fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

A Journal ofMahatma GandhiAntarrashtriyaHindi VishwavidyalayaL A N G U A G ED I S C O U R S EW R I T I N GVolume-9April-June 2013EditorMamta KaliaPublished byMahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

L A N G U A G ED I S C O U R S EW R I T I N GApril-June 2013fgndi •Contentsfgndi •DISCOURSERasa Theory and Modern Literature Dr. Ramvilas Sharma 7Gulzar as a Short Storywriter Gopichand Narang 13India, Indianness and Buddha Dev Bose Ganga Prasad Vimal 22The Concerns of Criticism Shambhunath 30Divik Ramesh's World of Poetry Kim Yang Shik 53Radha Worship in Hindi Literature Dr. L.Thillai Selvi 56POETRYFive Poems Kedarnath Agrawal 61Seven Poems Kusum Ansal 67Four Poems Mangal Murthi 79HERITAGEMalbe Ka Malik Mohan Rakesh 84Mad Delight Mohan Rakesh 94SHORT STORYNapani Doodhnath Singh 101Rites for The Departed Chandrakanta 110The Voice Which was Progeny... Tarun Bhatnagar 120Shadows of The Past Ramesh Pokhariyal Nishank 127April-June 2013 :: 3

LANGUAGEArundhati Roy in Indian Languages... Vijaya Kumaran C.P.V. 133The Challenge of Translation Kanan Jhingan 143BOOK REVIEWGlobe on Potter's Wheel : Climbing Steps of Media Pradeep Trikha 151Apni Dharti, Apna Akash : A Discourse on Hope Oma Sharma 1554 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Why do we write? It’s a question that confronts us inside and outside whenwe have already spent a good number of years in consuming reams ofpaper and scores of ball pens in writing. An initial answer can be relatedto our inner satisfaction, whatever that means. Another answer can be theneed for self-expression. Obviously we cannot talk more than we alreadydo. So what happens to all the extra words that lie in store within us? Ihave often wondered that a writer’s post mortem report could carry all thosesuspended manuscripts that he proposed to write but couldn’t. A simple incisionwould bring out his words of all hues-black, green, blue and not so blue.The best part is he would not be held responsible for this attic scrap.Another question raises its head from an escape route, why does anartist paint or a singer sing? All creative effort has a spontaniety about itand does not like to confront query. Yet the question does crop up inconversations, interviews, research programmes and in academic discussions.Some artists give vague answers like ‘it’s my inner urge’, or ‘it’s like labourpain and I have to deliver.’Imagine Maqbool Fida Husain faced with such a question and his response.Oh, he would take up his brush with the longest handle and draw a flashof a line across the horizon. What if the same question was put up to LataMangeshkar or Girija Devi. They would answer back with a loooong alapor khayal.The area of creative writing is more demanding and discerning. We allbegin like naive and novice writers ready to imbibe our predecessors’ influence.At some point of time we find it burdensome and bothersome. We are readyfor our second innings. We look around the times and environment to findfgndi • Editor’s NoteApril-June 2013 :: 5

all is not well with the world. Ultimately we write for a better order of thingsand values, ideas & ideals, dreams and hopes.The present issue has Mohan Rakesh’s famous short story ‘malbe kamalik’ and his notes of a play chattarian. There are other short stories byChandrakanta, Doodhnath Singh, Tarun Bhatnagar and Ramesh Pokhariyal‘Nishank.’ In discourse Dr. Gopichand Narang discusses Gulzar as a shortstory writer whereas Dr. Shambhunath brings out Dr. Ramvilas Sharma’suniqueness as a critic. Dr. Ganga Prasad Vimal gives us a candid analysisof Buddha Dev Bose as the point of departure in Indian literature. Banglaliterature in particular suffered for some decades from the Tagore fixationin creative expression. Our poetry section has a few important poems ofKedar nath Agrawal. Kusum Ansal has travelled far and wide and her poemspresent her itinerary as well as an insight into her thought process.Readers and contributors may please note that I wish to put down myblue pencil from the next issue. I am thankful for the love, liveliness andlimitless co-operation that I received from one and all.Visit Hindi on internet at : www.hindivishwa.org6 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Rasa Theory and Modern LiteratureDr. Ramvilas SharmaM.S. Kushwahafgndi •About his new book, Siddhant aur Adhyayan, Babu Gulabrai writes :"In these essays I was faced with the problem of placing greatervalue on my own perspective or on the perspective of the Shastras(canonical writings). I decided to express my perspective on thebasis of the shastric perspective. I did not think it proper to deprivethe students of the knowledge of their ancestors by giving a detailedexplanation of my perspective". Obviously, in this book, hisexplanation of literature is based on Shastras, though here and therehe also mentions Western scientists and thinkers. On certain placesit appears that he finds it difficult to measure new literature byold yardsticks. But he is not willing to give up old yardsticks evenif in order to employ them, one has to pare the things to be measured.In the first chapter of the book, sub-titled "Kavya ki Atma"(The soul of Poetry), the author, after discussing Alankara, Vakrokti,Riti and Dhvani, throws light on the 'soul' or essence of poetry :"Literature re-kindles life in dead hearts, and thus possesses the efficacyof the Ayurvedic rasa. Since rasa is the essence of poetry, it alsoexpresses the rasa (juice) of fruits. Anand is its characteristic form;it is transcendental, self-luminous, conscious, indivisible and akinto Brahmanand (Bliss of God-realization)". In the context of rasaand psychology, Babu Gulabrai has quoted the views of McDuggal,William James, et. al. in support of the outlook of ancient acharyas.April-June 2013 :: 7

After tallying the anubhavas mentioned inthe works on rasa with those mentionedby Darwin, he avers that "in this matterour acharyas can keep pace with modernscientists". However, it is difficult to assertthat modern scientists are 'scientific' onall occasions. This is specially true ofWilliam James and McDuggal. As far asWestern Science is scientific, it is basedon materialism. According to Gulabrai, thebasis of Indian Shastras is the theory ofsachchidanand. He has clearly stated itseveral times that the indivisibility of rasacan be proved only on the assumption ofthe indivisibility of the anand-swaroop atma(atman, or soul, whose nature is bliss).Hence similar descriptions of laughing andweeping/crying do not indicate that theviewpoint of the ancient acharyascorresponds with that of Westernpsychologists.After mentioning the view of BhattLollata, Bhattanayak, Abhinava Gupta et.al. in the context of rasa-nishpatti (rasarealization),he says that the "rasa of poetryis anand which the sahridaya (thesympathetic reader) experiences after tastinghis inherent sthayibhava (stable emotion),which has been evoked by vibhavadi andwhich, after having been purified oftamoguna and rajoguna becomes luminouswith satoguna-dominated light of the self(atma-prakash)". Even if poetic rasa isblissful, the student's effort to reach itthrough the author's explanation is boundto shatter his/her indivisible soul intopieces. After this the author mentions theconcept of 'type'. It is difficult to ascertainwhere in the Shastras Babuji (Gulabrai)discovered this concept. If Sanskrit acharyashad used any term for this concept, Babujimade no mention of it.While explaining sadharnikarana(generalization) he had admitted that thereis a vast difference between present ideasand the earlier ones. Earlier the protagonistused to be a king or chieftain of a highcaste, but now a farmer like Hori couldbe protagonist of a novel. Babuji states :"In earlier times the hero used to be wellknownbecause it was easier for thesahridyays to identify with him. Now thementality of people has somewhat changed.Aristocracy no longer enjoys that respect.Hence it is easier for readers to identifywith Hori." This means that theindivisibility of the soul was experiencedearlier in the sagas of aristocratic familiesbut now it is experienced in the storiesof the exploitation of farmers. In both thesituations there is no change in theindivisibility of the soul. Sadharnikaranais such a mantra by which one attainsuniversal love whether one worships theexploiter or the exploited. Babuji says,"Shringara, which takes the form of sensualpleasure in worldly life, is purified in poetryand reaches the level of atmanand (blissof the soul). The attitude of the studentof literature is tilted towards satva-guna".Thus the poets are permitted to depictsensual pleasure in literature. With the helpof chhanda (metre) and alankara (figuresof speech) it will automatically get purifiedand reach the level of atmanand. This willnot lead only the poet to mukti8 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

(emancipation) but also the reader (whois promoted by sattvik bhavas) toBrahmaloka (abode of Brahma).Here I am reminded of one of mydiscussions with Dr. Nagendra. He hadasked whether a good poem written onHitler would be regarded pragatisheel(progressive)? From the viewpoint ofsadharnikaran, this would certainly beregarded a progressive poem, for, from thispoint of view, both the individual and thetype dissolve into the indivisibility of thesoul. Since the social aspects of the subjectare not taken into account, anti-socialelements will also be included in it, andon the pretext of poetic purification theywill be called Brahmanand. The way thisdoctrine has been explained makes itresemble the European doctrine which isno longer acceptable there. This doctrineis known as "Art for Art's Sake". Babujino doubt wants that morality is notneglected/ignored, but if one asserts thatliterature should aim at the developmentof society, the spirituality (chinmayata) ofliterature will be endangered. Broadlyspeaking, there are two kinds of viewsregarding art. One view regards art as aninstrument of improving society, and itssuccess is measured from this point of view.The second view holds that art has nothingto do with the development or degradationof society; its success lies in providing anandor entertainment. Babuji states : "To believethat the purpose of art is above and beyonditself is to doubt its autonomy, and to dragit from the heaven of its independence tothe pit of darkness." How is this argumentdifferent from that of 'Art for Art's Sake'?If art is not supposed to be regulated bysocial influence, it will ultimately becomeanarchical, and it will neither lead to socialwelfare nor would it yield any anand. Itshould be kept in mind that the depictionor portrayal of an anti-social theme willnot yield any pleasure to majority ofpeople. Some people of the aristocratic classmay enjoy this kind of art, but how longwill they survive? It is, therefore, better totreat the subject-matter as the controller/regulator of art. Let art present the themeembellished with the help of all the devicesit has at its disposal so that we are ableto enjoy it. The acceptance of art as a meansof improvement of society does not refutethe claim that art affords us anand. It ispossible to find a few sahridayas andconnoisseurs in a feudal and capitalistsociety who derive pleasure only from thosethings which are inimical to the welfareof the larger community. But this is notinevitable. The modern critic should makethese things clear.Babuji has argued that when a medicaldoctor, who dissects dead bodies, and aneconomist do not think it necessary to havetraining in art, why should an artist degradehimself by consulting economists? In fact,the crux of the problem does not lie inturning art into economics or economicsinto art. The problem is whether the artistshould or should not write on social andeconomic issues, and if he writes, whatmethod should he adopt? However spiritualor indivisible an art might be, it cannotsurvive for a moment without materialfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 9

sustenance. If it fights shy of philosophy,politics, sociology and economics, it couldbecome an object of angels but it wouldhave no relationship with this world. Thisis why the exponents of 'Art for Art's Sake'do not say that they will keep themselvesaway from social questions; their realintention is that they would have fullfreedom to ignore the welfare of themajority while writing on social issues.Thus they sabotage the social responsibilityof an artist. In a sense, an artist'sresponsibility is greater than a sociologist's.An artist has got a sword made of form,alankara, language and chhand, which cutssharper than the blunt knife of a sociologist.To tell him that the beauty of brandishinga sword is more important than theconsideration of the heads that are cut off,is simply to be unfair to society. Suppose,Premchand, being an artist, chooses likeKishorilal Goswami to write stories full ofshringara rasa instead of depicting thestruggle of farmers, he would have validatedBabuji's statement that "there is a specialkind of absorption in rati (love) ofshringara". But he would have not occupieda place in Hindi literature higher than thatof Kishorilal Goswami. While writing onpolitical and social issues, we cannot escapefrom our social responsibility.Till recently we were afraid of all thingsoriginating from the West; we used to callwesterners materialist and scientific, andboasted of our spirituality. But now, whenwe find anything relevant there, we makea mention of it in order to link westernmaterialism to our spirituality. The doctrineof 'Art for Art's Sake' is the legacy of thedecadent capitalist society of Europe. It wasaccepted neither by European scholars norearlier Indian scholars. But progressiveideology appears to be inimical to Indianspirit while this rotten European doctrineseems to be akin to it. According to Babuji,"The essential meaning of 'Art for Art'sSake' resembles the Indian concept ofsvantah sukhay (for self-pleaure's sake)." Notonly this, if we explore the roots of artswe will find that our acharyas had said thesame things which the analysts ofsuppressed desires like Freud and Jung havesaid. "Jung according to me, is closer toIndian perspective." What is Jung'sideology which is closely connected withIndianness? According to Jung, there aretwo dominant feelings in human beings :first, the feeling of superiority, and second,the feeling of sexuality. From, this pointof view, there are two types of humanbeings : introvert and extrovert. In the firstcategory, the feeling of sexuality has theupper hand, and in the second, the feelingof superiority. Babuji says that inUpanishads, self-love (atma-prem) isdeemed the root-cause of all activities."Both sexuality and the feeling ofsuperiority are the inferior forms of selflove.Both are governed by the feeling ofsecurity. Sexuality is also a kind of feelingof superiority and the feeling of superiorityis a metamorphosed and self-expressiveform of sexuality." In this way Babuji hassynthesised psychoanalysis withUpanishads. Psychoanalysts probe verydeeply into the mind and its inner recesses,10 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

ut they do not assert that humanconsciousness evolves, and that its evolutionis affected by environment andcircumstances. Man is a social being whowants to live with other human beings.In this process of living together literatureis created as a form of social activity. Thepsychology which denies the social aspectsof human beings is not only incompletebut also inefficient. These scientists throwthe light of their science on the slide ofthe self (atma), taking it to be inanimateand static. They do not believe in theconscious and evolving nature of the self.This is why their supporters, on the onehand, consider the feeling of superiorityand sexuality as the motivating force oflife, and on the other, they "experiencein literature an undivided andtranscendental bliss" through the processof generalization (sadharnikaran).According to them, if some artist, withoutfacing life squarely, creates a utopianheaven, he cannot be blamed. Babuji speaksof "healthy escapism" which serves as aprop in life. This means that an escapistis also a supporter of progress. In the sameway Bhakti (devotion) is sugarcoated withsensuality, and Shringara (sensual love) withBhakti. Babuji states : "A poet, like Freud'sdreamer, takes recourse to symbolism insome measure. Sometimes he veils Bhaktiwith sensuality, and sensuality with Bhakti.And sometimes poets, in order to renderit more attractive, sugarcoat gyan (wisdom)and Bhakti with sensuality." Perhaps,without such a stratagem, they would notbe called artists.Literature is subject to evolution, andit is an important social activity. Thegreatest proof of this assertion lies in thefact the theories that the ancient acharyas(scholars) had constituted with a view tofuture application cannot be applied to newmodern literature in entirety. Any attemptto apply them will either break the scaleor force to clip our legs. New literaturecannot be evaluated with the yardstick ofnine rasas. If such an attempt is made, itwill result in the following observations :• "If a novel contains acondemnation of some badcustom, it will be deemed to haveBibhatsa as the dominant rasa."• "The evil which occurs to theoppressed because of the oppressoris an object of Karuna."• "In modern novels it is difficult todetermine which rasa is dominant,but they may be analyzed from theviewpoint of rasa."• "(In Sevasadan) there is a feelingof respect towards prostitutesamongst Hindus. This is anexample of Bibhatsa."• "The Main purpose of Gaban isto expose women's love ofornaments and men's display oftheir wealth and its illconsequences,and the moralcourage and the spirit ofreformation displayed by the wifeprompted by her devotion to herhusband. From the viewpoint ofrasa, we will regard it as afgndi •April-June 2013 :: 11

progression from Shringararasabhasa (semblance of Shringar)to true shringar."• "Some utterances because of theirrelationship to politics, areconsidered to be of vira rasa.It is clear from these quotations thathow difficult it is to apply old theoriesto new literature. Even after facing thisdifficulty, it remains doubtful how far thesetheories help us in understanding literature.Currents of life are so intertwined togetherthat they cannot be barricaded by ninerasas, and forced to flow according to one'swhims. The works of Premchand haveproved that for the evaluation of this newliterature, new theories, answering to theneeds of the times, have to be discovered.Dr Ramvilas Sharma (1912-2000), was an outstanding Hindi scholar and critic. He hasauthored numerous books, including Nirala Ki Sahitya Sadhana, Mahavir Prasad aur HindiNavjagran, Bharat ke Prachin Bhasha Parivar aur Hindi, and Paschim Asia aur Rigved. Helived in Agra.M.S. Kushwaha, retired as Professor and Head, Department of English and Modern EuropeanLanguages, Lucknow University, Lucknow. He has published a voluminous Hindi commentaryon the well-known text of Sanskrit grammar, Laghusiddhanta-Kaumudi. He has also editedtwo volumes of essarys on Sanskrit poetics. He lives in Lucknow.12 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Gulzar as a Short StorywriterGopichand NarangS.S. Toshkhanifgndi •The world of films is a strange world of glitz and glamour. It hasonly one door for you to get in and several doors to exit. Theseare the times of pop culture. People suddenly reach dizzying heightsof success and then suddenly disappear as if they never existed.But there are such people also who come to limelight after yearsof hard work, shine now and then in their place and show lightto those who have lost the way. The world has changed a lot andso have its realities, yet there are some realities that have not changed.For instance, the affairs of Lakshmi and Saraswati. Although Lakshmiis now in the company of the politicians, and Saraswati is sittingalone with her Veena, there are certain things that continue to beas they were. One is on the highest heaven and the other on theground. It is quite likely that you may win the favour of one ofthem, but winning the favour of both at the same time is notso easy. However, if your penance is perfect, and your practice aswell as your dedication is sound, there is something for you toreally marvel about. And the personality of Gulzar is just such amarvel. Some years back when Gulzar's writings had started appearingin the art circles of Lahore — and I agree with the views of AhmadNadeem Qasmi in this respect and know that he has turned allsorts of people into pure gold — but since Gulzar had come viaApril-June 2013 :: 13

