POEMS OF PRATIM BARUAH

Book review

Lines Written on the 

Anvil of Melancholy

Pratim Baruah: Sodhahe nohol tuk o bokul 

Published by Aank Baak, Guwhati. 2016. 

Price Rs.       100/-

      Jyotirmoy Prodhani

       Noted critic and translator, Pradip Acharya, in his keynote speech in the National Poets Meet of Eastern Languages of Sahitya Akademi in Shillong (19 march, 2016), had particularly mentioned the name of Pratim Baruah as one of the most promising young poets from Assam and while speaking about the second collection of his poems, Aru Nirobota, for which he had received Munin Borkotoky Award in 2014, Prof. Acharya said, “Pratim’s poems are inscribed with the intimate resonances of silence”  For the present collection Pratim Barua begins with a small foreword with a reference to one of Orhan Pamuk’s  statements where he had said that a poet was one with whom God used to converse. When Pamuk felt that God was no longer in speaking terms with him he had left writing poems. Pratim Baruah then writes why he does write poems. You tend to wonder what he actually meant to say? Why does he write poems then? That God speaks to him? One would find this rather arrogant. He, however, would confide, despite having taken Pamuk’s view as true, he was clueless as to why he did keep writing poems. He is, by his own admittance, overwhelmed by an endless sense of disquiet and pain and when it comes to his own poems he has his deepest desolation. Despite the relentless turmoil around him, he remains ever indebted only to his loneliness and silences. Poetry for him, as he writes, is a ritual for an intense interface with his disquieting unease and perpetual dismay.

His this collection Xodha he nohol tuk o Bokul (2016) unveils an inner world of intense solitude and reverberating silences. For a young poet, his poetic landscape is rather deeply unsettling and intimately personal. Born in 1983, Pratim has been a witness to the aftermath of momentous histories of the land, therefore, more than the pathos of a romantic, his poems are distinctly characterised by the predicaments of an insane time and the deranged logic of violence where he, by default, finds himself as an unceremonious insider, a desolate onlooker. The only way for him to recover from this overwhelming time is to write, the only therapeutic act he can access to.   His poem, “Swadhinata” (“Independence”) resonates this exigency with disimpassioned intensity:

                I gorged out my two eyes,

                Cut my blue veins to drench me in red.

                I encountered thousand wars,

                Inside me.

                Handed down to all of them

                The pennons of mutiny

                And like an insane soul,

                Kept searching for sovereignty.

                The predicament of Frarooq is equally tense, who had left his native soil to evade the armed forces after being branded a terrorist for having hosted the militants for a night. He came back once again crossing seven shores to bid the final adieu to his beloved on the day of her wedding.

     That night Farooq came

      ...
     Who was brought back again by his love                                               

      To face death once more. (“Farooq”)

               

He does not necessarily nurse any inhibition if the flight of his imaginations finds inspiration from the landscapes of the great bards who are a part of a formidable legacy, the likes of Navakanta Barua, Ajit Barua et al. Therefore without trepidation he could confide:

   At night I opened my door

   Navakanta entered in

   And asked me

   “Was there a river here?”  (“Events”)

                What makes his poetic oeuvre adimiringly varied and multi layered is his equal proficiency and intensity to try his hands with narrative poetry as well.  “On Schizophrenia” is one such poem. The story of a neurologist, Dr. Saikia, who is embroiled in the clumsy negotiation with his own sense of persona, split into two, where the poet finds himself unwittingly linked in an aporiac double bind:           


The burning cigarette butt slips off my hand.
I am slowly throttled by this complex chemistry of crisisIt turns grim the exuberant hours of all my evenings
And I pick up a pen to write a poem-
My dear reader
Tell me what should I do now?

