A Good Friday
OCCASIONAL JOTTINGS
A Good Friday
Dr. C. V. Ananda Bose
Governor of West Bengal
“Happy with the desk job now, Ananda ?” Shekharattan’s voice drifted in through the window piercing the faint glow of my table lamp and startled me.
It was a bit late in that mid-April day and there was eerie silence all-around. I was working on a Malayalam article that the publisher had been asking for – something about coconuts.
My heart missed a beat – the same way it did 50 years back at our mess when that baritone voice called out my name; Shekharattan was our guide, philosopher, friend and guardian angel as we took uneasy steps into our life’s hitherto unknown territories.
But I did not lift my head to look at the direction of the voice.
I can now look at and talk to Shekharattan without looking at him or actually vocalising.
I knew what he meant by that. He knew that I knew.
“No.” I said emphatically. “I am just waiting for the right time.”
“There is no right time for anything, Ananda. You have to make the time right.” The baritone voice seemed to be now gently circling in the room reassuringly.
I did not respond. There was no need to. Shekharattan knew I got the message. Shekharattan knew that I would take his advice seriously.
I finished editing my own writing and put down the pencil and shoved the papers into a folder. I switched off the table lamp and looked straight ahead into the darkness.
Image after image of people appeared on the wall as if a bioscope was playing. Image after image of people suffering, frantic calls for help, their wails, helplessness and resignation to fate appeared in a never ending loop.
“I never signed up for a desk job Shekharattan.” I thought. “I have to be with my people, in the field, at ground-zero.”
I reached out for my mobile phone and dialled my young and energetic officer.
“Can you arrange for a tour tomorrow morning? Wont be going far this time. Just to Malda and then to Murshidabad.” I said, aware that it was very late indeed.
There was silence and I could hear the gentleman’s thoughts – “But…it seems…risk…now…they…after a few days….”
“Sure Sir” he said confidently. “It will be arranged Sir. Which places you would want to visit in Malda and Murshidabad Sir?”
It was a last ditch attempt by the well-meaning official to somehow try to ‘influence’ me and may be try postpone the visits.
Nothing ‘influences’ me, my boy.
“I would like to visit the remotest areas of Malda and meet the displaced people taking temporary refuge.” I said matter of factly.
“And in Murshidabad, Sir?”
“Mainly where the land turned crimson. Where people’s home and hearth were demolished and devastated. Where people live in fear and where their heads are not held high.” I said simply.
“Got it, Sir.”
“I will be going to the field to see for myself the realities. The Government has taken a slew of measures and has brought the situation under control. We should take further steps to prevent similar instances in future.” I said emphatically.
And we set off for Malda the following day.
I love the train journey. It gives time to ponder over several things, be closer to people, be one with people, be in sync with the fellow passengers and the moving train. Too bad those powerful engines no longer make that chugging sound that we grew up hearing. These are now sleek, sophisticated and modern and make hissing sounds.
On the way I made the most of my forced low pace movement to interact with my fellow passengers, including a bright young boy and his parents. People took selfies with me. My image will be with them…hopefully in their heart, just as they are in mine.
I call these movements to the field – Mobile Raj Bhavan.
We alighted at the Malda railway station. I have been here before on field visits.
We set off straight for the remote location of Baishnabnagar for the Parlalpur High School relief camp.
It was evening when we made our way to the temporary relief camp set up by the Government to accommodate the displaced people from the violence affected areas of Murshidabad.
I interacted with the displaced people, who narrated their tale of woes. They talked freely with me. I had already instructed the Indian Red Cross, West Bengal to go to the field and render all help. They were doing a great job indeed.
As I was interacting with the displaced people inside the relief camp, people demanded that the Media be allowed inside to cover my interactions with the aggrieved people. I felt media should not be barred from covering the interactions. They were subsequently allowed in by the responsive district administration.
Hundreds of people were accommodated in the relief camp. And we interacted freely. Clearly, people had suffered and were at that time uncertain about the coming days. I assured them that the Government was taking all steps to ensure peace and their return to their home and hearth.
“I didn’t sign for the desk job Shekharattan.” I thought.
“Yes. Good. By being with your people, you have made the time good and the day good.” A whiff of air brought his response amid the din.
My sight was restricted to those sitting in front of me, but my vision could make out a tall figure with flowing hair standing behind the crowd, not moving, looking straight at me. I could ‘feel’ the figure. It was distinct. But every time I looked its way, I could not see it. I shift my gaze, and I detect it.
Long flowing hair. Long beard. Bare bodied.
The following day after interacting with some of the violence-affected families at the Guest House in Murshidabad, the Mobile Raj Bhavan then went on to the violence-affected regions such as Samsherganj, Jafrabad, Dhulian, Bethbona, and surrounding areas. My convoy stopped at various places and I interacted with people who had assembled in large numbers braving the hot and humid weather to talk to me.
People wanted to be assured by a visible presence of administrative and security mechanism that can come to their aid when needed, and does its job well. I assured them that the Government was doing its best. I appealed to all stakeholders to help create an atmosphere of trust and harmony and strengthen Government’s hands.
