Among the Not So Great

Bhola-da: his works and his ways

He had three engrossing preoccupations (two of them preoccupy us too — work and food). The third one was Mass Exercises — it was a passion. He attended them with all his mind and body, with a deep sincerity. He was simple, straightforward, innocent... and slow — slow of action, slow of speech and slow of thought. If this was a drawback there was absolutely no remedy. So, all concerned soon realised it was best to accept matters as they were and learn to live with them (maybe this was good for them). There was no budging Bhola-da, so his bosses, including the redoubtable R.S. Pantulu, gave way to Bhola-da; but more than that they came to be fond of him.

The Guest House was taken over as Dortoir Annexe. Its old residents were shifted to other houses. Bhola-da was given a place quite a distance away from the Ashram. He relied on his two legs for any movement — to and fro from work, D.R., Playground, etc. The speed the legs generated belied the term ‘speed’. He never had touched a bicycle — never could or would. The change of speed would have upset everything — his body, nerves and his very nature. So Bhola-da went at the same steady “speed” — whether he aimed to cover half a km or 20 km.

Bhola-da had to go to the Dining Room for his meals. He somehow made it there before closing time. He would take whatever was given in good quantity, could be more but never less. He ate as he moved, with the same slowness. He enjoyed each mouthful; while he ate he had a blissful countenance — the bliss probably welled up from deeper down. Time did not matter.

When Bhola-da finished his breakfast he gathered himself up, his umbrella, etc. and wound his way towards the distant Press. He arrived there and set himself to his work, then he was unmovable, not only his body but the mind as well. Others left for lunch, but Bhola-da would continue working, to finish what he had started. Then back on the road — D.R.-bound for lunch. Watching him you wondered if he had 36 hours in the day!

Bhola-da had another duty. In the olden days, long, long ago, very few sadhaks wrote letters from the Ashram. Very few kept any cash. When they wanted to write, the procedure said: take the postcard or envelope from Nolini-da, write and leave the letter open on Nolini-da’s table. He would go through the letter and post it. Long ago we only took the postcard or envelope from him, but just posted it ourselves. It’s a far cry — the procedure now! But some old sadhaks continue to leave their letters open. Dyuman-bhai was one such till his last days! Nolini-da had stopped going through the letters long back, but his office continued to post the letters. Bhola-da was given this duty — sticking stamps, closing the envelopes and posting. He arrived at 3.15 p.m. sharp at Nolini-da’s room. He would sit down with the pile of letters on the floor, in front of Nolini-da’s room — legs apart and stretched out in front, and start his work, methodical and concentrated: Any other pose or position would keep the letters out of his reach — the body’s proportions and promontories were such. He made a pretty picture, like a child at his serious play. Nolini-da often walked past Bhola-da. Once he wanted to ask Bhola-da some question (maybe a clarification on Mass Exercises) and started: “O, Bhola....” That’s as far as he got. For Bhola-da cut him short, saying, “Na, na, kajer shomaye disturb korben na” (“No, no, don’t disturb me while I am working”). Poor Nolini-da had to go away, his query postponed. On another occasion Nolini-da had to suffer with a smile Bhola-da’s chiding. Nolini-da had stuck a wrong denomination stamp. Bhola-da saw this and ... “Eto poda, lekha lekhi kore, ki tikit lagate janen na?” (“After all the reading and writing you have done, you don’t know what stamp to stick?”) Nolini-da was very fond of Bhola-da and Bhola-da too loved Nolini-da. He used to often get indignant and disapprove of so many people going to Nolini-da’s room.

After all these doings Bhola-da would trudge home to prepare himself for the evening. He changed the dhoti and shirt for group uniform. This was a new Bhola-da now. His step higher, the look and smile more confident (like the change that came over anyone sitting on the ruins of Vikramaditya’s throne). He was about to call on all his mental and physical faculties to learn and teach the Mass Exercises. This was a year-long passion, from the day the Mass Exercises book was out, around the 16th of December till the 2nd of December the following year, the day of Demonstration at Sports Ground. It (the Mass Exercises) was at once a challenge, a mantra, a ritual that guided and shadowed his physical activities in the evenings.

Bhola-da himself quickly learned the 16 or so figures of Mass Exercises. He had to , for he had a small band of shishyas (disciples) waiting to learn from him. One is tempted to think, how can Bholada, this rolly-polly, slow, somnambulist, learn and teach anybody Mass Exercises? But, surprise of surprises, and your judgement takes a tumble — for Bhola-da mastered the Mass Exercises and was as good a teacher as any. He considered it a sort of sin making mistakes in Mass Exercises. He himself knew the figures well and performed neatly, without mistakes. The rhythmic figures were his forte — all his sluggishness disappeared, those well-built legs came into full use— he bounced around like a ping-pong ball. It was a feast for the eyes. But it was more fun hearing him teach. He was a strict and demanding teacher. He sat a bit aloof. His comments had a cutting edge and his advice was strong medicine but had to be swallowed.

