Khokon, and A Few Memoirs

Khokon, and A Few Memoirs
© Jayanta Majumdar, 1963 Metallurgical Engineering.

আয়, আর একটিবার আয় রে সখা, প্রাণের মাঝে আয়,
মোরা সুখের দুখের কথা কব, প্রাণ জুড়াবে তায়।
মোরা ভোরের বেলা ফুল তুলেছি, দুলেছি দোলায়,
বাজিয়ে বাঁশি গান গেয়েছি বকুলের তলায়।

পুরানো সেই দিনের কথা ভুলবি কি রে হায়,
ও সেই চোখে দেখা, প্রাণের কথা, সে কি ভোলা যায়।

Our Khokon is 80+ now. Going back to my childhood days of the ‘50s, I still remember that loving personality. 7 decades, and still one unforgettable character. Let me pen down few lines about our good old Khokon.

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Paglagarod (Mental Asylum), Our Khokan, and the Rebel Poet.
12 years old Khokan’s small town, then regarded as a health resort, was also famous for its “Pagla Garods” (Mental Asylum Centers). Bengali bhadderlok of those days, tourists and visitors, mainly from Kolkata would call the cluster of three mental asylums located in the north suburban of Khokan’s town. Such asylum facilities were unique in India then, in 1950s, and may be, they are unique even today.

The administration, too, was insensitive in calling them asylums. However, I guess that at least two of the three hospitals were really so. They would round up mentally unstable men and women from streets and-helpless households, and would keep them confined in cells or in open couryard within the high walls of the asylums to prevent them from running away and become nuisance in the street again. The inmates were spending days practically as prisoners of a kind, but with qualified docs and nurses available to treat them. Some of the lucky ones would get cured and would be released back to the society. However, most of these unfortunate sick men and women would spend rest of their lives in those asylums and die there. Later on, perhaps in 1960s, better sense prevailed and these semi- prisons were re/named as mental hospitals which they are supposed to be.

Our Khokon used to feel shocked that evan bhadderlok visitors to their town would consider a visit to these Pagla Garod. They would visit with a curiosity as if a child would be visiting our Alipore Zoo Garden. Later on some of them with gusto, would describe the asylum inmates and mimic them, as if our zoo returned children are describing the behaviors of some primates they came across in the Zoo.

The authorities of at least one of the asylums, the Asylum for Indian Males, were guilty in allowing the entry of curious visitors inside their hospital, as the visitors were curious to see funny human beings. During the ‘60s, with change of social thinking in our societies, the curiosity to visit Ranchi mental hospitals was stopped altogether.

Khokan’s interest and curiosity about mental hospitals was ignited in the early ‘50s when a cousin of his father, a middle aged and friendly physician, joined one asylum as a senior doctor, and came from Kolkata with his family. The two families would meet occasionally for a Sunday meal either house, and the doctor’s son, about Khokan’s age, quickly became a good friend of Khokan.

Once Khokan took permission of his parents to spend a Saturday night at doctor uncle’s quarter that was very close to the hospitals. On the following morning, a Sunday, the doctor asks the two boys to dress up and come along with him for a hospital visit.

The Doc uncle takes them to the building that was known as European Asylum, meant only for fee-paying patients, both males and females. The doc takes a leisurely round, talking to nurses and greeting his patients, resting in their rooms or sitting outside in the courtyard. After some time, our twelve years old Khokan wished he would not have wished to be there. The sight was so depressing to him, an unending parade of blank eyes. Khokan starts feeling sick. The Doc uncle understands. He says that they would now return home but just after the two boys meet face to face, the great rebel poet, considered only next to Rabi Thakur in popularity, who was an inmate temporarily in that hospital for his treatments. The boys, somehow felt excited.

The doc stops before a room and points inside through an open window. An old and tired looking gentleman was sitting inside, totally engrossed in constant shuffling a large stack of old newspapers from his right side to left and then again from his left side to right, without even trying to read any of them. Suddenly the man raised his head and stares at the two boys. His look was just blank. Then the poet looks at something else but again gets busy with paper shuffling. The Doc uncle signals them to move on. Khokan was again felt so depressed to find the Bidrohi poet in such a state.

Post script by Khokan: My new friend, the Doc uncle’s son was rather inquisitive. He often used to snoop around the local Doctors Club. Once, he overhears some docs talking about the poet; that the poet might never recover; that his brain was invaded by microbes that were lying dormant in his body for years; probably from his Paltan days when as a sepoy in British Indian Army the juvenile boy stayed and fought war in foreign soils. Another doctor quips loudly – youthful indiscretion!

Then my cousin asked me what is “Youthful indiscretion”? Neither I could make anything out of it. But both of us silently shed a few drops of tears for our hero, the Rebel Poet.

Kolkata
December 31, Year 2023.

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Khokon and Vidyasagar.
That was year 1951 or 1952. Our Khokon was just ten or eleven, spending his happy days in the subarban of a sleepy Ranchi town. So far, Khokon has watched just one movie with his parents at the Plaza Cinema, one of the five cinema halls in the town.

Far away at Kolkata, a Bangla movie Vidyasagar was released, with actor Pahari Sanyal in the lead role. It became a rage. From the chat of his mother and other Mashimas in the neighborhood, Khokon understood that they all were waiting to watch the movie Vidyasagar, that will be released at Ranchi not before another six months. What a wait!

Meanwhile, the dadas of the muhalla could learn a very popular song from the movie Vidyasagar, and started singing. Khokon was told that in the movie, the folks are seen dancing wildly and singing this song praising Vidyasagar’s action in introducing re- marriage of young widows, which was unthinkable at his time and a taboo, too. The lyric was: Benche thaak Vidyasagar chirajeevi hoye; Bidhobar Hobey Biye. (বিধবার হবে বিয়ে) (Let Vidyasagar be immortal; because of him the young widows can re-marry now). The song had a rhythm, the accompanying music was wild and the song became a rage among the boys in the muhalla like at all other places in Bengal and adjoining areas.

