Some Old Central Collegians

By Navaratna Rama Rao ¹

I am deeply grateful for the great honour done me which I have accepted with some diffidence. I know that a speech is expected of me. It is true that I have made a few speeches in my life, but that was not very recently, and I have had time to get over the worry they were to me. I trust my hearers have forgotten or forgiven the weariness they must have been to them. The fact that I presided at the College Day in 1933 has probably passed into merciful oblivion, or perhaps I have been forgiven the rather long address I delivered on that occasion. When my friend, Rajadharmaprasakta Sri Singaravelu Mudaliar, conveyed to me the desire of the Committee that I should preside on this occasion, I felt it my duty to agree, especially as it was proposed to unveil the portraits of two old boys whom we all love and honour. I had the privilege of working for some years under the guidance and inspiration of Sir M. Visvesvaraya on a scheme he held dear; and, Sri Rajagopalachari has been my friend of a life-time. Both of them belong to India and History, but this College sent them forth on their mission in life, and so we have a special fee-right in them for pride and love. I felt that If an opportunity was offered me to join in this tribute of honour to them, and if by doing this I could also serve my Alma Mater and brothers and sisters of her family, I should not let diffidence prevent me from accepting it. I have been somewhat of a recluse, and this opportunity of renewing old friendships and in some degree recapturing the freshness and ecstasy of long ago was also an irresistible attraction. It was a happy thought to call this a Re-Union. It is to me something more than a gathering of the old boys who are actually present here. I feel that the absent are also with us in spirit. We are a great family re-united here, the past and present together. To this hall is full of invisible presences–both of those who are parted from us by distances, and of those who are no longer with us in the flesh. To the latter we have to offer the homage due from the present to the past, from us to the mighty men who have gone before. They were, one and all, dear and true sons and servants of the Alma Mater, and helped to build up the noble tradition that is hers Waters, Rice, Cook and Tait, Leonard, Venkataswami Naidu, Narayanaiangar, Venkatanaranappa, Venkatesh Iyengar, R. Raghunatha Rao, and Krishnaswami Iyengar, Sir P. N. Krishnamurthy, P. Raghavendra Rao, Sir T. Thumboo Chetty, Jayaram, N. S. Subba Rao, B. M. Srikantia,–these are some of the names among many that immediately occur to me. I hope it is something more than the fondness of fancy which makes us feel that they are with us in spirit and rejoice in this Re-Union.

Of all the dear and honoured names I have mentioned, I would, this evening, select for a few words one which is to me personally sacred–that of my revered Master, Tait. I owe to him–next to God and to my beloved parents–all that has made my life worth living; but that is the only, nor even the main, reason why I would speak of him this evening. He has a great claim on the gratitude of this college and this country. He spent thirty years of the best part of his life here, and gave without stint himself and his unsurpassed talents to the service of this College; and he left it as high in prestige as the proudest in India–great in learning and culture, great in sport and sportsmanship. He implanted in us not only a love of learning but also a code of honour and duty. Boys who sat at his feet, and were taught and inspired by him, have gone forth to all parts of India covering themselves and their College with glory. I shall only mention a few names of those who are not here, and spare the modest blushes of those who are–Sri Rajagopalachari, Sir Samuel Ranganathan, V. Narahari Rao, Sir Mirza Ismail, H. V. R. Iyengar and Sir T. Thumboo Chetty; and in the illustrious assembly here there are many who are proud to acknowledge the influence of Mr. Tait in shaping their lives and career. Mr. Tait was proud of his boys and proudly conscious of work well done. When at the end of his service he was asked what he would do if he were given a couple of years extension, he answered with a smile, “Of course, I hope to continue the work I have been doing these thirty years.” To me no college celebration is complete without a tribute of gratitude to him. There were people who thought him hard and cynical, but that was only the conventional crust of the Britisher which hides warmth of heart. He also made no concealment of his faith in the inherent superiority of the White Man, but that was the fault of the conservative creed of his day, and with him it admitted of large and generous exceptions in favour of his students, and of Indians he really knew. I have lived longer than the ordinary span of human life, and met and known some great and famous men. But, I don’t think I have met or known one with a nobler, manlier heart or a more virile understanding. The last time I met him was when I was in Britain in 1930 for the Round Table Conference. Once, I went to Edinburgh to see him, and again a few weeks later, he came to London to see Sir Mirza Ismail and myself.