glamour and fame, I always looked at hiswritings with suspicion. But as I keptreading him, my pleasant surprisecontinued to increase. And now that I haveread his short stories, I am furthersurprised. You may or may not be surprised,but at least you will not remain what youwere after reading them.That Gulzar is an artist there is nodoubt about that. But there is differencebetween art and art and every art has itsown criteria. It is not necessary that anartist in one genre will be equally successfulin another genre. Fame in films apart, Icould hardly imagine that he would be sogood at story writing. With many thingsin literature it is the same as in love.Planning or formulas do not work there.In fact much that happens in it isunintentional and abrupt with consciouseffort not having as much a hand asunconscious inner excitement. Some peoplestart writing late. There is no hard andfast rule about it but practice is an essentialcondition for propitiating the goddess ofart. I believe Gulzar must have been writingfrom the beginning due to his innercompulsions and must have been derivingsolace from it. When writing becomes ameans of achieving inner ecstasy and solaceand not of any outer attainment or gain,then it begins to assume the colour ofcreative inquiry. And if you have awarenessof what art demands, it is all the morebetter. As I kept on reading his short stories,my apprehensions about his literarycapacity continued to turn into a pleasingreassurance. It is not often necessary forone to read everything for expressing anopinion, particularly when one feels thatthe rest is also similar. But Gulzar is abeguiling artist; he tricks you at every step.Often it is seen that when film people writethey can hardly come out of romantic orformulaic writing. That is, they return againand again to the same kind of atmospherein which they have passed their life.Romantic subjects sort of constrict theirminds, and this constriction catches holdof them like the original sin, and they cannever rise above it. But amazingly in caseof Gulzar the story writer in him is notmerely the creator of this wavelength orthat wavelength. In his case a new aspectof life is unravelled in every story of his,a new level, a new angle, a new experiencewhich reveals a mind or a consciousnessnot attached to this or that outlook, butto the truth of life in its entirety or thatvast experience of life that does not createboundaries, does not raise enclosures, doesnot stop at any one level of relationship,hates, loves, but looks right through realitiesand embraces all the varied facets of lifeand all dimensions of experience.For any artist this is no ordinary feat.Ghalib had described a musical instrumentas a repository of melodies. Gulzar's shortstories need only a little tuning and notesof life's music start flowing from them.For an artist who has dedicated his entirelife to film-making, it is no small14 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

achievement that he has written shortstories which are full of the music of lifewith each story presenting a different aspectand different experience of life.Let us have a look at some of theseshort stories. Addha and Khairu are veryinteresting short stories in the respect thatthe characters delineated in them are notof the ordinary type. Addha is called Addhaor 'half a man' by everyone; he is neithera whole man nor three-fourths a man, justhalf a man. He was dwarfish in stature,but he would straighten out everybody'saffairs. Though small himself, there wasno work that was big for him. When RadhaKamlani was teased by goondas whilereturning from her college, it was Addhawho saved her, and yet everyone called him'half a man'. Radha also regarded him tobe 'half a man'. Then he started arelationship with Satya, who worked as aprostitute in some flats of the same locality.It was when rumours that Satya had givenbirth to an illegitimate child spread thatAddha's manhood was put to real test.Everyone decided to turn her out of allthe flats. Addha came forward with hischest swelling with pride and adopted thechild. So it could be said that he of whomthe whole world made fun by calling himaddha or 'one half’, turned out to be acomplete man. In the same way, Khairais also a downtrodden character, witheveryone regarding him as worthless. Hedoes superfluous jobs, like putting smallbells round the necks of bullocks, paintingfgndi •their horns, decorating them, paintingdesigns on earthen pitchers, singing andplaying at the village chaupal. In otherwords, he represents the aesthetic aspectof life, which is obviously unprofitable. Tothe village people, whatever he did was toearn his board. People thought that he wasdoing unessential jobs. How long couldhe live as a parasite. He began to starve,fell ill and died. Then people of the villagebegan to realize that something great wasmissing, that he, who did superfluous jobs,had much to do with all that made lifebeautiful.One of his short stories Mard is basedon the relationship of a mother and herson. The parents are divorced; their youngson is in the hostel. The mother developsrelations with another man. The son comeshome during vacations and the motherwants to tell him that she is pregnant andis going to marry the man after some time.But the son, whom the mother stillconsiders to be child, guesses it as soonas he arrives and the male inside himscreams out, "Whose child is this bastard?"As if it is not the son but the father whois speaking. Or, the son is acting as thefather's proxy. Or, in the society that isin the centre of our discussion, it is themen who have all the rights. Or is it thathowsoever much the parents may considertheir children to be just kids, inside theygrow up fast. In the same way, there isanother interesting short story that is basedon the relationship of a child and hisApril-June 2013 :: 15

grandmother. Scolded for stealing ten paiseby the grandmother, the boy runs awayfrom home, catches a train, and, clenchingthe ten paise coin in his closed fist, getsdown at a wayside station as he is scaredof the night. He is alone and helpless.Waking up in the morning he finds thathe has been sleeping clinging to an oldbeggar woman who has died. People gatherand start collecting money for her last rites.The boy remembers his grandmother andthrowing the coin in the bowl, runs towardshis home looking for his grandmother.Gulzar has depicted not only the child'semotions, but also the fact that it is onlywhen we lose things that we realize theirvalue, or rather, losing and finding are twosides of the same reality.As has already been said, Gulzar's shortstories are a picture gallery of diverse aspectsof life, whose portrayal by him is driveneverywhere by a vision that penetrates deepinto the core reality of things. Theseinclude stories of ordinary relationships ofcommon people that present some peculiaraspect, and also stories of the downtroddenand marginalised people that are suffusedwith human sympathy. Similarly, there arestories of kings and potentates, and alsoof Thakurs and Rajputs, and likewise ofdacoits. Or else, there are stories in whichthere is the element of fantasy, or magicrealism as it is now called. It is not possibleto analyse all these aspects in a brief articlelike this, but the discussion will not becomplete without the mention of someshort stories. It is also worth consideringthat among Gulzar's characters we find allkinds of people — high and low, big andsmall, women, men, aged persons, children,youth — together with their deeds andconduct. Sanjh is the story of a Lala andhis old wife. The Lala is troubled by thefact that his wife has got her hair croppedin imitation of the mother of her son-inlawwithout as much as asking the old man.This short story is worth reading for itsdepiction of old age emotions and boasting.In another story this very quirk for gloryingbecomes a matter of personal honour andcreates separate spectra of meaning. InZinda, Raja Sahib's only son, who is acripple, doesn't like people to take pityon him because he wants to live by thepower of his will that "my limbs existbecause of me, I do not exist because ofmy limbs". But when his father gets himmarried, he loses his patience because earlierwhen people would take pity on him, hewould summon the power of his will toexist; now when those very people startmaking fun of him, he can accept the factof his being a cripple but not becomingthe butt of ridicule. Both are existentialsituations, but while escape is possible fromthe first there is no escape from the second.And that is why it is fatal. In stories abouthigh families also the real issue concernsaspects of the human condition. Same isthe case with the short stories about thepoor and the distressed, paupers, workersetc. In two of his short stories he has drawn16 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

a graphic picture of the domestic life ofwasher-men. Unchi edi wali mem (TheLady Wearing High Heels) is actually abicycle given as a gift which has becomethe cause of discord between Chhabba andMahku. The story revolves around anincident that shows how false kindness andconsideration of the moneyed can sowseeds of bitterness in the lives of innocentpeople. As a consequence of it, Mahku doesnot desist even from stealing the ornamentsof Chhabba's wife in order to show himdown. Another short story Hath pile kardo, (Get the Girl Married), is a tragedyof the fishermen of the Bay. It is beautifullystructured around a circular course ofevents in which we see that whateverhappened to Malti when she was youngis now going to happen to her daughter.In her youth, Malti was in love withRamnath, a driver who would blow hornthree times when bringing bundles of dirtyclothes and Malti would come running tohim on hearing the tune. One nightRamnath was caught and the washer-menjoined together to murder him. Now thatMalti's daughter has grown up, Malti'shands suddenly stop while serving foodwhen she hears the sound of the horn onthe night that the Bay fills with the waterof the tide.In some of Gulzar's short stories, manwomanrelationships, as well as selfdeceptions,are shown to break. Manhimself invites these illusions and lives bythem in mutual relationships. But oftenfgndi •these illusions are shattered, though theirmagic remains somewhere in theunconscious mind, and men and womendepend on this magic to live, though oneday the cruel face of truth shows itself andwe feel shattered.Some of the interesting stories areabout psychological entanglements ofyoung men and girls belonging to themiddle class. Kaghaz kl Topi depicts conflictbetween characters who have reachedadolescence of which disagreement isobviously an aspect, but which also pointstowards the secret throbbing of two heartscaused by their mutual attraction and theirego preventing them to accept it. Similarly,in Gudi we are face to face with two sistersof whom the younger one wants to surpassthe elder one in everything. Slowly thisinnocent psychological desire takes theform of deep envy. The story also exposesthe love which young men and womennowadays fall into with film actors onlyto get soon disillusioned over small thingsand consequently feel awfully shocked.Navavarad too is about breaking ofimaginary expectations which most peoplebegin to entertain after reading nicepredictions in newspapers. Some peopleseek to apply them in marriage mattersalso and then feel shocked. These shortstories deal with everyday occurrences andhumorous aspects of life, which somepeople take seriously and then facedifficulties.One expects Gulzar to have taken manyApril-June 2013 :: 17

of his episodes and characters from the filmworld, but that is not the case. Only twoof his short stories are related to filmpersonalities, and even these are not onedimensionalromantic stories. They arebased on the pain caused by the deepsorrow and tragedies occurring in the lifeof some genuine artists. And they have suchan admixture of reality and fantasy in themthat it is difficult to describe their narrativestyle as magic realism. These two shortstories are Bimal Da and Sunset Boulevard.Bimal Da is Bimal Roy of course withwhom Gulzar had worked for years as anassistant. Bimal Roy was at Triveni, theconfluence of the rivers Ganga, Yamunaand Saraswati where the Kumbh Festivalis held after every twelve years when nineplanets revolving round the sun are in astraight line and the first rays of the sunfall on their confluence. The ninth dayof this festival is scheduled as the day forthe ascetics' bath called JogiSnan. BimalDa wanted to make a film on the KumbhFestival, which he started but could notcomplete as by the time the twelve yearsperiod ended, the journey of his own lifecame to an end on the same very day onwhich the JogiSnan was scheduled to takeplace. The other story, Charulata, is thestory of the old age of a faded film star.She is surviving on past memories in SunsetBoulevard, a famous mansion of its timewhich is now only a shadow of its pastgrandeur. And before even these memoriesare snatched away from her and a bargainfor the mansion is settled, Charulatabreathes her last with the visiting card ofthe buyer in her hand. There are shadesof tragedy in both the short stories withthe pain of non-fulfilment tingling in bothof them, away from the pleasures and glitterof life.Vahima is an example of pure fantasy.Gulzar himself was not sure of what namehe should give to the story. First its titlewas Vahima, which was later changed toLekin, perhaps because what occurs in itis supposed to be a reality. But it is nota reality; it is the commonly acceptedconception of reality and non-reality.Through this story Gulzar has put aquestion mark before the commonconception of reality, taking help ofKrishnamurti's idea of reality and itsdifference from non-existence, which hecalls a phenomenon of the human mind.In this story there is mention of a manwho was moved down by a railway train.The train does not arrive at the stationnow, the platform, the railway track, thesignal all are lying desolate, but every nightthe narrator meets a man named Devrajwho forbids people to walk on the track :"Don't you see, the train is arriving." Hesays that his young son Shyam was moweddown by the train. After some days Devrajstops coming. The narrator visits him athis home to ask about his welfare and theperson who opens the door is that man'sson Shyam. Shyam says that his fatherDevraj was moved down by a train at the18 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

station and killed three years ago. Inbetween the lines of the story the discussionon Krishnamurti's quote that everythingis after all what we imagine it to becontinues. It is reality only to the extentwe accept it as reality, otherwise both lifeand death are fantasies.To make a proper assessment of thecanvass of Gulzar's creativity, it is necessaryto mention the short stories that centreor revolve around religious passion,terrorism or fear. These stories are also asunique as some others are. Undoubtedly,thousands of stories must have been writtenon the subject of riots, but Gulzar's shortstories stand apart and are unique. In theshort story titled Khauf, he has depictedthe kind of terror that paralyses the mindin an atmosphere of religious frenzy. Inthis story, after hiding here and there forfive days to save his life, Yasin, a commuterin Bombay's local train whose bakery hasbeen set on fire, is shown going home bya local train, secretly and in fear. Thecompartments are deserted. Suddenly hesees a shadow entering the compartmentand standing in wait. Yasin fears that itis some unknown person who is going tokill him. As soon as he gets the opportunity,he lifts the man between his legs andthrows him out of the running train. Afterthis Gulzar has written only one sentencewhich is the life and soul of the wholestory : "He heard a cry coming from thefalling man - Allah!" This short story canbe counted among the most effective storiesfgndi •written on religious riots, showing howreligious frenzy becomes a means to negateeven one's own reality. Ravi Par is anothersuch unique and intensely tragic story. Inthis story Darshan Singh comes out of aGurdwara along with his newly born twinsand wife, and walking through the crowd,climbs on to the roof of the special train.Both the children continue to suck thedry breasts of their mother. There is nomilk or water and one of the children diesduring the journey. When the train passesthrough the Ravi Bridge, a fellow passengersays, "Sardar Ji, how long will you keepthe dead child's body with you. Throwit from here into the river. You will beblessed." Darshan Singh picked up thebundle and uttering 'Wahe Guru' tossedit into the river. A faint voice of a childwas heard in the darkness. The body ofthe dead child was there, clinging to thebreast of the mother, and people wereraising slogans - "We have reached Wagah!We have reached Wagah!" It seems asthough on passing through the frontiersof freedom, we too threw away our livingvalues, and the dead body of hatred, terror,bigotry and narrow-mindedness, which weshould have thrown away, is still with us,clinging to our chest. And what we regardas something exciting is actually ourtragedy.I wanted to keep this article brief, butit would be necessary to mention one ortwo short stories of his which are differentfrom all other stories, to do justice to him.April-June 2013 :: 19

