The state of Bengalis in learning English

Since when have Bengalis started learning English? Surely, it was when English education began to be seen as beneficial to their material interests.

That period was the latter half of the eighteenth century. Although Bengal’s independence effectively ended with the Battle of Plassey in 1757, it still took several years for the English to consolidate their rule over the region. Thus, at that time, English had not yet become the official language of the land, nor did Bengali children feel the need to learn English to gain royal favour. When the Supreme Court was established in Kolkata in 1774, it became clear that the old ways would no longer suffice; the English were no longer just traders—they had become rulers. To be beneficiaries of this merchant kingdom, mastering their language became essential for the subjects.

The late sociologist Binay Ghosh, while researching the history of English education in Bengal, came across an English-Bengali dictionary compiled by Ramkamal Sen. This dictionary was published in 1834. Its preface contains valuable information about the early efforts of Bengalis to learn English. Ramkamal Sen noted, “In 1774, the Supreme Court was established here, and from this period a knowledge of the English language appeared to be desirable and necessary.”

Kedarnath Majumdar wrote in his Bangala Samayik Sahitya on this matter, “When the Supreme Court was established in 1774, there arose a need for a bilingual person proficient in both English and Persian. At that time, there was a severe shortage of English language speakers in Bengal. The first judge of the Supreme Court, Sir Elijah Impey, appointed his colleague Ganeshram Das, a Delhi resident who had returned from Britain, to this post. Seeing the respect given to Ganeshram, who was from the western provinces, a strong desire to learn English arose among the Bengalis. Job-seeking Bengalis began going to Father Kiernandler to learn English, and many even sent their children to that poor school run by the priest to study English. Many wealthy people, hoping to mingle in English society, began learning English on their own efforts. Thus, with the establishment of the Supreme Court, an awakening to learn English began among the Bengali society of Kolkata.”

The Bengali clerks of the Supreme Court's English attorneys and advocates learned the 'desired and necessary' English language at that time. However, they did not fully master what is properly understood as language education. They managed to acquire the ability to write some English applications; with a few words like “Yes,” “No,” “Very well,” they could somehow maintain communication with the English officers. Yet, thanks to this limited knowledge of English, they gained much prestige. They became the English teachers in Kolkata city. Teaching English meant teaching just a few words. They wrote English words and their Bengali meanings in notebooks. Whoever could accumulate more English vocabulary was considered more proficient in English and gained higher respect as a teacher.

According to lexicographer Ramkamal Sen, a Brahmin named Ram Ram Mishra was the first among Bengalis to acquire moderate proficiency in the English language. He taught many students English. Following Ram Ram, other well-known English-educated Bengali gentlemen were Ram Narayan Mishra, Anandiram Das, Ramlochan Napit, and Krishna Mohan Basu, among others. Later, gentlemen like Bhavani Dutta and Shibu Dutta of Kolkata also became English-educated scholars. However, their knowledge did not extend beyond the Spelling Book and Word Book. Still, with that knowledge, they established English teaching schools and, by the end of the eighteenth century, started charging students a monthly fee ranging from 4 to 16 rupees.

For the devotion to learning English vocabulary, verses were composed, and students diligently memorised these verses like sacred mantras:

“Philosopher, wise man, plowman, chasha,
Pumpkin, laukumro, cucumber, shosha.”

In this way, by learning words through reciting verses, Bengalis secured jobs in the English offices, and the more vocabulary they possessed, the more qualified they were considered for employment. With that qualification, they worked and earned more than their fixed salaries. The way they earned this extra income certainly did not conform to traditional ethics—in simple terms, they often resorted to theft. Yet, when caught, they tried to justify their theft by using their entire English vocabulary knowledge.

One Bengali employee reportedly used to steal horse fodder from his sahib’s (English master’s) stable and sell it. One day, the sahib caught him red-handed and demanded an explanation: “Why are you so dishonest?” The Bengali gentleman seemed to have his excuse ready right on the tip of his tongue. Immediately he replied: “My house morning and evening twenty twenty forty leaves fall, lift money, how manage? Therefore dishonest.”

We do not know how much of the Bengali babu’s literal translation—"morning and evening twenty twenty forty leaves, lift money, how manage? Therefore dishonest"—the English sahib actually understood, as it followed the Bengali syntax. But what we do know is that these “dishonest Bengali babus” gradually advanced in their jobs in this very manner. By the early 19th century, they had become quite influential, especially centred around the city of Kolkata.

