Isvar Chandra Vidyasagar, a story of his life and work/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
CONTINUANCE IN THE FORT WILLIAM COLLEGE.
We have stated before, that Mr. Marshall used to read Sanskrit with Vidyasagar, and receive from him lessons in that language. He had already acquired a tolerable knowledge of Bengali, and he preferred to converse with Vidyasagar in that tongue. The latter, therefore, wrote to him letters in Bengali, as occasion needed. One day, he was unable to attend his office on account of the illness of one of his relations living in his house. He informed Mr. Marshall of this, in a letter written in Bengali. Thus by degrees Vidyasagar rose in influence and eminence, while still in the Fort William College.
The more Mr. Marshall came in contact with Vidyasagar, the more was he led to be pleased at the latter's keen intellect, sound knowledge, excellent character, intrepid spirit, dignified manners, and noble generosity. He had a firm trust in whatever Vidyasagar said or did. He never did anything without consulting Vidyasagar. Whenever Dr. Mouett, the Secretary to the Education council, had a necessity for some information on the Sanskrit Literature or Hindu Religion, he used to go to Mr. Marshall for the information. The latter, in his turn, had the matter decided by reference to Vidyasagar. It was in this way, that Dr. Mouett came to know Vidyasagar, whom he henceforth regarded with much esteem and trust. Gradually he had a great affection for Vidyasagar, and was ever his well-wisher and benefactor.
Shortly after he had entered the Fort William College, Vidyasagar had to witness a great change in the educational policy of this country. He was intimately connected with the education department, and under this department, he had to bring about many alterations, and introduce new plans. We will, therefore, try to notice them briefly.
When Isvar Chandra first entered the Sanskrit College, as a student, in 1829, English education had not much spread in this country. Some respectable residents of Calcutta and its neighbourhood were the first to begin to appreciate English education, and try to introduce it into this country. Through the exertions of Hare, Harrington, East, and some other generous Europeans and a number of influential natives of this country, a school was set up in the premises of Gora Chand Basak of Garanhata on Monday, the 20th of January, 1817. It was the groundwork of the Hindu College of after years. There was also another party who were in favour of diffusing Sanskrit education throughout the country, and the Government of the time sided with them. But ultimately, on the petition of Raja Ram Mohan Ray, backed by Hare and Wilson, Government altered its former policy and resolved to propagate Western education in this land of the Hindus. After much efforts, a building for the accomodation of the Hindu and Sanskrit Colleges was erected at a cost of one lac and twenty-four thousand rupees on a plot of land presented for the purpose by the well-renowned, munificent David Hare. Hare is no more, but his name will be ever cherished very dearly in the heart of every English-educated Bengali. But for his indefatigable exertions and munificent gifts, the current of education in this country would have taken a very different course. In 1825, the two Colleges were set up in this new building.
Heretofore, the administration of the education department was in the hands of a Committee known by the name of "General Committee of Public Instruction." This committee had been started in 1823. The dispute of the two parties as to whether Western or Eastern education was beneficial to this country, alluded to before, continued for twelve years even after the foundation of this committee. At last, by the decision of Lord Macaulay, the promoters of Western education gained the victory. In the year 1839, Lord Auckland, the then Governor-General of India, declared in his Minute that English should be the medium of imparting instruction in the Arts, Sciences, and Philosophy of Europe, that the Vernacular Schools already existing in the country should be placed in a more perfect working order, that equal encouragements should be given to the students of English and Vernacular, and that the vernacular languages should be taught along with English.
From this time forward the Committee of Public Instruction began to supervise the working of the new system, and the current of English education began to flow vigorously: The liberty of the Press had already been dealared in 1835. The use of Persian as Court language was interdicted in the year 1837. The native judicial officers of the country were entrusted with more powers. Consequently the working of the new system found fresh fields of expansion. The Committee of Public Instruction divided Bengal into nine divisions. A college was started in each of these divisions, and an Anglo-Bengali school was set up in each district of these divisions. In the year 1852, the Committee of Public Instruction made over charge of the education department to a more powerful association, viz. "The Education Council". Vidyasagar had to bring about many revisions under this Council, of which hereafter.
