The time was 4.00 PM. We had just been led to our seats after being welcomed at the gate with a ‘Shiv-shahit tumche swagat aahe’ (we welcome you to the Kingdom of Shivaji). The two typically Maharashtrian ladies at the entrance looked lovely in their brightly coloured ‘nav-vari saris’, their bejewelled ‘naths’ shining on their noses.
I looked at my watch. We had landed up one hour in advance to occupy our seats as expressly advised by the lady who had sold us the tickets. And fortunately so. Within minutes, the entire ground had filled up.
There were all kinds of people. From the genuinely interested/ inquisitive ones like us to the frankly bored variety who were there purely on a social/ political obligation. And then there were the ‘pseudo’ type for whom attending such a function was more of a status symbol-affair, something to brag about at parties, over cocktails and canapés.
At 5.15 PM the excited chatter of the audience was overshadowed by the tumultuous sound of the ‘Tutari’ (trumpet), drums and the loud shouts of ‘Chhatrapati Shivaji Raje che Jai ho’. We all stood and turned to look. Evidently our guest speaker had arrived.
Shiv-Shahir Babasaheb Purandare, the world’s foremost living authority on Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, stepped out of the Scorpio Jeep. He was assisted by two boys dressed up like ‘Mavlas’ (Shivaji Maharaj’s soldiers).
I began to evaluate the man as he walked slowly towards the stage, smiling at the young children who were showering him with flowers.
I am generally sceptical of famous people, wary even. Most famous people today in my view are pretentious, over-rated and generally not worth their salt. For the simple reason that most famous people that we hear about in today’s world really fit that description. I wondered, could this man be another example of the same breed?
As I watched this man, especially his eyes (for he was not too far from where I stood), I came to the grave conclusion that nothing could be farther from the truth. For one, his eyes lacked the smug ‘I’m famous and I’m meant to be worshipped’ look that most celebrities have when they walk into the crowd. His eyes conveyed confidence, a quiet confidence that bespoke of his vast knowledge. And more importantly, those eyes conveyed a humility that said, ‘I know a great deal, but that knowledge is greater than me, and not the other way around’.
The audience waited in hushed anticipation. Everyone wondered what he was going to say or do. The first thing he did was to offer obeisance at the statue of Shivaji on the stage. Then he faced the audience and greeted everyone with a namaskar. The next thing he did was to dispense with the ‘Wedding Reception’ issue gaudy, red-and-gold armchair that was set up for him, and settle into a simple ‘Neelkamal’ type plastic chair. Then the ‘Master of Ceremonies’ began the introduction of the Guest Speaker.
Being the Marathi-illiterate person that I am, I had just vaguely heard of Babasaheb Purandare as a historian, his field of interest being the great Maratha King Shivaji Bhosale and the writer of the most authentic biography on the same. I also knew him to be the author of the revolutionary 300-cast, drama ‘Jaanata Raja’.
What I did not know is that this man had given over 14,000 lectures till date and had re-traced ON FOOT, the actual routes taken by Shivaji during his life, amounting to about 200,000 km! Including one from Agra to Pune!
Mr Purandare had dedicated the better part of the 86 years of his life absorbing every single fragment of information about Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and knew him intimately as he knew himself.
The said gentleman waited patiently for the rhetoric to end. He had either heard it all many times before, or he did not genuinely seem to care. Or both.
The introduction ended and a couple of people appeared on stage, paid their respects to Mr Purandare and tried to impress the audience how well they knew Mr Purandare.
They withdrew and Guest Speaker was left alone on the stage. Something that the Guest Speaker appeared to be looking forward to.
There were a few moment of silence.
Then he cleared his throat once, and began to speak.
It was not only the tales of Shivaji that he narrated; it was the way and the intensity with which he did it. He began with a voice that had an astounding thunderous quality for his age, one that would put a youngster to shame. It would rise in a crescendo, and then fall, only to rise again. His age, his infirmity was long forgotten as he launched with a passionate fervour into his tale. His eyes would look searchingly into the distance and find a particular event, and then he would re-create it for us. He spoke of people of yore, Sardars, Kings, Noblemen, their women and their children… Like he knew them personally, almost as if he met them everyday.
And he took us back with him, back into that era…We could hear the clash of swords, the screams of the Mughal soldiers as the Maratha soldiers bore down upon them, the triumphant notes of the bugles and loud cries of ‘Har Har Mahadev!’ We could even see the saffron flags fluttering atop the mighty forts!
And sometimes, he would return to the present. With deep sadness in his voice, he would point out, how times have changed. How everyone today is merely using the name of that great Maratha King to serve their ends, while ignoring the values that Shivaji actually stood for. He mentioned how it would really serve our society to read, assimilate and imbibe the messages in Shiva-charitra (biography of Shivaji). By doing so, he opined that while every family may not bring forth a Shivaji, at least it would bring forth a good citizen!
In the context of naming everything after Shivaji and building statues of Shivaji in every nook and cranny, he narrated an amazing experience of his own in England, way back in the 1960s. He had befriended an Englishman who used to study Maratha history alongside him in a Library in London. Mr Purandare had expressed his surprise to the Englishman about how he was not able to find a single statue of Winston Churchill in the entire city of London. While one could not walk a couple of hundred yards in Mumbai without coming across the name ‘Shivaji’ somewhere or the other. How could they do this to a magnificent, brave and noble personality like Churchill? Did their countrymen not want to remember him? Whereupon the Englishman first laughed, and then gravely told him, “We don’t need statues of Winston Churchill……Because Winston Churchill lives in our blood!”
Mr Purandare was left shocked and ashen with regret at the implication, that Shivaji did not, in ours. And it was true, as it is true today. Most of us wouldn’t care a dime about who this Shivaji was, or what he meant to India.
Mr Purandare mentioned how the first work on Shivaji was formally written by an Indian, Mr Vishnupant Aundhkar, in 1905, almost 300 years after Shivaji fought and successfully defended this land against the invading Moghuls. He mentioned the Englishman Mr James Douglas, who in his books written in the late 1800s, cried out to Indians in horror, “Where are your writers, your novelists and your historians. Where are your Walter Scotts and your Shakespeares?! Is there no one who has written about this Great Man (Shivaji)?!!”
I was impressed by another facet of Mr Purandare. There was not a single ill-reference to other communities; something that today’s followers of Shivaji feel obliged to do. Nor was there any hint of English language-bashing in his speech. Indeed, he quoted from books written by English authors with equal aplomb, and with excellent diction. This Man was a true scholar and patriot.
Mr Purandare regretted, very deeply, that there are no men like Shivaji living today. Like all stalwarts of his class, he lamented that such great men who created history just simply did that. They created and remained a part of history. There is no one in today’s world who has the mettle to create history and be remembered in that way.
The lecture ended. The noise of the warriors, their galloping horses and their bugles faded away. The pomp and splendour of a bygone era melted into the darkness and we soon became aware for the first time, that the evening had become night, that we were hungry, or feeling cold, or had to go to the loo, or that the mosquitoes were biting…
And other such trivial events that make up our trivial lives.
As I walked home, I wondered for the nth time, how many personalities like Mr Babasaheb Purandare and Chhatrapati Shivaji has our country produced.
And indeed, how little we care….
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