Leelavati Mitra
Translated from the Bangla by
Supriya Prasanta
Now old and new students have gathered here. Today I am unable to restrain myself from reflecting upon its past and present.
I am an old student of this school. If we compare the condition of the school in past with that of now, we find how miserable it used to be and how developed it is now! Not only in our country, in the civilised world, Bethune College is a reputed institution now. I was seven when I came to this school. I still remember those days. There was another school, Bango Mahila Vidyalay. Grown up women studied there. When I was fourteen that school merged with Bethune School. Then the development of this college started. The old teaching system was discarded and a new system was introduced. I was glad imagining that I would study in a higher class. But unfortunately, due to my father’s illness, I had to take him to a new place for change of air. I was sad that I could not pursue my studies.
When I was studying in school, two English lady teachers, a fireengee lady teacher and a pundit used to teach us. An old lady caretaker worked there. She would go from house to house and explain mothers that they should provide education to their daughters. She was successful in her endeavour. A number of girls enrolled in this school. Perhaps she had an agreement with the teachers. Girls studied here till they were ten or twelve. Parents would stop them from attending school and give them in marriage. I and Saratkumari, Vidyasagar’s youngest daughter, were among the grown-ups in our school. We were twelve or thirteen. The school provided meagre education to us. At a higher class, ‘navarani’, ‘charupath’, bastu bichar’, geography, mathematics, third book— all these subjects were taught to us. Once two girls completed their studies at our school, so our head mistress said, jokingly— Now you would go and study in college with boys.’ She did not know that the trees she had planted would one day grow and cover the whole of Bengal.
Now-a-days numberless women study in colleges; they have progressed in many aspects. How lovely! Then girls used to come to school at nine o clock and played till eleven. The school would start at eleven. The teachers were indifferent about the studies of the girls. The teachers did not bother if the girls studied or not. When I came back from school, I would stack my books at a place; the next day I would carry it with me to school. The teachers never checked if I did the homework. Sometimes, I would not do homework for two, three days. The teachers only explained for once the meaning of words while teaching in the classroom. One whose memory was sharp, she was able to pass the examination. The headmistress would go and meet the mothers of the girls once in a while. She would tell the pupil, whose house she planned to visit, before a day that she would visit her house. The lady teachers knew Hindi, and some of them knew how to speak Bangla. Before she left for England, the mistress made the pupils sit in the gallery at 2 o’ clock. And another teacher came with an attendance register and stood near her. She called the names of the girls from the resister one by one, and when they came, the headmistress kissed each of them, looking sombre with tearful eyes. Some of the teachers would cry occasionally. Many students also felt sad as the headmistress was leaving the school. I remember I also felt sad when some quiet, good natured teacher left us. After they left, I would cry inconsolably at home for three, four days. My parents would try to comfort me. But I would not be calm in any way. My sadness would lessen with time. When the school started, a song was sung. I can’t remember the whole song now though I remember a few lines—
Come, we’ll go to school
will be happy in school.
How wonderful the song was! We loved the song. When we went and sat in the gallery, the girls would be unruly for sometime and would not be silent by any means; then a pundit or a teacher would come and placing a finger on his mouth, would say, in a singing voice—
Silent, silent, be silent, be silent at once.
Because your teacher says to be silent,
So be silent, silent, silent.
Then the girls would be silent out of fear. Once, it was announced in the school that the girl who would sing well, would receive a medal from the head mistress. The headmistress liked beautiful girls. In our school, there was a very beautiful girl, but her voice was not melodious. Once when all the girls were singing in the gallery, she said, that girl sang well. The other teachers said that it was not the case but not on her face. They agreed with the headmistress and said that the girl sang well. So the girl received a gold medal at the prize-giving ceremony. I felt angry for her partiality. Now I realise beauty has such powers! Then the school was decorated on the day of the annual function, many people in Kolkata were invited to it. The governor general’s wife or daughter would come and distribute the prizes. Once North Brook’s daughter came for the prize distribution ceremony. In her honour, our headmistress had trained us to sing a song—
Greetings, greetings, Miss Barring
At this moment we are happy as we get to see you
Greetings, greetings, you, the paragon of virtues
Have mercy on this school…
Once the wife of an officer, while distributing prizes, found a girl, who wore a lot of jewellery. She asked a teacher whose daughter she was. From that time onwards, before the day of prize distributing ceremony, the teachers would ask the pupils to wear whatever jewellery they had on the day of the function. I saw the girls from rich families would be decked in jewellery from toe to top, which produced tinkling sound. They looked like some animal covered with jewellery. They were so scared of losing their jewellery that they appeared as though they were covered by melancholy.
