Kolaguru Bishnu Prasad Rabha - the undying spirit

I am too small to assess a legend of the caliber of Kolaguru Bishnu Prasad Rabha. These are some of my unfussy thoughts and no way intended to demean the great man when I write, the most beautiful bud didn't blosom to its full promises.

My first introduction to  Kolaguru was at my maternal uncle’s house where three portraits used to adore the mud wall beside the uncle’s reading table. One amongst them was of Bishnu Prasad Rabha with Rupkonwar Jyotiprasad and Pandit Nehru being the other two. I was not more than 3 or 4 years old, as I still remember being sometimes in uncle’s short, hanging around my waist like a long skirt!  By the time, a compilation of Rabha’s works was brought home, many esoteric facets of life had started tingling my teenage wits. It was the age of innocent thoughts, mischief and fantasies. I was too young for Rabha’a compilation.

During the turbulent days of late nineties, celebration of Rabha Divas gained momentum in Assam. The Assamese are fond of action, fickle in attitude and their wish at times defies any logic. The idea of curving a sovereign Assam by armed struggle caught the fancy of some and Perhaps, celebration of Rabha Divas without understanding much of Rabha, was another way to show solidarity with the movement. Rabha was a revolutionary and a torchbearer of armed communist movement in Assam. Yet that was only a part of Rabha though and not Rabha in totality.

It is not irreverent to Rabha and his legacy when I say I don’t pursue Rabha’s ideology to uplift the downtroden, as I strongly believe the tenets of communism defies nature. In the history of world, many greats and fallen heroes from Che Guevara to Hugo Chevez, Fiedel Castro to Nicolae Ceaușescu, Stalin to Ho-Chi Minh rose like the glittering sun in the midst of adversities, yet their cherished goal remained a far cry leaving their people poorer, deprived and disadvantaged.

Standing at the end of the half circle of my life’s journey, once more I am going through the compilation of Rabha’s work. My mind has been inundated with the thoughts of two Russian authors and poet- Mayakovsky and Alexander Pushkin. Vladimirovich Mayakovsky was an extremely popular author during the Bolshevik days in Russia and his works proclaimed unstinted support to the Communist movement. Popularity of his books were astounding and during those days, not reading Mayakovsky was regarded as unpatriotic. It is another matter that latter on Mayakovsky became critical of Soviet Russia’s censorship on freedom of speech and many point fingers to this love hate relationship with communism to be the cause of his untimely demise.  Mayakovsky committed suicide in 1930 at the age of only 37.

Once, a group of young Russian students visited Lenin. Vladimir Lenin, himself , was a great statesman and wanted to know about the books and authors the students were fond of. The choice was obvious and It was Mayakovsky all the way. When asked why the students were not reading Alexander Pushkin, treated as one of the greatest romantic era authors from Russia, pat came the reply-

“Pushkin is a bourgeois”  

The greatness of Vladimir Lenin was to advise the students to read Pushkin and others as well. To him, knowledge was never to be masked by meanness of ideology.

Does anybody remember Vladimirovich Mayakovsky today even in Russia! Perhaps a few. But Alexander Pushkin has survived many generations and I was thrilled to see my son going through the Captain’s Daughter. One of Pushkin’s  poems I still remember -

And in the idle darkness comes the bite

Of all the burning serpents of remorse;

Dreams seethe; and fretful infelicities

Are swarming in my over-burdened soul,

And Memory before my wakeful eyes

With noiseless hand unwinds her lengthy scroll

 (Remembrance, Pushkin)

Bishnu Rabha’s songs are few but priceless gems.  Perhaps it will not be an overstatement if I write after Shankar Dev, Rabha was the most gifted personality to have ever born in Assam- a great musician, lyricist, composer, writer, dramatist, actor, dancer, painter, academician, mass leader, researcher and linguist all rolled into one.  It is easy to fall in love with equality when you don’t have anything to lose. But Rabha was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, yet his life had been always a constant wrestle for the exploited mass. He lived life on what he preached.

But Rabha could have become much more than what he became and left behind. He could have become another Van Gogh, a Ludwig van Beethoven or a William Shakespeare. No one knew Assam and genesis of Assamese language better than Rabha.  

