It was 27 September 1958. Eleven years had passed since that fateful day when, ascending to the strains of the new national anthem, a fluttering piece of tri-coloured cloth over the Red Fort signaled the end of centuries of colonial subjugation.
It had been a decade of hope, angst and strife in equal measure. The newly independent India had grappled with the twin challenges of ensuring a glorious future and managing the bloodbath of the Partition. From that delicate balance had risen a single nation, which was greater than the sum of its disparate parts.
Over that decade, the idea of a self-reliant nation was embraced. But under this façade was a hidden self-belief. And a young lawyer training to be a barrister at the Lincoln’s Inn in London addressed this conundrum in his own unique way. His name was Mihir Sen.
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Cuttack to Calais
Mihir Sen was born in a village in undivided Bengal in 1930, and grew up in Cuttack, Orissa (now Odisha). As a boy, he had dreamt of studying abroad. Since his father was a local doctor of limited means, Mihir’s dream could have only come true with some help. And that assistance came from a rather unexpected quarter.
When Mihir graduated at the top of his class from Utkal University with a degree in Law, then-Chief Minister Biju Patnaik stepped forward with an offer to finance his passage to England. There, Mihir joined Lincoln’s Inn, the prestigious society of barristers. He was 21.
The year before, while still at Utkal University, Mihir had read about the exploits of Gertrude Ederle, the first woman to cross the English Channel. The story had inspired him. Born at a time and place where nationalistic feelings were rife, Sen was keenly aware that his young nation needed heroes to demonstrate what the new India was capable of. And he was determined to set that example.
Sen chose an extreme task for himself, for this was no time for half measures. He would become the first Indian, indeed the first Asian, to swim across the English Channel.
Sen had no established prowess as a swimmer. Powering his way across the Katjuri river in Cuttack was hardly preparation enough for a Channel crossing. But what he possessed in ample measure was drive, ambition, and determination to succeed.
Sen spent hours at the YMCA pool in London to develop his technique and endurance. He then had to learn about managing the treacherous tides of the Channel, avoiding the poisonous jellyfish and other creatures of the deep, navigating the open seas, and, of course, dealing with the extreme temperatures and the vagaries of the English weather.
The weather forced him to abandon his first attempt midway in 1955. Three years later, on 27 September 1958, he once again entered the sea off the coast of Dover. This time, he was better prepared. Coating his body in mustard oil, just as he would do on a winter’s day back home, Sen stroked his way into the record books, completing the solo crossing in 14 hours and 45 minutes.
What would have been the pinnacle of achievement for many was, however, just the beginning for the determined Mihir Sen.
In 1966, he went further, swimming across the oceans in five continents in a single year. Sen crossed the Palk Straits in 25 hours and 36 minutes, the Straits of Gibraltar in eight hours and one minute, the Dardanelles in 13 hours and 55 minutes, the Bosphorus in four hours, and the entire length of the Panama Canal in 34 hours and 15 minutes.
After crossing the Palk Straits, Sen would write: “I had undertaken this perilous swim not to gain fame or trophies but to prove once again to the world that Indians are no longer afraid. To the youth of India, this triumph will have dramatically demonstrated that nothing is impossible for them — all they have to do is believe and persevere and the goal will be theirs!”
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Business and the decline of Bengal
Back in India, by the early 1960s and with a law practice that was doing well, Mihir Sen once again dived into the unknown. In his native Bengal, he established a silk manufacturing and export business.
Over the next decade and a half, Sen became a very successful businessman as his company expanded manifold. When asked why he had made this switch, he said: “From the English channels, from the seven seas to the business, it is only an extension of the same thing. Mainly my love for adventure, my thrust for the dangerous, the difficult and the unknown. Business was a field I was not trained [for]. I was trained as a barrister. But law is a very straight profession. And I wanted the harrowing, I wanted the excitement, I wanted the high-risk.”
Like all elite athletes, Mihir Sen thrived on risk. But the risk in a business often comes not from within, but from without. The peak of Sen’s business enterprise unfortunately also coincided with a period of massive political change in West Bengal.
In February 1967, months after Sen’s much-celebrated feat of crossing the oceans, the first United Front government came to power in West Bengal. For the very first time after Independence, the Congress party had been defeated. While Ajoy Mukherjee was the face of the party, the real power lay with the deputy chief minister, Jyoti Basu, who took over as CM in 1977.
Gheraos (besieging blockades), soon to be Bengal’s ignominious contribution to the English language (and subsequently the Oxford dictionary in 2004), had become a norm as soon as the Communists took over in 1967.
Owners and senior managers would be gheraoed in their offices for days, often without food, water and medicine, till they succumbed to the workers’ demands. These demands, if met in their entirety, made running a factory immediately loss-making. Murders when gheraos did not result in satisfactory results, were not uncommon.
In their three decades in power, the Communist government systematically destroyed the industrial and corporate base in West Bengal. The sound of the sirens announcing shift changes at the factories would be forever silenced. Thriving downstream businesses in the state were shut down.
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The ‘take down’ of Mihir Sen
The impact this had on Mihir Sen and his business was more immediate, and deeply personal.
In 1977, Jyoti Basu had asked Mihir Sen, by then one of Bengal’s most iconic personalities, to contest the election under the CPI(M) banner. Sen turned down the offer, explaining that he was a capitalist and, in all consciousness, could not represent the Communist party. Put under enormous pressure and faced with threats to his business and family, Mihir Sen made the fateful decision to stand for election as an independent candidate against Jyoti Basu.
Over the next few years, Sen’s business was targeted in no uncertain manner. His manufacturing units were shut down by labour unrest, his personal finances targeted by government agencies, and malafide and fake cases were filed. Sen was forced to file for bankruptcy, his bank accounts frozen. The stress did what all the dangers of the seas had not been able to — it drove Sen into physical and mental decline.
In 1997, aged 66, Mihir Sen died, financially broken, suffering from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, a shadow of his former self. The man who had conquered the world’s oceans with such impunity and disdain had succumbed to the tsunami of politics.
Anindya Dutta @Cric_Writer is a sports columnist and author of Wizards: The Story of Indian Spin Bowling, and Advantage India: The Story of Indian Tennis. Views are personal.
(Edited by Srinjoy Dey)