Mitali: The Trauma of Losing a Sibling

Maybe I lied to her when I used to reassure her that she was going to be alright and was going to resume her life in some measure of normalcy in the future years; maybe all my gestures/expressions were false when I used to run my fingers across her forehead or embrace her on occasions when she was able to move around a bit; and maybe all my exhibitions of love care and responsibility were exposed as superficial when I failed to turn up in Delhi where she along with my mother were treated during September-October, 2022 (my mother Urmila Chakravarty was also diagnosed with dental cancer the same month the same year as she was) and when all the members of my parental family and the in-laws converged. Since that fateful day in August, 2022 when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer to that disastrous day of March 6, 2025—the day my younger blood sister Mitali (Mainu) Chakravarty Sarma (November 2, 1963—March 6, 2025) passed away in the wee hours in a hospital in Guwahati after giving a brave fight for nearly three years against the dreaded disease of cancer that I prefer to call a demon—an eternal curse on humankind that rages on still, with utter disdain to the supposed advancements in medical science and facilities.

Maybe all my reassurances to Mainu and her two bright and caring sons, Sagarneel and Akashneel, about my supposed consultations with various doctors I knew who gave the opinion that Ovarian Cancer was the least-risk cancer unless the disease advanced to stage-3 or 4, were equally superficial and made up.

No, all my allegations against my apparently helpless self are not true. I believed in every word I uttered and in every gesture I made. For I had Hope. Yes, I hoped for the best throughout Mainu’s fight and sufferings. Even when I was shocked beyond words along with all in the family when in just about a month since the first symptoms and the diagnosis her tumour grew incredibly fast almost reaching the stage-3, so that the Delhi doctors who suggested an immediate removal surgery had to resort to sessions of Chemotherapy to shrink it first. My helpless state fumed in anger and frustration over the delay. But I still believed in Hope—she’s going to get well.

And my optimism that could very well have been a cover to hide my tortured self in, seemed to have been rewarded, because after the surgery and the Chemo sessions my open-hearted courageous sibling took the doctors’ permission to go through her elder son Sagarneel’s marriage as she had planned months before her diagnosis, of course, not in the elaborate way she planned previously. My Hope soared as we saw my Braveheart sister going spiritedly through all the chores of preparations organisation and celebrations. It was like any other marriage, in every possible detail. I admired her all the time as we attended the ceremony in Guwahati, although she looked thin and a bit emaciated she never allowed it to affect the celebrations in any way. Daughter-in-law Mayuri entered the family and joined wholeheartedly with the two sons in doing anything possible on earth to help her and save her.

During most of the year 2023 I could stick successfully to my Hope, for Mainu had been more or less normal attending to her duties in the school she founded and other social mixing, helping others and her Chemo sessions continued, every session tiring her and incapacitating her for a few days. In October that year we worked together in organizing the biennial Translation Award function held in memory of our father Author Amulya Kumar Chakravarty. She worked wholeheartedly, not showing any discomfort in the effort.

However, the demon named Cancer had other designs. Early next year, that is 2024, the demonic tumour came back with a vengeance. As her cancer had reached stage-3 the treating doctors indicated a 90% chance of recurrence. With her apparent recovery all in the family hoped that she’d defeat the demon ultimately. Maintaining a brutal frankness and honesty Mainu had always been an active participant in a WhatsApp group that was started for the all the medical updates. In January, 2024 Mainu herself posted on this group about the relapse that left us shattered and depressed. Her post read like this: ‘Medical reports are not very good. The disease has progressed and spread. Will have to change the treatment plan now. Will be in Delhi for a few days to finalize the treatment plan and get a few tests and procedures done. Then will continue in Guwahati.’

Her courage and confidence helped me a great deal to stick to my Hope. Chemo sessions continued and stent surgeries were made now and then to bypass the persisting tumour. To shrink it to a medically manageable size a radiation course was suggested by the Delhi team, to possibly give her relief from pain in the lower abdomen and urinary issues, and Mainu agreed to undergo in a Guwahati hospital. Unfortunately, the radiation course given in August 2024 led to a process of increasing deterioration in her wellbeing with its side-effects taking control of her body and thus effecting the imbalances in her bodily parameters. As her body became very weak further sessions of Chemotherapy were no longer possible. But I didn’t give up Hope in my brave sister.

