The compassionate Father

By Jugal

St. Xavier’s High School Patna was established by the missionaries from the American Chicago Province of the Society of Jesus.

The School opened on 17 January 1940, with Fr. Moran as its first Principal.

In October 1949, Fr Moran crossed into Nepal to become the first Jesuit priest to enter the country in over 200 years. Later he was invited by the Nepalese Government to open a Jesuit school in Nepal. Fr Moran went on to establish St. Xavier’s School, Godavari, Nepal in 1951.

After Fr Moran left for Nepal, Fr. Edward Niesen became the Principal of St. Xavier’s School, Patna. In 1953, Fr. Niesen also moved to Nepal and the leadership of the school was passed on to Fr. Gordon E Murphy.

With this started the most happening phase of 16 years for the school. Under the loving and compassionate leadership of Fr Murphy and his dedicated team of several Jesuit fathers, who had dedicated their lives in compassionate service, the school reached dizzy heights. Their untiring efforts changed lives of many boys from all parts of poverty stricken province of Bihar.

Some of the great souls who came over to this country opted to work for the poorest of the poor spread across the length and breadth of this once very prosperous kingdom of Patliputra. Many centuries of exploitation by the servants of the England’s Queen, had left the country in general and Bihar in particular in very dire straits.

Among these great souls who came in from the west was a very saintly soul who looked like a veritable sage from the Himalayas.

Dan Rice, SJ, one of the Jesuits who worked tirelessly on behalf of the Santhal people in India. Fr. Rice, who died in 1991, is remembered by all as a truly loving and simple person.

But this is a saga of St. Xavier’s School and Fr Murphy and so let me continue with this story line a little further.

My memory of Fr Murphy dates back to the October month of 1963. It was Puja time and my dad and I had travelled to Patna from Calcutta to meet Fr Murphy.

The decision to put me in ST X was a joint plot hatched by dad and Father. They had been in correspondence for several weeks, before our arrival at Patna, and had discussed the plight of a small 7 year old boy, lost in the fast growing education system of that big city. My dad had just been posted to Calcutta in early 1963 and was soon much wiser on this big city’s educational system.

My school in Calcutta would begin as early as 6.30 AM when an old, rickety bus from Hindu High School would pick me up near my house. The 7 KM journey from there to school took the bus nearly 2 hours as it went around collecting boys from different localities on the way. The small boy was tired even before reaching the cramped courtyard, where morning prayers and the dull address from the Principal was forced down the throats of hundreds of boys gathered from all parts of City.

Classes were greek and latin to my ears and my stay in school was a veritable torture chamber. Teachers used their canes freely on hapless kids, who were more worried of getting badly hurt then with the daunting subjects that were being taught with least interest. The Bengali teacher was particularly very cruel on the kids. Maths teacher was always looking for the weakest in body&mind to take them quickly in their fold of paid tuition classes held 2-3 times during the week.

Dad knew that the situation was hopeless. As he had done few years earlier for Madan, he sent a fervent SOS to Fr Murphy. And large hearted Fr Murphy responded immediately. His one more act of compassion, even before meeting me, would touch and change my life forever.

I arrived at Patna for the first time accompanied by dad. It was Dussehra time and Patna was full of well decorated Pandals and Ma Durga’s statutes. There was gaiety and festive atmosphere all over the city. I looked around excitedly and wondered at all the confusion that existed in and around the railway station.

We checked into a hotel on Dak bungalow road and quickly completed our bath and breakfast. Riding one of the rather tall-rickshaw that still run on the streets of Patna, was an exhilarating experience for an 8 year old kid. It was sunny, bright and pleasant morning and I felt very happy as our rickshaw sped towards Gandhi Maiden area where the school was located. We managed to reach school just in time to keep our appointment with Father Murphy. This was also to be my first meeting with father and set the tone for many meetings that I was destined to have with him over the next 9 years.

The school was closed and it was very quiet. The only noise that reached my small ears, came from the many birds chirping away happily on the Imli tree, as they went about their daily rounds of collecting food for their little ones and twigs for their nests.

I was immediately mesmerized by the aura that existed all around the campus. The feeling and emotions that I experienced as a small kid on that beautiful day of my life is indescribable. Words surely fail me here. Events that unfolded that day would change my life for ever and would give me a new fun-filled home and the days spent here would be cherished for life.