The short story Najum (astrology) belongsto the genre that is called science fictiontoday. It talks of the sun, which is nowextinct after burning for millions of yearsand is ten thousand light years away fromus on the basis of the speed of lightcalculated at 1, 86,000 miles per second.Even now if a flash bursts forth, its flamestouch a height of twenty to twenty-twomiles and their light (after having travelleda distance of ten thousand light years) wasseen on this earth once in 1841 and forthe second time in 1854. These scientificevents have been narrated, linking themwith the letters of Mirza Ghalib'semployees Kalu and Munir and knowledgeof the stars with the beliefs of people ofthis age. This has been done by identifyingthe appearance of the new star with thegood news for the Mughals in the formof the publication of Mirza Ghalib's Dewan(anthology of poems), which surely is thebrightest star of Mughal culture. And thereappearance of this shining star in 1854has been indicated by the death of UstadZauq and Ghalib's emergence as a masterand eventually securing his literary position.The junctures of astrology and science andhistory that Gulzar must have passedthrough in giving shape to this story andthe use he has put to the creative fusionof all the three has resulted in an interestingnarrative coming before us. Like Najum,Aag and Jangal Nama are also enjoyableshort stories, and one aspect of this joyis that young and old, high and low allcan severally exact information from it.Besides having an archetypal element inthem, these stories can also be describedas eco-friendly. Aag has an ambience ofprehistoric aborigine imagination depictinghow the prehistoric man must have tamedfire and taken it to his house. Today wehave such a profusion of ecological expertiseand eco-friendliness that one cannot hearanything else. The terrestrial region is onthe verge of destruction and in the handsof the creature known as man water, river,mountain, tree, vegetation, beast, birdnothing is safe. Air, cloud, environment,space, everything is becoming saturatedwith poison, and the depletion of ozoneis altogether a different matter. In such asituation Gulzar's short stories are like thepuff of a morning breeze blowing fromthe forest in which man, animal, beast,bird, tree, plants, appear to be boundtogether by one common thread. And atone end of that thread is Salim Ali, loverand intimate friend of birds, who was asmuch a human being as an interpreter ofthe larger meaning that goes beyondhuman life, the full significance of whichis yet to be known.In view of such a variety of stories,Gulzar has certainly earned the right tobe called a skilled storywriter. There couldbe more aspects of this brief study, butit would suffice to say only this much atthis time. The hues of life displayed inthese short stories, the vastness of theexperience, the art of developing an20 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

incident into a story, the intricacies ofhuman psychology, the problems of thedowntrodden and man and womanrelationship they articulate, or the wayspirits and humans, forests, cosmos orplanets have appeared in life — these canhelp us in having some idea of Gulzar'sstory-writing and also of the question thatwhichever aspect of life's experience Gulzarhas taken up, his artistic, creative, aesthetictreatment of it is such that everywhere somepoint, some hint, some secret, some uniquething that Gulzar has presented has takenthe form of an event or a character, ora story. And this is not an ordinary thing.You have observed how there is life'ssymphony in his stories and how every noteis distinct from the other. No story is acopy or imitation of any other story.Gulzar's short stories are the book of life.You will find some pages of this book here.The reader can approach them fromanywhere he likes. The ground is luxuriant,the atmosphere bright and there is alsoprovision for hilarity and happiness in thethick of life and, if one has the eye forit, also for meaningfulness andunderstanding of subtleties.Gopichand Narang, born 1931 at Dukki, Baluchistan, is a prominent scholar and criticof Urdu who has more than 56 published works to his credit. He has been honoured withSahitya Akademi Award. He has received honours from Italian, Canadian and Pakistangovernments. Recipient of Padmshri and Padmabhushan, he has been vice-chancellor of JamiaMillia Islamia University and professor at Delhi, Wisconsin and Oslo Universities. He hasbeen president of Sahitya Akademi and Vice-President, National Council for promotion ofUrdu. Some of his famous books are : Beeswin Shatabdi ka Urdu Sahitya, Urdu par KhultaDaricha, Manto : Punravalokan ki Bhumika, Urdu : Hamari Zuban. He lives in New Delhi.Dr. S.S. Toshkhani, freelance writer, poet and translator; writes in Hindi and English. Publishedmany books in original and in translation. Chief editor of Malini quarterly journal. Helives in New Delhi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 21

India, Indianness and BuddhaDev BoseGanga Prasad VimalShobha NarainBuddha Dev Bose undoubtedly surpassed most of the writers ofthe post-Tagorian period in richness and variety of his creative output.In many ways his literary activities equal that of Tagore in qualityand range, and yet one could say, Buddha Dev Bose chartered adifferent path for himself out of the shadow of Tagorian traditionin Bangla literature. A very valid example of this could be seenin the association of many of his contemporaries with the magazine'Kavita' which for more than a quarter of a century led the ciriticaldiscourse in Bangla writing. Though not basically anti-Tagore, yetthere are internal echos of discontent with Tagorian thought. Theinclusion of the poetry of Jiwananandadas and partiality towardsprogressive ideology along with its rejection of a feudal outlookare expressions of disagreement with Tagore and in a way an indirectcriticism of Tagore. Today, looking objectively at the history of thedevelopment of Bangla literature, we can decipher two strands ofwriting, one that considers Tagore as the pinnacle of creativity inBangla literary sphere and the other which believes in forgingdistinctive literary styles and levels of creativity independent ofRabindranath Tagore. This stream develops in the progressive writings22 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

of Subhash Mukhopadhyay and poets likeBishnu De, whose poetic contributions areconsidered to have brought about asignificant reorientation of BanglaLiterature. In fact, the changes thatemerged in Bangla writings after Bankim,Sharat, Tagore are the outcome ofexperimentation in content and styles ofwritings. Among Bangla writers as also inBuddha Dev Bose one sees the tendencyto free themselves from the influence ofTagore, though ironically it is possible onlyafter an extensive study and a deepunderstanding of Tagore's writings.Dr. Aloke Ranjan Dasgutpa in hismonograph on Buddha Dev Bose reachesa significant conclusion about him thatBuddha Dev Bose discovered with hispredilection in literary criticism throughRabindranath or the study of RavindraSahitya. It can be said without doubt thatthe Indian readers came to know ofRabindranath Tagore's greatness — throughthe discursive writings of Buddha Dev Boseas also through the writings of other Banglawriters, Dr. Aloke Ranjan Dasgupta whohad worked with Buddha Dev Bose inJadavpur University in the field ofcomparative literature clarifies — the bestexamples of Tagorian criticism are foundin the literary studies of Buddha Dev Bose.They are neither biography nor literarycriticism but incorporate the qualities ofboth. This is to say that B.B. created anew type of critical genre to understandTagore. Buddha Dev Bose understood thefgndi •colossal that was Tagore. His study fallsin the same category as that of Ajit KumarChakravarty, Premanath Vidhi and PrabhatKumar Mukhopadhyaya.Certainty Buddha Dev Bose evaluatedafter serious scrutiny Tagore's significanceand relevance to our times. He admittedthat Tagore is a literary phenomenon andnature is an important aspect of his literaryouvre.Almost all of the initial twentiethcentury Bangla writings are influenced byTagore. It is natural that Tagore is not onlyappreciated but venerated in Banglaliterature. But later 20th century literaryevaluation of Tagore has been moreobjective than the earlier criticism, sinceit could detach itself from the emotionalburden of proximity to the great writer.Questions are begun to be raised aboutTagore's literary contribution, this is thatsecond strand of writing which recognizesthe literary merit of both old and new andtheir respective contribution to the makingof modern Bangla literature. In thiscontext, Tagore should be recognized asa creative harbinger, wielding massiveinfluence on writers and their writingsalike. All this could possibly happen whenTagore's multifaceted genius wasunderstood and his literary impact defined.Buddha Dev Bose undertook this task ina planned manner though respectingTagore's genius yet undeterred by hisreputation, he was guided by his ownincisive judgement and intellect.April-June 2013 :: 23

Buddha Dev Bose's writings on Tagorenot only reveal Tagore as a great Indianwriter, a scholar and a literary genius, butBuddha Dev himself appears as a greatcritic. This was a new avatar for him, ifone looks deeply into Budha Dev Bose'scriticism of Tagore, one realizes thatBuddha Dev through his criticism wastrying to establish the importance of one'sown speech and language, though himselfa writer in English and also a professorof English, he propagated the glory andimportance of Bangla through the mediumof English. This sentiment is in 'sync'with Rabindranath Tagore's owncommitment to 'Swabhasha'. Even thecritics of Buddha Dev Bose have agreedthat Bose's purpose of criticizingRabindranath Tagore's to present anintimate view of Tagore's modernity asopposed to his own traditionalism." Thisis to say that Tagore's vision is notcompletely 'modern' as is obvious from hisaffectionate bias towards orientalism, whichis also seen among the Bengali elite. This,according to some is a regressive medievaltendency. Tagore's partisan view of themedieval poetry can be seen in his beliefof its contribution to literature and alsoin his great choice of selection of Kabir'sverses and transliteration of hundred versesof the poet. Rabindranath Tagoreconsidered this as an importantcontribution of his. It would be valid togive three instances to prove RabindranathTagore's bias towards Indian languages andIndianism. It would be right to say thatTagore was well aware of the importanceof English and other European languagesalong with Indian languages. After gettingthe Nobel Prize, one would think that hewould be a supporter of English and otherEuropean languages and would considerhis own language infradig, on the contraryhe preferred to be known as a writer ofBangla though he was not againsttranslations in other languages. He was,as said earlier, a great proponent of Indianlanguages.Buddha Dev Bose has defined Tagoreobjectively with rare insight andincisiveness. Buddha Dev Bose as saidearlier was not a votary of the Englishlanguage, in spite of his training in thislanguage, like many 20th century educatedBengalis. He knew that Anglo-Indianpoetry is like "a blind alley, selling a varietyof wares but not leading you anywhere,"the famous poet W.B. Yeats, in the year1937, had reminded Indian writers–" thatone cannot think or write in other thanhis own mother tongue" Even those criticswho held the view that Buddha Dev Bosewas a man of western thinking agreed onone point that Budha Dev Bose had a deepand life long relationship with the Bengalilanguage.Buddha Dev Bose was considered anintellectual, but as a novelist he was accusedof obscenity. And because of his opennessand liberalism of ideas, he was thoughtto be having a western perspective. Is an24 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

open attitude towards love andtransperancy in descriptions of relationshipsto be regarded as obscene? The truth thathe stood for was without violence, hatredand doubts against anyone; how could thisattitude be termed obscene? In India'virginity' falls in the same category ofregressive thinking as the ideas aboutprestige of the family or the honour ofthe clan. Virginity as the supreme idea ofhuman behaviour is nothing but amisguided concept propagated byuneducated religious zealots. Buddha DevBose was an iconoclast, who wrote againstorthodoxy and misguided traditionalism,even at the cost of his own reputation.The Hindu fanatics did not have thecourage to oppose such retrogade ideas asBuddhadev could, who inspiredprogressive Marxist thinking, though itwould not be wrong to say that even theMarxist philosophy suffered fromopportunism.Buddha Dev Bose did not care forcriticism of his ideas or even insultingrejection of his view point; he was definitelyahead of his times.He wanted to create a new butprogressive Indian vision. As an extremelyprolific writer of about fifty novels andthirty-five collections of short stories, theaccusation against Buddha Dev Bose ofwesternization would be definitelymisplaced. His first book appeared evenbefore he turned nineteen. He was partof the 'Kallol' movement. He lived throughfgndi •the periods of the great Bengal famine, thetwo world wars and the partition of Bengal.He experienced the pain of Nowa Khaliwith Gandhi. He might not have dealt withthese topics in his creative works, but hehad had a first hand experience of thesetragedies. He was a modern who hadexpanded the horizon of Bangla literature.Besides his great contribution to Bengaliliterature, his literary criticism contributedto the development of methodology, in thefield of comparative Indian literature. Thishas without doubt strengthened the Bengalilanguage.Buddha Dev Bose does not suffer fromromantic sentimentalism vis-a-vis theBengali language. He understands theimportance of the usage of the Englishlanguage, being fully conversant with thenational, regional and social realities ofIndia. At the same time, using tools ofmodern evaluative techniques he tried toprocure for Bangla its rightful place as animportant Indian language. He initiateda new genre in the field of Bengali literarycriticism, using parameters, which laterbecame the foundation of the relatively newfield of comparative analysis. In fact thisstudy of literature through comparativetechniques was an idea of Tagore. Hethought of literature as belonging not onlyto one race or nation but to the entireworld. B.B. integrated and developed thisapproach in the course of his study ofWorld literature. His interactions with hiscontemporaries also contributed to theApril-June 2013 :: 25

development of the idea of a worldliterature, while the theories of foreignwriters were also available to him. Dr. AlokeRanjan Das Gupta believes thatSudhindranath Dutt and Vishnu Dey inno mean measure played a role in BuddhaDev Bose's formulation of the idea ofRabindranath Tagore, it was not only toprove his completeness as a writer but alsoto explore in his writings an Indianismwhich links him to his roots. We shouldstop looking at literary texts from a nationalor a narrow parochial angle, because thislimits the base of a text and often presentsit as a mere presentation of some old values.That is to say that literary Catholicismis possible only if one rids oneself fromnarrow mindedness. This freedom fromrigidity of thought and prejudices gaveBuddha Dev Bose a new outlook whichas already shown, started with his studyof Rabindranath Tagore and later developedinto a critique of language and literaturebased on comparison. Buddha Dev Bose'sprose style is unparalleled. It is not onlymeaningful writing, but also hasmultiplicity of meanings as an artisticcreation. He was a scholar of both ancientand modern Indian literature along withEnglish and world literature. Heunderstood the complexity of comparativestudies. He creates a comprehensivemethodology before he embarks on hisstudy. His role in the making of Indiancomparative literature as a discipline ofscholarship is undoubtedly unique.Comparative studies require knowledge ofmore than two subjects. Buddha Dev Bosedeveloped a comparative methodology thatwas just right for the Indian situation wherethere is a plethora of languages thoughadmittedly a common undercurrent linksthem. The seed, contains many of thosecharacteristics which get revealed when onedigs below the surface. Buddha Dev Bose'sresearch developed a scientific outlook onthe study of Indian literature that broughtout to the surface the common inner coreof Indian literature. The real India livesthrough its traditions and its dialects. Theborrowed languages of the outsider cannothave the same status as one's own languageor swabhasha. What connects one to one'sroots as Ketaki Kushari Dyson admits isthe sense of commitment to one's languagethat translates into one's love for one'scountry. Buddha Dev Bose was herinspiration.Indian comparative language studiesbroadly work on the premise that thereare some significant similarities among theIndian languages. One of the similaritieshappened to be their mythic world, whichthey share. The shared mythology includesour shared past, its arts, its architecture,in brief all its glory. It would be a clicheto say that both past and future times havefor their reference point human activities.When we talk of historical movementsconcerning society or royalty, religion orrace, basically we are referring to manpresent in the centre of it all. When we26 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

look towards future, through our present,our main concern is man's destiny. In thiscontext it would be right to say thatnowhere in the world we have anintellectual tradition that parallels India's.Our thinking is humanitarian, but thefocus of our thinking is man, our thinkingnaturally is different from others, by virtueof the fact that ancient India remainedintellectually insular, independent of therest of the world. Buddha Dev Bose'scomparative studies, whatever their aimmight have been, have drawn attention tothe richness and variety of Indian literature.Buddha Dev Bose understood India andits literature as did Rabindranath Tagorein an objective manner. Buddha Dev Boseintegrated the eastern and western tenetsin his studies of Tagore. Buddha Dev Boseunderstood Tagore's India. He has anunderstanding of India, gained traditionallyfrom others along with his personalexperience. All this finds expression in hiscomparative dialogics in his bookMahabharater Katha. His description of theendless expanse of the forest becomes anentry point to the complexity of the text.Mahabharat evokes a sense of wonderin its readers, especially among its westernaudience. The primordial emotions andsense of awe that Mahabharata deals withare very subtly evoked by Buddha Dev Bosein Mahabharater Katha. As far as the meretext of the epic is concerned, a reader candetach himself from it, but the internalconflict of the very human psyche in allfgndi •its complexity and variety lingers on; theyare part of our collective memory andconsciousness. Buddha Dev Bose'scomparison of Mahabharat with the forestsof India does not exist on a simple levelof finding parallels, but on a more complexlevel of philosophy. The details of thiscomparison embrace the very idea ofexistence, which is complete only if itincludes all living creatures — plants oranimals — the entire gamut of nature inall its hues. It is driven by a desire to create,to annihilate, to protect, to rule, to evolveand to grow. That unseen world of nature,living quietly, is an integral part inmaintaining the environmental balance.Modern science is aware of this fact, thoughit does not take into account ancientwisdom that is known through its mythsand its literature. This source of knowledgeremains untapped since it is not empiricallysupported. Should the knowledge of yorebe judged on modern scientific parameters.Not many are sure of this. This dilemmacan be resolved through comparativestudies. Since it is a study not merely offinding similarities but a study of relations.Buddha Dev Bose has followed thisvery same method to make the complexstructure of Mahabharat intelligible. In fact,to understand the epic with its multipleshades of meanings, this appears to be theright approach. B.B. thinks of Mahabharatas a text, which transcends all definitionsof literature not only of the present erabut also of the earlier times. MahabharatApril-June 2013 :: 27

defies the set patterns of known literarystandards of both the East and the West.In his discourse on Mahabharat though hehas given several examples of westernliterary conventions yet he did not considerthem valid enough to judge the epic. Incomparison to other epics Mahabharat setsits own independent rules, surpassing,narrow boundaries. He says, "Mahabharathas no parallel in world literature. It standsby itself proud and aloof. The adjective'unparalleled' is not one of praise. By thisI want to emphasise that in comparisonto other epics, whether it be the Illiad orthe literary epic Odyssey, the meaning andpurpose of Mahabharat is a differentprimary epic structurally and thematically.The unparalleled status of Mahabharatis inexpressible in words. It is the samesituation with the Indian sub-continent.To understand it fully one should refer toboth Buddha Dev Bose and RabindranathTagore and their discourses on Bharat. Oneshould try to decipher the primarymeanings contained in their works. If onelooks only at the surface, missing thevarious layers of the complex text, therewould be a danger of misunderstanding,since Mahabharat in its totality is not mereliterature but an all inclusive philosophicaltext, related to the mysterious and theunknown; Buddha Dev Bose's point ofview was that one should not look forverification of historical facts inMahabharat. To get to the real meaningof Mahabharat our approach to the textwholly depends on our aims and the natureof our study as well as our expectationsfrom the text. B.B. believed that one shouldnot have a truncated vision of Mahabharat(India is not only the India of RamaKrishna Paramhams or Vivekananda orAurobindo or Tagore or some revolutionarypersonalities). B.B. was of the opinion thatmany of the stories of Mahabharat whichappear to be unbelievable fictional tales arethe expressions of the longings of theprimitive man, but which may come truein some future like many of the fantasiesof science fiction. In Mahabharat time isencapsuled, both its past and future appearin one scene. Buddha Dev Bose'scomparative techniques are encyclopaedicin nature.Buddha Dev Bose shows howMahabharat is an exception in comparisonto other epical writings in its range andbreadth as it contains several branches ofknowledge as astronomy, geography orarcheology.Buddha Dev Bose is truly a modernscholar. His poems, his novels, his criticismare inspired by a modernistic, progressiveoutlook. He started a new trend of poeticexpression different in content and texturefrom Rabindranath Tagore. The fact thata new poetic movement was started withthe publication of "Kavita" does notforebode an assetion of mere differencesfrom Tagorian ideas or writings but to givespace and recognition to a new generationof writers which came after Tagore.28 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

