Bantul, Nonte-Phonte & the Childhood Narayan Debnath Left Behind

As long as man will have a childhood, cartoonist Narayan Debnath and his work will remain alive.

2006, Sunday morning, 9 am. Our childhood selves found themselves placed right before the big, black, television set, with almost presidential haste and emergency. We brushed off our mother’s warnings to ‘finish home work before watching the TV’ with sheer disregard – a crime in those times – only because ‘Nonte-Phonte’ would be airing any second. And woe betide us if we missed the opening theme song, even if that meant dealing with mother’s anger later on. Disciplined or otherwise, it is an undeniable fact that our childhood days were dictated and dominated by the broadcast timings of Narayan Debnath’s cartoons, which have been telecast every Sunday morning from the early 2000s to date, with some episodes even getting aired on Saturday evenings at 7 pm.

This year, on 18 January, Doctor Riju Dutta said on Twitter, “Bantul will be 60 years old. Nonte-Phonte and Handa-Bhonda are in their late fifties and early sixties.”

The Real 'Thakurda'

And we, who grew up holding their hands, walking along the sunlit afternoon lanes of north Kolkata with them, cannot but pause and look back at the journey that these characters have undergone – the cartoons etched in ink that trace our life’s story, masterfully penned by Narayan Debnath.

To say that the man was the true ‘thakurda’ in the Bengali ‘Thakurda’r Jhuli’ collection of fantasy tales would be an understatement.

He spun fantastical yet realistic narratives of the experiences and relationships that we encounter on a daily basis. From being bullied by a senior to being dragged into harebrained adventures with our siblings or fellow classmates, Debnath’s comics leave behind a tangy-sweet taste on our tongues as we turn the pages that depict the tart side of human relationships, for example, between elders and youngsters, which involved unjustified reprimands by the former and juvenile attempts at seeking revenge by the latter, much like the taste of raw mangoes, dusted generously with chilli powder, on rainy afternoons.

At the same time, like the sweet tomato-chutney in the afternoons, after the traditional Sunday ‘Kosha Mangsho-Bhaat’ meal is over – a meal that Debnath masterfully sketched as the staple diet of The Superintendent Sir in Nonte-Phonte – the comic artist brought out the rich, sweet side of the relationship that we shared with our peers, or fellow comrades, our partners-in-crime, as we performed escapades after escapades but still emerged unified at the end, after having been caught in the act by the ears by our elders.

How Bantul Came To Be

Being the Dhruv-tara, or Pole Star, that Debnath was in the domain of Indian Comics, especially in Bengali, it wasn’t a surprise when Shuktara publications, and later, Kishor Bharati publications, chose to publish his work. Debnath’s comics covered a vast oeuvre, ranging from boarding-school adventures, political single-image comics and advertisements, to superhero figures.

Debnath, at the request of editors and publishers, also created Bantul, an invincible character with the ability to take on missiles and tanks, when the Bangladesh war of liberation flared up.

He also created a full 50-page comic series, published weekly in Anandamela magazine, commemorating the life of Rabindranath Tagore and later, Swami Vivekananda (‘Rajar Raja’, 1962, written by Bimal Ghosh and illustrated by Narayan Debnath). Debnath translated and illustrated Tarzan stories for 42 years, along with other translations of foreign novels.

What Narayan Debnath Told My Grandfather

Colourful etchings of Nonte-Phonte, Handa-Bhonda and Bantul-the Great blown up on huge canvases was a common sight at the International Kolkata Book Fair. The involuntary smile that it brought to our faces inevitably led us to draw our parents, by force, if necessary, to buy another volume of the ‘Narayan Debnath Samagra’. On one such wintery evening of 1991, at the book fair, my grandfather found himself seated next to this great illustrator, both trying to sell their respective books. A conversation flowed that lasted just a minute. My grandfather, during that conversation, had told Debnath that his son was enamoured by his work, and had urged him to continue producing such marvels.

To this, Debnath replied: “Aami aajibon aapraan cheshtha korbo, erom kore e aapnar chele r moto aaro haajar ta bachcha der hashiye jete.” (I am going to try all my life, to the very best of my abilities, to keep thousands of children laughing, just like your son).

And he kept his word. With Handa-Bhonda (1962), Bantul-the Great (1965), Nonte-Phonte (1969), Black Diamond Indrajit Roy, Patolchand Magician, Detective Koushik Roy, Bahadur Beral, Daanpite Khandu aar tar Chemical Dadu, Petuk Master Batuklal, Sutki-Mutki and Hashir Atom Bomb, Narayan Debnath fulfilled his promise.

With Debnath Gone, Our Childhood Days Are Over, Too

The impact that his work has had on generations of children – Bengali or others – is evident from how we pause over the dog-eared, dusty copies of his comics that tumble out when we clean old boxes of books or explore some musty corner of a library.

Debnath’s comics compel us to take a break from our harrowing, fast-paced lives and take a quick trip down the golden memories of our innocent childhood, when the greatest revenge against someone who had wronged us, especially an elder figure, would be to drench them in a bucketful of cold water, strategically placed over a door through which the unsuspecting victim was bound to pass, or to gobble up a favourite dish of theirs by tiptoeing into the kitchen at midnight, only to blame it on the cat (or the rat) the next morning.

Debnath was the first and the only comics artist in India who received a D. Litt Degree. He was also awarded the Padma Shree last year. Born on 25 November 1925, Debnath comes alive through his work whenever the pages of his comics are flipped by an innocent child with eyes full of wonder, or when an age-worn thumb reaches out to his stories, longing for a glimpse of carefree days.

For many of us, with Narayan Debnath’s passing, gone also are the peaceful afternoon strolls along North Kolkata's streets; Bantul and Nonte-Phonte are gone, our boarding days are over, and now, it’s time to come home to the real world. But as long as man will have a childhood, Debnath and his work will remain alive.

In Shakespeare’s words:

‘So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.’

(The author is an M.A. English student at St. Xavier's College, Kolkata. This is a personal blog and the views expressed are the author's own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)