Father was waiting for us in the Principal’s office and stood up from his chair to greet us with a most heartwarming smile. After exchanging pleasantries with dad, Father turned his attention on me.

Fr Gordon E Murphy S.J.

Let me describe him in some detail. He was wearing a spotless white cassock, which I was to learn later was the usual and only dress of all the Jesuit Fathers when they moved in public. He was quite BIG and TALL. His cheeks were pink and his skin as white as snow. His hair was blond-grey and curly and his beautiful grey-blue eyes were appraising me from behind his spectacles with so much love and compassion that I stood transfixed during those eventful moments of my life.

Father asked me a few questions but I could scarcely understand his American English, and my answers were at best a few fumbling words. Dad looked at this unfolding relationship with smiles – he seemed a most happy dad that day. He knew he was in the process of handing over the small hands of his youngest son into the loving safe hands of Fr Murphy.

But admission was not given so easily without my clearing the written tests. Soon Fr Murphy took out few sheets of white paper from his drawer. Shuffling through his bulging file, he pulled out the question paper and led me to a small chair-cum-desk seat placed in a corner. For the next 1 hour I was busy. I was good in mathematics and quickly completed the math portion. I was happy that I had all the answers correctly and neatly transferred to paper. English was found to be very tough and I am sure I had done miserably here.

Time up, Father walked gently to my desk with a sweet smile, and collected the sheets from me. Correction was completed in under 15 minutes. Father seemed to be quite happy at my performance in the first test that I ever took in his school.

He soon took out a thick envelope which contained the admission details and handing this over to dad, he lovingly announced that I was his latest student, if dad so wished. And dad was elated as he took father’s gentle hand in his own and profusely thanked him. Father had the humblest smile on his face as he too beamed with joy on his latest good deed and seeing two very happy faces.

We came out of Fr Murphy’s office and strolled around the campus. Father seemed to be very happy and relaxed that day as the school was closed for Dussehra holidays and he had time to spend with us. Father showed us the facilities like swimming pool, hand ball court, tennis court, dining hall, dormitory as he chatted with dad like two good friends. They struck a friendship that day which survived for a life time.

To take this story a few years ahead to 1971. Fr Murphy was in Ranchi with his boys to participate in the Inter School elocution contest which was held in ST Xaviers, Doranda, Ranchi that year. Dad who was recently posted to Ranchi, took time off from his busy schedule and rushed to the place where Fr Murphy was put up. Dad’s 1960 black Fiat car was offered to Fr Murphy and he graciously accepted this gesture. He chose dad’s old fiat car to move around Ranchi in preference to bigger cars that must have been offered to him by many others. Father graciously sent a thank you note to dad as soon as he returned to Patna after the event. Father retained this letter with him for a long time and felt honored by father’s grateful gesture.

The interschool elocution event held in Ranchi in 1971 saw Murph’s school winning the trophy hands down for the umpteenth time. We were later told that as soon as Arun Singh(1971) had completed delivery of his extempore speech and even before some other contestants took the stage, the chief guest was seen turning towards Fr Murphy and congratulated him on his boy winning the extempore. There was no competition worth the name for Fr Murphy’s boy, Arun Singh. He was and way ahead of any possible competition.

The next 9 eventful years of my life was spent in the shadows of Fr Murphy. His presence was all pervasive in the many varied activities of the school. He was unrelenting and uncompromising. Gentle as flower where love was required tougher than the most tough where principles were at stake. I rarely saw him using the cane but his “WORDS TO THE WISE…..” were always given freely to correct many faltering feet.

Many a politician and bureaucrat who wanted special favor from Fr Murphy in admissions were shown the door promptly, much to the delight of the big Durban with the big moustache. Fr Murphy was his invincible hero. No one could enter the school without cracking the written tests. There were no compromises here.

Fr Murphy never accepted donation for admission and this kept business men from influencing and getting their wards into the learning halls of St Xaviers on basis of their wealth. Fr Murphy provided a level playing field to all and he was firm in his determinations never to let money & power interfere with the school’s admission processes.

Was Bihar blessed by the presence of this great soul? While other boarding schools spread across the length and breadth of India such as the ones in Dehradun, Mussoorie, Nainital, Ooty and kodaikanal, were exclusive reserves of the rich and the elite gentry, St Xaviers, patna was open to all sections of society. Many rustic Bihari boys spread across many small towns of this poor and undeveloped state got an opportunity to study in St Xaviers. It was good, it was affordable and it had the best principal and many dedicated priests and teachers, who would prove that they could give the best teachers in best schools a run for their money.

