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Home > Kalakosa > Kalasamalocana > List of Books > In the Footsteps of Xuanzang > IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF XUANZANG: TAN YUN-SHAN AND INDIA |
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FOND MEMORIES
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INTRODUCTION In
writing an article to commemorate some one's Birth Centenary, it is easy
for the author to fall into the trap of turning his article into an
eulogy. This is particularly true when the writer is also a son of the
person being remembered. This I want to avoid. Instead, my attempt will be
to look at the persona of Tan Yun-shan dispassionately from a distance
while at the same time maintaining a close perspective -- in the
architect's parlance, a "worm's eye view'-- that only a son is
privileged to obtain, and in so doing, get to the essence of the man. A
truly formidable task! For
Tan Yun-shan was no ordinary mortal. In his chosen field he was a giant
among men. Not perhaps to the many casual acquaintances who knew the
mild-mannered Professor merely as the builder of Cheena Bhavana in
Tagore's Visva-Bharati University in Santiniketan, or as the creator of
the monumental but incomplete There
are few in this world born with the knowledge of their life's mission.
Fewer still who have actually carried out their mission to fruition. Tan
Yun-shan belonged to this select group. Yet, all his achievements were
realized without any fanfare and much less publicity. Because, essentially
he was a modest person, with a sense of humility that only a firm belief
in the tenets of Confucianism and Buddhism could bring. His modesty,
however, was possible only due to a supreme confidence in the calling that
he chose for his life. The feeble attempt to trace this Journey is the
tribute the author would like to pay to the memory of Tan Yun-Shan. FORMATIVE
YEARS Like
many young intellectuals growing up in the early years of this century,
Tan Yun-shan was struck by the inhumanity suffered by colonized nations at
the hands of conquering nations. Although China was nominally independent,
the fate of its people was no better than those in India. Tan would find
around him many young revolutionaries who wanted to set things right.
"The end justifies the means" was a common slogan and Tan would
empathize with many of those who chanted that tune. However, he was
strongly opposed to any kind of violence, even if it was to achieve the
emancipation of the down trodden, the freeing of a nation from foreign
subjugation. In this regard, his training in Buddhism led him towards the
path of "ahlmsa". This explains why, in spite of his early
contact with Mao Zedong and his "comrade" in their student days,
Tan remained somewhat aloof from the political currents that were sweeping
through China. Tan's
early initiation to Buddhism naturally attracted him to India, the birth
place of the Enlightened One. He drew upon the recorded history of
cultural exchanges and amity between the two ancient nations of India and
China and wondered how they could coexist without ever raising arms
against each other. How could they flourish and build up their own
respective civilizations without design on each other's territory? Why
could not the modern Western countries learn the path of peace,
non-violence and coexistence from these ancient Eastern nations? Yet,
through all these mental turmoils, Tan, like many of his Chinese
contemporaries, could not ignore the strength of the modern West. He
wanted to travel to France to learn about "liberte, egalite,
fraternite". But the gravitational pull towards India was just as
strong. A choice had to be made. Tan waited for some signal. That signal
came to him in a roundabout way. By
this time Tan had read up on India, its history, culture, people, and
above all its struggle to gain independence from the British. Two modern
Indian giants caught his attention: Mahatma Gandhi and Gurudeva
Rabindranath Tagore. While Gandhi's practice of non-violence appealed to
his spirituality, Tagore's broader cultural outlook was more appealing to
his intellect, Somehow Tan yearned to meet both of them to draw
inspiration from them for the work that lay ahead. In 1924 Tan left for
Singapore to take up a teaching assignment. About the same time Tagore and
his entourage had set sails for China. They literally crossed paths on the
high seas. Tan was disappointed in missing the opportunity to meet Tagore
in China. However, he kept track of Tagore's itinerary and read all his
speeches which appeared in the newspapers. Tagore's
lecture tour of China was not without controversy. It appears that the
Chinese audience was split in two camps: the Traditionalists who praised
his literary and cultural accomplishment, and the Modernists who thought
his concepts belonged to the past. Tan was firmly entrenched in the first
camp. In fact he was trying to determine how close Tagore's concept of
internationalism came to his own inclination to rejuvenate Sino-Indian
relations. The more he read about Tagore, the more attracted he became to
Tagore's Visva Bharati. But would that school be the right arena for a
vigorous effort to renew cultural exchanges between the two giant nations?