While Vidyasagar was employed as a teacher in the Fort William College, Lord Hardinge, the then Governor-General of India, came to visit the College, one day, on inspection duty, and had a long talk with Vidyasagar on various topics. In course of conversation, Vidyasagar complained of the hard lot of the students of the Sanskrit College. He said that they had now no prospects. The post of Judge-Pandit, which had so long been reserved for them, had been abolished. The numerical strength of the College was, in consequence, falling off. It was, therefore, meet and proper, that Government should do something for them. It was finally settled that a number of vernacular schools should be established in the country, and the teachers for these schools should be taken from among the students of the Sanskrit College. 101 such schools were established in the different parts of the country from 1844 to 1846, and they were styled "Hardinge Schools" after the name of their founder. These schools were set up in imitation of Western schools for the propagation of Bengali education, and Vidyasagar was not wholly unconnected with them. He took great pains for their advancement.
The selection of teachers for these schools by examination, and their appointment were intrusted to Mr. Marshall and Vidyasagar. The latter had now to face difficulties of a strange sort. The elderly professors of the Sanskrit College and some other private Pandits turned to be his bitter enemies. The professors grudged his influence with the authorities, that young Vidyasagar was charged with the examination of the new teachers in preference to them, who were far superior to him both in age and experience. The other Pandits were highly displeased with him, because merit, and no favour, was his maxim. He gave away the posts to the more worthy candidates. He showed neither favour nor bias. No consideration of any kind, either of friendship, relationship, or recommendation, found place in his conscientious heart. The disappointed Pandits began to indulge in vile slanders of Vidyasagar. But the just and heroic Vidyasagar, who had not shown the slightest favour to the civilians even at the recommendation of Mr. Marshall, his official superior and patron, was not a man to be intimidated, and to lose heart, by such mean slanders and envy. He acted up to the dictates of his own conscience. It was quite against his nature to do any thing which in his judgment, was not right and proper.
Immediately after his appointment in the Fort William College, Vidyasagar's first impulse was to relieve his father from the troubles of his toilsome servitude. Some say, that shortly after he had got his first appointment, his father had an accident on his way to office, and that this led Vidyasagar to urge him to give up his office. But we have no authority on that point. However that might be, Vidyasagar said to his father one day:—'You see, father, I now earn 50 rupees a month, and this wouid be quite sufficient to cover our expenses. Why should you then work? I shall give you 20 rupees every month. Please, go home and enjoy rest.' His father hesitated a little, but, at the earnest importunity of his son, was fain to accede to his terms. He resigned his situation and went to Birsingha, where Vidyasagar used to remit his promised 20 rupees regularly, month after month. The remaining 30 rupees he spent on his house in Calcutta. He had, at this time, his two younger brothers and five cousins living with him, besides a menial servant, by name Sriram,[1] and by caste, a barber. Of the five cousins, two were sons of his father's brother, two were sons of his father's sister, and the other was a son of his mother's sister. There were thus nine members (including himself) in Calcutta, to maintain with 30 rupees. Besides, several outsiders and visitors had to be fed almost daily. There was no cook in the establishment. All the inmates of his house, not excepting Vidyasagar himself, had, by turns, to do the cooking. Dear reader, do you see wherein Vidyasagar's greatness lay? He was the master of the house, earning 50 rupees a month. He could indulge in luxuries. He could engage a cook. But he did nothing of the kind. As soon as he had the means at his command, his first impulse was to relieve his parent's troubles. In his childhood he had heard from his father the tales of his early distress. When a student in Calcutta, he had witnessed, with his own eyes, the pains and sufferings of his father. He had seen him remove and cleanse his sons' soil with his own hands. How could then a man of Vidyasagar's character act otherwise than what he did? What else did he do? Quite regardless of his own inconvenience, he defrayed the maintenance of distant relations and some other persons wholly unconnected with him, and divided with them equally the domestic works of his household. Was this not greatness of heart? How many men of means are there now, who would consent to act like Vidyasagar under similar circumstances?