The teacher would let the girl sit in the first row, who wore the maximum number of jewellery, for she would draw the attention of the wife of the officer. The teachers would arrange all the stitched clothes on a table to show these to the officer’s wife on that day. These were— carpet, borders of bed sheets, bakhia siali. More attractive prizes seemed to be given to those who stitched well rather than who did well in studies. We would sing ‘God save the Queen’ before the end of the function. On some days, before taking a class, now you have to imitate how it rains, thunders, lighting. She had taught us like this— the girls, who sat in the first rows of the gallery, would produce hissing sounds. All of us would imitate the teacher. Then with our fingers we would produce the sound of rain. That was the imitation of rain. When all the pupils would pound their feet on the floor of the gallery that would be imitating the sound of thunder. Those pupils who wore anklets, the teacher would be happy with them. The sound produced by them would be compared with the sound of thunder. As a result, most of the pupils wore anklets. Once, a headmistress made us stand in the gallery and do drilling exercises. First she would show us, we would follow her. This made us laugh, but we would control ourselves somehow. Again she would bring us back from the gallery and take us from one room to another. After this would she instruct us to start our studies. In this way, a lot of time from the study hour were wasted. Then all the activities at the school were carried out without any systematic manner. Now the schools function in a systematic and exemplary manner.
When the discussion of Bengal Girls’ School merging with this school began, I was old enough to understand that no teacher was happy about this. May be they thought they functioned well so far; why should the two schools merge and everything be changed. Whatever, the two schools got merged and some teachers from our school and some from Bengal Girls’ School (Bonga Mahila School), remained. The school ran for some time in this way. The teachers from Bengal Girls’ School played with the pupils during break. The one or two teachers who were from our school taught us to sing — Grown up girls dancing shamelessly in open. We sang this again and again. Those girls who did not know how to dance said this. As the teachers from Bengal Girls’ School did not understand Bangla, they did not react to this. Later I could not attend school for three months because of illness. When I recovered I came to school and found that there were none of the old teachers. Why should they stay there? Without understanding will anything be possible. The earlier teachers did not bother about the development of the school.
During the annual examination, some eminent Bengalis of the town would come and examine us. If some girl failed in the examination, they would promote her to the next class on the day next.
When we were on our way back home in car, we would recite poems loudly and memorise them— Who wants to live with out freedom etc etc… Repeating this we came back home.
Such wide difference between those times and present time! Now Bengali women are fully educated. Bengali women have pursued higher studies; they have studied B.A, MA and they carry out serious responsibilities of this college. Many women, educated here, run their household smoothly, and have supported their spouse, brothers and sons to serve the country. Who would not feel joy at this? Whose heart would not be filled with joy at these? Now grown up girls study in this school. Through the guidance of model teachers the students who are studying now will tomorrow become ideal citizens and serve the country. Women’s lives no longer remain neglected or ignorant without knowledge—the country people have gradually realised this. A country advances when women get education— this outlook no longer remains confined to the western countries. In our country, there are plenty of examples in this regard. Now our country has realised this. So we owe our gratitude to the founder of Bethune College and its lady principal and other teachers. When the teachers would think that it was their duty to teach the next generation, then that would be real self governance.
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(Read at the Girls’ conference at Bethune School. Bharati, Jyostha, 1315)
Leelavati Mitra (1864-1924): She was born in Bodal, 24 Pravana. Her father was Raj Narayan Basu, the founder of the magazine, Sanjeevani and a member of the Sadharan Brahmo Samaj. She was married to Krisha Kumar Mitra, a leader. She got support from her husband to do social work. Ishawr Chandra Vidyasagar sent many child widows to her; she would give them in marriage to suitable candidates. Kumidini Mishra, the editor of Suprabha magazine, was her daughter. Leelavati’s diaries were published as Jeevan Katha.
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