Indian Literature, Folk Epics
Dr.C.N.Ramachandran writes both in English and Kannada (language of Karnataka, India); and has published a number of critical works in English and Kannada. He is a member of Phi Kappa Phi; and has won the Karnataka Rajyotsava award for his critical works in Kannada.
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Dr. U. R. Ananthamurthy: A Maze of Ambiguities
Dr.
U. R. Ananthamurthy: A Maze of Ambiguities
To say
that Dr. U. R. Ananthamurthy was a multi-faceted personality is to state the
obvious. He was a gifted writer of
fiction (35 short stories; 6 novels) and poetry (5 collections), a serious
socio-literary critic (10 collections of essays), a successful translator (5 works), and an Activist. He took many extreme positions, defended
them passionately, and courted
controversies. How do we approach and
understand such a baffling and dynamic writer?
One
possible framework is ‘the changing
interpretive patterns of Modernity and Tradition’. This binary opposition subsumes all other binaries such as
‘Individual and System’ and ‘Nativism and Western Thought’ ). Most importantly, he passionately explored
these patterns of negation and approbation
through a series of oppositions and symbolic representations. If we view all of his writings together, we find
in him an ideological shift in course of time; and, on the basis of such a
shift, we can categorise his writings into ‘ pre- Bhava’ and ‘post- Bhava’ phases ( his novel Bhava was published in 1994).
We can consider Samskara and Divya as the most representative works of these two phases.
Samskara, arguably the most successful novel of Ananthamurthy, equates ‘Tradition’
with obsolete set of beliefs and rituals
prevalent in Hindu society, as mirrored in the Brahmin community. This community, represented by
Praneshacharya, is ignorant of the Vedic lore, lusts for gold and sensual
pleasures, and mechanically observes
rites and rituals. The disease of
plague which devastates the village symbolizes the decaying society and its
life-thwarting values. Juxtaposed with
Praneshacharya, there is Naranappa, a
rationalist, an atheist and a hedonist.
In the end, Naranappa dies and Praneshacharya renounces his Brahminic legacy, and goes out in search of a new way of life. The novel is open-ended, suggesting that both Praneshacharya and Naranappa
are incomplete until they internalise each other, the Self absorbing its Shadow (in the Jungian
sense).
Divya, at the other end, interprets
Tradition as the sum total of all the intellectual achievements of ancient
India and its life-affirming values such
as love and compassion for all, and a
yearning for mystical experience. Gauri
represents such a Tradition. She
can experience intense wonder and joy about creation and she can enter into a
dialogue with the setting sun. Owing to such mystical sensibility, she knows no
caste, no lineage, and nothing like ‘purity’ and ‘impurity.’ In contrast with such ‘liberated mind,’ there
is Ghanashyama representing Modernity; he is an educated and Westernised
Indian, who is arrogant and aggressive, championing total change and progress. In the end, Gauri and Ghanashyama marry,
symbolising as it were the meeting of the spiritual East and the materialist
West. However, whereas Samskara is open-ended and
dialogic, Divya, essentialist in tone, is completely monologic in its view
of Indian tradition and culture.
There are many other
novels and stories which posit an
ideological position in between these two extremes, the most brilliant being
“The Stallion of the Sun.” This story juxtaposes, very sensuously, the two ends
of the ‘Tradition-Modernity’ binary,
represented by Hade Venkata and
Ananthu. Venkata, a rustic, is lazy,
irresponsible and doesn’t worry about money; as contrasted with him, Ananthu is
highly educated, Westernised, and holds a high position in society. However, the story reveals, it is Venkata
and not Ananthu who is capable of mystic experience; Venkata can sight and
experience the stallion of the Sun, but Ananthu, a rationalist, can only envy
him. The story manages this juxtaposition
very objectively, privileging neither end.
Another
recurring theme in the works of Ananthamurthy is ‘the Individual and the
System.’ Ananthamurthy, a staunch
individualist, hates any System which destroys
the ‘essence’ of an individual; and he finds all modern Systems
authoritative and suffocating.
Jagannatha, a Westernised intellectual, is reduced to a laughing stock
by the orthodox religious system in Bharatipura. “Bara”
depicts Satish, an idealistic IAS
officer, who is forced by the
bureaucratic system to order
firing on an unarmed mob. The most
ambitious work in this category is Awasthe,
which examines many political systems and dramatises the way an idealist
politician, Krishnappa, is slowly sucked into the whirl of corruption by the
present political system, based on elections and majority rule.
One of
the most provocative essays, “ Why Not
Worship in the Nude?” can be considered a post-colonial re-assessment of popular concepts like modernization and rationality. Written in the aftermath of Savadatti incident
in 1986, it does not advocate nude worship but questions the intellectual
arrogance which designates such practices as primitive. He
bemoans that we, educated and
rational, have lost that “feeling of
religious awe.” In “ Tradition and Creativity,” he argues that “ whatever
tradition we could have had has been lost to us through a certain amnesia
because of our terrible attraction to the modern world system.”