                Being a young poet the depth of his nostalgia is not expected to be that deep, yet his personal history evokes a serene sense of melancholy as he recounts how the ideal hero that was personified by the image of his father slowly blurs into a slough of despondency:

                
When I was young

My father was the hero

Of my imagination and my dreams

 As I reached my youth

 Those dreams crumbled into pieces. 
                             (“When I was young”)

                The poems in the collection are divided in three sections. The second and the third sections largely comprise his short poems. The second section is a mix of his metaphorical and pastoral compositions. The first group of poems, “Parampita” (“The Divine Father”), are a deep longing seeking spiritual refinements, in the second group of short poems Hemanta (“The Late Autumn”) recurs as a season of pastoral intimacy and also a reference to make him aware of his urban anxiety:

The wall clock is

Ticking by

 All around

This is exuberant silence

The autumn whiff of wind

 Keeps asking

Who is lonely

The clock or me?

                The third section comprises some of his finest short poems written with the sharply chiselled lines which have been his abiding hallmark as a young poet. One such poignant composition is:

In your shadow

I build my house

The shadow

You left behind

So many years ago.   (“Your shadow”)

               

                Pratim Baruah as a young poet is rather deceptive, for he writes with an amazingly seasoned hand and refreshing maturity. He receives the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar in Assamese language category for the year 2017. He rightly deserves so. What makes him stand out among other young voices, is his unexpected felicity with measured reticence. He would not fancy a word extra if he could manage to say it with the bare minimum, and this is where he sounds  exceptionally seasoned, beyond the boyish urge to show off with which most poets begin their career as a poet. His profound emotional pain in relation to his mother almost finds a thick physical tangibility when he writes:

I got stuck, O my mother,

No matter how much I write

Pouring blood from my heart,

All seem so inadequate (“For mother”)

The shorter  version of the review was published in the Assam Tribune

The ‘Rohingya’ Crisis, Colonialism and the North East

The Shillong Times

By PUBLIC ON 9 DEC 2017

SPECIAL ARTICLE

The ‘Rohingya’ Crisis, Colonialism and the North East

By Jyotirmoy Prodhani

            The Rohingya issue, where image dissemination in various platforms including electronic and social media has played a major role, is no doubt a massive humanitarian crisis. Bangladesh has given an official count of about 600,000 Rohingyas being taken in and presently clueless as to how to handle them. If the newspaper articles of Bangladesh are to be believed, considerable amount of resentment is brewing up in the country following such large scale influx into their territory; they even accused the ‘Rohingyas’ of having destroyed huge areas of forest land, leveled miles of hills and felling scores trees in a matter of weeks. In fact, the pressure is so acute that many indigenous people in the region are reported to have been turned homeless. Syed Badrul Ahsan in his article in the Indian Express writes, “Rohingya…has emerged as a new class of Islamist militants hostile to the growth of liberal politics in the country.” Quite curiously, with the bait of Nobel Peace Prize dangling from some dubious quarters, Sheikh Hasina is on a queer mat who might as well be dumped by the West if she fails to toe their line. 

            The‘Rohingya’ question, however, has a peculiar historical connection with Assam, vis a vis the North East. It is through the Yandaboo treaty of 1826 following the first Anglo Burmese war that both Assam and Burma became part of the British colonial rule. The British intervention brought an end to the atrocities of the Maans (Burmese) in Assam but at the same time Assam also lost its sovereignty. Similarly, Burma too became part of the British colony and consequently both in Assam and Burma (especially in the Arakan region)scores of landless farmers from East Bengal were implanted by the British to exploit and plunder the vast stretch of lands. However, unlike Assam, the Arakan region had sizeable presence of Bengali Muslims prior to colonization but after colonization in 1826 the population of the East Bengal settlers increased with such ferocious speed that, as written by Derek Tonkin, “By the time of the 1931 Census “Chittagongian” immigrants outnumbered indigenous Muslim residents of Arakan by at least four to one.” This is also the time when the native Arakanese Buddhists were steadily pushed to the periphery by these settlers. This was the fallout of one of the most vicious colonial crimes.

