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[Sri Mutnuri Krishna Rao was a doyen among the editors of Andhra Pradesh and was highly respected as a philosopher, a profound scholar and a nationalist. The Krishna Patrica occupied a unique place under his editorship and played a very prominent role in the national struggle for independence. 1979 is the birth centenary year of Sri Krishna Rao. Here is a fine portrayal–by late Prof. V. N. Bhushan, himself a reputed poet and a friend of Sri Krishna Rao–reprinted from Triveni, for August 1936.                                                         �Editor]

A face akin to that of a cherub, chiselled features which a Michael Angelo would love to immortalize, searching, almond-shaped eyes–the savant peeping through them–a hail-welcome smile with romanticism lurking in it, a charming profile and a pregnant personality!

Walking along the streets of Masulipatam, the fruitful vineyard of an elder day, you may chance to pass by such an arresting individual. With bent head � for, is not knowledge humble that she knows no more? � a down-set gaze that even the rattle of a motor-car close by cannot disturb, and with a graceful gait worthy of a member of the House of Lords, he paces the way from his house to his office. If, without mistaking him for a Punjabi pugilist, you observe attentively, you will soon discover him to be a far-above-the-average person. He is Mr. Mutnuri Krishna Rao, the distinguished Editor of the Krishna Patrica.

Only a tiny fraction of the vast multitude that read and enjoy the Patrica have the privilege of a personal contact with its Editor. For, seldom does Mr. Krishna Rao move out of Masulipatam. Presidentship of meetings or public lectures are never part of his programme of work. Even in Masulipatam, one rarely sees him at public functions. If ever he attends them, it is only as a spectator, not as a participant.

The fact is, Mr. Krishna Rao lives in and loves silence. He loves reticence and aloofness as fondly as his friend Dr Pattabhi welcomes writing and speaking. Silence has become Mr. Krishna Rao’s habit, his second nature. It has come to be his ornament and his epaulette. In short, he is, in the words of the poet, “the foster-child of Silence.�

The following amusing incident happened in those whirlwind days of the Salt Satyagraha campaign. Dr Pattabhi–“the Brahmin commentator of Gandhiji, the Vysya Sutrakar,� � and Mr. Cherukuvada Narasimham, “the Andhra Demosthenes,� started village propaganda. They used to take Mr. Krishna Rao also with them, more for prestige than for active help. In a certain village, Mr. Krishna Rao had perforce to be the chairman of the day. There was no escaping it; and so he bowed to the inevitable, and filled the presidential Gadi. Then, with signs and gestures, utterly unaccompanied by any vocal sound, he invited, one after another, the speakers of the day to do their business of lecturing. Finally, he stood up indicating the close of the meeting. Thus ended the Sabha, the president never opening his lips, either at the beginning or at the conclusion! “Perhaps he is dumb,� remarked one villager to another while dispersing, referring to the mute marionette show of Mr. Krishna Rao. That he came to that solemn conclusion was no fault of the poor ignorant villager.

Silence is Mr. Krishna Rao’s first, and perhaps, the only love. Gazing at the spreading moonlight or peering into the enveloping darkness, or reclining in an arm-chair at midday time, he can be alone and spend any number of hours. “How can you bear so much of silence?� I queried him once. “Company rattles on my nerves and makes my flesh creep,� was his reply. Whether at home or in his office or anywhere else outside, he is a man of very few words. In the presence of strangers, especially ladies, he almost gets frozen. A simple nod or a slight ejaculation is all you get by way of reply to all your questions. Is it that he desires to demonstrate in his life that silence is golden, and far superior to speech that is after all only silver? I often fancy as to who his ideal in this respect is–Carlyle who taught the virtues of silence in thirty bulky volumes, or Sri Aurobindo who for thirty years has secluded himself in the touch-me-not town of Pondicherry?

Yet, strangely enough, there are many who have enjoyed his “feast of reason and flow of soul� in private conversations. There should be only five or six hearers; and they should ply him with questions. Then spurts out the stream of his talk, a veritable dancing cataract of delight! It may be under the shade of the margosa trees in the Kalasala compound; or on the sand-dunes by the side of the canal on the Fort Road; or in his cosy  office-room seated in his “editorial � chair tilted to a perilous angle; or in the courtyard of his artistic house, reclined in an old wooden arm-chair, enjoying the scented malathi breeze. In any one of these favourite places of his, when he gets the proper mood and talks, Jove nods unto Jove and Deep answers unto Deep. There will be no end to the variety of topics he deals with. Literature, art, aesthetics, personalities, philosophies, economics, politics, religion, ethics, free-love, sociology, the stage and the screen, dance and drama–any subject you want he talks about with intimate knowledge, perfect ease, candour and sympathy.

