায় |
| incorporeal | غیر جسمانی | अशरीरी | অদেহী |
| grossly material things | بہت مادی چیزیں | मूर्त भौतिक चीजें | জড়বাদী জিনিস |
| recognised right | تسلیم شدہ حق | मान्यता प्राप्त अधिकार | স্বীকৃত অধিকার |
| without shame | بے شرمی کے ساتھ | बिना शर्म के | লজ্জা ছাড়াই |
| personal affection | ذاتی محبت | निजी स्नेह | ব্যক্তিগত স্নেহ |
| family avarice | خاندانی لالچ | परिवार का लालच | পারিবারিক লোভ |
| betrothal | منگنی | सगाई | বাগদান |
| nurses' charge | نرس کی نگرانی | नर्स की देखरेख | নার্সের দায়িত্ব |
| assigned husband | تفویض شدہ شوہر | निर्धारित पति | নির্ধারিত স্বামী |
| lacking in personality | شخصیت کی کمی | व्यक्तित्व की कमी | ব্যক্তিত্বের অভাব |
| utmost importance | انتہائی اہمیت | अत्यधिक महत्व | চরম গুরুত্ব |
| queer | عجیب | अजीब | অদ্ভুত |
| composite being | مرکب ہستی | मिश्रित प्राणी | মিশ্র সত্তা |
| slave | غلام | गुलाम | দাসী |
| inspired words | متاثر کن الفاظ | प्रेरणादायक शब्द | অনুপ্রাণিত শব্দ |
| profound thoughts | گہرے خیالات | गहन विचार | গভীর চিন্তা |
| property of her husband | شوہر کی ملکیت | पति की संपत्ति | স্বামীর সম্পত্তি |
| odd monster | عجیب مخلوق | अजीब राक्षस | অদ্ভুত দানব |
| winged like an eagle | عقاب کی طرح پروں والی | गरुड़ जैसे पंख | ঈগলের মতো ডানা |
| chopping up suet | چربی کاٹنا | चर्बी काटना | চর্বি কাটছে |
| poetically and prosaically | شاعرانہ اور نثری انداز میں | काव्यात्मक और गद्य रूप में | কবিতার মতো ও গদ্যে |
| vessel of spirits | روحوں کا برتن | आत्माओं का पात्र | আত্মার পাত্র |
| scarcity of facts | حقائق کی کمی | तथ्यों की कमी | তথ্যের অভাব |
| diary | ڈائری | डायरी | ডায়েরি |
| betrothed | منگنی ہونا | सगाई होना | বাগদান |
| grammar school | گرائمر اسکول | व्याकरण स्कूल | ব্যাকরণ স্কুল |
| logic | منطق | तर्कशास्त्र | যুক্তি |
| poached rabbits | خرگوش کا شکار | खरगोश का शिकार | খরগোশ শিকার |
| taste for theatre | تھیٹر کا شوق | थिएटर का स्वाद | থিয়েটারের স্বাদ |
| stage door | اسٹیج کا دروازہ | स्टेज का द्वार | মঞ্চের দরজা |
| substantial people | معقول لوگ | सम्मानजनक लोग | সম্মানীয় মানুষ |
| mend the stockings | جرابیں سی دینا | मोज़े सिलना | মোজা সেলাই করা |
| moon about | بے مقصد گھومنا | बेकार घूमना | অর্থহীনভাবে ঘোরা |
| beads | موتیوں کی مالا | मोती की माला | মুক্তোর মালা |
| petticoat | پھول دار چولی | घाघरा | পেটিকোট |
| rope | رسی | रस्सी | দড়ি |
| hedge | باڑھ | बाड़ | কাঁটাতার |
| quickest fancy | تیز تخیل | तेज कल्पना | দ্রুত কল্পনা |
| tune of words | الفاظ کی لے | शब्दों की धुन | শব্দের সুর |
