Biren Chunder
Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous drought. The wise for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work, for man to mend. John Dryden
Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous drought. The wise for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work, for man to mend.
John Dryden
Biren Chunder, better known here as Birenda, was born on 10.4.1915 in Baruipur — 24 Parganas. In the Ashram he was fondly known as Budo. He came here from Calcutta back in 1945, same year as I did, on the 11th of August. He was well-known there as a boxer. He was Pranabda’s teacher in Physical Education and more, he was a friend and even looked up to as an elder brother.
During this period much of India was again seething, trying to throw off the foreign ruler. The war too was on (1939). There was unrest and uncertainty. Youth all over the country was roused to action. Birenda, a young man of 23, full of strength and energy was naturally eager to take part in some nationalistic movement. His youthful strength, based on a strong sense of morals, itself backed by fearlessness and a sense of duty, would have in all probability made of him a dangerous man in British eyes. But that was not to be. His guru, a fiery revolutionary named Alok, discouraged him from joining any movement. These movements, he said, were mixed with politics and self-interests. He wanted rather that Birenda prepared young men of strong and good character. This was more useful and important for the nation. So, Birenda started a club where the young could, through physical exercises and games, learn to be disciplined, know the values of collective organised effort, how to lead or follow, etc. They were at the same time taught some moral values and slowly infused with a national spirit. Birenda learned his boxing skills under J.K. Sheel and went on to become the champion of Bengal. He won all his fights decisively, that earned him a title of “K.O. King” — i.e. Knockout King. He went through some training in wrestling and picked up folk and Bratachari dances. He gathered quite a bit of knowledge on weight training and lifting, freehand exercises and drills and last but not least of all he learned some physiotherapy and massage. He refined and improved upon this last item and that served him and others greatly in the later part of his life.
During one of his wrestling bouts he broke one of his knees. That put an end to competitive boxing. This knee plagued him right through, till the end of his life. It was about this time that a young boy came under his influence — who later was to have a great bearing on his life. The young boy came to Calcutta for his studies around 1939. Birenda took him under his wing, saw great possibilities in him. Both were drawn to each other. Birenda often escorted the boy home. The relationship developed into a brotherliness and gradually Birenda became a family member in the boy’s home. The young boy was none other than our Pranabda (Dada) of the P. E. D. When Pranabda was to go back to Behrampur Birenda gave him the same advice that he got from Alokda — i.e. to prepare the youth — which he did. Incidentally — Pranabda and Birenda were once having a friendly boxing bout. Their skills were keenly honed. Pranabda landed a swift and hard blow and Birenda was k.o.’d. He was up in a few minutes, the fight continued and boom — Birenda landed one on the younger man’s jaw — and down he went k.o.’d. Birenda was mighty pleased that his student had achieved what none of his opponents (usually British Tommies) could. He treated Pranabda to a sumptuous snack of sweets.
Birenda knew no fear. Once in Calcutta, when he was crossing a lonely area, he heard a woman’s cry for help. He rushed to the spot and saw a man molesting a woman. He was obviously a man of some standing as he had a Gurkha bodyguard standing nearby — unheeding, Birenda rushed forward — the Gurkha ran away. Birenda grabbed the man and dealt him a pile-driver that put him down. Birenda picked him up, shook him and “wham” another blow and down he went. This treatment was repeated half a dozen times. Birenda left the place. Happening to pass that way after an hour or so, he saw a crowd of people but did not approach to enquire or see what held the crowd. It seems that the man was dead.
On another occasion Birenda went after a local goonda right into his lair. Birenda’s friends had warned him not to, for the man had a gang and he was dangerous — more so in his own area. But Birenda went, dragged the man out, gave him a warning and went away. None moved in the goonda’s defence and none dared touch Birenda.
