Sunset of the zamindars

A zamindar's son recalls the end of an era that thrived on benevolent exploitation

GODHULI: THE GOLDEN DUSK
Memoirs of a Zamindar's Son
Harihar Panda
Platinum Press
186 pages; Rs 399

In Satyajit Ray’s Jalsaghar, a large chandelier hangs in the music room of protagonist Biswambar Roy’s palace, casting shadows instead of light, swinging ominously like a pendulum, indicating the passing not only of time but also of an era. Ray made Jalsaghar, also known as The Music Room, seeking box office success, because films with music and dancing were very popular, after his second film, Aparajito, flopped. Released in 1958 and adapted from Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay’s short story, Jalsaghar is a romantic paean to the passing decadence of the erstwhile zamindars.  

So is Harihar Panda’s Godhuli: The Golden Dusk. Born and growing up in a zamindar family in Odisha in 1932, Mr Panda was witness to both the glory and the decline of his father’s zamindari. His memoir evokes nostalgia for a social and economic structure that was the norm not too long ago but is now only a curious remnant of the past. Those familiar with Hindi or Bengali will immediately recognise the word in the title: godhuli, which can be roughly translated into English as “dusk”, but not quite. It refers to the blurred gold of the setting sun obscured by the dust thrown up by cows as they were herded home at the end of the day. Mr Panda’s narrative is suffused with this “golden light”. But that is also its problem.

In the Prologue, Mr Panda writes: “The zamindari system was a novel initiative introduced by the British for the efficient and effective land and revenue administration of a vast country, with enormous socio-cultural and linguistic diversity.” The zamindari system was not really introduced by the British and its effectiveness has been a question of much hair-splitting. Some older zamindars, especially in Bengal, claimed to have received their commissions from the Mughal emperors, or even older rulers. Also, the system may have been effective – Mr Panda claims zamindars despite being “despotic and highly capricious” were “benevolent nonetheless” – in collecting revenue for a blood-sucking colonial government or crushing even the slightest murmur of protest. But it did not really help the ones under the administration, nor did it help agriculture flourish.

Despite the Permanent Settlement of 1793, which was implemented after the devastating famine of 1770 — a result of the disastrous taxation methods then prevalent -- Bengal (which included Odisha and Bihar) continued to be plagued with frequent food shortages. Despite being a primarily agrarian economy, Bengal was a rice importer, rather than exporter, for much of this period. Madhusree Mukherjee’s Churchill’s Secret War describes the exploitative nature of colonial ruler and their agents in great detail.

Having said this, one must also acknowledge Mr Panda’s display of rare courage in his memoir. Describing the culture of sycophancy that nourished in his father’s suzerainty, he describes how some villagers praised a feast at their home to the high heavens. “These overzealous elders were none other than some of the tenants living in the surrounding village... The landlord was naturally pleased and elated by such encomiums. Each was given a free meal and presented with a piece of new cloth and one ganda (four) coconuts.”

Mr Panda’s narrative is lucid and understated — these are its greatest strengths. He abstains from commenting on social ills, an easy temptation to succumb to, and instead focuses on narrating anecdotes that illustrate the wrongs, while also making his critical position clear. For instance, he describes at great length, how a woman from a lower caste, whom he calls Nira Maa, was hired as a wet nurse for him. The initial opposition to this from his grandmother, for whom nothing seemed more important than preserving the sanctity of caste, is narrated but not commented upon. Nor is Nira Maa’s superstitious nature derided. Mr Panda resorts to comedy — a smart move because it cannot be easy to critique ones beloved relatives.

All the characters in the book – Mr Panda’s overbearing grandmother, his parents, his sisters and friends, as well as the tenants and employees of the estate – are sketched as only too human, full of follies and shortcomings but also capable of great generosity, like most of us. The vignettes of village life, too, are presented competently — but that is perhaps a shortcoming. None of it is really novel, and at times, this reader was tempted to skip a few paragraphs of description.

In Ray’s Jalsaghar, the decadent zamindar Biswambar Roy is Lear-like. His estate is depleted like Lear’s entourage of knights, till he is left quite alone. The penultimate chapter of Mr Panda’s book is, similarly, called “All the King’s Men” — the functionaries of his father’s estate who start to leave, one by one, as the zamindari disintegrates. In the end, Mr Panda writes: “All the King’s men had gone, leaving the distraught King abandoned and forlorn.” That is probably the fate of all latecomers to history.