We have already seen, that while a scholar in the Sanskrit College he showed his kindness of heart by giving food and clothing to the needy, and by succouring the poor and distrest, out of his paltry scholarship funds. He was now earning 50 rupees a month, out of which he gave 20 rupees to his father, and reserved the rest for his establisment expenditure in Calcutta. He defrayed the expenses most economically, and what he could thus save out of the 30 rupees, he spent gladly in feeding the hungry and in succouring the distrest. In 1843, Gangadhar Tarkavagis, one of the professors of the Sanskrit College, had an attack of Cholera. No sooner did the news reach Vidyasagar, than he hastened to the spot, accompanied with his friend, Doctor Durga Charan Banarji, of whom mention has been made before. Durga Charan Babu was engaged in the treatment of the patient, and Vidyasagar removed the discharges with his own hands. He paid for the medicines out of his own pocket. Whenever he saw or heard of a poor, helpless man suffering from illness, he hurried to him, and nursed him tenderly, and supplied him with medicines and diet out of his own funds.
On one occasion, Vidyasagar was told that one Isan Chandra Bhattacharya, nephew (sister's son) of Professor Jay Narayan Tarkapanchanan of Narikeldanga, was suffering from Cholera. He presented himself there in the night, and provided for the patient's treatment. He took articles of bedding from his own house, and with them made a comfortable bed for the sufferer. His favourite disciple, Raj Krishna Babu, said to one of his friends:—'He (i.e. Vidyasagar) had often to act similarly. It is not possible for me to recollect all the deeds of his unfeigned, disinterested benevolence. They are too many for me to enumerate, and for you to hear patiently. The recollection of the benevolent acts of that incarnation of kindness calls his noble image vividly to mind. The very thought of him rends my heart and makes tears flow down in torrents. Alas! We shall no more find a man, equal to him in charitableness and kindness.' On another occasion, a domestic in the employ of a well-to-do householder, who lived in a house in front of Vidyasagar's lodgings, having been seized with Cholera, was sent away by his master and abandoned in the streets. The poor sufferer had no one to look after him, or to give him a drop of water. No sooner did Vidyasagar hear of it, than he hastened to the spot. He carried the unfortunate man on his shoulders to his lodgings, and gently laid him down on his own bed. He placed the poor man under the medical treatment of his friend, Doctor Durga Charan Banarji, paid for his medicines out of his own pocket, and nursed him with great care and tenderness. He thus saved the life of the helpless man, who recovered in a few days. But for his kindness, the unfortunate man must have died in the streets. Gentle reader, was not Vidyasagar a truly great and benevolent man?
Allusion has already been made of Vidyasagar's disinterested forwardness in securing, situations for his friends, relations and acquaintances, of worth and ability. The reader has seen how he secured appointments for Jay Narayan Tarkapanchanan, Madan Mohan Tarkalankar, Dvaraka Nath Vidyabhushan and Giris Chandra Vidyaratna. In this unselfish work of benevolence, he had sometimes to suffer pecuniary losses and even undergo physical pains. While he was still employed in the Fort William College on a salary of 50 rupees, the post of the first teacher of the Grammar class in the Sanskrit College fell vacant. The post carried a monthly salary of 90 rupees. Here was a great chance of Vidyasagar's own promotion. Dr. Mouett, Secretary to the Education Council, called on Mr. Marshall to consult on the selection of a competent man for the post. Mr. Marshall recommended Vidyasagar. The situation was accordingly offered him, but he declined the offer. The real cause of his refusal was, that he had already given word to the famous professor, Taranath Tarkavachaspati that he would secure him a suitable situation. He knew Tarkavachaspati to be a most worthy man versed in all the different branches of the Sanskrit literature, and he now took this opportunity to fulfil his promise. He recommended Tarkavachaspati to Mr. Marshall, saying that Vachaspati was the best grammarian of the time, which he sincerely believed. This was Saturday, and the appointment was to be made on Monday, Taranath Tarkavachaspati was, at this time, at Kalna, some 50 miles away from Calcutta. The postal system then was not so well organised as at present. There was no railway. A great difficulty now faced Vidyasagar. How was he to inform Tarkavachaspaty of this happy news? He could not communicate it by a letter, as it would not reach him in time; and even if it should reach him, what certainty was there, that he would accept the post? Tarkavachaspati had already opened a Tol at Kalna, and engaged himself in money-lending business. What was Vidyasagar to do now? He was not long in thinking. That very night he started on foot for Kalna, accompanied with a relation of his. They walked the whole night, and at noon of the next day (Sunday), reached Tarkavachaspati's house. Both Vachaspati