# Isvar Chandra Vidyasagar, a story of his life and work/Chapter 33

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Loss of Consort.
By the end of 1876, the construction of his own house at Sukea's Street was brought to perfection. The neat, nice building with a small garden attached to it cost him a good round sum. In the beginning of the next year (1877), he removed himself to this comfortable abode with only his Library. But no suitable house being available in the neighbourhood for the accomodation of the other members, he was at last obliged to live with all his family in the new building.
In this year, he married his fourth daughter, Sarat Kumari Devi, to Kartik Chandra Chattopadhyay. Both the daughter and her husband lived in the same house and mess with Vidvasagar, who loved them and their children very dearly.
About this time, his health, which had already ​been impaired, began gradually to sink. Continued illness for some years, aggravated by the most distressing afflictions at the loss of those nearest and dearest to his heart, began to tell on him very seriously. He was reduced in flesh; his body took the form of a skeleton. He gave up his toilsome works, one by one. He could not bear the hustle and turmoil of the city. He frequented other salubrious places. Karmatar was his general resort. But the thoughts of his educational institutions never forsook him. No doubt, he had made over the management of the Metropolitan Institution to his son-in-law, Suryya Kumar, and delegated to him some of his anxieties in that respect, but he could not entirely shake them off. The reader has already been told how, through his exertions, the Metropolitan Institution was affiliated to the Calcutta University up to the B. A. Standard in 1879, and up to the B. L Standard in 1882. Under a rule of the University, college students intending to appear at its examinations are required to keep a certain percentage of attendance at the College lectures. Vidyasagar was very strict in the observance of this rule. He warned the professors of his Institution to observe the rule faithfully, and if he ever found any one deviating in the slightest degree, he would not fail to censure the culprit most severely.
Vidyasagar now applied himself diligently to ​the construction of a building for the main Institution. By the end of 1886, the construction was completed, and in January of the following year, the College was removed to the new building, at Sankar Ghose's Lane. The purchase of the site and the erection of the house cost him about a lakh and a half of rupees.
In 1885, the Metropolitan Institution stood first at the B. A. Examination. In this year, he opened a Branch Metropolitan School at Barabazar, and in 1887, another Branch was opened at Bowbazar.
On the New year's day of the year 1880, Vidyasagr was honoured by Government with the title of C. I. E. He was always averse to titular distinctions of Government, and was, therefore, not inclined to receive the title. After much persuasion, he was induced to accept it, but he did not attend the presentation Darbar to receive the Sanad. The words inscribed on the grant were:—"Grant of the dignity of a Companion of the order of Indian Empire to Pundit Iswara Chandra Vidyasgar."
​Since the year 1882, Vidyasagar's Rijupatha, Part III. was discarded from the course of studies prescribed for the Entrance Examination of the Calcutta University. It had been a text-book uninterruptedly for the sixteen previous years. The exclusion of the book from the curriculum of the University reduced his income to a great extent, and somewhat inconvenienced him; but he did not lose heart. He had already promised increment of pay to some of his school-masters. They were a little disheartened at the decrease of their master's income. But Vidyasagar did not wholly disappoint them. By other means he raised funds for the purpose. God always helps the accomplishment of honest and benevolent deeds.
In November, 1884, Vidyasagar visited Cawnpore, a city in the North-Western Provinces of India, for a change of climate. He stayed there for a few days only, and by the end of the year, he returned to Calcutta.
