Why J.C. Bose Matters

 

10 November 2011
asoke basu
On 20 November, 1917, the widely recognised physicist, mystic, and civic reformer Sir Jagadis Chandra Bose (1858–1937) founded India’s first major science research institution, in Kolkata. Bose remains as relevant today as he was at the turn of the twentieth century. 
Lately, however, faith and science have been at odds in India. Both the postcolonial artifice and the hurried admirers of postmodernists pay short shrift to the foundational reality of India’s sociology of knowledge ~ that individuals are perfectly suited to experiencing the grand ethics of humanity by direct reason. Over the millennia, India’s sages and philosophers have systematised principles and methods of verifying truth. In the Humanities and the Sciences alike, critical inquiry begins with a basic question: what is the essential reality that is capable of explaining manifold behaviours and manifestations? Correspondingly, how does one find that reality, which compels this exuberant play of infinite possibilities?
Eastern philosophers maintain that moral intelligence is independent of mind and body. They believe that when truth is real, it will always have ragged edges. Nevertheless, irrespective of our social origin, each of us can independently verify truth through steady reasoning. Bose set out to unlock eternal truth by self- analysis. His scientific methodology of living, learning, and teaching is a case study in the ethics of a life lived in the pursuit of truth. Theory and practice met in Bose, whose critical realism avoided dogmas that arose from classical romanticism or modern materialism. In dedicating the Institution in 1917, he thought that “the Institute (is) not merely a laboratory but a temple.”
Bose’s life story tells us how an individual can train the gross habits of mind to locate nuanced meanings in the subtlest of places. To human journeymen of truth, the absolute can be a working stage in the theatre of daily life experience. From Bose’s childhood days in Mymensingh (now in Bangladesh), reason and faith were his happy companions. Beginning with the watchful guidance of his father, the young Jagadis learned to focus on subtle rays of perception. His family introduced him to the eternal library of intelligence, memorialised in the sacred texts—the Dhammapada (Buddhism), the Upanishads (Hinduism), and the Ittihad al-Kawn (Sufism).
Curiosity was the fabric that threaded Bose’s intuitive logic of self-inquiry. Illustrative of his approach to critical thinking is a gem of an observation he made in his “Notebook” in 1902: “The apple falls. Newton asks ‘why’? But the average man pockets the apple and says no more about it.” In 1925, while reminiscing on his 40 years of teaching at Presidency College, Bose remembered his childhood classmates, “who were sons of…fisher-folk, (from whom) I heard stories of the strange creatures that frequented the unknown depths of mighty rivers and stagnant pools.” Bose often referred to his source of cultural realism, “which…was supplied (to me) by the daily reading of and recital of Mahabharata, the epic of heroic India.” Even before philosophy came into being, India’s folk theatres were staging the perennial problems of self and the universe in myths. By watching the “wisdom” literature, the youthful Bose learned the norms of human behaviour.
Bose was a quintessentially Indian civic reformer. As an ecumenicist, scientist, teacher, and humanist, he was not an intellectual pugilist who was eager to commit his fate to blind scholastic pedantry. He was also not interested in finding grand doctrines, motives, or beliefs, but instead brought about as much moral good as possible. Hence, for Bose the goal of freeing India from the British occupation was a virtuous social premise that needed to become operational. Accordingly, he strongly believed that for virtue to have any practical meaning, everyone must have access to attain it. His inclusive view was guided by ethical principles of fairness, justice, and means.
Bose’s public plans for educational reform emphasised reasoning, observation, and hands-on laboratory practice. He worked closely with the interested parties ~ both British and Indian ~ to refashion the curricula at every educational level, from kindergarten through university. Soon after his return to India from England, where he had just completed his B.Sc., he accepted an invitation from Dr Mahendralal Sircar, MD, the founder of the Indian Association for the Cultivation of Science, to present public lectures in science and physics.
Throughout his career, Bose demonstrated the viability of the freedom of inquiry by combining faith and reason with experimentation and instrumentation. To him, aesthetic, ethical, and scientific principles were one, united in a single consciousness. From a speech that he gave in 1901, we can reasonably infer that he would agree with two of his closest associates, Sister Nivedita and Rabindranath Tagore, that there is a common structure of consciousness. However, he would extend the domain of commonness of the external scaffolding to all entities, both living and non-living. Nonetheless, he would not divide the conscious mind and its methods of critical inquiry in a bicameral way, appealing internally to the Humanities and externally to the Sciences. The current philosophical and scientific evidence is moving toward supporting Bose’s proposition of mind, reality, and matter as a single unit, an operational reality.
In my forthcoming book, An Appraisal of J.C. Bose in the Context of the Sociology of Science, I have described his creative inquiry and realism as avant-garde. In Bose, both religion and science opened windows to the world, where the fresh breath of truth ~ to paraphrase Tagore ~ cooled the thirsty soul. For him, scientific realism was a truth-seeking exercise. Following Lev Tolstoy, one can hear Bose say, “I can never see life in the way I saw it before I witnessed the Reality.” 
On 20 November, 1917, with a sharp nip in the air, Bose had no desire to erect a monument as such. Instead, he committed the Institute’s curriculum to the hard work of creative inquiry. His mission, which some of his students described as that of a punctilious pundit, was to train students who would commit to discovering the hidden truths in man and nature in a methodical way. Over the next ninety-four years, the Institute has moored its anchor in the safe harbour of reason.

