Bimal Dutta

Theatre as poetry and lyric became Bimal’s experimented with writing.  One such was called ‘Bijoyini’. In a cultural youth festival in Prague, the work won silver medal recognition. Based on a fable on Chand Shodagor, this work was about the preservation of justice and morality, the whole hearted struggle against impossible odds, bravery up against the unfair. The protagonist, Behulaa’s retort, ‘then, i am not the creeping vine, anymore...’ (tokhon aami toh aar lota noi...) which is the moral of Bimal’s interpretation of the story.

​

He didn’t rest with literature. Elder brother Satyendranath influenced his interests in other cultural manifestations and expressions. He decided to direct and present a theatre performance for a famous local football club – Dokhkhini Shomabesh, with Bimal and Mukul, their younger brother (eventually a well known lyricist). For the occasion, Bimal scripted and wrote a lyrical opera ‘Omor Medinipur’ (Eternal Midnapur). Well known actor, Dilip Roy was then a part of IIT, Kharagpur. He joined in. Chittopriyo Mukhopadhyay, a singer, who used to work in the Government’s Agriculture department, who also lived in town, joined the singing team. Mukul and other members of the chorus sang Salil Chaudhury’s ‘ghum bhangar gaan’ (songs of awakening), as well as several songs penned by Rabindranath Tagore. Using magic lanterns they crafted and created shadows on the rear curtains to narrate stories of Medinipur’s people and their proud heritage, through song, music and performance. The concert was a grand success. Later, the show was re-enacted at the Eden Gardens, for the Kolkata Youth Festival. They mastered and presented several other shows – Macbeth, Othello and Tagore’s ‘Shompotti Shomorpon.’

​

Literature, cultural engagements, performance art, politics remained Bimal’s pre-occupation and obsession all his life. He couldn’t be without each, to express his work – about real people, their ethics, simplicity and honesty, uncompromising moral fibre, over and above, unwavering love for life. Each of his work carried these qualities with power and panache.

​

This was a time shortly after independence, many ideologies and movements were questioning the nature of the new dominion, questioning if the way we had chosen was truly the path to a free India for its people or was this freedom a transition to a new administrative control, or was this independence a lie. Conflicts ensued, unfair means of policing continued, voices were suppressed or denied forum. Bimal was part of this political turmoil, at the core of this debate.

​

Banning of the Communist Party forced Bimal to leave home and go underground. In different guises, he roamed distant parts of the country in hiding. Prasad da, his host and friend, worked in a forested mountainous isolated area in Madhya Pradesh, with the railways, protected Bimal for awhile in these dark times. Here every evening at dusk, he would wander off and sit on a rocky perch by the river. Cool breeze and a setting sun made a wondrous scenic picture. Tall elephant grass below swept with the waves in the wind. The river flowed along the winding walking path. This rock was his daily seat, where he’d settle with his paper, pen and the Shonchoyita (Tagore’s book of songs). He would read some, or write, and sometimes just sit quietly enjoying the solitude. As suddenly as twilight would dip into darkness, Bimal would rise to head back.

​

On one of the days, Prasad da insisted on accompanying him on his walk. Impatiently, he waited for him to get ready, the twilight hour was waning. As they set out the sun had dipped, soon there’d be nightfall. Following the familiar path they trudged along to arrive at the turn towards the rock. As a matter of routine, Bimal was turning the bend, when Prasad da yanked his arm to hold him back. With a finger to his lips to silence him, pointed to the perch below. At the very place that Bimal would spend his evenings every day, was spread out in full regalia – a full grown tiger.

​

There were many such stories – chased by the police in Andhra Pradesh, Bimal on the run with his comrade Reddy, through paddy fields. As they hid themselves lying down flat in the fields from the chasing police Bimal would be tense in obvious anxiety and Reddy would crack jokes.

​

Since the Kharagpur homestead was located in a remote, forested area, the locals requested Surendranath to lease out one of the seven bungalows to the police, which became the police station with the enforcers in residence. The brothers and the police shared friendly camaraderie; they’d play volleyball together as well as resolve brawls amongst each other.

​

They would also organise shows and entertainment – magicians, who’d pull out tricks using coconut shells, beads and an endless string of other knick knacks – out of nowhere. And snake charmers, with a variety of poisonous slimy slithery kinds of snakes, performing dangerous stunts. In between all this, whispers would spread – ‘there might be a raid today’- and one of the cousins would rush out to bury the incriminating papers and books in the backyard bamboo grove. Police station adjoining his home meant, Bimal would have to slink only once in a long while under the cover of darkness – if only to meet his mother, the stoic, unaffected Usharani.