Tan had to wait till 1927 for an answer. That year Tagore came to
Singapore and Tan was able to meet him. The meeting was fortuitous in many
respects. Tan expressed his desire to go to India to start his mission.
Tagore was anxious to find a suitable Chinese scholar to come to
Santiniketan to establish his fledgling Institute of Chinese Studies on a
firmer footing. When Tagore asked Tan whether he was interested, it
sounded like a command that Tan could not turn down. LAYING
THE FOUNDATION TO SINO-INDIAN CULTURAL EXCHANGE Perhaps
Tan's decision to come to India was taken in haste. He had no idea of the
remoteness of Santiniketan, nor the financial strength and capabilities of
Visva Bharati as an institution, But no matter. The concept sounded
perfect and Tagore's words were more than convincing. It did not take long
for the two to chalk out a course of action. Tan was to come to
Santiniketan as soon as he could wrap up his work in Singapore in order to
revive Chinese Studies in Visva Bharati. At the same time he would work
towards the establishment of a Sino-Indian Cultural Society with branches
in China and India. That
decided, Tan started preparing for his pilgrimage to India. And a
pilgrimage it was. For, to Tan, visiting the birth country of Lord Buddha
was a long cherished dream. But something stood in the way. Tan had met a
bright young teacher from his native Province of Hunan who was among the
pioneers who came to While
Tan had set his goals at a lofty altitude, his wife Chen Nai-Wei, though
dedicated to her teaching career, was more down to earth and pragmatic.
The former was determined to move ahead along his chosen path, but the
latter was quite content in shelving her career to raise a family. In 1928
Tan sailed for India to put the plan he had carefully prepared with the
advice of Tagore into action. But the finances at Visva Bharati did not
permit the university to offer him a salary. Chen stayed back in Malaya
and supported the two establishments with her teacher's salary. On the
surface it would appear that Tan was somewhat harsh and premature in his
actions and must have placed a heavy burden on the shoulder of his young
wife. But later events were to prove that his timing was impeccable.
Moreover, Chen was fully supportive of the noble mission embarked by her
husband and never complained. The
vicissitudes of life were to keep the Tan family splintered on numerous
occasions and for prolonged periods of time. But that was the price that
had to be paid to carry out Tan's mission. The establishment of the
Sino-Indian Cultural Society, first in Nanjing, China and then in
Santiniketan, India took enormous effort and dedication. Although
soft-spoken and reticent by nature, Tan was persuasive and convincing in
face to face dialogue. His command of English was good but his erudition
in his mother tongue was awesome. Having listened to him on a few
occasions speaking to large gatherings in Chinese, in order to raise funds
for some worthwhile cause, I remember the spell he could cast on his
audience. However, he preferred to discuss things in smaller groups, That
was where his charm and erudition was most apparent. I have an impression
that he was very aware of his own distinctive personality and was not
hesitant to use it in furthering his mission. Thus, convincing the
Government of China to give generous sums of money to build Cheena Bhavana
in Santiniketan was not a problem. Tan used his ability to write articles
in newspapers and journals in China and South-East Asia to advance
Tagore's concept of an International University and his Own notion of an
institute for advanced research on Sino-Indian cultural, linguistic,
religious and philosophical exchanges within the umbrella of that
university. That the magnificent building of Cheena Bhavana could be built
in record time is a testimony of the success of his efforts in China. One
of the strengths that became apparent was Tan's ability to keep politics
outside his cultural pursuits. He knew that politicians came and went. But
his dream of Sino-Indian cultural revival must endure the vagaries of
political change. Therefore, while he did not hesitate in cultivating his
contacts in the Government, both in China and in India, he always took
pains to reiterate that his efforts were apolitical. This proved
far-sighted when the Kuomintang Government which had responded generously
with financial support for Cheena Bhavana was replaced by the Peoples'
Republic led by Mao Zedong. It did not take long for the new Government to
recognize the valuable work done at the Cheena Bhavana. I
will not deal anymore with the Cheena Bhavana as an institution, nor its
accomplishments. These are matters of record and I am sure other
contributors to the Commemorative Volume will cover that ground. I just
wish to touch one area where I have heard criticism about Tan's
achievements. That area deals with his own research efforts. There have
been comments that Tan did not publish enough. This is a valid comment,
but here is my response. Tan
was a visionary, a builder and an organiser. Having watched him from close
quarters, I and some who had ringside seats, have been impressed by the
herculean efforts he put in travelling back and forth between China, India
and South-East Asia, corresponding with endless people, lobbying
governments and individuals in fund raising to build the infrastructure
and the superstructure, acquiring a most valuable collection of books for
the library, actual planning and supervision of construction of the many
buildings which constitute the Cheena Bhavana, and preparing detailed
research plans and programmes for the institution. Where on earth would he
have any time or energy left to do research of his own? However, I know
(because he told me himself on more than one occasion) that he would have
preferred nothing better than to do research on many topics that he had
identified for attention at a future date and perhaps write books on, But
his first priority was to build up the institution itself so that others
could start the monumental research programs he had already chalked out
for them. He wielded a powerful pen, particularly in Chinese; and
understanding of Mahayana Buddhism would have been the richer if only he
was spared some time to use it more often. And obviously that was not to
be. He encouraged his children to take up subjects dear to his heart.
