ABSTRACT
IT was somewhere in 1890 or 1891 that I first saw Sir Asutosh Mookerjee. I saw him at Bankipore where he had gone to see my father on some private business of his own. A mere school boy then—I had only a distant vision of him. But I well remember the hushed awe in which my town’s folk spoke of Dr. Mookerjee, as he then was. Evidently the popular eye even then beheld in him the coming man, the man of destiny. This is the earliest recollection that I have of the late Sir Asutosh. In 1901, when I joined the Calcutta Bar, my acquaintance really began with him. It soon deepened into affection, and the succeeding years strengthened and mellowed it. What irresistibly drew me to him was his consuming passion for books and immense enthusiasm for learning. Our tastes were similar—our Temple of Worship—the Temple of Minerva—the same. Distinctly, as though it took place but yesterday, I remember my first interview with him at his house in Bhawanipur. He gave me a cordial reception. He took me over his library. He showed me his collection, rich in rare and select books. He spoke of the romance of book-collecting; the good luck that occasionally awaited the lover of books. It was a delightful meeting—the first of the many that we have had since. His library was a monument of his catholic taste. Every branch of learning was represented there; every book of mark had a place on his shelf. I was enthralled by him. And who would not be? His easy manners, his disarming candour, his liberal sympathies, his encouraging counsel—such an assemblage of qualities—would they fail to make a friend or appease a foe? One incident connected with my first meeting with Sir Asutosh should not be omitted. He pointed out Howell’s State Trials, and recommended its careful study to me, I asked for the loan of a volume. With a smile he told me—he never lent books; but immediately added that in my case he would break the rule. The volume found its way to my house and contributed to many hours of unfailing delight. I was one of the few exceptions to whom he lent his books. The last loan was the loan of the 4th volume of ‘the Cambridge Medieval History’ which he especially took for me from Calcutta to Patna, last April, to enable me to study the chapter on Byzantine Law and Administration. As the years went by I came into closer and closer contact with him. His interest in me and my work grew, and I am not exaggerating when I say that but for his kindly interest my literary and historical work would have ended years ago for sheer want of sympathy and encouragement. His death—besides being a deep personal loss to me—is a blow to Islamic culture in Bengal. But of this later.