However, their children did not have to remain content with merely vocabulary-based English knowledge. Many became students of Hindu College and acquired such command over the English language and intellect that they were capable of challenging the English themselves. On May 2, 1831, Samachar Chandrika wrote very accurately:

“It is said that some mutsuddi (local clerk) once translated the description of a dhenki (a traditional rice-pounding device) into English like this: ‘Two men dhapur dhupur, one man seke de (one man gives heat),’ etc. It may be that during the initial phase of English dominance, many people were not well educated in the English language. However, it must be acknowledged that they were capable individuals who executed their duties efficiently. In the later second tier of mutsuddis, many were known throughout the land for their exceptional proficiency in English.”

However, those who became “highly proficient in the English language” still did not receive the recognition they deserved in the workplace. Before 1833, no Bengali—regardless of how well-versed he was in English or how skilled in various other fields—could rise to a position higher than that of a serestadar (a head clerk). After 1833, the situation improved slightly, and the highest possible post for a Bengali employee was set as Deputy Collector. Even obtaining that position initially was extremely difficult; even someone as accomplished as Rajnarayan Basu failed to secure it despite persistent efforts.

Those who had devoted their entire being—body, mind, and soul—to mastering English with the hope of securing prestigious jobs, naturally became frustrated and disillusioned when those jobs remained out of reach. Their disappointment and resentment toward both the English language and the English themselves are clearly reflected in the writings of Rajnarayan Basu.

He wrote, “...It is unfortunate that our English rulers do not fulfill our just expectations... English education has awakened high aspirations in our hearts; yet the rulers do not fulfill those aspirations. We clearly understand the faults of the government, but our hands and feet are tied—we have no voice in correcting these wrongs. In Greek mythology, it is written that a man named Tantalus received a peculiar punishment in hell: dying of thirst, whenever he bent to drink from the flowing stream, the water would flee from his lips. That is our plight. Whenever we think we have attained some governmental favour, it immediately slips away from our grasp. Had we not pursued English education, it might have been better than enduring this torment.”

From this very sense of grievance, the urban middle-class Bengali began to turn toward their mother tongue instead of the foreign English language. Some of those who had studied in English schools and had become accustomed to expressing their thoughts in English now started trying to speak in Bengali. They even attempted to replace "Good night" with "Surajani" as a parting greeting. Societies were even formed where, during discussions, one had to pay a fine if an English word accidentally slipped out during conversation.

However, in most cases, the Bengali spoken by these highly educated, English-educated youths of 19th-century Kolkata sounded so peculiar that it was difficult to identify it as Bengali—it could at best be called Ingabanga Bhasha (Anglo-Bengali language). In his book Bangala Samayik Sahitya, Kedarnath Majumdar cites an example of such an Ingabanga speech from a newspaper of the 1830s:

“Whether in Bengal’s social, political, or religious matters—whichever direction or point of view you look from—it is quite easy to mark that a kind of revolution has come about. In Bengali literature too, there’s nothing to suggest that the general norms are not being overturned. Like in other matters (of course, we are bound to confess), here too a dreadful revolution has occurred. Sadly, everything is heading in one direction—that same imitation of foreign things. Why? Why should we abandon our nationality and stand before foreigners with a begging bowl? What do we lack? Do we not have thoughts? Or do we not have the strength to express our ideas in our beloved Bengali language? Yes, we do! In this sinful life, I make a humble appeal to the respected gentlemen and ladies present here today, that I propose in this very meeting to move a resolution to establish a fund named the National Literature Defence Fund through which we shall defend the rights of our national literature.”

Kedarnath Majumdar noted that the periodical Bangabhasha, from which the speech was quoted, had added a remark in its own voice. Upon hearing such "Bangla" from the mouth of a son of Bengal, the Mother of Language was imagined to be speaking from behind the scenes:

“My own funeral my sons do perform,
Look how they bring about such reform!”