Perhaps he wished that through their research efforts he would derive some
vicarious satisfaction that his responsibilities denied him. It must have
pleased him immensely that his eldest son Tan Chung and his eldest
daughter Tan Wen were able to fulfill some of his unrealized desires. PERSONALTRAITS Now
I wish to devote some time to talk about the personal traits of Tan
Yun-shan. This effort will be mostly anecdotal. The reason is obvious. To
his children, Tan appeared larger than life. Citing anecdotes may help
demystify some of that perception. I
shall start by saying that Tan Yun-shan lived the life he preached. He set
high standards for himself and tried to live by those standards as best as
he could. But he was also human, When he slipped in his day to day
activities, which rarely happened, he was very sad and the pain would be
clearly visible on his face. Some
of his students have said that Tan was the "Chinese Sage" in
Santiniketan. This may be an apt description. But it was also a wrong one,
His countenance and bearing could certainly be described as sage-like, but
he had no illusions of ever becoming one. He wanted to be remembered as a
devout Buddhist who had found his calling early. And no amount of
adversity or pressure could dislodge him from his chosen path. His
commitment was unshakeable. 1 have to state here that the atmosphere in
Santiniketan in the early years was ideally suited to Tan's personality
and temperament. And that is why when he arrived there for the first time
in 1928, the harsh barren landscape, the peaceful environment, and the
spartan existence instantly won his approval. What better place could he
find for "simple living and high thinking"? Many who came to
know Tan in later years were impressed by the courtesy and patience he
showed to others. But those qualities were acquired through years of
practice and self discipline. It is true that when it came to dealing with
a native either of his motherland or of his country of adoption, Tan was
particularly generous. However, he was not always that kind while dealing
In fact, he had certain amount of contempt or disdain for the British. One
incident clearly showed his bias. The summers in Santiniketan could be
quite oppressive. In order to escape the heat he would take his family to
Darjling for a couple of months. That was when the British Sahibs would
also congregate there, The train to Darjling was full of them in those
years. On one of these trips, although father had made reservations on the
Darjling Mail for the family, on arrival in Calcutta, he found that those
berths had been allocated to a British family. Tan was furious and
immediately demanded to see the officer-in-charge of reservations who also
happened to be British. He made such a fuss that the British officer had
to reverse his decision and reallocate the berths so that we could travel
in comfort. I have no doubt that he could take such a strong stand because
of Gandhiji's influence and his own sympathy towards India's struggle to
rid the country of the British yoke. That was a rare display of anger by
Tan that I witnessed. The red face of the British officer who was at the
receiving end of father's tongue-lashing is indelible in my mind. DEALINGS
WITH HIS CHILDREN In
dealing with his children, Tan was kind but firm. He rarely proselytized,
preferring instead to teach by example. Although a practising Buddhist, he
was tolerant of other religions, in particular Eastern. He never tried to
lnstil his religious beliefs in his children, and was not offended if they
showed an interest in other faiths. On one occasion his eldest son, who
was left to grow up in China during the Second World War, wrote a letter
announcing that he had fallen in love with an American girl, the daughter
of a missionary. Therefore, he was thinking of conversion to Christianity.
