Gurus with canes are a hindrance in the union of peoples’ consciousness with Rabindranath.

by Firoz Ahmed, translated by Irfan Chowdhury 

Photograph: Estate of Hugo Erfurth

In the realm of sainthood, what use is there of the saint without disciples? Consequently, paths to reach the saint remain mysterious, with higher echelons of aids guiding the devotees suited to their desires. Great literary figures, likewise, suffer a similar consequence – being interpreted as ‘great’ or not so – at the hands of critics and analysts considering their work from certain lenses. 

In the case of the great Bengali poet and writer Rabindranath Tagore, this has magnified manifold. Though he had expressed his views and opinions on multitudes of social (and other) issues, clearly and in some instances indirectly, in his vast oeuvre, the Robindra-ites¹ (those living off Rabindranath’s work) of our society – who haven’t been able to modernise and keep up with time – seem to have become the judge of Rabindranath’s image and saviours of his reputation.  

With lashing sticks of interpretations and annotations, and at times their sheer personal political thoughts and biases, these gurus have determined latitudes and longitudes of Rabindranath in the public mind. Rabindranath is a great symbol in our (seemingly) weak civic and cultural life. When Rabindranath is attacked, secularism, Bengali culture, tolerance and even stability of public life seem to be disturbed. In instances of any such attack, the large gatherings of the two rival camps are largely concerned not with the real Rabindra Sahitya (Ranindhranath’s literature), but rather who is able to use his image to their advantage or who is projecting him as an enemy – that is all.  

The grumble that most Bengali Muslims grew up hearing about Rabindranath is that the Nobel Prize was actually owed to Nazrul. (Rabindranath Tagore was the first non-European to receive a Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913, primarily for Gitanjali, his best-known collection of poetry.) The slightly less common second gripe is that the Prameela Devi-Najrul marriage was a Hindu plot to stop Najrul or to trap him in the HIndu religious camp and a few other cock-and-bull stories and balderdashes. 

Without using the tools from psychology and sociology, we would not be able to go deep into the public mind. Yet, that analysis is often missing in our educational institutions. To tell the truth, though the Rabindra-ites are powerful among the cultural elite of Bangladesh, they fail to permeate into the masses; the Rabindra-ites are effectively confined in their own circles and cliques. Even among the middle class it is gradually becoming apparent that institutions like  Chhayanaut² are merely some isolated squares.  

Individual and personal observations and exceptions aside, in our side of Bengal, people are often short of liking Rabindranath as much as they respect him, whereas they adore Najrul. Yet to the younger generations, both are less and less read and becoming distant personalities – literary figures or otherwise. As youth make their own independent choices in literature and cultural observations, the Rabindra-ites’ monopoly on Rabindranath increases. Ultimately, the decline in readership is leading to lack of social and intellectual influences—and the sure end result of which would be the downfall of the Rabindra-ites. Some fear that it has already happened unbeknown to us, all that remains is the official proclamation. Some foresee absolute social degeneration.

2. 

In East-Bengal, a new fondness for Rabindranath had started during the Ayub³ regime, which reached its crescendo in our desire for ‘A Sonar Bangla’ (A Golden Bengal) during the liberation war. But when the country became independent, we were – yet again – divided into ‘me’ and ‘you’; the questions: ‘who are you?’, ‘who are we?’ reappeared. Which side did people find the Rabindra-ites? I dread the answer.  

Rabindra-ites have always been nature lovers. I can recall one such Rabindra-ite who wrote in the late nineties lamenting why wild mango trees were not planted on the roads of Dhaka. The rare native wild species would survive, even pedestrians and poor children would be able to eat mangoes – he had reasoned. 

These types of visions probably haunt present writers too. And that was a mere sample. Such love for nature would be easily found in Rabindra-ites. As sensitive minds can be developed by reading Rabindranath, or sensitive souls usually can fall in love with Rabindranath. But dear readers, can you please tell me, which is the biggest man-made natural disaster in the Bengal delta?

