Manoranjan Ganguli

Manoranjan Ganguli

“It’s Dogged That Does It. It’s Not Thinking About It.”

Trollop

Once upon a time there was a dynasty — “The Gangulis”. (The word “dynasty” to be taken with a pinch of poetic salt.) It was well represented — numerically and qualitatively. Alas! time has taken its toll. There are very few of them today to complement our ranks.

Today’s story is of one of the elders (not the oldest) of the Ganguli’s — Manoranjan Ganguli. But I cast back a little more into the past, before Manoranjan. The patriarch was Nolini Behari Ganguli who probably never came here (Ashram). I have only seen his photograph. He looked a big and dignified man. He was a contractor, well known in the Calcutta of those days. He was well to do. His wife i.e. Manoranjan’s mother, was the lady of the House. She was here in our Ashram and I came to know and admire her. She was Sunilda’s mother-in-law — a good enough reason to know her. (Sunilda — the musician & one of my best professors: Among the Not So Great, chapter 15). He put me in her care once a week for a tasty dinner so that I could be ready for his Astronomy class. Also she was Gauridi’s mother, and came to lend a hand in the Mother’s Room in the Play Ground, where I too did my bit. Her name was Saraladevi, a name befitting her nature. She was of a fair complexion, always dressed in white sari with the “Ghomta”. Her eyes were large, black, peaceful & kind. They and the lip seemed to hold the beginning of a smile. I never heard her speak without necessity — silent and stately would be her demeanour.

Niranjan was one of the younger brothers of Manoranjan. It was he who first visited the Ashram in 1939. He inspired the others of the family and Manoranjan came for the February Darshan of 1942. They went and came again for the November Darshan. Their plans were to return to Calcutta after the Darshan. But the Mother had her own plans. She pulled on Her loving reins and stopped them. She simply said “No, you need not go. Stay here”! They were unprepared, but made do happily with what they had. Only Manoranjan went back to fulfil some contracts with the army (he manufactured small arms — knives, kukhris etc.). Niranjan and another brother Sudhiranjan used to visit often but did not live here. One brother Chittaranjan passed away sometime later. The rest Amiyoranjan, Kanakranjan and Robiranjan and sisters Gauri and Chobi lived close to the Mother. Manoranjan’s family too settled here since 1944. His wife Jyotsna with children — Arun, Karobi, Ashok, Runu, Barin and Madhuri consisted the family. Chittaranjan’s wife Minnie and daughter Chum also settled here.

Manoranjan was a giant of a man — in more senses than one — size and in character. He was tall and large and of dark complexion — could be (and was to us as children) intimidating. He looked serious and spoke little. A smile did break out now and then. Otherwise he was, as I am led to infer, uncompromising with himself and others. We gave him a wide berth (there was hardly a common reason or ground for us to interact or counteract). Manoranjan was also known to many of us and one Governor at least for his thunderous snoring! The sound waves could make one falter in his steps, or step back, if caught unawares. It was so when we came round the corner from Playground, Saint Louis Street, on to Dupleix Street (Nehru Street) where he resided (behind Raj Nivas). The story goes that one of the Governors whose sleep was rudely broken sent a man to find the source and nature of the sound!! Manoranjan finally settled in the Ashram in 1942. The Ashram then was in a developing stage (it still is) — with just a few departments and fields. Much of our “Ashram” was within the Boulevards (Beach, North, West and South Boulevards). There was already a field or farm far, far away (all of 5 km) in rural settings. Manoranjan was asked to take care of that farm — he, a contractor who would rather fashion a sickle than use it! I suspect there were some oldsters who were as surprised as Manoranjan (not to mention some apprehensions for the garden). But there was no escape. So Manoranjan bought some cauliflower seeds, buried them, watered and watched them sprout and grow into the sunlight. He felt happy. They grew up to be sizeable bushes. But no flowers — only leaf and stalk!! Manoranjan could not give up. He read up some more and asked around. Tried again, the next crop was more successful. Manoranjan was on the way to become a farmer. This was but a testing time, there was more in store for him. More farms were acquired and Manoranjan was given the charge. They — a six-acre plot in Rizière and much later a big complex of 5 fields, named collectively “Le Faucheur” on the banks of the river Ariankuppam (South of here in the road to Cuddalore) were bought and he was given their charge.

