A tribute to Banalata Gohain

A tribute to Banalata Gohain

When I think of Aita, so many thoughts spring to mind. Where do I begin? Do I write about her appearance? She was a real beauty, a beauty with brains. The pictures I saw of her younger days bear testimony to that. Do I write about how she was a stickler for rules and a vocal supporter of justice? I remember her scolding Koka once for trying to bend the rules in a game of Ludo to let my cousin win. Do I write about her being progressive? She defied her father as a teenager and refused to get married, opting instead to continue her studies. Or do I write about her stories and that comforting smell which we all agreed was uniquely Aita? There are no words that I can possibly use to describe her fully, to do justice to what she was, what she meant to me, and the hole she’s left behind, but let me try nonetheless.

Aita was born on November 17, 1924 in Nagaon, Assam to the late Uma Charan Gohain and Swarnalata Gohain. She was the fifth of eight siblings. She completed her schooling from the Mission School in Nagaon, winning a gold medal in Sanskrit (much to the embarrassment of my sister and I, both of whom cried through the subject), and went on to win a full scholarship to study for a B.A degree from Handique College. She later studied for a master’s in history from the newly established Gauhati University, becoming a member of one of the earliest batches of the university and stayed in the Satribari Hostel for girls. This was in the late 40s when a college education for women was not easily accessible.

Unlike what was expected of other women of her generation, she was acutely aware of the politics of her time, and never shied away from speaking out for what she believed in. We would often listen with awe as she regaled us with memories of her deeds during her youth. She was a fierce nationalist and took an active part in the freedom struggle. While in University and during the early years of her marriage to my Koka, the Late Nikhileswar Gohain, she delivered several talks on All India Radio on women’s empowerment, a cause she strongly advocated for throughout her life.

Aita was an intelligent woman. It was rare to get away with hiding something from her. She read works written in three languages- English, Assamese and Bengali- and her knowledge of books was expansive. I remember many a time describing a particular book to her, assuming she would not recognize it, only to have her give me the title and ask me why I didn’t name it in the first place. She was a kind and caring woman, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her grandchildren. I remember her pottering about my room when I’d be studying, trying to adjust the lighting or clear the clutter or simply get me something to eat. She was a great storyteller and when we were younger, she would often put us to sleep with stories of the kings and queens of yore.

But what stays with me most strongly about her was her strength. She strode through life refusing to be bowed down by the tragedies life threw her way. She could rise above the grief of losing siblings, a husband, a son-in-law and perhaps cruellest of all, a much-loved daughter. Her faith in God was unshakeable, and she would always encourage us to look forward.

In many ways, she defied the stereotypes associated with her age. Even after we were told that she was too old to travel, she made it to Delhi to attend her granddaughter’s wedding. Years later, surprising everyone, she repeated that journey when her great-granddaughter was born. Advancing old-age could not stop her when she was truly determined. It could not diminish her love of life, or her curiosity about the world around her. It certainly did not hinder her ability to continue talking at full speed without pausing, often oblivious to the amused smiles all around. And perhaps most importantly, it did nothing to lessen the joy she found in reading. In recent years, as increasing deafness made conversations difficult, she would often tell us of the solace she found in her books.

She was ailing these last few months and had been bed-ridden since her hospitalization in November. Death, in the end, came as a way to relieve her of her suffering and to take her to a better place, a happier place, free of pain. May she always rest in peace.

— Ranjini Gogoi