Father showed me the letter, and rather than expressing any displeasure,
merely chuckled and had a good laugh with my mother. He knew that his
children would be able to make their own decisions regarding their
religious inclinations as they grew up. On another occasion, when I was
still quite young, I had committed an indiscretion that deserved a
reprimand. Father took me to his study where he also said his daily
prayers and asked me to promise in front of Lord Buddha that I would not
commit the same indiscretion again. My flippant response was "But I
do not believe in Buddha". Father let me off without further
admonition. Father's
treatment of his children was not always even-handed. This no doubt caused
pain to some of his children and embarrassment to others. Father also
believed in divine intervention in the birth of some of his children. He
used to tell me how the young Dalai Lama was chosen when the old passed
away, with his followers searching far and wide for the perfect
reincarnate who displayed unmistakable divine signs. For some reasons be
saw signs at the time of my birth, and I became the favourite child. This
caused no end of embarrassment for me, particularly in front of my
immediate younger sister Wen, for I had no such illusions of my own. But
because my father mentioned this a number of times, Wen was somewhat
mystified and looked upto me with a degree of deference that I did not
deserve. Father's
beliefs in me as a special child received further encouragement on a trip
to Bodh Gaya. The devout Buddhist that he was, father spent most of his
time praying near the Great Pagoda. I was left to wander by myself away
from the temple. While running around in the grass I stumbled over a piece
of stone which, on closer examination, turned out to be a mini-pagoda.
When I eventually had the opportunity to show the stone to my parents, my
father was struck by awe. We brought the stone to Santiniketan and father
installed it on a pedestal in his study. Thereafter, it became the symbol
in front of which he said his daily prayers to Lord Buddha. Mother,
on the other hand, was much more even handed. To her, all children were
equal, and she displayed no bias in favour of anyone. As a matter of fact,
because father leaned in my favour, mother showed particular affection
towards Wen, as if to balance things somewhat. In later life when Wen
distinguished herself in the study of the Bengali language, father was
ecstatic and showered her with all the parental pride and affection that
he was able to display. Our
eldest brother Chung had a special place in our parents' minds. He
displayed talents in many areas and eventually became a renowned historian
and China scholar. However, in 1939, at the height of the war with Japan,
our parents decided to bring the two younger children, myself and Wen to
India, leaving the two older sons in China. The family was split. My
mother was worried sick about the elder children and we could see the
sadness in her face. Father, however, confranted the situation more
philosophically, and did not display any external anxiety. Perhaps he was
confident that Buddha would protect the sons from harm caused by the
Japanese occupation of China. Years later, these two elder brothers were
able to come to India and the family was reunited. It then became apparent
to the younger children how fond our father was of his first son. The
second son, however, did not receive the same amount of attention, which
was most unfortunate. For, he was just as talented as the other children,
particularly in the field of fine arts. Perhaps he did not have the
opportunity to display his talents to his parents as did the other
children. He suffered his pain with dignity and grace which endeared him
to all his siblings. There
is no question that father wanted all his children to excel in their
studies, and irrespective of his biases, whenever a child showed good
result in school, he would unequivocally recognize the achievement.