He tried to teach the late Biren Bose (of Flower Room and Garden Service). The man was aged, thin, awkward with knobby joints, but was game and persistent — so Bhola-da tried to teach him. When some well-meaning passer-by suggested to Biren-da to straighten his arms, Bhola-da let go a barb from his seat, “Shara shorir annka bennka, hat ki shoja hobe?” (“The whole body is full of bends — what of the arms?”) No cause to flinch. One could not be too soft-minded if Mass Exercises was to be perfected. Both Bhola-da and the students knew this, so bore each others’ shortcomings — the end was a rich enough reward. We the younger, smarter lot, with even one tenth of a similar attitude and fortitude, would have achieved great things.

Pratibha-di of Laboratoire approached Bhola-da for ‘diksha’ (initiation) in Mass Exercises. Bhola-da looked her up and down and said, “Na — eto science, onnko kore, Mass Exercise mushkil.” (“Having studied so much science and maths, Mass Exercises will be difficult.”) No logic in this, but Bhola-da must have seen many an intellectual fail in Mass Exercises. But he was gracious. He did not reject her completely. He said, “Learn from some other teacher, I will correct you!” You can gauge Bhola-da’s supremacy in this field. He was a full five-star guru.

He advised another aspirant, who failed to do the rhythmics well, to eat less rice.

His key advice to all his students was (to others too): “Shokale uthe ekbar, ratre shobar age ekbar figureguno kore nebe.” (“Repeat the figures once when you wake up in the morning and again before going to bed.”) There lay the secret of success.

Every story has to have a villain. So there was one in Bhola-da’s Mass Exercises story. The villain was our Brass Band! They appeared late on the scene — just a few days before the 2nd of December. Bhola-da had practised hard through the year. The body and mind were set to a certain rhythm and speed — especially the rhythmic jumps. He had now trouble changing all that to suit these new-comers — the bandwallas. “How is it,” he asked, “they come at the last moment and we have to dance to their tune? They should adjust to us!” None could answer his question. He had to try to change, and he did pretty well too.

2nd of December over, Bhola-da could relax, forget the old Mass Exercises, forget his disciples and wait for the new Mass Exercises. A fortnight of pleasurable days — for, the group picnics were on. Year-round Bhola-da (and a few others) just went about their routine work, group activities, and had the routine diet too. They did not ask for any change or any more of anything. So when something unusual did come their way, they were overjoyed — a boyish thrill filled them. A bus ride to Gingee, Kanchi, or anywhere, filled their eyes with wonder. Then (for them) the exotic food — khichuri, potato curry, chutni, fried brinjals, sweets, etc. — all this in a single day — this was simply a miracle.

Bhola-da, easily satisfied, was on such a day overfilled, stomach and spirit — the mind stopped thinking. He could tuck in any amount with ease, and no noticeable change in shape, even through the years. The digestive system too seemed to carry on quite well.

Once some boys invited Bhola-da to Corner House, put a bowl of ‘payas’ and a dish of ‘luchi’ in front of him. He started to work on them. Then one boy came up to him and offered him two luchis saying they were too much for himself. Bhola-da accepted them, they were put in his dish. A while later another boy came with 2-3 more luchis — they too were accepted. This was repeated several times — and the pile grew, overflowing the dish. Then came another similar offer. Bhola-da looked sadly at the boy and said, “Dekchhoto ar jayga nai…” (“As you see, there is no more place…”) Then, when the boys were about to feel they had measured Bhola-da, he said, “Achha arekta thala niye esho!” (“All right, go get another dish!”) Where did all this food go? It’s a mystery for science.

He usually topped off his picnic with a song — on popular demand. The song was the same every year. The refrain goes, “Ami biye korbo na.” (“I will not marry.”) Maybe a popular song Bhola-da had learned in his boyhood days.

Bhola-da was later shifted to the Good Will Home, near the Ashram. He did not like it much here. He felt ill at ease, but he had no choice. He put up with the new environment and carried on life as before. After dinner he would not go home, though tired and sleepy. He sat at the Ashram Gate on one of the chairs, stretched legs out on another chair in front of him and went off to sleep, until Bruno (minding the gate) or Matri played pranks with him (hiding his umbrella) or else it was closing time. Bhola-da then trudged home to continue his sleep. Then somewhere on the way something went wrong. Bhola-da took ill and had to take the doctor’s help and advice. He came under Dr. Dutta’s care. The good doctor advised him to slowly reduce the quantity of food. Bhola-da was not at all happy or convinced. He could not believe that much food could be the cause, or less of it the cure, for his ill-health. He remarked, “Age daktar khaiye lokeder shasto bhalo korto, eto na khaiye bhalo korbe bolche!” (“In old times doctor used to feed people to get them well, this one says he will starve them to good health!”) He concluded Dr. Dutta was not a good doctor. He doubted if at all he was a doctor, or had passed his exams. In any case, his health deteriorated. He suffered a stroke — a partial paralysis followed. His condition worsened. He passed away on 18 July 1989.

Bholanath left our shores — leaving an emptiness behind not easy to fill, nor forget. Where has he gone? What was he? When he was amongst us, it was difficult to place him. Mentally he lagged behind us. But, if we see him without the mind — maybe he is ahead. Whatever the debate, his simplicity and innocence were enough to see him safely on that last journey, to land him on vaster and brighter shores. I would picture him getting into a coracle in his usual dhoti and shirt, unfurl his umbrella, catch a seaward breeze and quietly sail away. Coracles leave no wake — but on the sea of our thoughts gentle happy eddies linger on… “There goes the true Bhola.”