On the 1st January, 1885, he sold away the one-third share of his proprietary right to the Sanskrit Press, which had been left to him, to Babu Raj Krishna Banarji at a price of 5,000 rupees. He had been disgusted with the business. Besides, the sale proceeds went a great way to liquidate his debts. His books brought him a revenue of between three to four thousand rupees a month. The Hon'ble C. E. Buckland, in his ​'Bengal under the Lieutenant-Governors,' says;—’Vidyasagar's monthly benefactions amounted to about Rs 1,500 and his income from his publications for several years ranged from Rs 3,000 to Rs 4,500 month." Before his death, he had repaid all his debts. He left his property quite free from embarrassments. He had borrowed monies from many creditors, but he paid them off, one by one. Vidyasagar was very honest in all his dealings, particularly in the liquidation of his debts. He owed a heavy debt to Government. But the Government knew nothing of it. They had quite forgotten it. There was no such item entered in their accounts as due by Vidyasagar. He repaid the debt out of his own motion, which amounted to 4,911 rupees, 11 annas and three pices, inclusive of interest. It is said, that the money was advanced to Vidyasagar, when he was Principal of the Sanskrit College, with a view to the publication of Arithmetic, History, and other works, and to their sale at a cheap price. The ends were not satisfied, but the money had already been spent.
About this time, a great difference arose between Maharaja Jatindra Mohan Tagore and his younger brother, Raja Saurindra Mohan Tagore, with respect to their patrimony. They found it impossible to settle the matter between themselves, and appointed Vidyasagar to be their umpire for the division of their properties. On the 7th May, 1885, the two brothers executed a deed ​of arbitration in favour of Vidyasagar. The instrument was written in Bengali. We will give its purport in English:—
'The Much-Respected Isvar Chandra Vidyasagar.
’Sir,
’We, the undersigned two brothers, have so long been living conjointly; but we now find a deal of inconvenience to live in a joint family. It is therefore necessary that we should live separate, and, as a matter of consequence, the partition of our properties is unavoidable. We do not think that an amicable settlement of everything between ourselves to the satisfaction of both parties is possible. We, therefore, do hereby appoint you our arbitrator, and authorise you to make a partition of all our properties, both movable and immovable, after hearing everything from both of us and making a minute enquiry. We, both, do hereby solemnly declare, that we will abide by your partition, and raise no objections to it. If we should raise any objection, it shall be null and void. On these understandings we execute this deed of arbitration out of our own free will. You will, please, make the partition within three months from this date. Dated 25th Baisakh, 1292 B. E.
Sd. 'Jatindra Mohan Tagore,
„ 'Saurindra Mohan Tagore.'
Vidyasagar tried his best to decide the dispute. ​He had procured all the papers connected with the properties, bestowed his best thoughts on the subject, and, with infinite toil, examined the papers; but for several reasons he found it very difficult to carry out the settlement of the difference. On the 28th June of that year, he wrote a letter to the two brothers, relinquishing his charge of arbitration. The letter ran to the following effect:—
'Sirs,
'Accept my best compliments.
Sd. 'Isvar Chandra Sarma.'
Some time after this, he severed his connection with the Sanskrit Press Depository. This was owing to difference of opinion. On the 1st December, 1885, he took away all his publications from the Depository, and placed them in his own Book-Shop, which he named "The Calcutta Library". It is now located in Sukea's Street, and all his publications are sold from this place.
About this time, he made acquaintance of Mr. ​Ramesh Chandra Dutt, a covenanted Indian Civil Servant (now retired), and translator of the Rig-Veda. He was then engaged in the act of editing the work. Vidyasagar was, at that time, unwell, and Mr. Dutt often called at his residence to see him. One day, in course of conversation, Vidyasagar said to him,—'My dear, you have engaged yourself in a very good work; please, finish it. Should I feel myself a little better, I will help you, if I can.' But he was not destined to carry out his wishes. Mr. Rames Chandra Dutt is said to have admitted it in the Nabyabharat, a Bengali monthly.