In January 2025 her younger son Akashneel posted in the group: ‘[1/6, 10:41] Akashneel Peu: Yesterday health deteriorated a little with extreme fatigue, tiredness and loss of appetite. Had to admit her last night at ICU of Health City, Guwahati for proper care. Will be shifting to room today probably depending on availability
[1/6, 11:51] Akashneel Peu: Dr Smita came to visit at ICU. Said there was severe electrolyte imbalance hence the fatigue and tiredness. Said will shift her to cabin when available and recovery will be done in 3-4 days.’

But she never recovered even as I refused to give up Hope. Shortly Mainu developed serious bowl obstructions and when sepsis was suspected she was again taken to Delhi for a major surgery called Ileostomy. Just a few days after the surgery when she was far from fit Mainu insisted on to be taken home, perhaps she knew her time was getting shorter and she wanted to complete many a task that she planned. She was shifted to Guwahati and she was seriously ill now—totally bed-ridden and unable to even sit up on bed. As the greatest hammer blow Akashneel informed me that there were no avenues for further treatment now.

We visited Mainu in her Guwahati home on 17^th February, 2025. She was lying there on her bed—all bones and skin now, her bodyweight had reduced to an extreme low. There were close relatives and in-laws attending to her, apart from a young girl as a paramedical attendant. We sat beside her bed and conversed. Yes, my Braveheart was still spirited and articulate. In fact, throughout the period since 2022 her voice was always strong and resonant every time I phoned her. Maybe this contributed to my optimistic expectations greatly.

My Hope got another lease of life when to a query she replied that she was feeling hungry and was able to take bits of normal food since yesterday. So I sincerely believed in what I said, that if she went on taking normal food for a few days more she could regain some lost weight in which case she could just be physically fit for the pending Chemo sessions. Her two sons nodded in agreement; however, I felt they were far from being convinced. They seemed to know it very well that I didn’t or rather didn’t want to know. Mainu loved her sons and believed in them unconditionally. Often spelling out proudly what they’ve been doing and sacrificing for her sake. No doubt about that. They’ve done everything possible on earth to save her or at least to help relieve her unbearable pain. Sagarneel who had a successful career in the US came back to India to be with her and Akashneel never failed her in being around in times of need while pursuing his intended career in the Indian civil services In fact, he appeared for his first UPSC exam in 2020, just after the catastrophic tragedy of their father Dr. Aswini Kumar Sarma’s sudden demise. And then her mother’s crisis; but strong-willed and hardworking as he is, he never allowed himself to be derailed by emotion, and last year he cracked the UPSC by getting a Group-A allied service with Mainu being the first to announce it in the group. 

On 3^rd March this year I got a message from Akashneel informing me of Mainu’s admission in the emergency ward and then at the ICU, after her haemoglobin and pressure fell to critically low levels. All tests were done the next day and on 5^th March when I called up Sagarneel he informed me that Mainu’s parameters were normal now and at that moment she was being taken for the Pet Scan to know the status of the tumour after which she was to be shifted to the cabin. My dwindling Hope surged up again and I spent the day in relative comfort, retiring to bed somewhat relaxed. And then around 4.30 am Sagarneel told me about the end in a shaken voice, shattering all my hope and mercilessly taking my beloved sibling away.

I realize now that my Hope has never been real, but only a cover to shelter my wounded soul in and trying to manage my sufferings. Even while managing my sufferings by moving on with my normal work, meeting friends, attending ceremonies or having a good dish my wounded soul often pulled me up as if saying ‘how could you do that, brute, while your own sister is suffering so much’. Yes, losing a sibling is one of the most terrible things in life, like losing a husband or wife, a parent or any member of the blood family for that matter. Every family has a powerful bloodline that does connect every member whether they want it or not, it has a history and a bonding running through generations and any death in the line creates a void that remains forever, never allowing any ‘healing’, but only leaves the option of managing the pain. The experience becomes traumatic if the death of a sibling has itself been tragic and untimely, and most importantly if the sibling is younger in age. In our childhood days we knew that our father had a younger brother who died at a very young age and it created a void that never got healed up in spite of the six younger sisters who followed. We the children too grieved for him even without knowing how he looked and missing out a possible paternal uncle for us.  