Bengal deserves peace, Bengal wants peace, Bengal shall get peace.
There was an assemblage of a large number of local people at all the places I visited.
Remarkably, at every place the same figure from yesterday evening at the Parlalpur relief camp was present. I could feel the figure but not see it. It was there among the people but away from them, as if watching over them, watching over me.
Why doesn’t the figure move closer? Why is it remaining out of reach and yet following? What does it want? How can anyone move around bare-bodied in such scorching heat?
It was broad daylight and the atmosphere was hot and humid. Unable to see the figure clearly, I observed it. I could now detect something sparkling on its head…something glowing. Like a crown. A Crown of Thorns.
And the answer also radiated itself instantly, clearing the nagging confusion since the previous evening.
“What day was it yesterday?” I enquired as my car started on our return journey en route Murshidabad railway station.
“It was 18th of April, Sir. It was Good Friday.” I was told.
Our return journey was as enlightening as our onward journey. Free interaction with people, selfies, exchange of greetings – even a pat from a small boy. Children are getting smarter and smarter these days.
The hissing sound of the train and the occasional honk.
I looked out of the window into the darkness.
I searched for the glowing Crown.
“He reveals Himself at your best, Ananda.” Shekharattan’s voice drifted in through the window.
I closed my eyes. It was still about an hour before the train reached Kolkata.
And I recalled our visit to Fatima in Portugal a few decades back and the place’s electrifying legacy - a miracle. A miracle that happened in that pastoral village.
Blessed Virgin Mary appeared before three shepherd children. The event took place sometime between May 13 and October 13 in 1917.
As it was a matter of faith, it had to be experienced if it were to be believed. This was the feeling that took me and my wife to Fatima. Travelling 90 miles from the Portuguese capital Lisbon, we reached not another tourist spot but a place in the middle of a rainbow that linked human hearts with the Holy Heart of God.
That is what Fatima is today. The flow of tens of thousands of devotees to Fatima is not to see sights but to install the essence of the divine revelations given by Fatima in one’s heart and to feel the ecstasy of that experience.
That divine revelation was received directly from the heavenly Mother. And those selected to receive it were three innocent shepherd children, Lucia, Francisco, Jacinta.
One afternoon, after prayer, the children were about to begin to play. They collected pebbles to make a play house. All of a sudden, they saw a circle of light of uncanny radiance. Mistaking it to be lighting, they started to run towards their house. Then they saw another circle of light. Looking at it they saw a woman brighter than the sun. There was a white rosary hanging from her hand. The apparition told the children: Pray the rosary.
They were also asked to come to the same place every 13th during the next five months. They did so and the Holy Mother appeared before them on all those days. This experience roused the entire community and the children were questioned. Also, believers and non-believers alike descended on the village to see the children who became veritable exhibits.
And for those who demand evidence for each and everything, the Holy Mother herself came with evidence one day.
An elderly priest at Fatima explained that experience to us with conviction. He had only heard about it, not seen it. Even then this hearsay evidence had the authority of faith. On October 13, 1917 when a crowd of 70,000 people stood watching, Fatima had evidence of the divine apparition. When the children had the visitation they were told what sight they were going to see. The sun would be seen like a disc of silver. Then it would spin like a fiery ball. It would go on spinning till giving the impression that it was going to fall on earth. What the people of Fatima saw on October 13 was exactly the same.
What is important here is not the magic of the miracle. What is relevant is the awareness of what the essence of the apparitions is. What the apparitions conveyed were pronouncements for peace and harmony in the world. They were lessons in faith and prayer. The Holy Mother taught the children that when man’s sins increased, God’s punishment came in the form of wars and poverty and distress.
The message revealed to Lucia, Jacinta and Freancisco have been codified as three ‘secrets.’ Of them, two secrets have been divulged. The first was a revelation to the children about the sufferings one had to undergo in hell. After showing the pain and suffering that the souls had to undergo, the apparition told the children that prayer and sacrifice were essential for the salvation of these souls.
The second secret later became a reality. The secret was that a world war would break out for the second time.
The third secret still remains in mystery. Lucia (who subsequently became Sister Lucia) had written it down and handed over to the Pope. The world is waiting to know its essence.
In my boyhood, I used to walk to the school at Mannanam crossing the grotto of Our Lady of Fatima. The belief in my youth was that if we lighted a candle before the idol of Our Lady of Fatima anything that we embark on would become successful. My doubt then was how Virgin Mary could get such a name as Our Lady of Fatima.
No one could give me the answer to my question. That I was made to travel all the way to Fatima to seek an answer may be the handiwork of the invisible powers above. When Arab legions overran Europe in the past, one Arab soldier went on a tour along with some members of his harem. But he was subdued in a skirmish by Christian soldiers in hiding. There was one very beautiful woman in the company of the Arab soldier. Fatima. A Christian soldier married her. After her death, the people named her village after her. That was how the present Fatima came into being.
Is there not something beyond coincidence for a Christian Holy land getting a Muslim name as Fatima? All faiths are divine. So what is in a name?
* * *
We arrived at Kolkata railway station.
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