One should observe him talk in such inspired moments. With a winning smile playing about his face, and his eyes aglow with a “spiritual sparkle� (as Mahatma Gandhi once remarked), he surprises his hearers by his intimate grasp of things, and his analytical interpretation of even the toughest of topics. An emotion almost infantile in its nature and an ebullient enthusiasm possess him then, and impart to his ‘talks� a kind of rare effulgence. Then do his hearers realise that Mr. Krishna Rao belongs to that select band of men who prevail upon us by the impalpable influence of their majesty, impress our imagination with magic words and lyric dreams, and inspire us by a sort of naive impersonal persuasion to deeper things and higher ideals.

That Mr. Krishna Rao can speak with emphasis and illumination on any subject under the sun, that he has in him the unique capacity of inducing others to view even old ideas and effete things from an entirely new angle of vision, that he is not such a closed-up and step-aside individual as he appears to be � this fact was revealed to a wider public during his prison-life in the Civil Disobedience movement. In the gaol he incarnated as a Guru, the role for which he is best fitted in life. I was told by many that the youngsters used to congregate round him as Chelas, give him the necessary stimulus by way of a question, and then listen to his talks. For them it was just like switching on the radio. In the rapture of a rare experience they almost looted the subterranean mines of his knowledge.

Mr. Krishna Rao is an aesthete to the core � an aesthete not of the lilies and langours school but of the roses and raptures type. He has imbibed in himself the best thought available in three languages�Sanskrit, Telugu and English. In addition, he has the inherent gift of intuition, keen intellect and clear thinking. His appetite for artistic life in its choicest form is like a bird that always soars into higher realms, ever flapping its wings for more and more inspiration. He is never tired of planning fresh decorations for his home � an appropriate colour-scheme round the open courtyard, embedding of Agra marble slabs in the hall or in the walls, firework arches of wood for the otherwise naked pillars, mural ornamentation over thresholds and entrances, one thing or other he always plans and pursues. So is the case in his small irksome office. In the limited area of the elbow-yard there, we find statuettes, bowers, pools, rustic seats and fine specimens of flowers. One wonders whether Mr. Krishna Rao has any secret idea of grafting a duplicate Nandanavana!

Mr. Krishna Rao’s yearning for artistic life and expression has impinged itself in the production of his Patrica too. It is the only one of its kind in Andhra. Its attractive get-up, its pictures of art, its title-decorations and its invaluable contents � all have a singular individuality of their own, and help to make the Krishna Patrica a thing of beauty.

I was told that even when in prison Mr. Krishna Rao did not forsake his art-enthusiasm. He converted his cell into an art salon. The exquisite white Kolam drawings on the floor outside the threshold, after the traditional custom of the Hindu home, led to an interior of coloured carpets and choice books. Yes, how else could he be, he who ever gambols with graceful fancies and beautiful thoughts?

His ever-vigilant artistic temperament expresses itself even in his dress, which is indeed fascinating in its simplicity. In his early days Mr. Krishna Rao, like many other anglicised Indians, had his ultra-fashionable sartorial idiosyncrasies, and grappled with clips, collars and ties. But ever since the dawn of the Gandhian era in 1920, he has standardised his dress. A long white Lalchi that clings to him from neck to knee, a white Dhoti in a semi- orthodox, semi-heterodox manner, and a white conical turban challenging comparison with the headgear of Indian Princes � all in pure spotless Khadi � this is all his simple, yet significant attire.

His turban, especially, has evoked much interest and curiosity. Mr. Anthony Eden’s black velour hat and Mr. Krishna Rao’s white turban suffer no change. They are their inseparable accidents. Several well-known persons in history have some distinguishing mark or other in their sartorial outfit. Sir George Reid, the eminent Australian statesman, was noted for the large expanse of his white waistcoat; Bernard Shaw never parts with his red tie; Mussolini never doffs off his heavy tasselled round cap; Jawaharlal Nehru has popularised the sleeveless short Jacket, which has come to be known as the ‘Jawahar Jacket�; Pandit Malaviya has the traditional Hindu gaberdine of Achkan, Chaddar and Pagree. In the case of Mr. Krishna Rao the turban has become his index-card. It has become such an integral part of his daily costume, indeed of his personality, that one cannot recognise him without it.