and his father were wonder-struck, when they heard from Vidyasagar the cause of his advent, and they knew not how to thank him for such disinterested benevolence. When they saw, that he had walked such a long distance in the night, merely to keep his promise, without at all caring for his own interest, they were touched to the very core of their heart, and poured forth their choicest blessings on the young hero's head. They declared in one voice;—'Glory to you, Vidyasagar! You are not a man, but a heavenly god in human form.' He started again for Calcutta the same day, on foot as before, with Tarkavachaspati's application and testimonials, leaving his relation behind to return by boat, who was too much exhausted to be able to walk a step farther. But Vidyasagar felt no uneasiness or difficulty. He reached Calcutta the next day (Monday) in time only to be able to hand over Vachaspati's application and testimonials to Mr. Marshall, who in his turn, recommended Tarkavachaspati to Government. In a few days, Vachaspati arrived at Calcutta and received his appointment letter. Vidyasagar was not only a strong man mentally and morally, but physically also. He was a good pedestrian,
Many stories are told of his abilities at pedestrianism. At first sight, these stories seem incredible, but they are as true as anything. It is said, that even in his declining years, when he was quite broken down by ill health, stout and strong young men could not match him in walking. The journey to and from his native village, Birsingha, Vidyasagar performed on foot in one day. In the course of the whole journey, he ate or drank nothing but a raw cocoanut at Masat, a village some 24 miles from Birsingha. Even in later days, when he was Principal of the Sanskrit College, he used to perform the journey on foot, as before. If any of his co-travellers or companions had a load or luggage too heavy, he would divide it with him, and carry it on his own head or shoulders. On one occasion, it so happened, that two Darwans (porters) of the Sanskrit College came in his way, and saw him walking with a burden on his head. They were quite surprised at the sight, and offered to carry the load for him. But he dismissed them with kind and gentle words, and went on with the burden.
It is said, that while Vidyasagar was employed in the Sanskrit College, he had unexpectedly a very, urgent necessity to return to Calcutta from Birsingha, and make the journey on foot, as usual, in less than one day's time. As he started on his journey, one Madan Mandal, one of his servants, came to him, and expressed his willingness to accompany him. Vidyasagar doubted his ability, and asked him whether he would be able to walk with him at the same rate. The man replied in the affirmative. They then proceeded on their way. For 9 or 10 miles, Madan Mandal followed Vidyasagar closely, but presently he fell back. He soon saw that his master, had outpassed him nearly 200 yards. Madan Mandal was a lathial (clubman). He gave himself and his lathi (club) several whirls in the air. He then ran forward as fast as his legs permitted, and was soon at his master's heels. Again they proceeded together. As soon as they reached an inn, 24 miles from Birsingha, Madan Mandal said to his master,—'Let us stay here for this day. We need not go to Calcutta to-day; at which Vidyasagar smiled, and replied,—"I must go to-day. You may put up here for this day, and go to Calcutta to-morrow. Here are some pice to pay your hotel-bill." With this, he left Madan Mandal to rest at the inn, and reached Calcutta by night-fall.
During his tenure of employment in the Fort William College he found opportunities of visiting Birsingha more frequently. When at home, his main business was to call on, and enquire after his neighbours, attend and nurse the diseased, help and succour the distressed, and divert himself by various athletic sports and amusements. One of his chief amusements at that time was to attend dinner-parties in company with his brothers and other relations. If, on such occasions, a ditch would lie on his way, he would leap across it by way of sport, and then ask his second brother, Dinabandhu, to follow his example. In trying to do so, Dinabandhu often threw himself down into the ditch, which raised a roar of laughter from the company. Vidyasagar engaged himself in various sportive merriments of this nature with his younger brothers.
It is said, that on one occasion, he was walking to Calcutta, as usual, from Birsingha. When he reached a field, he saw an old cultivator standing there with a load on his head. The load was too heavy for the old man, and the old man was too weak to walk with the load. On enquiry, Vidyasagar learned from him that his house was 5 or 6 miles from the place, and that his son, who was a young man, had charged him to carry the load home. The sight of the poor, old man's condition, and the tale of his son's conduct moved Vidyasagar's kind heart, and tears flowed in torrents from his eyes. He at once took over the load from the old man's head on his own head, and, thus equipped, followed the aged cultivator, with slow steps, to his home. He then retraced his steps, and reached Calcutta rather later than usual.
