Tales from the Island of Serendip 4 4

[Flex Mentallo]

Every day during this long visit, we would rise well before dawn and walk the Elaichi-Bonhooghly road, picking up children as we walked, past the biscuit factory, out past Bonbibi's grove (a mysterious mound supposedly sacred to a local forest goddess, where dacoits waylaid and murdered travellers a hundred years before)

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Across the dry river bed where the Ganges had coursed only a few years before, and was now cultivated land (Note: the original sketch used here is only about the size of a postage stamp!)

 

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Along past the brick fields (worked from dawn to dusk by indentured villagers from the other side of India)

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Past the great sheltering Banyan Tree

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

And various roadside shrines

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Through the outskirts of Bonhooghly, where by now a dozen ragged children have joined us, the smaller ones hiding for warmth under Nirmal's shawl

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Past the tiny shops of School Mart

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

And so to Paddy Field School, where lessons would begin before 6am.

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

This is because these were the children whose parents could not afford to send them to a proper school. Instead they had to fetch water from the well, make cow chapattis from dung to make fires with, and a hundred other chores.

 

Nirmal's mission was to reach the children other educators’ couldn’t reach.

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

At 10.00am we would go deeper into the village and sometimes beyond. Hogulkuria for instance, a remote village that had converted to Christianity, and was desperately, desperately poor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

They were so poor that the volunteers from Dhanked instituted a food programme to hand out free rice.

 

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

By evening I was ready to drop, but Nirmal, 40 years my senior, yet seemed tireless. Back we would go to Dhanked - in Bengali Paddyfield School is Dhanked Vidyalaya. Evenings were more lighthearted and playful. I introduced a luminous Frisbee that was great success.

 

 

 

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Then at 10.00pm we would walk by torchlight back along the road.

 

On these journeys Nirmal would tell me stories - astonishing, mind blowing, hilarious stories, all told in the same laconic, undemonstrative manner.

 

One evening in October I noticed photos of a young man appear throughout the village.

 

"That is Mohan" he told me. The legendary Mohan Ghosh, who had championed Nirmal's cause though only a young student himself, finessing ingenious schemes to sell schoolbooks to schools direct from the wholesaler, thus making sufficient funds to buy essentially free books for the children of Dhanked. Mohan, who had been the future; Mohan who should have been my lifelong friend.

 

Nirmal told me this as we walked back through the village, past the shops, through the outskirts, skirting the brick fields, now eerie in the darkness, where distantly could be heard the mournful songs of the indentured, in despair of ever seeing their homes again.

 

[Flex Mentallo]

Nirmal recalled that during the monsoon of 1978, a friend had come over from Karachi with some rupees to donate to the school. It was not a fortune - less than $100, but would buy much needed clothing for many children. And as was Nirmal's custom by this time, he gave the funds into Mohan's safe keeping.

 

Like Nirmal, Mohan also lived in Elaichi. And so that night he began cycling along that selfsame road Nirmal and I were on 7 years later.

 

And when we came to the fork in the road by Bonbibi's Grove, Nirmal suddenly stopped walking.

 

Shining his torch ahead he said In that familiar, matter of act way he had,

 

"And when Mohan reached this spot, a young man he knew hailed him from behind a bush. Mohan dismounted, and while thus engaged was hit over the head with an iron bar wielded by an accomplice.

 

"Here is the culvert where they hid the murder weapon...and here is the bush behind which they hid the body, where it was discovered the following morning by a young girl who instantly recognised Mohan, terribly disfigured though he was, because he had been giving her free English lessons.

 

"When the hue and cry went up, hundreds of people came to the scene. Bablu (Mohan's best friend who a decade before had been the first child Nirmal had ever taught) approached the body and weeping, tenderly cradled his friend's bloodied head in his arms."

 

At that point, time went backwards. I was standing in the same place, on the same night of the year seven years too late, but I realised I had become part of the story...

 

[Flex Mentallo]

And then the following year something remarkable happened, something miraculous, that transformed Mohan's tragic death, and it was thanks to the Jesuits of St Xavier’s College.

 

Because of Nirmal's teaching, Bablu and many of the other young men had been able to attend St Xavier’s. (Bear in mind that prior to Nirmal's intervention they had had no schooling, and little prospect of it at all; leave alone at such an establishment. Yet today Bablu manages a bank.)

 

Calcutta is close to the borders with Bangladesh, and every year the Jesuits would recruit ex-pupils as volunteers to give aid to flooded villages, including cholera vaccinations, building earthworks, and so forth.

 

It was noteworthy to the priests how dedicated, hard working and well organised were the young men from Bonhooghly.

 

"What’s your secret?" they enquired of the young men.

 

They answered, "Nirmal Sen Gupta - our Sir."

 

The story came tumbling out - of Nirmal, Meera and Mohan, of Mohan's death, and Mohan's dream, that one day Nirmal would have a proper school, rather than the roofless shack by the side of a paddy field, where it all began in 1968.

 

Apparently the priests offered there and then to finance the building of Dhanked Vidyalaya.

 

The roof was being finished when I first visited in February 1982.

 

It carries another name above the entrance:

 

"The Mohan Ghosh Charitable Dispensary."

 

 

 

 

 

"Death comes to all But great achievements build a monument which shall endure until the sun grows cold."

George Fabricius

Edited January 6, 2013 by alanna

[Kevin.J]

I have no words to adequately describe this thread, great art, great stories, I look forward to catching up every night.

[jimjum12]

Your sketches have such life. The style is refreshingly loose yet intricate and very cohesive. It has the feel of something that should be published. GOD BLESS...

 

-jimbo(a friend of jesus) (thumbs u

[Flex Mentallo]

This is my all-time favourite thread. Michael, thank you so much for sharing the stories, the art and most importantly the perspective. This thread may have been born in a moment of whimsy, but the erudition, wisdom, knowledge and sagacity herein shared have been heart-warming, humbling and enthralling. My sincere thanks!

 

You're most welcome Joshua! Thanks for the kind words!

[Flex Mentallo]

Other influences: SF and the art of recycled maintenance.

 

Most of the artists who influenced my work are from the era of classic pulp illustration, including George Rozen, Howard V. Brown, Maxfield Parish, and most notably Hannes Bok (who was himself heavily inspired by Parrish)...

 

George Rozen...

 

 

 

 

 

More on Rozen's work later...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I just love these!

Edited January 7, 2013 by alanna