Babu Ramananda Chatterji

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 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, ed 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 forthem. 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 fondfather 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 losingRamananda 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 hima higher tribute, raise to his memory a greater Memorial than being worthy of this heritage he has left behind.