“No, I
can’t be an absolutist,” declared Ananthamurhty in his essay on ‘Nude Worship’. We may quarrel with many of his ideological
positions; but it is this skepticism, I believe, which makes him highly
relevant today, in a world ridden with ‘Certainties and Absolute
Truths.’
****** C. N. Ramachandran
Dr. S. Shettar, Halagannada: Lipi, Lipikara and Lipi Vyavasaya
Dr. S.
Shettar, Halagannada: Lipi, Lipikara and Lipi Vyavasaya
Bengaluru:
Abhinava Prakashana, 2014 P.
502; Price : 600/-
“Monumental Study of Kannada Script,
Literature and Scribes”
Dr. S. Settar is a
historian with a difference; he is not only interested in reconstruction of the
past based on reliable evidence, but also in the common people like the
sculptors and scribes and artisans who are usually ignored. A bilingual writer, Settar shot into fame
with the publication of
Shangam
Tamilagam in Kannada,
in 2007; it has already seen nine reprints besides bagging the central Sahitya Akademi award for
scholarly works. The present work, Halagannada, is more ambitious than
the earlier one; it studies, for the first time, 2020 edicts and inscriptions in Kannada during the first
millennium, on the basis of which it throws new light on the evolution
of Kannada script & language, the
scribes, and social history of the
period. In this review, I shall confine
myself only to a few of the major findings of Setter, documented in this work.
i)
Evolution of Kannada script and language:
a) After
the first period (3rd century B. C.--3rd century A. D.)
during
which the only official script was Brahmi and the language was Pali as evidenced by Ashokan
minor edicts, during the second period (3rd
century A. D. – 4th century A. D.),
while Brahmi script was continued, Sanskrit gradually replaced Pali. During and after the
fourth century, Brahmi and Sanskrit were
gradually replaced by early Kannada script and language. Sanskrit inscriptions on copper plates also began
to appear in this period, the Nagarjunakonda
inscription being the first Sanskrit inscription in the South.
b) the Tagarti
edict of 349 A. D. could be the
first Kannada edict, a
century
before the famous Halmidi edict of A.
D. 450.
c) Bilingual edicts/inscriptions
begin to appear during the 6th
century. While in a few the Kannada script was common for
both Sanskrit and Kannada (Tagare copper plate, 6th C),
in others, two scripts and two languages
were used in one edict (ex. Alampura edict,
713 A. D.; this edict is split into two
vertical parts; while the left part uses both Kannada script & language,
the right part uses Nagari script and
Sanskrit language). Similarly, there
were inscriptions in Kannada and Telugu (Kannada script) and inscriptions in
three languages in Kannada script (Kannada, Telugu & Tamil; Rameshwaram Copper plate, A. D.
803).
d)
Contrary to the prevalent
opinion, Kannada borrowed ‘voiced-
aspirated consonants’ and nasals not from Sanskrit but from Prakrit.
e)
Sanskrit-Kannada
influence was mutual. Just as
Sanskrit
influenced Kannada
Kannada also influenced Sanskrit script and morphology. ( Ex. use of now extinct shakata
refa and rala of old Kannada in
the two Talagunda edicts . In fact, according to Settar, the above two
letters are used in at least 30 Sanskrit edicts.) Also, Sanskrit morphology borrowed words like
‘naadu,’ ‘palli,’ ‘ooru,’ etc. from
Kannada.
II
Scribes: Scribes
(here, meaning those who carved on stone or on copper plates) were known by
different names such as twashta,
tattakaara, tattaara, Vishwakarma,
and such.
a)
The first scribe known to us was Chapada, sent to Karnataka by
Ashoka, who
belonged to Gandhaara. There
were many other illustrious scribes like Jayasena, Sriramapunyavallabha, Vishwakarmacharya,
and such; and most of the scribes were non-Brahmins.
b)
Contrary to the existing belief, Brahmins were
not the composers of the
‘edict-texts’ up to the 8th century. Till that period, the scribes were both writers of texts and carvers on stones and copper
plates.
III
Caste-relations: Brahmadeyas (land-gifts given to Brahmins) and devadeya (land-gifts given to temples) decreased considerably by the 8th century; and, in their
place, those who fought for the rulers or undertook public service like building tanks in villages began to be
honoured. Nolamba Pallavas didn’t care much for either the Vaidics and Sanskrit
or temple-culture.
The criterion of a great research work is the
amount of arguments and debates it provokes, and Settar’s work is no exception.