On the former occasion, he came to the Railway Station to receive me, and before I could prevent him he seized my suit-case and hoisted it on his shoulders, and it was with difficulty that he could be persuaded to surrender it to a porter. Next morning we went out on a long excursion–partly by bus and partly on foot in a drizzling rain, which he persisted in calling a mist. He showed me the Firth of Forth and several places rendered memorable by R. L. Stevenson, but now in my mind chiefly associated with that morning spent with my Master. He showed me the sights of Edinburgh–the place where Sir Walter Scott lived, Holyrood Castle, War Memorial, etc., but what I most cherish in remembrance is the happy family which made me welcome in 38, George Square. These memories are dear to me, but to dwell on them might be tedious to you. I cannot, however, refrain from telling you one characteristic incident which touched me like a parental caress. On the day I left for London, early as the train started, he was on the platform and thrust into my hands a packet of sweets–Edinburgh Rock was their formidable name–saying with a chuckle, “I recommend them to you. I used to be fond of them when I was a kid like you (I was a kid of 52, if you please!). They will last you some part of the way, for you have to suck them, and cannot bite them!”

Of the two old boys whose portraits are to be unveiled today, C. R., as this part of the country affectionately knows him, was very dear to Mr. Tait. C. R. told the old boys in his presidential address in 1937 that Mr. Tait was very angry with him for joining what he considered a rebellious movement; and, no doubt, so he was. But I know that Mr. Tait was very proud of C. R. and in talk with me usually referred to him humorously as “the eminent Premier” or “our distinguished Statesman-friend” or “the mighty Congress Leader.” C. R., on his part, loved and revered Mr. Tait quite as much, I think, as I do, and for the same reason. On the day we heard of our Mr. Tait’s death, he wrote to me that the loss had created a void in his heart and that he felt a dumb aching pain, as of a child which has lost a parent.

My memories of the Central College go to 1890, when I got admitted into what was then called the Matriculation Class. To a village-bred boy of thirteen, the building which then consisted only of the hall under the Clock-Tower and two wings, seemed a most awe-inspiring edifice. My first Class-Teacher was a lovable gentleman named Sreenivasa Rao, who was known among us–irreverent juniors–as the ‘singing bird’, owing to the cooing manner in which he intoned the words “don’t you see?”, with which his lectures were generously punctuated. I was next transferred to another section of the same class, where my teacher was one Mr. Mrityunjaya Iyer, who was considered a martinet and a holy terror, but whom about twenty years later I found to be a mild and rather temperamental gentleman. I, unfortunately, came under his displeasure, and he asked me to “stand up on the bench.” I was familiar with the exercise, having had occasion to do it many times before for just cause. But this time the order seemed to me unjust and tyrannical, and I roundly refused to obey. Threatened with bodily violence, I resisted, and was promptly expelled. As a matter of fact, I passed my Matriculation Examination from the London Mission High School where the Reverend J. H. Walton, who was greatly tickled by the story of my expulsion from the College, readily admitted me. It was lucky for me that the above little contre-temps was not remembered against me when I sought admission to the F. A. Class in the Central College.