| guffawed | قہقہہ لگانا | ठहाका मारना | হাসতে হাসতে উঠা |
| poodles dancing | کتے کا ناچ | कुत्तों का नृत्य | কুকুরের নাচ |
| tavern | سرائے | सराय | মদের দোকান |
| roam the streets | گلیوں میں آوارہ پھرنا | सड़कों पर भटकना | রাস্তায় ঘোরা |
| actor-manager | اداکار-منیجر | अभिनेता-प्रबंधक | অভিনেতা-ব্যবস্থাপক |
| with child | حاملہ | गर्भवती | গর্ভবতী |
| heat and violence | جذبے اور شدت | उत्साह और हिंसा | উত্তাপ ও হিংসা |
| caught and tangled | الجھ جانا | फँस जाना | জড়িয়ে পড়া |
| cross-roads | چوراہا | चौराहा | চৌরাস্তা |
| omnibuses | بسیں | बसें | বাস |
| buried | دفن | दफनाया गया | কবর দেয়া হয়েছে |
| unthinkable | ناقابلِ یقین | अकल्पनीय | অচিন্তনীয় |
| labouring people | محنت کش لوگ | श्रमिक वर्ग | শ্রমজীবী মানুষ |
| servile | غلامانہ | दासता जैसी | দাসসুলভ |
| held to it by law | قانون کے تحت مجبور | कानून से बंधे होना | আইনের দ্বারা বাধ্য |
| blazes out | چمک اٹھنا | चमक उठना | জ্বলে ওঠা |
| mute and inglorious | خاموش اور گمنام | मौन और अनाम | নিঃশব্দ ও নামহীন |
| dashed her brains out | دماغ پاش پاش کر لینا | माथा फोड़ लेना | মাথা কুঁচকে মারা |
| crooning | لوری دینا | लोरी गाना | ঘুমপাড়ানি গান গাওয়া |
| beguile | دل بہلانا | मन बहलाना | মুগ্ধ করা |
| propitious | موافق | अनुकूल | অনুকূল |
| set free | آزاد کرنا | मुक्त करना | মুক্ত করা |
| thwarted | روکنا | रोक देना | ব্যাহত করা |
| pulled asunder | ٹکڑوں میں بکھیرنا | फाड़ देना | চিরে ফেলা |
| chastity | عصمت | पवित्रता | পবিত্রতা |
| fetish | فریب زدہ شوق | विकृत आसक्ति | ভ্রান্ত বাসনা |
| nervous stress | ذہنی دباؤ | तनाव | নার্ভাস চাপ |
| morbid imagination | بیمار ذہن کی تخیل | बीमार कल्पना | রুগ্ন কল্পনা |
| unsigned | بغیر دستخط | बिना हस्ताक्षर | স্বাক্ষরবিহীন |
| anonymity | گمنامی | गुमनामी | নামহীনতা |
| inner strife | اندرونی کشمکش | आंतरिक संघर्ष | অন্তর্দ্বন্দ্ব |
| veil themselves | اپنے آپ کو چھپانا | अपने आप को ढकना | নিজেকে আড়াল করা |
| homage | عقیدت پیش کرنا | श्रद्धांजलि देना | শ্রদ্ধাঞ্জলি |
| publicity | مشہوری | प्रसिद्धि | জনপ্রচারণা |
| tombstone | قبر کا پتھر | कब्र का पत्थर | কবরের পাথর |
| irresistible desire | ناقابلِ مزاحمت خواہش | अविरुद्ध इच्छा | অপ্রতিরোধ্য আকাঙ্ক্ষা |
| instinct | فطری جذبہ | प्रवृत्ति | প্রবৃত্তি |
| tragedies | المیے | त्रासदियाँ | দুঃখগাথা |
| blotted a line | ایک لائن بھی نہ کاٹنا | एक पंक्ति न काटना | একটি রেখাও কাটেনি |
| self-consciousness | خود آگاہی | आत्मचेतना | আত্মচেতনা |
| autobiographies | خودنوشت | आत्मकथाएँ | আত্মজীবনী |