In truth, the urban middle-class Bengali society, after becoming educated in English, became detached from the general masses of the country. They also became estranged from the national language. Language is the carrier of thought. If thought becomes disconnected from the local context, then disconnection from the native language becomes inevitable. Furthermore, even when this urban group became aware of the stepmotherly attitude of the foreign colonial rulers, they still found it difficult to express their thoughts freely in the language of the common people. Besides, the urban middle class never truly intended to bridge their alienation from the masses. Rather, they wanted to retain that divide and rule over the people. But very soon they realised that the foreign rulers would inevitably create obstacles in fulfilling the aspirations of this ambitious local class. Faced with these obstacles, the native rivals of the colonial rulers sought to carry out their struggle for self-assertion by using the local language as a shield. But their affection for the national language was by no means sincere.

Indeed, among the members of this group, those endowed with artistic genius—those who bear within themselves the profound burden of our collective sorrow—cannot remain long imprisoned within the rigid framework of foreign thought. Like Michael Madhusudan, they all must eventually return to the "mine of maternal speech, brimming with precious gems." But those who are not devoted to the service of Indian literature are free from such concerns. In the 1830s and 1840s, while alternating between pride and grievance with their English overlords, they engaged in a sort of playful cultivation of "Englo-Bangla" language. However, in the decades that followed, they almost unquestioningly adopted the master's language as the primary vehicle for their ideas and actions. In 1872, in the Bangadarshan journal, Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay wrote very accurately about the English-educated Bengalis:

“Let alone literary matters—even in the most basic tasks of the new generation, nothing is done in Bengali. School discussions happen in English. Everyday matters, meetings, lectures, and proceedings are all conducted in English. If both parties know English, then even conversation takes place in English—sometimes twelve annas, sometimes sixteen annas English. Regardless of how they speak, they never write letters in Bengali. I have never seen anyone write a letter in Bengali when both parties know even a little English. I still fear that one day, even the Durga Puja mantras will be recited in English. There is nothing surprising in this. English is the language of power, the language of livelihood, and also the repository of vast knowledge. It has become our only ladder to education and advancement. The Bengalis have, from early youth, practiced it so much that it has now become their second language. Today, if one doesn’t speak in English, the Englishman won’t understand; and if the Englishman doesn’t understand, there is no respect; and without the Englishman’s respect, there is no respect anywhere—or having it and not having it are the same. What the Englishman does not hear is as good as crying in the wilderness; what he does not see is as good as pouring ghee into ashes.”

Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay had accurately grasped the material basis and real condition of the new Bengali middle class’s entanglement with the English language. At the same time, he was also stirred by a desire to see that reality transformed. His unequivocal realisation was: “As long as well-educated and knowledgeable Bengalis do not articulate their thoughts in the Bengali language, there remains no prospect for Bengali advancement.”

Yet, those who, inspired by a sense of national consciousness, established the Indian National Congress continued to use a foreign language as the medium for their speeches and writings in its meetings and conferences. The first protest in this matter came from Rabindranath Tagore. That is to say, here too, we observe that concern for the dignity of the mother tongue mainly resided with the sensitive servants of literature; the materially minded, educated Bengalis showed little concern for such matters. Rabindranath repeatedly emphasised the importance of proper practice of the mother tongue, reminding people of the need to use it as the medium of education. But astonishingly, even after the British departed from India, the Bengali mind could not awaken in the light of the awareness kindled by Bankim and Rabindranath. The end of British rule did not bring about the end of rule of English as a language.

The British rule ended, and Bengal was partitioned, becoming a part of the two states—India and Pakistan. In India, Hindi was declared the national language instead of English, and in Pakistan, the lawmakers declared a mixed language named Urdu as the national language. Despite Bengali's unmatched literary wealth in the entire Indian subcontinent, it could not replace English in multilingual India. Indian Bengalis, instead of resisting Hindi with Bengali, increasingly embraced English as a weapon of resistance. Even after driving out the British, they could not establish Bengali in all areas of life.

However, the majority Bengali society that became part of Pakistan did not so easily give up its right to its mother tongue like the Indian Bengalis did. By sacrificing their lives for the language, they began a kind of campaign that ultimately culminated in the long-cherished attainment of independence. The independent Bengali state, inscribed in golden letters on the world map, was born of Bengali-speaking people. There should, therefore, be no obstacle in the path of establishing the rightful status of the Bengali language in such a state. Because Bangladesh is a language-based nation-state, the absolute right of the Bengali language could be established without interfering with the rights of others.

