Forging an Asian identity

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Forging an Asian identity


A common thread binds all the countries of Asia and is seen in
philosophy and metaphysics and poetry and folklore. But due to the
colonisation of many countries, Asians know more about Western writing
than of their neighbouring countries. MANOJ DAS makes a case for a
voluntary compulsion to get to know the literature of other Asian
countries thereby strengthening the Asian identity.

"Europe is but a molehill; there never have been mighty empires, there
never have occurred great revolutions. But the East, where live hundreds
of millions of men, is the cradle of all faiths ? the birthplace of all
metaphysics.

The Hindu (New Delhi)
January 7, 2001

Napoleon Bonaparte

A CALM twilight engulfed us as we sat in a cosy valley not far from
Bandung, Indonesia, in June 1956. We, a few Asians, (more interested in
literature than other delegates to the Afro-Asian Students Conference)
had broken away from the rest for a rendezvous.

In a jovial mood we told humourous anecdotes of our countries - China,
India, Indonesia, Vietnam, Singapore, Malaysia, Sri Lanka. Before long,
we were amazed at the intimate affinity underlying those stories.
Characters and situations resembled one another so closely. Our
conference known as "Little Bandung" - after the historic Bandung
Conference of 1955 which gave the doctrine of Panchsheel, the five
principles of ideal co-existence - had knit us together into a
comradeship, but the few of us certainly emerged from our unpublicised
get-together as slightly more enlightened Asians.

Asia, the largest of the continents, extending from the Ural mountains
to the Caspian Sea, from the Caucasus mountains to the Black Sea, from
the Asia Minor coasts and southeastern Mediterranean to the Red Sea,
from the East Indies and Japan to Kamatchka has naturally many faces.
Yet, a feeling of affinity runs through the veins of its peoples which
the Asians themselves take for granted and the Westerners can feel
perhaps only in
contrast to their own attitude to life. Kipling's line "Oh, East is East
and West is West, and never the twain shall meet" is famous, but he did
not belittle the East. What he meant was, the West should not dream of
achieving that unity through the means of Westernising the East.
Elsewhere, he said, "Asia is not going to be civilised after the methods
of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old." However his
picture of the East was that of a static hierarchy. And here is a
glimpse of that amusing picture with a British colony as its backdrop:

"Mule, horse, elephant, or bullock, he obeys his driver, and the driver
his sergeant, and the sergeant his lieutenant, and the lieutenant his
captain, and the captain his major, and the major his colonel, and the
colonel his brigadier commanding three regiments, and the brigadier his
general, who obeys the Viceroy, who is the servant of the Empress." (The
Mythology of Imperialism, Jonah Raskin)

While there are many Asias, geographically speaking, there is also an
Asia transcending geography and that one is not a vague idea or concept;
it has evolved over millenia. From gross facts of history, like battles
and commerce, to subtle forces of curiosity for the neighbour and the
quest for truth as well as aspirations to spread the truth one has
realised, numerous factors contributed to its formation. Indeed it is
based on the needs of the inner life, man's need for the knowledge of
the meaning of life, of the enigma of suffering and death, the need for
true happiness ... expressed through philosophy and mystic doctrines at
a lofty plane and through fiction and poetry tales, legends, verses and
proverbs at the popular plane. If the Buddhist theories discovered
kinship in Taoism and out of their fraternal dialogue sprang the
Quingtan school of though in the third century, dozens from the Indian
Panchatantra and Kathasaritasagra, mingling with the elements of Chinese
folklore resulted in the cultivation of a fresh crop of tales.
Characters and situations from the Indian epic, the Ramayana, in
particular, had a unique role to play in this process of intermingling.
The relationship between the Indian Hanuman and the Chinese Sun Wukong
is unmistakable. Needless to say, such assimilations were not confined
to China and India; this went on among practically all the countries of
Asia. And the process continued. The genre of fiction in Japan known as
Shosetsu since the 19th Century owes its origin to China, though it had
undergone a change in its meaning during the past decades. The Japanese
Haika has gained currency in several countries including India.