Whenever there was an occasion of presenting winter-cloth to any body, the charge of purchasing the cloth was intrusted to Babu Braja Nath De, the Suprintendent of the Metropolitan Institution. One day, Vidyasagar said to him,—"You see Braja Nath, whenever there is any necessity for cloth, it is you whom I send to the shawl-merchants." It does not look well that one man should trouble himself on all occasions with this affair. If you will once show me theshop to-morrow, I may occasionally call at the place and make purchases by myself. Please, come to-morrow, and I will accompany you to the shop." The next day, Braja Nath Babu made his appearance at the proper time, and both started together for Barabazar, the chief place of native traders, especially cloth-merchants. But Braja Nath Babu was ill at ease to keep pace with Vidyasagar. The latter was always in much advance of the former. Vidyasagar had every now and then to stop on the way to let his follower come up to him. When they were again together for the fourth time, he said to Braja Nath Babu,—'I have acquired a habit of walking rather a little too fast. My followers, as a rule, cannot keep pace with me. Never mind, Braja Nath, let us do one thing. This time you walk foremost, and I will follow you.' Braja Nath Babu now felt himself at ease. On the way Vidyasagar warned his friend not to let the merchant know his (Vidyasagar's) personality. But it was of no avail. As soon as Vidyasagar entered the shop, followed by his friend, the merchant rose from his seat, and received him respectfully, saying,—'Welcome venerable Panditji good morning; surely, I am very fortunate to-day.' Vidyasagar whispered into the ears of his friend, that he wondered how the merchant could identify him. The shrewd, witty merchant replied, that fire must proclaim itself by its heat, even when put under cover.
Even in later years, when he was enfeebled by age and disease, no one could match him in pedestrianism. It is said, that when he was staying at Karmatar for change of climate, he was out one day to take a walking excursion accompanied with some of his friends and a grown-up grandson. The grandson said to him,—'Let us see, if you can outpace us to-day.' The feeble grand-father smiled, and said,—'Very good, let it be so?' So saying, he proceeded on his way, and the others followed. Shortly, all others save the grandson fell much behind. Soon afterwards, the grandson saw that his dear grandpapa, with his usual slippers on, had much outpaced him. He tried his best, to overtake him, but could approach him no nearer. The grandfather enjoyed the fun from a distance, and smiled at the futile attempts of his grandson, who was now quite abashed and dumb-founded with amazement.
Dear reader, you see what wonderfully expert walker Vidyasagar was. Was not his strength of body equal to his strength of mind, and his strength of mind equal to his strength of heart? What happy combination! How many were or are there in this world, who were or are endowed with the three strengths in equal proportion? Very few, we believe. The reader will, by and by, see how strong Vidyasagar was in every respect.
The depth of Vidyasagar's affection for his mother was equal to, if not more than, that for his father. He idolised his mother. We will give the reader an illustration of the strong affection and esteem, he felt for his dear mamma.
One day, when he was working in the Fort William College, information reached him that the marriage of his third brother, Sambhu Chandra, had been settled at Birsingha. In a few days, he received a letter from his mother asking him to be unavoidably present at the nuptials. He was eagerly anxious to obey the command of his mother. He at once called on Mr. Marshall, and applied for leave, but the application was rejected. He was very sorry, and thought within himself thus:—'Mother will miss me very keenly. What pangs she will suffer! Without me she will be half-dead. How ungrateful I am, not to obey her commands! What shame! Fie to me.' After office hours, he returned to his lodgings, and, to his great disappointment, found that the other inmates of his house had already left for Birsingha in accordance with previous arrangements. He was now quite alone, and felt the disappointment very keenly. He sat up the whole night, crying and weeping for his mother. He had not a wink of sleep that night. The next morning, he resolved that he would renew his application for leave, and that if the leave should be again refused, he would resign his appointment. Go home he must, at all risks. Accordingly, he called again on Mr. Marshall, and renewed his application. With great emphasis he said;—'Sir, if you do not grant me leave to go home, I resign my post. Please, accept my resignation. For the sake of my service, I can not suffer my mother to shed tears.' Mr. Marshall was wonder-struck at the uncommon feelings of filial devotion. Vidyasagar felt for his mother. He could not utter a single word of protest, but very gladly granted the leave. Vidyasagar at once repaired to his lodgings; and accompanied with his faithful servant, Sriram, started for Birsingha at 3 p. m. in the afternoon.