A humourous incident happened once. Mr. Krishna Rao, along with some others, was going toattend the annual Andhra Conferences, probably at Mahanandi. Reaching the railway station about-an-hour earlier than the scheduled starting time, the delegates occupied their berths in the compartment. The ever careful watch-dogs of the Government, I mean the C. I. D. people, were there on the platform shadowing the ‘leaders.� Suffocated by the sultriness of the atmosphere, Mr. Krishna Rao put by his turban. A few minutes later, a C. I. D. man went up to him enquiring as to where Mr. Krishna Rao had gone. Suppressing his smile, Mr. Krishna Rao said: “Look that side, he will come just now,� and put on his turban after that myrmidon of the law turned his . Even Gandhiji could not easily recognise Mr. Krishna Rao when he temporarily discarded the turban and took to the Khaddar cap for the sake of convenience in the cold weather of Allahabad, during the eventful days of the Gandhi-Irwin Pact.

It is not an idle pen that is giving what you may imagine to be undue importance to Mr. Krishna Rao’s dress. In these days of fluctuating fashions and ever-changing tastes, it is indeed refreshing to find some at least preserving their individuality in garments. The two important persons that I know of who have been unerringly constant in their habitual costume, and who by that very reason could be spotted out even in a vast crowd, are Pandit Malaviya and Mr. Krishna Rao.

I shall recount what a gentleman, a medical man to boot, did once. It was some six years . One fine morning the doctor quietly walked into the Krishna Patrica office, and bowed low before the Editor. Motioned to make himself comfortable, the doctor occupied a chair near at hand; and even ere he was asked about his errand, began: “Sir, today is my birthday. So I wanted to do some worthwhile deed early in the morning of this auspicious day. It has taken the shape of my pilgrimage to you. For a long time past, I have been your silent admirer–admirer of your personality, your profundity, your rich silence, and above all, your picturesque, yet simple dress! Many rapturous moments have I had thinking of these; and today I have plucked up courage to articulate before you these long hidden thoughts of mine. Please accept my respectful homage. Excuse my intrusion, please.� Thus concluding his set-speech in a single breath, the doctor vanished as quickly as he had come leaving Mr. Krishna Rao to himself and to wonder. More amused than impressed by his queer visitor’s queer behaviour, the Editor with the comfortable face and quiet eyes resumed his writing.

To say that Mr. Krishna Rao is not at all a practical man will not be a revelation, for that is as it should be in a person possessing a cent per cent artistic temperament and undiluted aesthetic impulses. Mr. Krishna Rao is not of that type who long to rub shoulders with life at all its angles. He is by nature unfit, and consequently afraid, to face and grapple with the realities of the mundane world. Especially, business and he dwell apart.

Otherwise, the Soap Factory which he ventured to work some thirty years ago would, without being forced to close down, have made him a business magnate and a millionaire. His Patrica would have become as popular and paying as, say, the Times of India, Illustrated Weekly. He himself would have emulated Northcliffe or Beaverbrook or Rothermere, and risen to be the Napoleon of the Andhra Press. If only he had no prejudice against practicality, he would have been far more successful than now in his present occupation, and in other walks of life too.

Even as it is, he could easily have won wider recognition and reputation as an Editor. But he has an inherent hatred of publicity, both for himself and his weekly. This habitual self-effacement is almost an obsession with him. And in this Mr. Krishna Rao shares the unpardonable weakness–or is it a praise-worthy virtue?–of many of our Andhra elders who shun fame. Dr. Pattabhi, one of the apostles of Gandhiji, would have been by now President of the Indian National Congress at least once. The late Kopalle Hanumantha Rao Pantulu, who sacrificed his all for the Andhra Jateeya Kalasala, would have been able to make it, in his own lifetime, as important an institution as the Benares Hindu University. Mr. C. R. Reddy, whose unquestionable genius flashes only by fits and starts, would have been in charge of a portfolio under the Government of India. Desabhakta Konda Venkatappayya Pantulu, the guiding principle of whose life is simplicity, would have been unto Andhra what Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel is to Gujarat. And Mr. Mutnuri Krishna Rao, with his unassailable intellectual eminence, would have rivalled Brajendranath Seal and Babu Bhagavan Das.