We are four siblings—myself the eldest, my ex-IPS & writer brother Jyotirmay next, the third being the teacher-social worker-philanthropist Mitali and the youngest is writer-homemaker Gitali Kashyap. We two brothers have now lost a younger sibling, that too in an untimely tragic manner. This is not just pain, this is trauma, and it can only be managed over time. Death of a younger sibling creates a sense of helplessness in the elder siblings as if the latter have failed to protect the younger one. Our mother came every day to Mainu’s house sitting there like in a stupor and lambasting an unjust God for sparing her at 87 and taking her beloved daughter away. (Our mother had too shown tremendous strong willpower and patience by successfully undergoing a 10-hour jaw removal cum reconstruction surgery and the aftermath in Delhi in the period I mentioned earlier; she also had a long radiation course due to which she along with my younger brother could not attend Sagarneel’s wedding. However, the treatment has effectively kept her cancer at bay.) She often reprimanded me for cracking a joke far too easily. I didn’t tell her that every time I looked at the two young sons who were now without a parent I got heart-wrenching pangs and I desperately wanted to somehow prepare them for the aftermath when they’ll be on their own. Instead, I told her that she should now convert all her sorrow for Mainu into pure love and shower that on her grandchildren unsparingly. Gitali managed to keep herself calm with a sad smile now and then, and poured her heart out as a writer in the pages of the souvenir we published in Mainu’s memory.

The profound grief that follows the death of a sibling is universal. We have it everywhere, at home and away, and being a writer myself I’m more prone to find out a few, among many, famous writers-poets who suffered similarly. Legendary poet-lyricist-composer Parvati Prasad lost his elder sister in an untimely manner and shed profuse tears in an immortal song while another legendary writer-poet-composer-playwright Bauli Kavi Kamalananda Bhattacharyya lost his youngest brother in prime to a sudden illness and penned and sang various writings and immortal songs. These songs turn the eyes of even perfect strangers moist even now. The Bronte sisters lost siblings one after the other and created classics like ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Bronte and ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte. Virginia Woolf who had lost both parents and a sibling brother had manic depressive phases, but still created several famous novels in-between. Franz Kafka and Edgar Allan Poe also had similar traumas and their experiences got reflected amply in their short stories and novels of mystic gloom.

The purpose of citing these examples is to emphasize on ‘managing a trauma’, particularly for people who are not writers or artistes. My eldest maternal uncle died at 48 in a tragic accident, and it created havoc in his siblings—two younger brothers, three elder sisters and two younger sisters—with four of them dying of cardiac-related issues and two others developing cardiac issues. It is more or less known that deaths of siblings do create mental health and myocardial infarction issues through unmanaged trauma. We must be careful—we know it’ll never heal, but we can take necessary steps so that it doesn’t continue to traumatize us.

When I look at the photo of this beautiful couple I cannot help myself but to agree with my mother’s concern for heavenly injustice. Not only her, but also looking at Mainu’s mother-in-law who lost his eldest son in 2020, her first daughter to the pandemic in 2021 and now her daughter-in-law. While all of these young people had years of good service left in them still to go on rendering help and guidance to the people in general. However, this is an issue that will never yield us a solution or some comfort of the mind. We must look at the larger spectrum of human life, and then we’ll see how so many unfortunate people are suffering in all sorts of ways and they cannot even afford to examine if God is just or unjust. This is our world. We must take it as it comes. Acceptance should be the mantra.