Le Faucheur actually is made up of 5 pieces of land —

1. Main garden with an old type bungalow right on the bank of the river, with extensive grounds (may be 3-4 acres) with mango, guava, coconut, jackfruit and a rose garden. 2. A small plot of 2 acres or so for rice, LF2. 3. A smaller plot where mainly vegetables are grown called Pillaithotam and further away where the river takes an S curve, a plot called Wamba, of nearly 40 acres. Here (Wamba) the soil is sandy — yet some rice, vegetables and casuarina are grown. (Here lived the first of Among The Not So Great — Manibhai the recluse.) The fifth is a 4-5 acre piece across the main road opposite the Main garden wherein are the dairy and fodder fields. (We have now about 40 cows but at one time some beautiful and big buffaloes were kept. We could not adapt ourselves to their milk. Also it was, I believe, difficult to maintain them.) As if there was not enough, Manoranjan had a motor workshop going, and even took up the agencies of Fiat, Fargo and maybe more companies. You see what I meant by saying “a giant of a man”. This last venture of his was named Enterprises. By now Rizière and Cazanove were taken up by others — Cazanove by one Sudhir (a small, dark gentleman, always smiling) and Rizière by Anilda, elder brother of Sunilda, Jhumur’s father. He, Anilda, too was a musician, played the Sarod, and was a body-builder. Manoranjan’s shoulders could relax a wee bit. He now concentrated on Enterprises.

There were other works too, monumental ones, which yet stand witness to his diligence and are expressions of his faith and service to the Mother. He was an indefatigable builder. The two monuments I would mention are the Tennis Ground (Terrain de Tennis) and our Play Ground including the Body-building Section (old) and the Mother’s Room.

The area we call Tennis Ground was a dirty mound of earth used for dumping garbage. It was at the fag end of the town (North) with only the old Distillery and our one dairy, worth mentioning, beyond it. The Ashram took it on lease from the French Govt. to carve out a Playground (our needs were growing with our number and developments of Physical Education). It was a Herculean job. No bulldozer or JCB’s, even tractors were unknown — only men with spades and crowbars. Who would do the job — Manoranjan was the Hercules (Her coolie) chosen. I cannot describe how, what or when he did the job — but the results are there for all to see and feel — if one but paused a while to think! We are too often in a hurry and bustle to be aware. Recently the ground became Ashram property after long negotiations with the Govt. Great efforts by many (mainly Pranabda as a motive force) and exchanging part of one of our farms made this, that is, the acquisition of Tennis Ground, possible. All these efforts were put up because that Ground is for us a hallowed Spot. The Mother walked, played on it, her feet sanctified that earth.

The next task that Manoranjan took up (I witnessed it) was the building or more correctly the renovation of the Mother’s Room in the Play Ground. It was originally an old godown. When the Mother started to come to the Play Ground She needed a room to rest, refresh herself and meet people etc. The godown was, in a hurry, made into Her room cum a store-room for the Play Ground (an old cupboard, a deal wood box were introduced, covered with a decent piece of cloth. The Mother sat on that box!). But She needed something more — washroom. It had to be done again in a hurry. Manoranjan took up the job. The work went on round the clock. There sat Manoranjan on a chair like a rock. I looked in (curiosity) two or three times — he had not moved or changed position!

A similar scene there was — where I was a closer witness. Once the Ganguli family (Amiyo, Kanak, etc.) fell victims to food-poisoning. I was called for helping out at night. There they were, all laid down in a row and there sat Manoranjan on a chair. I lay down on a mat and kept an eye and ear open to render help when called. But Manoranjan sat the whole night through!

Manoranjan did much or most of the work for PED. What he built was once for all time — solid, break-proof and needed no repairs or looking after, so it looks like. The benches in the body-building section — multi-generations guarantee. A parallel-bars was imported from England — a neat little one used by the lower groups in the Gym. I wondered at the bars — made of wood but reinforced by steel pipes or bars inside. It seems, even on close examination, that there are no joints (length wise), but a straight hole had been drilled through those 7-8 feet !! It was a workmanship to be wondered at — how did they do it? Manoranjan had a look at it and duplicated it — nay made a better looking one, for the body-building section!! How he did it? I never asked him. My wonder just transferred to him.

Age was overtaking Manoranjan as it does all of us and everything. He bore all the heavy responsibilities that the Mother showered on him with courage and faith. But he had to slow down. His eldest son Arun and youngest son Barin took up the agriculture and other works. The other children of his, Ashok, Lumière (Light), Runu and Bubu were not interested in these works. (We will speak of them later for all of them are worth noting.) The Mother gave the name Lumière to Karobi.

Amiyoranjan was a responsible worker. He was for a long time the manager of the Ashram Printing Press. He was a good runner too — only short sprints, no stamina. He played football too. He was not too hardy and did not last long. He was the Mother’s ball-boy when She played tennis. One of his jobs was to precede or walk along with Mother, carrying the ground nuts or the toffees in their container from where She distributed to each one of us. One peculiar daily performance of his was to jump on his bicycle just as the Mother got into Her car to go back to the Ashram (after the Play Ground activities) and race the car to arrive before Her at the garage (Ashram). Pavitrada, Mother’s “sarathi” may have seen to it that he won. Amiyo passed away recently.

