Tale of two journeys, one sad history
Shahid Alam has his wanderlust take over, again
I have always had wanderlust in my blood, the urge to just pack up and go, to any place that catches my fancy for whatever reason. My great satisfaction has been that I have been able to indulge that urge quite a bit. I am also a history buff. These days, for a variety of reasons, pointedly not including a diminished desire, I am unable to just get up and go, but I still delve into history at every opportunity that comes my way. I was recently presented a book that satiated both of my great interests, one vicariously, the other as supplementing what I already know. Sakhawat Hussain's Bangla Bihar Prantore is a pleasant travelogue heavily laced with historical anecdotes, interspersed with astute comments, and some imaginative reconstructions. Some myths and coincidental occurrences, which the author almost persuades the reader as having been real, causal, or consequential, spice up the narrative. The book recounts two journeys undertaken within a few months of each other by Hussain and friends to Poshchimbongo and Bihar in 2010 and 2011. The author's own proclivity for travel and history come through clearly in his writing, and, although he alludes to historical facts of ancient, medieval and modern India, he spends a substantial portion on the Battle of Plassey, its antecedents, and its enormous ramifications for the history of South Asia in general, Bengal and Bihar in particular. In fact, Hussain dwells more on historical figures of the past, people who have changed the course of history, Nawab Siraj-ud-daulah, Robert Clive, Mir Jafar, Mir Madan, Mohan Lal, Admiral Charles Watson, Rai Durlabh, Ghaseti Begum, Yar Lutuf Khan, Jagat Seths, Job Charnock, Subhash Bose, and so many others who are more or less familiar with Bengalis in general. Particularly fascinating is his imaginative reconstruction of the Battle of Plassey. You can almost hear the soldiers charging each other in battle formations, the bark of the commanders, the shouts of the warriors, the neigh of horses, the trumpet of elephants, and the roar of cannons as the fate of an ancient land and its people was being decided. Having been an army officer himself, Hussain draws the picture from the standpoint of military history. That does not mean that he neglected living people he encountered during the two journeys. There are some memorable, some idiosyncratic, some conniving characters to grip the reader's attention. The proverbial Kolkata Bengali tightwad is portrayed tongue-in-cheek by real life characters he came across, as well as the noxious habit, not unfamiliar in Dhaka, of urinating in the early morning hours along the streets, including well-known thoroughfares like Chowringee, by Kolkata residents. We also find oddballs, charlatans, Good Samaritans --- in short, the diverse composition of the human race. However, Hussain's forte is history and historical figures. At the beginning of his book he ponders at some length on one of the truly heroic figures of Indian resistance to the British --- Tipu Sultan. Elsewhere he also mentions the name of the Duke of Wellington. Wellington, of course, is recognized as one of the great captains in military history, but I cannot help recounting his involvement in Indian military campaigns. During the decisive Fourth Anglo-Mysore War of 1799, Lord Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, was a 30-year old Colonel and fought in the Battle of Seringapatam, where Tipu fell mortally wounded. Incidentally, Wellington confirmed his death by checking his pulse. Interestingly, his elder brother, Richard Wellesley, the Duke of Mornington, was then the Governor-General of India. Wellington was made the new Governor of Seringapatam and Mysore. Later, as a major-general, he won a decisive victory over the Maratha Confederacy in 1803 that effectively ended Maratha resistance against the British. He then grew tired of India, and in 1805, returned home. The rest, as they say, is history. Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, after securing significant victories over the French, finally conclusively triumphed over them at Waterloo and ended the all-conquering exploits of one of the military geniuses and astute administrators and reformers in world history, Napoleon Bonaparte. Hussain, with a heavy heart, follows the fall and death of Siraj-ud-daulah through palace machinations, betrayal by his military commanders, close aides and relatives and, what the author has rather underplayed, his own weaknesses and incompetence. The author reflects on how, throughout the ages, people discard moral values in their quest for power. However, he might have given the French too altruistic a motive in coming to the aid of the Nawab. Great [and small] powers usually have in mind the gaining of the maximum advantage for their national interests in their relation to each other, during peace or war. In other words, realpolitik dictates the behaviour of nations. In the eighteenth century the British and the French were at loggerheads in trying to gain supremacy in different parts of the world, and either of the two countries would usually give tacit or active support to the other's adversaries. Much as American historians might contest this, my own feeling is that, had not the French decisively sided with the American revolutionaries against the British colonial power, the American revolution might well have faltered or even fizzled out. And the French decision had nothing to do with the revolutionaries being of French origin. In fact, almost the entire colonial population, barring the Native Americans and slaves, was of British, mostly English, extraction. Hussain remarks on the modern-day Chief Ministership of Bihar, and marvels at how one person, with vision and dedication to public service, can make a huge difference to a state or country's fortunes. He finds how, under Lalu Prasad's stewardship, "goonda raj" prevailed in Bihar that turned it into a virtual failed state, while, with Nitish Kumar as the Chief Minister, it has become more prosperous than Poshchimbongo, with [and there is a direct correlation with prosperity] its infamous reputation for lawlessness and corruption having been significantly arrested. The author has some shrewd observations and comments. He laments on how the Indians take great pains to preserve their heritage sites, while we in Bangladesh seem to do our best to obliterate them. His observation that probably no nation in the world is as litigious as the Bengalis [with attendant disastrous consequences for individuals, families, and occasionally, the nation] is not at all wide of the mark. He has noted how Bangladeshis contribute a substantial amount to the coffers of Indian businesspeople/shop owners come Eid and other holiday occasions through their buying and spending sprees. The Bangladesh Mission in Kolkata draws criticism from the author for its lackadaisical attitude. And one may wonder if he could solve the plight of the Kolkata-bound Bangladesh train employees who had apprised him of the matter. He laments the relentless degradation of the Buriganga River in Dhaka. And emphasizes on the relentless verdict of history, irrespective of how it is distorted at any given period of time. He could not have said it better or with greater veracity when he stated that appellation change does not change history; that exercise only distorts it. Historical research will inevitably bring out the truth. The author, from time to time, brings up the overlapping history of Bangladesh and Poshchimbongo. Among the several different instances he cites, the reader may be fascinated by reading how three young educated idealists-nationalists-revolutionaries, Binoy Basu, Badal Gupta, and Dinesh Gupta, sacrificed their tomorrows in the process of assassinating a British Inspector General of Prisons in Kolkata, and were from Munshiganj in Bangladesh. He also recounts the stirring rags-to-riches story of Jhelum-born Mohan Singh Oberoi, the founder of the famed Oberoi chain of hotels. It is a great story of Oberoi's hard work, honesty, enterprise, diligence and trustworthiness that brought him his deserving success. And, then, there is the magical story of the fascinating Frances Johnson, a social butterfly during the early days of the British raj in India. Anomalies do creep into the narrative. Hussain mentions that Tipu Sultan was buried next to his FATHER Haider Ali. A couple of pages later he states that Shahzada Haider Ali was the son of one of Tipu Sultan's brothers. But then he comes up with the bewildering statement that Shahzada Haider Ali was Haider Ali's GRANDSON Tipu's brother Abdul Karim's son. Elsewhere Hussain says that Job Charnock first arrived in India in 1650-53[?] almost immediately after asserting that he first arrived in 1655-56. And, further, he states that Frances Johnson died on 3 February 1812 at the age of 83 just prior to writing that she was born in 1724 [which would have made her 88 when she passed away]. Notwithstanding these flaws, Sakhawat Hussain has presented an eminently readable travelogue in Bangla Bihar Prantore.
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