A SEEKER AFTER THE ETERNAL VERITIES

C. L. R. SASTRI

“I weep for Adonais-he is dead!

O, weep for Adonais! though our tears

Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!”

–Shelley: Adonais

If I am a journalist of any standing in the country today, it has been entirely owing to the (timely) assistance rendered me by a few benevolent editors: the chief of whom have been the late Dr. Sachchidananda Sinha of the Hindustan Review (alas, long since defunct), the late Mr. K. Ramakotiswara Rau of Triveni, and the late Mr. Kedarnath Chatterji of the Modern Review–in that order. There have, no doubt, been some others also (as, for instance, Sir Francis Low of the Times of India and Mr. Frank Moraes of the Indian Express). But these three stand out most prominently from amongst the rest, like Everest and Kanchinjunga and Nanga Parbat from amongst the rest of the mighty Himalayan mountain-ranges. I am all the more grateful to them because I was not, if the truth is to be told, brought up to be a journalist, my own father (an eminent editor himself) having been not only lukewarm to the idea but absolutely antagonistic to it. But, being of a somewhat stubborn nature myself, I “insisted on being one, paternal wrath notwithstanding; and the person who initially helped this particular lame dog over the (journalistic) stile was Dr. Sachchidananda Sihna, of the distinguished trio aforementioned, who sensed, right from the beginning, that I had a flair (of sorts) for writing and that, as the editor of the second most reputed English monthly in India (the first, unquestionably, being the Modern Review), he was peculiarly placed to develop that flair of mine to the best of his ability and to the utmost of its scope.

He did contrive, in the extent, to publish quite a few of my effusions (both literary and political), and, by so doing, firmly laid the foundation of my (modest) journalistic career. More than that, he always wished me well bestowed his choicest blessings upon me, and read eagerly my contributions to other papers and periodicals, heaping congratulations on me without stint. He is no more now; and his celebrated journal also has gone the way of “the many Ninevehs and Hecatempoli”. This is eminently the place for me to pay him the homage that is rightly his due. He was not only a great man. He was that much rarer entity, a good man.

TRIVENI

Mr. K. Ramakotiswara Rau (may his soul rest in peace!) was the second editor to recognise my talents, such as they were, and to utilise them to the maximum extent possible, It is my irreparable misfortune that I was never destined to meet him, as they say, in the flesh. In those days Triveni used to come out from Madras; and, too, in a ravishingly beautiful format, because he was a lover of the beautiful in all the arts and sciences. He himself, let me interpolate, wielded a notably graceful pen, though, unfortunately, he wielded it very sparingly in his own pages while ungrudgingly encouraging others to “spread” themselves as much as they pleased. I was in Trivandrum then and saw a copy of it by sheer accident. It was so enchanting in appearance that I lost no time in sending in a contribution. I waited with bated breath for its fate at his hands, more than a little apprehensive that it would come back to me like a homing pigeon.

Imagine my astonishment, therefore, when I received a cordial letter from him, intimating not only his acceptance of it, but (would you believe it?) calling for more! Though it was far from being my finest journalistic exercise it was far from being a markedly infelicitous one, either, and my succeeding offerings showed more signs of promise. He “played host” to them also with the same generosity as he did to my maiden effort. There was, it now occurs to me, only one contribution from my humble pen that he was constrained to refuse. The Mahatma’s first civil disobedience movement was at its meridian splendour at that juncture, and though, as one belonging to the “Liberal” tabernacle, I had been; at its commencement, somewhat indifferent to it, I had, perforce, to align myself with it as the police zoolum against the “Satyagrahis” escalated rapidly, even the members of the “gentler sex” not being spared by the myrmidons of authority. So I felt it my bounden duty, as a patriotic citizen, to indite a blistering article against our (the then) ‘alien rulers, going at them, as the expression is, hammer and tongs. Mr. Ramakotiswara Rau politely declined to publish it as its publication, in his considered opinion, would, infallibly, land both himself and his periodical in a spot of trouble. Then I reminded myself that a cobbler should stick to his last and that, as I began my’ association with Triveni with a literary piece, I would do well to continue sending in only literary pieces “for the duration”. After all, Triveni did not purport to be a political journal, its primum mobile, on the other hand, having been literature and the other arts.