Some of the points raised in the Seminar (centred on this work) were: the very use of the term ‘halagannada’ and whether it denotes an established early form of Kannada or different versions of
Kannada prevalent in different parts of Karnataka; whether Sanskrit really lost
its prestige after the 9th century since literary histories tell us
otherwise; and such. Most importantly,
edicts and inscriptions have limited purposes; and the knowledge gained through
them has to be supplemented with other sources like oral & written
literature, discursive writings, and travelogues. Otherwise, we will reach such indefensible
conclusions like ‘ since terms such as ‘varna,’
and ‘Jaati’ (in the meaning of
caste) are not to be found in the edicts, there may
not have been Varnashrama hierarchy
in the first millennium’ (as Settar speculates in his Preface).
The only
way we can honour Settar’s seminal and pains-taking research is through
engaging ourselves in serious debates provoked by this work.
---------------------- C.
N. Ramachandran
Saturday, August 30, 2014
K. Gopalakrishna Rao
FOREWORD
K. Gopalakrishna Rao (1906-1967)
was a very popular writer of short stories in Kannada, in the pre-independence
period. He was a contemporary of Masti
Venkatesha Iyengar (Rao was called the ‘patta
shishya’ - ‘pet disciple’ of Masti), A. Seetaram (pen name: ‘Ananda’), R. Shivaram
(pen name: ‘Rashi’), and others. As an
administrator, Gopalakrishna Rao served as the private secretary of the then
chief minister of Karnataka, Kengal Hanumanthaiah, and as the secretary of the
great association, Kannada Sahitya Parishat (1956-1961). Although Rao wrote many stories, during his
life time, he could publish only three short-story collections and one
collection of his selected stories.
After his death, his daughter, Janaki Shrinivas, collected, with admirable perseverance, all of his published and unpublished stories and brought out a collection of forty
stories in 2011. Now, twelve stories from
that collection have been selected and translated into English. This is a matter of great satisfaction for
all lovers of Kannada short stories; and I am very happy to write a Foreword to
the collection, in order to introduce Rao’s
stories to non-Kannada readers.
The period in which
Gopalakrishna Rao’s literary sensibility
was shaped and his stories were written was a turbulent period of contradictory
pulls and pressures. Since the Freedom
Struggle was being waged throughout the country, there prevailed a strong sense
of nationalism and search for cultural identity. At the same time, owing to the introduction
of English education and exposure to Western literature and ideas, Reformist
movements like Brahmo Samaj and Arya Samaj were seriously engaged in
questioning and exposing Hindu orthodoxy
and traditional religious/ social customs.
Consequently, a sort of
‘love-hate’ relationship existed among Indians of that period toward
Indian/Hindu culture as well as English literature and ideas. It was in such an ethos that many new forms
of literature like the Lyric, the Sonnet, the Novel, and such entered Kannada
literary field; and among such new forms, one was the Short Story. All the forms of literature including the
Short Story, written during that period, reflect such contradictory pulls and
tensions and Gopalakrishna Rao’s stories
are no exception. They reflect Idealism and a Romantic view of life
as well as the harsh and unavoidable
realities of contemporary life. Most of
the successful stories of Rao are those which authentically capture such contradictory pulls and pressures
prevalent in the Indian society in the first half of the 20th
century.
Gopalakrishna Rao’s stories depict the experiences of urban and educated middleclass people, of the early decades of
the last century, in a leisurely style that is controlled and emotive. Many major stories, following the structure
of Masti’s stories, have multiple narrators: the first narrator
tells the readers what he had heard from his friends and others. Also, most of the stories of Rao are
‘incident-centred’, full of coincidences
in the lives of the protagonists. Long
estranged or separated lovers, parents
and their offspring, brothers and sisters, and friends meet each other unexpectedly,
in strange places; and accidents take place for no fault of the victims. In fact, in one of his stories, Rao himself
admits this fact through his narrator: “to tease others pretending to give them
something and then to snatch it away is a game played by children; and God also loves to play such games” (“The Birthday
Gift”).
However,
the most significant features of Rao’s stories are two: dissatisfaction with
the then-existing Hindu beliefs and customs, and an unflinching faith in the
innate life-giving values of Indian culture.
To start with, influenced by the reform-movements of that age, many
stories of Rao mount a critique of traditional values and practices, particularly
the discriminatory caste-system and the
treatment of women in a Hindu society.
The writer sadly records how lovers, owing to caste differences, have no
choice but to run away from home and suffer, cut off from their parents for
life (“ True Love Is Raised on Self-sacrifice”), and how, on some occasions,
the caste-differences could lead even to murder of either the man or the woman involved
(“Actress”). Contemptuous treatment of
women makes the writer sadder. In those days, in Brahmin families, once the
husband died, his widow was expected to lead a very secluded and ascetic life,
getting her head completely shaved and not allowed to wear kunkum and
flowers. She was not expected to
participate in any public programmes or functions. Rao registers the inhuman cruelty underlying
such treatment of women in many of his stories: “She whom I Beheld – Just Four Times”
(in this story, early marriage makes a young woman widow, and even the famous
pontiff of a Math refuses to give her
‘teertha’); “Dr. Susheela Sanketh” (in this story also, a young widow is taken
forcibly to a holy place to get her head shaved; with her friend’s help she escapes
from that horror, goes to Pune in Maharashtra, and becomes a famous doctor);
and such.