The school took in the smart Seth brothers from Dalmianagar, Ahmed siblings from Giridih as also the son of Mr Raghvan, a socialist and labor leader, who had dedicated his life for the cause of the poor laborers in the mica mines of Chotanagpur.

Koirala brothers from Nepal, Singh brothers from Gaya, Kursela and Bihta and many from more famous family-lines got in but only after they were able to crack the written tests. Countless others from humble backgrounds and without a famous name tag, but with talent, also succeeded in getting admissions. The gathering in the boarding halls was truly cosmopolitan and boys from many different background and economic strata had gathered together to live like brothers in the hallowed grounds of St Xaviers Hostel. Fr Murphy was very strict when it came to pocket money. No one was permitted to flaunt his wealth. Only a few rupees as pocket money were permitted.

A little known fact may be put on record here. Fr Murphy’s heart was large enough for the down trodden. He had quietly picked up and sponsored many boys from very poor backgrounds. They studied with other more fortunate brothers as equals and these boys excelled in academics, sports and extra curricular activities. Many of these boys, whose lives were blessed by Fr Murphy’s compassion, later went on to excel in life. They made it to the many prestigious halls of learning such as XLRI, IIT and IIM. How many lives Fr Murphy transformed with his magical touch, no one knows for sure? But large hearted Fr Murphy was as great a sage as any India had seen during those years when India was struggling to come to terms with its newly won freedom.

The alumnus from the school went on in life to bring glory to their alma mater. Many earned acclaim in different fields – cricket saw Kirti Azad and Saba Karim getting into the national squad; world of entertainment applauded actor Roshan seth and Shekhar Suman; politics got one of its best in Salman Khursheed; world of art got poet Vikram Seth and tabla player Sandeep Das; many distinguished bureaucrats walked the corridors of power – N. K. Singh, Shyam Saran, Tejendra Khanna, Nikhil Kumar- to name a few; the world of academics was not left out and we heard of Professor Sidharth sinha on the faculty of the IIM, Ahmedabad; Arup Roy Chowdhary stormed the public sector as the youngest Chairman of National Buildings Construction Corporation Limited (NBCC) and turned around the sick company to a very profitable Miniratna status – he now heads the NTPC Limited (one of the largest and best power companies in the world); Abhayanand, DGP, Bihar brought cheers into lives of many poor but meritorious students of the state when he started the now legendary super-30 IIT coaching classes in partnership with his friend and mathematician Anand kumar; and last but not the least, each and every of the Big Fr Murphy’s little boys were to be the leaders in whatever vocation they went into. Fr Murphy’s stamp was visible throughout the length and breadth of India and even in many parts of the world.
And did the country acknowledge this great man? Sometime in the late 60s, India honored Fr Murphy when it offered him Indian Citizenship. Many American fathers, who had come to Patna Jesuit society, had returned to their country of birth. When old age and retirement confronted their lives, they had little option but to return for a much deserved rest. But Fr Murphy did us honor when he graciously accepted and became a citizen of India. His heart was wed with Patna and Bihar and only death could separate him from his students whom he so graciously embraced as his own.

No narration can be complete without a true story thrown in. I was in 7th standard then. Every night after supper, we played hide-and-seek with friends. Among the many secret hiding places, few of us had found some dangerous grounds – the garden behind father’s building. This place was barred for anyone other than the residents of the father’s building. It was used by the noble fathers exclusively for relaxing and contemplating after their day’s toil was over.

But few of Fr Murphy’s very naughty boys had daring spirits for sure. When all their usual hiding places were soon known to all the play mates, they were desperate to search for something that would tilt the game in their favor. As no game was now lasting long and would get over before the bed-time bells tolled, it was getting boring. This gave some of us to embark on a dangerous course that required a more than ordinary courage. Finally, a few of us did the unthinkable, as we slipped into the fathers garden in the thick of a dark night. Many bushes, shrubs and trees greeted us and sent shivers down our spine.

This hallowed vegetation had for years bore witness to the prayers and mediations of many divine souls. These great padres had sacrificed everything to leave there lands to live and serve a young nation struggling to find its feet with its children now unsure on the way forward after the British rulers left the country in much division and strife.