            The overwhelming presence of the Chittagongian settlers led to social anxiety, which became more pronounced when the immigrants made the sinister moves of turning the occupied Arakanese territory into a hard core Islamic state by driving out the native Buddhists from their own homeland. The British had armed the East Bengal immigrants of Arakan to fight the Japanese during the World War II. But the East Bengal immigrants in 1942 had, instead of resisting the Japanese,massacred more than 20,000 native Rakhine Buddhists with those weapons in places like Maungdaw where 214 Rakhine Buddhist villages were wiped out, which was also so far one of the biggest massacres of indigenous people by immigrants in the history of the twentieth century South Asia. Being emboldened by this successful massacre of the natives, these settlers campaigned to make Arakan a part of Pakistan after Burma got independence in 1948.  However, Jinnah was not keen to meddle with Burma.

            The Rakhine people, also known as Mog, some of who are there as native tribes in Tripura and other parts of the North East, are the original inhabitants of Arakan who have been there since time immemorial, at least since 3525 BCE, from the time of their King, Marayu and earlier. Lord Buddha is believed to have gone to their territory in person in 326 BCE to spread His message and since then Arakan had become a major seat of Theravada Buddhism. The native Rakhines consider themselves as being repressed by the majority Burmese on the one hand and the immigrant East Bengal settlers on the other who have successfully outnumbered the Rakhine people in Northern Arakan. Nevertheless, the Bengali Muslims of Arakan who had settled early were very much a part of Burma who even had elected members to the first Constituent Assembly in independent Burma.

            The origin of the term Rohingya is rather vague. The Arakan settlers began to call themselves Rohingyas mainly since 1982. Derek Tonkin in one of his essays revealed that it was Dr. Francis Buchanan who had used the word “Rossawn” in 1799 in an article published from Calcutta.After this, he writes, “Throughout the remainder of his life, Buchanan, who was a prolific writer and gazetteer, never used the word “Rooinga” again.” (26 May 2016). However, the East Bengal origin settlers of Arakan now prefer to call themselves as “Rohingyas” with the objective of claiming indigeneity, though their claims of indigeneity would be as much intriguing and problematic as it is to call the White Americans as indigenous over the American Indians or the White Australians and the White New Zealanders as indigenous over the Australian aboriginals and the Maoris respectively. Quite curiously, in order to deny their East Bengal origin the “Rohingyas” even claimed to have originated from Saudi Arabia. Rodion Ebdighausen significantly points out that the term “Rohingya” is a ‘highly politicized one’ which, he writes, “media, activists and politicians use to take a political stance.”The native Myanmarese, therefore, contest the term “Rohingya” as they consider it a tactical term used by the East Bengal origin Arakan settlers to camouflage themselves as indigenous to Myanmar.

            Nevertheless, there have been East Bengal Muslims in Arakan from the medieval period whom even the Junta government had accepted as citizens including the ones who were brought in hordes by the British colonizers till independence, though the Myanmar government has not been ready to accept the immigrants who had infiltrated the Arakan province after 1948. Despite their claims, quite significantly, the oral history, folklore, folk songs etc. of the “Rohingyas” reflect their deep and indelible linkages with the culture, history and language of East Bengal/ Pakistan. In fact, the New York based Burmese author, HlaOo, writes, “(When) I went back to Maungdaw I needed a Bengali interpreter to shop… it is completely unthinkable to recognize them as an indigenous ethnic group of our Burma.” The popular “Rohingya” folk singer, Muhammad Soufa in one of his pensive songs narrates the tale of their “suffering after migrating to an alien land chasing false dreams and greed for wealth without heeding the words of the Almighty” (Rohingya jatina bujilam keella o bujmon/ ….Janambhor ailam choli misa jutha kotha fandi re/…. Dhonsom pottir lubhe pori/ Bhuillar asool erto rika re). 

