‘B.M.S.’–Some
Reminiscences1
BY ‘KETAKI’
“B.M.S”–Yes, it was the
name famous throughout the college. Something inside me snapped, when I heard
that he was no more; Somehow, I cannot grasp the fact that our dear “B.M.S.” is
dead. He was, to us, a monument, a Colossus, an institution. How shall I say
it? He was, to me, what Arnold was to him, and Wordsworth was to Arnold.
Memories come crowding back. I remember the first
time I saw him. We were in the Senior Intermediate Class; “B.M.S.” had been
invited to our College to give us a talk on– ‘Anything’. I remember the dark
brown suit, the closed coat and the lace turban, the characteristic dress of
our dear Professor. He spoke to us about Nachiketas, the agitation in the mind
of Nachiketas, comparing it with that in the mind of Newman, Clough and Arnold.
I, for one, sat and listened as I had never listened to anyone else. That first
impression is still green in my mind. I have heard him often enough: every word
of his, every mannerism of his is known to me. And yet, the picture I always
remember is his brown-clad figure on the platform, his palm held up, the
forefinger swaying this way and that, like a snake enthralled, while his lips
murmured the word, ‘Agitation.’
Shall I say something about the influence Wordsworth
and Shakespeare had on him? Yes, they did wield a great influence on “B.M.S.”
But the real moving force which guided the thoughts and even the actions of
“B.M.S.” was Matthew Arnold. The influence could be seen even in the style and
language of the man. He said so once. He taught me Arnold, and the first
lecture was on Rugby Chapel. I cannot forget the vehemence with which he
read the lines:
“Ah, yes, some of us strive
To snatch something from dull Oblivion,
Nor all glut the devouring Grave.”
No one can say he strove in vain; “B.M.S.” will
never be forgotten.
I remember one lecture in particular. He was
teaching us the chapter ‘Sweetness and Light’ from Culture and Anarchy.
It was a rainy day and some of the students had absented themselves. This hurt
him a lot. We had the class in his room, and it was a gloomy room, particularly
on that rainy day. He smiled a characteristic sour smile and said: “Switch on
the light, please. Evidently you cannot find any sweetness here; let us at
least have light!”
He was a very proud man. Proud in the sense that he
could not bear to let anyone know his feelings and emotions. He admired
equanimity, and emotion tempered with reason. Some of us were carried away by
the fire. Byron’s passionate lines, and the ethereal dream like quality of
Shelley’s songs. It was “B.M.S.” who taught us how ‘ineffectual’ they were when
applied to Life. I wonder if I am clear: one sees the Ideals of the
French Revolution mirrored in their poetry. But we can see the vast gulf
between the Ideals and the Actuals. Keats and in a greater measure, Wordsworth
are, on the other hand, restful. This was the view of “B.M.S.” To some of us
was granted the privilege of a glimpse of his mind through the gap in the
curtain.
On any problem he knew how to throw the clear white
light of the intellect. Some might call this cold reasoning, some would have
called the frigid; but, to me, it looked like a necessary, dispassionate way of
looking at things,–the objective way so famous in Shakespeare. His idea was:
“Emotion, feeling and vehemence alone do not help you to win in any argument,
or, for that matter, in life. If you have an Idea, you must, at the same time,
have a firm conviction. So firm that you must have passed the stage when it can
affect you emotionally. Till then, it is only your personal, biased view which
may mean everything to you but nothing to the others.”
Standing at this distance, and looking back, my
memory lingers gratefully on the hours I spent at the feet of “B.M.S.” Ben
Jonson’s ‘this side idolatry’ about Shakespeare, can well be used for my
reverence for “B.M.S” He was a great man, a simple man, a man known to all and
yet known only to a few. He taught us one important lesson: to look at
everything dispassionately and to think independently: to form one’s own
opinion and to hold on to it, even if it differed from the accepted opinion of
everyone else. “B.M.S.” was not a demigod. But he was such a fine man that one
felt better after some time spent in his company. His is such a far-reaching
influence that it makes me happy, grateful and proud to know and realise that I
knew “B.M.S.” He is no more, but he can never leave us quite and go away.
Arnold’s ‘Memorial Verses’ about Wordsworth are a fitting Epitaph for our dear,
beloved “B.M.S.”
“Time may restore us in his course
Goethe’s sage mind and Byron’s force;
But where will Europe’s latter hour
Again find Wordsworth’s healing power?
Others will teach us how to dare,
And against fear our breast to steel;
Others will strengthen us to bear,
But, who, ah! Who will make us feel?”
1 The late lamented
Prof. B. M. Srikantia was affectionately referred to as “B.M.S.”