Not ringing any bells? Let me help you a little. That region was famous for its mango gardens. Now turned into a near desert, scorched by the disappearance of the flow of a river. Yes, I am talking about the Farakka Dam⁴, upstream on the mighty Padma river. Would you be the same, would there be a discomfort or a doubt rising in your heart that this huge natural disaster called ‘Farakka’ did not cause any pain, any suffering in the hearts of Rabindra-ites? Note, our unconscious mind is much, much more active than when we are conscious; and it would be tougher still to take account of even more secretive, secluded collective consciousness of the society. 

Yet, and perhaps, through its collective psychology, the society securely and anonymously keeps on sending harsh messages.

3.

Readers may query that just because he had thought about tokais (young street urchins; the term is a famous cartoon character of Rafiqun Nabi, a renowned cartoonist) and wild mangoes, why would he need to think and discuss politics around the Farakka. In that case, dear readers, you are a connoisseur of beauty and the Rabindra literature. 

Acknowledging your such undiluted appreciation for literature, and to continue this discussion, it is worth noting that Rabindranath – the idea and the man himself – is much more than that. Rabindranath does not hold us back to query as to why so many poor children are residents of roads; Rabindranath had spoken out many times about cruel distributions of wealth – Raktakarabi, a play about a greedy king forcing his subjects to mine for gold, is one great example. 

A society could always press ahead with a few who may be interested in any cause. In this particular instance, the thirst for beauty can also be the first obstacle to search for higher truth. Thus about 900 years ago ‘Farid-ud- din’ or ‘Attar of Nishapur’ (pen name for Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim, a twelfth century Persian Sufi poet) wrote in his ‘Pakhi-der Sabha’ (the Conference of the Birds):

“The first bird to return from this journey was the bulbul. In love with roses, the nightingale is enraptured by its own sweet-melody. It said, ‘I’m drowning in love for roses, day and night. I have no existence of my own today. How can a little bird like me endure the royal, shiny and bright appearance of a mighty rooster? Love for roses is enough for me.” (Synopsis, translated from Farsi to Bengali: Mohammad Farid Uddin Khan, November 4, 2016, Dainik Jugantar, translated to English by Irfan Chowdhury)

Rabindranath had thought in detail about dams, about the politics of dams, which Rabindra-ites are unwilling to contemplate. Mukta-dhara, which literally means free-rivulet, deriving its name from a mountain stream, a play written by Rabindranath in 1922 (or 1328 in Bengali calendar) over 100 years ago, expressed his differences in views with the Congress party in India’s pursuit of freedom. If you read the play, you would probably disagree with Rabindranath on the details in pursuit of self-emancipation, or you would probably agree with the politicians against whom this literary work was written.

But those differences are trivial in this discussion. The context of the play would be bound to surprise you. It would seem that Rabindranath had spoken about the politics of depriving the neighbour by damming the Ganges or Teesta rivers, keeping them in perpetual debt. It would surely seem that he was clairvoyant: 

“ The Passerby: What is it being made in the sky? It’s so scary to look at. 

The Citizen: Don’t you know? I think it is an alien machine.

The Passerby: What’s the machine for?

The Citizen: Our chief-engineer, Bibhuti, has completed what he had been building for the last 25 years. So the celebration today.  

The Passerby: What is this machine for?

The Citizen: To contain the streams of Mukta-dhara fountain. 

The Passerby: Oh My God! It looks like a demon’s head, no flesh, jagged jaws. Standing at the head of Uttarkoot with such a huge yawn. Our souls would dry up seeing it day and night. 

The Citizen: our souls are fine, tough; please do not worry. 

The Passerby: That may be, but it is not something to keep in front of the sun, it would have been better to cover it. Can’t you see the anger in the sky?

The Citizen: Aren’t you going to the aarti (a devout Hindu performance with deep reverence and adoration) at Bhairab today? 

The Passerby: I have come out to go there. I come this time every year, but I have never seen such a barrier in the sky above the temple. Suddenly, my heart shuddered looking at it today — it looks like it has raced beyond the head of the temple, as though disobeying it. I would like to pay offerings, but my heart is not at ease.”

Dear readers, have you noticed the hopeful attitude of the citizen in front of a (foreign) passerby? That he claimed, their soul is strong enough. If not really strong, the politics of water retention would poke the soul like a needle all the time. 

