Many people in this country are old enough and have the sense to understand the drama being played out over Rabindranath Tagore. In recent weeks, portraits of the poet have been defaced with black ink in Bangladesh, prompting controversy and official responses. Yet no one is saying anything, nor is there any need to. The answer to why there is no need can be found in a play featuring Tripti Mitra. After hearing that “Atal” has become the manager, Tripti Mitra asks her fellow actor, “What did you say in response to Atal?” He replies, “This is the time to listen.”
In fact, there are times in the world when all one can do is listen and watch. At the same time, it is also true that there are many things one should neither watch nor listen to. Nor should one respond to them.
The other day, for example, a gentleman in Kolkata who is deeply concerned about fundamentalism in Bangladesh called me and said, “Dada, what is all this that is happening over Rabindranath in your country? The government is giving Rabindranath quite good protection.” I told him, “Look, I have the flu and my voice is very hoarse at the moment. I cannot speak.” After hanging up, those few words kept echoing in my head for a long time: “Giving Rabindranath protection.” Alas, Rabindranath!
After the election on 12 February, this same gentleman had called me in excitement. “Dada, apparently the Hindus in your country have voted for the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) in large numbers this time.” That day, too, I had given him a brief answer: “I have no idea.”
It is not that, in such cases, I follow the line spoken by Tripti Mitra’s fellow actor, “Now is our time to listen.” Rather, I follow the advice of my physician, the late Badruddoza Chowdhury. He told me, “Look, if you want to live a healthy life, avoid anyone whose words or company irritate you. Do not answer what they say. Do not take their calls.”
Besides, even a madman can understand that in a country where the house of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the founding leader of Bangladesh, is demolished, and where it is considered permissible to change the names of establishments that had been named after Bangabandhu and the four national leaders since 1972, the painting of Rabindranath’s portrait on a wall, the subsequent smearing of ink on it, and the commotion over the whole affair are a rather small-scale circus, are they not? This circus cannot fool very many people. Besides, we have seen them all, from the Gemini Circus to Aslam Beg’s circus. So this circus does not move us.
A few years ago, for instance, a close friend sent me a video clip and wrote, “You need not listen to this. It is clear from what the speaker says that he has never read Rabindranath.” His knowledge of Rabindranath was much the same as that of those fools on the street, who repeat the baseless claim that Rabindranath had opposed the establishment of the University of Dhaka. My friend has encountered hundreds of thousands of books in his lifetime. So he went on to write that, in reality, reading books is not an easy task. And reading Rabindranath is not easy at all.
In an interview, Sunil Gangopadhyay said that apparently no one reads Rabindranath anymore. Long before that interview, at a gathering at the home of Gazi Shahabuddin Ahmed, editor of the magazine Sandhani, I had asked Sunilda, “Dada, in your novel Purba-Paschim, you wrote at one point that Sheikh Mujib had declared independence under pressure from the students. Did you write that as a historical truth, or was it the thought of a character in the novel?” I have rarely met a gentleman like Sunilda. He calmly replied, “That is how it was, was it not?”
Then, pressing his hand, which rested on my lap, I said, “Dada, would a leader like Sheikh Mujibur Rahman act under pressure from a few boys of twenty-two?” As soon as I had said this, he squeezed my hand firmly and asked, “What do you think?” I replied, “Dada, there is nothing to speculate about here. He was the leader. He led his people, his young students, and even the leaders of his own party. Those who judge him harshly across the span of his political life, from its beginning to the creation of Bangladesh, are people who have been defeated by life. And there is another class of people here who cannot directly deny Bangladesh. But in their hearts and minds, they want to deny Bangladesh. And as part of that effort, they first deny Sheikh Mujib. Because denying Sheikh Mujib amounts to denying a great deal of Bangladesh. The Bangladesh that remains after Sheikh Mujib has been denied is, in reality, a mini Pakistan. And after the assassination of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, this country has experienced many military and political upheavals. During some of those events, the slogan ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ was also raised.”
Sunilda seemed to reflect on something and then said, “Belal and Gazi will be coming to Kolkata next month. Come with them. But you must stay at my home for a month.” Laughing, I replied, “Dada, I grew up in school boarding houses, at a mission, and in hostels and halls. I do not fit in even in my own home. So I cannot stay at anyone else’s house. But I can stay in your city.”
I did not make that trip. A few months later, when Sunilda came, Gazi Bhai had moved house. At an afternoon gathering in that new home, Sunilda called me over again and said, “Well, many people have many opinions. What is your impression of Sheikh Mujib? How well read was he?”
I replied, “Dada, I cannot answer that question about a man of such stature. One of his former leaders, Abul Hashim, wrote that when he explained ‘Islamic socialism’ to Mujib and the other student leaders at night, Mujib would fall asleep.” On the other hand, from the limited opportunities I had as a journalist to look through the books in his study while working on various features, I had the impression that he had read Rabindranath and Russell with great care.
Sunilda said, “His youngest son was called Russel, was he not?”
When I nodded, he said, “I have looked very closely at the boy’s photographs. Had he grown up, he would have been even more handsome than Mujib.”
Sunil Gangopadhyay again took my hand in his and said, “While working on your features, you had the opportunity to look through the books in his library. Were you able to tell which of Rabindranath’s books he read most?”
I did not answer Sunilda’s question that day. I avoided it. But in the two months or so before Gaffar Chowdhury Bhai died, we often discussed Rabindranath’s novel Ghare-Baire (The Home and the World). Set against the Swadeshi movement in Bengal, the novel explores the tension between political passion and moral responsibility. Through the contrasting figures of Nikhil and Sandip, Tagore shows how a cause pursued in the name of the country can be corrupted by manipulation, coercion and disregard for truth. At one point, I told Gaffar Bhai, “Bhai, you used to discuss many things with Bangabandhu. But after leafing through the collected works of Rabindranath in his study, I had the impression that he was very fond of Ghare-Baire.” Gaffar Bhai asked why I thought so. I told him, “You see, because I cannot write prose simply, I return to Bangabandhu’s speeches again and again. I have not found in any writer’s work the ability to express things in such simple Bangla.”
And in almost every one of his speeches, whether he spoke of attaining self-rule, defending independence, or safeguarding the revolution, he placed emphasis on moral character. And I know of nowhere that shows more clearly than Rabindranath’s Ghare-Baire what becomes of a revolution or a struggle when character has not been built. Its essence, too, was echoed again and again in Bangabandhu’s speeches.
In reality, Bangabandhu gave us a country through a struggle of twenty-two years. But he was not given the time to shape our character.
Swadesh Roy is a state award-winning journalist and editor of Sarakhon and The Present World.
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