My ambition as a freshman at College was not distinction in studies. I would have given all the marks I ever got in examinations for a few more runs at cricket. I was a fanatical devotee of the game and my hero was Jayaram. To me he was a God-like person of “atlantean shoulders fit to bear the weight of mightiest monarchies”–the Achilles of the cricket field, before whose single prowess with bat and ball the hopes of opposing teams crumbled into dust. Time somewhat dimmed the halo of boyish worship, but my firm conviction is that, take him all in all, he was one of the finest sportsmen India has produced. At cricket or at tennis or at golf he was in a class by himself, unorthodox in style, formidable in effect. Mr. Tait, who had seen the best cricketers in England in action and was no mean performer at the game himself has told me that Jayaram had an eye as quick and a wrist as supple as those of the immortal W. G. himself, and that if he had the same opportunities he would have been as great a cricketer. Mr. Tait was very proud and fond of Jayaram, and the two together–the one furnishing the spirit and the other the technique–built up a Central College Team which achieved an Old Guard sort of prestige. Of the great victories, the Marengo, the Austerlitz and the Jena of this team, I was no more than a thrilled camp-follower. I was often given a part in minor actions, but won no great distinction. But from the first, I was a very enthusiastic trier, and seldom missed practice on the cricket field. As a youngster my grave self-dedication to the game was what brought me to Mr. Tait’s notice, by amusing him greatly. On the rare occasions on which I hit a ball hard, he used to clap his hands with humorous enthusiasm and shout “Hip, Hip, Hurray! Three cheers for Navaratnam!” He knew and liked me as a cricket enthusiast before I did anything worth his notice at my studies, and, though I haven’t done so badly at the latter, I get greater joy out of the memory of my undistinguished cricket deeds.

I have taken longer with my memories than I intended, and must now come to the special business of the evening–unveiling the portraits of Sir M. Visvesvaraya and Sri Chakravarti Rajagopalachari. It is a great honour to be asked to serve at this function, the greater that, in doing so, I shall be obeying the will of us all, and giving expression to our unanimous sentiments of love and esteem for Sir M. Visvesvaraya and Sri C. Rajagopalachari. It is usual on such occasions to say a few words relating to the gentlemen we honour. Fortunately for me, their lives have been lived on such a high and well-lit stage that their notable achievements are history and common knowledge and need no recounting. Yet, chosen as your priest for this function, I owe it to you to give my own impressions of the great men–what a mathematician would perhaps call the resultant in my direction of the force of their personalities.

Sir Visvesvaraya belonged to that brilliant group of young Mysoreans who, towards the end of the 19th century, invaded the Bombay Presidency, and captured year after year the post of Assistant Engineer guaranteed to the candidate who should top the pass list in the I. C. E. Degree Examination. As a boy of ten I was in Poona for a year with my uncle who was taking the Engineering Course in the College of Science (Sir M. V.’s College) and I remember that Visvesvaraya had already become a tradition in the colony of Mysorean intellect which had established itself there, possibly inspired by his example. I have a clear recollection of somee of our stalwarts–alas, no longer with us–Karpur Srinivasa Rao, C. Subba Rao, H. Ramanna, B. Nanjundiah B. Krishna Rao–who were of a quality which reduced the Maharashtrians well-nigh to despair of the guaranteed posts. The late Mr. Karpur Srinivasa Rao once told us in a public lecture–if I remember aright–a story about the great Gokhale. Asked, why he didn’t take up engineering, he said, half in jest no doubt, that it was “for fear of the Mysore devils” who left him no hope of winning the guaranteed post.

The story of Sir Visvesvaraya’s Working Life has been told with great simplicity and directness by himself. Suffice it to say that after joining service as an Assistant Engineer in 1884 he served with distinction notably in Bombay, but in other parts of India and in Aden–in fact, wherever difficult problems challenged professional talent. He was, I believe, invariably successful and won for himself a place in the hearts of the people he served. He travelled widely in all parts of the world, with an unerring eye for facts and methods which would be useful in constructive work in his own country. Rich in ideas and experience, and fired by a zeal for service, he came to his own Mysore as Chief Engineer in 1909, and he became Dewan in 1912 in succession to Pradhana Siromani T. Ananda Rao. He was Dewan till 1918 when he laid down his office as he found himself in disagreement with the policy recommended by the Miller Committee. During his Dewanship, he had done enough to put Mysore on the industrial map of India and to make his own name a household word in every Mysore home. Many years later, he was persuaded to assume control of the Mysore Iron Works at Bhadravati, his own conception, which was in a bad way, practically at its last gasp, and he saved it from dissolution. He has taken a distinguished part in the public life of India, especially in constructive and economic activities and planning, and is one of the best known and loved of Indians. On his 90th birthday the whole country joined in doing him honour; and Mysore, the land of his birth, naturally led in these demonstrations of affection.