"Kavita" was a record of the sense ofalienation that this generation felt in thecontemporary scheme of things. It expressesthe basic difference between two greatwriters without undermining theirreputations as two literary stalwarts of theBengali language.Ganga Prasad Vimal, born 1939, is a poet, novelist and an academician. He has taughtat a college in Delhi University and in J.N.U. He was director at Central Hindi Directorate,New Delhi. His latest novel Manushkhor from Kitabaghar has been well received. He livesin New Delhi.Shobha Narain is reader in English at Maitreyi College, University of Delhi. She writesshort stories in Hindi and translates from Hindi to English. She lives in New Delhi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 29

The Concerns of CriticismShambhunathPramila GargRam Vilas Sharma has said while talking about Ralph Fox, "ForFox human life, society and literature are inseparable. The enthusiasmwith which he worked to change human life, the same enthusiasmhe showed in writing about literature. He was not the type of criticwho dealt in unemotional analysis of facts and figures; rather whateverhe wrote about literature, it was from his heart and feelings."(Introduction to Novel and Society) Unquestionably this statementis true for Ramvilas Sharmaji himself. In Hindi literature there hadbeen a crowd of unemotional analysts who as critics had dealt withfacts and figures only. He was different from such critics. He raisedHindi criticism to a higher level as a Marxist critic. He had putHindi criticism to that height which was possible when a critichas got a lofty goal and he tries to raise himself above mechanicalanalysis and when he has a definite vision of changing the wholehuman life. Today the place of criticism has shrunk a lot. Thisis not criticism but blatant praise, image management. Now is theseason of brand ambassadors, either it is paid criticism or an issueof management. Sometimes it is intentional massacre of ideologiesor an effort to move ahead in competition by treading over others.Now there is dearth of thought in criticism that is why everywhere30 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

there is more flattery and allegation andcounter allegation. These are the two sidesof the same coin. That is why it is saidthe greater the dearth of thought the morebloody would be the encounters incriticism. When the society is divided ingroups its critical vision decays first. It isa matter of no small concern that criticismhas become a thing beyond the toleranceof society, because everywhere — culture,literature and politics people need onlyfollowers. That is why logic, democraticfeelings and tolerance all have becomebankrupt.In a good criticism, fact, thoughts andemotions speak together. This type ofcriticism and opportunistic criticism cannotpossibly go together. I feel such criticismmakes us more insecure and it attacks ourideological fanaticism. Hence criticism hasno place in the fanatic world. Even in theworld of criticism fanaticism has no place.Ram Vilas Sharma has continuallystruggled against three fanaticismsthroughout his life, orthodoxies and rituals,technical and physical science beliefs andpost imperialistic dogmas. He wasideologically in confrontation with all threeideologies, i.e. the dogmatisms of archaicconventionalist, mechanized materialistsand eastern subalterns, altogether. He wrotefor the society but not for socialrecognition. It is important to note howhe has developed the criticism practisedby Bhartendu Harish Chandra, MahavirPrasad Diwedi, Ramchandra Shukla andfgndi •Hazari Prasad Diwedi. He was such a criticwho was standing amidst the challengesof society and writing his criticism andexpressing his views not from personal butfrom the reader's social and racial pointof view. His entire writing is to make aplace for criticism in the world ofdogmatism. Hence his effort to make spacefor criticism was to make space for humanlife.Normally it is expected of critics todevelop reader's interest in thecontemporary literature and fill the gapbetween the new literary works and oldtaste of the readers and also refine theirtaste. Some such people could understandcriticism as a digestive tablet while someothers think that a critic is one whocremates any creative work in its infancy.Others call a critic, a hurdle between thereader and the creative perception of anywork and request the critic to move outof the way. He has been looked at withresentment and greed, because in theabsence of social recognition gradually thewriters themselves started desiring criticism.There has always been dissatisfactionamong the writers regarding critics' role.Political and commercial organizations havealways been intolerant of the critics. Today'smaterialistic economy has made mancopycats and hypocrites thus killing histhinking power. The modernism comingin India through this way is influencingthe already existing consumerist thinkingand also the feudal narrowness of mind.April-June 2013 :: 31

On the basis of feudal thinking there arelarge groups of people agreeing with thiswhile the people disagreeing with it areleft alone in our society.Muktibodh had asked a question, whounderstands life better, a critic or a creativewriter? He says that life is important forthe critic also, otherwise while looking atthe ocean he would be counting waves only.The critic has to drown himself in the seaof life's experiences and also has to comeout of it so that the waves' water does notgo into his eyes. Sometimes when we lookat something that very sight blinds us aftera limit. This is a good metaphor to explainthat criticism is neither going out of life'srealities or out of politics and culture, norgetting stuck in them. So the relationshipof the critic with the writing is to dig deepinto it and come out of it also, it neednot only flow with it but also swim throughit. A critic is also a creative writer.Muktibodh says moving still further, 'Acritic and evaluator's job is more engrossingand creative than the artist and creativewriter himself.' So it is clear that no bigwriter can say that a critic is not a creatoror that all the other genres of writings havedeveloped but not criticism.The scope of criticism shrinks wheninstead of critical discussions on life itbecomes an instrument of propaganda orpraise or documentation; since commonman is unable to say that the means ofmedia are not for him. In modern timesmedia has more or less marginalizedcriticism. Literature is being banished fromthe educated society and from social life.Modern life's content is getting limited sothe world of criticism is also shrinking.It is a matter to be noted that peopleare losing 'reason' and 'critical vision' andare satisfied with shallow explanations. Thecritical intelligence is diminishing fromParliament to seminars also. An atmosphereof Para-criticism is being created byparochialism and commercialism. In suchscenario Ramvilas Sharma's books cameone after the other to expand the area andvision of criticism.Undoubtedly, the fanaticism ofreligious bigotry, the post imperialist'scollective fanaticism and mechanicalmaterialism together with literary puritybecame a problem. Even the mediafocusing and provoking consumerist culturewas no less a challenge. Even today all theseare big hazards from the point of view ofcriticism. Facing all these challengesRamvilas Sharma recognized the impliedpower of criticism and continued hisactivities in criticism which carried deepmeaning. Scholarship does not ride on himinstead he rides on scholarship not onlyto break the inertness of criticism but alsothe blockage of intellect which is prevailingin it. We could say that in his criticisminstead of scattered comments a highlyimaginative insight and profoundmanagement is to be seen. A new chainof critical writings was started with 'Niralaki Sahitya Sadhana'(1969), it meandered32 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

through many books and interviews andreached up to 'Bhartiya Saundaryabodh AurTulsidas'(2001) giving many toweringtriumphs of criticism. Once theseimportant writings came up it was expectedthat the Hindi intellectual world wouldbe jolted in discussing criticism, collectivethinking and exchange of ideas but it didnot, still a bit of self-evaluation did start.Is criticism a parasitic activity or is ita creation in itself ? What creationsRamvilas Sharma's writing have done forus? Undoubtedly there is a creator (writer)sitting inside a critic, an artist, otherwisethere will be no great critic. Once RamvilasSharma had said, "It is wrong to considercriticism as writing. As I trace the similaritybetween writing and criticism I amreminded of Bhartendu...very few peopleknow that Bhartenduji is indeed the fatherof modern criticism." (Aaj Ke Sawal AurMarxwad). We can say a story 'dipicts'while the criticism 'analyses'. It is strangethat in both there is repudiation and inboth there is recreation and rewriting insome way or the other. We can see in eachof Ramvilas Sharma's criticism 'repudiationas well as recreation paired together'. Heis always repudiating some orthodoxy orEuropean ideology and giving out somenew ideas and creativity which come outof his criticism like a sculptor does withhammer and chisel on a stone. RamvilasSharma also recreates a new ideology anda new point of view. We consider thepairing of repudiation important becausethese days we find everywhere repudiationswith reconstruction, while this is alsoimportant as to what we are reconstructing.Criticism is the cultural representativeof society's artistic flavour, for its subjectis not confined to a few writings but itencompasses the whole human race andthe entire culture. The value of criticismsprings from writings along with life,neither exclusively from creative writingsnor from ideologies. Criticism removes thehurdles of creative writing and allows itto move forward, it opens up the innerthoughts of creative writings, but mostlyit opens ordinary reader and student's mindto critical understanding.The Traditions of CriticismThe first thing in criticism is to know whatis to be preserved, what could berelinquished or changed. This wisdom doesnot build up in the air. In a country likeIndia it gets built by the collision of solidfeudalistic and imperialistic conditions.There is a burning question : what wecould or could not take from the past andalso from the west. The question beforeRamvilas Sharma was which elements oftraditions would be useful for men andwhich would not be. He concentrates onthat literature which is based on commonman's labour and not on the capitalistsection of society. He also makes it clear,"In old literature the possibility of collisionfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 33

etween the interests of different sectionsof society is shown rarely."(Marxism andProgressive Literature). Still by hisevaluation of traditions the fact comes upthat what is the difference betweenliterature and entertainment industry, thedifference between happiness and jollity.There can be four types of attitudes towardstraditions-worship of traditions,denigration of traditions, modernizationand commercialization of traditions andcritical relations with traditions, meaningthereby being critical of the basics oftraditions while maintaining relations withit. The critical relation between the twois neither a matter of selection nor ofrejection, nor like western modernismmaking it an object of an article. Rather,it is to understand tradition in the contextof its complexities and selecting andrejecting it from the critical point of view.It is not that Ramvilas Sharma was thefirst person to evaluate traditions this way,Vidyapati did select and reject certainthings, Kabeer also selected and rejected;Tulsi did the same when he said,"Sangharsh tyag na bin pahichane."Literature is related to the changes insociety. So it cannot be said that thereshould be eternal and permanent ideals forliterature or in order to make literatureimmortal a writer should present suchrealities which are not connected with thechanging conditions of society. RamvilasSharma says while opposing the hardcoretraditionalists, "The writers claimingimmortal truths also say that the ancientliterature is immortal because it had beendepicting immortal truths, hence we shouldtry to avoid the changing conditions ofsociety... those who portray the realities ofsociety should be especially careful aboutthe illusions of eternal truths. They claimeternal truth most wherever there is leastrelevance of it."(Marxism and ProgressiveLiterature). Inspired by Marxism,Ramvilasji was keeping an eye on the socialchanges, also he felt that we must studythe different goals of social developmentsin society. For this the evaluation of theold culture was a necessity. And one hasto take all those immortal truths from itwhich was essential for scientific thinking.This evaluation could be made possibleonly when one understands the differentclasses and groups of the ancient cultureand its historical limits."(ibid)While talking about Mahavir PrasadDiwedi, Ramvilasji comments on thetradition of Hindi criticism, "Hindicriticism has a racial tradition which couldbe seen in the brilliant inner glow andacceptance of challenges of new life inMahavir Prasad Diwedi's given text(lmportance of Literature). Here there isneither talk of sentimental accomplishmentnor a worship of art which is antagonisticto society, nor condemning the progressiveEuropean thinking in the name of Indianculture, nor the affirmation of religiousorthodox rituals which are harmful forsociety. Here we are introduced to an alert34 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

and awakened attitude which afterrecognizing our racial uniqueness, gatheringknowledge from whatever source one getsand uses them to change human societyand also he believes in giving it a modernshape. This is the glorious tradition ofHindi which had been inherited fromMahavir Prasad Diwedi... Mahavir Prasadjiwas not the only critic who emphasizedand recognized the racial form of societyin criticism...Shukulji's criticism is theoutcome of Diwedi age. Both of themrecognize the racial face of language andliterature. Both of them are eager to liberateHindi literature from the orthodoxies of'Ritikal'. In the criticism of both the writersthe basic underlying concept is the closerelation between literature and society."(Mahavir Prasad Dwiwedi Aur HindiNavjagran).Ramvilas Sharma emphasizes that thetraditional Hindi criticism is primarilyracial. It highlights the importance ofBhakti Sahitya movement of Valmiki,Kalidas and Bhavbhuti as a reversal to lovepoetry. It is a reaction against the blindreligious orthodoxies and it supports socialchanges. The tradition of Hindi criticismis not related to blind following of thewestern traditions but they do not refrainfrom progressive western thinking. Theconservative people of India in the nameof Indianism oppose the entire westernculture. This is not our national tradition.Besides, criticism is a continuous evaluationof humanity which has got no end.fgndi •Ramvilasji is a major part of that glorious,awakened and alert tradition of criticismwhich has been talked about earlier.Sometimes earlier because of thebroken relationship between tradition andprogressiveness — hurdles were put notonly to understand tradition but tounderstand progressiveness also. Nowcriticism is becoming only refutation orexaltation, this is also a problem. RamvilasSharma had said about Acharya Shukul,"Literature cannot move forward ignoringpublic welfare, public good and publicopinion." Giving due importance to himRamvilas Sharma accepted the parametersgiven by him. While criticizing him hehad to accept that he was not 'compatiblematerialist'. He said about Nirala, 'In spiteof not accepting Marxism in practice, hewas much ahead of any Marxist writer."He pointed out the failings of the highestpoetry of Nirala 'Ram ki Shakti Pooja' and"Kukurmutta". Thus, his 'criticalappreciation' has great importance incriticism. He replies to the attacks on Niralaand Ramchandra Shukul and enriches theprogressive understanding of literature.Two types of questions are raised aboutHindi criticism. Not one but there are twotraditions. One tradition is that ofRamchandra Shukul and the other is thatof Hazari Prasad Diwedi. The secondquestion is raised that along with RamvilasSharma all these critics are universal critics.Some call Ramchandra Shukul andRamvilas Sharma universal critics and areApril-June 2013 :: 35

silent about Hazari Prasad Diwedi. I thinkboth these beliefs are wrong, these arematters of racial destruction.In spite of their differences and distancewith each other, there was nearness alsoamong Ram Chandra Shukul, HazariPrasad Diwedi and Ramvilas Sharma. Allthree of them were part of the sametradition of criticism. It is only society andpublic which binds all the three together.Ramchandra Shukul talks of publichappiness, Hazari Prasad Diwedi aboutpublic welfare and Ram Vilas Sharma aboutpublic awakening. The center of theircriticism, in one way or the other, is theworld and public only. The public hadbecome important in the period of 'Bhakti'(devotion) movement, and it became thecenter during the anti-imperialistmovement. It is only possible in the publicmovement where there is no pathway; theywill make it by walking on one. Hiswisdom is the gift of his experience. Publicalso decides not only about history andculture, but also about the economicdevelopment. The public has come up witha new entity in the 20th century. Henceit was natural that all the critics havelistened and cared for public instead ofbooks and Government power. They wereworried about the public all the time.One can see that neither RamchandraShukul is against Kabeer nor Hazari Prasadagainst Tulsidas. One more interesting factis Ramchandra liked Valmiki. Ram VilasSharma and Hazari Prasad both likedKalidas. Actually the traditions of criticismfor both should -have developed on parallellines, Ram Vilas Sharma should not havewritten about Kalidas. The important thingis that all the three critics had given higherplace to the world (people) than to thebooks and political discussions. All threeof them wanted to see literature asliterature. These three critics were againstfeudalistic narrowness, European thinkingand imperialism.Actually by using the standards of greatand little subaltern traditions in a verymechanical way Ram Chandra Shukul anadmirer of Tulsi Das, was honoured as asupporter of 'Great tradition' and HazariPrasad who did great work on Kabeer hadbeen honoured for the 'Little Tradition'.This is a method of sabotaging (destroying)Indian Culture. The idea behind it is thatthe tradition of Bhakti movement was notcompatible with the society of that timeand that in India there are innumerabletraditions which go together. The collisionof traditions is not the only reality; theother reality is intermixing andtransformation of traditions also.Ram Vilas Sharma does not opposethe misleading categories of 'GreatTradition' and ‘Little Tradition’ but he putsa forceful question, "In order to prove RamChandra Shukul and Hazari Prasad Diwedias reactionary and progressive respectively,we use the social standards of 'GreatTradition' and 'Little Tradition'. Theirloved poets Tulsi and Kabeer have also been36 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