This was in the month of July,—the rainy season of tropical Bengal. The sky was overcast, clouds thundering dreadfully with flashes of lightning every now and then, winds roaring incessantly, rains pouring in incessant torrents. The roads were all slippery and muddy. Quite regardless of these, Vidyasagar moved on as fast as his legs permitted, and he was not a slow walker, as the reader is already aware. At night-fall he reached Krishnarampur, and it being too dark to find his way, he was, at his servant's request, compelled to stay there for the night in an inn. He had still to journey 26 miles, before he could reach his home. The next morning he rose very early, and proceeded on his way, followed by his servant. When he had travelled some distance, he found that Sriram was quite wearied with fatigue and hunger. The servant's home was not very far from this place. Vidyasagar, therefore, provided for the servant's breakfast in a neighbouring inn, and giving him a few pice, said;—'Here is some money to pay your hotel-bill; you may now go home. With this, he left him, and ran on like an arrow. Sriram could no more follow him, and was obliged to go to his own home. Vidyasagar soon reached the banks of the Damodar.
The river Damodar was very wide, and full to its brinks on both sides, and there was a very strong current flowing. In the dry season, the water in the Damodar is very shallow, and the river is fordable in many places; but during the rains, the water swells to its banks, and sometimes overflows them. Vidyasagar saw, that the river was not only full to its brinks, but also rough and turbulent, with a strong current flowing vigorously. The ferry boat was, unfortunately, on the other side of the river. What was Vidyasagar to do now? What means would he adopt to cross the river? He was not long in thinking. He was now inspirated with a heavenly animation,—an eager longing to see his dear mother. In the name of God and his mother, he plunged precipitately into the stream. He swam across the river, and reached the other bank safe. What a good swimmer! He then proceeded on his way with running speed, and was soon on the banks of the Dvarakesvar. Here was the same difficulty again. The river was as swollen and turbulent as the Damodar. There was no ferry boat. He was now quite exhausted. He had nothing to eat the whole day. But he did not care for all this. He was animated with divine inspiration. He plunged into the river, and with God's grace, who is ever ready to help those that help themselves, swam across safely to the other side He now ran apace, for it was growing dark. When he came to the Kuran-Khal, the sun had already set, and it was quite dark. The place was very dreadful. It was notorious as the chief haunt of robbers, who lay in wait, concealed under some covert, and as opportunity presented itself, fell on and plundered wayfarers, occasionally killing them. But Vidyasagar had no room in his mind for fear or anything of the kind, save the thought of his mother. He proceeded on fearlessly, and when he reached home, it was past nine O'clock in the night. He found, that the marriage procession had already left for the bride's. He looked for his mother, but could not find her, for she had shut the doors of her room, and lay there weeping for her dear child. Vidyasagar called aloud;—"Mamma, where are you, mamma, I am come," The mother knew her son's voice, and instantly ran out and clasped him in her arms, and pressed kisses on his forehead. Then mother and child both fell a-crying. When the outbursts of their feeling had somewhat subsided, they sat down to their meals. None of them had eaten any food that day till then.
The reader has, no doubt, heard and read many anecdotes of children's love for their mothers. The affectionate, filial devotion of Napoleon, Washington, Johnson, and some other great men are reputed to be unparalleled in the annals of history. But, sweet reader, can you conscientiously say, that the filial love of any of these men could approach the filial love of this poor Indian? We think, not. It is said of Julius Cæsar that when, with a view to conquer England, he had shipped his army, and was ready to weigh anchor, a great storm arose, threatening to sink all his ships laden with the army and himself. Every one of his followers importuned him not to dare his valuable life, and tried to dissuade him, but he headed them not. When Vidyasagar was about to plunge into the Damodar, some men, who were working in the neighbouring fields, tried to dissuade him from his attempts, which they considered to be nothing but rash and foolish. There is a good deal of similarity between the acts of these two great men. Both were heroes, though of different sorts. Both risked their valuable lives, the one for conquest of another's kingdom, and the other, for worship of his own mother. May we now ask you, dear reader, which of the two was the nobler hero? Which of the two was more admirable? Which of the two should have his name engraved in our hearts? Which of the two ought to be our model for imitation? We leave the thoughtful reader to answer the questions for himself. This is only one illustration of Vidyasagar's filial love. The reader will, by and by, find many such instances in his life.
