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<title>Subhash, Oaten: atlas, Russell</title>

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<p class=MsoNormal align=right style='text-align:center;line-height:150%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><b
style='mso-bidi-font-weight:normal'><font size="4">Subhash, Oaten: atlas, Russell</font><o:p></o:p></b></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><i><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></i></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>THE Subhash-Oaten encounter
has attained some notoriety, as a number of people have on several occasions
given an account of how Subhash Chandra once gave a thrashing with his shoes to
one of his British professors, Oaten. But it seems to have almost been
forgotten by the general public that this incident was a mere replica or
imitation of an earlier and identical performance. Subhash did not institute
anything new; he was simply following in the footsteps of eminent and heroic
predecessors. Today I propose to give an account of that original performance.</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:12.2pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>It
was in the year 1905. The Swadeshi movement was in full tide, flooding the land
with its enthusiasm, particularly the student community. But how about the <st1:place><st1:PlaceName>Calcutta</st1:PlaceName>
 <st1:PlaceName>Presidency</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceType>College</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>?
That was an institution meant for the &quot;good&quot; boys and for the sons of
the rich, that is, for those who, in the parlance of the time, &quot;had a
stake in the country,&quot; those who, in other words, had something to lose.
How far were they touched by that flood? Those that were touched might be described
as something of a phenomenon.</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:12.7pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>In
1905, I was in my Second Year class. Among my classmates were Narendra Nath
Law, a well-known name in later years, and perhaps also Bhupati Mohan Sen, who subsequently
came to be known as Principal B. M. Sen.¹ Sitapati</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:12.7pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:8.4pt;mso-line-height-alt:
10.05pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; line-height:150%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>¹ <span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>I cannot now exactly recall
if Bhupati Mohan had been at the </span><st1:place><st1:PlaceName><span
  style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>Presidency</span></st1:PlaceName><span
 style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span
  style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>College</span></st1:PlaceType></st1:place><span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'> right from the First Year
class, or whether he joined the Third Year from the </span><st1:place><st1:PlaceName><span
  style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>Scottish</span></st1:PlaceName><span
 style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span
  style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>Churches</span></st1:PlaceType><span
 style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span
  style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>College</span></st1:PlaceType></st1:place><span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>, known at the time as the
General Assembly's Institution.</span><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:150%;
mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>
<span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;'>Page – 331<o:p></o:p></span></p>

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<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Banerji too was there; he
won the Ishan Scholarship in his B.A. examination and was ultimately given the
name of Swami Raghavananda or Sitapati Maharaj at the Ramakrishna Mission.
These more or less .made up the list of the &quot;good&quot; boys. Among the
&quot;bad&quot; ones was Indranath Nandi, a son of Colonel Nandi of the Indian
Medical Service. Let me recount some of his exploits.</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:12.0pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>He
had been a colleague of Barin Ghose of Manicktolla Gardens fame, and also a
member of the Atmonnati Samiti, an &quot;Association for
Self-improvement&quot;. This Samiti was really a centre for the recruitment and
training of revolutionaries. I too had been one of the junior members of the Samiti. Bepin Behari Ganguli was among its organisers. We had just given up
football as being a non-Indian sport and had taken up lathi and dagger play. I
had already attained such proficiency in these games that I was once asked to
give a demonstration of lathi play before Mrs. Sarala Devi Chowdhurani on the
occasion of one of her visits. But Indra Nandi was engaged in something much
more serious; he was trying to make bombs. And he ended by blowing up his
fingers in an explosion during a test. Caught in this maimed condition, he was
sent up for trial in the Alipore Bomb case, although he could not be convicted.
Our counsel managed to prove that the state of his hands was due to their being
crushed under an iron chest.¹</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:12.95pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Let
me in this connection announce one of the feats of my college life. It was in
that same year, 1905. Loud protests had arisen on account of the Bengal
Partition and there was going to be observed a Day of Fasting or Rakhi-day or
something like that. In what manner did I register my protest? I went to
college dressed as if there had been a death in my family, that is to say,
without shoes or shirt and with only a <i>chuddar </i>on. As I entered the
class, everybody seemed a little</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;mso-line-height-alt:8.85pt;
mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:44.85pt;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:
none; line-height:150%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-indent:10.3pt;mso-line-height-alt:8.85pt;
mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; line-height:150%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>¹ But <span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt'>there was a rumour that
Colonel Nandi had compounded with the Government on condition that his son would
thenceforward behave like a thoroughly &quot;good&quot; boy.</span><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></p>

<p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;mso-line-height-alt:
8.85pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; line-height:150%; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>
<span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;'>Page – 332<o:p></o:p></span></p>