Our hero had now to encounter a most heartrending misfortune in the bereavement of his beloved wife, Dinamayi Devi, who breathed her last on the 13th August, 1888. She had been suffering for some time from acute Dysentery of a very severe type. A few minutes before her death, she began striking her forehead with her fist. Her eldest daughter, Hemlata, who was by her bedside, tending her with watchful care, called out to her father, saying,—'Papa, mother wishes to speak to you. Would you, please, hear her?' Vidyasagar replied.—'O yes, I see, what it is; her wishes shall be satisfied; no fear for that.' Babu Bihari Lal Sarkar says that the striking of the fist against her forehead was simply to ask forgiveness for her dear son, and that when she was given hopes, she departed from this world happily. But we are ​inclined to think that there was something more than mere asking of forgiveness. Most probably, in her last moments she wished to have a look at her beloved child's face, whom she had not seen for some time. Be that as it might, Vidyasagar was, after this mournful event, more favourably disposed to his son. Another potent cause had also sprung up, which served a great deal to soften his rigorous feelings. Two months before this sad catastrophe befeil him, he had received a most sincerely penitent letter from Narayan Chandra imploring his forgiveness in utmost pitiful terms. The epistle was couched in a most pathetic language, which moved his naturally tender heart. The letter, which was written in Bengali, ran to the following effect:—
Accept my most humble and respectful salutes.
'By the grace of your feet, I have got every, thing; I am earning some money; there is no lack of respect; in fact, to all outward appearance I am very happy. But a venomous insect stings my heart day and night. I have given up fancy dress; I have no other desire in my mind; only an eager desire to serve your feet has wholly engrosed my mind. My former errors always rise to memory and afflict me with penitence. Oh! how I wish I would not have been guilty of those sins at my father's feet! I have been reaping the fruit of my own errors. Had I been at your feet, how ​would I have been reckoned, and what I am now! I am mean in Society. I have put up with all this. But what can be more misfortune to me than that I cannot attend your sick-bed in this your advanced age? I have been unable to fulfil the chiefest duty of my life. On one occasion, when you were going to serve your father's feet at Benares, one of your friends tried to prevent you, saying,—'Vidyasar, you intend going to Benares in this hot season; there is every fear of danger.' You at once replied cheerfully,—'I am going to do my duty; fear of life should have no consideration at such a time.' From that very moment, those heavenly words of the great man have been engraved in my heart. I am, at the present day, debarred from the accomplishment of that duty by my own faults.
'I do not at present want to approach you. When you are unwilling to cast your eyes at the face of this mean person, how can I venture to go to stand beside or before you? I will remain near, but hidden from your view. When you will require the services of a servant, I will call the servant to you; when you will require any one to send to some place, I will go there like a servant. I will remain like a domestic; if, by degrees, you are favourably disposed to give your permission, I will approach you; otherwise, I will lie on one side like a dog. Whatever I may be, I am your son. I too have passed my ​middle age. You have got a grandson (son's son). If he should live to an age, he must be known to the world by your name. If you cast me aside by a thrust of your feet, how will my son venture to appear before Society? It would be far better, if you will trample him to death, as you have already trampled upon me. Death is preferable to the living of a detested life. I would have clasped death long ago, but sweet-spoken, encouraging hopes have sustained my life. One can never give up hopes of being forgiven by one's parents. This is my destiny in this world; but, please, do not block up my way to the after-world (i. e. salvation). If I cannot serve your feet, how can I expect salvation in the next world? I would request you to drive away wrath and ill-feeling from your mind, and then to think over seriously with your saintly sweetness and magnanimity of heart, whether any blame will not attach to your world-renowned good name, if you cast adrift your unworthy child. How can I ever give place to such a thought in my mind that he, who is the receptacle of patient fortitude, whose heart is the seat of forgiveness, in whom affection is an ever-conspicuous element, who is moved to an incessant flow of tears at the tale of other people's distress—that such a merciful great man should cast adrift his unfortunate, penitent, sincerely grieved, only son.