One word on the Hindu funeral rituals. With the cremation on the first day the rituals continue for 13 days during which period all kin, relatives, friends and associates visit the bereaved family spending time with them and giving them loads of fruits, milk and other eatables that are allowed. Only after Chautha, the fourth day, the members of the bereaved family can take rotis along with boiled vegetables. No fried items are allowed during the whole period. On the 11^th day the main Shraddha takes place and on the 13^th day members of the bereaved family start taking non-veg (fish) and other normal foods in a community lunch. Lots of people question such elaborate mourning practices. But the rituals have a far more positive side. This is grief sharing and it always helps. In today’s digital world we must always be wary of internet loneliness and social media masking of emotions.

Today, the 6^th of April, marks the first month after the tragic passing away of Mitali. We join Sagarneel, Mayuri and Akashneel along with their kin and friends to offer prayers for the eternal bliss of our Braveheart sister/daughter/mother/daughter-in-law/teacher/compassionate leader Mainu. 

The Celestial Messaging!

It is a fact of life that we keep on getting celestial or divine messages from the invisible world—particularly during times when catastrophes/tragedies happening in or about to befall our family or locality or country and we might as well call these as intuition or premonition or telepathy or presentiment or the like. Most of the times we fail to decipher these in time; sometimes we understand but fail to act upon it and some other time we comprehend enough to prepare well for it. From at least three months prior to my father’s demise I had been having a very disturbing time—wanting desperately to go to him, be by his side; dreaming about him and at times having a hallucination of seeing him around. However, living quite far away from home, I failed to act upon it due to various external factors including a persistent financial strain. As was inevitable, he passed away one early morning and I could reach home only on the sixth day travelling for three days on an ordinary train as booking a flight those days was almost unthinkable. I joined my family, totally broke, depressed and inconsolable.

The first night we slept in my father’s bedroom. Early morning I woke up; there was an incessant chirping of a few house sparrows just outside the window. And I got a flash: my father was content and in peaceful rest, and that I should also feel happy, not to depress the atmosphere further. It came instantly before I had any chance of interpreting the chirping, and it did have a soothing impact on my mental health for the rest of the period.

(You can find a very similar territory in my thriller The Astral Limbo! No harm if you'd like to take a look!)

There was also a very painful prelude to the demise of my father-in-law: he had not been well for some time, but since he didn’t confide in anybody about his condition and we failed to take it seriously enough his condition worsened, and finally when we decided upon the journey he was literally on his death bed. For our peace of mind my wife and I decided to shift him to the nearest city for intensive treatment; we were desperate to do something for him, however futile or too late it were. Those 2/3 nights we spent in my in-laws’ house were terrifyingly disturbing for me. Every night I felt: the spirits of all his ancestors descending on me, not allowing me to fall asleep. I interpreted it thus: the ancestors came down and wanted to take possession of his soul in peace, because the end was inevitable and they did not want him to suffer more at the hospital beds and labs; they seemed to be angry at our efforts to linger it further. However, my father-in-law, kind soul as his was, understood his daughter’s feelings and allowed us to transport him for one last attempt to save him.

And, as it happened, he came back home again after almost a tortuous month to pass away in peace a few days later. Meanwhile, I had to go to my workplace for an emergency, and returned as soon as my wife gave me the sad news of his passing away. During the next few days of rituals leading to the aadya shraddha on the 11^th day I had a few supernatural experiences which, in final analysis, were only a communication or messaging from his soul.

Once around noontime, when I was alone in the room normally allotted to me on our visits, somehow I had an urge of sitting on the old wooden chair with arm-rests preserved there which was the favorite chair of my wife’s grandfather. As I moved towards it something inexplicable happened: the chair seemed to have jerked sideways which froze me on my track. I deciphered it thus: it was due to the profound respect the grandfather was given in that household, and that my father-in-law who lost his father very early in life wanted me to adhere to it.

One night as we were sleeping I woke up suddenly to a peculiar sound. It was a sound of laboured breathing that seemed to emanate from within the bed. It was so loud and clear that the bed almost shivered and shuddered. I put my ears near to my soundly-sleeping wife—no, it wasn’t coming from her. I examined the bed all around, but failed to identify the source of the sound. My efforts woke my wife up. I told her about it, she advised me not to think much about it. So we went back to sleep.