put in the category of 'Great Tradition'and 'Little Tradition'. May be in one agethere is 'little tradition' and also 'GreatTradition'. It is possible that 'GreatTradition', like big groups may not beprogressive, and possibly 'Little Tradition'like small man may be progressive. Wemove this reference a little further; can weput together Ram Chandra Shukul andHazari Prasad Diwedi with this division?"(my interviews) Mostly he believed thatRam Chandra Shukul and Hazari PrasadDiwedi couldn't be put in two separatetraditions. Especially not at that time whenthis category is used to uplift the one anddown grade the other. This literary divisionis unfortunate in Hindi criticism. This isa form of internal danger to the genre ofHindi criticism.The writer struggles with whatevertendencies he has, often some of the traitsof those tendencies are left in him. Thisis possible for these three critics also. Stilltheir achievements are greater than theirweakness.Against the Cultural DivisionThe great aim of archaic orthodoxy hadbeen to make cultural inter-division. Itsinfluence could be seen recently in theevaluation of Bhakti literature. Some tooksides with Tulsi, others with Kabeer. Thisdiscussion went on for quite sometime.Ram Vilas Sharma says, "An importantspeciality of Bhakti movement is that therefgndi •are Brahmins along with Shudras, Hinduswith Muslims. The only condition is thatprogressive critic should understand Bhaktimovement, they should not try to juxtaposeHindu followers against Sufis, and amongHindu follower from 'Nirgun Panthies' to'Sagun Panthies', and in ‘Sagun Panthies’from Krishna followers against Ramafollowers. Hindi writers who become awareof their own history, can get together toput the foundation of national unity bytheir writings." (Indian Culture and HindiRegion). There are two different things,first to understand the diversity of Bhaktimovement, second forcefully puttingmodernism and today's thoughts on themand making the Bhakti poets confront eachother. There is a need to see that only onthe basis of Tulsidas, Ram Vilas Sharmahas called Bhakti movement as opposedto social awakening and feudalism.Bhakti literature had great importancein view of Ram Vilas Sharma. Today inorder to develop our racial culture it isnecessary to understand its importance. Itis a proof that in the north India the feudalsystem was deteriorating and literature hadbeen helping this process. (Marxism andProgressive literature). Bhakti literature wasthe result of deteriorating caste system; itwas associated with the popular feeling ofthe common man. If the feudal system wasdying, why was it not destroyed? Definitelyit did not happen because of the pressureof despotic feudal authorities, and later onby the oppressive tactics of the EuropeanApril-June 2013 :: 37

Imperialism. The imperialists had clothedreligion, caste, education and literaryintelligence at every level and opposed theviews of conventional obsolete culturaldivisions with colonial logic andknowledge.The reason for cultural divisions inIndia was because of closing their eyestowards extensive realities and stupiditiesof their communities. It is unnecessary tosay that in any society cultural proximity,exchange of ideas and intermixing can takeplace only when there is free environmentbesides open-mindedness, scientific attitudeand a place for logic. Ram Vilas Sharmaafter showing the tradition of all these,moves towards Rigveda and Atharvavedabut he emphasizes more on justice, peculiarphilosophies, Gautam Buddha, astheticmaterialism of Charak's code of conduct,Krishna cult of poets and Bhaktimovement. Following is the abridgedpicture of this tradition. "In Rigveda thereis ideological variety, there are Godworshippers and persons opposed to it...likeKrishna cult poets, and the greatachievement of traditional Indianknowledge is to be seen in Charak's codeof conduct. The analysis of the art ofdiscussion in 'Charak Samhita' is relatedto materialism... the most importantdeclaration of Buddha is, you should notagree because somebody has said it, youdon't accept because it is written in books,or because of your faith in something. Youshould use your own discretion andknowledge, more than discretion judgewith your experience if anything is wrongor right... The dream that Kalidas saw forthe unity of India should not be underestimated..." (Indian culture and HindiPradesh). Ram Vilas Sharma gave Hindicriticism a depth and expanse and relatedit to a big goal. He had clarified in‘Tradition and Evaluation', "All the oldpoets like Tulsidas, Surdas and Kabeer andthe modern age writers Bhartendu HarishChandra, Premchand, Nirala haveawakened our community's conscience,"On one side for centuries scriptures andruling powers had been culturally dividing,on the other hand literature had beenexpanding the mental horizon and bringingsensitivity to it.We witness in the field of criticismcontinuous refutation and reconstructiontogether. Ramvilas Sharma condemns thelogic of European colonialism who callAryans cruel invaders. He continuouslychallenges the European superiority bygiving example of Gautam Buddha, Tamilawakening, and Indian trade up to Englandand by the popular talk of awakening ofBhakti Age. He forcefully condemnsstagnation of Indian society, backwardnessof Indian culture and role of the Britishrule in Indian progress. Along with it comeshis rewriting against genealogy that thereare enough basic similarities between Aryanand Dravidian Languages. There areinnumerable examples of cultural intermixingin India such as in the picture of38 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Dravid Shiva Natraj that carries Rigvadik'sfire in one hand. He relates the capitalistsigns in the structure, feudalism and theemergence of provincial languages to thebuilding of different castes and herepudiates the belief that the modern agehas started with the British Empire.Ram Vilas Sharma had furtherextended the old struggle between orthodoxconventionalism and 'Ritiwad', against theage of 'Chhayawad'. He condemns thebeliefs that 'Rigveda' was written by priestsand Brahmins. India is a spiritual country,Sanskrit is the mother of Hindi, the castesystem is the higher part of country'sculture and the literary principles of Hindiare in 'Ritivad'. He goes deep into theevaluation of traditions like a philosopher.He does this work standing on the firmground of facts. It is not known how thisthing had been marginalized in HindiLiterature.Ram Vilas Sharma's evaluation oftraditions in literature went in manydirections, along with history, economicprinciples, social science, and study ofculture, music and science. His mainpurpose was to repudiate conventionalorthodoxies and thus 'Demystify' India.That is how he had refuted the Orientalist'sopinion of Aryan's cruelty and stagnationof India. This is to give an alternative toEuropean colonial thought by decolonizingknowledge about India. Ram Vilas Sharmahad opposed those who kept the Indianspirituality a mystery and also opposedfgndi •those who called it backward anduncivilized. He 'demystifies' and'decolonizes' knowledge about India, whichexpands the field of criticism. He objectedto both the colonial as well as bigot's(religious leaders) attitudes.Ram Vilas Sharma gives a beautiful andcompact picture of Indian struggle to hisreaders, so that they could be free fromOrthodox and colonial thinking whichfertilizes their explanation. The readerscould see with their own eyes the culturalheritage based on labour and logic andrebuild the People's self-confidence. InRam Vilas Sharma criticism is a continuouscombination of 'condemnation andreconstruction'. Even in contemporarytimes his criticism is quite important whenthe elements of orthodox conventions andprogressive political narrowness are beingbrought to light.American thinker Phukoyama hadfriendship with the deputy of Pantagon,Donald Roomsfield. He believed that inAmerican leadership Liberal Democrats hadresounding victory. He felt the necessityto defeat the American and Britishoperations to overthrow their autocracy inthe non-Western world. Though he wasexperiencing an ethical crisis. Phukoyamahad said, "End of History" while Ram VilasSharma's aim was 'reconstruction ofHistory.' He does this not for the falsesense of pride for his country but forknowledge's unique penetration(investment). He neither fights likeApril-June 2013 :: 39

conventional reformers to evaluatetraditions nor like today's subalterns withpost-modern dynamite to evaluate them.His relation with traditions is to fight theirluster and not to make himself shine withtheir vitality.We should also understand that RamVilas Sharma doesn't believe inmodernization of traditions. He doesn't seetraditions under the influence of globalmodernism. In place of modernism he useswords like belief, labour culture, people'srising, new awakening, science andprogressiveness. He goes deep into thetraditions not to fight with them but tore-construct them. For him de-constructionand reconstruction go together. On thefoundation of progressive awakening hetries to rebuild the national awakening. Hedoes his work differently and logically.We know that in the western countriesthe age of theory has passed, and great heroesof principles are marginalized. Actually thesewere made in the academic institutions ofthe west, and were part of global vitality.They were part of the market also. They saidhow can we know 'complete' picture bylooking at only one type of financial economy.These principles were made to give ahomogeneous structure in the name"Completeness" in the world thought. For thisreason war of ideas was fought between Southand left and left and left. This was anideological war to get more importance forsome principles.The book 'Evaluation of Traditions'(1981) starts this way, "Those who wantto change the age, who are not followingthe trodden path, who want to createrevolutionary writing after destroyingorthodoxies, such persons must havecomplete knowledge of literary traditions.This knowledge is as much developed asthe literary traditions." The knowledge oftraditions is as necessary as its development,meaning thereby that the knowledge oftraditions is not limited to the works ofa critic only. There is no doubt Ram VilasSharma's criticism is mostly not relatedwith contemporary literature but with theknowledge of traditions. His criticism doesnot see traditions in straight line; insteadit is a search for speciality along withtradition. He says, "For any country theevaluation of literary tradition is not asimportant as it is for this country" (ibid)Literature was written in every country thenwhy it is necessary to understand this inthis country, about the literary traditionand each literature's speciality?In Indian literature there are regionalmemories of people and the dreams ofIndians. Indian literature is the story ofawakening of India. If we lose literaturewe lose India. As compared to history,social studies, politics of power and evento religious scriptures Ram Vilas Sharmagave more importance to literary memoriesand dreams which had been made underthe plan of modernism, which he thoughthad a special meaning. Today we have lostliterature amongst ourselves and in society.40 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

We feel that we are studying and writingmuch literature but actually we have lostit, and we continue losing India also. Wemust understand why as compared to anyother country, literature is more importantfor India.Why the knowledge of its tradition isnecessary and how the aim of Hindicriticism, should be against feudalism andagainst the people supporting imperialism.De-Colonizing CriticismAt any age Imperialist battles were wonon the basis of how much self-confidenceof the masses of any country, especiallyof intellectuals, had been broken. Howmuch distortion had been done to theirracial traditions and future, how manypeople were made copy cats and blindfollower of their culture. No Indian theorygoes to the West, but the moment a newtheory comes in the West India startsbeating its drum. There is long chain from'New Criticism' to the theory ofdeconstruction. In Hindi hardly one comesacross any reasonably practical criticismbased on these theories, still the bigul oftheory continues to harp. It is theory's jobto make a space for life in the changingworld in one direction only, and the jobof ther 'discussion' is to make a 'place'for life while the space all-around isshrinking fast for life.We know even in the west the age oftheory has passed. The great propoundersfgndi •of theory are on the margin only. Actuallythese principles were made in the academicinstitutions of the West and they were partof the global mentality of English language.They were also part of the market. Theywould explain how one could know the'completeness' amidst one type ofcommercial economy. These principles inthe name of 'perfection’ of the thoughtswere to give the world a homogeneousstructure. For this reason battles of thoughtswere fought not only between south andleft but between left and left also. Thisideological war took place in order to getmore importance. Many post-colonialprinciples also came in existence. Theseprinciples were made by keeping feminism,archaic casteism, racialism, environment,similar sex relations in the center. Definitelybefore talking about some principles wehave to talk about some principle, we haveto talk about time and place. What wecould think depends from which place andtime we are thinking. Instead of runningaway from forceful onslaught of the westernprinciples first he saw that they are theproduct of an imperialist period and thathe was thinking from the Hindi speakingbelt of India. His criticism came out afterbeing totally immersed into the Indian life.It had no hypocrisy or verbosity.Today it appears there is a society ofintellectuals who have technical expertise,who have internet. The world is brimmingwith knowledge. Once Ramchandra Shukulsaid an important thing — with theApril-June 2013 :: 41

expansion of knowledge emotions are alsoexpanded. Now there are very high wavesin the ocean of knowledge still there isno expansion of emotions among humanbeings. There are so many post chaptersof knowledge that it appears that man wasnever so knowledgeable and he was neverso unemotional (insensitive). The more bigsea a man is in at the level of knowledgethe smaller has he become at the level ofemotions like a well. We can see all aroundus the men who are "oceans of knowledgeand wells of emotion."We cannot look at Ram Vilas Sharma'scriticism separated from the ideologicalstruggle against imperialism. He wasopposed to new liberal principles whichwere being presented as universal in an ageof globalization and generalization. Thefollowing comments of Ram Vilas Sharmaseem to be as if on the modern intellectualscenario, "Our head is still half colonial,as our languages have some luster ofEnglish and we don't feel bad about it...Since we have the pressure of foreign capitalwe do accept whatever foreign scholars sayor whatever is in the interest of foreigncapital." (Today's Questions and Marxism).This is a clarion call for intellectual freedomfrom the colonialism. The speciality ofimperialism is, "It started protectingfeudalism. Besides old feudalism itestablished new feudalism also" (ibid). Ithad a policy of inciting division amongIndian communities and languages, andhatred among different groups. In today'sworld the traders of hatred and antipathyhave increased. To say the truth theseintellectual traders are big supporters offoreign capital and they are least botheredabout the poor condition of the public.Today's subaltern's deliberations arebadly affected by the imagination ofOrientalists and Neo-Colonists. "The moreIndia is divided into fragments the morecolonialism will benefit. The politics as awhole does not influence the intellectuals;since they do not understand it properlythey don't condemn it. Otherwise also thepeople of my region are comparatively lazy.They say why to fall into a trap 'Mahajanehyen gatah sah pantha'. When lots of peopleare saying this why should we unnecessarilyearn ill will specially when we want toprogress in history, protect the chair, wantto be famous in foreign country, so whyshould we not walk on the same path. Ifa western jackal makes huan huan Indianintellectuals also make synchronizing HuanHuan sound. Ram Vilas Sharma has saidso many things in his interview in a verysimple manner which had been seriouslyreconfirmed in his books.In the economic world there isliberalism but in the educational worldthere is no liberalism. Instead, a strongprofessionalism is being developed. Thisdoes not teach criticism but teaches onlyimitation and following. Ultimatelyeverybody today is in a competition. Theman standing in competition or rivalrycannot criticize his boss. Today instead of42 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

a period of crisis there is a network ofmaterialism and of consumer goods andopportunities. With the falling standard ofeducation the atmosphere is more of "Lessliterature and more entertainment." Theliterary studies in today's universities havegone down so much that neither it getsrelated to necessary ' professionalism' norit gives students a critical thinking, norit produces any novel thinking in students.The highest part of Hindi criticism doesnot become part of student's perspective.Again the same attitude works here 'whyshould 1 get into trouble' the result of itis that even today we are faced withdecades’ old questions. The views of criticslike Ram Vilas Sharma have very smallspace, the introductory one only. Whenthe Hindi departments of the country don'thave any use of his views how will theybe accepted in history, social studies andlinguistics? These are already overburdenedwith European thoughts. Hindidepartments are mostly over shadowed bythe shortcuts of feudalistic and Europeanthinking. That is the reason why noperspective could be developed to look atliteratures from the feudalistic, antiimperialisticand anti-casteist approach.We know that Ram Vilas Sharma inhis life had never taken refuge behindshortcuts or make a comment where somewriters were downgraded and others weredeclared great. Is it the way a critic ismade ? A critic starts with a lofty aim andputs down his whole life in searching andfgndi •establishing it. Basically he looks at howparticular communities of a country andultimately the whole humanity there haveexpressed themselves in literature. RamVilas Sharma never cared for immediatecontemporary achievements. He selecteda path of deep devotion and long struggle.His criticism is not management, it haddeep rationality, transparency and integrity.Whatever he said till the end of his life,was always responsible. He saw India withthe eye of Marxism and Marxism fromIndian eyes. Now we have made shortcutsfor being modern, for becoming a loverof tradition and becoming a Marxist, whilethis is not possible without the continualstruggle of society and also without one’sown struggle with self. Marxism is not amatter of research but his creativeexperiment with country's traditions andsolid realities. Marxism has beenappropriated in Ram Vilas Sharma'scriticism not mechanically but creatively.Today we are surrounded by thelanguage of power; even if you say a lieforcefully it will be taken as truth. So themeaning of thought has become adeliberation of power. All thought areconsidered the play of power as if wecannot think that there could be somethoughts outside power deliberation, therecould be oppositions, truths — the truthswhich are often being suppressed by power.The thoughts of criticism presented byRam Vilas Sharma are not the part ofpower play because in such games mostlyApril-June 2013 :: 43