Sometimes I felt he drove his children rather hard. One episode comes to
mind. A close friend of father who was a successful businessman in Hong
Kong was childless despite his three marriages. In desperation, this
friend wanted to adopt a child from our family. Our parents at that time
had five children, three sons and two daughters. The eldest four were
considered too old for adoption. The youngest one, a daughter, was a
favourite child. Therefore my father decided that the next child would go
to his friend for adoption. The next was a son named Aujit and he was sent
to this rich family in Hong Kong while still a baby. Father did not think
much about it, but mother shed many a silent tear to let go of the
newborn. This brother grew up in luxury and his adopted parents doted on
him. Unfortunately, the, mother passed away shortly thereafter and the
father married a fourth time. This marriage produced some children and it
was time for Aujit to return to his natural parents. When he came
"home", Aujit was clearly unhappy. Coming from the luxuries of
Hong Kong to the spartan life in Santiniketan required a good deal of
adjustment. Consequently, the first few months were quite difficult for
Aujit. His grades in the school suffered. Father was critical of his
performance at school and compared his marks with those of his younger
brother Arjun who was doing better. This made Aujit doubly sad. We felt
father was unduly harsh towards him. To the credit of Aujit he recovered
from this temporary setback and was soon performing at the top of his
class. He proved to his parents that he was equal to the challenge thrown
at him and father was quick to acknowledge it. Later on, Aujit became a
skilled mechanical engineer and made his parents proud. Father
particularly admired Aujit's skill with his hands. He became the inhouse
repairman. Father
was a well organized, meticulous man. As his favourite child he tried to
inculcate many of his talents and skills in me; which I learned by
osmosis. He gave me the penchant for reading books and taught me how to
take care of them. When I was still in elementary school, father was in
the process of building up a magnificent personal library. Almost every
mail brought in parcels containing books, I had the privilege of going to
his library at will. There I would watch father open the parcels with
infinite care. He would show me the new titles which ranged from history
to religion to philosophy to architecture to gardening, and so on. One
category of books that were conspicuous by their absence were novels. He
did not seem to have any use for them. It
was in father's study that I came across H.G. Wells' "The Outline of
History". I was fascinated by the title and borrowed it. After
spending many months reading the book, it was time to return it to
father's library. Unfortunately, by this time the book was somewhat
frazzled with many of its pages dog-eared. When I took it back to father,
he looked the book over and returned it to me saying: "You can keep
it". I knew instantly what he meant. The book was too mutilated to go
back on the shelf I was ashamed and learnt a valuable lesson. Next day
father called me to his library. Some shiny new books had arrived on his
desk. With infinite patience he showed me how to put a brown paper jacket
on one of his new books so that it could withstand the rough handling that
all books go through. It was then that I noticed that all his books on the
shelves were carefully wrapped in brown paper jackets. This subtle
training stood me in good stead in my later life. Growing
up through school was peaceful and easy in Santiniketan. We were insulated
and, by and large protected from the influences of the outside. This
created problems for me, because I had become interested in the bigger
world at an early age. The call of the big blue yonder rang in my ears
with increasing regularity. I was yearning to get out of the manger but
knew that it was too early for a twelve year old to leave home. What made
things worse was I had two sets of friends and they transmitted different
and often conflicting signals to my adolescent mind. The first group
consisted of children of parents who worked in Santiniketan. They were the
local boys and girls, considered to be simple, naive, country bumpkins who
rarely stepped outside of Santiniketan. These became my playmates during
the prolonged summer recess when we would cruise the entire campus looking
for fruit to pluck and other adventure. We knew every tree that grew
around us. We played simple rustic games and sometimes indulged in
activities that were considered taboo, such as smoking a few puffs of
tobacco. I was happy with these friends until it was time for the school
to reopen, then I looked forward to my other group of friends, the
sophisticates from the big city of Calcutta. These were students who lived
in hostels and had e distinctly urban bearing. I felt drawn to them as
they always seemed to bring news of some new innovation or fad that we
village folks were too ignorant to know about. Some of them, the more
outrageous ones, talked about the glamorous girls of the big city; this
peaked my interest as I had just begun to notice the biological
differences between boys and girls. My urban friends often invited me
to-visit their homes in the big city and I was yearning to their
invitation. But my father would not allow that. It so happened that one of
my classmates had to receive an extended course of treatment that was not
available in Santiniketan. On one of these occasions, I told my friend
that'1 would like to come with him for a visit of the big city. In the
middle of the night I sneaked out of our home and met my friend and soon
was on a train to Calcutta. When my parents found out about my absence my
mother panicked. But father was nonchalent, saying: "Oh well, he will
be back when he has seen the excitement and runs out of cash." Sure
enough, after a day, I returned home rather sheepishly, and all was
forgiven. It showed me the inner fortitude that father had. He always
appeared tranquil and calm even in the face of great adversity. i often
wondered where he found all that strength? My
immediate younger sister Wen was a bright and precocious child. She was
only three when mother took us to India. As the two older brothers were
left in China, Wen grew up knowing me as her only elder brother. She used
to follow me around and mimic whatever I did until she was old enough to
have her own coterie of friends. Although she was two years younger than
me, she was intellectually sharp enough to be only a year behind me in
class. At that rate she would have completed her Matriculation Examination
at age thirteen. Wen continued to do well in her class and was promoted to
Junior high when she was only nine years old. At that point, father, in
his wisdom, decided that Wen was too young to have advanced so far in
school. He met the School Principal & and demanded that Wen be demoted
to a lower grade. The Principal was flabberg asted. He told father that
during his entire tenure all the requests he had received from Parents
were to promote their children who had failed in their classes. This was
the first request to denote a child who had actually passed her
examinations. However, father was quite persistent and his wishes were
granted. Later in life, when I pondered over this incident, I was able to
understand father's wisdom. Although Wen was scholastically able to finish
the courses, she would have been at a physical and cultural disadvantage
dealing with her classmates who were much older and more mature than her.