Very late in the night another time I woke up without understanding why. There was a pin-drop silence and it was pitch dark in the room—the period being a waxing moon fortnight. Suddenly I beheld a patch or a circle of bright white light floating at the ceiling, then moving all around us. It continued its movement for more than a minute, as if watching us, surveying us. My mind immediately started exploring the possible source for an infiltrating light. There was no chance. The curtained two windows on one side of the longish room were completely sealed in by the tin-roofed pandal constructed in the courtyard for the shraddhaceremony; heavy curtains were also fully drawn across the two windows on the other side and from that walled-in side there was no possibility of any light; the lone street light in the driveway had not been working for a few days. I confirmed every facet the next morning and found no justification for an infiltrating light.

There could have been only one messaging in those occurrences: that the spirit of my father-in-law wanted to assure us again and again that he was with us all the time and would be watching over us for some time. It is also interesting to note that my wife never expressed surprise or shock at my accounts, because, as I came to know later, she was also having similar communications those days.

 

Hark! Such messages keep on coming and are all around you! You only need to respect those and try to decipher to your own benefit. If you deem it to be superstition you’re most welcome to ignore this piece, apart from the messages! 

বোৱাৰীৰ দৃষ্টিত শহুৰদেউতা--অমূল্য কুমাৰ চক্ৰৱৰ্তীৰ ৯৩ সংখ্যক জন্মবাৰ্ষিকীত (Daughter-in-law On Father-in-law--On The Occasion Of The 93rd Birth Anniversary Of Amulya Kumar Chakravarty)!

( A Personal Post in Assamese language.)

'পিতৃপক্ষ' বা 'শ্ৰাদ্ধ পক্ষ'...গণেশ চতুৰ্দশীৰ পিছত কৃষ্ণপক্ষৰ ১৫ দিন 'পিতৃ পক্ষ' বা 'শ্ৰাদ্ধ পক্ষ' নামেৰে প্ৰচলিত এই সময় খিনিত আন কোনো শুভ কাম নকৰা দেখিবলৈ পাইছিলোঁ মুম্বাইত .....প্ৰতিপদৰ পৰা অমাৱস্যালৈকে প্ৰত্যেক ব্যক্তিয়ে নিজৰ প্ৰয়াত মাতা -পিতা, আৰু পূৰ্বজসকলৰ উপৰিও সমন্ধীয় লোক, গুৰু , বন্ধু-বান্ধৱৰো - তিথি বিশেষে সকলোৱে কৰা শ্ৰাদ্ধ কৃত্য দেখি অভিভূত হৈছিলোঁ । বছৰৰ যিকোনো মাহৰ যিকোনো তিথিত স্বৰ্গবাসী হোৱা সকলৰ বাবে কৃষ্ণ পক্ষৰ সেই তিথিত শ্ৰাদ্ধ কৰা নিয়ম আছে । পিতৃ পক্ষৰ দ্বিতীয়া তিথিত মোৰ পিতৃ স্বৰ্গবাসী হোৱাৰ পৰা তিথি মিলাই আমিও মুম্বাইত পিণ্ড দান কৰিবলৈ ললো। আৰু সেইখিনি কৰি পৰম শান্তি পোৱা যায় ।মন প্ৰসন্ন হয় ।...

 

পিতৃ পক্ষৰ চতুৰ্দশীত (৬ অক্টোবৰ ,১৯৯১চনত) শহুৰ দেউতা অমূল্য কুমাৰ চক্ৰৱৰ্তী স্বৰ্গবাসী হয় । পিণ্ড দান কৰি কিছু অনুভৱ মই প্ৰথমৰ পৰাই কৰিছিলোঁ । তেখেত ঢুকুৱাৰ পিছৰ পৰাই মাহে মাহে পিণ্ড দান কৰিবলৈ লৈছিল তেখেতৰ ডাঙৰ ল’ৰা শ্ৰী চিন্ময় চক্ৰৱৰ্তী য়ে । তেতিয়াৰ পৰা মোৰ বহুত কিছু অভিজ্ঞতা হবলৈ ধৰিলে ।মন কৰিছিলো তেখেতে বিচৰা মতেই সকলো হয়। অসমৰ নিয়মমতে তেখেতৰ বছেৰেকীয়া শ্ৰাদ্ধ আহিণৰ কৃষ্ণা চতুৰ্দশীত কৰাহয় । কেতিয়াবা পিতৃপক্ষত তিথি নিমিলে । তথাপিও পিণ্ড দান সুন্দৰকৈ হয় । এইবছৰ ৫ অক্টোবৰত পিতৃ পক্ষতে পিণ্ডদান কৰিবলৈ মিলিল । বৰ ভাল লাগিল ।