unprincipled propaganda takes placeinstead of logic and artifices. Instead ofbeing a part of power politics his criticismis continuous cultural battle of a writerand an intellectual.Looking at the period of Ram VilasSharma's writings 1934-2000 almost 60 to65 years long, it was an extensive periodwhen in the name of modernization andcolonization of knowledge people weremaking fun of Hindu community's cultureand were murdering history. Commonintellectual perspective was to blindlyfollow the western modernism. Theinfluence of 'New criticism', 'Formalism'and the modernist tendencies wasincreasing on Hindi criticism continually,though not a simple good criticismconcentrating on any writing was comingup. Only they would talk of principles andthere was a plethora of foreign illustrations.At some places they demanded purecriticism that the critics should only thinkabout literary works and criticism shouldbe contained by the propaganda of writers.We know that Ram Vilas Sharma is nota pure critic. Once Albaruni had said,'What type of brahmins are these who wantto carry purity and knowledge together'.The country is changing; the server ofnational popular opinion is down. Thecommunal and feudal powers aresurrounding human life. The past is beingburnt in different ways. On one side thereis communal frenzy and on the otherBhartendu and Premchand are beingattacked. Aggressions are taking place onRamchandra Shukul, Nirala is beingattacked. Besides, there was direpredicament in the culture of Hindi belt.In such conditions Ram Vilas Sharma hadto see what is to be protected in thetraditions and what is to be changed. Wecannot look at Ram Vilas Sharma isolatedfrom the social cultural conditions anddiscussions where they have been created.Definitely he was not a pure critic onlywho leaves social question from criticism.Discussion between Past andPresentThe fight with imperialism cannot beseparated from history and from literaryand cultural traditions. Traditions havegreat importance for Ram Vilas Sharma,the knowledge of tradition is not relatedto past. This is not to dig the corpses ofpast, this is a live interaction with the pastand present. To know the tradition is onething to get to the past like a prized killis another thing. If you get hold of anold popular book by chance, leavingeverything if you look only for places whereHindu feelings are conspicuous or whatis the caste of the writer or how muchis the vitality of caste there or when pastcomes to you like a prized kill, it is notknowing the past. Actually past comes like'foreign' to you. Today many anglicizedintellectuals prefer to study in Americanand European Universities, why to give44 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

names. For them the past of India is a'foreign' thing. Because of their influencemany intellectuals in Hindi belt see Hindiassociated with 'Hindu' they do not seeKabeer's condemnation of feudalism, tothem he seems to be immersed in lovepoetry only. And Hindi neo-awakeningappears to them 'Hindu' neo-awakening.They could see only caste and man'sadoration of it. Bhartendu, Premchand andNirala all appear to be villains to them.It is not that whatever facts are put forwardthey are wrong. Rather whateverconclusions they get from those facts arewrong, because many other facts areignored.This is not a discussion between pastand present but it is imposing present onthe past. In the world of thoughts this isthe fashion today. This is 'use and throw'relationship with the past which nevercreates anything. It survives only onbreaking. He tries to seek his thought'shome like a snail or oyster shell, findssupreme bliss in narrowness. There will beharm if he steps out of it and if he extendedhis criticism only a bit he senses danger.This is what imperialism wants, i.e. to takeout the spine of any culture so that peopleforget their long struggle against feudalismand imperialism. He says like old colonialistthat your past is decaying, burn it.The political aggression of the past onthe present is resurrections, and theaggression of present on the past issubalternism. The interaction between thefgndi •past and present is possible only when firstwe believe that everything in past is notgood or everything in the past is notrubbish also. When the communalawakening of the anti-intellectual scholarswho go to the past with some politicalmotive, for the consideration of politicalpower they look at the past as a floatingblanket in the river. Had it been a bearthey would have caught it. They feel theydo not get anything out of it, they wouldrather wish to leave it, but it's not possibleas it would not leave them. Now thesalvation is possible only by killing the bear,or may be the disciple has to jump intothe river to destroy it.The writings of Ram Vilas Sharma aresuch discussion between past and presentwhich takes us towards love for life,opposition against injustice, logic, labour,culture and national reawakening. For himpast is not only a few ancient scripts, somemirror or a chanced quail in his hand. Hegoes to the past with his communalismand nationalism. For him Hindu race andIndia both are important. Definitely he sees'national' and 'rational' by combining themtogether. In his criticism he carries togetherthe basic abstracts of both racial awakeningand intellectualism of neo-awakening.Actually only then there can be intimatecritical interaction between the past andpresent. The type of relations Ram VilasSharma makes with the past is where thatpast changes our concerns with it. Makingretail relationship with past is different fromApril-June 2013 :: 45

drowning with shame or pride in it. Hehad made an intimate critical relation withthe past and changed it into an aestheticbliss and social awakening.The way Ram Vilas Sharma's criticismis joined together with the struggle of selfrealizationof Hindu race; similarly it isassociated with the struggle againstimperialism. He has gone into the researchof past for the sake of India's peaceful andindependent future. He feels that theproblems of community, regionalnarrowness have to be seen outside 'Indiannation' and understand our helplessnessagainst the onslaught of Imperialists on ourculture and economic system.Ram Vilas Sharma felt that the progressof Hindi literature is necessary not onlyfor the progress of Hindu community'scultural revival but for the upliftment ofIndia. Hindi literature's progress isnecessary for the progress of Hindustan.The position is that Hindi literature hasnot been able to make slightest space inthe Hindi belt. On the top of it there isthe desire of making IT hubs andmultiplexes and political parties as if allthese things would develop India. This isa great illusion. The reason why communalfights and religious hatred have extensivelyspread in India is only because we havenot used literature to create good willamong them. Now we are surrounded bycheap entertainment and a flood of films.Intellectualism has been enslaved by bigcapitals. Even writers themselves are seendisrespecting litterateurs; they are moreinvolved in destroying. They have lost theirgrounds. The cultural level of citizens ofany age is shown by the level of honourthey give to their litterateurs. Today thepeople are keener to know about the newconsumer goods than to know about theold writers and about new litterateurs. Thisis cultural poverty even if it is covered withbright colours and loud music, it does notallow us to see racial traditions. Those whoare afraid of the present they do not wantto face the facts of life. They fear racialtraditions also and actually they don't wantto face them.It is not enough to face traditions tomake a creative vision but thecontemporary confrontation is alsonecessary, "Without reading contemporaryliterature I can give answer to this question,the more close a literature is to socialrealities the stronger will it be. Theliterature in which contemporary problemsare discussed and shown the solutions tothose problems, there we should identifythe contemporariness." (ibid) Ram VilasSharma has no relation with thecontemporary literature which he hasaccepted honestly. But he had his eyescontinuously focused on his time's crisisof capitalism, problem of communalism,crisis of power and especially of casteismin the Hindi belt. He is alert towards thenew happenings of the world. He talksmore about people's awakening, neoawakeningand values of freedom struggle46 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

ecause he is seeing a reversal in thecontemporary Indian life. Because ofrevolution in communication, in the eraof the market based culture people's criticalvision is extensively deteriorating, his mainaim is to rejuvenate it. This is not possibleby being indifferent towards contemporarylife.It is unnecessary to say that thecriticism that discussed life can only beconnected with writings and could takein its range all the cultural developments.Literature is not Merely IdeologyRam Vilas Sharma also targeted atmechanical materialists. He understoodthem clearly. "Only with the knowledgeof literary traditions, progressive criticismcan develop" (Assessment of Tradition). Hecould see that there are conditions ofdivorce between tradition and progress.Some progressive writers are negatingBhakti poets and the romantic poets ofmodern times. They are repeating thecolonial understanding of the Aryan andDarvidian struggle. They are not ready toaccept the concepts of Hindi communityand they insist that culture is only shadoweconomy, and literature is being seen asonly political literature. Some writers tryto compensate the faults of their writingsby boasting about politics. There is nodearth of such critics who refuse to seelogic in other's ideas, and could not seestupidity of their own beliefs. Criticism isfgndi •not to make materialistic ideas logical butto make them baseless. The condition issuch that some critics instead of exploringdeep into the inner world of any writinghave been limited to making shallowcommentary about it.Ram Vilas Sharma was associated withthe progressive revolution. He was theGeneral Secretary of Progressive WritersAssociation from1949 to1953. He felt thatprogressive revolution has to come out fromthe mechanism of attitude and illusions.This is the reason why he fearlessly opposedmechanical materialism to expand therelation between tradition and Marxism.He also fought with those people who wereagainst the relationship between Marxismand tradition, and also with those whomade creative mechanical relations with thetwo concepts. He collided with ShivdanSingh Chowhan, Rangeya Raghav,Koshambi, Yashpal and many others whoare history. He found two big lapses inprogressive revolution — 'not assessing thevalue of non-Marxist writers and notopposing the reactionary tendencies whichare spreading inside progressive literature'.He was worried about the ambiguity ofthoughts and artistic laxity in progressiveliterature. Throughout his life he opposedfanaticism and opportunism. Many had toaccept the importance of his criticism bysuppressing their emotions since whateverhe said was true.Parallel to political narrowness wasliterary genuineness and such writers hadApril-June 2013 :: 47

made criticism a pure literary subject, theywouldn't open a social window. There weremany who would immediately commenton any writing without going deep intothe ideas of the writing. Sometimes thecritic was an interpreter only. This conceptof purity of literature had harmed Hindiliterature more than the literature of anyother language in India. There was greaterinfluence of the Western Modernistprinciples on Hindi literature that is whythe pressure of literary purity was moreon this literature. Ram Vilas Sharma hastargeted both Political parochialism andliterary purity. His views were very clearabout the relation of literature with societyand the speciality of literature. "In orderto understand any age it is necessary toknow economic relations, but art andliterature are not the shadows of thisrelationship... Besides economic life manlives a life of a human being also. In oldliterature the possibility of showing theconfrontation of different classes is rare.The progressive literature is progressive onlywhen it is literature also. If it does nottouch the heart of people and the readeris not influenced by it, then it is only sloganmongering and talking of propagandawould not make it great literature, not evenordinary literature... Besides aestheticbeauty it should be able to help in theprogress of man and society" (Marxism andProgressive Literature). By such commentshe is moving away from politicalparochialism.Literature is not only a way of thinking."Art is related not only to thought butto the emotions and their realizationthrough senses." (Faith and Beauty) At thispoint literature achieves universality alongwith its raciality. A man's thoughts reflecthis social position, but poet, writer andartist at the intellectual level sometimesviolate the conditions of society. Ram VilasSharma makes an important comment,"Human consciousness has the capacity torise above this social conditions and risingabove thoughts and material limits it cancomparatively develop at a higher levelfreely."(ibid) Kalidas and Kabeer could risehigher. This is true even in the contextof the pressures of too much globalmaterialism. Man can think rising aboveconsumerism and fanaticism. Though thepower of resistance cannot erase, but theyare present in all the age. Actually the abovestatement shows the signs of beliefs in theman's creative, intellectual and aestheticsensibilities.Ram Vilas Sharma says somethingregarding Nagarjun's love for beauty, "Thepoet loves beauty and the beauty does notmean only a woman's beauty but thebeauty of human life, beauty of nature.The more he loves beauty the more hewill hate the foul decay of society. He willlike to change this society." (Marxism andQuestions of Today). He talks about Indianaesthetic sensibilities and understands it byevaluation of traditions. He did not go deepinto contemporary literature. It is difficult48 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

to agree with him what he wrote aboutAgyey, Shamsher and Mukhiboth. He hadaccepted, "There is nothing like modernman" (ibid). That is why he is alert aboutthe relationship between tradition andmodernism. He feels that whateverinclinations we should have towardsrealism, and whatever relation ought to bewith the racial awakening that is absentthere. He sees in the literature connectedwith modern sensibility the acceptedelements of poetry are prohibited (banned),the problems of society are ignored, andthey look at them with a feeling ofconfusion and suffocation. After Nirala hismost loved poet is Kedarnath Aggarwal,he does not move ahead of this. Definitelyhe is more liberal towards traditions thantowards contemporariness. Hence theimportance of Ram Vilas Sharma's criticismshould not be evaluated on the basis ofwhat he comments on the contemporaryliterature, or what he had written aboutwoman and underdogs (Oppressed). Theneed is to see how extensively he hadevaluated traditions how much he had seenIndia, and how he made the chain of Hindireawakening which stood on the pillow ofsolid examples. He has once again revivedthe Indian aesthetic sensibility, and howthis could enlarge our hearts and what itcould do for the struggle againstImperialism.This is Bali Syndrome (Ramayana)There was an age of Ram Vilas Sharmawhen people would flock roundknowledgeable people, and the meaningof knowledge had not gone down.Knowledge was the part of consciousnessof wisdom only then it became moremeaningful. These days knowledge is notimportant. People flock around thosepersons who have money and power.Earlier there used to be intense hustle andbustle round Ram Vilas Sharma, eachperson would talk and discuss thingsamong themselves. Ram Vilas Sharma gaveMarxism national reinterpretation and toHindi criticism a prestige. He had oncesaid, "The role of brilliant people in thebuilding of literature is decisive. It doesn'tmean that whatever these people do is goodonly, or that in their excellent works thereare no faults. If an artistic creation has nofault in it, itself it is a fault, such art islifeless. (Evaluation of Traditions). This isalso applicable to Ram Vilas Sharma'swriting.Each critic has an ideological freezingpoint, after that he freezes and his flowstops. The vision with which he opens lotsof realities of the world, after a point theybecome hurdles in his own path. Stillwhatever Ram Vilas Sharma has given toHindi criticism it is superb. In his criticismbesides the beauty of arrangement(management) there is transparency,compatibility and objectivity.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 49

It is a great paradox that in an ageof revolution in media there is utmost lackof dialogue (discussion). Today nobodygives logic, no long discussions take place.There is no dialogue between one writerwith another writer, between a critic andanother critic or between poet and storywriter. Everywhere we find monologues.We cannot imagine any democratic culturewithout any critical discussions (dialogues).Criticism is the life of democratic culture.Today the 'Critical Vision' of people is ingreat danger. The main sign of anyintellectual person is 'Critical Vision'.Vibhishan living in Ravan's Lanka andVidur living with Kauravs still remainedcritical. Gautam Buddha, Kabeer andBhartendu were critical. The thousandyears' long tradition of criticism is indanger. Now everywhere there is worshipof dogmatism, thrilling statements andmaking blind triumphal cheers for power.In spite of the drama of democracy, therehas been an atmosphere of anti-criticism,and fear is looming large everywhere.In Ram Vilas Sharma criticism hasdeveloped from long discussions, it isstanding on logic. Primarily, he evaluatedthat literature which was written inreligious patriarchal society. It is animportant question as to what should beour attitude towards the hundreds of years'literature written in such society. Shouldit be prohibitive or sensational? Suchevaluations are founded on half-truths, onesided and destructive ideas. It is possiblein Ram Vilas Sharma's expansive criticalvision and insight, untouchable and womenissue were not as much pronounced as wasconsidered necessary in modern times. Stillwhy do we see again and again what isnot there, why not see what is valuablethere. If we want to look for Kabeer's visionof woman or Meera's vision of downtrodden people what would we get? Wecan disagree with Ram Vilas Sharma onsome points but we should understand hishistorical role. He was regularly blamedfor many things. If we agreed with all hisviews then why should we go in criticism,rather we would have been singing psalmstogether. It is against the literary ethics to'Sing Songs' or "rain stones'. The mostimportant thing is the development ofcritical vision and freedom from stagnationand blind following.There are many writers today whodon't want to see the achievements ofothers and also their own inner conflicts.Those who are aware of their own innerconflicts they fight with them whether theycome out of it or not, and those who arenot aware of their own inner conflicts theydrown in them and are left behind.Ram Vilas Sharma, in spite of livingin a city did not like cosmopolitan culture,because it ultimately makes them rootless.He was a great admirer of Pant but hesaid, "Amongst romantic poets Pantji wasleast aware of the racial development ofthe Hindi literature." (Marxism andProgressive Literature). Pant had cruelly50 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