The writer is a California-based emeritus professor of sociology.

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My First Story

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ANCIENT TEMPLE

 

It was a July day. The clouds had entombed the small village with their dull, dark glow. Parantap was wondering whether it will, at all, be any benefit to go to school. Besides, it was a saturday. Yes a "shanivaar". As always, most of his classmates would choose to stay back and enjoy the cool day. He decided to call upon his best friend Anisudan and ask what his plans for the day was. As he had foreseen, Anisudan too, wasn't going to school. They decided to meet up and speculate on what they should do that day.
Parantap always had an inclination for adventures. His physical build and mental alertness assisted him to persue his interests.
After a brief discussion, Anisudan hit upon an idea. There was the ruins of an ancient "Kaali" temple about a mile and a half from there. Never had they heard of anybody going there. That's because it was a quarter mile from the main road, into the jungle. Also, all that could be looted from the temple, had been looted.
So it was decided that the temple would be home to their new adventure.
Parantap and Anisudan started out in the afternoon after having their day meal. Anisudan had brought along some snacks. Parantap put them in his satchel. The duo mounted their bicycles and they made for the temple. As they got off the main road, after reaching the bifurcation, they started on a "paved" path that lead to the temple. It had about disappeared into the thick undergrowth. The path was difficult to travel on a bicycle, so the decided to go on foot, walking their bicycles beside them. After an hour short of fifteen minutes, they were at the collapsed gates of the temple.
It was built in a large enclosure. There was thick undergrowth every few feet, in the vicinity. The moss was thick on the stones. The wall carvings were windows to the temple's long lost grandeur. They ascended the slippery stairs with much caution. As their eyes adjusted to the damp darkness inside, they were met with a eerie scene. The light beams pouring in through the caved in dome fell right where the statue of the Goddess of Darknes should have been. A chalk white human skull, as it seemed, was on the podium. A rather strange skull it was, to be human. The rear of the skull was oblong instead of being spherical. A long, thick, bright red strip was drawn across it's forehead. On minute observation by Parantap, it turned out to be blood. This was awe-inspiring! A skull in such a place is still acceptable, but fresh blood? Nobody came here! How could this come here?
Parantap's bold-heartedness helped him stay in his wits. Anisudan, on the other hand, had started to panic. Parantap reassured him, managed to calm him down. He said they would stay just a little longer so that he could figure out what was going on. So as decided, they started searching for clues. They came upon a rather strange object. A large wooden "Y" driven into the floor. It was waist high. The wood was rotten. A pungent smell accompanied it. Parantap, on moving closer, saw that it was moist around it. The moss was soaked in a brown liquid. It was blood, fresh blood. A sacrifice had been made recently. Someone had been there then. . .
Meanwhle, as they were looking for clues, the clouds had moved in and it started to drizzle. They noticed it was raining only when a thunderalas shook the walls of the temple. Parantap felt that the drizzle would stop in some time. They could have the snacks by then. They took shelter in an alcove, a little further from the caved-in dome through which now rain was pouring in. Contrary to what Parantap had figured, the rain started coming down in torrents. It was not dusk yet but the clouds made it dark enough outside. By the time the rain slowed back to intermittent drizzle, it was