More than a decade ago, when I was in school, one of my English teachers had said that, writers hold a mirror in front of the society, exposing their reality to them. They never dictate on what rectifications should be done, let alone guiding them about the rectification process. They just disclose the society's naked truth, so that people realize who they are and what they are up to. Hence, reading enhances perspectives about people, human relationships, and the society at large. Which explains why literature, just like any other craft form, plays a significant role in understanding the history of a particular place, community, era – whatever your boundary of study may be.
An avid reader, my love for reading is spread across both English, and my mother tongue Bangla. I try hard to continue my habit of reading, amidst my hectic work schedule and my constantly diminishing concentration span for reading! The recent surge of audio stories also help a lot in 'reading' stories, though the smell of the pages of books, old and new, hits me as refreshingly as petrichor does during the first summer rain. Nevertheless whenever I read, I remember my teacher's words – writers hold a mirror in front of the society – and I try to fathom the society that forms the backdrop of whatever tale I read.
The pages of my life till now have accumulated indelible notes from the classics of Bengali Literature. When I say classics, I'm referring to the golden period of Bengali Literature during the late 19th till the beginning of the 20th century. I admit that I'm yet to read all of them, but I'm in a position to have a tangible idea about the Bengali society during those times. The era belonged to the Bengali Renaissance, when the undivided Bengal boasted of Calcutta as a national, as well as a cultural, an intellectual, and an industrial capital of the undivided India. I recently completed reading Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's 'Parineeta', which acted as the trigger to start this write-up. A woman who still feels that the 21st Century India is still largely a patriarchal society inspite of the commendable progress made by women across all socio-economical strata and the significant role played by Central and State Governments alike to uplift women through various welfare schemes, a question started lingering in my mind – how were the men during the Bengali Renaissance period like?
The society during those times saw a surge in women education, women rights, women voice of freedom, like no other. Bengal produced one of India's first women doctors, Kadambini Ganguly. The period saw the abolishment of 'sati' and the promotion of widow remarriage. Women also actively participated in India's freedom struggle. Bengali men definitely welcomed this and spoke of feminism. But, deeds speak greater than words, and like any other pseudo-patriarchal society, positive changes challenging patriarchy is all hale and hearty till they don't reach your lives. And that is how the men of Bengali classics are portrayed.
I'll start with 'Pawther Daabi', a patriotic novel by Sarat Chandra Chattyopadhay. There are two main male characters, Apurba and Sabyasachi. While Sabyasachi is the fearless champion, the far-fetched hero, the indomitable spirit of India's freedom from British rule, and a promoter of the voice and rights of women, Apurba, who symbolized the Bengali boy next door, believed in casteism, chose himself before the nation's fight for freedom, and even believed that women are better inside the chambers of the house (andarmahal) and should focus only on household chores and taking care of the men of the family. Apurba could neither cook for himself, nor take care of his domestic help when he fell ill, and would depend on his love interest Bharati for everything, while also unapologetically regretting that he had to consume food cooked by a woman from a different religion (Bharati had adopted Christianity). He even expressed this disgust to her, adding to her mental agony. Bharati, however, was portrayed as a practical woman – who acted according to the needs of time. She foolishly loved Apurba, yet, she was never swoon by it. When Apurba was found guilty of deceit towards the 'Pawther Daabi' movement which Bharati was a part of, she didn't even shy away from supporting Apurba's death penalty, though she fainted out of agony after stating it.
Shifting to Rabindranath Tagore's 'Chokher Bali', the male protagonist Mahendra was found attracted towards the charismatic widow Binodini – his erstwhile marriage suitor, whom he had refused to marry because she wasn't 'beautiful' enough to be his wife. This, inspite of being married to the beautiful, naïve Ashalata, who was also Binodini's friend. Mahendra never missed a possible chance of intimacy with Binodini, while Binodini kept refuting such attempts. On the contrary, Behari, Mahendra's friend, who was attracted to Ashalata, kept his emotions to himself – all of which wasn't unknown to Binodini, and she thus respected him as a man of character.
Apu, aka Apurba, from Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's 'Pawther Pachali' and 'Aparajito', was an enigmatic character according to me. He was close to his sister Durga and his mother Sarbojaya as a child, but he eventually dismissed his rural roots and got carried away by his newfound city life in Kolkata and his infatuation for a woman called Leela, like a typical naïve adolescent boy. This dismissal was so severe, that he experienced a 'loss of unwanted burden' upon his mother's death – one who yearned his presence in her lonely life, having lost her daughter and her husband to death, especially while she was on her deathbed. However, this seemingly insensitive character, was so overcome by remorse upon losing his beloved wife Aparna - who died while giving birth to their first child, that he abandoned the child and started leading his life like a vagabond! Enigma or a sudden surge of true love, I'm not sure. I won't even term it maturity, because no matter how much a Romeo you are in love, blaming a newborn for his mother's death and abandoning him isn't maturity, especially as a father.