criticized Bhakti poets. It is worthmentioning that he does not go to themlike other romantic poets. But Pant alongwith (technical) mechanical materialists wasassociated with the massacre of theliterature of the past. He never liked villagesand peasants. He is the least vocal of allromantic poets on the question of antiimperialism.Ram Vilas Sharmacommented on this issue, "From theperspective of Pantji casteism is boycotted.On one side he is called conventionalbecause of his worshipping of nearly extinctideals, on the other side by rejecting theprogressive elements of culture and forworshipping English he is cosmopolitan...We have to protect the progressive elementsof Indian culture, from Indianconventionalism and also from the fallencapitalist culture." (ibid). Ram Vilas Sharmahad worked in Pantji's magazine 'Rupabh'.He was in contact with Pant besides Nirala.He had played a role in reducing tensionbetween the two poets. It's a different issuethat he did not like Pant's cosmopolitantemperament, and he loved Nirala'sindigenousness.If a man is of cosmopolitantemperament, he would be hypnotized byEnglish, the English luster or it must bethe influence of globalization, hence thelevel of opposition to imperialism wouldbe low. This will be far away from thecommunity's conscience. In Ram VilasSharma's criticism the Hindi community'sawakening and opposition to imperialismfgndi •are basic points.What we are finding today is that itis very difficult to criticize. Religiousfanaticism, blind communalism, castepolitics or politics of ego rule our times,the louder you speak the greater thesupport you will find standing behind you.Accordingly power will come and standsupporting you. If your criticism is comingout of all these there will be harm, dangerand strangeness. In 2012 the politicalcartoonists and the girls criticizing MumbaiBandh had to go to jail. This shows thelevel of freedom and tolerance in the Indiandemocracy. If criticism has no place in thissociety there is no place for critical vision,or for historical vision. Even in politics theywant only followers. We can see the criticalvision has no place in Indian life. Henceone can understand what a unique dangerto the tradition of criticism is even in thismodern age.Undoubtedly criticism is for protectionof ideas, for life and for democracy. Earliercriticism had more influence of politics,now it has more influence of market. Sucha net is spread all over that there is hardlyany space left in the mind to think. Earliercriticism was forced to shut up now theintellectuals have themselves put thehandkerchiefs of their pockets in theirmouths, and filled their pockets withsomething else.This is an important question howmuch people are colliding with thefeudalistic and imperialistic situations andApril-June 2013 :: 51

how much they are mixing with it. Mostlythese days while colliding at the social andintellectual level they are becoming partof them. One can see that in Indiafeudalism and imperialism are increasingday by day in new forms. This incidentcan be understood by the story of Bali inthe Ramayana.Whosoever went to fight with Bali hishalf strength would be transferred to him.Similarly howsoever we fight withsectarianism, superstitions, religious fanfarefanaticism is increasing and globalizationis increasing in spite of our dissatisfactionwith it. Blind communalism is alsoincreasing in the same ratio. Seeing theMaharastra of Phule, Gokhale and Ranade,what human frenzy of Marathi blindprovincialism is spreading. In manyprovinces of the country the same castefrenzy is to be seen in some form or theother. The more you fight with thetradition of caste the more casteism isincreasing. Was there more casteism in RamChandra's time or in today's times? Thisis to be found among literature andintellectuals. The more the slogan areshouted against Americanism, globalizationand FDI, the crowd in Malls andMultiplexes increases in the sameproportion, in the same proportion selfabandonmentis also increasing. Manypeople opposing America send theirchildren to study in America. The bubbleof opposition has burst into lifeless lumpafter becoming a ritual. This is what BaliSyndrome is.If any society is overshadowed byviolence and sensuality of beauty makeupsto a large extent, take it that the society'sthinking power is finished. Now the eraof heroic poetry and era of amorous poetryhave come with a new face. In such aperiod a new fire of criticism is required.A challenge is thrown how we can bringcriticism out of the narrowness and dryness.How can we make criticism more criticalwithout paying attention to its popularityand how to make sharper attacks on Indianconservatism and the new depravedcapitalism of the west? This is criticism'sjob, to 'demystify' something and to'decolonize' other things and make somespace for life amidst fanaticism.Shambunath, born 1948, is a noteworthy progressive critic and former professor of Hindiwith a number of published books to his credit like Sanskriti ki Uttarkatha, Dussamay MeinSahitya, Hindi Navjagran aur Sanskriti, Sabhyata se Sanvad.He was also director of Kendriya Hindu Sansthan, Agra. He lives in Howrah.Parmila Garg has been teaching English at a College of Delhi University and is currentlyassociated with GGSIP and Auburn University, US. She has translated Surendra Verma’sfamous novel ‘Mujhe Chand Chahiye’ into English. Besides this she has also translated abook of political history ‘Undaunted Israel’. She lives in Delhi.52 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

(On occasion of publishing the translated version of his poems)Kim Yang ShikPoetry is like a home for not only poets but also everybody. Becausea normal person keeps a poetic sense in one's deep heart, whoeverit may be. I am inclined to believe that all people can be poetsas long as their hearts turn serene and sublimate when they reador write a poem. This means also the way our spiritual world issublimated.Having translated Ramesh's poetry into Korean, I have foundagain how greatly a writer is influenced by the environmentalsurroundings; where he or she is born and raised up.Through Ramesh's poetry we can simply sense all the emotionaltouches from the Indian earth; the heat and occasional wind fromthe earth, complex but affectionate tie that binds families andneighbours together and the grand nature that surrounds him. Theseall provide him with sources for his writing.For birdThere's no bridegroom's party.For birdNo going to strange family.For birdThere's no dowry.–Quote from 'Birds' WeddingThis poem makes us easily see a facet of the Indian traditionalwedding customs. With subtlety and satire, he attacks their longdetermined way and practice in wedding. This might be a poet'sfgndi • Divik Ramesh's World of PoetryApril-June 2013 :: 53

peculiar way of protest against not onlythe wrong practice that has repressed hismind but also the crooked way in theirlives across the country. This nature of hisprotest is skillfully featured in his otherpoems such as ‘The Secret of Earth’ and'Realization (Forgive me)'.A mother is like an eternal home fora person. Likewise the poet's emotionalattachment to his mother is so fearfullythick that his feminism stems from hisMother Being. While his mother wasmilling grain and churning butter at dawn,he lies peacefully asleep by the rhythms.Yet no one even praises her in her dailyroutine. Still he keeps his eye on hismother's every moment with deep respectand compassion;Did she ever sleep?of this I have no memory.I wonderwhat was milledmy motheror the grainDivik Ramesh already has been inKorea for three years as a visiting professorteaching Hindi at the Hankuk Universityof Foreign Studies. Being a poet himselfhe has been hopping around with greatinterest in Korean literature and soenthusiastic for the Korean poetry, he alsohas studied even those poems composedby Kim, So Wol and Bang, Jung-Whan(whose pen name is Sopa). In particular,he further appreciates Bang, Jung-Whan'schildren verses as he himself writes it, too.He easily approaches Kim, So-Wol's poetryas many Koreans love them. As a result,he has come to compose a poem himselfin adoration of Kim, So-Wol;Overflowing on the earthan ocean of azaleasI feelAs if the fragrance of your poemsis stepping down softlyAnd reaching meMaking a wayThrough my soul.Amazed I amHow the unsatisfied pathos of yourpoemscan satisfyso much!Of his works, there are a few poemswhich are believed to well convey his simplesentiments to readers; For example, 'Loveand Wife'. 'My Village Now', 'A BeautifulPoem', 'Silence I', and 'Silence II'.In other poems; 'Fire and Water','Stopping the movement of the earth','Why Has It to Be So', 'Water I' through'Water 4', he heatedly reverberates criticismon the reality.For the Indian people water is holyand adorable and even a divine being. Sohe addresses 'Let water sway...' in this firstline of 'Water I'. Water should continueswaying along the way down to the oceanto reach together where freedom ispreserved while remaining as water,In 'Water 4' he addresses again;54 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Ocean!Did I knowTo be near youMeans to be water?This indicates the poets' hope as manyIndian people do throughout their livesto be burned to ashes upon their deathand scattered over River Ganges wherebythey will naturally join the holy water inappreciation of their deep faith inHinduism. As touched so far, Ramesh'spoetry is a crystallization of essences ofhuman life and sense of destiny, which areunresistable against the space and time thatsurround him.I hope that my personal remarks onRamesh's poetry along with my translationof them into Korean will be of some helpfor the readers to understand him. Inparticular, it is significant to have thecontemporary Indian poetry published firstin Korea in a single book. Thanks to theinterest and advice, this occasion wouldprovide for an opportunity to broaden ourmutual understanding of both culturesbetween India and Korea.In conclusion, I wish to extend mysincere gratitude to Professor Divik Rameshfor his friendly co-operation and permissionto have his poetry translated and published.In addition, I deeply appreciate those whohave assisted in accomplishing my work,especially Miss Lee, Hye-Jin and Mr. Kim,Chang-Yong.Kim, Yang Shik, is the first and only Korean recipent of Padam Shri Award (2002). Shewas born on 4th January, 1931. In 1954 she did her B.A. (English) from Ehwa Women'sUniversity, Seoul and M.A. (Indian Philosophy) from Donguku University, Seoul. She isfounder and President of Tagore Society of Korea since 1981. Her poems are available inHindi too (Refer to l.Koriyayi Kavita Yatra, edited by Divik Ramesh and published by SahityaAkademi in 1999, 2. The Day Breaks O! India Among her 24 books of poems, she haspublished two anthologies of her poems related to her experience in India. She herself hastranslated Indian literary works (specially of Tagore) into Korean language. Her translationworks include 'Bird's Wedding' poetry by Divik Ramesh (1997). Her first poetry collection'Chongup-Fusa' was published in 1971. She has edited several books and among them are1st, 2nd and 3rd book of Indian Folklore in Korean. She edits and publishes an annualjournal 'Korean-Indian Culture'. She is a great friend and wellwisher of India.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 55

Radha Worship in Hindi LiteratureL. Thillai SelviIntroductionLord Rama, and Krishna emerged as incarnations of Vishnu in earlyreligious and secular literature. Almost simultaneously we find Radhaalso mentioned, along with Krishna, as an embodiment of beauty,love and art, in fact as the repository of the most cherished femininevirtues and graces. How and when did it happen? It would beinteresting to trace the concept of Radha worship in Indian Literatureand see how it came to dominate, at least for a time, all literaryeffort in Hindi and in most other Indian languages and literatures.When exactly Krishna Bhakti came to include worship of Radhaas an integral part of it, is not known for certain. There is nomention of Radha in Vishnu Purana or the Bhagavata Purana. Allthat the Bhagavata states is that among the gopis with whom Krishnais said to have wandered in the forest, there was one favourite gopinamed Radha. Out of this shadowy figure arose Radha who inlater literature became the symbol of the most passionate love whichthe human heart is capable of.Though veiled references to Radha are found in Panchatantra(5th century) and in some Satsais, particularly in Geeta Saptashati(4th century), yet she does not emerge as an object of worshipor a part of divinity. For the first time we find the concept ofthe worship of Radha in the philosophical system of Nimbarka(12th century) and his teachings based on that system. Next inchronological order came Jayadeva's Geetagovinda, Chandidas's lyricsand Vidyapati's Padavali which not only lent support to that ideabut made it attractive as also an inseparable part of Krishna-bhakti.56 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Chaitanya went a step further and madedevotion to Radha the basic tenet of theVaishnavite cult.In the sphere of literature, the conceptof Radha thus emerged as a fully developedtheme soon after the twelfth or thirteenthcentury. So far as the development of Hindiliterature is concerned, we may takecognizance of this idea from the days ofVallabhacharya (1479 - 1531). It was he,and more than him, his son and successor,Vitthalnath who laid the foundation ofRadha worship as an inseparable part ofKrishna-bhakti. Vitthalnath's Sanskritworks bring out clearly the fact thatKrishna bhakti is incomplete without theworkship of Radha with equal fervour, fromnow on Radha worship became one of thetenets of pushhtimarga propounded byVallabhacharya and his followers. We findnearly all the devotees of the Ashtachhapand the subsequent saint poets of this cultacknowledging it in their preachings andembodying this truth in their poeticalworks. The founder of the Radha - vallabhcult, Hitaharivansha went still further andequated Radha with Krishna so far asdevotion, love and worship are concerned.After him each one of the devotees thoughtit his religious duty to endorse this viewand stress the importance of Radha in hisverses.Radha WorshipWhat is the philosophy behind Radhaworship? There are two reasons generallyadduced in support of this worship. Firstly,Radha as an abstract concept is symbolicof what is most beautiful, artistic andlovable in this universe. She is truly theembodiment of what is described assundaram by the ancient seers. Secondly,as the beloved and acknowledged the mostfavoured Gopika of Krishna, Worship ofRadha is looked upon as the best way ofinvoking the blessing of Krishna, for noone can be nearer to him in thought anddeed than Radha.In Hindi literature the full floweringof the "Sringar Ras" may be attributedlargely to the concept of Radha. What willbe best of the writings of Keshvadas, Bihari,Deva and several other poets if we takeaway from their works the portions devotedto Radha?The devotees of the Radha-vallabh culthave done a good bit of hair-splitting asregards the theory and manifestation ofRadha worship - For example, some of thequestions posed are; does true devotion findits came in union or separation? Whichof the two is more conducive tovirtuousness? But we prefer to leave suchdiscussions out as they do not fall withinthe purview of our study.Shakespeare is very popular for hisdescription of the first sight of love inalmost all his dramas. Hence, his aphorism— Love at first sight ?" Surdas describesthe first sight of love of the immortal lovers(i.e.,) Radha and Krishna in a very naturalway. To Surdas, their mutual first sight wasa divine surprise -"Krishna has set out forplaying with his toys and other play-things.He has richly decorated himself withfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 57

valuable ornaments and clothes. His bodyis shining with the applique of sandal -paste. He reached the beautiful banks ofthe Jamuna. Perchance, he saw Radha therewhose beautiful eyes and forehead arebroad. She is wearing a blue upper-clotharound her waist and her long pig-tail isrolling over her back. She is very beautifuland the colour of her body is fair. Krishnafell in love with her at the first sight. Radhatoo saw Krishna for the first time. "Eyesmet eyes" "They exchanged glances". Thisfirst sight of Radha and Krishna paves theway for their future immortal love.Surdas has sketched the picture of themost pathetic condition of Radha who isthe most grief-stricken lady at the first sightof Krishna. There is a total change in herbehaviour. She no longer walks fast. Sheis not talkative as before. She startedblushing due to some thoughts which cometo her mind most frequently. There is akind of stringing vibration in her heart.She lost hunger. She lost the control overher senses. She laughs and cries at the sameperiod. Her hair bristle when she is admiredby her friends as the most loved one ofKrishna. She has fallen a prey to the feelingsof sex. Outwardly, she is calm andpossessed. But inwardly she is turbulentand uncontrolled.Radha is not able to sleep now. To her,except Krishna nothing else is beautiful.Her thoughts are concentrated on the planto meet her lover. She feels lonely. Thereis none to whom she can tell about hersorrow. Sur's Radha herself explains hercondition to one of her close friends —"Since I saw Krishna, my eyes have nosleep. The heart is always moving like awheel. To my eyes, nothing looks beautiful.My eyes plan several schemes to seeKrishna. All their thoughts are concentratedon this venue. The condition of othersenses is the same? (i.e.), My ears wantto hear the words of Krishna. My nosewants to smell the sweet smell of the basilgarland around his neck. My tongue wantsto sing about his virtuous qualities. Myskin wants to have a bodily touch of him.The love between Krishna and Radhais not a new one. It continues to exist fromseveral previous births. So they know eachother very well. Radha knows too wellabout the blemish on Krishna's Character.Krishna too knows very well that nothingof his could be hidden from the sight ofthe clever Radha.Radha in SeparationRadha's condition is worse in the absenceof Krishna. She gazes at the path ofKrishna with fixed eyes. She recollects thepast and cries bitterly. She writes the'patiyaas' (letters) and washes them withher tears. She has no hunger. Her sleepis lost. She has not washed those clotheswhich she used to wear in the companyof Krishna.Her hair are dry and confused, herbody is pale and withered. Here eyes havelost their glow. God gave her a lot of pain.A milkmaid explains her condition. "Ohfriend! In the absence of Krishna,everything of Radha's body is changed. Her58 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

hair which were like snakes have nowbecome like the dry branches of a banyantree... Her eyes were like the petals of lotus.But now, the beauty of the eyes issqueezed... Her back was like the plantainleaf. But, now it is opposite (hard). Krishnahas robbed all her wealth and bestowedupon her only troubles."A companion of Radha explains, "Shedraws lines with her finger nails upon herhands, cheeks, shoulders and thighs. Shebroods upon something, sits in meditationto chant the name of Krishna", Radha isalmost mad and she has no knowledge ofthe world around her. She has lost herselfin separation.She has lost hopes of a happy Future.She has her own doubts whether the pastwill be revived. Radha asks her friends, —"When Krishna would come and take herinto his arms? When would he display hispostures to the maids? When would heplace his flute upon his lips and call usby taking our names, one after another?When would he send the go-between tothe thickets to fetch us? When would hepress our shoulders with love and passion?When would he fall upon our feet andextinguish our anger?"Sur's Radha is the most affected ladyin the separation of Krishna; many dayshave passed since Krishna left for Mathura.All his promises of early return have nowproved to be false and untrue.Radha in SwadheenapatikaSwadheenapatika is such a heroine whosehusband or lover is under her perfectcontrol. Her husband is very muchenamoured by her beauty and virtue, anddoes not like to be separated from her fora moment. As Nurmuhammad says, sheis flown in the river of love, day and night.Jo: Swa:dhinaphatika:rahi:din: aura:ti pri:ti ma:bahi:Surdas presented Radha In theSwadheena patika condition. Krishna lovesher immensely. In fact, he is made afterher. Whether he sits or stands, he neverforgets to sing about the beauty of Radha.The yellow colour reminds him of Radha'sbodice and her jewels. He has not left anygrove, in searching of Radha. He sketchesthe picture of Radha on the ground. Thepictures drawn out by him are the sourcesof solace for the anxious lover. It appearsthat he would die in the absence of Radha.A milkmaid reports, - "Oh Radha !you are very much liked by Krishna. He— while sitting, while standing, whilewalking and while tending the cattle, —sings about your qualities. By looking atthe yellow colours, he thinks about theyellow bodice and the gold ornaments onyour body. He searches for you in everybush of the forest and cries, Where arethou? My Radha. He draws your pictures,looks at them and thereby destroys thefeelings of separation", you are the life ofKrishna. He can't live without you.Conclusion : In Hindi Literature theconcept of Radha, whatever one may thinkof its philosophical background or religiousraison d etre, has made a valuablecontribution to the growth of Indianfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 59