Yes, Rabindranath has discussed the politics of water:

“The Messenger: The people of Shivtarai do not know this news as yet. They cannot believe that any man could stop the water which God had given them.

Bibhuti (the Chief-engineer): God merely gave them water, but gave me the power to control its flow. 

The Messenger: They are unperturbed, unaware that weeks later their fields of cultivation —

Bibhuti: Why are you talking about farming?

The Messenger: Wasn’t the purpose of your dam to dry up that farming field?

Bibhuti: The purpose was to overcome the challenging conspiracy of sand-stone-water. There were no times to consider the fates of the farmers’ corn fields. 

The Messenger: The Prince has asked, ‘isn’t it the time to think about it, yet?’

Bibhuti: No. I am rather thinking of the majesty of machines and their technological prowess .

The Messenger: The cry of the hungry can not break your thoughts?

Bibhuti: No. Gushes of water cannot break my dam, the force of tears would not sway it. 

The Messenger: Aren’t you afraid of the curse?” 

This story of Uttarkoot, a state that builds a dam on Mukta- dhara’s free flow, and the story of Shivtarai, which is downstream of it, had foreshadowed the relationship between Bangladesh and India’s water-hijacking. Rabindranath’s anticipatory exploration of the ill-spirit of worshipping soulless machines and dams coincided even: in 1965 Indian Prime Minister Nehru said while inaugurating a dam, that dams were the temples of modern India! Through this Nehru had discussed India’s aspirations with machines, technology and industrialisation. 

That is what usually happens in popular politics: suppression of others and the glorification of one’s own victories, taking refuge in nationalism. The play, Mukta-Dhara portrays nothing different:

“Biswajit: What are the festivities about? Why have you stopped the free flow of water which God is pouring for all thirsty people of the world?

Ranjit: To tame the enemy. 

Biswajit: Aren’t you afraid to make God your enemy?

Ranjit: Our win is the win for the God of Uttarkoot. That’s why he took back his own gifts (i.e. water) on our behalf. He will pierce Shivtarai with the spike of thirst and throw them under the throne of Uttarkoot.

Ranjit: Then your worship is no worship at all, but just seeking salaries (livelihood). “

This ‘ghee’ is the key ingredient in making aggressive, excessively proud and harmful to others’ psychology. This ‘ghee’ entraps teachers, doctors, priests, journalists, intellectuals – everyone – in the state’s activities, however unjust or cruel. Still, in the case of Bangladesh this is perhaps more tragic. Uttarkoot had restricted the flow of water to Shivtarai, but at least continued the flow of ‘ghee’ to its literary lovers. 

Rabindranath himself could not have imagined so much as the Rabindra-ites have been able to. Rabindranath did not hesitate to imagine, vividly, what the people of Shivtarai might think about the people of Uttarkoot; how impure they might consider them. As though the Bangladesh-India communal-ism and public mindsets about it are a true replication of such imagination. 

4.

I could elaborate on communal complaints against Rabindranath as well. However, due to space-limitation, let me say something in brief.  The Ranbidra-ites use an extraordinary formula. The right-wing propaganda campaigns get its audience and market, only because the Rabidra-ites of our time rarely discuss Rabindranath’s work against and about communalism. However, here, I do not want to discuss the Muslim right-wing propaganda against Rabindranath, rather briefly explain what may be the primary interests of Rabindra-ites in obfuscating this. 

In contemporary (accepted) history written in Bengali, the Muslims are to live in guilt forever — this relates to the post-colonial partition of India. Which is heavily influenced by communal toxicity. It is also related to Muslims preference to not join the Congress party in its pursuit of Indian freedom. Our Ranbindra-ites are big consumers of this popular Hindu-right-wing propaganda. It aligns with their political-economic-nationalistic ideals. This is why only a few credible books on the partition in Bengali are available today. Among them, Badruddin Umar’s ‘Bango-vongo and Sampradayik Politics’ (the Division of Bengal and Communal Politics); Jaya Chattapadhyay’s ‘Bangla Bhag Holo’ (Bengal has been Severed) are notable. 

Contrary to the Ranbindra-ites version, if one researchers Rabindronath’s work they would find that repeatedly he had represented Bengali Muslims as peasants and commoners and, as the victims of exploitation and humiliation by the Hindu landlords and elites. It can be said that Rabindranath was the first to reveal the root cause of Indian Muslims unwillingness to join in Hindu dominated Congress party and politics.