A powerful element that identifies a significant area of the modern
Asian literature is the cry for freedom from imperial, colonial, and
feudal oppression. Novels, short stories, plays and poetry carrying the
voice of protest against the oppressors are too numerous to be listed. I
would like to refer to a book that belongs to another Asian country -
Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) by Jose Rizal (1861-1896), the genius who
was killed by a Spanish firing squad at the age of 34. The novel begins
on a gentle satire. A native, proud of his proximity to the colonial
rulers, is throwing a party. Thus it goes:

"So the news of his dinner party ran like an electric shock through the
community of spongers, hangers-on, and gatecrashers whom God in His
infinite wisdom had created and so fondly multiplied in Manila. Some of
these set out to hunt polish for their boots; others collar buttons and
cravats; but one and all gave their gravest thoughts to the manner in
which they might greet their host with the assumed intimacy of long
standing friendship, or, if the occasion should arise, make a graceful
apology for not having arrived earlier where presumable their presence
was so eagerly awaited. The dinner was given in a house which may still
be recognized unless it has tumbled down in some earthquake. Certainly,
it would not have been pulled down by its owner; in the Phillipines that
is usually left to God and Nature. In fact one often thinks they are
under contract to the government for just that purpose."

The fun slowly gives way to a bitter projection of the common man's life
at that time which is not so remote in history. The theme of the novel
is the making of a rebel and here is the man whose reminiscences feed
the spirit of rebellion in the protoganist:

"About sixty years ago, my grandfather lived in Manila, working as a
bookkeeper in the office of a Spanish merchant. My grandfather was then
very young but already married and had a son. One night, the merchant's
warehouse caught fire from an unknown cause; the fire spread throughout
the establishment and then to many others. The losses were very heavy; a
scapegoat had to be found; and the merchant brought charges against my
grandfather. He protested his innocence in vain; he was poor and could
not retain eminent counsel, and so he was condemned to be paraded along
the streets of Manila and publicly flogged. This degrading punishment, a
thousand times worse than death, was still in use until long ago. My
grandfather, forsaken by all except his young wife, found himself bound
to a horse, followed by a sadistic crowd, and flogged at every street
corner, before the men who were his brothers and before the many temples
of a God of Love. When the wretch, condemned to perpetual infamy, had
sated the vengeance of men with his blood, his suffering and his
screams, they had to cut him loose from the horse, for he had lost
consciousness - would he had lost his life! In a refinement of cruelty,
they set him free. His wife, who was then pregnant, went from door to
door begging in vain for work or alms for her sick husband and helpless
child. But who would trust the wife of a convicted arsonist? So she
became a whore." (University of Indiana Press, 1961)

This sort of bitter realism sharpened by satire, grew on the soils of
all the European colonies in Asia with little or no influence over one
another, but out of a common fate.

Life under colonial rulers was a field for bizarre experiences ? of
humiliation, pain and anger resulting in decades of depression, taking
among its toll the creative zeal of the writers. But it also cultivated
a sense of solidarity among the people of a nation and often among
nations too. The literature of protest naturally inspired patriotic
upsurges and the sacrifices of the martyrs and the sagas composed by
them stirred the minds of different peoples for a long period. But
imperialism and colonialism, in their raw form, are no more. Even
feudalism has met its end, though not the feudal mindset in many
countries. Tyrannies experienced in the past can still make a solid
stuff of literature, but only of memories. A memorable work on such
themes can be no more than an occasional phenomenon. Can we direct our
national zeals into a transnational zeal, embracing the spirit of our
continent? Needless to say, nothing can be forced on the creative mind.
Efforts in that direction have resulted in stacks of unimaginative and
uninspired literature and no repetition of that or any similar process
should interest the writers and authorities today and tomorrow.

But the time-spirit is bringing the nations together on different fronts
- social, economic, educational, technological and of course, political.
If we neglect forging a literary togetherness, that will be a surrender
to inaction, running against the time- spirit.

What then do we do? The answer is not far to seek. Why do I, as an
Indian, know more about English, American and French literature than the
Chinese, Japanese or Vietnamese literature? The colonial rule under
which India lay created situations that at first obliged us to learn
that way. But what was once a historic compulsion, became a spontaneous
acceptance in a changed situation. Thus our acquaintance with western
literature which gradually became an exchange too, continues happily. We
have not been losers on that account. The West dominated so many
countries in the East. At least, some notable works of one Eastern
country reached other countries of the Continent through a Western
language. That was perhaps nature's compensation to the East for having
lost on many fronts to the West. But sometimes, I ask myself: suppose
India had not been colonized and I had the option to choose, which
literature should I read? English or Chinese? It could probably have
been Chinese.