But all these belong to the sphere of “might-have-been.� There seems to be an irrevocable curse to this effect on Andhra and her distinguished sons. Many Andhras have in them more than the necessary mettle for making a great name and commanding all-India attention. But they are always content to be followers, not leaders; to be in the rearguard rather than in the forefront. Not that they are incapable or timid or vacillating. Some malignant fairy seems to haunt their trail and push them into the penumbra of provincial fame. They are satisfied with no niche at all, or, if any, a narrow one indeed, in the Temple of
Fame.

Other Andhra elders tolerate publicity to a certain extent at least. Mr. Krishna Rao objects to even the slightest. You may be surprised to know that there is not a single photograph of his for which he has posed. The one photo of his which was sent to and published in the Andhra Patrica at the time of his going to prison, was secured mysteriously. Only the “mischievous hand� that managed it knows the secret; and he guards it well.

Once I told him, “So-and-so desires to write about you.� He turned round, saying sharply, “He would be doing the worst thing in his life.� Another time, we two were strolling in the garden at the of his house. Stopping suddenly at a place, he pointed to a dried-up tree, saying, “That’s just like me.� “Look at this,� I rejoined, inviting his attention to a jasmine plant in full bloom. He only shrugged his shoulders. I continued: “Is it possible for one to know one’s own worth? Does a flower its ownperfume feel? And is a tower aware of its own majesty?� Pretending not to hear, he walked away. Was it Keats who said: “I am but a voice, my life is but the life of winds and tides; no more than winds and tides can I avail.�

Many are unaware of the fact that Krishna Patrica is edited by Mr. Krishna Rao. For, the Editor’s name does not appear in prominent print on the ±Ê²¹³Ù°ù¾±³¦²¹â€™s title-page, but is tucked away in a corner of the last page. The way in which Mr. Krishna Rao was invested with the editorship of Krishna Patrica was quite accidental and unexpected. Mr. Krishna Rao, like Mr. Chintamani, has not got the hallmark of a university degree. He was at Madras reading in the B A., class. Then came to that city the “Lion of Bengalâ€Å¨¶Ä“B±ð±è¾±²Ô Chandra Pal. Attracted by that orator’s stentorian ring, Mr. Krishna Rao became his “discipleâ€� and followed him to Calcutta â€� at that time the nerve-centre of political agitation in India. A year’s stay there, and contact with the outstanding personalities of the day shaped Mr. Krishna Rao’s outlook on life. His future growth was practically moulded then. The palatial Mullick Mansion was the common rendezvous of intellectual giants and political enthusiasts. Tagore, Sri Aurobindo, Aswini Kumar Dutt, Surendranath Banerjee, Bepin Chandra Pal, and a host of other luminaries met there, dreamed and discussed the future of India. Mr. Krishna Rao, the silent spectator, imbibed the currents of renascent national life.

After an year’s extensive tour in Bengal, Mr. Krishna Rao, returned to Masulipatam, his native town. The idea of continuing his unfinished academic career never occurred to him. He spent time as a gentleman-at-large, with nothing profitable or particular to do. The only important item of his activity was the daily attendance at the Kistna Club. There, friends grouped round him and listened to his interesting “Bengal experiences.� In those days, a small ill-looking eight-paged fortnightly by name Krishna Patrica used to be issued under the auspices of the Kistna District Association. After Mr. Krishna Rao returned, and became an enthusiastic club-bird, the devoted conductors of the Patrica had to drift to different places in further pursuit of their professional careers. Thus the Patrica passed into the hands of Mr. Krishna Rao who was ready to shoulder the responsibility of editing and conducting it. But it was not an easy task for him in the very beginning. His deficiency in correct idiomatic expression in the mother-tongue was a serious handicap. Yet he did not despair. By dint of vigilant, patient toil, he fashioned it after his own cultured outlook. And today, after nearly thirty years of fruitful existence, the Krishna Patrica is the only one of its kind. It is the objective expression of Mr. Krishna Rao’s vital personality, the flower and fulfilment of his artistic and creative genius. The Editor and the Weekly are one and indivisible.

As has already been said Mr. Krishna Rao is, by nature, always silent–shut like a knife. Yet, he cannot but express himself through the Patrica. Most of the masterly writings that have appeared in it from time to time are from his own pen. What swelling diapasons, what dulcet harmonies! What display of taste and talent, what dance of reason and rapture! How many are the visions that his facile pen has visualised! How many movements it has shaped! What great causes it has championed! How many unholy citadels of thought and action it has stormed! How invaluable have been its services in the cause of our country and culture!