In 1947, on the night of August 14th there was an attack on the Ashram, by a mob. Why? Who was behind egging them on? Probably politicians were behind for some motives of their own. Many knew an attack may take place. When it did come in the early part of the night, there was a music programme in the Ashram. (A few programmes were held in the Ashram in those days — Dilip Kumar Roy, Omkarnath Thakur, etc. had sung in the Meditation Hall.) Birenda and another person were going to the Playground. They were met by the mob near the Post-Office corner. The mob fell on Birenda He caught hold of two of his assailants by their chaddars — kept twisting the chaddars like a tourniquet and dragging them back towards the Ashram gate. All this while blows were raining down on him with sticks. One of his captives dug his teeth into Birenda’s hand and managed to escape. For some reason the Ashram gate was closed — the only help came from one lone Nepali boy named Birsing. He jumped into the fray to ease some of the pressure off Birenda. Fortunately, some time later some young men opened the gate and rushed out. The mob dispersed. The police came to pick up the crumbs.
Pondicherry, 1945 — Pranabda came here a couple of months ahead of Birenda, i.e. in May 1945 and took up the just nascent Physical Education (Ashram School). He invited Birenda to come and help him in this work. Birenda came, looked, and liked what he saw. Awhile he wavered. Common and worldly sense urging him to go back to family, friends, business, etc. and a small voice within equally urgent saying, “Stay, stay — there is more than meets the eye here.” Fortunately for him and many of us here the “small voice” came out best in the tussle — and Birenda stayed. He joined hands with Pranabda and together they started building brick by brick, from the foundation, this great and beautiful edifice — ”The Education of the Physical”.
Birenda was an instant success. Young boys always admire physical prowess, and he embodied quite a bit of it. He was solidly built, but never looked heavy or moved heavily. In fact he bounced like a rubber ball, in the ring — “flitted like a butterfly and stung like a bee” (Cassius Clay — M. Ali). He was of average height or maybe slightly on the shorter side as per present standards — about 168 cm. He cut a clean muscular figure. Arms, shoulders and chest well formed — carrying terrific power. Not an inch of fat. Pinch him and the skin came up in a silky thinness and smoothness. Legs welland long-sinewed. A well-chiselled head and features sat atop this body. The eyes gave away the man. They were shining, questing and held a sparkle of boyish merriment. The mouth too was ready to join the eyes, laughter ready to tumble out. The jaws were a wee bit too large and square. This was what met the eye, but there was more that drew us, his students, near. He had in him what made a great teacher. He knew so much about so many subjects. He had much to give. As he could smile so could he growl. All this backed with patience and persistence made him into this “instant success”. Of course, his reputation as a “Knockout King” helped. He was an ideal teacher for a group of growing, strong and strong-headed boys.
Birenda was already past his prime when he came. Both knees were broken. Yet to us he was a giant. We had no equipment to speak of. The only ground was the Playground. A few balls did exist. Football was played when and if the Military Ground (Terrain Militaire — now Indira Gandhi Stadium) was allotted to us — once a week or once in two weeks. Otherwise some drills, a few exercises, Volleyball or Circle Ball formed our daily activity. But strides forward were being taken.
Birenda went to Madras and bought some boxing gloves, a vaulting box, a spring-board. A few mattresses were made. Never had we seen such apparatus. This heralded a new era of our gymnastics. An old barbell (Udar’s — yet in service) was also acquired. The next great advancement came when the Tennis Ground was created out of an ugly mound of garbage-dumping ground. Then the Body Building Gym was made ready — it was previously our kindergarten section and the children’s courtyard. Birenda was given charge of this Body Building Gym. He had by now stopped coaching any Group. This job was taken up by newer, younger members — now captains, who had worked up from the ranks, but all under Pranabda’s supervision. To crown all these steps and hops forward, came the Swimming Pool. A long cherished dream at last became a reality. On 21st February 1957 the Mother inaugurated the Pool. Birenda was one of the most ardent dreamers of the Pool and he pulled us into his dream. Long before 1957, in the late 40s he showed us the spot where now stands the “Le café” (in front of the Mairie on the beach road) as the site for our Pool! We believed, waited and watched. Nothing happened. Next he showed us the Park Guest House lawn as the site. There was a great hollow in the ground, constantly eroded by the sea. There was a broken wall. The waves came in under the wall and washed away the soil. An engineer did come from Madras to construct a wall to contain the sea — but to no avail. The project was aborted. Then it was that the present site was chosen and the dream turned into reality. Birenda was appointed coach at the Pool.