Devdas, the titular character of Sarat Chandra Chattopadhay's novel by the same name, is considered a cult symbol of an ardent, lovelorn lover yearning for his beloved. But, how apt is that? Parvati, his love interest, was clear and open about her love for Devdas. However, our hero always took her for granted - be it using her as a shield from escaping scolding from his parents during childhood, to considering that Parvati would always be available at his beck and call for his most trivial needs. A sheer sense of dominance and possession prevailed in this otherwise seemingly intimate bond. Devdas seemed to be able to do whatever he liked, while Parvati waited for his approval and attention for every step in her life. In fact, when Parvati boldly propsed to Devdas, he couldn't make up his mind, and when he realized that his family would not accept the marriage, he didn't even place this point for discussion anymore. It was only when Parvati was getting married to someone else, did he realize that what he lost, and desperately wanted to fight to win her back in his life. And while he resorted to alcohol as a coping mechanism after losing Parvato, he came across Chandramukhi, a rich and popular courtesan, who had numerous men head over heels in love for her, while she fell for our protagonist, inspite of knowing about Parvati. And surprisingly, Devdas too, reciprocated this love. He even called Chandramukhi his 'bou' (wife). There was even a time when Devdas yearned for both Parvati and Chandramukhi! All of this, makes me feel that Devdas lacked a spine, and was definitely not a dedicated lover who should be celebrated as an icon of love. He received so much love, yet he could never embrace any, because of his indecisiveness, and lack of gratefulness. He took the abundance of love for granted.
Tagore's 'Home and the World', comes with two male protagonists, Nikhilesh and Sandip. While the former - a rich and educated landlord, fiercely loved his wife, Bimala, his expression of it was very gentle. He never imposed anything on her, educated her, and tried giving her a perspective of the outer world by encouraging her to step outside the chambers of the house. When he realized that an extramarital affair had blossomed between Sandip and Bimala, he never imposed his 'authority' as a husband on Bimala, which is a wonderful exception in an otherwise patriarchal society where women are treated as possessions in most marriages! He always believed he doesn't possess his wife – his wife is an individual in her own right (honestly, I was in love with Nikhilesh while reading this novel!). He even didn't express any anger or hatred to Bimala, but seethed in remorse within himself (this actually tore my heart). Sandip, on the other hand, was lustfully attracted to Bimala – so much that he lured Bimala away from her happily married life. But when Sandip's life was in danger, he didn't think twice before dumping Bimala and escaping like a coward. He believed that Bimala was a prey for him - an object he can use at his own will, and thus even used Bimala to extort money from Nikhilesh for his needs.
Shekhar and Girin comprise a similar pole-apart example in another famous novel by Sarat Chandra – Parineeta. While Shekhar is an ardent lover, he too, like every other man privileged enough to be blessed with a devoted beloved, kept taking Lalita for granted, till Girin came and challenged this notion. A soft-spoken, well-mannered Girin supported Lalita's uncle in times of adversities, and secretly admired and loved Lalita – all of which threatened Shekhar's belief that come what may, Lalita will be his to stay. That is when Shekhar started putting genuine efforts, to express his love to Lalita. However, once things went downhill, such that Shekhar and Lalita would possibly never be able to get married, Shekhar got scared. Like a true coward, he literally hid himself, fearing questions about his and Lalita's relationship. Lalita, however, was a lady of words and strong spine. She stayed committed to Shekhar, and clearly refuse to marry Girin. On the other hand, Girin too respected Lalita's feelings for her beloved. Like a true lover, he chose to silently move on, with no hard feelings for her. The patriarchal society could have easily allowed him to do this – he could have manipulated or forced the way younger Lalita to marry him but like a true gentleman, he didn't.
To summarize and conclude, ordinary Bengali men – the boys next door, according to my opinion, were backboneless, took their women for granted, and lack virtue. In fact, Bengali women seemed more headstrong and opinionated than men. Often, men did not have a broad mind, and feared losing their so-called beloved women only when their 'possessiveness' was challenged by some external influence. Genuine men only seemed to be unrealistic, such as Sabyasachi – perfect in all ways! Examples of ordinary Bengali men who treated their women well - such as Girin and Nikhilesh - could be counted on your fingers!
Things haven't changed much since then. Patriarchy has changed its appearance, and stays hidden, until the fragile male egos are hurt. Once men see that their whims and fancies are threatened, patriarchy raises its fangs again. When will society change for the better? When will women be treated as equals? Sadly, these are rhetorical questions with no answers, and the roots of this problem lies deep within history. I've just tried to draw a picture of Bengali men during the Renaissance period. If you dig deeper, you would find a similar history across communities, spanning the eons of time.
© Copyright by Debasmita Ghosh. All rights reserved.
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