It has been a week since my mother’s death anniversary. I failed to recollect it till my eldest daughter Indrani Dasgupta reminded me in a message on the following day. This act of remembering every year is done by her youngest sister Sarbani Saha , who unfortunately was too tensed while awaiting a major operation, since performed successfully. I sincerely hope and pray that such dementia does not overpower those who have lost this greatest treasure in life. On two previous occasions, I had chances to share my thoughts on my father but not regard to my mother. Her life can be divided in three parts, 1) before her marriage,2) period when her husband was alive and 3) lastly the final lap whose mission was charted out by her husband at his deathbed with the words--------“Amar heart fail hochhe. Tumi shakta hoe bosho, amar Khokonke Asoke Kumar Ray Chaudhury bhashie dio na" (I have suffered a heart attack. Sit firmly, don’t let my son be swept away by flood) and this mandate she carried out steadfastly till she finally closed her eyes on an August evening 20 years ago. My mother was born in a big joint family. She was the fifth among her twelve siblings. Besides my grandfather had to look after three children of her deceased elder brother. He was a pleader by profession. There was no affluence in the family, but he ensured that all of his wards get education. My mother was quite a bright student and boasted of a pair of gold earrings with which she was rewarded on her proficiency in the primary examination. She could boast of her beautiful hand writings and even at her old age, with cataract in her eyes she could be found reading the Bengali translations of the verses in Sanskrit ‘THE CHANDI’ which her husband desired her to keep on chanting after his death. She was married at the age of 12 with her husband, the son of a Zamindar family. She was welcomed in the family with three fathers’ in law living. All of them used to address her as “MAA LAKSMI” and boasted that all of them would make her sit on their laps. I heard from my mother that my grandfather breathed his last with his head on the lap of my mother. She was 19 and still to become a mother when a big tragedy befell her father’s family. The brightest of her brothers “ Sachindranath Das Gupta” then studying in the Ripon College( now Surendranath College) was arrested, retained , tortured in jail for being in the midst of the then Anarchist Movement in Bengal. He was released on bond executed by my grandfather but was kept interned in house and was prevented from persecuting his studies. This was too much for the fervor of Nationalism inherent in him and he committed suicide by swallowing opium. Before that he wrote 23 letters addressed to his parents, siblings, the DM, SP, friends and relatives. Both my mother and grandfather were struck with inconsolable grief. My mother even developed symptoms of melancholia. My father took my grandfather to Rabindranath tagore at Jorashako and read out the letters for the poet. My father narrated the tears rolled down from the eyes of the poet and he wrote a memorable essay entitled “ Choto o Boro”- “Small and Big” which is compiled in the book entitled “Kalantar” . I give below quotes from that essay for my friends and youngsters to taste the inimitable style of the Bengali prose – “ Mohot lokkher proti atyotsorgo koria dukkho swikar korai shei baria cholibar goti. Shokol boro jatir itihashei ei gotir durnibar abeg byarthota swarthokker upol bondhur pathe gorjia fennaiya badha bghangiya churiya jhoria poriteche . Itihasher shei mohot drissho amader moto political ponguder kach hoiteo aral koria rakaha ashombhob. Ei jonno je shob jubaker prokritite praner swabhabik uttejona ache, mohoter upodesh o itihasher sikkha hoitei prerona lab kora shotteo nischesto hoiya thaka tader kache je mrittur cheo darunotoro, she kotha attohotta kale Sachindra Das Gupter mormantik bedonar potrokhani porilei bujha jaibe” Pardon me for my inept rendering of this classic Bengali- Sacrifice towards gaining the cherished goal in spite of bearing hardship and pain is indicative of progress. It is impossible to shut out the great spectacle of that progress by overwhelming the rollers that rolled and crashed the obstacles of that path strewn with pebbles through emotion failure and success and that which is recorded in the history of all great nations even from politically handicapped people like us. It is for that reason that it is impossible for those young souls possessing the natural fervor of youth and those who are inspired by the sayings and advice of the great men and the history they learnt from them. This is apparent from the tragic letter written by Sachindra Das Gupta before he took away his life. “Attoghati Sachinder ontimer chithi porile bojha jay je e cheleke je ingrej saja diyache shei ingrejer deshe e jodi jonmito tobe gourabe banchito ebong totodhik gourabe marite parito”--------- It is apparent from the final of Sachindra that had this boy been born in the land of English men who had punished him he would have lived in honor and could die in a more memorable way. My translation here is for those who may not have the book at hand to go through the essay, but I would urge all to make an effort to go through the essay and find out whether this great and small classification is still existent in our country and whether this is obstructing our progress and is ushering a sense of fatalism. Nothing more to add today
Posted on: Fri, 30 Aug 2013 12:54:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015