Birenda was a teacher par excellence. To some his methods of teaching seemed harsh and old-fashioned. This was true for some, who had a first glance and turned away or were turned off. A lot depended on how much one really wanted to learn. Once the mind was made up, one had only to have full faith in Birenda, closely follow him and his instructions. One learned fast and for good. Experience, it is said, is a hard task-master. She gives the test first and the lesson afterwards. One would think of Birenda as this “Experience” personified. His lessons were given in a forthright manner. Bitter pills were often preferred to sugar-coated ones. The strong-gutted took them. The queasy ones shied away and quit. Thus were sown seeds of many a controversy and debate. But for me and many others nothing better could have happened. Even hindsight has not changed our opinion. A few examples could vindicate or further vilify the above opinions. Either way they are interesting.
He (Birenda) shows you the basic stance, the straight left and a bit of footwork. He says: “Keep your hands up, head down and use your left — if your left reaches its mark, your right is sure to land.” Then for two rounds — two long minutes — you keep chasing him round the ring. He ducks, guards or slips your blows with minimum effort. He jabs you sharply if you don’t go for him or your guard is down. You are panting by the end of round 2. Come round 3 — the roles are reversed. He is chasing you all over the ring. Sharp taps on any exposed parts (nose, chin, stomach) rain down on you accompanied by his exhortations: “Hat tol, matha nama, amay dekh”, etc. (Lift your hands, keep your head down, look at me, i.e. — see where the blow is coming from). All this when your gloves seem to weigh 10 kg each and you can’t gulp in enough air. All you want to do is get out of the ring. The last minute seems an eternity. You come back for the next lesson or not? You have to pass your own muster — lily-livered or lion-hearted, one with common sense to avoid the avoidable or brash, brave enough to come back for more?
The first day anyone above 16 years who comes along is told very casually, “Ek sho dund, dui sho baithak” (100 push throughs, 200 deep knee bends). No more is said, no word of encouragement, not even an enquiry — perhaps you don’t even know if he is looking at you. After you complete the quota — an hour or two after — you go to Birenda and say, “Birenda, I have finished (or I am finished).” Two words “Badi jao” (go home) and you are dismissed. If you endured this distant, cool treatment for a week or two, you were “admitted in”, i.e. given closer, more warm and personal attention. He then taught us many exercises with weights, insisting on correctness of style. He trained us in weight-lifting too. He would say carrying heavy weights is partly a matter of habit.
The controversies may be more bitter in this sport. The element being foreign to humans, his or her true colours were more easily bared. Not many relished this. In the olden days, before the Swimming Pool was even thought of, swimming in the sea was not permitted. We couldn’t even wet our feet in it. It was with Birenda that a few of us started the sea-swim craze. It grew until even up to a hundred swimmers or bathers were in the sea on a Sunday or a holiday. Very often, after a good oil massage, Birenda and some of us walked upto the Park Guest House (all along the beach — there was a beach then) and swam back to the Tennis Ground Beach. We had also to jump off the end of the 4-m-high old pier into the sea. This when we had hardly picked up the rudiments of swimming.
In 1957 the Swimming Pool was ready. The Mother opened it on Her birthday, the 21st of February. Birenda taught swimming in the Pool. The methods of teaching were more or less of the same forthrightness. There you are hanging in the water at one end of a rope tied round your waist. Birenda, on the deck, is holding the other end, supporting you to the degree he wants. This, on day one, two, three... till he judges that the rope can be discarded. Then, he is in the water and expects you to jump in and splash your way up to him or to the other side of the Pool. An involuntary gulp or two of water was of not much concern. If you had enough faith in him, you jumped in and no harm befell you. He saw to it. If no faith — and no jump... may the gods help you!
Birenda had great love for nature and the outdoors. That love he instilled into some of us boys. There it took root and grew. The first ever outing I remember was back in 1946. Birenda, Pranabda, Chimanbhai (teacher: de la Fond), Narayan (my brother) and I, set out at about 2 p.m. (God alone knows why 2 p.m.) I don’t remember if we carried any water. I remember Narayan and I at least were barefooted. We set out actually to find out what, where and how is Lal Pahar. We entered a broad ravine — a dry riverbed. The cliffs grew higher and the bed narrower as we proceeded. The cliffs were a deep rich red, the sand quite clean white. Palm trees, dwarf neem, and some cashew trees grew here and there. It was beautiful but infernally hot. We were like biscuits baked from above and below. We scurried from shade to shade. When the ravine was narrow, Birenda shouted Jai, Jai Bombhola and we all repeated. There was none to witness our brief madness. We returned a hot, dirty, tired lot — but wiser and happier.