Subsequent events proved that the decision was appropriate and Wen went on
to top her classes through college and graduate school, eventually earning
a Ph.D. in Bengali. Wen became the cynosure of father's eyes. What gave
father the most satisfaction was that Wen mastered the mother tongue of
Rabindranath and proved that cultural integration between China and India
had been achieved in the Tan family. Throughout
our adolescent years in Santiniketan, we were exposed to streams of
visitors to our home. Our parents would go out of their way to show their
hospitality and make their stay as comfortable as possible. While they
lived simple and frugal lives themselves, our parents were generous to a
fault when it came to treating their guests. The phrase "Charity
begins at home" was foreign to them. These were important lessons
that all their children were able to pick up. The wise saying of Mother
Teressa - "Give until it hurts"-- was practised in front of our
eyes. I
started a stamp collection at a young age. It grew rapidly as father used
to get mail from many countries. Besides, there were a number of foreign
scholars in Visva-Bharati in those days and we could approach them for the
stamps on their mail. Pretty soon I needed a larger stamp album to put
them in. I asked father to buy me an album on his next trip to the big
city. Father asked me to save my pocket money if I was so keen to get the
album. I began to save the pennies and eventually accumulated enough and
gave them to father. When he returned from his next visit to Calcutta, I
was full of anticipation. But father did not mention anything about the
album. Eventually, I gathered enough courage to ask him. He said his busy
schedule did not allow him the time to shop for the album. I felt
completely deflated and went to my room and refused to appear for dinner.
Finally, father came to my room. He carried a package inside which was the
much coveted album. I was thrilled. That taught me another lesson: in life
we value rewards that we work hard for, even if the reward was as modest
as a stamp album. I cherished that album for many, many years. As
I entered senior high, my interest in English literature grew
exponentially, thanks to some English teacher, I captured the "Aujit
Chakravarty" Memorial Prize in English-an award of thirty rupees. It
was a handsome amount in those days with which I could buy a number of
English books. Father was so pleased that he matched that amount and had
my own mini-library. These are wonderful memories of father that I cherish
to this day. Around the same time, father started to show me drafts of
articles in English that he was writing for various journals, and 1 would
proof-read them for him. He started to treat me as an adult and I felt
proud of that honour. In 1947 when my parents went back to China with the
three youngest children, Wen and I were left in Santiniketan to pursue our
studies. I was barely thirteen then. But father thought I was old enough
to look after my younger sister. We had a maternal uncle who taught in the
Cheena-Bhavana. He was normally named our guardian. Father opened a bank
account which 1 would operate each month withdrawing just enough cash to
pay for our expenses. Again a valuable lesson was learnt. My
younger sister Chameli was another favourite child of our father. She was
a beautiful bonny baby that brought joy in the family, being the first
child born in the country of our adoption. In those days child births took
place at home but there was no midwife around. "Thandi", the
wife of the venerable Pandit Kshiti Mohan Sen stepped forward. Having
helped deliver many a child, she took charge of the situation, and
everything went smoothly. The baby was christened by Gurudeva Rabindranath
himself. He named her Chameli and said this name had close phonetic
resemblance to Chinese. She was a happy child, had an excellent academic
career and grew up to become an accomplished artist. The youngest brother Arjun received the greatest display of affection by both father and mother. Having raised their other children with controlled discipline, it was time for them t o let go and splurge a little. We all accepted this with grace and understanding. In fact, Sister Wen who named him, also doted on her kid brother. All this attention did nothing to spoil him, and Arjun grew up to be a kind hearted person and a brilliant physicist.