Fearless, unbiassed, emotional, trenchant and tinged with a little of philosophy, Mr. Krishna Rao’s writings are richly strewn with the luminous observations of a keen-eyed, indefatigable watcher of human life and activity. He is the master of a direct and precise utterance; and has a command of the rhythm that is the first requisite of expression–the rhythm that is the result of a cultivated mind and cultured outlook. His editorials which are almost the first fine specimens of the essay-form in Telugu literature, are as good as the best volumes in a library; a valuable storehouse both to the lay reader and the literary writer. They have in them the rich perfume of profundity and permanence–so rare in these days of hectic and sensational journalism. For Krishna Patrica, to use Mr. Krishna Rao’s own words, is essentially “a views-paper, not a newspaper.�

As a penman, Mr. Krishna Rao has set his firm stamp on style in its relation to ideas and feelings. The radiant style which he has cultivated has the same portly bearing, the same kindly accost and the same friendly brightening of the eye as he has. In short, he has left his mark on contemporary Telugu style. And was it not Lord Morley who said that he who touches the style of his generation acquires no trifling influence over its thought and temper? The topic may be ordinary or extraordinary, political or polemical, social or moral, art or aesthetics, literature or local boards, economics or elections � Mr. Krishna Rao has the knack of infusing into it spirit, emotion and life. He writes about all of them with the same pen of fire and force. Especially, “the bright rhetorical topics of liberty and patriotism are his readiest instruments for kindling a glowing reflection of these magnanimous passions in the hearts of his readers.� Such impassioned writings of his, like the oratory of Burke and Bright, awaken men’s hearts with the note of a trumpet.

Inestimable and unostentatious is the work that Mr. Krishna Rao and his Krishna Patrica have done in the larger interests of our country’s welfare, especially in the cause of the National Congress, Indian art and Telugu literature. They have greatly helped to spur the spirit of renascent national life in the Andhra Desa; and too, have aided in shaping the literary careers of many an aspiring individual. It was the Kumara Raja of Gampalagudem who once declared in a public meeting that he owed much of his education and enlightenment to his regular reading of the Krishna Patrica � a remark reminiscent of the Duke of Marlborough’s confession that he had learnt all the history he ever knew out of Shakespeare’s historical plays! What higher praise than this sincere tribute is needed to indicate the important part that the Patrica and its unassuming Editor have played in shaping the spirit and training the taste of the vast Andhra public for over quarter of a century?

If ever Mr. Krishna Rao has any weakness, it is modesty which he carries to an almost criminal degree. For, his modesty has denied to the public much of his intellectual splendour. Not only is he not conscious of any greatness in him, but he does not permit others even to believe that he is worth something, something sterling. Once, indeed, the public sought to force the garment of greatness on Mr. Krishna Rao. A grand public meeting was held at Bezwada to honour Krishna Patrica and Andhra Patrica for their valuable and continued services. It was a decade ago. Mr. Krishna Rao tried his best to evade the limelight, but he could not succeed. Throughout the proceedings on that day of journalistic jubilation, he felt as shy as any new bride. The robe of honour which was literally thrust on him made him feel uncomfortable. God only knows what had happened to Mr. Krishna Rao’s spirit of adventure which made him play the role of Lady Macbeth in his college days!

In spite of his consistent efforts to recede into the ground his influence has been felt by many. Very few know in what high esteem Sir S. Radhakrishnan holds Mr. Krishna Rao; perhaps, none know that the philosopher-knight got inspiration for his Philosophy of Rabindranath Tagore from Mr. Krishna Rao’s dissertations about the poet-seer of Bengal. Dr Pattabhi sometimes used to write the “leaders� in his Janmabhumi, after reading the editorials in Krishna Patrica. Mr. Krishna Rao has, of course, scrupulously tried, and succeeded too, in making his public life “a song seraphically free from taint of personality,� but those who know him intimately cannot help exclaiming that “in his trail a fresh perfection treads.� They know too that Mr. Krishna Rao will long be remembered and revered, not as an able Editor or admirable writer, not as an ideal patriot or keen aesthete, not as a great humanitarian or good house-holder � though he is all these � but as a silent savant, as a cameo of culture, as a thinker and a teacher, as the unostentatious disseminator of abiding intellectual influences.