 

আজি ৭ অক্টোবৰত তেখেতৰ ৯৩ (93)স‌ংখ্যক জন্মদিন।👏🌺 দেবী পক্ষৰ লগতে শহুৰ দেউতা অমূল্য কুমাৰ চক্ৰৱৰ্তী দেৱৰ জন্মদিনত শ্ৰদ্ধা ,সেৱাৰে মোৰ কিছু স্মৃতিৰ কথা...... মোক সংগীত যাত্ৰা অব্যাহত ৰাখিবলৈ কোৱা কথা বিশেষ ভাবে মনত থাকি গল... সেয়া আশীৰ্বাদ । ৰাগ স‌ংগীত ভাল পাইছিল ,কিন্তু ৰাগ নাজানে বুলি কৈছিল । দৰবাৰী ৰাগ তেখেতৰ প্ৰিয় আছিল বাবে মোক কৈছিল আৰু চিঠিতো লেখিছিল ''তোমাৰ গুৰুক কৈ সোনকালে শিকি লবা মই শুনিব লাগে'' ..এইবোৰ কথা আৰু সমুখত বহি ৰাগ সংগীত উপভোগ কৰা কথা , এইবোৰ চিৰকাল মনত থাকি যোৱা কথা । এইবোৰ ঈশ্বৰৰ ইচ্ছা ।

আৰু কিছুমান কথা.... মুম্বাইত মই নতুন অৱস্হাত অকলে কৰবালৈ যাবলৈ অসুবিধা পাওতে মোৰ লগত গৈছিল । স্পষ্ট কথা কবলৈ শিকালে। মোক নিজৰ ছোৱালী বুলি কৈছিল । আৰু কিছুমান কথা কৈছিল ...-সেই বোৰ তেতিয়া বুজাই নাছিলোঁ ,এতিয়া বয়সৰ লগে লগে কথা বোৰ বুজি গৈ আছোঁ ।। চিৰসত্য কথা কৈ গৈছে । শিক্ষণীয় কথা । এতিয়া পদেপদে মনত পৰি গৈছে । মানুহৰ ঠগ -প্ৰৱণ্চনাৰ পৰা বাছি চলিবলৈ ...,সাৱধানে থাকিবলৈ কৈছিল । নিজেও সৎ পথত থাকি জীৱন অতিবাহিত কৰিছিল আৰু আনেও সেইটো কৰাটোত ভাল পাইছিল । বহুত কথা মোৰ পিতৃৰ আগত কৈছিল , চিঠিতো লেখিছিল ,তাৰে এষাৰ কথা পিতৃয়ে প্ৰায়ে সুৱৰিছিল আৰু আমাৰ আগতো কৈছিল--''বহুত অভাবৰ মাজতো সততাৰে টিকি থাকিবলৈ অনবৰত এখন অঘোষিত ৰণা‌ংগনত যুদ্ধ কৰি আছো আৰু থাকিম ''।

 

বহু বছৰ আগতে,- ৬০ ৰ দশকত বোধহয় ,তেখেতে নগাৱত চাকৰি কৰি আছিল। তেতিয়া তেখেত দেউতাৰ ওচৰলৈ এবাৰ হেনো স‌ংগীতৰ কিবা এটা আনিবলৈ আমাৰ ঘৰলৈ গৈছিল । তাৰ বহু বছৰৰ পিছতহে মোৰ বিবাহৰ প্ৰস্তাৱেৰে দেউতা তেখেতৰ ওচৰলৈ যাওতে পুনৰ কথোপকথন হৈছিল । নিজে সোৱৰণী চাই একে আষাৰেই কৈছিল---'এইখন বিয়া হব '। বাকী কথা পুত্ৰৰ ওপৰত এৰিছিল। ....