More importantly, Rao has a firm
belief in the moral/ethical values of
traditional Indian culture imbibed by one; these are the values which save one
at the decisive moments of one’s life.
The best example of this point is the story, “Dr. Susheela Sanketh.” On her way to a holy place with her in-laws
(to get her head shaved), Susheela, a young widow, accidentally meets another young man in a choultry
at Hassan. At night, both get attracted
to each other and the young man brings her to his room with carnal intent. However, just before anything untoward
happens, moonlight floods the room and the young man sees the idol of his god,
Sreenivasa. Suddenly, his conscience
pricks him and he falls at her feet and Susheela lifts him up and tends to him like a
mother. Later, renouncing everything the
young man becomes a monk and the young woman, now a doctor, remains unmarried, serving her poor
patients. Even when illegitimate
relationships do develop, the woman remains
loyal to her man though he is long dead (“Truth Is Stranger Than
Fiction”).
In fact, it is in this context of asserting
the life-giving values of Indian culture
that Rao endorses in his stories the
Orientalist construct of the ‘Indian Woman’ (‘Bharatiya Nari’), who is a personification of Loyalty to her family
and husband, Forgiveness and Renunciation.
In the story “The Rarer Action lies in Forgiveness,” the husband
abandons his wife and goes after another woman, condemning his wife to extreme
suffering both mental and physical.
Still, when he returns to his wife repentant, she lovingly accepts him,
and the narrator comments: “Vengeance?
How can you find it in a Hindu wife?”
Similarly, Murthy’s step ‘mother’ in “Truth Is Stranger . . .”; Susheela
in “Dr. Susheela Sanketh,” the
protagonist in “Communion” -- all
display the qualities of loyalty and renunciation, characteristics of an idealized
Indian Woman.
*************
Prof. N.
Nanjunda Sastry, the translator of these stories, says in ‘A Note by the English Translator’: “As I
have said earlier in this note, mine is not a verbatim translation. The method I have followed is to absorb the
soul and spirit of the origin and then give it an English garb without its
plot-structure, characterization and their details.” Given this framework, he has done a very
competent job as a translator and deserves appreciation for his sincere efforts. I am sure, these stories in translation give
the non-Kannada readers the same deep experience that the Kannada readers got
through the originals.
*********** C. N. Ramachandran
July 10,
2014
Diwakar -Introduction
INTRODUCTION
Karnataka is
one of the southern states of the Indian Republic, with an area of 191,976 sq.
kms and a population of 61, 130, 704
(according to the 2011 census).
Etymologically, the word ‘Karnataka’ comes from ‘karu’ (elevated/ black)
and ‘naadu’ (region); and it may mean either ‘elevated land’ or ‘land of the
black soil.’ Kannada, which belongs to
the Dravidian family of languages, is one of the oldest languages in India; and
there is enough evidence to prove that it has been in use since the beginning
of the Christian era. The Kannada script
evolved from the Brahmi script, introduced to Karnataka by Ashokan
edicts and, in course of time, it got modified under the influence of Prakrit
and Sanskrit. The earliest edict which
uses both Kannada script and language is the Halmidi Edict, dated 450 AD.
Karnataka is the ninth
largest state, bordering the Arabian sea on the west, and Maharashtra, Andhra
Pradesh, Tamilunadu and Kerala on other sides.
The state is irrigated by two major river-systems: the Krishna and its
tributaries in the North and the Cauvery and its tributaries in the South. Through its long history, Karanataka has been
a seat of many distinguished kingdoms and empires. Beginning with the Kadambas ( 400 AD- 600 AD), famous dynasties that
ruled over different parts of Karnataka
include the Gangas, Badami Chalukyas,
Rashtrakutas, and the Hoysalas. Then came the renowned Vijayanagara empire
with its capital at Hampi (1336-1565), which, during the reign of
Krishnadevaraya, controlled almost the entire region to the south of
Narmada. After the fall of
Viajayanagara, power shifted to Mysore, and the kingdom of Mysore under the
Yadu dynasty continued to rule Karnataka though, in course of time, it had to
cede many of its parts to the British and other neighbouring rulers. After independence, the Mysore state,
including Coorg and other Kannada-speaking regions restored to it, came into
existence on November 1, 1956, renamed as
Karnataka in 1973.