'O father, my life has been fortunate, even if it ​was only for a day. After my marriage, you were pleased to write in reply to your third brother's letter,—'By contracting this marriage out of his own motion, Narayan Chandra has added to the glory of my name. In fact, I consider myself fortunate that Narayan Chandra has entered into this alliance.' Father, what greater fortune or happiness is desirable in this life? That was my heavenly bliss. You are my king of kings, my world-respected father, and I am your base, unworthy son; if, by my act, I have been able to generate pleasurable feelings in your noble heart even for a single moment, I have been most fortunate. O father,—alas! I address you in this letter repeatedly with the word—father, this address sends a thrilling sensation through my frame; but I have not the good luck in this life to call you by the sweet address—papa. When Pyari calls me papa, my heart dances in delight, but at the next instant, that delight turns itself to deep sorrow; an eager desire to call you papa rises in my mind, but at the very moment, the thought that I have been deprived of that privilege—the vain hope damps my spirits. And a sudden idea strikes me that, instead of my unfortunate self, if you had had a son to your mind, then he might have, like Pyari, caused you a great delight by calling you papa. But I being born to be your unfortunate ​son, I have thrown obstacles to all your happiness. How I wish I would have died, though born.
'You, being alone, have been put to a deal of inconvenience and trouble. Had Gopal been living now, he could have kept all sides safe.
'In consequence, though you are surrounded by a numerous family, you are alone. Your son, son-in-laws, brothers,—if any one of these were equal to your mind, you could have left charge with him, and in illness could have lived a retired, secluded life free from anxieties. Whenever I recall to my mind your thinned limbs, pale face, and enfeebled voice,—and over and above that, your anxieties and troubles for others—when I recall to my mind how you go to Karmatar with only a servant for your companion, it strikes me, why should I be still living? How I wish I could draw out my tongue and commit suicide for my own faults.
'That great man, that seat of patient fortitude, that peerless great man, that demigod, who at one time displayed uncommon forbearance by devouring a cock-roach at meal time, for fear lest the eating of other people's meals should be spoiled—how strange, that great man, though possessed of such extraordinary powers, does not forgive his own son! However serious an offence might be, it is ​most trivial before forgiveness—particulary in the eyes of a parent. If you give me shelter under your feet, no body will blame you; on the contrary, it will display your greatness. In fine, if you should be pleased once more to display your uncommon magnanimity and employ your own unfortunate son to serve your feet, then you shall see whether I can be up to your mind. Whether good or bad, my unfortunate self am the first of all your relations. What have you not done for every one? I would humbly request you once more to display your extraordinary forgiveness and give this unfortunate person one more trial by giving him a little place at your feet; I dare say, I will never for an instant do anything that will cause you displeasure. I will give up every worldly comfort; I will sustain my life by eating a handful of rice, only to serve your feet. As a dog is satisfied with a handful of rice and follows its master, so this unfortunate person will lie at his master's feet, even lower than a dog.
'Your 'Unfortunate son.'
Shortly after his mother's death, Narayan Chandra addressed to his august father another letter in the same pitiful strain as before. This was also in Bengali. We will give here its purport in English:—
'Accept my best respects and compliments.
'O my godly father, I have already informed ​you of my afflictions; I had a great mind this time, therefore, to throw myself at your feet, and determine the good or evil turn of my unhappy luck. But cruel destiny has shattered this unfortunate person's that unhappy luck into a thousand pieces.
