A poet and a patriot
|
Mayadhar Mansingh, whose centenary was celebrated last year, was a crucial figure in Orissa’s cultural scene. HARIHARAN BALAKRISHNAN
|
Photos: Courtesy Debendra Mishra and Nivedita Scudder
The poet as principal: Mansingh (centre of first row) with his students.
THE year gone by was a season of centenaries for Orissa. Among the centenarians were Bipin Bihari Choudhury, a legendary deaf-mute artist and Kahnucharan Mohanty, a master storyteller. The picture of cultural Orissa during the 20th century will be in
complete without a mention of Mayadhar Mansingh.
Mansingh was born in Nandala, a hamlet sandwiched between the Chilika Lake and the Bay of Bengal. Orphaned at the age of four, his uncle — the Dewan of Parikud, a princely state on the Chilika — nurtured him. The nearest high school was 60 km away in Khurda. Young Mayadhar walked all the way to enrol there.
Young genius
Mansingh’s poetic genius flowered even when in high school. “Dhoopa”, a series of sensual poems, made him a household name in Orissa as a romantic poet. After graduating from Ravenshaw College, Cuttack, Mansingh did his M.A. from Patna Univesity and went on to do his Ph.D in English literature from Durham, U.K., the first such doctorate from Orissa. He worked for education in some princely States, and later for the education department of the Orissa government. But first and foremost, he was a poet and a fiercely independent one at that.
His poetry evolved from the true romantic to the philosophical and reflective in later years. But in the public mind, he was always a romantic. He was rooted in his soil and was proud of Orissa and of being an Indian. He “left the village at an early age, but the village never left him. It was his sanctuary, his inspiration, the source of his aesthetics and his values,” his son Lalit recalled during a recent centenary tribute. This is amply mirrored in his verse, “On the bosom of Mother Earth/Whose simple garment is woven of grass/Is not the display of wealth and pride/A jarring note in Nature’s tune?”
Mansingh strode like a Colossus among poets of his time. Yet, his contribution in other fields is no less significant. Few will remember that he played a pivotal role in getting Odissi recognised as a classical dance form. Konark Jagaran, a dance-drama based on Mansingh’s poem, visualises the sculptures of the Sun Temple coming alive on a moonlit night. Many other poems were set to music and are part of Odissi repertoire today.
Mansingh’s striking logo for his books’ cover was a quill and a sword crossing each other. Maybe it was a metaphor for his experience as a poet at loggerheads with “authority” represented by politicians and bureaucrats. On one occasion, he told the Education Minister, “Even though I am a government servant, it is my birthright to express my views independently…” He was transferred from the Gangadhar Meher College, Sambalpur, where he was Principal.
One of his students, Debendra Mishra, ex-State Election Commissioner, recalls: “Our Principal had put up prominent Boards in English and Oriya giving his ‘Ten Commandments’ for student behaviour. I was living in the hostel. One day, we caught a fellow-hosteller stealing from others’ boxes. I took a hockey stick and thrashed him. He complained to the Principal, who summoned me. I said, as President of the Student’s Union, I wanted to teach the errant boy a lesson. He asked me if I had not read the ‘commandments’ and wanted me to pay a fine for misconduct. I didn’t, and my name was put up on the notice board. I protested and said that all students would go on strike if he did not withdraw the notice. My point was that the errant boy should have been disciplined, and not I who owned up. He called Prof. K.P.A. Pillai, who was Advisor to the Union, and sought his opinion. Prof. Pillai said this small incident should not be allowed to blow up into a big issue. The notice was withdrawn. There was no strike.” Mishra says that Mayadhar Mansingh was anything but stubborn, a very humane person.
Mansingh’s daughter mentions that several old students recall a strike when students of his college lay on railway tracks and prevented passage of trains on some issue. When police wanted to enter the college, the Principal stood at the gate and said, “This territory is under my control. If you want to enter and touch my students, you have to shoot me first”.
My own first recall is a poem prescribed in the Oriya textbook at school. Later, in 1967, he came to Berhampur briefly as Principal of my College. The name evoked awe. I entered his room just once, on a matter of importance to a 17-year-old. In that short time, I imbibed the metamorphosis the room had undergone. Earlier, it looked like a poor government office. Principal Mansingh made the same room look like a Vice-chancellor’s study. This single recollection speaks volumes for the man’s taste, the importance he gave to ambience and atmosphere. But within months, I was aghast to see a crowd in front of the college. Lawyers without briefs and people who were not involved with that 100-year-old institution wanted the Principal out. Khallikote College lost a head of which it could have been proud.
Dr. Mayadhar Mansingh embraced Buddhism after a long quest for faith. Towards the end of his life, he succeeded in getting land allotted for a Buddha Vihar for the Mahabodhi Society in Bhubaneswar.
Last wishes
His “Last Will and Testament” was discovered after his death: “…. It is my last desire that my children, sons and daughters, shall strive hard and remain alert for remaining deeply patriotic towards both Orissa’s and India’s interests, for radiating all around a reputation for fair play, justice and truthfulness, as well as being sensitive to human or any other suffering they might come across. While avoiding all unnecessary luxuries and scrupulously avoiding also any ostentation of wealth in jewellery, habiliments or expensive feasts, they shall all, I hope, maintain the spirit of cheerful hospitality in all their homes, to the needy as well as to their small circles of carefully selected friends….”
Anyone who had these ideas and ideals cannot be an ordinary “government servant”. His elder son Lalit Mansingh served with distinction as High Commissioner to U.K., Foreign Secretary and India’s Ambassador to the U.S. Daughter Nivedita taught for 12 years at Rishi Valley and is operating an NGO for livelihood projects among tribal villagers in Mayurbhanj district. Another son Labanyendu retired from the IAS and had done signal work for survivors of the Bhuj earthquake. Nobody complains that his will was in vain.
E-mail: fabalas02@yahoo.com
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Magazine