The history of Art and Architecture in
Karnataka records many glorious achievements; and it has the second highest
number of nationally protected monuments
(752). The idol of Gommateshwara at
Shravanabelagola (982-983 AD) is ‘the tallest sculpted monolith in the world’;
the Gol Gumbaz at Bijapur (1656 AD), built in an egg-shape on a rectangular
base, has ‘the second largest pre-modern dome in the world’ and a ‘whispering
gallery’ in which any sound made is echoed many times. Other world-heritage sites include the ‘Ruins
of Hampi’, the cave-temples of Badami and Pattadakallu, and the temples at
Belur and Halebidu marked by exquisite filigree work in stone. Yakshagana, a typical folk-performance of
Karnataka that blends music, dance,
acting and narration, has a history of at least 1000 years. Purandara
Dasa, the 14th-century saint poet-composer is regarded as the
‘Father’ of south-Indian form of classical music, called ‘Carnatic Music.’
Karnataka seems to have followed, by and large, the politico-ethical
dictum laid down by the first Kannada work Kavirajamarga:
‘real gold is tolerance toward other dharmas and other ideologies.’ Though Kannada is the official language of
the state, there are many other languages such as Tulu, Konkani, Kodava and
Urdu flourishing in the state.
Similarly, different philosophical systems like Monism (Advaita),
Dualism (Dwaita), and ‘Monistic Dualism’
(Vishishtadwaita), and different religions/ belief-systems like Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Veerashaivism,
Islam, and Christianity have co-existed peacefully in the state since ancient
times.
The first
(extant) Kannada text, a treatise on Poetics,
is Kavirajamarga by Srivijaya,
composed in 850 AD, and the first full-length Kannada epics, Vikramarjuna
Vijaya and Adipurana, by Pampa, were written in the tenth
century. A few of the great poets who
came after Pampa were Ranna, Janna,
Kumaravyasa, Lakshmisha, and Shadakshari. In addition to such a great written
tradition, there has existed since ancient times a strong oral tradition with
its stories and poems and songs, culminating in great oral epics like Male Madeshwara and Manteswamy, which are still living and vibrant.
***********
‘Modern’ literature in Kannada is the product of a series of colonial
confrontations and compromises, at different levels. New interpretations of traditional literature
and culture went hand in hand with newer adaptations of the
Western models in literature and culture.
It is customary to study modern
Kannada literature under these four heads:
Navodaya (Romantic-Idealist),
1920-1940; Pragatishila
(Progressive-Realistic), 1940-1950; Navya (Realist-Modernist), 1950-1975;
and Dalita-Bandaya
(Satirical-Reformist), 1975-2000. Of course, many writers and genres straddle two or more
periods.
The Navodaya
movement, under the impact of colonial pressures, extensively experimented
with new forms and modes of expression.
New literary genres such as the Novel, the Lyric, the Ode, and
Auto-biography entered and enriched Kannada literature. Among such new genres one was the Short Story. “Nanna
Chikkappa” (‘My Uncle’) by Panje Mangesha Rao, published in 1900, is considered the first ‘modern’
short story.
Although
short stories as such have a very long history in Kannada (as in other Indian
languages), the ‘new’ short story differed from the earlier ones in that it reflected contemporary society and
it was crafted very consciously as a literary form. From the point of view of social
consciousness, Panje’s story, “ Kamalapurada Hotlinalli” (‘In the Hotel at Kamalapura’) is very
revealing –the locale of the story is a ‘hotel’ which is also a modern
institution and which allows people to commingle irrespective of class or caste. It is this social consciousness that
differentiates the modern short stories from their ancient predecessors.
Masti
Venkatesha Iyengar (1891-1986) was the writer who, besides bring a
novelist-poet-critic-translator, explored all the formal and thematic
possibilities of the Short Story and moulded it as a major literary form. Beginning with his first story published in 1910, his one hundred stories
have unbelievable variety –stories about legendary characters,
domestic/love, historical characters and
incidents, and humorous incidents. Similarly, Masti’s signature-technique in
stories is his use of multiple narrators.
Usually, the first-person narrator narrates some story he had been told by others. Occasionally, we find even three narrators,
as in “Chikkavva”. With the use of
multiple narrators, Masti gains the
‘distance’ and also authenticity for what he narrates. At the heart of all stories, there is Masti’s
faith in the inborn goodness of Man and certain life-giving values imbibed from
one’s culture. Some of his great stories
are: “Venkatashamiya Pranaya,” “Venkatigana
Hendati,” “Acharyara Patni,” “Chikkavva,” “Ondu Haleya Kathe,” etc.
(Masti himself has translated all of his stories into English, published
in two volumes.)