'But for your kind treatment, O my merciful father, the loss of my affectionate mamma would have rendered me quite helpless,—would have made me shed incessant tears and wander about the streets like a motherless child, as I am. Since I was separated from the protection of your feet, I was living under the shelter of my mother's feet,—was solacing my bereft heart with the sweet calls of 'mamma', but when that mother ascended to heaven, leaving her unfortunate son in this world of trouble, when I was feeling a blank vacancy all about me, at that disastrous moment you were pleased to give this unhappy child shelter under your noble feet. That kindness of yours gave me strength to bear through the grief for my mother. Could I ever hope even in dream, that you would show so much kindness to this unlucky fellow. I believed that this unhappy person's lamp of fortune had been put out for ever. This time, I ventured to stand before you, was encouraged to speak to you though only a few words, was permitted to sleep on the second floor of your house; one evening, when I was asking for lunch, you were downstairs,—the words reached your ears, and you at once called out to Hemlata, ​and said,—'O Bhimi, your brother asks for lunch'; at the words, how my sad heart bounced up in ecstacy! In my heart of hearts I feel an inexpressible delight. I have been what is called intoxicated with joy. As a man, who has been without food for a considerable length of time, feels an indescribable delight to eat a delicious meal, so my heart of hearts has felt an inexpressible pleasure to drink your sweet words after the lapse of 14 long years. At each display of your kindness, tears of ecstacy trickled down my breast. Oh! how I wished that my unhappy mother had witnessed this display of mercy,—alas! the thought rends my heart. O mother, open your eyes, if for once only, and see that your unfortunate Narayan has found shelter under his father's feet. Mamma, even in your last moments, you were eagerly anxious for your unfortunate child, and said,—'Send master (husband) to me; before I close my eyes for ever, let me reveal to him the sorrows of my mind cherished for these 12 years.' Now, mother, see that the merciful 'master' has been fulfilling your last wishes. O mother, see how father is anxious for you. The more I think of my mother's affection, the more is my heart pierced with grief.
'I consider myself fortunate at what mercy you have already shown to me. I shall now be able to ​die happily with the consolation that father has forgiven his guilty, but penitent, child. O! how I longed for your forgiveness, how I wished I could throw myself at your noble feet and shed sorrowful tears of repentance; but I could not venture to take that step; as I knew you were deeply afflicted with griefs. I can no more live separated from your venerable feet. That flower of feeling in my heart, which was already withered, has been made by your favour to show signs of life and expansion. Can I live separate any more? I will not vex you in the least; I do not wish for authority, riches, or anything else; I only wish I could lie at your feet. I will prepare your hookha, brush your shoe, make your bedding, accompany you in your travels like a servant with your luggage on my head. I declare by your holy feet and those of my deceased mother that I have no other desire in my mind. I shall be content to live like Matadin. Whatever might occur in your house, however I might have to suffer at the hands of others, I will shut my ears—I will close my eyes against it. Mother has left me a beggar—I am in a beggar's state—I shall pass my days in that state. To serve your feet, I will give up everything—I will relinquish every comfort. As a penance for all my former errors, I will lay down my body and life at your noble feet.
'I have one more request to lay before you. If you should be indisposed to keep me with you ​at once, you would kindly give me some employment like others in your school. When you will be satisfied with my working capacity, conduct and character, you would be pleased to permit me to serve your feet; in that case, I shall have the opportunity to see your feet morning and evening. In fine, you must anyhow give me shelter under your noble feet. By a faithful discharge of the duties of two offices—those of my own office and of the Local Board office—I have been able to give satisfaction to my superiors, who are quite strangers and devoid of feelings of affection for me; why should I then be unable to render satisfaction to you, my merciful father? I can no more venture to live an idle life; nor can I any more live separated from your noble feet.
'Hemlata was offering me the keys to the boxes of my mother's ornaments and plates, but I have advised her to present all those at your venerable feet.
'Your unfortunate son, (Sd.) 'Narayan Chandra Sarma.'
What pathetic language! In fact, Narayan Chandra was truly repentant of his former faults, whatever they might have been. There can be no doubt, that those faults were most serious, so much so that even such a naturally kind-hearted, forgiving father as Vidyasagar was constrained to banish the only dear son to a thousand miles from his heart. He was however ultimately softened, ​allowed his son to live with him and nurse his sick-bed in his last days.
