"Mosha", "Chhori", " Dheel", "Dhulo", " Mulo" - these are some of the names of the stories featuring Ghonada. Premendra Mitra, who died in May three decades ago, was the creator of this unlikely, yet endearing, hero for young adults. The focus of the titles is seemingly on everyday objects: the mosquito; walking stick; stone; dust; radish and so on. Yet, Mitra's imagination and formidable research turned the tales involving mundane things into wondrous adventures. 'Adventure' does not quite describe the fictitious experiences that Ghonada shares with the occupants of a boarding house on Banamali Naskar Lane. (Mitra calls Ghonada's chronicles 'tall tales'.) The uniqueness of Mitra's creation lies in the seamless fusion of such genres as travelogue, history, science fiction, comedy and fantasy. Having blurred these borders, Mitra goes on to create an informed, illuminating and imaginary universe that continues to enthral the mind.
Unlike most of his contemporaries, Ghonada offered his readers a window onto the world. Even though he seldom left his fief - the messbari - save for his daily perambulations, Ghonada trotted the globe through the power of his imagination. Over seven decades ago, when Ghonada made his maiden appearance, the places he 'journeyed' to were uncharted territory for the Bengali adolescent. In " Nuri", we come across the archipelago of New Hebrides (now Vanuatu); "Tel" mentions the Virgin Islands, while " Shuto" takes Ghonada to the Mato Grosso forest in Brazil. Mitra's rich descriptions of local ecologies without the luxury of Google are testimony to his erudition and research. Ghonada can thus justifiably claim to be one of the earliest global 'explorers' in modern Bengali fiction. Satyajit Ray's Professor Shonku, who, too, is blessed with wings for feet, offers some competition in this context, but that came later in the day.
Mitra - he was, in his words, an avid student of 'both science and the arts' - was remarkably prescient when it came to environmental degradation. " Knata" talks about the bleaching of corals, while "Dhulo" refers to oceanic hurricanes. It will not be an exaggeration to suggest that there is a case for students of climate change - scientists, researchers, policymakers - to revisit Ghonada's journeys for perspective.
Significantly, Ghonada's travels were not a means of escaping a chaotic world (he appears on the Bengali literary landscape at the fag end of World War II in an India roiling under communal tension): they led him towards the turmoil that was underpinned by, among other evils, the spectres of colonialism, imperialism, racism and conflict. Of course, Ghonada tells his mesmerized audience how he triumphs against such adversarial forces.
And therein lies an almost imperceptible predicament. What Ghonada dishes out, albeit delectably, is gul - the colloquial Bengali expression for exaggerated, usually benign, untruth. (How else could Ghonada, who is petrified by a beetle, claim to capture a yeti - well almost?) The righteous may sneer that Ghonada's penchant for falsehood makes him less of a hero and more of a mortal. Strangely, it is this moral tic that facilitates Ghonada's transformation from a fictional character to someone believable and enduring.
