Rudrangshu Mukherjee’s ‘Tagore & Gandhi’: Differences amid togetherness
Author: Rudrangshu Mukherjee
Avijit Pathak
As I touch this historically significant and philosophically enriched book, I begin to undertake a process of inner churning. Yes, as a seeker, I have always felt the need to walk with Rabindranath Tagore and Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. My social science, my critical pedagogy, my aesthetics and my religiosity have always inspired me to see beyond rigid and reductionist ideological positions, sharpen the art of listening, and expand my horizons. While Gandhi’s ‘experimental’ self or his dialogic text ‘Hind Swaraj’ makes me rethink the discourses of colonialism, modernity and swaraj, Tagore’s poetic universalism and sublime prayers soften my soul. In a way, I can come to my classroom with ‘Hind Swaraj’ as well as ‘Gitanjali’. While Tagore’s ‘Crisis in Civilisation’ makes me understand the psychology of violence that brutalised the West with the politics of war and nationalism, Gandhi’s politico-spiritual pilgrimage at Noakhali urges me to resist the ugly politics of religious nationalism.
I know Gandhi and Tagore differed on many issues. Gandhi’s moral discipline (and at times, psychic stubbornness) and Tagore’s aesthetic sensibilities need not always merge. Likewise, the practice of ‘non-cooperation’ with the ‘colonial West’ as a mode of Gandhian resistance might not fit well into the mental landscape Tagore portrayed through his poetic universalism. And possibly, the rhythm of ‘the poet’s religion’ is musical, and somewhat different from Gandhi’s anasakti yoga. Yet, as I have always felt, despite these differences, they trusted each other; and their creatively nuanced and critical dialogues enriched our understanding of the curved trajectory of Indian modernity. Hence, as I begin to read about the ‘most creative encounter’ between ‘the maker of the Indian national movement’ and ‘the creator of a profound literary and philosophical universe’, I feel I am actually seeing Gandhi and Tagore meditating at Santiniketan, and realising the spirit of togetherness amid differences. Professor Mukherjee has captured this spirit quite well:
Since ahimsa was one of the pillars of their lives, Tagore and Gandhi saw India (and the world) in terms of harmony, free from hatred of any kind, religious and racial. Their idea of India was inclusive and assimilative, and they were anguished when they saw the idea and ideal of India being ripped apart by sectarian violence.
The six chapters in the book engage the reader. One begins to understand the worldviews of Tagore and Gandhi. Mukherjee’s deep reflections on Tagore’s novels like ‘Gora’ and ‘Ghare Baire’, and the philosophic influence of the likes of Tolstoy and Ruskin on Gandhi, I would argue, orient the reader, and help her/him understand the historic significance of the dialogues in which these two remarkable personalities engaged with. Yes, as Mukherjee has demonstrated, there were moments when Gandhi and Tagore were ‘out of tune’. Enough has been said and written on their differences on the philosophy and politics of non-cooperation. Yet, despite these differences, they were trying to understand each other. Yes, Tagore was a champion of ‘the principle of harmony’, and felt uncomfortable with ‘national egoism’. However, Gandhi was trying his best to remove the fear Tagore expressed. To quote Mukherjee:
Gandhi was arguing that non-cooperation was preparing the grounds for the genuine collaboration that Rabindranath envisaged. What existed was not cooperation but coercion. Violence and imposition were the imprimatur of the West in India as manifest in British dominance. This had to be negated before collaboration could be inaugurated.
Likewise, in the chapter on ‘Fasts and an Earthquake’, we witness once again Mukherjee’s craft — the way he makes the reader familiar with, say, Tagore’s sharp critique of Gandhi’s response to the devastating earthquake that ravaged north Bihar in 1934. Tagore, we know, critiqued Gandhi’s statement that the earthquake was God’s vengeance against the practice of untouchability. Yet, Mukherjee does not want us to forget that ‘an earthquake could not find fault lines in a lasting friendship’. After all, despite these differences, Tagore, as Mukherjee reminds us once again, extolled Gandhi as “the one person who has done most to raise the people up from the slough of despondency and self-abasement to which they had fallen”.
With the rise of noisy television channels and narcissistic political personalities in our times, we are fast losing the nuanced art of conversation and dialogue. At this moment of darkness, every sensible reader, I believe, would agree with Mukherjee as he reflects on the implications of the Gandhi-Tagore debate:
They debated without acrimony. This is… a beacon as India walks the razor’s edge to fashion a society that is inclusive, free of bigotry and hatred, and informed by civilised discussion and discourse.
