Babu Ramananda Chatterjee
The
death of Babu Ramananda Chatterjee which occurred in September, 1943, has
removed from our midst one of the ablest of Indian journalists, a staunch
nationalist, an eminent publicist and a patriot of a high order. Ramananda Babu
was more than an individual; he was virtually an institution. That the province
of Bengal–the land of the martyrs–should suffer such a tremendous loss soon
after an equally great one sustained in the death of its poet-philosopher, the
late Rabindranath Tagore, three years back was a tragedy of immeasurable
magnitude. Both these deaths have greatly impoverished the country and have
left large gaps in its public life, in their respective spheres of activity.
The services rendered by this doyen of Indian journalism, in various spheres of
public life, educational, social and political, cannot adequately be measured
in words. He struggled and strove for over half
a century, in his own humble way though, to see his country free from the imperialist
grip of Britain as few people in India have done.
Ramananda
Babu is called the Bhishma of Indian Journalism, and to my mind it is an apt
comparison. When one thinks of the deceased, of his services in the field of
journalism, one naturally recalls to one’s mind the great and valiant Bhishma
of the epic lore, denying to himself the pleasures of a worldly empire.
Ramananda Babu did the same when he renounced in favour of journalism the
promising career of an educationist which, no doubt, would have won him laurels
and gained for him a name and glory even higher than those that actually came
to him. It was then a leap in the dark, for journalism in those early days did
not promise a career. Who knows if the wise and the practical may not have
considered it a mad venture to thus give up the Principalship of the Kayastha
Pathashala for the editorial chair of the Prabasi and, later, of the Modern
Review? After a lapse of over three
decades, we now, no doubt, feel that Babuji’s choice of the profession proved
to be a veritable boon to the nation. Through his great monthly, the Modern
Review, he has raised India high in the world’s estimation. It is said that
one would not miss the Modern Review on the library table of any
English-speaking country; and even in those countries whose tongue is not
English, students of politics look to the Modern Review for a thorough
and correct understanding of the Indian problem. It was not easy to establish
such a reputation; it needed a Ramananda’s genius, his impartial observations
of men and things, and his close and correct understanding of problems before
he expressed his opinions on them. India and the world learned to look with
eagerness to the Modern Review to know what Sjt. Chatterjee had to say
on this or that subject. He did not always see eye to eye
with all that the Indian National Congress stood for; for all that, he was a
dauntless champion of Indian freedom and never during his long span of public
life did he ever flinch from or falter in its daring advocacy. He thus won the
hearts of all his countrymen whether Congressmen or others. What he said in his
journals was read with care and attention by all schools of thought; his
opinions came to be respected even by men of the opposite school. His
transparent sincerity, his courage of conviction and the fearless expression
given by him to his convictions may be cited as the causes for this veneration.
We all know that Mahatmaji hardly has time to read, and read much at that. His
life is so crowded that he can hardly allow periodicals to make demands upon
his attention. He does most of his serious reading during the long respites
that frequent imprisonments offer him. And yet if he cares to read one or the
other monthly journal, it is the Modern Review. I remember when
Mahatmaji was arrested and spirited away to Yervada in 1930 from his Karadi
camp during the memorable Salt Satyagraha, the first letter we received from
him in the camp had brought us instructions to request Ramananda Babu to send
him regularly the Modern Review. With its sumptuous dishes of
intellectual feast, of studies and articles from the pen of writers of
international repute, the Modern Review attracted to itself a very wide
clientele. But the centre of attraction had always been the editorial notes
written by Sjt. Chatterjee in his cryptic style. The Modern Review has
thus not only brought the world to India’s door but has also taken India to the
doors of alien lands.
I
had the rare privilege of enjoying intimate friendship with the renowned Editor
of the Modern Review covering a period of over a quarter of a century.