Sir Visvesvaraya’s achievements as an administrator would make a long list. So, I shall mention just a few of them: Mysore Iron & Steel Works, Krishnarajasagar and its system of channels and power generation, the Mysore University, and the Mysore Bank. Much of what has been done subsequently owes its inspiration directly or indirectly to his influence. Great as his record of actual achievement has been, he has even a prouder title to our esteem and gratitude. Demosthenes has said that the real work of a statesman is not cities of brick or ships of timber, but in the hearts and souls of men; and judged by this standard, Sir M stands high indeed. He taught us self-respect and self-reliance, and helped to destroy the inferiority complex which years of foreign domination had infused in us. He made us aware of our soul.

I first met Sir Visvesvaraya when as Chief Engineer be visited Shimoga District, where I held charge of a Revenue Sub-Division. When later I was transferred to the Secretariat as Assistant Secretary to Government, I was put in charge of Efficiency Audit Work, which did not greatly appeal to me. I must however have left the impression of having some ability, for I presently found myself posted as Secretary to the Agricultural Committee of the Economic Conference, one of Sir M. Visvesvaraya’s favourite departments There, I believe, I gave him satisfaction as an officer who had ideas and could also carry them out, for, I was given full support in my work and enabled to organise the Sericultural Department, which may claim to have saved our silk industry and made Mysore the premier silk producer of India.

Sir Visvesvaraya had tremendous driving power and had no patience with slackness or doubt, and once he had made up his mind, argument was at an end. Well, nothing worth doing was ever done by a man who was not quite sure of himself–and Sir Visvesvaraya accomplished a good deal. He knew neither rest nor fatigue, for, hard as he drove his staff, he drove himself hardest of all. It was a constant marvel to us how his frail frame could support his ardent spirit and ceaseless activity, but he had sinews of whip-cord and an iron will.

He gave of his best to his country and countrymen without any thought of personal gain, such return as he was seemingly persuaded to accept being immediately made over for schemes of public utility. The Jayachamarajendra Occupational Institute, for example, absorbed nearly two lakhs forced on him for revitalising the Iron and Steel Works at Bhadravati, and he firmly refused to permit the Institute to be called after his name. His life abounds in instances of such selflessness. If I dared to call him a philosopher he would no doubt indignantly deny the charge, but that is what he is a Karma Yogi of whom our scriptures say: “the doing of duty alone is his, not the fruits thereof.”

When I try to tell you something about Sri C. Rajagopalachari, I feel strangely troubled. I have known him intimately these sixty years and more; yet every time I see him, I see in him traits I had not noticed before. I have felt the same in re-reading my favourite plays in Shakespeare, and I attribute it to a maturing of my own perception by experience. It may be so in the other case also, but it is more probably due to the gradual unfolding of C. Rajagopalachari’s natural gifts under the stimulus of opportunity and a demand for their exercise. We were at College together and shared for years a room 6 feet square in the premises, luxuriously furnished with two school benches. Together we lived in Bangalore and Madras, reading the same books, thinking the same thoughts, dreaming the same dreams, eating the same wretched food in the hotels of those days, living in the same dingy rooms, and as far as possible spending our holidays with one another. We had mapped our future to practise at the same Bar, and accordingly after taking my Law Degree I went to Salem where he was waiting for me. After about a couple of years there, our ways parted. I gravitated to Mysore and the Civil Service, and he went on, with singleness of aim, following faithfully the light that led him, undeflected by doubts, unshaken by trials, and untempted by ambition, till fame came to him unsought and he found himself one of the heroes of the nation and the makers of its history. He accepted glory without exultation as he had gone to jail without plaint or repining. Elevated to a position never held by an Indian; before, and in the midst of the almost barbaric gorgeousness of a Government House, which had been designed to gratify the vainglory of foreign satraps, he remained unaffected and unchanged.

