Hold fast to your dreams, / For when dreams go,
Life is a barren field / Frozen with snow.
Right at this very moment, while I am trying to do the impossible by daring to write about my late father, my mind goes back to the day in the mid-80s, when my father breathed his last. His dead body covered with garlands of all shapes and sizes, was lying on a cot in the courtyard of Deblane. Amidst all the wailings and stupefying sadness, the strange aroma and smoke of incense sticks, Jogesh Bhattacharyya, was taking his final leave of the world. A world that did not give him his due share of recognition and snatched away all his dreams quite early in his life.
If there is one thing that can describe my Baba adequately, it would be his indomitable spirit. It was one characteristic that defined him till the very last moments of his life. My late father or baba was not only one of my grandfather’s favourite children; he was also one of the handsomest men I have ever seen in my life. A fairytale Prince who showed lots of promises but had to fade away at the cruel intervention of Fate, at every crucial stage of his life.
He was a brilliant student and made his family proud by being the first and the youngest Principal of a college in the Murshidabad district of West Bengal. Inspite of having earned his Masters in English from the University of Calcutta during the British Raj, when he was only 21, he was equally at ease in Sanskrit as well. I have often heard it from my eldest brother, Debesh Bhattacharya, an erudite scholar by his own right, that my father would have done far better if he had followed grandpa’s example and studied for his Master’s in Sanskrit instead, as he had what is called originality in abundance. The truth of the matter is, he was at ease in all these subjects, be it Sanskrit, English or Bengali. His resonant voice at the time of my eldest brother’s departure for Australia, still keeps ringing in my mind. The ease with which Baba chanted some slokas in Sanskrit at that time and almost immediately afterwards, translated them into English for the convenience of his Australian daughter-in-law, Dr.Ellen Macwen, who was also accompanying my eldest brother at that time, was something to be heard to be believed.
He was a caring son and loved his parents. I came to know from my late Ma the kind of respect he had for his parents. An exceptional good- looker, he must have been in his fifties by the time I, his youngest child, was born. I deeply rue the fact that I could not get to see him when he was young. But even towards the end of his life, one could feel the charm, poise and easy gracefulness of the man in the ruin.
I remember how he would be the first to get up before bramhamuhurta, a very auspicious time of the day before sunrise. After his daily ablutions, he would get dressed in his spotlessly white dhoti and Punjabi for the morning walk, chanting hymns all the while, dedicated to the myriads of Hindu gods and goddesses. Over six feet tall, with a physique that would put even the modern gym freak to shame, my father made most of the people feel like a pigmy in his presence. I heard it that during the Riots of the 40s, he was badly injured by the Muslims, having mistaken him to be the leader of the Hindus for his giant stature.
Baba was a generous man and there are many stories about his generosity. One of my personal favourites is the one which shows him at his generous best. Once when he himself was in some kind of financial problem, he had to borrow some money from someone. But on the same day, when a helpless parent sought his help, Baba did not bother to think about his poor plight and unhesitatingly gave the money to the man without a second thought!
Baba loved all his siblings, especially his youngest brother and sister dearly. He loved all his offspring equally, though my second sister, Mrs.Arati Guha, was closer to his heart. But among all his offspring, the last three including yours truly, had a kind of enviable rapport and friendship with him. That kind of relationship was almost unimaginable for most of my elder siblings. Though Ma, due to her conservative upbringing, was totally against us taking liberties with father by wearing his chappals, using his towel and soap and all, I did that quite often, if not for anything else, for the sheer pleasure and enjoyment of it, and for the feeling of being self-important. I find it comical to think about the times when, at the insistence of a couple of my brothers, I used to steal the cigarettes from his cigar-case. He was a very stylist man and as a result, he was never satisfied with anything mediocre or less than the best. Even during the hard times, much to the chagrin of many in the family, he continued to smoke nothing but Filter Wills Navy Cut. He was no fool and I am sure that he was aware of the goings-on, so far as the missing cigarettes are concerned, but a good human being that he was, he always preferred to see the funny side of it all rather graciously.
At a time when he had so much to offer, he was caught up in the vagaries of college politics and found himself at the receiving end of the unsolicited fury of the state government. Not the one to take it lying down, he fought tooth and nail and filed a case against the government for justice and honour. After 18 long years, he was honourably acquitted, but by then the case had taken its toll on my father. At the time of his victory, Writers Buildings, the administrative headquarters of the government, had to be croaked to pay him his dues of 18 long years and the newspapers were full of his heroics. I remember one Mr.Anil Grover, a journalist working with a leading daily, who flew all the way down to Calcutta to interview him. I still have a copy of Sunday, Volume-6 ,Issue-19 , published on 23rd July,1978, an Anand Bazar Publication, wherein another journalist Mr.Nirmal Mitra had gloated about his courage and stamina against all heavy odds, on the same topic with the title ‘The Saga of a Teacher’.
Fate also played her part in the life of Jogesh Bhattacharyya. He got confined to the shackles of the easy-chair by a cruel attack of gangrene. Even then his enigmatic personality drew people to him from all walks of life, from an MP to the Principals to the barber, who helped him with his personal cleanliness and grooming. His strong sense of humour endeared him to all his grandchildren.
Despite all his qualities, he had his share of human frailties. His extreme good looks coupled with his commanding personality made him irresistible to the fairer sex including some truly beautiful foreigners. And despite his apparent fondness for a host of them, which was invariably mutual, if the family stayed united till his last breath, full credit has to be given to a very special and dear lady I consider to be a gem of a human being, that is, my mother, Mrs.Bina Bhattacharyya.
To Be Continued ……
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