            The recent activities, especially in Assam by some Islamist organizations campaigning for the ‘Rohingyas’ to settle them in Assam and in some other parts of the North East, keeping in mind Tripura and places like South Garo Hills in Meghalaya etc., is ominous for it might lead to new social and demographic anxiety, besides North East has never been involved or responsible for the Arakan mess. 

            In fact, Myanmar should take back all the Rakhine refugees who are found to be genuine citizens of the country. Despite having their origin in that country Bangladesh may not be able to take the burden of such a huge number of additional people. The hypocrisy of the West and the oil rich Islamic countries is rather appalling. Instead of pontificating, threatening and bullying a poor and fledgling democracy like Myanmar as well as demonizing one of South Asia’s greatest icons of Democracy, Aung Sang Suu Kyi, they should make their position clear as to whether they would at all accommodate any of the displaced refugees in their own lands. In this context the West has just extended their colonial attitude. Quite intriguingly none of these exorbitantly rich and wealthy countries with high voltage moral rhetoric have opened their borders to officially allow a single hapless person in, which is, arguably, the biggest shame. Hopefully, the world will also wake up to the plight of the indigenous tribes of Arakan, who have fled their homes in Myanmar and are now seeking shelter in Mizoram.

http://www.theshillongtimes.com/2017/12/09/the-rohingya-crisis-colonialism-and-the-north-east/

The Cow is a Four Footed Domestic Animal

       The Shillong Times

                                  ESTABLISHED 1945

JUN 14, 2017

The Cow is a Four Footed Domestic Animal

by Jyotirmoy Prodhani

         The first English essay we learnt in school was on the cow. The next one was, “My Aim in Life”, where the official aim of most students was to become a humble school teacher.  For decades the essay on the cow has remained the same. It begins with that famous line, “The cow is a four footed domestic animal”, considered the perfect opening of a great essay. Later, few of us who had opted for Hindi as an additional subject (it was never compulsory), got to read an abridged version of Premchand’s Godan. Till then we had no idea that the cow could ever occupy centre stage with such formidable stride.

         In Assam there are special rituals in the form of Garu (cow) Bihu during Rongali and Bhogali Bihu. One is not aware as to whether in the Hindi heartland, also known as the cow belt, there are any such folk rituals and privileges reserved for the cow despite having the most violent cow protectors (gau rakshaks) thriving in those territories. The idea of goushala has primarily come from the cow belt where in most cases the cows experience what it feels to be in the worst form of hell, to the extent that people had to file PIL suits seeking judicial intervention to improve their condition. Though goushalasare most likely to become premium national institutes soon, yet one can well anticipate that putrid squalid of these enclosures is least likely to disappear. Ironically, no matter how much they officially claim the cow to be their mata, as soon as it is dead, it quickly transforms into horrible dirt, a filthy untouchable. To deal with the dead cows the great protectors and worshippers of cow go to the extent of inventing a whole new caste with similar status- the Untouchables.

         By the way, how long does the cow remain a ‘national animal’ – as long as she is alive or even after her death? In that case, will the carcasses of cows ever be offered pujan by the Brahmins? Will they pull the tail of a dead cow to dab it on their foreheads as it is normally done with dead elephants? One never knows. With the growing clout of the cow, we might soon discover skin and dry bones of dead cows adorning households in the manner that tiger skin and deer trophies did earlier on the walls of the rich and mighty. In that case  the untouchables, exploited for centuries in the name of the cow, might be relieved of the customary obligation to handle the cow carcasses; the high castes might as well take over the job now. It seems utopian though because hypocrisy is expected to remain as intact.           