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<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>stunned. The professor
cast an occasional furtive glance at me but said not a word. My action must
have appeared as rather unconventional, perhaps even incorrect to many, but I
felt at the same time there were quite a few who gave me an admiring look.</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.55pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>At
that time, in the class just above mine was Charu Biswas. Next above him was
Rajendraprasad, and a year senior to Rajendraprasad there were Benoy Sarkar and
Atul Gupta. Ramesh Majumdar was perhaps a year junior to me.</p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:9.35pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>Now
let me come back to what I was going to say – <i>revenons à nos moutons</i><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>, as they say in French.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.55pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>At a time like this, when the sky was
getting red and the air was hot, with so much agitation in the minds of men and
the young hearts, one of the Englishmen in our college, Russell, our professor
of Logic and philosophy, got it into his head to come out with something
tactless against the Bengalis. It was like a spark in a powder dump. There was
much excitement and agitation among the students. Could this not be avenged?
Should the white man be allowed to escape scot-free, just like that? The day of
reckoning came at last, like a bolt from the blue. How did it all happen? One
of our classes had just been over and we were going to the next class along the
corridor, when all on a sudden there rang out all over the place from a hundred
lusty throats shouts of &quot;Bande Mataram&quot; that tore the air with its
mighty cry. Everybody ran helter-skelter. &quot;What is the matter? What
happened?&quot; &quot;Russell has been thrashed with shoes!&quot; &quot;Who
thrashed him? Who?&quot;<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.3pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>The Principal came – it was Dr. P. K. Roy,
the first Bengali to have become Principal of the </span><st1:place><st1:PlaceName><span
  style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>Presidency</span></st1:PlaceName><span
 style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span
  style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>College</span></st1:PlaceType></st1:place><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>, though in a temporary capacity. We all got
into our classes. Reentered our class first as it was nearest to the scene of
the incident. Russell was with him, his face red with shame and indignation. He
glanced around those present in the class and said that he could spot no one.
After the class was over,</span><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:150%;
mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>
<span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Page – 333<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<div class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:12.95pt;
mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none'>

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<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>we went into the Physics Theatre for the Physics class. There too the
Principal came in and broke out in a deep thundering tone, &quot;I see, 'Bande
Mataram' has become a war-cry.&quot; But the whole class was utterly quiet,
there was not a sign of movement. All that high excitement and agitation of an
hour ago was now hushed in dumb motionless silence. We were all a bunch of
innocent lambs!<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:11.0pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>But who was the culprit? <span
style='mso-bidi-font-weight:bold'>It<b> </b></span>was Ullaskar Datta, one of
our class-fellows. He was a boarder at the Eden Hindu Hostel. He had come to
college with a slipper wrapped up in a newspaper sheet and had made good use of
it as soon as he got a chance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:11.5pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>The life-story of this Ullaskar is a real
drama, although its last stage is rather tragic. Soon after this incident he
joined the </span><st1:place><st1:PlaceName><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
  italic'>Manicktolla</span></st1:PlaceName><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
 italic'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>Gardens</span></st1:PlaceType></st1:place><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'> with Barin Ghose and gave all his thought
and energy to the making of a bomb. He did not know even the ABC's of bombs. He
read up by himself books on Chemistry, pieced out information from all kinds of
books and finally mastered all alone the principles of explosives – nobody
ever taught him. His father, Dwijadas Datta, was a professor at the </span><st1:place><st1:PlaceName><span
  style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>Sibpur</span></st1:PlaceName><span
 style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'> </span><st1:PlaceName><span
  style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>Engineering</span></st1:PlaceName><span
 style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'> </span><st1:PlaceType><span
  style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>College</span></st1:PlaceType></st1:place><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>. He had something like a small iaboratory
at his residence. <span style='mso-bidi-font-weight:bold'>It<b> </b></span>was
here that Ullaskar took his training in secret. To what extent he had finally
succeeded in his efforts was proved one day when to the first of his bombs one
of our own men had to fall a martyr – Prafulla Chakravarti.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-indent:13.5pt;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>I too had been an associate of his in this enterprise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;tab-stops:12.2pt;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'><span style='mso-tab-count:1'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Ullaskar
– &quot;one who abounds in energy&quot; – fully lived up to his name: he was
indeed an inexhaustible fount of energy and enthusiasm. When they used to
escort us in a prison van from the jail to the court room (during the trial of
the Alipore Bomb case), we rent the air all the way with our shouts and songs
as we drove along. <span style='mso-bidi-font-weight:bold'>It<b> </b></span>was
Ullaskar's idea; he led the chorus and the rest of us followed. Some of the old
refrains still ring in my ears, I can still recall the words of songs like
&quot;Deep from the heart of <st1:place><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
 italic'>Bengal</span></st1:place>
today&quot;, <span style='font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>&quot;</span>The<o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:150%;
mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:12.2pt;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:
none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>
<span style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>Page – 334<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<div class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:12.95pt;
mso-pagination:none;tab-stops:12.2pt;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:
none'>

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</div>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>soil, the rivers of </span><st1:place><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
 italic'>Bengal</span></st1:place><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>&quot;,
&quot;My golden Hindusthan&quot;.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.3pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>I have heard that Ullas is still alive,
though almost halfdead, they say. Ten or twelve years of jail in the Andamans
deranged him in body and mind. But this after all was part of the ritual of
sacrifice. As Barin used to say, &quot;Such indeed was the vow in this kind of
marriage.&quot;<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.55pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'>For, the enthusiasm of that day, that
reawakening to new life, took no account whatever of the gains and the losses.
It forged ahead by itself, it drew its secret support from its own momentum.
That was why people gazed wide-eyed in wonder, that was why they all joined in
a mighty chorus:<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='text-align:justify;text-indent:10.55pt;line-height:
150%;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span
style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>&quot;A day indeed has dawned,<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>When a million hearts<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Have known not to fear<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>And leave no debts unpaid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Life and death are<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Bondslaves at our feet;<o:p></o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in;line-height:150%;mso-pagination:
none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Our hearts have forgotten to care.&quot;</span><span style='mso-bidi-font-style:italic'><o:p>&nbsp;</o:p></span></p>

<p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;line-height:150%;
mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0'>
<span
style='font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-style:
italic'>Page – 335<o:p></o:p></span></p>

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