My father was born when my grandfather worked as a Minister to a King in the western Orissa (Odisha). These principalities were old tribal strongholds made formal as kingdoms under the British rule. The "King" was independent but was under a British Agent for help with territorial and law and order problems. Apparently the King wanted to execute two local persons under some pretext that my grandfather thought was unjust. The King invited the British Agent three hundred miles away in order to override my grandfather's ruling. I am told that my grandfather resigned . He and the entire family left on horse backs the night before the Agent arrived. My grandfather returned back to his ancestral village near Puri and started his new life as a farmer. My father did his schooling as an out of town student first in western Orissa and then in Cuttack. Cuttack was the administrative and trade center for the State. The British headquarters were in Calcutta. Gandhi had visited Orissa twice by this time. People in the State were energized to protest against the British rule and to fight for independence. During his final college year, my father chose to speak in a public meeting. His oratory got him arrested. While his education was sealed,he emerged as a leader. The youthful rebellious energy gets easily attracted to leftist ideology and my father joined the nuclear group of young radicals. The society in the State had many ills, there were massive economic and social disparities. The laborer toiled on the land, but did not own anything. All land was usurped through heavy taxation first by the Moghuls and then by the British. There were atrocious middle men who exploited the labor to gain advantage. They were protected by the rulers who had guns. The average man was scared and had little voice. Gandhi wanted to work for the people, but he was too occupied to keep peace in the country. People like my father wanted to give voice to the people. It was a natural call for him.
Language against oppression though literary can be painful to the rulers. My father landed in jails. During one of his outings, he sacked the Union Jack that was hoisted on a flag pole in the college grounds. Declaration of formal independence was a year away. Though it could have been an act through his temperament, it lifted his stature as an iconic leader. He maintained the profile for the rest of his life. He was critical of the corruption in the administration. When the person on the street has nothing to eat, the leader "should also share the grief." In his many poems and writings, he expressed the pathos of the toiling man. His had sincerity in his words. My father lived his life through utter deprivation possibly to experiment if the poor can survive. It is a miracle that the family survived. My mother stood up and there were a few other committed followers and sympathizers. The world was changing with the call of liberation everywhere. My father took upon himself to bring pride to a starving people whose forefathers were seafaring traders and the builders of temples. The task was huge. One had to revive the music, dance, language, art, trade and farming. A starving population does not look for its past heritage! My father was among very few in the State who moved people to work hard and declare freedom. He loved India as a country. His slogan in Oriya translated in English would be "the victory song of a great nation". He proclaimed it in his speeches and writings.
Gandhi convinced himself and his followers that a true Satyagrahi lived among the people. Gandhi could avail some special diet for himself, but some of his radical followers wanted to be literal to the value. My father would go on long hunger strikes for the sake of labor and farmers, but there would not be any post hunger strike care for him. There was no medical attention. My mother had to scrounge grocery to prepare meals for him when he returned home sick and tired. When I came of age, I was disturbed about the family condition. Particularly my father's health was of concern to me. When in the '70s the Government started large scale jailing people under some resurrected old British rules, I left India for good.
In course of time, I helped to get other brothers and sisters educated. They found employment and had their families. Father mellowed, and spent more time in literature. He presented himself as one of the brightest wordsmiths in Oriya literature but we did not have resources to publish his books. I only read him well after ten years of his death and was mesmerized by his style of writing. Freedom of expression comes through experience. His words had power and spontaneity. He was a man with freedom calling from his heart.
As the eldest son in an Indian family, I take the extra responsibility of being an arbitrator in family dealings. Among the family properties we have a house in Cuttack that we struggled to build. There is a plot of land in Bhubaneswar given as a token of appreciation from the Government to my father for his participation in the India's Freedom Struggle. My job is to create an equitable distribution among five brothers and two sisters that we are.
In order to navigate in a city like Bhubaneswar one needs to take the help of a person who would know. One such person was my younger brother, who was no more. My brother's wife is a journalist and also keeps contacts. I tried to be in touch with her in order to guide me to go to a lawyer's office at the local Probate Court. My father had no will, but my mother left one. We had to record her death in the Courts and execute the will. The property needed court registration.
We reached an area of several detached single storey row buildings with pools of people assembled at different locations. The three wheeled auto-rickshaw has the flexibility to enter any space that has a four foot width. Our driver barged in arbitrarily through the people right to the door which had a sign "lawyers' common room." A radio on the wall was blaring film music to an empty room with arbitrarily oriented chairs and tables. We met our lawyer at one of the tables. The lawyer showed us various scribbled documents. He told us that we needed a demarcation of the property line in order to assess the exact dimensions of our property. My mission was then set to discover such a property document.
The land was purchased as a part of a cooperative in the '60s. Some adjacent neighbors encroached to our land since we left it unused. All this suddenly became news to me. We reached Cuttack and called upon a neighbor whom I knew earlier. Not directly adjacent to our property, he was aware of the encroachments. He said that he could help. He recalled my father with love and had an affectionate conversation. I thanked him for his assurance and promised to meet him later during my stay. Then I came to inspect our house.
The whole of our family house had been rented out except for the two rooms which my father used. One of my brothers lived in the property and managed the renters. I procured the keys for these two rooms and checked for any old manuscripts. The cabinets were dusty and the rooms felt stuffy. Dust sat in layers settled through moisture. Inhaling fine dust produced chest discomfort. I tried to cover my nose and dusted off the books using a brush. But gradually I felt choked. I could only procure two books published in the '40s. I had to quit when I started coughing.
I sat in the front room that my father used as an office and for his rest. In later years, he detached himself and slept on a cot in the room. I possibly spoke to him on phone on my last conversation while he might be sitting on the cot. He spoke about pain in his head and severe headache. He had already developed Alzheimer's a few years ago and was possibly going through a stroke. He was ferried to the hospital. He did not survive a week. He passed away before I arrived. I reflected on the lives of many who sacrifice their lives for the cause of their nation. The US sends out thousands of soldiers to foreign countries with a mission to protect the homeland and uphold liberty. Some die in action, many return and wander homeless. Passion for freedom is an impulse. While we can live in peace because of some people's sacrifice, we never take time to measure the price. Fighting for the country and the people in search of liberty is labeled as a voluntary sacrifice. Depending on the magnitude of the sacrifice, we use the word "hero" as a symbol of respect. Most often we forget. A soldier does not plan to leave behind a footprint. I found the footprint was dusty!