dark. Parantap, being a skilled adventurer, was always equipped with essential equipment. He whipped out his torch from his satchel, the one his father had gifted him on his birthday. Holding the cold metal of the torch in his left hand, he swung the brilliant yellow beam around the temple, looking for the doorway they came in. As the light fell upon the arch of the doorway, Parantap could swear, for an instant, he saw a head whip around the edge of the doorway. It was pale white. A chill ran down his spine. He froze at his place. Anisudan did not notice this. Parantap quietly took out his double-edged knife. Standing still, he strained his ears for the slightest of unusual sound, like breaking of twigs under feet, ruffle of shrubbery, any sound that would indicate a third presence. None came. They proceeded to the doorway. Parantap scanned the outside with his torch. Nothing unusual caught his eye. Second thoughts started occuring to him. Maybe it wasn't what he thought it was, that he saw. It could have been an illusion. With some relief, he made their way through the wet undergrowth to where they kept there bicycles. Anisudan was close behind him.
A sudden, blood curdling shriek made his heart skip a beat. He swung around, torch in his left hand and knife in the other. Where was Anisudan? Next moment he saw Anisudan lying in the mud, a few feet away, paralysed in fear. What made Parantap blood flow cold was the figure of a creature. It was on all fours, bearing upon Anisudan. It's hide was mangled, with large raw pink patches. Just it's head was dabbed with white paint. It's skeletal figure was slighly less than a man's in height. With a flash, it tore at Anisudan's chest. With its inch long nails, it opened a gash, and started drinking the oozing blood. Parantap's alert mind made him act the next instant. He ran at it, and kicked it with his strengt and inertia. The creature was thrown away. It regained it's balance and lunged for Parantap. Parantap slashed his knife, and the figure fell to the ground, withering in pain. He had sliced it's thigh. He took the opportunity to knock it out with a stone slab from the paved path and tied it up with the jute rope he carried in his satchel. Then, he tended to Anisudan's wounds with some iodine solution and bandaged him with his shirt.
He then turned towards the figure to have a closer look at it. It was, to Parantap's surprise, a man! What turned a man into such a horrendous creature, he could not imagine. Nevertheless, it was a human. So, he decided to carry the man back to the village. At a slow pace, with Anisudan groaning, and the man slung across his bicycle, the two made for the village.
The village was at a state of unrest. Search parties had been sent out to look for the two of them. People, on seeing them, were relieved, their parents overjoyed. As things settled down, Parantap narrated all that had happened during their adventure. The village head called "Mukhiaji" a wise, old man, succeed in assessing the happenings- About 9 years ago, a man by the name of Kishen had contracted a hideous disease, leprosy. He was banished from the village. Kishen took refuge in the forest. Nobody heard of him since. This man could be Kishen.
The next day dawned with a bright sun. Matters too cleared up. The captive had regained consciousness last night. On interrogation, he gave his explanation in his broken lingo.
After being banished, he took shelter at the temple. Living on raw meat and fruits, he spent his days. Eventually, he became a "Kapalik" a worshipper of the Goddess of Darkness. He made sacrifices to the Goddess in hopes of getting cured. He became a savage. With time, his disease cured, miraculously! However, he did not wish to return to the village that spurned him out and continued to live in the temple until the day the two boys barged into his life.
Thus was the story of the Ancient Temple.
*AMAR KOTHA TI PHUROLO, NOTEY GACH TI MUROLO!*
Arka