So, our young Khokon would always hum and sing – Bidhabar hobey biye, bidhabar hobey biye. And that resulted in a great trouble for Khokon. Khokon’s father was blissfully unaware of this song; perhaps even of the movie. He was ever so busy in his office! One evening he returns home from hid office, tired, and find his ten years old son singing a song of extremely vulgar lyrics “bidhabar hobey biye”! He catches Khokon and starts beating him black and blue for singing the vulgar song till Khokon’s cries reach his mother, who comes running and rescues Khokon from further punishment. The dad was still not convinced. Vidyasagar or not, Pahari Sanyal or not, Khokon must not have uttered these vulgar words. But it took a unexpected turn that Khokon got angry on Vidyasagar moshai and held him fully responsible for the beating and humiliation he had to go through.

Now, the year 1957. Khokon is now out of school and comes to Kolkata for college admission. And his local guardian gets him admitted for I.Sc. at the very Vidyasagar College! Khokon gets perturbed again.

Khokon’s very first day in his college. As he enters through the college gate, he finds a half-bust stone statue of Vidyasagar right in front. It was a remarkable piece of sculpture. A serene Vidyasagar. Khokon stands in front of the bust, placed at his head’s height, looks up to the bust and complains: “Sir, why did you introduce widow marriage? Do you know that because of you I was beaten black and blue by my father when I was a small boy. Why, why please answer?”

AND, Khokon keeps watching the face of the great man. Then, one fine morning, Khokon could feel that Vidyasagar’s stone face has changed and is giving a sad smile, as if in sympathy with Khokon’s past distress. —- A few fleeting moments, and then it became the same serene Vidyasagar in stone again!

From that moment Khokon becomes a great admirer of Vidyasagar moshai. What a kind person he was! Even when cast in stone, he had so much feelings for a child’s past pain.

Dedicated to Vidyasagar Mahasaya.
February 20, Year 2023.

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The Bihari Babu from Barkakana and Khokon.
It was early 1950s. Our Khokon, aged 10 years, was traveling from Ranchi to Banaras for his Mamabari; with his parents and two little sisters aged about 3 Years, and the other was only 9 months old. The 300 miles journey was arduous. To begin with, take rickshaws from home to the bus stand, then a 30 miles bus ride; then a BNR train; a night’s wait at a junction station and then an EIR train at the dawn for Banaras; and finally, a tonga ride to Mamabari. Those days, trains were powered by steam engines and were slow.

The family was traveling in the inter class, in a green color compartment that had wooden benches and rexin seats. (For those not aware of “inter class”, it was something between the first class and general class; the general class was known as third class. So, inter class was often known as inter class. The cost of travel, I mean tickets were cheaper than first class, and travel in reasonable comforts with much less crowd compared to third class).

Jokes apart, the BNR was then a poor cousin of the EIR in terms of their trains and stations and maintenance and upkeeps.

When the family boarded their train, it was day light. It was soon realized that there was no train light in the entire train except the search lights of the locomotive headlight in the front, and the glows from burning coals from their steam engine.

Khokon’s parents were worried, specially for the 9 months old baby, and how to take care of her for a stretched 6-7 hours of journey in a pitch-dark compartment! Being inter class compartment, it was not so crowed. A middle-aged dhoti clad Bihari gentleman was sitting near their family. He was even more worried about the dark night ahead, how to deal with these two babies.

Those days people used to carry all types of luggage you can imagine in a train travel: with trunks and hold-alls, side bags, cooked food in baskets, earthen vessel with water, thermos flasks, a battery torch, crockeries like plates-glass-spoons, and some people even used to carry a kerosene lantern. The Bihari babu tells Khokon’s father: “Babu I am from Barkakana, and I am a trader. In an hour my station will arrive. It is a stop for 7-8 minutes. Give me a rupee and your lantern and flask. I know a shop just outside the station. I will fetch kerosene and hot water for you. Just keep the window open and keep your torch flashing so that I can locate the compartment again.”

Then train stops at the Barkakana junction. True to the BNR reputation, the junction station was almost dark barring some dim oil lamp posts here and there. The middle aged Bihari trader jumped off even before the train halts, with the lantern and the flask in one hand and his own small bag in the other and Khokon could watch only a disappearing silhouette of dhoti- kurta.

Then began Khokon’s toughest five minute’s wait in his life. His parents were also anxious. Finally, family hears guard’s whistle signaling the train to move. Khokon’s father was wildly flashing a torch into the dark outside. Suddenly the beam catches the dhoti clad Bihari babu running frantically towards the slowly moving away window. He catches up. Khokon’s father drops the flash light on the bench and grabs the lantern and the water flask from the extended arms of the frantically running fellow passenger of Barkakana. That was the last Khokon could see him. Parents moods were lifted, but they regret that they did not even ask for kind hearted man’s name.

At mid night the BNR train reached its terminal station Dehri-on -Sone. The luggage was so huge that three porters had to carry the luggage. The family moves to the waiting room for the night stay, with their two sleeping babies in parent’s arms and obviously, with ten years old Khokon. They had their own meals from the food basket, and then goes to sleep for rest of the night. However, Khokan could not sleep at all. He thinks about the Bihari man of Barkakana, the kindest person Khokan had ever come across in his ten years old life.

Khokon is 80+ now. He still counts that nameless Bihari Babu as one of the kindest souls he could ever met.

Kolkata
November 6, Year 2022.

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