I believe, like the historic compulsion which made me familiar with
English literature, it is time we create a moral and happily voluntary
compulsion for ourselves and get to know the literatures of Asia. It is
true, only a few of us can learn Chinese and only a few Chinese or
Koreans can learn any of the Indian languages. But today we live in a
world when massive efforts in international cooperation have been made
and several have succeeded. The simple fact is, no serious thought has
gone into the need for creating an institution or agency which could
dedicate itself to introducing the literatures of Asia to one another
through translations.

The Asian identity is there, concealed in the heritage of most of the
Asian countries. It is also there in contemporary literature. But it is
not pronounced. It remains veiled.

We in India have debated as much as other Asian countries have, about
issues like the desirability of Western influence on our culture, its
inevitability or otherwise, and the relation between tradition and
modernity. Like the May Fourth Movement in China which championed
western values and ideals in the 1920s, we too had voices against our
traditions and they were given a reasonable hearing. An exchange in
experiences of this kind would no doubt be highly educative.

For quite some time, Indian literature for the common Englishman meant
what Rudyard Kipling and the like wrote. For long, India's window as
well as that of the West on Chinese life has been Pearl S. Buck's Good
Earth. But when I read Lu Hsun, a number of his short stories and The
True Story of Ah Q, I realised that despite the realism in the works of
Pearl Buck and other gifted writers, Lu Hsun's work had an authenticity
that could be expected only of a native of China. I do not propose to
display my meagre knowledge of Chinese literature here, but what I
propose is a strong and well-planned academy of Asian literatures to
take care of the great need to know one another.

And who could take any effective step in that direction? For me, the
answer came from the first Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru.
Speaking to Mr. Paul Feng of the Central News Agency, he said on January
20, 1946, "If China and India hold together, the future of Asia is
assured." This holding together need not be confined to diplomacy; it
can, by all means, be a psychological force that can work wonders in the
realms of creativity.

Another celebrated Indian, Rabindranath Tagore expressed the same
sentiment when, in A Message to my Chinese Friends, he said: "Age after
age in Asia, great dreamers have made the world sweet with the showers
of their love. Asia is again waiting for such dreamers to come and carry
on the work, not of fighting, not of profit-making, but of establishing
bonds of spiritual relationship. The time is at hand when we shall once
again be proud to belong to a continent that produces the Light that
radiates through the storm clouds of troubles and illuminates the path
of Life." (Professor Tan Yun-shan and Cultural Relations Between India
and China by V.G. Nair) Tagore established a department devoted to
Chinese studies in the Vishwa Bharathi University that he founded.

A great vision of mankind's future that 20th Century India gave the
world is through Sri Aurobindo. He visualised man as an evolving being
capable of rising above his present state of consciousness and stepping
into a new phase of existence. I had the good fortune to know a Chinese
savant Hu Hsu, a great painter and litterateur who lived in the Sri
Aurobindo Ashram at Pondicherry for many years and translated several
major works of Sri Aurobindo into Chinese. He lived the last phase of
his life in China and passed away on March 6 at the age of 91. His
latest translation was Sri Aurobindo's Life Divine.

The subtle, but undying, sympathy that exists between India and China
sometimes surfaces through symbolic events and such an event took place
in the late 1930s when the Indian National Congress, then fighting for
India's freedom, sent a medical mission to China during a critical phase
of its history.

A member of the team, Dr. Kotnis, died in China in December 1942 after
rendering heroic service to his cause. I published the story of Dr.
Kotnis, And One did not Come Back by veteran author Khwaja Ahmed Abbas
in the magazine I was then editing, The Heritage, since the original
edition of the book had disappeared for decades. I did so with the help
of Abbas and reproduced several photographs of the life of Dr. Kotnis in
China provided by Dr. B.K. Basu, the sole surviving member of the
medical mission and a great friend of Dr. Kotnis and of China.

"Once in a while, the relationship between India and China may grow hazy
at the political plane but it was always warm so far as the hearts of
the people are concerned," Dr. Basu assured me. I learned how true he
was once that issue of my magazine was published. "Tell us more,"
demanded my readers.