The
‘Pragatishila Movement’ was a part of
the pan-Indian ‘Progressive Writers
Association’ begun at Lucknow in 1936, and the first conference
of the Kannada counterpart was held in Bengaluru in 1943. The most important Pragatishila writers were
Niranjana, Shriranga, A. N. Krishna Rao, T. R. Subbarao, Basavaraja Kattimani,
and V. M. Inamdar. The ideology of this
Movement was Marxist and it was concerned with the plight of the working
classes/ castes. The movement was
influential for a decade or so and then broke down owing to ideological
differences among its members. The
movement is remembered today only for a
few stories written by Niranjana (“Koneya
Giraki”) and Kattimani (“Girija Kanda Cinema”).
Some of
the most successful short stories in
Kannada were written during the Navya or Modernist period. The major writers of this period include U.
R. Ananthamurthy, Yashavant Chittala, Ramachandra Sharma, Shantinatha Desai, P.
L. Lankesh, Veena Shanteshwar, and a host of others. These writers
substituted scepticism for idealism, sexuality for love, and the sordid
for the sublime. They were Liberal Humanists and they viewed the individual as
pitted against Establishment; hence they opposed all systems, be they religious
or political. We can consider
Ananthamurthy and Veena Shanteshwar as representative writers of this period.
Till now,
Ananthamurthy has written, besides novels, poetry and discursive essays, thirty stories, most of which have been
translated into almost all Indian languages and acclaimed. Roughly, we can categorise his stories (and
novels) into two phases: in the first phase, as a ‘critical insider’
Ananthamurthy ruthlessly exposes the cruelty inherent in Hindu tradition and
culture. The outstanding stories of this
period are “Ghatashraddha,” “Prasta,” “ Kartika,” and “Mauni.”
In the second phase, with equal ruthlessness, he attacks Modernity,
which to him stands for Westernisation, soulless urbanization and development
(ex. “jaratkaru,” and “Akkayya”). “Suryana
Kudure,” arguably the best story
written by him, comes in between these two phases, and it dramatizes the
conflicting values and ways of life of
traditional and Westernized
Indians. Also, another great quality
of Ananthamurthy is his use of language which is sensual, poetic and connotative.
Veena Shanteshwar, a
writer of fiction and translator,
has to her credit 37 stories spread over five collections. All of her stories are ‘woman-centred’ and
she exposes in each the different forms of
the unequal Man-Woman relationships within the marriage system and
outside it. However, while her stories
in the beginning ( ‘Nirakarane,”
“Kavalu,” “KoneyaDari,” . . .)
mount a severe critique of the male-centred system, her later stories like “Gandasaru” and “ Shoshane, Bandaya, Ityaadi”
connote that the only way left for a woman in such unequal relationships
is ‘compromise.’
Poornachandra Tejaswi’s attack, in 1973, on the individualistic and egotistical Navya movement
heralded the beginning of a new movement, called ‘Dalit-bandaya’
movement –a Movement of Protest. The
primary objective of this movement was
to fight against the hierarchical caste-system
and gender-class discriminations.
It was an umbrella movement, which included Dalit writers (Devanuru
Mahadeva, M. N. Javarayya, Aravinda Malagatti, etc.), women writers (Geetha
Nagabhushana, Vaidehi, M. S. Veda, etc.), Muslim and Christian writers (Sarah
Abubakar, Banu Mushtak, Boluvaru Mohamad Kunhi, Na. Disouza, etc.), and all those
who opposed the Establishment (Tejaswi, Baraguru Ramachandrappa, Kum.
Veerabhadrappa, Besagarahalli Ramanna, etc.).
We can briefly consider a few representative writers of this movement
under the following three categories.
a) Protest against Establishment:
Tejaswi
depicts, within the Lohia framework, the cultural decay of rural life in most
of his stories. According to him,
Marxism fails in India mainly because it focuses only on economic system,
whereas unless an individual’s cultural consciousness gets enriched, no major
social change is possible. Hence, story
after story, Tejaswi pictures the rural people suffering from superstitions,
blind beliefs, illiteracy, poverty and heartless bureaucracy. Some of his most successful –and disturbing -- stories are “Abachurina Post Office,” “Kubi Mattu Iyala,” “Avanati” and “Tabarana Kathe.”
Kum.
Veerabhadrappa is a prolific short-story writer (besides novels), who,
following Tejaswi but without his subtlety, pictures the mute suffering of the
rural folk within a feudal system which continues to exist even in a democratic
system (“Devara Hena,” “Doma,” “Kattalanu Trishula Hidida Kathe,” etc.). However, he has also written stories like “Kubusa”
and “Kurmavatara” which, in a comic-ironic style, mirror the changing mores of a transitional
society.
b) Protest against Caste-hierarchy:
Devanuru Mahadeva, the
most significant Dalit writer, depicts, with
pointed irony and in a chiselled style, both the
suffering and resilience of dalit-life within the caste-hierarchy. As his
stories unfold, the exploitation of the dalits is not only economic but also
social and sexual. However, Devanuru
also connotes the possibility of the exploited waking up and confronting the
upper castes on equal footing. A
few of his celebrated stories are “Amasa,”
“Marikondavaru,” “Grastaru,” “Mudala seemeli kolegile Ityadi,” etc.