 

সৰল -সহজ জীৱন যাপন কৰা এজন সাধাৰণ মানুহ আছিল তেখেত । কোনো বিলাসিতা নাছিল ।-কৰ্ম জীৱনত তেখেতৰ পৰিচয় আছিল এজন সৎ,নিৰ্ভীক আৰু দক্ষ বিষয়া হিচাপে ।

কৰ্ম জীৱনৰ ব্যস্ততাৰ মাজতে তেখেতে বিভিন্ন সাহিত্য ৰচনা অব্যাহত ৰাখিছিল । অসমৰ অনুবাদ সাহিত্যত তেখেতৰ কালজয়ী বৰঙণি সকলোৱে জানে -- হোমাৰৰ 'ওডিছী' ,'ইলিয়াদ' , আৰু 'ভাৰ্জিলৰ 'ইনীদ ' অনুবাদ গ্ৰন্থ ৰূপে প্ৰকাশ পাইছিল । তাৰোপৰি 'খান আব্দুল গফৰ খানৰ আত্মজীৱনী ' আৰু ডেকামেৰণৰ দহোটা সাধুৰ অনুবাদ , ক'ৰিম মুন্সীৰ চৰ', উপন্যাস 'বিষবৃক্ষ'ৰ প্ৰথম খণ্ড, শিশু উপযোগী ৰচনা 'জাজী নৈ ভটিয়াই ', ভূতৰ বিহু' ইত্যাদি । অৱসৰ গ্ৰহণৰ পিছত স্বাস্থ্যৰ ক্ষিপ্ৰ অৱনতি হোৱাৰ বাবে তেখেতৰ সাহিত্য সাধনাৰ সপোন অপূৰ্ণ হৈ ৰল ।.............

আমাৰ শ্ৰদ্ধাঞ্জলিৰে....🙏🙏🙏

Amulya Kumar Chakravarty: A Father Of More Than A Lifetime!

 Paying homage and tributes to my father (Deuta) Amulya Kumar Chakravarty (1928-1991), an unsung writer-author from Assam, on his 29^thDeath Anniversary today. He had translated the greatest epics of the world: Greek Poet-Legend Homer’s epics ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey’ and Roman Poet-Legend Virgil’s Latin epic ‘Aeneid’ into Assamese from the respective English translations. All these three books had been published by Publication Board, Assam. His other translations include the autobiography of Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan (copies not available with us at the moment) and a compilation of a few tales of Decameron by Italian Writer-Poet-Legend Giovanni Boccaccio. Amulya Kumar Chakravarty’s original works in Assamese are ‘Karim Munshir Char’ (a compilation of short stories), ‘Bishbriksha’(first volume of an incomplete novel) and ‘Jaji Noi Bhotiay’ (an adventure novella for children).  His larger family had instituted a memorial Trust in his name in 2002 in collaboration with Panjabari Sahitya Sabha, and has been conferring a biennial Translation Award on outstanding Author-Translators of Assam since 2003.

Deuta never got what he deserved in life. A voracious reader of world literature from school days he developed an interest in writing too, and ideally wanted to join the academic line to devote himself to writing. After completing his BA in English Literature from Cotton College he went to Kolkata (then Calcutta) to do his MA. However, he was called back to Assam because of family issues midway through his PG course there. The simple and amiable young scholar came back as directed, and later had to join Assam Civil Service under pressure, and started his career as a Sub-Deputy Collector, his professed writing aim now secondary, not forgotten though. As an efficient, dedicated and honest officer he had always been busy with his work and his regular transfers; but he kept on with his writings: an occasional short story apart from his main objective of completing the translations of the world epics. My mother, Urmila Chakravarty, helped him in  her part-time role as his secretary, copying every page that he wrote in her beautiful handwriting, meant for the publishers. In our school days, we remember seeing him writing on a narrow wooden table under the flickering light of a kerosene lamp, and during the sticky summer evenings mother trying to cool him with a hand-fan, when, in those times, a ceiling fan was a luxury, and electricity much more used to playing the game of hide and seek.  