Before concluding this chapter, we will once more notice his powers of versification. We have seen his abilities at composition of beautiful Sanskrit poems, when a student,—winning prizes for them. In his maturer years those powers had not lost their vigour. His abilities at versification were always the same. But, unfortunately, he did not cultivate them. During his tenure of office in the Fort William College, Mr. Cost, a Civilian, requested Vidyasagar to compose a sloka (a very short stanza) about him. Vidyasagar composed the sloka extemporaneously. Mr. Cost had some knowledge of Sanskrit, and he thought the sloka beautiful. He admired it, and was so pleased, that he at once offered him a reward of 200 rupees. Vidyasagar would not take the money himself. He proposed that the money should be deposited in the Sanskrit College, and out of it a prize of 50 rupees should be given each year to the best Sanskrit essayist. Mr. Cost agreed to Vidyasagar's proposal, and the money was funded accordingly. Vidyasagar was thus the means of awarding four prizes to four pundits of his country, thereby encouraging the culture of Sanskrit composition.
These prizes were called Cost-prizes, after the name of the donor. What disinterested self-sacrifice! Vidyasagar was never known to have any greed of gain. On the contrary, it is well known that in many cases, when he had good opportunities of getting money, Vidyasagar, poor as he was, instead of receiving the money himself, gladly provided for the award of that money, however large the amount might be, to some other person or persons. He had such greatness of heart. It was for this, that respectable Europeans cherished a great esteem for Vidyasagar.
We will notice here briefly, in passing, another instance of his self-sacrifice, in connection with one of the Cost-prizes.
Vidyasagar was appointed examiner of the Cost-prize essays. At the second year's examination for this prize, the essays of one Srischandra Vidyaratna and Dinabandhu Nyayratna, Vidyasagar's younger brother, were superior to the others. The style and diction of both the essays were beautiful. In Srischandra's essay there were a few grammatical mistakes, but in that of Dinabandhu there was none. But Dinabandhu had a great misfortunate in that his elder brother, Vidyasagar, was charged with the examination of the papers. Though Dinabandhu's essay was the best in every respect, he did not get the prize. It was awarded to Srischandra Vidyaratna. The chief cause of this seeming injustice was, that Vidyasagar feared, that if he should award the prize to Dinabandhu, people might think, though unjustly, that when the two essays were of equal quality, Vidyasagar had shown undue favour to his brother. He was also afraid that when he was indirectly interested in the affair, he might unconsciously have been biassed on his brother's side. But, in fact, there was no cause of fear in that respect, as it was universally known that he had weighed the balance evenly. Anyhow, Vidyasagar judged it best to be on the safe side, and he sacrificed self for the sake of another. What a brilliant example of noble self-sacrifice!
When Mr. Cost passed the vernacular examination, he was posted in the Punjab, where he worked as a civilian for many years. Subsequently when he retired from the service, and was about to return home, he came to Calcutta, and paid a visit to Isvar Chandra Vidyasagar. In course of conversation, he recalled Vidyasagar's powers of versification, and asked him to compose a few slokas about himself. Vidyasagar then and there wrote five beautiful, sweet slokas. Mr. Cost was highly delighted, and thanked him profusely.
There can be no doubt that Vidyasagar's powers of writing Sanskrit prose and poetry were equally great. But he never cultivated those powers. He devoted himself to the cultivation of his mother language. Yet, he now and then composed Sanskrit verses at leisure. He wrote several elegant poems on "Travel", "Contentment", "Anger", "Cloud" and some other subjects. He composed 408 slokas on Salmalidvip, Kusadvip, Sakadvip, and other names of countries according to the ancient Pauranic geography of the Hindus, and on America, England, France, Africa and Asia, modern names according to the Westerners. He also wrote brief annotations on Uttara-Charita, Meghduta and Sakuntala. It is not known whether, after this, he made any more attempts at Sanskrit composition, either prose or poetry. When writing the annotations on Meghaduta, he remarked, one day, with a smile, to one of his grandsons, who was sitting by;—'You see, my dear, I have written very good Sanskrit, indeed!' But this was merely a joke, as he had been heard to observe on many occasions, that in this age of degeneration, it was not possible for any one to write good Sanskrit.
- ↑ It is said that after Vidyasagar had removed to Sukea's Street, some of his relations attempted at his life. It was with the help of this devoted, faithful servant that Vidyasagar could then save his life.