Disparity in age did not impair the close relationship between us and Babuji
was ever an amiable, affectionate friend. It was always a delight to us when
during his visits to Bombay he sometimes stayed with us. He made himself an
equally amiable and convenient guest. I remember I first met him in 1926 when
he came to Bombay to sail for Geneva to study the working of the League of
Nations. I knew him before for quite a number of years but we had never met. My
conception of the Editor of the Modern Review and the Prabasi was
different. When I therefore went to the station to receive him, I was naturally
looking for a “tip-top gentleman” attired in English style to come out of the
train. Instead, to my surprise, came out of the compartment a man in his
sixties with a grey beard and in a black cap. Prof. Dasgupta of the “Indian
Philosophy” fame was his companion in the tour. The League of Nations had then
a peculiar halo around it and a war weary world pining for peace entertained
high hopes for the establishment of world peace. The hopes were centred round
the League. It was, no doubt a high honour for an Indian journalist to be
invited by the League, independently of the Government of India, to study its
constitution and working. Perhaps the League expected Sjt. Chatterjee to join
the chorus of universal praise hitherto showered upon it. But Ramananda was not
a man to be so easily taken in. He accepted the invitation but rejected the
offer made by the League to defray his expenses. “If I accept the offer,” said
he, “I unwittingly rush into the snare spread by them. I do not want my
independent judgment even unconsciously biased or influenced, and if I were to
accept their money, I was bound to expose myself to the danger of allowing my
opinions to be so influenced.” This spirit of independence evokes our
admiration. He had almost a passion for this independence in his profession and
it was later seen manifested on many an occasion in his life. When Babuji
presided over one of the sessions of the Hindu Mahasabha, the Editor of the Vishal
Bharat, of which Ramananda was the Proprietor, had some criticisms to offer
regarding the policy advocated by the Mahasabha. Sjt. Chatterjee did not take
them amiss. He politely answered those criticisms in the light of his own
convictions. This incident, it is said, never impaired the sweet relations
between the Editor and the Proprietor. Referring to the incident he wrote to me
to say that he wanted editors always to enjoy the same measure of independence
as he desired to enjoy himself. This little digression apart, when I saw him
off at the wharf, his face was radiant with joy. He felt he was going on a
noble mission. And, for aught we know, Sjt. Chatterjee, true to his love of
independence, acquitted himself very creditably by exposing the hollowness of
the whole show that the League was. It was simply the handmaid of a few
imperialist powers to serve their own ends, and the smaller nations had no
place in it. India contributed a large sum to the cost of its administration
but was not represented on its Council. India being allowed later to be
represented by a person selected by the Legislative Assembly, and other minor
changes in its working, came as a result of Sjt. Chatterjee’s outspoken
strictures. Sjt. Chatterjee felt convinced that the League was a hollow show
brought into being by certain powers to maintain their supremacy over world
affairs. World peace for which it was established was more or less a chimera
and was to remain an unfulfilled dream. The League, constituted as it was,
could not bring it about. And the present war has amply
justified the opinion of Sjt. Chatterjee and proved the failure of the League
in fulfilling its aims and objects.
While
we are referring to this part of his life, we may as well make a passing
reference to an amusing mistake a Geneva journal made. Sjt. Chatterjee sitting
in the distinguished visitors’ gallery was mistaken for Poet Tagore and
described as such by Journal de Geneva. The journal was not far
mistaken, as there was such a close resemblance between the Poet and the
Journalist. Though not endowed with the splendid build and the imposingly high
stature of Rabindranath, this friend of the Poet possessed the same serenity on
his face and, though not so rich, yet the same grey beard. There existed a
close friendship between these two sons of Bengal–a mutual admiration such as
rarely existed between two individuals. Tagore’s poems, novels short stories
were introduced to the English reading public first by Ramananda Babu, even
before the former gained world fame by the award to him of the Nobel Prize in
1913.
How
Sjt. Chatterjee delighted in, or rather prided on, being a journalist may be
illustrated by an incident during the Congress session in Bombay in 1934. Sjt.
Ramananda Chatterjee had come to Bombay for the session of the Hindu Mahasabha
and naturally attended the session of the Indian National Congress held at
Worli during the week. It was an open-air session held at night. As his hearing
was a little affected, the Press Gallery naturally offered him a closer and a
more distinct hearing of the proceedings. He, therefore, always accompanied me
and took his seat in the Press section. But he could not go unnoticed, wherever
he might be seated. The leaders on the dais noticed him and invited him to sit
there. At first he politely refused but then a second call made him yield to
the pressure. He did go but returned within fifteen minutes. “I am more
comfortable here. Am I not a pressman, and besides I hold my press ticket?” he
smilingly said to me.
In
later years Sjt. Chatterjee started evincing a keen interest in the cause of
the eighty millions of down-trodden and neglected subjects of the Indian
Princes. The Congress in early years until after the Haripura session, refused
to touch even with a pair of tongs the problem of the States. The All India
States’ People’s Conference found it difficult to find Presidents to champion
their cause, and they had to go in search of them outside the pale of the
Congress. It was in such days that the cause appealed to the heart of Sjt.