            When the present union government is so sentimental about the cow, it should also be equally concerned about the most abusive methods used to extract its milk. In fact, it is the cow which is the only animal on this planet that cannot feed its milk to its own calves properly. Every drop of milk extracted from her is by cruelly depriving a young and hungry calf of its right to the mother’s udder. Commercial production of milk products is the biggest cause of the awful exploitation of the cows. Ghee is one such mass milk product, which is considered a health hazard and one of the biggest causes of endemic obesity, alarming rise of diabetes, heart attacks, pressure and a host of other ailments. To begin with, at least in the North Eastern states where ghee is not the primary form of edible oil, it should be banned on ethical grounds. This would greatly reduce the mental and physical agony of the cow. By forcing cows to produce more milk for commercial gains, at times by  injecting poisonous diclofenac, the perpetrators are not only inflicting immoral harm to the souls of the cow but also to not less than ‘thirty three crores of celestial souls’ who supposedly live inside her. Other major milk products like paneer etc. should also follow suit on the same ethical grounds. This would be a genuine tribute to the beleaguered cow.

           While teaching Bhisham Sahni’s Tamas to a class of students predominantly from the North East, they were clueless as to how people could be so callous and crass to kill each other for the innocuous and ordinary animals as pigs and cows. Pakistan is an Islamic Republic. Bangladesh followed suit; it is no longer secular; Islam is its state religion. Official status of pork in these two countries must be that of haram, but one is unsure if they have also banned slaughter of pigs altogether. But here in India no matter how much they try to convince that beef is not banned but only cow slaughter, it is anybody’s guess that unless one slaughters cattle one cannot invent beef. Imagine if a judge, following irresistible ‘call of the soul’, in the place of ‘celibate, tear jerking peacocks’, recommends chicken as India’s national bird and its eggs as national treasure! Soon venerable murgshalas might start cropping up  imposing a moral obligation on the central government again to ban ‘culling of cocks and hen’ as well, though not ‘eating chicken’, as it were.

            In the wake of a ferocious logic to turn India vegetarian, it is noteworthy that even the Vedic period, which is considered the 'origin of aeroplanes to supercomputers', cattle slaughter was rather common. Even Sage Manu, exceptionally notorious for prescribing brutal casteism and other obscurantist practices, had sanctioned eating of many wild animals. Among domestic animals, any animal with teeth in jaw was allowed with the exception of camel, but not the cow. (The Myth of the Holy Cow, D N Jha, 91). For Manu eating meat on sacrificial occasions was a divine rule- daivah vidih smrtah. In the Mahabharata Yudhisthira, who was averse to himsa, used to regularly hunt wild animals for his brothers, his wife Draupadi and the Brahmins who used to live nearby. (Jha 95) The sixth century BC Sanskrit grammarian, Panini, used the word goghna, meaning killing of cow, as a synonym for ‘guest’ because the sages used to kill calves and cows to entertain guests. (Jha 33)

       Animals deserve protection, but when this becomes an outrageous agenda particularly with the sadist intention of offending and targeting the ‘other’, it is an ominous sign of a colossal doom. Noted Tamil playwright Indira Parthasarathi in his play, Aurangzeb, has depicted how the great Mughal empire began to collapse during the reign of Aurangzeb not because he was vanquished by the collective force of others but by the weight of his own bigotry and monstrous obstinacy to refuse to accept the plurality and diversity of his empire, which he was fanatically obsessed to turn into one country, Hindostan; with one language, Hindostani and one religion, Islam. Are we, through a queer twist of history, back to the regime of mad dreams of crazy despots? Then, if the present regime crumbles like that of Aurangzeb’s, they should not blame it on others.

            It is quite likely, given the present obsession of the state with the cow, that a student might well begin his first essay thus, “The cow is a national animal. It is mostly found in the government institutes called goushalas. In olden days when there were farmers they used to keep them at home. Now it is not possible to keep cow without special permit and licence from the government. Cow milk is very good, but very expensive. Only very big and rich people can drink milk. My uncle bought two packets of milk from a foreign country. I once drank that milk. It was very tasty.”

           This might well be a sad opening on a famous topic.

Email: rajaprodhani@gmail.com

Phone: 9436315650

http://www.theshillongtimes.com/2017/06/14/the-cow-is-a-four-footed-domestic-animal/

My Article in the Assam Tribune, 11 February, 2017

State Budget: Is it Inclusive for All?

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