These dedicated Jesuit fathers were destined to have a lasting impact on the education systems in India and provide a strong foundation for the future of this land. These education institutions established by them provided the required edge to our youth later at the turn of the century when IT and other knowledge based industry took the world by storm. The padres had done a great service to this great land and changed the game in our favor despite the sad fact that all the halls of power were occupied by unruly and corrupt politicians and bureaucrats with an insatiable appetite for ill gotten money.

Let me proceed with this episode where I was to become the central character.

On one of the darker nights, I had quietly slipped into the father’s garden with few of my daring team mates. After a few minutes, as we were settling down behind a bush, we heard a rustle near us – a menacing looking black cat had jumped from the high walls and landed near the bush where we were hiding. All hell broke lose as we ran helter skelter in all directions with the fear of the devil in our hearts.
I ran in a direction that would land me ….well just wait for a few moments more….I climbed a wall on one side which was facing the school gates and in my desperation to escape from the devil, I went over as fast as I could. There was a sickening thud from my ankle region, even as I scampered away as fast as I could. Finally, as I reached the swings under the imli tree, I was limping in much pain. Sweating profusely, I sat on the vacant swing even as my other daring freinds collected around me. All were fine and we were all smiles- safe from the cat-the-devil as well as from the fathers for sure, or so we thought.

But this happiness was to last for only a few minutes. My ankle started swelling and I
experienced excruciating pain there. Soon, I was struggling boldly to suppress my tears as I winced in great pain. As more boys gathered around me in sympathy, the ever present 2-legged newspaper had knocked at the door of Fr Murphy’s room. He came down quickly to the place where so many boys were chattering away at my situation. When I saw Fr Murphy, I started crying inconsolably – more from fear of him than from the pain of a broken angle.

Father looked around very concerned. Soon he had me in the school’s car as we sped towards Prince Of Wales Medical College. Before leaving the school gates, he had intimated one of his old boys who was now a doctor in the hospital, to be there if any help was required.
It was well close to midnight when Fr Murphy and I returned to the hostel, with my small leg in a big plaster. The burly Durban was there when the car screeched to a halt in front of one of the big entrance doors to the main building.

But what I experienced in the next few minutes was too much for my little heart and broken ankle to tolerate. I cried and cried as never in my life, when Fr Murphy refused all help from the Durban, and lifted me up very gently in his strong arms. He climbed several flights of steps to the dormitory in the third floor. All other boys were fast asleep, as he quietly put my very tired body on my bed. He put the mosquito curtains and tucked my blanket around my frame. And then, with the sweetest of smiles, he said good night and left to take rest in his room for the few hours of the night that was left.

What more can we say here?….Can words ever do justice to this great soul? It was many-many years before I met another one like him ….but that is another story to be told at a different time…so let me proceed with Fr Murphy here.

The year 1968 was a very difficult year for Fr Murphy, other fathers, teachers, students, parents and school employees. Events unfolded very fast and many destinies were changed that year.

The Jesuit fathers of Patna took over St Michael’s High School from Irish Christian Brothers. It was a very tough call for many. Parents were asked to choose between the 2 schools for their kids. Hostel was to be dismantled at ST Xavier and boarders had no choice but to move to the new premises several miles down the Ganges River. For Fr Murphy, it was his most challenging task ever. He was asked by his society to take on the arduous task of becoming the principal of ST Michael’s school and oversee the merger of the two schools.

This task was no less arduous then the work associated with the merger of 2 big companies in the corporate world. But in the corporate world, there was cash to blow and freedom to hire the best hands to do the task.

Here, everything was left for Fr Murphy to do. He lost most of his Jesuit father’s team as his close associates like Cleary, Mohoney, Zibert chose to stay back. Only Fr Cox opted to be with his best friend though. Teaching staff was split and many went over to ST Michaels while some stayed behind. Much of all this was to be built from scratch now. Fr Murphy’s 16 years of hard work in building a winning team was in need for a revamp at the new premises.

The compassionate Fr Murphy saw himself forced to take some tough decisions, much against his wonts. He was distressed as he had to lay off some staff who worked in the hostel at ST Xaviers as it was to be closed.

To accommodate students from ST Xaviers who opted to move over to ST Michaels, he had to take the tough call of keeping only the best students to be fair to all he set in place a very transparent and just filtration system in place.