Chatterjee and he, when invited, readily agreed to preside over the third
session of the A.I.S.P.C. held in Bombay. Ever a friend of the fallen that he was,
Babuji, just as he had advocated the cause of social reform and that of Indian
womanhood, also held the weak hand of this suffering and struggling mass of
humanity. The Conference at the time was virtually in its infancy; and had not
gained firm ground either in the States themselves or in the country in
general. The task before it was huge while the workers were only a handful to
carry oil that gigantic task. The States i.e., the Rulers enjoyed
unbridled, autocratic powers, backed by British Rule; and in spite of the
desirability of holding the sessions of the Conference within the States’
territories, it was considered hazardous to the life of the infant organisation
to venture on such a step. At the time of Babuji’s shouldering the
responsibility of steering its ship, the Conference was divided on this
question of venue. However, Babuji’s acceptance of the Presidentship greatly
enthused the workers and the people of the States. The differences were soon
composed and the ranks closed. The right royal reception given to him on
his arrival at the Victoria Terminus Station by surging crowds, fully
demonstrated their faith that in Sjt. Chatterjee they had the right man who, would
give them a right lead, and would stoutly support their cause against the powerful
reactionary forces arrayed against them. For three days the city of Bombay
witnessed unparalleled enthusiasm, when the Opera House was packed to its
utmost capacity by the States’ people residing in the city and delegates from
numerous near and distant States gathered to accept the lead from this old man
of sixty-seven. Ever since then the people of the Indian States found in
Ramananda a stout champion of their cause. Whenever he heard of some repression
in an Indian State, Sjt. Chatterjee never faltered in his duty to offer
scathing criticisms of the policy of that State and would not spare the Prince
from his strictures for allowing such barbarous conditions to prevail there. He
seized every opportunity that offered itself to him for the advocacy of the
cause. Once he had an invitation from the Editor of an American journal to
contribute to the magazine an article on any subject of his choice. Sjt.
Chatterjee considered lit to be a fit occasion to expose the ante-diluvian
remnants of Indian feudalism that were more or less an anachronism in the
modern world. But then he had the habit of verifying his facts before he dealt
with them and I remember his having written to me to furnish him with details,
“only reliable ones which may not be challenged” of the conditions then
prevalent in the Dhenkanal States in Orissa with photographs, if available.
Sjt.
Chatterjee firmly believed in the efficacy of illustrating his articles.
Pictures are more telling than words, he would say. With an eagle’s eye he ever
watched events; he knew where and from whom he should secure: his material, and
he also knew the right persons to get the right things from. Therein lay his
ability and efficiency as an editor. Such another vigilant editor was hard to
find. He, no doubt, would have been a great teacher, an erudite scholar, since
erudition was the legacy of the family, but he was above everything else a
great editor. His humility was remarkable. Though a, very forceful writer, he
never was found to put a premium on his writings: He would leave the free
choice of their acceptance or rejection to the editors of the journals those
writings were penned for. From time to time I had occasion to invite
contributions from his pen for the Dewali special numbers I edited, and
hard-worked as he was, he unfailingly responded to my invitations. There could
not be any question of rejecting such prized contributions, and yet what a
delightful surprise would it be to find a sweet enclosing note to say “that the
Mss. maybe rejected if not found up to mark and returned. Rejection would not
in any way offend the writer.”
Sjt.
Chatterjee has his own ethics of personal relationship. Never during the long
period of our intimate friendship, have I ever received a single letter that
was not written in his bold, clear hand. He never needed a stenographer to do
his correspondence.
But
Sjt. Chatterjee as a man was greater still. Unostentatious and simple, he was
so courteous in his manner as to put his visitor quite at ease while the latter
conversed with him. I had opportunities to render odd little services to the Modern
Review and the Prabasi; these were, no doubt, very
insignificant ones, and yet he would have nothing but a word of appreciation
for them. In contributions or notes occasionally sent to him, he never
applied his scissors unnecessarily. That was how he encouraged his writers. He
ever lavished affection on those with whom he came in contact. So bent down
under the heavy weight of his onerous duties, he was always a fond father
to his children, a loving grandsire to his children’s children. His insistence
on doing his morning prayers and taking his breakfast daily in company with his
grand-children was but an instance of this personal love. He must surely
have been an equally loving husband. The pages of the Modern Review bear
ample testimony to the immensity of his personal loss on the death of his
beloved wife. When my wife lay seriously ill for a year, I had solicitous
enquiries from him from time to time, and on her demise, one sentence, in his
letter of condolence, viz., “you have the sympathies and condolence of a
fellow-sufferer like myself” was enough to touch the tenderest chord of one’s
heart. It gave ample proof of the immensity of his own sense of solitariness on
the death of his life’s partner even at that late age.
Such
a man have we lost in losing Ramananda Chatterjee, a man with wide
humanitarianism, and equally wide nationalism of the purest type. Such a loss
the nation could hardly afford to suffer at a critical hour of its history. It
is now exactly a year since we sustained this loss. He has left us no doubt a
rich legacy in his three journals that bear the high-water mark of journalistic
efficiency: the Modern Review, the Prabasi and the Vishal
Bharat. Let these be put on a permanent and stable basis as a national
institution, and that alone will be the nation’s worthy tribute to its worthy
son; that will be his proper Shradha! The nation probably cannot pay him a
higher tribute, raise to his memory a greater Memorial than being worthy of
this heritage he has left behind.