Once again remembering Mayakovsky and Pushkin, all I can say is “Biswar Chande Chande” or “ Xuror deulore” will pass the taste of time,  but  can’t foretell on the ones like “ bhang bhang bhang” 

Rabha’s revolutionary trait and impatience did come on the way of his creative pursuits. He had never someone to pacify, someone to mentor him through. Many of his valuable works got lost during his nomadic days. Bihnu Prasad Rabha, the noblest son of Assam, would have been far better off for Assam minus his days as an armed revolutionary. 

It’s a great loss to Assam and Assamese people that the most beautiful bud didn’t blossom to its promises.Yet whatever Rabha achieved, he will remain the lifeline of Assam till the Burha Luit flows.

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com

The last time I spoke those filthy words

Miles Bronson, the American Baptist Missionary, published a rudimentary Assamese dictionary way back in 1867. It took another 33 years for Hemchandra Baruah to compile and publish  the first comprehensive etymological Assamese Dictionary called “Hemkosh” in 1900. That was a far-fetched accomplishment of Late Hemchandra to collect and compile total 22346 words ( as per Wikipedia) to put the tentative Assamese Language on a firm footing, long subdued and battered by the aggressive incursion of Bengali in Assam as its official language.

While compiling the dictionary, Hemchandra was to include some of the common Assamese abuses. One particular fish selling lady was renowned for her caustic tongue and she yelled at anyone who perturbed her temper with the choicest collections from her armoury. So, Hemchandra went straight to the lady, played a few tricks to see her go off and came back with a rich harvest for "Hemkosh".

Near our childhood home, people of a particular ward were equally infamous for abusing words. Particularly, their women folk could quarrel for any trivial issues. After sometime, the issue for which the fight commenced became irrelevant to them and they kept on shouting at each other as if reciting the holy Mantras. It seemed, this was a way to vent off the hardship and agonies which they endured throughout the time they existed as living beings.

One of the reasons for our father to move out from his parental house was to insulate us-the children, from such nearby environment. We didn’t pick up any dirt either and even today, I am too conservative even with close friends to get involved in any loose talks. Perhaps, it was the good upbringing at our home that helped all the brothers and sisters to become good mannered, to excel to some extent in studies and above all learnt the virtues of trying to remain honest in life. We were made to study in candle light and kerosene lamps as the electricity connection to our home got delayed by more than 6 months for my father’s refusal to pay bribe to the state electricity board. Whenever, our skin touched the hot glass surface of the lamp, it burnt off the skin and I , particularly, had many such prized round marks all over my body and more at the two arms. At times, my parents’ daily sermons at the dinner table irked us, but today, do realize how priceless and practical those words were.

I was sipping hot tea, basking in the late afternoon Sunday sun at Durgapur. Suddenly the heated arguments of two shopkeeper gentlemen got transformed into an extravaganza of verbal overdose. In those days, I was trying to familiarize with the Bengali language and thought it was no harm to get used to some less civilized words. Though, I had no intention to compile another Bengali Dictionary, I kept on hearing them while finishing my tea and the Cigarette. ( I left smoking years ago and left it for good instantly one day unlike Mark Twain, who left smoking hundreds of time). As I murmured the words silently in my mind without knowing the proper meaning, suddenly I found the foul words to be extremely powerful and  rhythmic, but  never thought that someday, I would be using them myself !

That evening, I was returning late to Assam Bhavan, at Kolkatta’s Russel Street after attending a party with friends. As, Russel Street was close by, I thought, I would rather walk  to assist my intestine to deal better with the food I had. On my way after some distance , one seemingly innocuous person approached me with a strange offer.

He was a pimp and seeing me, might have thought to be his prospective client. I vehemently rejected his offer and walked along. Hardly few steps ahead, another man blocked my way and I knew both of them were partners in the world’s oldest profession and knew each other. That moment, I really panicked as there was no one nearby to seek help. The two gentlemen grew bolder and one of them held my shoulder from behind.

“Where are you going so fast, Dada “ He smiled and I must tell you that was the ugliest smile  ever I had seen at someone’s face. He knew, I was a stranger to the City of Joy.

Out of fear, I sternly removed his hand and unknowingly shouted with the same words( I am still not aware what those words exactly mean) heard in that Sunday afternoon at Durgapur, but volleyed them with such ferocity, it fizzled the confidence of the two seasoned professionals and made them retreat as I hurried off to the safety of Assam Bhavan.

That was the last time, I used such horrendous words at someone. But those words saved the night of embarrassment for me.

 

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com