The second letter also shows how devotedly attached was Narayan Chandra to his beloved mother. So was Vidyasagar to his dear, faithful wife. Dinamayi was a perfect Hindu mistress. Like her mother-in-law, she took great delight in cooking food with her own hands and in feeding people. She was also very liberal in charities. Latterly she had many quarrels with her husband for the sake of her banished son, Narayan Chandra, which was the origin of the subsequent unpleasant disagreement. She often helped her son privately with moneys; she even pawned her jewels, which constrained her husband to withhold making her gifts of money. Like her father, Satrughna, she was a woman of uncommon spirit, and magnanimity of heart. If ever she wanted her husband for a thing, and he refused it to her, she would be highly piqued. But Vidyasagar was equally strong-minded, and he would not care for her piquancy. Thus by degrees, the beloved couple had a great disagreement. But the loss of his dear wife revived in his tender heart the recollections of his former sweet conjugal life, and made him shed incessant tears. The recollections inflamed in him the blazing fire of regret for the disagreement of the latter days, which tended to aggravate the distressing symptoms of his painful malady.
​But in spite of these serious disasters and catastrophes, he never for an instant lost sight of his duties. His educational institutions were always before his eyes. We have already said, that he had delegated some of his anxieties to his third son-in-law, Suryya Kumar Adhikari, whom he had made Principal of the Metropolitan Institution, and was thus somewhat relieved. But, as ill luck would have it, shortly after the death of his beloved wife, he was highly offended at Suryya Kumar's conduct and failure of duty, and was constrained to dismiss him. After the banishment of Narayan Chandra, he had taken to Suryya Kumar in the light of his own son, and treated him with the fondest affection. But he had a strong sense of duty, which topped the foremost of his affections. That he who could easily estrange his only son from his heart for failure of duty, should dismiss his son-in-law for a similar offence is no strange thing. But, at the same time, it ought to be confessed, that he must have considered the offence unpardonable.
After this, he had often to visit the Institution personally. He used to go there in a palanquin; he was too weak to walk. After his fall from the chaise at Uttarpara, he very rarely travelled in horse-carriages. He had sufficient means to keep a coach and horse, but he had an aversion for articles of luxury. It is said, that he had once kept a close-carriage and a pair, but he was soon disgusted, and parted with them.
​About this time, he offered the charge of the Institution to the Hon'ble Dr. Gurudas Banarji, one of the present native justices of the Calcutta High Court. But the Doctor declined to accept the responsibility on the very ostensible plea of inability. Gurudas regarded Vidyasagar in the same light as if he was his own father. He has compiled an Arithmetic. To get this work introduced as a text book for schools, it was only Vidyasagar whom he had requested for recommendation. He could not make himself flatter anybody else. Vidyasagar had an implicit faith in Gurudas, and therefore wanted to place the charge of his Institution on his shoulders, as he believed him fully equal to the task. The Doctor had also a very high opinion of our hero. On the occasion of his mother's Sraddha, Gurudas presented him with a very nice silver glass, as he knew that Vidyasagar was not accustomed to receive presents of money or any other kind ordinarily given away to Pandits on such occasions. The glass is still to be found in the possession of Narayan Chandra, who has, after his father's death, inherited all his property. It has the following sloka inscribed on it:—
"পানপাত্রমিদং দত্তং বিদ্যাসাগর শর্ম্মণে। স্বর্গকামনয়া মাতুর্গুরুদাসেন শ্রদ্ধয়া॥"
We have said before, that although Vidyasagar had very reluctantly deserted his native village for reasons already stated, he never for an instant ​lost sight of it. The reader has seen how generously he had made provisions in his will for the good of the place. But, in the meantime the deadly Malarial Fever, which had caused a great havoc throughout lower Bengal, had also ravaged Birsingha, and had told seriously on the local English school, established by our hero. The institution had lost its existence. On the 14th April, 189O, Vidyasagar re-established the school, and named it 'The Birsingha Bhagavati School' after the name of his deceased, beloved mother.
* ↑ Pyari—Narayan Chandra's son.
* ↑ Gopal Chandra Somajpati—Vidyasgar's eldest son-in-law.
* ↑ A term of sweet, affectionate address applied to Hemjata by her lovely father.