When
Tan returned from China in 1949, the Kuomintang Government had been
replaced by the Peoples' Republic. Financial support of Cheena Bhavana by
the Chinese Government was suspended. It was time for Tan to launch
another fund raising drive which took him to various places where his many
friends and well wishers resided. One of these places was Kalimpong where
he knew a wealthy Chinese businessman who had prospered through trade with
Tibet. He was also a devout Buddhist and invited Tan to visit him. Father
took me with him on that trip. After dinner, the two started to discuss
Buddhism. The discourse went deep into the night. The rest of the people
in the household retired to their bedrooms. The next day I learnt from
father that their discussion lasted all night. At the end of it the host
was very pleased and wrote out a cheque for a handsome amount to promote
the study of Buddhism. This was yet another example of the gift of
persuation that Tan possessed which helped him advance his mission. However,
in spite of all the major accomplishments, it was not a life of
unmitigated joy for Tan. Like the proverbial yin and yang, joy came with
sorrow and Tan had his share of the latter. But in the end, Tan's eternal
optimism always pulled him from darkness to light. Tan
used to lament to his children that there was only a handful of people who
understood the real significance of what he was trying to accomplish.
However, within that small group he could count stalwarts like Tagore,
Nehru, Tai Xu, and Tai Chi-Tao. As these giants passed away, one by one,
no other visionaries would step forward to fill the gap. One exception was
his friend and life-long well-wisher Anil Kumar Chanda. He
did all he could within his powers to lend support to Tan's projects, but
he too passed away prematurely. Each passing away was filled with pain for
Tan but he endured them all with the strength that his faith in the good
Lord Buddha gave him. 1951
was a momentous and painful year for Tan. That year, Visva-Bharati was
taken over and became a Federal Government University. The intentions were
no doubt honourable, for Nehru had promised Gurudeva to take care of the
university after his death. However, once the takeover was completed,
Nehru left the administration of the university in lesser hands. These
people did not have the benefit of sharing Gurudeva's vision and the
character of Visva-Bharati changed dramatically. No longer did it retain
its unique characteristics of an international centre of learning. It
became a run-of-the-mill university. Tan was disillusioned by the turn of
events. The institutions that Visva Bharati was known for, Patha-Bhavana,
Kala-Bhavana. Sriniketan and Cheena Bhavana were all relegated to
secondary positions. We wondered what Gurudeva would have thought about
these transformations! Visva-Bharati
grew rapidly with funds pouring in from the Federal Government. Many new
faculty members were hired from outside. Unfortunately, most were now
drawn to Santiniketan because of the higher government salary scales and
not because of their commitment to the ideals espoused by Tagore. Tan used
to return from Faculty Meetings disgusted by the tone of discussions that
were taking place. Most discussions were focussed around what salaries the
staff would demand of the administration in the next round of negotiations
There was hardly any time or interest in discussing the promotion of
academic and research excellence in the institution. The physical growth
of the university was achieved at the cost of the quality of academic
pursuits that Visva-Bharati was once known for. It was a sad period for
Tan indeed! The
next period of sorrow came in the early sixties when the political
relations between India and China became strained due to disputes along
the border. It was a cartographical nightmare left by the British who were
unable to complete field survey over some no man's lands that caused the
initial disagreement. But no matter. It was enough excuse for the two
countries to go to war for the first time in thousands of years of
peaceful co-existence. Tan was absolutely devastated. It appeared to him
that all his life-long efforts to build cultural ties and political
understanding between the two countries were about to shatter. Only the
encouragement of a few steadfast friends in India, including Nehru, was
able to bring some peace to Tan's mind. Tan's
retirement from Visva-Bharati Cheena-Bhavana in 1967 almost came as a
relief to him, By this time he had already lost his last staunch supporter
Nehru and his last close friend Anil Chanda. His mind was now focussed on
the next major challenge in Bodh Gaya which had beckoned him ever since he
set foot on Indian Soil. Was
this a unique life-career? I would say, definitely. Was it an ordinary
life-career? Only the readers of this article can judge. On the occasion
of the Birth Centenary of Tan Yun-shan, I present this humble account to
help understand the life and works of this contemporary cultural
ambassador between India and China. January
1, 1998 Vancouver,
Canada |
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1999 Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, New DelhiAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced any manner without written permission of the publisher.