All I could wish was - long live the assurance of Dr. Basu; long live
the bond between India and China symbolised by the sacrifice of Dr.
Kotnis and let the bond embrace all the other nations of Asia.
l



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<b><font size=+3>Forging an Asian identity</font></b>
<br>&nbsp;
<p><b>A common thread binds all the countries of Asia and is seen in philosophy
and metaphysics and poetry and folklore. But due to the colonisation of
many countries, Asians know more about Western writing than of their neighbouring
countries. MANOJ DAS makes a case for a voluntary compulsion to get to
know the literature of other Asian countries thereby strengthening the
Asian identity.</b>
<p><i>"Europe is but a molehill; there never have been mighty empires,
there never have occurred great revolutions. But the East, where live hundreds
of millions of men, is the cradle of all faiths ? the birthplace of all
metaphysics.</i>
<p>The Hindu (New Delhi)
<br>January 7, 2001
<p><b>Napoleon Bonaparte</b>
<p>A CALM twilight engulfed us as we sat in a cosy valley not far from
Bandung, Indonesia, in June 1956. We, a few Asians, (more interested in
literature than other delegates to the Afro-Asian Students Conference)
had broken away from the rest for a rendezvous.
<p>In a jovial mood we told humourous anecdotes of our countries - China,
India, Indonesia, Vietnam, Singapore, Malaysia, Sri Lanka. Before long,
we were amazed at the intimate affinity underlying those stories. Characters
and situations resembled one another so closely. Our conference known as
"Little Bandung" - after the historic Bandung Conference of 1955 which
gave the doctrine of Panchsheel, the five principles of ideal co-existence
- had knit us together into a comradeship, but the few of us certainly
emerged from our unpublicised get-together as slightly more enlightened
Asians.
<p>Asia, the largest of the continents, extending from the Ural mountains
to the Caspian Sea, from the Caucasus mountains to the Black Sea, from
the Asia Minor coasts and southeastern Mediterranean to the Red Sea, from
the East Indies and Japan to Kamatchka has naturally many faces. Yet, a
feeling of affinity runs through the veins of its peoples which the Asians
themselves take for granted and the Westerners can feel perhaps only in
<br>contrast to their own attitude to life. Kipling's line "Oh, East is
East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet" is famous, but he
did not belittle the East. What he meant was, the West should not dream
of achieving that unity through the means of Westernising the East. Elsewhere,
he said, "Asia is not going to be civilised after the methods of the West.
There is too much Asia and she is too old." However his picture of the
East was that of a static hierarchy. And here is a glimpse of that amusing
picture with a British colony as its backdrop:
<p>"Mule, horse, elephant, or bullock, he obeys his driver, and the driver
his sergeant, and the sergeant his lieutenant, and the lieutenant his captain,
and the captain his major, and the major his colonel, and the colonel his
brigadier commanding three regiments, and the brigadier his general, who
obeys the Viceroy, who is the servant of the Empress." (<b>The Mythology
of Imperialism,</b> Jonah Raskin)
<p>While there are many Asias, geographically speaking, there is also an
Asia transcending geography and that one is not a vague idea or concept;
it has evolved over millenia. From gross facts of history, like battles
and commerce, to subtle forces of curiosity for the neighbour and the quest
for truth as well as aspirations to spread the truth one has realised,
numerous factors contributed to its formation. Indeed it is based on the
needs of the inner life, man's need for the knowledge of the meaning of
life, of the enigma of suffering and death, the need for true happiness
 ... expressed through philosophy and mystic doctrines at a lofty plane
and through fiction and poetry tales, legends, verses and proverbs at the
popular plane. If the Buddhist theories discovered kinship in Taoism and
out of their fraternal dialogue sprang the Quingtan school of though in
the third century, dozens from the Indian <b>Panchatantra </b>and <b>Kathasaritasagra,</b>
mingling with the elements of Chinese folklore resulted in the cultivation
of a fresh crop of tales. Characters and situations from the Indian epic,
the Ramayana, in particular, had a unique role to play in this process
of intermingling. The relationship between the Indian Hanuman and the Chinese
Sun Wukong is unmistakable. Needless to say, such assimilations were not
confined to China and India; this went on among practically all the countries
of Asia. And the process continued. The genre of fiction in Japan known
as Shosetsu since the 19th Century owes its origin to China, though it
had undergone a change in its meaning during the past decades. The Japanese
Haika has gained currency in several countries including India.
<p>A powerful element that identifies a significant area of the modern
Asian literature is the cry for freedom from imperial, colonial, and feudal
oppression. Novels, short stories, plays and poetry carrying the voice
of protest against the oppressors are too numerous to be listed. I would
like to refer to a book that belongs to another Asian country - <b>Noli