Kanakranjan was the next brother: he was slim, of medium build and not very strong. But he excelled in football — neat and clever player though slow. A playmaker. He was top in tennis and tabletennis. Played well the basketball of those days. He could sketch (floral art and painting in the Mother’s Room once a week) and to top it all he was a musician of high calibre. Sunilda needed him in his orchestra. He played the guitar. He worked in the Printing Press. He is now bed-ridden.

Robiranjan is the youngest brother (Manoranjan’s). He is a gifted photographer — one of the pioneers of photography in Ashram. He too excelled in tennis and table-tennis. Did not make much efforts to do well in other fields. Maybe he could have if he would have. He too worked in the Printing Press.

Gauri(di) is their sister. She is also Sunilda’s wife. She was close to the Mother. Attended on Her when She came to the Play Ground. Gauridi was in charge of the Room. She arranged the flower vases, made it an art. We (my sister, Chanda and some others) worked under her, guided by her. She is now old and living in CARE (Home for the aged). She yet retains her old charm and verve.

Chobi(di) was the youngest sister. She was the quietest, and hardly came out into the open nor was she the mixing type. She was close to Gauridi and Sunilda. She was quite unknown and has left us as quietly as she lived.

The next generation were all Manoranjan’s children.

Arun the eldest, until his last days an interested agriculturist. He looked after Le Faucheur after Manoranjan’s passing away. Great love for dahlias and roses. He grew them and exhibited them like a doting father. All who visit the Ashram must have seen them in the season (near the verandah at the Entrance). He had worked in Atelier under Pavitrada and then in the Press. He was one of our best goalkeepers in football. Tall and lanky, was a good spiker in Volleyball. My friend till his last days — passed away a year back.

Ashok — Arun’s younger brother, was often ill. He passed away quite young. He was a good teacher (in our school). He played well the clarinet and took part in Sunilda’s orchestra.

Runu — the next brother is ill and nearly blind. But in his younger days he was a good teacher, but somewhat touchy. He was a very sensitive musician and played the flute — also in Sunilda’s orchestra.

Barin the youngest brother was an exception — no music, not much good in studies, mediocre in sports. He was my classmate. But he turned out to be quite an authority in cattle-rearing and agriculture. As a true son of Manoranjan he too grew to be of great proportion. He passed away quite young.

Lumière = Light is the name given by the Mother to their sister. The name well describes her with no exaggeration. She was fair and beautiful and gentle to all creatures. Smiling and sedate in her movements and moods, she was liked by all. She danced well. No wonder the gods plucked her away early in her life. She was the main flag bearer with Abhay Singh, when only two flags were taken out (as on Darshan Days even now).

Madhuri = Bubu was the youngest and the second sister. She was pampered by all her elder brothers and sister. She was a good old soul, lissome and gentle. She too passed away very young, the youngest of the dynasty. (I heard it said she was Noorjahan — Shah Jahan’s queen — in a previous birth!)

Jyotsna (meaning moonlight) was Manoranjan’s wife’s name — and moonlight-like she was — (a full moon). She was also of a large build. She was as fair as Manoranjan was dark. She was beautiful, the source of the beauty of her daughters. She was dignified and gentle as far as I know. If one can see Manoranjan as a rain-bearing cloud, Jyotsna as the full-moon, and Lumière the silver lining of the cloud, it could be a summing up of the history of the “Dynasty”—“Beauty and Bounty”.

Manoranjan took ill — probably afflicted by cancer. He bled profusely and had to have 15 or more transfusions. He passed away in September 1971. He lived by the motto: “Work in the workshop is worship.” Born on 12th of May 1905, he was only 66 years old when he left us. Too young we would say. But a life full to brim, rich and rewarding.

Before I end my chapter on Manoranjan there is one more revealing and endearing episode to recount. It was (I think) M’s last birthday before he passed away. He was unable to walk. Mona and I were called to carry him in a chair up to the Mother. She was in her room two floors up. The stairs were narrow, and Manoranjan retained much of his impressive size. It was tough going but the effort was more than amply rewarded. It happened thus: The Mother and Manoranjan were sitting next to each other on chairs. Manoranjan was too weak to stand up, let alone bow down to touch her feet. We placed Manoranjan’s chair right beside the Mother’s, arm-rests touching. The Mother was all smiles. She reached out with both her arms to pull down Manoranjan’s head on to her shoulder, all the while softly crooning “Ah! mon petit — Ah! mon petit” (Oh! my little one) like a grandmother would to a little grandson. I was struck with wonder and remorse. Wonder at Her love and its outpouring and remorse for my erstwhile judging and reading of him and his works. Many of us thought that Manoranjan spent too much money. (It was none of our business but it was/is easy to keep another man’s diary!) A thought then occurred in me: “Whose work? Whose money? Why judge when you know there is another JUDGE.