EXAMPLE OF HIS INDEPENDENCE

There was one glorious instance when he exhibited his spirit of sturdy independence which I shall never forget. One fine morning I received a communication from him suggesting that, “for a change”, as he put it, I might attempt a “pen-portrait” of Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru, or the Rt. Hon. V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, or Mr.–not yet “Sir”–C.Y. Chintamani. Well, it was true that I had not been interested, even mildly, in this kind of composition before, and I replied that my intimacy with “the high and the mighty” was limited to that of Mr. Chintamani and that I might be able to paint a (wordy) portrait of him: provided that, though he happened to be my own father, I would, in the intervals of extolling to the skies, be allowed to criticise him as and when I deemed it incumbent on me so to do. He readily agreed, informing me that he gave me carte blanche (his own phrase) to write just as I chose.

In due course I posted that “pen-portrait”, a long and frank and intimate affair: and, in due course also, it appeared in Triveni without so much as a single emendation from the editor. The editor, as a matter of fact, was very appreciative of it. Not so, however, the subject of that “pen portrait”. He took Mr. Ramakotiswara Rau severely to task for publishing it. But Mr. Ramakotiswara Rau bluntly riposted that I had written it at his own suggestion and that I had never mentioned in it that he (Mr. Chintamani) and I were related to each other” even north-north- west.” A certain “Mr. C. L. R. Sastri” (Mr. Ramakotiswara Rau proceeded) wrote on a certain “Mr. C. Y. Chintamani” and in consequence, he (Mr. Chintamani) could have no grouse whatsoever, either against me or against him (the editor). But, of course, my father was not modified by this (extremely cogent) explanation: he was not easily mollified when he felt that his amour propre was at stake. A little flattery was not enough for him: one had to lay it on with a trowel!

THOSE WERE THE DAYS!

After some years Triveni fell on evil days, and it has not yet, I imagine, fully recovered from them. It was at its most resplendent when he himself took an active part in its management and directed it in every vital detail. But both ill-health and financial worries, I surmise, supervened and the journal visibly declined into desuetude. The great thing, however, is that it has not (thanks be!) given up the struggle and that, under its present editorship, it is still carrying on gamely. But a “quarterly” is, to be perfectly candid, no substitute for a “monthly”: and, to that extent, it must be owned (sadly but truly) that it has suffered a “sea-change” into something “poor and strange”: in contradistinction, that is, to what it had been when Mr. Ramakotiswara Rau himself remained at the helm of that frail craft.

What has to be remembered is that he conceived his journal as a sort of moral and spiritual vehicle and that, come hell or high-water, It must be kept alive in some form or other. As long as he lived he dedicated his energies to doing just that. His successors must, in their turn, consecrate theirs to treading in his illustrious footsteps. In our hapless country it is not as everyone knows, the easiest, or the safest, of enterprises to launch a paper or a periodical: and when, by superhuman effort (nothing less), it has been got going, our (collective) endeavour must see to it that that tender sapling does not wither away for want of proper ministration.

The Thirties witnessed the heyday of Triveni. “It was bliss in that dawn to be alive”, and to be writing for it was “very heaven”. Those, indeed, were the days for aspiring young journalists: there was then no paucity of famous magazines. Among these Mr. K. Ramakotiswara Rau’s Triveni undoubtedly occupied pride of place: “it flamed in the forehead of the morning sky”. In him we have lost a gem of a man. Let me hope that there will be no dearth of labourers in the same vineyard.

THE CHOICE OF THE NAME

The very name he chose for his journal, Triveni, gives us a measure of our hero: he was ever a seeker after what are known as “the eternal verities”. It is, to be sure, a name to conjure with. One who chose it–and none other–for his journalistic venture could not go far wrong about fundamentals. It was proof positive that, in his order of priorities, principles and programmes came before powers and principalities. The following memorable lines of the poet are very relevant to him:

“Last, if upon the cold, green-mantling sea

Thou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar,

Both castaway,

And one must perish–let it not be he

Whom thou art sworn to obey.”

Truth never “perished” at his hands!

NITTOOR SREENIVASA RAU

Chief Justice of Mysore (Retired)

It was with deep grief I learnt that our good friend Sri Ramakotiswara Rau had passed away. I had known that he was severely handicapped by failing eye-sight, but I was not aware of his illness.

Ramakoti’s loss represents a serious gap in our lives. All through the long years it has been my privilege to know him he has bestowed his unstinted affection on me.

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