Me Tangere</b> (Touch Me Not) by Jose Rizal (1861-1896), the genius who
was killed by a Spanish firing squad at the age of 34. The novel begins
on a gentle satire. A native, proud of his proximity to the colonial rulers,
is throwing a party. Thus it goes:
<p>"So the news of his dinner party ran like an electric shock through
the community of spongers, hangers-on, and gatecrashers whom God in His
infinite wisdom had created and so fondly multiplied in Manila. Some of
these set out to hunt polish for their boots; others collar buttons and
cravats; but one and all gave their gravest thoughts to the manner in which
they might greet their host with the assumed intimacy of long standing
friendship, or, if the occasion should arise, make a graceful apology for
not having arrived earlier where presumable their presence was so eagerly
awaited. The dinner was given in a house which may still be recognized
unless it has tumbled down in some earthquake. Certainly, it would not
have been pulled down by its owner; in the Phillipines that is usually
left to God and Nature. In fact one often thinks they are under contract
to the government for just that purpose."
<p>The fun slowly gives way to a bitter projection of the common man's
life at that time which is not so remote in history. The theme of the novel
is the making of a rebel and here is the man whose reminiscences feed the
spirit of rebellion in the protoganist:
<p>"About sixty years ago, my grandfather lived in Manila, working as a
bookkeeper in the office of a Spanish merchant. My grandfather was then
very young but already married and had a son. One night, the merchant's
warehouse caught fire from an unknown cause; the fire spread throughout
the establishment and then to many others. The losses were very heavy;
a scapegoat had to be found; and the merchant brought charges against my
grandfather. He protested his innocence in vain; he was poor and could
not retain eminent counsel, and so he was condemned to be paraded along
the streets of Manila and publicly flogged. This degrading punishment,
a thousand times worse than death, was still in use until long ago. My
grandfather, forsaken by all except his young wife, found himself bound
to a horse, followed by a sadistic crowd, and flogged at every street corner,
before the men who were his brothers and before the many temples of a God
of Love. When the wretch, condemned to perpetual infamy, had sated the
vengeance of men with his blood, his suffering and his screams, they had
to cut him loose from the horse, for he had lost consciousness - would
he had lost his life! In a refinement of cruelty, they set him free. His
wife, who was then pregnant, went from door to door begging in vain for
work or alms for her sick husband and helpless child. But who would trust
the wife of a convicted arsonist? So she became a whore." (University of
Indiana Press, 1961)
<p>This sort of bitter realism sharpened by satire, grew on the soils of
all the European colonies in Asia with little or no influence over one
another, but out of a common fate.
<p>Life under colonial rulers was a field for bizarre experiences ? of
humiliation, pain and anger resulting in decades of depression, taking
among its toll the creative zeal of the writers. But it also cultivated
a sense of solidarity among the people of a nation and often among nations
too. The literature of protest naturally inspired patriotic upsurges and
the sacrifices of the martyrs and the sagas composed by them stirred the
minds of different peoples for a long period. But imperialism and colonialism,
in their raw form, are no more. Even feudalism has met its end, though
not the feudal mindset in many countries. Tyrannies experienced in the
past can still make a solid stuff of literature, but only of memories.
A memorable work on such themes can be no more than an occasional phenomenon.
Can we direct our national zeals into a transnational zeal, embracing the
spirit of our continent? Needless to say, nothing can be forced on the
creative mind. Efforts in that direction have resulted in stacks of unimaginative
and uninspired literature and no repetition of that or any similar process
should interest the writers and authorities today and tomorrow.
<p>But the time-spirit is bringing the nations together on different fronts
- social, economic, educational, technological and of course, political.
If we neglect forging a literary togetherness, that will be a surrender
to inaction, running against the time- spirit.
<p>What then do we do? The answer is not far to seek. Why do I, as an Indian,
know more about English, American and French literature than the Chinese,
Japanese or Vietnamese literature? The colonial rule under which India
lay created situations that at first obliged us to learn that way. But
what was once a historic compulsion, became a spontaneous acceptance in
a changed situation. Thus our acquaintance with western literature which
gradually became an exchange too, continues happily. We have not been losers
on that account. The West dominated so many countries in the East. At least,
some notable works of one Eastern country reached other countries of the
Continent through a Western language. That was perhaps nature's compensation
to the East for having lost on many fronts to the West. But sometimes,
I ask myself: suppose India had not been colonized and I had the option