Birenda took a batch of us a few weeks later to Arikamedu (Roman ruins) settlement near the Ariankuppam village and the river of the same name. We didn’t know about any route to the place. We took the shortest one. We got on to the beach beyond Parc-à-charbon and reached the ruins on the far bank of the river. We looked at the diggings. Someone suggested we take a brick and give to the Mother. The brick was about 28 cm x 40 cm or 45 cm x 7 or 8 cm. Birenda agreed with our plan. The brick was placed on one of our heads and we started back homewards. We had not taken into account the risen sun. No shade and no water. The brick changed heads often — but we reached Parc-à-charbon, guzzled down a gallon of water each and proceeded to the Ashram. We gave the brick to the Mother at the vegetable Darshan (near Nirodda’s room). She used to inspect and bless the Ashram’s garden produce everyday at about 12 noon. She smiled and accepted the brick.
The above excursion inspired us to go on more such outings. We organised ourselves, collected a water bottle or two and started going out every fortnight (on Sundays). We carried bread and bananas and milk in a brass jug to brew some coffee. Later the Mother sanctioned two tins of condensed milk a week. All this was done with Birenda reporting to the Mother and with her permission. Next we went to the Lake for a whole day. At about this time Birenda along with Atindra (Irena, Nivedita’s father) and Hriday (Pranabda’s brother) went on bicycle to the Gingee Fort. They took two days to do it. Birenda talked about it to us and also to my uncle Pantulu. He arranged that epic voyage of ours to Gingee — we became fullblooded explorers. (A more detailed description of this trip is given in the chapter on R.S. Pantulu.) We, of his original group, had grown up, and taken off on our own. Yet his interest never dwindled. He went, now by bus or train, to Mysore, Madurai, Rameswaram, etc. — all over the south.
Birenda was a good worker. Some of us being very close to him followed him. Though it was difficult in the beginning, he pulling us along and we willing to be pulled — it became easier and later a good habit. He said and showed that no work is too low or demeaning. Much of this experience was gained during the regular “harvesting” that all we students and teachers and some others went for to Cazanove or Rizière or Highland (Ashram’s rice fields). The school remained closed during those 4-5 days and we worked from morning to evening. Birenda was one who inspired us young ones on this occasion. It was backbreaking work — bending and cutting with a sickle and then hand-threshing the paddy, stacking up the hay, etc. — specially to those unused to it, like us. But we kept at it and soon were enjoying it. I dare say some of the girls were ahead of most of the boys. Pushpa, Kumud, Mridula and Bhavatarini were terrific with the sickle. All these girls and some of us, Pratip, Prabir, Narayan, Richard and I naturally gravitated around Birenda — it was a nice group.
Birenda is gone, but his pioneering spirit has broken quite a few frontiers. I believe it was he, with our batch of boys, who started seaswimming and the picnics and outings. That “spirit” is still alive.
A new chapter in Birenda’s life opened. The New Bindery was opened with him in charge. He was older now — yet strong, active and enthusiastic enough. He did some good work there. He went every morning up to the Mother (at about 6 a.m.). Richard and I had the good fortune to accompany him up, first as his crutches (He had his leg in a plaster-cast) and later independently, as just Her children. She wrote a message in his Report-Diary. (These messages were brought out in book form by Borun Tagore.) Sometime during this period he cut off most of his connections with the Playground activities. Not many noticed his retreat — but a legend was lost.
Birenda soon resurfaced — in the field of Physiotherapy — if I may dare use that name, risking a frown from the numerous conventional doctors. Here too Birenda’s methods provoked controversies, even condemnations. Here too his methods seemed crude, and oldfashioned and harsh. Yet some will swear by him and speak of the results with awe and admiration.
Birenda did not stumble on to physiotherapy all on a sudden. He had it already in his hands, mind and heart. I have seen him setting bones most casually, but surely, way back in the mid-forties.
