REMEMBERING Dr. MACPHAIL

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Years with a master spirit








Dr. James Russell Macphail (JRM) was the Principal of Madras Christian College when I went to study there. We heard that the principalship had been thrust upon him, which he had accepted very reluctantly, since he preferred to be in his study amidst his books. He laid down office the moment he got a chance, and continued to be a professor of English.


He did make a good principal though. The office was run very efficiently and he had a good rapport with the staff. On college day functions, the principal's annual report was like a witty English essay. The audience burst into delighted laughter several times when he read the report.


A great academician

He taught us Shakespeare and some poetry. He had a way of reading the text, which immediately struck a chord. Instead of explaining, he made us participate in the text. He was particularly good when reading Robert Burns, a fellow Scotsman. The deep Scottish burr he put on was particularly impressive in his bass voice.
He was entitled to a huge salary, which all other foreigners in the college received. But he took just rupees four hundred and gave away the rest to Cooper Fund, which was meant to help indigent students. He never mentioned this to anyone, and we came to know of it only through a few beneficiaries.
JRM had published several articles at an young age in the prestigious Cornhill Magazine, founded by Thackeray. He could easily have made a brilliant career in Oxford or Cambridge. But he chose to come here. And he also decided to remain a bachelor.


A piquant friendship

When I joined the staff, I got to know JRM better, and we spent quite a bit of time together. We had similar tastes in books and films, and had a lot to talk about whenever we met. Even though I was the junior most member of the staff and he the senior most, he treated me like an equal, and introduced me to people as his friend.
We both became members of the Madras Film Society, and went to every film show organised by the society. We took an electric train from Tambaram to Egmore and a bus from there. Whenever we had to walk some distance, several cars would stop to offer Dr. Macphail a lift, but he firmly declined them. We also watched films in the theatres. On such days he gave his butler permission to leave in the afternoon. One day we went to Woodlands open air restaurant near Safire Theatre, where we had planned to see the film, `Cleopatra.' All the waiters were clustering around one particular table, and we were not even noticed. JRM was impatiently looking at his watch. Suddenly, the man at the other table happened to see JRM, and he got up and rushed to our table.

"Sir, do you remember me?" He asked with boyish eagerness, "I was your student."

"Your face is familiar," said JRM. "What do you do nowadays?"

"I am a minister in the central cabinet, Sir" said the man

JRM smiled and nodded, but was looking about for a waiter. "Are you in a hurry, Sir?" the man asked. And when JRM nodded, he snapped his fingers, and a whole mob of waiters flocked to our table, flooding us with service. Such incidents were quite common during our trips to the city.


Just a short time before his retirement, JRM was stricken with cancer of the bone marrow of the spine. He underwent treatment in Vellore, and when he returned, he was walking with the help of crutches. His butler told us that he cried in the nights in pain. But when we met him in the morning, he talked about films and books and joked and laughed. I too was careful not to mention the painful subject.


What one prays for

One day as I was approaching his house, I saw a lady come rushing out and JRM standing at the door. "What happened, Sir?" I asked. "That woman wanted to pray for my cure," he said. "So I chased her off."


Since the topic was broached, I talked about his illness for the first time. "What is wrong with that, Sir?" "It is none of her business, We shouldn't question God's will."

"Then don't you pray for a cure, Sir?"

"No. It is God's will that I should have this illness".

"Then what do you pray for, Sir?"

"I pray for strength to bear the pain."

JRM went off to Scotland. He had arranged for a job as chaplain in a hospital for physically handicapped people. After some time his condition improved considerably, to the great surprise of doctors, and he went on a trip to Europe. There he got drenched in the rain, and caught a severe cold.


He died of pneumonia.


J. VASANTHAN
(The author can be contacted at jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)
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