Most of them have been translated into English and other Indian
languages.
Mogalli Ganesh, the younger contemporary of Mahadeva, extends
the framework of ‘Dalit Story’ in his four collections of stories. He depicts not only the suffering of the dalits within the
caste-hirarchy but also the political and bureaucratic dimensions of such
suffering. In stories like “Buguri,”
“Railujana” and “Topu” Mogalli
brings together the different forms of exploitation existing in modern India:
exploitation of the dalits and lower castes
in the name of caste-hierarchy, of nature in the name of ‘Development,’
and of innocent men in the name of Political Democracy.
c)
Protest
against Institutionalised Religious Systems:
The
women writers that come in this group depict the ‘double subjugation’ of women
– gender-discrimination in a patriarchal society and traditional religious practices. Sarah Abubakar and Banu Mushtak picture
Muslim women suffering under ‘Shariyat Laws’ which sanction the practice of
polygamous marriages, easy divorce available to the male, and lack of
educational facilities for women. Similarly,
Vaidehi mounts a severe attack on Hindu religious customs and practices. Her
famous story “Akku” ruefully registers that a woman in this
Patriarchal system can have freedom of expression and action only when she is
considered insane. However, her later
stories in the collection Gulabi Talkies
forcefully make the point that women, inherently, are superior to men.
Boluvaru
and Phakir Katpadi also register their protest against the existing practices
like polygamy and easy divorce in the Muslim society.
However, Boluvaru very quickly added to his stories
the dimension of ‘inter-religious relationships’ in a multi-religious society; and one of his
best stories, “Ondu Godeya Tundu,” dramatizes the aftermath of the ‘demolition
of Babri Masjid’ in a comic vein. Later,
as the stories in Swatantryada Ota
reflect, he developed faith in what he
calls ‘collective wisdom of a community’ which
can solve any problem of Muslim communities living in India.
***********
During
the last two decades, there aren’t any dominant ideological
movements; hence free experimentation in all literary forms is actively
pursued. The Short Story, arguably the most vibrant genre during this period,
examines, besides the earlier forms of oppression, the myriad forms and
consequences of Liberalisation and
Globalisation, There are scores of
significant short-story writers in this period: Jayanth Kaikini, Viveka
Shanbhag, Raghavendra Patila, Vasudhendra,
and many others; and each has his own form of expression and concern. In
order to understand the new themes and new modes of expression in recent short stories, we can briefly
consider Jayanth Kaikini and Viveka Shanabhag.
Jayant Kaikini has published till now
five collections of short stories and one collection has been translated into
English under the title Dots And Lines. Whereas
the stories of his first two collections are built around the climactic
and decisive moment of the protagonist’s life, his later stories are built
around individuals lost in the absurdities of mega cities. People who do not
know their parents, young children who cannot answer the quizmaster’s
questions, fathers who go in search of prospective grooms carrying ‘virginity
certificates’ of their daughters –these are the characters that inhabit the
‘absurd’ world of Jayant’s stories. Most
of his stories in this group imply that Life is too complex and too big to be
either understood or changed. All that
one can do is (like the old woman in “The
Unclaimed Portrait”) to come out of
one’s shell and extend love and care to
the needy, however meagre it is.
The successful stories of Viveka Shanbhag,
who has published five collections of stories, revolve around gigantic
Hydro-electric projects, MNCs and the globalised IT industry. “Nirvana,”
for instance, narrated in a comic-ironic mode, shows how the MNCs obliterate all distinctions like
caste, language and nationality of their employees. Whereas “Kantu”
is centred on a village about to be submerged in the huge reservoir being
built, “Huli Savari” depicts the way management-trainees are
taught how to make huge profits in
far-flung and backward countries. In
fact, the title of the story “Huli Savari,”
which means ‘to ride a tiger’ can be considered a metaphor for most of his
stories: once one is after money, it is like riding a tiger; one can neither
continue to ride nor get down from the tiger’s back.
**************
S. Diwakar (1945-) is a major journalist-
short-story writer and translator in Kannada, with 30 works to his credit. Diwakar’s interest in the short-story
form goes back to three decades; he has
been writing short stories since the 70s of the last century and he has
translated good stories from European,
African, and Latin American languages (Uttara
DakShina Dikkugalannu Ballavanu, Jagattina Ati Sanna Kathegalu, Katha
Jagattu). The present work is a collection
of seventeen selected short stories, translated into English, which vary in
length as well as form: there are
stories of one page to fifteen pages;
and, at the level of form, there
are realistic stories (‘Epiphany,’ ‘Victory Over Death,’ ‘The Photograph,’
‘A Poem of White Flowers,’ etc.),
allegories (‘The Box’ ‘the Vow’), fantasies (‘The Water in the
Depths,’ ‘fear’), and
meta-fictional stories (‘History,’ ‘Duality,’ and ‘The Communalist.’