One day Birenda and some of us were in the Dining Room ready for dinner (after the Mother’s Distribution in the Playground) — Jayantibhai was brought in, forearm held at a curious angle. We, still very young, were surprised. Birenda held the arm and showed us along with a commentary the why and how of the dislocation (for it was one). Sitting there, he just pulled, pushed and “click” — put it back in place. Off went Jayantibhai — no bandage, no fuss. Through the years I witnessed more such “resetting” of bones: my own knee, Arvind Sajjan’s shoulder (several times) were as easily reset by Birenda.
His massage, its varied applications, methods and results are numerous, out of the common and wonderful.
I had tonsils (enlarged) — so said my medical check-up. Birenda said “Oh! that can be cured by breathing exercises.” He showed me some, to be done every morning. I did them. I don’t know when I stopped, but the doctors did not see the tonsils any more.
I had also a deviation of the nasal septum. This also was found by our doctors. This Birenda cured by massage.
His massage was often a tough one. He kneaded and seemed to be breaking the stiff, resisting muscle. The patient might wince with pain — but came back for more. As was the case of a small child I saw. He would massage and the child lay writhing in pain. But when he stopped for resting (himself and the child), the child hugged and kissed him and played with him. One would expect a child to cringe from him and even run away. An onlooker, a German, surprised, asked him, “Why does the child come back and submit itself to so much pain?” Birenda laughed and just said, “You must love the child!”
One of our girls here was suffering from a stiff neck, painful and unresponding to conventional treatment. She went to Birenda. He passed his index finger, hardly touching, down her spine. Suddenly he stopped and pressed between two vertebrae — a small twitch from her, and she found herself much better, her neck released. How or what did he feel? When asked he merely said it was quite simple — he could feel some vibration!
The following incident occurred when Birenda was quite old, past 70. He sat hunched, chin sunk on his chest. He was very deaf too. His fingers were all crooked and bony. A middle-aged couple came. The husband was bent to one side (fixed in that position). He had suffered a stroke. Birenda asked the husband to recount his woes, and closed his eyes and sat looking small and helpless in his chair. The man was talking. Once or twice the wife whispered into her husband’s ear. Sukhen (Birenda’s student) who was sitting nearby, could not hear, far less understand, what she whispered. Suddenly Birenda sat up, eyes burning, and shouted at her: “Get out — you don’t want your husband cured — get out.” Sukhen was, to say the least, surprised. The woman was taken aback and frightened. She apologised and quietly retreated. The man continued. Then Birenda asked him to lie down and himself massaged and manipulated — and when he had finished with him, the man got up with the bend more than half straightened out!
On another occasion an old gentleman (a Bengali) came, accompanied by his doctor son. They came from Tripura. They said the old man had Parkinson’s Disease. He shook all over. They had tried the usual, conventional medication. (They came here as one of Birenda’s old acquaintances had met them on a train, and told them to try this Birenda whom he knew about.) Birenda hadn’t much esteem for doctors. He asked the son, “What is wrong with your father’s coccyx?” The doctor-son replied, “Nothing.” Then Birenda with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips asked Rajnish (a student of his) to give some vibration (by hand only — Birenda detested mechanical vibrations) to the old man’s coccyx. Rajnish did so — and wonder of wonders — the old man stopped shaking. The doctor watched wide-eyed and stunned. Birenda burst out laughing and asked “ki holo — lèje kichchu hoyni bolle?” (what — you said there was nothing wrong with the tail — coccyx?)
Rajnish, knowing Birenda, was not as stunned, but not unmoved or unintrigued. He naturally questioned Birenda later. Birenda just looked at him and said “Tumi Gita podoto — bujhte parbe” (You read the Gita — you will understand). That was all — for the moment. Days later Rajnish, not much enlightened, got Birenda alone and asked him again. Birenda in a softer and more expansive mood explained about “Chakras” and centres, about how the coccyx is the “mooladhar”, etc., etc. He further explained that suppressing some movements of the “vital” in man — without transforming them nor giving them an expression, i.e., venting them — often creates problems at certain centres; the idea is to release this suppressed energy etc., etc.
He used to say all good things, like happiness, tend to expand the person; even his face, eyes expand in laughter or merriment. But sadness, depression contract a person.