to choose, which literature should I read? English or Chinese? It could
probably have been Chinese.
<p>I believe, like the historic compulsion which made me familiar with
English literature, it is time we create a moral and happily voluntary
compulsion for ourselves and get to know the literatures of Asia. It is
true, only a few of us can learn Chinese and only a few Chinese or Koreans
can learn any of the Indian languages. But today we live in a world when
massive efforts in international cooperation have been made and several
have succeeded. The simple fact is, no serious thought has gone into the
need for creating an institution or agency which could dedicate itself
to introducing the literatures of Asia to one another through translations.
<p>The Asian identity is there, concealed in the heritage of most of the
Asian countries. It is also there in contemporary literature. But it is
not pronounced. It remains veiled.
<p>We in India have debated as much as other Asian countries have, about
issues like the desirability of Western influence on our culture, its inevitability
or otherwise, and the relation between tradition and modernity. Like the
May Fourth Movement in China which championed western values and ideals
in the 1920s, we too had voices against our traditions and they were given
a reasonable hearing. An exchange in experiences of this kind would no
doubt be highly educative.
<p>For quite some time, Indian literature for the common Englishman meant
what Rudyard Kipling and the like wrote. For long, India's window as well
as that of the West on Chinese life has been Pearl S. Buck's <b>Good Earth</b>.
But when I read Lu Hsun, a number of his short stories and <b>The True
Story of Ah Q,</b> I realised that despite the realism in the works of
Pearl Buck and other gifted writers, Lu Hsun's work had an authenticity
that could be expected only of a native of China. I do not propose to display
my meagre knowledge of Chinese literature here, but what I propose is a
strong and well-planned academy of Asian literatures to take care of the
great need to know one another.
<p>And who could take any effective step in that direction? For me, the
answer came from the first Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru. Speaking
to Mr. Paul Feng of the Central News Agency, he said on January 20, 1946,
"If China and India hold together, the future of Asia is assured." This
holding together need not be confined to diplomacy; it can, by all means,
be a psychological force that can work wonders in the realms of creativity.
<p>Another celebrated Indian, Rabindranath Tagore expressed the same sentiment
when, in A Message to my Chinese Friends, he said: "Age after age in Asia,
great dreamers have made the world sweet with the showers of their love.
Asia is again waiting for such dreamers to come and carry on the work,
not of fighting, not of profit-making, but of establishing bonds of spiritual
relationship. The time is at hand when we shall once again be proud to
belong to a continent that produces the Light that radiates through the
storm clouds of troubles and illuminates the path of Life." (<b>Professor
Tan Yun-shan and Cultural Relations Between India and China</b> by V.G.
Nair) Tagore established a department devoted to Chinese studies in the
Vishwa Bharathi University that he founded.
<p>A great vision of mankind's future that 20th Century India gave the
world is through Sri Aurobindo. He visualised man as an evolving being
capable of rising above his present state of consciousness and stepping
into a new phase of existence. I had the good fortune to know a Chinese
savant Hu Hsu, a great painter and litterateur who lived in the Sri Aurobindo
Ashram at Pondicherry for many years and translated several major works
of Sri Aurobindo into Chinese. He lived the last phase of his life in China
and passed away on March 6 at the age of 91. His latest translation was
Sri Aurobindo's <b>Life Divine.</b>
<p>The subtle, but undying, sympathy that exists between India and China
sometimes surfaces through symbolic events and such an event took place
in the late 1930s when the Indian National Congress, then fighting for
India's freedom, sent a medical mission to China during a critical phase
of its history.
<p>A member of the team, Dr. Kotnis, died in China in December 1942 after
rendering heroic service to his cause. I published the story of Dr. Kotnis,
<b>And
One did not Come Back </b>by veteran author Khwaja Ahmed Abbas in the magazine
I was then editing, The Heritage, since the original edition of the book
had disappeared for decades. I did so with the help of Abbas and reproduced
several photographs of the life of Dr. Kotnis in China provided by Dr.
B.K. Basu, the sole surviving member of the medical mission and a great
friend of Dr. Kotnis and of China.
<p>"Once in a while, the relationship between India and China may grow
hazy at the political plane but it was always warm so far as the hearts
of the people are concerned," Dr. Basu assured me. I learned how true he
was once that issue of my magazine was published. "Tell us more," demanded
my readers.
<p>All I could wish was - long live the assurance of Dr. Basu; long live
the bond between India and China symbolised by the sacrifice of Dr. Kotnis
and let the bond embrace all the other nations of Asia.
<br>l
<p>&nbsp;</html>

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