He had to contend with many angry parents from both the schools but he was helpless to do anything. His heart cried but he never showed any emotions. He had to appear tough if the new school was to be rebuilt on the same line as he had done at ST Xaviers. New teachers were hired. A very tough and efficient hostel superintendent was found in Br Itoop.

He was brought in to keep things under control and manage boys with two distinct backgrounds from two very different schools. Mr P S Raj soon joined as the new math teacher and Fr Zubricky came a little later to teach english in the senior school.

Games and sportsmanship was given a big push. Debating, elocution, school plays, magazine, year book, social service club, elctronics club, student council, fete and many other things that were long back introduced at St Xavier’s were introduced at St Michaels now.

Hostel food was improved at brought at par with what was served at St Xavier’s campus. Film reels from Metro Cinema, Calcutta was again ordered every week and the boys were given a treat of many memorable films just as they got at ST Xaviers.

Within a year, Fr Murphy had a great Institution rebuilt in the new premises on the firm ethos and culture of the Jesuits. Fr Murphy completed the stupendous task of merging the 2 institutions with great success. His goodness of heart, compassion and fairness all came in handy as he went about this task in great earnest.

But all this tough work took its toll on his body. He remained very cheerful and happy but destiny willed differently for all of us. In the fall of 1972, Fr Murphy was hospitalized with chest pain. At that time he was working with some boys on the school play that was planned for the 1973 batch.

One evening, he called few of the boys who were identified to act in the play. He happily talked with them and gave them instructions. The boys returned to the hostel very enthused and we seniors who were in the final months of our school life were glad to learn that Fr Murphy was well and he was expected to be back in action soon.

On the same evening when he had met the few boys to discuss the school play, we had just come out of the dining hall after supper. We saw Fr Cox drive in fast into the school in his only material possession – his Royal Enfield motor cycle.

This time he did not exchange smiles with anyone as he got down from his bike and quickly limped along towards the father’s building. This tough World War II veteran and Fr Murphy;s best friend looked forlorn and sad and we wondered why?

Soon the devastating news reached our gentle ears. Fr Murphy was no more. A Massive heart attack had cruelly taken him away from his children. We were stunned and devastated.

Small groups of boarders huddled together to give comfort to one another. You could hear a pin drop in the corridors as every one tip toed quietly about their remaining tasks for the day. Study hall was empty – no one could open a book that sad evening. Music room had been locked up. Resident Teachers and Fathers came out to console the mourning boys but no words were adequate to stop out tears.

Finally, we were taken to our dormitory by Br Itoop. As I got into bed, I recalled that only 6 years had elapsed since that eventful night when Fr Murphy had carried me to my bed with a broken, plastered leg. As I recalled this, I put my pillow on my face and sobbed inconsolably. Sleep was very disturbed that night. Funeral was held the next day. Fr Murphy’s body was placed in the flower decked coffin and kept in the school chapel for all to pay their last respects. I sat in one of the pews and could barely hold my tears.

Many eyes were wet that day as Fr Murphy was slowly taken out on his last journey from his beloved school. He would be leaving the school one more time never to return again. Many old students had reached the school in time to take part in the funeral services.

I was surprised to see a large group of poor people who were huddled together on one side of the school entrance gate and many amongst them wept inconsolably. Unknown to all of us, Fr Murphy had been active among the poor people in many villages around Patna. He had helped and impacted many lives and they had all gathered for a last time to show their gratitude and pay their last respects.

The body was carried on the shoulders of his senior year students to the burial grounds nearby. He was finally laid to rest in the soil of this land for which he had done more than any other Bihari would ever do. Fr Murphy now occupied the most important place in the legend books of Patna and Bihar.

But did his influence end with his death? Not the least bit. His ethos and values that he ever sought to inculcated, just seeped into our psyche, as nothing before or since has. He still lives and for many of us, his legacy has been passed on to our next generation.

Though many of our children never ever got to witness the miracle of love and compassion that flowed in torrents from Fr Murphy, they have still received a lot of values from their ex-Xaverian parents. Father continues to be a strong influence in our small worlds.

And while Fr Murphy’s lips have been closed in death for more than 40 years now, his many-words- to-the-wise councils still echo in our collective conscience. And what best can describe him than the following lines from John Henry Newman.

The Pillar of the Cloud

LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home— Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene—one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that Thou Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on,

O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.