| confessions | اقرار نامے | स्वीकारोक्ति | স্বীকারোক্তি |
| indifference of the world | دنیا کی بے پرواہی | दुनिया की उदासीनता | পৃথিবীর উদাসীনতা |
| prodigious difficulty | بہت بڑی مشکل | अत्यधिक कठिनाई | বিরাট কষ্ট |
| material circumstances | مادی حالات | भौतिक परिस्थितियाँ | ভৌতিক পরিস্থিতি |
| scrupulously verifies | سچائی سے تصدیق کرنا | ईमानदारी से सत्यापित करना | সততার সাথে যাচাই করা |
| creative years of youth | جوانی کے تخلیقی سال | युवावस्था के रचनात्मक वर्ष | যৌবনের সৃজনশীল বছর |
| curse | لعنت | शाप | অভিশাপ |
| cry of agony | درد کی چیخ | पीड़ा की चीख | যন্ত্রণার আর্তনাদ |
| uncrippled | بغیر نقصان کے | बिना अपंगता के | অক্ষত |
| formidable | زبردست | भयावह | ভয়ঙ্কর |
| sound-proof room | آواز روکنے والا کمرہ | ध्वनि-रहित कमरा | শব্দরোধক কক্ষ |
| pin money | جیب خرچ | जेब खर्च | জেব খরচ |
| debarred | روکا جانا | वंचित | বঞ্চিত |
| alleviations | آرام دہ سہولیات | राहत | উপশম |
| hostility | دشمنی | शत्रुता | শত্রুতা |
| guffaw | قہقہہ | ठहाका | উচ্চ হাসি |
| peroration | اختتامی تقریر | उपसंहार | উপসংহার |
| disgracefully ignorant | شرمناک طور پر جاہل | शर्मनाक रूप से अज्ञानी | লজ্জাজনকভাবে অজ্ঞ |
| shaken an empire | سلطنت ہلا دینا | साम्राज्य को हिला देना | সম্রাজ্য কাঁপানো |
| barbarous race | وحشی نسل | असभ्य जाति | অসভ্য জাতি |
| fertile lands | زرخیز زمین | उपजाऊ भूमि | উর্বর জমি |
| borne and bred | پالا اور پیدا کیا | पैदा किया और पाला | জন্ম ও পালন |
| immense privileges | بڑی مراعات | विशाल विशेषाधिकार | প্রচুর সুযোগ-সুবিধা |
| length of time | لمبا عرصہ | लंबी अवधि | দীর্ঘ সময়কাল |
| lack of opportunity | موقع کی کمی | अवसर की कमी | সুযোগের অভাব |
| obscure career | غیر معروف کیریئر | अस्पष्ट करियर | অজানা পেশা |
| fantastic | حیرت انگیز | अद्भुत | অলৌকিক |
| continuing presences | جاری رہنے والی موجودگی | निरंतर उपस्थिति | অবিরত উপস্থিতি |
| habit of freedom | آزادی کی عادت | स्वतंत्रता की आदत | স্বাধীনতার অভ্যাস |
| Milton's bogey | ملٹن کا بھوت | मिल्टन का भूत | মিল্টনের ভূত |
| no arm to cling to | سہارا نہ ہونا | सहारा न होना | কোনো ভরসা নেই |
| the world of reality | حقیقت کی دنیا | वास्तविकता की दुनिया | বাস্তবতার জগৎ |
| the world of men and women | مردوں اور عورتوں کی دنیا | पुरुषों और महिलाओं की दुनिया | নারী-পুরুষের জগৎ |
| put on the body | جسم پہننا | शरीर धारण करना | দেহ ধারণ করা |
| forerunners | پیش رو | पूर्वज | অগ্রজ |
| poverty and obscurity | غربت اور گمنامی | गरीबी और गुमनामी | দারিদ্র্য ও গোপনতা |
| worth while | قابل قدر | मूल्यवान | মূল্যবান |