Before we proceed further, a brief
introduction to some of the common characteristics of Diwakar’s stories is
called for. The special fortè of Diwakar
lies in building up a story through
precise and connotative details, like a skilled sculptor. Such details not only give his characters
flesh and blood but also place them in a specific period. Secondly, he is interested in communicating
unusual and quaint experiences with utmost brevity of expression. Again, most of the stories of Diwakar move on two planes simultaneously:
the planes of fiction and meta-fiction.
a)
As fiction, Diwakar’s realistic stories centred on women in a
patriarchal system, narrate very unusual happenings or
experiences. The very first story of
this collection, “Epiphany” (a much anthologized story in Kannada), exposes the
cruelty hidden within the cover of piety and great scholarship. Alamelu, a polio-victim, is neglected since her
birth because her father, a great scholar in Scripture and Sanskrit, wanted a
son to continue his lineage. Alamelu,
denied of parental love and care, has no
freedom, as she grows up, even to go out without parental permission. Once, in her 36th year and still unmarried,
she goes out, gets caught up in a
street-fight, and a knife aimed at someone else strikes her back. She falls down bleeding. One Palanichami, a black, poor street-vendor,
lifts her gently and leans her against his chest till the ambulance reaches
there. For the first time in her life,
“she could see compassion in his bulging eyes.
His sour breath and the sweat from his forehead dripping on her head
seemed to bring the essence of life to her.”
The long and unpronounceable name of her father, his brilliant analyses
of ancient scriptures, and the contrast between
traditional culture and street-culture --all these add up to make the
story a brilliant satire on piety and pedantry.
“Photograph” is another chilling ‘short’
story. It begins with a ‘close reading’
of an old marriage-photograph of a young man and woman (the young woman almost
bound hand and foot with necklaces and other items of jewelry), and then goes
on to briefly narrate their lives as heard from others. Once, the young wife, coming to know of her
husband’s extra-marital affair, takes out an axe one day and begins to chop
wood in front of her husband. Her
act is so fiercely symbolic that her
husband, shell-shocked, stops all his
affairs from that day. This story
depicts not only the helplessness of women in traditional families but also their inner
strength.
The eponymous “Hundreds of Streets . . .” is
another story full of genuine pathos. It
pictures an old actor, a ‘hero’ in the age of silent films, who refuses to accept that times have changed
and continues to live in his own world of illusions, till it is shattered.
Among the meta-fictional stories two stand
out: “History” and “Duality.” The first
story about a novelist, who is doing fieldwork for his historical novel, raises
probing questions about historiography: what is history? Is it a truthful
account of what happened in the past or is it an account of the past, pruned to
serve present purposes? Again, in the
very process of the present receding into past, do only virtues stand out and
weaknesses fade away? Maranayaka, the
past ruler of that town and the protagonist of the projected historical
novel, is remembered today for his
charitable acts, devotion, and heroism; but the old man whom the writer meets
tells him that he was also a cruel man who got his general killed so that he
could marry his wife. Which is the
truth? In the same town, at present, there
is a rich man and an old friend of the writer, Gurappa. He is cruel, merciless and ambitious –a
mirror image of the old ruler. Do
Gurappa’s crimes also fade away in
future and only his charity or love of poetry is going to be remembered? Completely bogged down with such questions,
the novelist gives up his project.
From the point of view of form, “Duality”
is more self-conscious and
reflexive. Cast in the form of a
dramatic monologue, the narrator (probably a writer of fiction) addresses a novelist,
who is writing a novel; throughout the story, parts of the ‘novel’ and commentary
on it alternate. A writer of fiction,
obviously, observes the men and women around him and writes his stories or
novels based on his observations; but are the characters in the novel/ story
and those in real life who lurk behind such characters the same? Or, in the process of creative imagination,
do they become someone else? The
narrator asks the ‘novelist’ the same questions: “ You have been choosing only
such letters as will fit the image surfacing from your mind. But, do those letters make the right words to
describe your thoughts?” The implied
answer is ‘no.’ At the end of the story,
the narrator declares: “Your wife who hates you doesn’t figure in the story you’ve
nearly completed. The one who lives in
it is a woman called Tarini.” In other
words, no work of imagination can be a mere reflection of life.
G. Rajashekhara states
in his introduction to the (original) work that it contains a few
outstanding stories of Kannada. One
completely agrees with him.
C.
N. Ramachandran
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