The Rabindra-ites, today, to protect them from valid public scrutiny, have blinkered themselves with the practice of ‘appreciating literary beauty’; and slid Rabindranath down with them. Rabindranath had raised his voice on every social question, always seeking to make himself ‘peoples man’. Declaring Gandhi a ‘power of darkness’, he explained his differences in views with him. He had accepted earthly reasons for the Bihar earthquake. 

5.

How acceptable would it be to you – readers – if someone, even in jest, states that, ‘the culturalists (meaning artists, intelligentsia and all), greedy for the food (potential earrings via their art and/artistic performance) next door, unwittingly suppress the disaster of the country’s own food supply?’ 

Bangladesh is therefore that country with such a tragic end, where plenty of writers feed on one to sign/perform for someone else. Who would voice concerns, express the pains of dried up ancient Teesta and the Padma basins? 

I have mentioned earlier that during the liberation war, by reciting ‘Amar Sonar Bangla (My Golden Bengal) our love for Rabindranath did reach its zenith. No love lasts at its peak forever; it ain’t normal. However, the normal, usual following and admiration that Rabindranath deserved has been muddled by the Rabindra-ites stance on its way, though they too are a mere outcome and consequence of a socio-political-cultural phenomenon. 

The Rabindra-ites have obscured the real Rabindranath and marketed deformed versions as they pleased. Their self-interested activism and inaction in chosen areas of focus have dimmed Rabindranath’s illuminating power. Literary discussions on Rabindranath’s work have been reduced to abstract, vague, unreal self serving rhetoric. 

Thus ‘the path to reach Rabindranath is littered and obstructed with gurus and hanger ons’. These gurus-with-canes are the biggest hindrance in the union of peoples’ consciousness with Rabindranath.

Foresightful Rabindranath, in his prose demonstrated the defeat of mechanical power to people. That imagination would surely touch the people on both sides of the dam. Perhaps, people would learn to ignore the Rabindra-ites to admire Rabindranath. They would learn to acknowledge him as the world’s first author against human-induced environmental catastrophes. They would learn to love the soothsayer who had predicted the political drama involving thirst (water) and its use as a political wedge.  

They would sing this wonderful song, written against the rise of industrialisation, many times: ‘I will cross the sea of pain in strong storms, I am unafraid in this righteous journey’. 

Rabindranath has shown us this path and helped us develop this attitude. He would have wanted us to continue to struggle and raise our voice for our right — to get the right share of water from the common rivers. We just need to sail without any fear.

In these troubled, sad times we must protect our (blood) lotus, to provide it with shade and shelter. Mother. 

—

Firoz Ahmed –  Member, Rajnaytik Parishad. Gonosonhoti Movement. Former Chair, Bangladesh Student Federation. 

Originally published in Bangla Tribune on 7 May 2017. Translated from Bengali by Irfan Chowdhury. 
Footnotes:

1. The term is a made-up terminology used in this English translation to convey the Bangla word; রবীন্দ্রজীবী – people living off Rabindranath’s work from poetry, playright, prose to philosophy and political views.  ↩︎
2. Chhayanaut is a renowned and often revered Bengali language and cultural institution founded in Dhaka in 1961 to commemorate the centenary of Rabindranath’s birth. The institution is devoted to Bengali culture and every year hosts numerous cultural events including the Nababarsha or ‘Bengali New year’. ↩︎
3. Ayub Khan was a Pakistani army officer and a dictator, who served as the second president of then united (both East and West) Pakistan between 1058 and 1969 by martial law. ↩︎
4. Farakka Barrage is a roughly 18 km long dam across the Ganga river located in Murshidabad district in West bengal, India. The location of the dam is strategically upstream on this mighty river with India having the full control of water flowing downstream, i.e. in parts of Bangladesh where many lives and depend on the water flow from the river. In 1996, India and Bangladesh (under the then Awami League government) signed a 30 year water sharing treaty, which sections of Bangladeshis considered to be unfair. The issue of the dam and water sharing from common rivers between the two countries remains highly contentious. ↩︎