After he had laid down the office of Governor-Genera1 and was looking forward to a peaceful life among his children and books, he was called for service as Cabinet Minister. There were people who thought he was compromising his dignity by responding to the call, but he cared little for this, for he set but small store by personal dignity or its trappings. That the country call him was all that mattered; and he went!

When, after a shattering spell of toil, he was permitted to withdraw, it looked as though he could have the repose that he had so nobly earned and so dearly longed for, but it was not to be. There was a crisis in his home State and, in what threatened to become a cataclysm, he was appealed to as the one man could save the situation.

To my mind, nothing in his own grand life was grander than his relinquishing his rest, and with bruise of many days, accepting a burden which none but he could shoulder–tired, old, but unconquerable.

His Excellency K. M. Munshi calls him one of the greatest of living Indians, and hardly any will contradict him. I have as I have told you, known him long and closely, and ordinarily such intimacy is not conducive to hero-worship. Yet, he has seemed to me one of those philosopher-statesmen that our country has produced in times of crisis–Kautilya, Vidyaranya, Vyasa Raya, Mahatma Gandhi.

He has a strong, disciplined intellect which can pierce to the very heart of a tangled problem and find a statesmanlike solution where ordinary minds would be mazed with mere details. Most of us have heard him speak and know how he can hold and convince his audience. His eloquence owes little to rhetoric or tricks of speech; its force is due entirely to sincerity and reasonableness. He is one of the most versatile men I know. If he had not dedicated himself to politics, he might have been a great jurist or a distinguished literary man. As it is, in the scanty leisure of a crowded life, he has produced works in Tamil and English which his countrymen will long read and admire.

Perhaps the most important constituent of C. R’s greatness is his utter fearlessness when he sees his duty clear before him. This Courage has its spring in his deeply religious nature. Religion with him is by no means doxy or dogma. It is Faith in God and Dharma. Alan Campbell-Johnson reports him as having said that “much might be done under the leadership of a man who had somehow found the secret of combining religion and politics without compromising his politics or contaminating his religion.” He seems to have found the secret of that combination. The same keen observer says of him:

“I am deeply impressed with C. R. He has immense moral authority which is exerted without any outward gesture. There is no raising of the voice or haughtiness of manner. Only a man of C. R’s powerful character and deep conviction could have dared to resist Gandhi’s will in 1942 by advocating acceptance of the Cripps Plan and even promoting his own partition formula. He retired, of course, into the wilderness….C. R. as Governor of Bengal consolidated the communal goodwill which Gandhi engendered. The minorities have looked on him for fairness and friendship, and he has not failed them….The communal quiet in this seething, over-populated, hunger-ridden and revolutionary City is in no small measure a reflection of his benign authority.”

To my mind, he is the Happy Warrior

“Who hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
Who, if he rise to station of command,
Rises by open means, and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need;
Who, lifted high
Or left unthought-of in obscurity,
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where that which he most values may be won.”

I shall now proceed to unveil the portraits of two great men of whom any country, and of course any College, may be proud. May God grant them many more years of health, happiness and service, and the blessings which accompany the evening of a nobly used life–Honour, Love, Obedience, troops of friends.

May their portraits here be a pride and an inspiration to us and our successors!

¹ Presidential Speech by Rajasevaprasakta Sri Navaratna Rama Rao, on the occasion of the unveiling of the portraits of Sir M. Visvesvaraya and Sri Chakravarti Rajagopalachariar at the
Central College Old Boys’ Association, Bangalore, on 7th June 1952.