BOOKS AND AUTHORS

DR. D. ANJANEYULU

The year 1857 was clearly a watershed in the history of British India, irrespective of one’s angle of political vision or ideological reference. What happened that year was called the Sepoy Mutiny by the British historians, factually enough but not without a touch of cynicism. “Indian War of Independence” it was for the nationalist historians, out to revive the glory of “Indian” India, by which was meant the India of the princely rulers. Whether we then had the concept of national independence, as we understand it now, is very doubtful. Whether, if that uprising did succeed in its aim, we would have had political independence at the time and in the form and manner that we did (in 1947) is equally doubtful, though the question remains only hypothetical.

That the uprising did set the British rulers athinking furiously on their relations with the Indian subjects was beyond any doubt. Apart from the administration being taken over from the Board of Directors of the East India Company by Her Majesty’s Government, there was a shift of emphasis from commerce, annexation and law and order to administration, education and culture, about the last two of which the true-blue Tories, not to speak of the Blimps (from the reputed “Nation of Shopkeepers”) were none too particular. The Benthamite Liberals, and the Unitarians had, of course, never given up hope of spreading the light from Europe among the dark corners of Asia in the task of “civilising” the world.

How could they possibly think of civilizing a nation that had already reached the zenith of “civilization”, a few millennia ago? It could be the height or impertinence in the eyes of native oriental scholars, like Raja Radha Madhav Deb (Complier of Sabdakalpadruma), who saw lots of merit, spiritual, secular and other, in traditional practices like “Sati” and child marriage. The other Raja, better known to fame and posterity, Ram Mohun Roy, thought differently, of course, and the latter wielded more influence in the corridors of power, apart from being more modern, rational and persuasive. Lord William Bentinck thought highly of him and his ideas.

The ultimate result of it all was that the first three Indian universities were founded in 1857 in the three presidency towns of Calcutta, Bombay and Madras, in that chronological order. It would be an exaggeration to say that the Government of the day were too liberal in sanctioning grants for the development of these institutions of higher learning. On the other hand, the Christian Missionaries and the Indian benefactors were. A look at the growth and evolution of these universities, which recently celebrated their post-centenary silver jubilees, would provide us an insight into the progress of Indian society, no less than the advance of formal education and organised research.

The University of Bombay, in particular, has been lucky in its historians. Its first who wrote the history of the first 100 years was Mr. S. R. Dongerkery, whose centenary volume, contained an authoritative, chronological account. After 25 years, it is now followed by an equally authoritative, but much more readable, volume by one who is obviously an expert in the art of presentation. With a background of history and bibliography, Dr. Aroon Tikekar has had experience in writing for the Press and is now in charge of the Reference Division of the Times of India Group of Publications.

“The Cloister’s Pale” is an apt title for the book, though the general reader, innocent of English poetry, might feel it rather highbrow. The reference, of course, is explained by quoting the relevant lines from Milton, who said in his II Penseroso

“But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious Cloister’s pale.”

While the nucleus of the new university started functioning from the town hall, some of the first buildings, marked by individuality and elegance came up, thanks to the munificence of private citizens. The lofty and artistic Rajabai tower could rise because of the handsome donation made by Premchand Roychand in the name of his mother and the Elphinstone College building because of the donation by Sir Cowasjee Jehanghir, baronet.

The first set of graduates who took their degrees in 1862 (after “the grace was passed”, as it was put) included two: Mahadev Govind Ranade and Ramakrishna Gopal Bhandarkar (both of whom lived to become national figures, in due course). One of them rose to be a judge of the High Court and a political thinker and nation-builder as well. The other made a mark as an Indologist, a Sanskrit scholar who retained his rationalism and urge for social reform. He also became a Vice-Chancellor who didn’t allow his high official position to stifle his spirit of personal freedom or his age and respectability to dampen his enthusiasm for the voice of dissent.

As for Ranade, a man of integrity of character, equally known for his gentleness of speech, he showed that he was not ready to compromise on fundamentals. It is known that he was for sometime denied his promotion to the High Court Bench, because of his connection with socio-economic movements in Poona; and Chief Justice Westropp wrote to him:

“Your writings come in the way of your promotion. If you want promotion, spare these great efforts.”

To which, Ranade replied:

“I am thankful to you, Sir. So far as my wants arc concerned, they are few and I can live on very little. Concerning my country’s welfare, what seems to me true, I must speak out.”

Can we in all fairness deny that part at least of this spirit of independence, courage and candour, were promoted by inculcating in the students the values of liberal education?

The university was a kind of barometer of the social and political climate in the city and country outside, which could be gleaned from a study of The Cloister’s Pale, apart, of course, from the gradual evolution of the university itself from an examining and affiliating body to a teaching and research institution and a full-fledged centre of learning. In aspiration at least, if not in actuality–as the population explosion tends to dilute all values, including the pursuit of excellence.

How were the British able to conquer India? A few thousand traders and a few thousand soldiers against millions of Indians, including valiant princes and wealthy merchants, latter-day patriots used to talk of the British strategy of “Divide and Rule.” But it was not exclusively British, as it was as old as the Roman Empire (“Divide et Impera”). But, even here there was a division of labour, according to that smart quibbler. Maulana Mohammed Ali (Congress President and Khilafat leader), who used to quip: “It was we who divided and they who ruled.”

To the question, “Who conquered India for the British?” there could be unexpected answers. “Indians themselves” – is one of them. This derived from an interesting autobiography, entitled From Sepoy to Subedar by Sitaram Pande, published over a century ago. Originally written in Awadhi (Western Hindi) it was later translated and published by Maj. Gen. Norgate.

