People who pass the Main Road every day rarely pause to look at the statue of Albert Ekka; or spare a thought for the road-dividers which keep the traffic moving in some semblance of order. Both owe their existence to Madan Mohan Jha, former deputy commissioner (DC) of Ranchi.

DCs come and go and their contributions rarely outlive them; or indeed become visible. But it is strange to recall that the two very basic landmarks might not have been there but for a man who died at Patna on Friday.

It might now seem ironical but one of the first tasks of Jha as the deputy commissioner of Ranchi was to order the eviction of “encroachers” from the roads. Overnight, the Main Road in Ranchi started looking both cleaner and wider.

As a young journalist, I was a member of a delegation that had called on the new DC over something that I no longer remember. But I recall that the delegation was effusive in its praise of the DC’s move to clear the roads of “obstacles” like street vendors. He suddenly pointed to me, sitting at the back, and asked why I was so quiet. “Because you will not like what I might have to say,” I replied, raising everybody’s eyebrow. I said that I did not agree with the drive, which, I felt, could be only a stop-gap arrangement. Street vendors were there because of necessity. Wider roads, better transport and planned markets, I said, could not be substituted by such drives.

Madan looked cross. “I am a law-enforcer and not a social reformer,” he declared, adding testily, “next you will ask me to rehabilitate prostitutes.”

Our first meeting obviously had not gone down too well. Therefore, when a few days later, a delegation of street vendors approached me to intercede on their behalf with the new DC, I refused. However, I wrote out a letter, explaining that the vendors merely wanted to be spared till the rainy season so that they can sell second-hand waterproofs.

The very next day a crisp official letter arrived from the DC’s office. The request, it said, could not be acceded on grounds of public interest. It made me even more bitter and I cursed myself for writing the note. But the day after the street vendors were back with a packet of sweets. The SDO, they said, had asked them to stay back till the rainy season. The encounter, I believe, started off a mutual admiration society of two that lasted till Friday morning.

The last 15 years of his life had been spent in the cause of education — fine-tuning state policy, preparing structures and training tools. He went to England to study education and came back bubbling with new ideas. Bihar Education Project (BEP) took new wings under him. He antagonised a large number of intellectuals and film-makers when he cancelled all the lavish projects approved by his predecessor. “BEP is not in the business of making films,” he declared.

Even earlier, as director (primary education) he had ordered the department to lodge an FIR against his predecessor for parking crores of money of “Operation Blackboard” in commercial banks. As a first step, he had ordered the money to be withdrawn and deposited in cooperative banks, which not only offered a higher interest but would also invest the sum in the state.

I was a witness to the contempt with which he had sent a group of bank officials packing, who had approached him with the plea that the money be allowed to remain with them. In return they hinted to spend 5 per cent on Jha. They were lucky to get out of his chamber without handcuffs.

A straightforward, simple man, his passion knew no bounds. When he was asked to take over the rehabilitation of the oustees of the Koel-Karo project, I remember spending several evenings on the lawns of his spacious bungalow, discussing the possibilities. He one day found out that I had a copy of the Maharashtra Rehabilitation Act and sent a man rushing to my home next morning to pick up the copy. On a Saturday evening he told me he would be visiting Tapkara on Sunday to discuss the issues with all the affected BDOs. I commented, half in jest, that he would spend the time better listening to the villagers instead, who planned a meeting the next day at Torpa.

Madan did not react. But on Monday morning, a visibly agitated lawyer-activist Rashmi Katyayan turned up at my place to complain that the DC had ruined the meeting he had called at Torpa. “He just took over our meeting and spent the whole day talking to villagers,” complained Katyayan. I could only smile.

Administrators are backroom boys who are seldom feted. They work away from the public glare while politicians and publicity hounds among the bureaucrats hog the headlines. But officers like Jha need to be remembered so that they inspire others who will follow.