Deuta taught us valuable lessons in life that always stood us in good stead, till today: simple living & high thinking, it was a constant struggle for him to run the family of six with meagre but pure and honest monthly earnings; developing a sense of responsibility, although he did take absolute care in our studies and health issues, but left to us to take major tasks/decisions ourselves like preparing for/writing the exams or choosing the type of courses/subjects we wanted to pursue; to choose the fields/professions for future employment on our own which is unthinkable for modern-day parents; principles of unshakable honesty and integrity in work; never to indulge in self-promotion or flattery and never to crave for publicity; always to act and work with a strong sense of social commitment.

We salute him for his outstanding knowledge and depth in Assamese and in English languages. His constant advice to us and all: read, read and read as many books as possible of world literature which would increase your depth of understanding the lands and the people, and if you develop an aptitude, this would also help you start creative writing in your mother tongue and in English or any foreign language of your choice; if you find it extremely difficult to read with understanding, do not despair, instead, keep a dictionary ready by your side while you read. Whatever I am capable of writing in Assamese and in English today I owe it fully to him, for his painstaking efforts to train or at times to goad us on the right path.  

At a relatively mature age we were awestruck by the collections of his books, almost all of the world classics and others, at his native home at Teok in eastern Assam. When my grandfather, Indreswar Chakravarty who was a farmer but still a writer, found it not viable enough to continue with his farm, and decided to sell off and shift to our home in Guwahati, we took stock of all the books, transferred those to Guwahati home and catalogued all of the books with a seal ‘Home Library’, specially made to preserve his loved treasure. On all his transfers, his immediate task had been to make four cards for the district libraries there, and hand over those to us. We regularly visited the district libraries and borrowed invaluable books in English and in Assamese. Irrespective of whether we borrowed or bought the books home, Deuta always had the exclusive right to have the first read. He saved every paisa in his hard student and working days to buy books, and we too adopted this practice throughout our days, till now.

Amulya Kumar Chakravarty, a father for whom our primary emotion was fear in our early childhood days; a father we started respecting from a relatively mature age; and a father who became our perfect friend in all respects at a mature age, guiding us, enjoying with us and celebrating with us. Having a father like him, well, is the ultimate blessing in our lives. I was fortunate to be able to visit Deuta in his pre-retirement posting as Director of Official Language Implementation at Dispur. On my every visit I was thrilled to discover his workplace as more of a centre of scholarly discourses than a typical government office, and the way the officers and staff admired and respected him. 

Unfortunately, Deuta’s intent desire to revert to full-time writing after retirement was also not fulfilled. About two years after his retirement he passed away on the 6^th of October, 1991, under doubtful circumstances at a nursing home in Guwahati. He contracted diabetes at his early forties and as in those days there were not many effective methods of treatment the disorder took toll on his health, and it started failing him from just when he was thinking of himself as a free man. He also agreed to work for about a year as Principal Secretary, District Council of Karbi Anglong after retirement, at his beloved family friend’s earnest request, and during that period he met with a near-fatal road accident in Diphu in 1990 which contributed towards further deterioration of his overall health.

 

As fond memories of him keep flooding in we cannot help but take solace in the fact that he is up there to take full care of our youngest brother, Dr. Aswini Kumar Sarma (1961-2020), whom we lost on September 18, 2020, in a very shocking and untimely way. Aswini or our beloved Sunny, was as good a child to him, probably more, as the four of us. Although much later in his life, the bond of love and friendship between the father-in-law and the son-in-law was something that defied the traditional family textbook patterns, with Sunny taking absolute care of Deuta also as a physician till the last days. Great souls, we need not intone ‘rest in peace’; they will indeed be in eternal bliss, and our unwritten bonds of love, compassion and a range of emotions will cross all borders of the real to the ethereal. God bless all.