This information is given by the veteran writer and journal, 1st, Mr. V. R. Narla (who passed away on Feb. 16, 1985) in his latest publication, “Man and His World,” which is in the nature of a scrapbook, containing comments as well as quotations.

In the revolt of 1857, many Indians stood by the British and fought on their side. Why? “The main reason for this”, explain Mr. Narla, “seems to be a feeling of awe for some of the gifts of the British, such as their capacity for leadership, their efficiency in organisation and their power of recovery even from the worst of disasters.” “In contrast to this, he (Sitaram Pande) had ill-concealed contempt for his own compatriots other than Hindus. And even of the Hindus, his opinion of the Marathas was rather low....We can be sure that each of the other religious and linguistic groups reciprocated this contempt, this antagonism, this animosity.”

On many subjects and personalities of contemporary interest, Mr. Narla provides his own comments, may be at times harsh and uncharitable, but always frank and provocative.

Kunjaram Hills by Mr. S. Gopalan, is a novel covering a period of about a century-and-a-half in the history of British India, from early 19th century to the middle of the 20th in the extreme South of India. The story centres on the Travancore-Tamil Nadu boarder, on a hilly place, known as Kunjaram Hills, which is known for its rich flora and fauna. In the annexation of the south, the British met with some resistance by local chieftains and in the course of their campaign, they rewarded their collaborator by making him Zamindar of Kunjaram Hills. But there was a serious obstacle to this, in the shape of Major Robert Bruce, a retired army officer, who claimed the hills as his private property gifted to him by the rulers of Travancore State.

The drama of this conflict is skilfully developed by the author, who introduces a number of plots and sub-plots. The characters, real or imaginary, but always lifelike and convincing, are ably realised. Maj. Bruce, courageous, consciencious and generous in his impulses, dominates the scene till his death in England. We also come across G. U. Pope and S. Ramanujan, among others, along with civil servants, judges, lawyers and police officers, to sustain the story in progress. But the eco-system of the hills invariably compels attention with lots of contemporary echoes.

Indian literature can hardly be appreciated by everyone without translation, because of the country’s linguistic pattern. There is no one language which can be understood all over the country, except possibly Sanskrit in the remote past and English in the present, both, of course, only by the educated elite. The wealth of classical Tamil poetry, for instance, has to be translated in English, if it is to be brought within the reach of the non-Tamil reader.

Mr. A. V. Subramaniam has, therefore, done well to render the songs of Mut-thollayiram in English. The title literally means “Three times three hundred”, referring to the 300 songs sung by the unknown poet in each of the three courts – Pandya, Chola and Chera. But, out of them, only 108 are preserved – 57 on the Pandya, 29 on the Chola and 22 on the Chera. The two themes dealt with therein are love and war, so vividly suggested by the title in English – The Bangle and the Javelin.

Handsome kings, lovelorn maidens with their extravagant complaints, heartless mothers, with no sympathy for their daughters, abound. Poetic conceits and hyperboles of other kinds are but understandable in such piquant situations.

In the Pandya Section, the admiring maiden, regret’s the king vanishing on horseback, leaving nothing but the dust of the street raised by the horse’s hooves. What is she to do? She asks herself:

“Shall I wear it as sacred ash,

Shall I mix it as unguent,

And paint my chest with the aid of pearls?”

In the Chola Section, the bashful maiden rues the way in which the pleasure of gazing at the king’s face is denied her. She says:

“During lover’s tiffs I turned my back

On Velavan the King that rules the earth...

And this is bow I’ve been denied,

Every time we are face to face,

The joy of gazing at the Chola King

The ecstasy of drinking him in.”

In the Chera Section, the angry maiden is effectively silenced:

“Let him approach, the lord of the West,

Just let him come, the king of Vanchi!

The king then happened to pass that way,

And presto! her auger, her nameless threats

of moments ago had all been stilled

And silence reigned.”

To its useful series “Builders of Modern India,” the Publications Division (of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting) has added a number of new titles – Sri Aurobindo by M. P. Pandit, Bipin Chandra Pal by Sarat Kumar Chatterjee and C. V. Raman by P. R. Pisharoty. All these authors are closely familiar with their respective subjects.

Mr. Pandit, an eminent Sadhaka and scholar, in his substantial volume, looks upon Sri Aurobindo as “a reconciler of the different warring ways that humanity has taken in history in a comprehensive universal vision, in which each finds its justifying truth and all point to a common destiny echoing the call of the ancient seer in Rig Veda.” Social reformer and teacher, freedom-fighter and publicist, orator and journalist, Bipin Chandra Pal played a powerful role in creating national consciousness in general and in the Swadeshi movement in particular. He had a chequered career, suffering poverty and neglect towards the close of his life. The story is told with sympathy and understanding by Mr. Chatterjee. The life of C. V. Raman is dealt with by one of his old students, Dr. Pisharoty, who presents main outlines and basic facts, obviously with knowledge and precision, useful for a reader as a first introduction. But he leaves a few questions unanswered, e. g., Why did Raman have to give up the directorship of the Indian Institute of Science? Nor does it succeed in capturing the essence of a compelling personality.

Profiles in Patriotism is an apt title happily chosen for the sixty articles on a wide variety of great Indians by Mr. P. Rajeswara Rao, an experienced journalist, who had the opportunity of moving with the celebrities. The gallery includes patriots and politicians, journalists and administrators from Anandacharlu and Annie Besant, Prakasam and Pattabhi, C. P. and Chintamani to Sarojiui Naidu and Durgabai Deshmukh. Written in a reminiscential style with the light touch, the articles are engaging and readable as well as informative and enlightening.

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