Yet, even after many years have passed since the birth of such a state, have its citizens truly attained the unobstructed right to self-expression and self-development in their own language? The answer is clearly no—this truth is as obvious as daylight. But why haven't they?

With the emergence of Bangladesh as an independent state, the encouragement to use Bengali in official work grew significantly. This enthusiasm mainly came from the lower-level employees. The lack of terminology or the shortage of typewriters could not dampen their spirit. However, among the upper-level bureaucrats and various elite figures in education and society, there was not only a lack of sincerity in using Bengali, but also indifference and even resistance. This was because most of them had their minds deeply influenced by imperialist ideologies—knowingly or unknowingly, they remained faithful allies of imperialist interests.

It is only natural that awakening the consciousness of the masses through the mother tongue would not align with the interests of imperialism or its representatives. In the early years after independence, they had to tread carefully and operate with some caution, but within just a few years, the situation turned in their favour. The imperialist grip tightened its hold on the country, mocking the very idea of independence. The local guardians of imperialist interests lost all fear and hesitation and began ruling the native society, once again, with foreign English, unrestrained and with great force.

Only a handful of Bengalis who have mastered English enjoy the sweet fruits of independence as the ruling class in Bangladesh. The vast majority of Bengalis, lacking English education, are left to merely watch, like the second bird in the parable from the Upanishads, as the first bird eats the fruit, and feel content just by observing. Even though it has been officially declared that Bengali must be used in all state affairs, the actual situation has hardly changed.

Is there truly no way out of this situation?

In search of that path, we certainly do not wish to rely on hatred of English. Like Bankimchandra from over a century ago, we would still say today: “We are not haters of English people or the English language. It can be said that of all the benefits that have come to this country from the English, English education is the foremost. The more we engage with the English language, the more we gain from it, for it is a language rich with endless treasures.”

It is through the English language that Bengalis were able to come into intellectual conflict with European ideas, get acquainted with the ideologies of bourgeois revolutions, and come into contact with new scientific discoveries and an understanding of science—these are facts we cannot forget. Even today, it is undeniable that English remains the bridge through which we can access the storehouse of global knowledge.

But at the same time, we must not forget that no matter how rich a foreign language may be, national self-development is not truly possible through it. For national self-development, the foremost requirement is liberation from all visible and invisible chains of imperialism. Bengalis have endured much oppression under imperialist forces. It’s not that Bengalis haven’t resisted imperialism—they have—but very few have been fully aware of the true nature of imperialism. The urban middle-class Bengalis, who once served the British diligently after learning English, who at times staged a boycott of English in a gesture of protest, and who even directly took part in the anti-colonial struggle, now—after the founding of an independent Bengali state—largely show no concern about imperialism. On the contrary, we have already noted how many among them have bound their own interests tightly to those of imperialism.

And even among those who are somewhat free from illusions about imperialism, many lack a clear understanding of its true nature. Therefore, no one from among them is truly engaged in the struggle against imperialism. Without an anti-imperialist struggle, the country cannot attain genuine freedom. Without true freedom, the country cannot become self-reliant in any aspect, including the realm of its own language. The material and mental foundation for development through one’s mother tongue is extremely ancient. The fact that we have failed to uphold this is evident in the countless English-language institutions born due to the lack of widespread Bengali-medium education at all levels and in all fields.

Those who surrender and yet desire the genuine freedom of Bengali language and people must seek a true diagnosis of the conditions affecting their nation. While care must be taken so that love for the mother tongue does not become a source of contempt for foreign languages, it is equally necessary to break free from the bondage of foreign languages. The Bengali once learned English solely due to narrow material interests, but that knowledge must now be applied towards enriching the treasure of the mind.

For this, not only is the struggle against imperialism essential, but also the spread of scientific class consciousness and a sense of internationalism. It must always be remembered that no great or noble thing can be achieved in the swamp of narrow nationalism.

Having started the struggle for the rights of the mother tongue, we have established a free motherland. We will not disregard the extent to which the status of the mother tongue has been established in that land. Nor will we remain confined to the swamp of illusions while indulging in self-admiration—we must become practitioners of the mantra ‘Charoibeti’ (which means “let it live forever”).

Jatin Sarkar: Educator and essayist