Similarly an injury or ailment contracts the muscle or organ. By massage he said we can dilate, thereby increase the circulation and reach oxygen to the ailing organ. Then there is every chance of cure. And, lastly and most importantly, remember the Mother while dealing with a person. Feel him, his vibrations, and then take him. On one or two occasions he forbade his student to massage certain individuals — he himself treated them. He felt the young student would fall ill if he (the student) massaged.
A couple brought in their small girl to Birenda. They had taken her to different hospitals, and when they went to Cluny the Sisters there told them to try a certain masseur in the Ashram (Birenda). They were not sure if the man treated non-ashramites, but maybe he would. They said he was reputed to bring about some remarkable cures. So the couple came. The child was in a pitiable state. She was all cramped up, arms and legs folded stiff, tongue hanging out, eyeballs rotated up, the whites showing. She could not utter a sound. Any movement had to be helped. Birenda was sure of a cure but he warned the parents it would be a long, hard climb. They seemed to agree — but Birenda said (afterwards — aside) that probably they would leave before long.
Birenda started the massage. The head, face and throat, arms, legs — all were rubbed, vibrated (manually)... This went on day after day. Slowly the tongue retreated into the mouth. The eyes rolled back into focus. The arms and legs could be stretched, but often cramped back as of old. She could even utter some sound. She seemed to be responding well. Then they stopped coming. Why? None knew at that time. This often happened. Some doctor or adviser watching from the sidelines would turn people away, convincing or giving them hopes of an easier way. It was even found that it was a doctor who had tried, failed and brought them over to Birenda and then was mean enough to entice them away. Birenda knew of this and even predicted it. He did his best and let it go at that. I later learned that the parents were told that someone in Kerala could cure quicker — so they left! The move was proved unwise. They came back, but too late. Birenda had had an accident and was not able to take the case up again. The child too, later had an accident, broke her thigh bone...what a pitiful and miserable tale!
These and many more “stories” that could be told and retold. We believe what we want to believe. A proof is difficult to get, and convincing someone is more difficult. Birenda himself did not do much to convince others. If a person came to him he tried his best to help. Birenda had faith in some methods and means — if anyone had the same faith he/she could come to him. The rest could and should stay away (what “faith” is it — that needs “proof”!) From where did Birenda learn, and get all his knowledge and his methods? Once, in the later days when he was in a “down” mood, he was in tears thinking aloud “E shob Mayer jinish — keu nite ashche na.” (These are all the Mother’s things — no one is coming to take them.) But I would think that all is not lost. He has left enough bits and pieces behind for another, who with some diligence, faith and love, can put together and carry on. He, I believe, gave to all his students as much as each could take (the more the vessel was empty the more he could fill!)
I have sung of the several faces of Birenda — as a tribute to the man who has given me much and asked for very little. There are others who have reaped as much as I from him. To me and to my sister Bhavatarini and brother Narayan he was more than just an instructor. He was a friend (family friend), a big-brother or fatherly figure. He instilled in us many higher and deeper values through sports and work. There was hardly any preaching. Rather he set an example or a challenge and teased, invited or dared us to pick it up. Only once in a rare while was it a useful drubbing. I once, in my childish ignorance, complained to him that someone (captain or referee) had been partial to another vis-à-vis me. He sharply reacted, saying: “Never say that and shed tears for yourself (self-pity)...strive till you get what you deserve — and you will get it.” (There is a French saying “L’amour propre et le plus sot des amours” — self love/pity is the most foolish of all loves.) Yet another day he said, “Never get angry in a game — you may lose it.” His goading us on then, to do more and better in the Body Building Gym and on the paddy-field, still goads us on. It is as if he keeps fuelling that small flame in those of us who worked alongside him. He steeled our bodies and minds.
I hope this use of first person is pardonable and justified. I had not much personal contact with his later massaging days. I have seen just a bit and heard much more from his students or shall I say “Chelas”. Maybe one of them will eulogise him and his achievements in that field too. I merely heard but believed what they told me.
I close with a final salute to this great person, with great hopes that some one — a “Chela” at least — will pick up what he has dropped — both in the field of Sport and Physiotherapy. That would be a greater tribute than these few pages of praise. That would gladden his old heart no end. That brave old heart beat for the last time in the wee hours of the 17th of March 1997. But the Legend once lost — found — must live on — in us, through us.
Source: Among the Not So Great
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