literature in general and Hindi literaturein particular. The basis of Krishna-Radharelationship is easily understandable. Theelement of love, as a basic factor in humanlife makes it possible, if not easy, for oneto appreciate the divine love betweenKrishna and Radha. As the Sufis thought,the sentiment of love serves as a linkbetween man and God as much as betweena devotee and Krishna. It is only practicalcommon - sense that the need of theworship of Radha should be stressed as ameans of propitiating and worshippingKrishna. Therefore, the idea gained manyadherents and resulted in much literary andaesthetic output.References1. Hanumandas, "Hindi Sahithya me VirahPrasang" - 1974, Navayuga Ganthakar,Bombay.2. Parasuram Chaturvedi, "Hindi Kavyadhara mePrem Pravah" - 1966, Kitabmahal, Allahabad.3. Ramkumar Varma, "Hindi Sahithya KaAlochanatmak Itihas" - 1997, Rajpal & Sons,New Delhi.4. Ramkumar Varma, "Anurag Bansuri" - 1969,Hindi Sahithya Sammelan Prayag, New Delhi.5. Ramachandra Shukla, "Hindi Sahitya Ka Itihas"- 1975, Navayuga Granthakar, Bombay.Dr. L. Thillai Selvi, is assistant professor in the department of Hindi at Annamalai University.She lives in Annamalainagar, Tamil Nadu.60 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Kedarnath AgrawalFive PoemsPremlatafgndi •1. Property InheritedWhen father diedthe hungry farmer’s son found this;rubble of the house, broken bedsteadsa few hands’ length of fieldthat too infertileThe sole of a rough leather shoesmall, broken and old axle of a cartcracked table, leaking Hookah,tongs of a thin iron strip.A big mountain of garbagecompetitor of the golden Meru mountainstanding on the door,a big loan from the money lenderwhich never got settled even after paying.white ants, centipedes, mosquitoes, earth worms,thousands like these are co-residents.April-June 2013 :: 61

Not only this the hunger which I gotis a hundred times more than that of my father.when the stomach is rumblingand moves around with a wide mouth openwhat does it know what is freedom?and what are the ways of a free nation?62 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

2. People will Sing my SongsNo dependence on religionor ways of destinythere is only one dependenceand that is just on this noble pen,it doesn’t get defeatedby disease or deathmy words, my poemspeople will singmelodiously.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 63

3. We the Janvadi PoetsWe are writersthe story tellers,we are the commentators of lifewe are Janvadi poets.we are fortunate descendantsof chand and soorTulsi and Kabeer,we are followers of saintsand of brave Harichand.we are the industrioussupporters of this ageof dear India’sculture and heritagewe are the upholdersof life’s cultural entitywe are the creatorsof the rule of labourof joyful prosperityand of productivitywe are well wishersand observersof past, future and presentprotectors of eternal laws of equalitywe are followers of humanismwe are janvadi poets.64 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

You are scaredeven after holding a sword in your hand!4. To Writersyou are dyingfgndi •even after holding a lightning pen,you are the fire, you are the volcanoe, but a sleeping one,sowing iced dew drops of tears!You are the sun but hidden behind the clouds,you are the revolution but wearing tinkling anklets!you are an ocean but there is no storm in it,smile of moon alone gives you life!!you are a sharp arrowthat can pierce through rocks,don’t sing your sorrows silently!There is thunder in your emotions,but lying unconscious under yourdark desires!you are a song, but you are not humming,drowning in the dark heart of the night!you are a cobra but lying in the charmer’s basket,swaying your hoodyou never fought with the enemy!You have feathers but you never fly in the sky,you don’t ride on the chariot of winds:you get hurt but never challengeyou don’t blow the whistle of inquilab!you bear all the suffering, sitting silently,you are telling the dead story of death!O Dadhichi! beat the drumspread the message of strength!raise the joyful sun of peace!!spread the light of red gold!April-June 2013 :: 65

5. A FarmerThis time paddy crophas yielded a lot!single plants are looking double!the earth is full of producethere is not a single empty spot!The farmer has gatheredall his near and dear onesgathered to reap the harvestreaching early in the morning,everyone is holding a sicklewith lots of strength in their arms,breathing quick and fast,they are cutting the crop,with great interest and purpose,the hard labour of lifehas succeeded at last!they stand up finallywith zest, zeal and rejoiceThey have enough to eat at last!Kedarnath Agrawal (1911-2000), An eminent progressive poet whose poems are full of elanvital. He is equally expressive in recording the rural landscape. Some of his collections ofpoems are: ‘yug ki Ganga’, ‘lok aur alok’, ‘hey meri tum’ and ‘phool nahi rang bolte hain’.He was an advocate by profession and lived in Banda, U.P.Premlata, born 1946, teaches history at Maitreyi College. Has published several articles andresearch papers. She translates occasionally. She lives in New Delhi.66 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Seven PoemsKusum Ansalfgndi •1. THE BENCHWhen I sit on this benchso many things flash back in my mindan extravaganza of images,bells and whistles...music,light and shade effectsso many people, so many voicesrude...bitter...alluring and fakeengulf me with confusion.Over all the audio-visualsrises the smooth whisperof your voice with magical noteits sufiana rhythmic cosmic mantratouches my inner being.Meeting you was alwaysas spiritual as a visit to a shrinea magnetic pull of loveI held you into the layers of my heartso that no one could steal you from me.Though you have walked out of my lifeand I am emotionally damaged, shatteredApril-June 2013 :: 67

isolated, lonely and stained with painI still sit on this bench...dedicated to old memorieswaiting in vain, for the soft whisperof your voice... like the call of a white dove.Waiting for it, to light my spiritto transform my beingback to its normal formI will wait... wait till it happens.68 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

2. KASHMIRAfter many yearswhen I standas a silent spectatornear the ruins ofa burnt houseMy loneliness, my pain, my distressmy lost glorious past, my family.It’s like travelling into...the horror of a mental mazea confused road mapwith the experience of...a new Avtar of reborn Kashmira journey where...one's identity becomesdestabilized... lostin the stories and incidentsof pain and sufferinginflicted by inhuman torture...is this the waya state survives?fgndi •a mass grave of my family...A strange numbness engulfs my heartI find myself lost in adifferent identity, a different self.Rootless and homeless,discovering the great gulfdividing today's tragicand yeateryears’ beautiful past.April-June 2013 :: 69

3. A COFFIN AND A BOTTLEIn this roomthere is a beautifullyengraved coffinand an empty bottle.‘What are these?’I asked him.With tearful eyesand constricted throat he replied,‘In the coffin, sleeps my young daughterwho was raped, before being tortured to death.’‘And the empty bottle?’I asked him.‘Empty’ he shouted, ‘No, it is not empty.It is filled with her kisseslove and affectionwhich she presented meOn father’s day...The coffin and the bottlewere imparting an unusual aromawhich filled the roomwith restrained helplessness.In our residential lanethere are many houseswith such roomswhere terrorized fathersof young girlsare buried aliveencapsulated in humiliation and pain.70 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

4. THE CHURCHIn the emptiness of the churchI stand near your imagewith folded hands Dear God.Your lean body hanging on the crossweakens my morale.I get depressed, O Jesus...strange it is... that...in front of your great sacrificemy own humble mortal selfshrinks and becomes hollowas your serene image questionsmy faith in humanity.In the silence of the hallan echo of haunting prayers of the pastfills up the narrow corridors of Churchbut in spite of that mystic attractionstrange as it is...my thoughts about myselfoverpower my consciousnessWill you forgive me, My Christas I am not any antagonistic personfgndi •I think of ‘me’ ‘my life’ ‘my worries’but not the gracious you, your blessings, O God.The chiming church bells dispel my obsessionfalling on my accumulated memories...strange it is... that...subconsciously I chant...Gayatri mantraunaware of the limitatioins of the Church.but this is the only ritual,the only mantra deep rooted in my heartIt only brings me closer to your glorious selfApril-June 2013 :: 71

The omnipresence of your super imagefilling silence and gloominess of Chruchinto an enlightened sunshinestrange...It is... that...I bow down my bodyIn ‘Sakshat-dandavat-Pranam’as my total surrender to Thee.72 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

5. AUSCHWITZI stood silently near the gateTears rolled down my eyes...when I stood near those photographsfgndi •which had a cynical inscriptionArbert macht frei (work brings freedom)enwrapped in a mysterious echo...echo of bells, bells of the hell.In the depth of my heartI could hear innumerable human cries...of those lives... treatedworse than animals.It was a 'Death Block'of the innocentshaunting me with its strange hollownessI could not hold myself from crying...difficult to countof those Jews who struggled immenselyto emerge free from the Death Trap.Free from the awful jaws of darknessThe unnamed eyes. The unshed tearsmixed with the horrified fear of deathwith tight lips and unspoken words narratedthe cruelty of the inhuman rulersof that country.The pile of torn shoes, toothbrushesheaps of rusted tin plates and broken cupsrough, dirty bloodstained belongingsreminding one of multilayers of miserysuffering the torturous behaviour.Which still echoes in those dark cellswhere human hair tapestryhuman skin lamp-shades were displayed.My words fail me to describe accuratelywhat exists there in its utter helplessness.April-June 2013 :: 73

As I look at the black and white prisoner's dressThe stripes conveyed to me.white... denial of all the blessings of lifeblack... chaos, surrender, helplessnessleading to a man's deconstructionleading to a man's crushed identityin such deliberate sadisma fanatical hallucination engulfsfrom which humanity struggles to emerge.Even today the echo of deathis more prominent than life,the cremation pits and pyresare still miraculously hot and burningwith human flesh and bonesat the dawn of a fateful daymerging into a deep silenceof fearsome mystery of a disastrous illusion.death is the ultimate end of a human beingbut Auschwitz was a never-ending death.74 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

6. RAWALPINDICrossing all the bonds of historyMy heart was thumping with images,self-created images of a long-lost past,It was a past of a dead mother,my nana used to tell me.of her life and time in Rawalpindi.At the entrance of the narrow lanehung a freshly painted signboardwhich was unable to hide thebold letters, scripted in Hindi,which reflected the old glory ofRawalpindi.My heartbeat froze... as I stoodfgndi •I reached the narrow laneof the old city of my nana and my roots.I held a white rose in my handalong with an address of Rawalpindi.in front of the ‘Melaram Haveli’similar to the photograph I held in my hand.Just the word ‘OM’ engraved at thethreshold stood testimony to the creed oflifestyle of my nana who lived in his daysat Rawalpindi.Few people...passers-by on the roadtried to bring me back to today’s realityreminding me of my own real self.They said, it was not the old Punjab.which remains alive in my consciousnessit’s not the same Rawalpindi.April-June 2013 :: 75

But when I touched the door of the housesunfamiliar vibrations flowed in my veinsrippling with memories and incidentsof my nana’s suffering during partitionwhich were narrated to us, along with hislove his attachment with Rawalpindi.Suddenly the door opened,and an old lady peeped out‘Who are you...what are you doing here’Yes, I thought who am I, what am I dooinghere?Silence animated the inanimateconsciousness.What am I doing in this city?City unknown, but of my nana’s passionthe city of Rawalpindi.when I touched the wall of the houseit whispered softly, ‘I am Melaram Haveli.’The voice of my nana, escorted me inside,‘This is my room, and that one...,near the courtyard, is your mother’s,my daughter, Sheila, she is the life of the family,but could not live, after your birth,and after leaving Rawalpindi.’‘Oh, why are you crying my dear?’asked the lady with great tenderness.‘Come live with me, its your own home’,the partition has not divided humannessthe boundaries of any nation and politicians,are not the moral agents, to divide love.She took me in her arms like my own nani,living in Rawalpindi.76 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

She opended the door of my mother’s room.a familiar fragrance embraced me softlyIn that devotional ardour, I was taken abackwhen I saw many white rosesneatly arranged in a basketportraying something beyond realitythey were similar to the white roseI had carried from India.similar to the one I offeredevery year to my mother’s memoryon her death anniversarysimilar to the one, I was to offerto her memory, here in Rawalpindi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 77

7. LIFEThat day when I entereda magnificent wedding pandalthe fragrance of flowers, melody of musicthe fake smile of the newly-wedded couplethe mystic smoke of ceremonial firecould not capture my pulse, rathera strange loneliness stirred my soul,an unusual pain of withdrawalOverpowered my consciousnessI don't know why.That day when I attended the funeral ofmy friendthe real smoke arose fromthe burning human flesh whichportrayed something beyond realityI wondered what it was.A reawakening or a reality of lifeOr the end of an illusion?Or what?Is death freedom from relationship?Is death freedom from tomorrow?Is death freedom from emotions?Is death freedom from origin?Is smoke a material realization?Of beauty, of ugliness... or is it thewisdom of being without ego?Is it bliss... clarity and peaceOr what... ?Courtesy, Roli Books.Kusum Ansal, born 1940, is a leading author whose ouvre contains poetry, novels, shortstories and travelogues. Some of her well read books are—ek aur panchvati; pate badaltehain; weh aya tha; yadon ke hamsafar. She also writes in Punjabi. Her works have beentranslated into English, Greek and Russian, Kusum Ansal organises a literary forum ‘Samvad’and is actively associated with a number of social service groups. She lives in New Delhi.78 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Four PoemsMangal Murtyfgndi •1. PEEPBO SUNLook, the sun comes peeking at my doorStealthily every morning, playing peepbo,And stands momentarily transfixedScowling at the criss-cross mazeOf sharp angles and rectanglesCutting into each other in rageAnd creating a fascinating chiaroscuroOf bright light and deep shadowsOf a magical cryptogramWritten on the perplexed floorOr is it some visible soundless songPrinted on time’s music sheetApril-June 2013 :: 79

2. TEA WITH DONNEGood Morning, dear Sun!Come sit with meAnd have a cup of tea.You look so fresh today,So radiant, so bright-eyed,Filling half our worldWith your golden rays;Peering into every window,Every nook and crevice,Teasing lazy lovers from their beds;Writing musical scoresOn shimmering cobwebs;Hastening the yawning budsTo bloom soon before noon,Whispering to their opening petalsThat their tender short storyHas a lovely end by the even-song.Meanwhile, dear Sun,Come, sit with meAnd have some tea.80 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

‘Something there is that doesn’t love a wall’It stands there silent and enigmatic.Between desire and fulfilment.Who raised it? This ugly wall?How come it stands here brazenlyWith its pockmarked face—Hard, stony, savage, harsh, pitiless-Grimacing with criss-crossed shadows?Rugged with malice and contumely.It divides. It hides. It shuts out.Blocking tear-filled eyes,From gentle solicitous emotions,Choking sighing sorrows,From piercing its concrete barbarity.Snuffing candles on vigilFor those who perished in pain.Will it be there forever this wall-Indestructible, undemolishable, perpetual?‘Something there is that doesn’t love a wall’That stands forever silent and enigmatic.Between desire and inertia.fgndi • 3. THE WALLApril-June 2013 :: 81

4. HI, KRISHNA!Hi, Krishna!What’re you doing hereUnder this tree on my street?And where is Radha, your beloved beauty?And all those GopisWhom you had left naked in the poolAs you stole their ghaghras and cholis?Ah, today I am not in a mood for all thatToday I am here in your streetBeneath this tree with my flute...Today I want to tell you something...Oh, really? How good of you to think of me!Today I come to tell you who you areYou are me—none else—me and me alone.For days I had been watching youGoing on morning strolls, deep in thought.I knew you were thinking of meAnd of the music of my flute.So I came to tell you I am only youAnd you are always in me.Come, come, Krishna,You are only taking me round and roundIn circles, baffling me with your enigmatic words.Now, tell me seriously about your true self;Are you only what you look,As you stand here under this tree on my street,Wearing that peacock-feather’d hair-bandAnd playing that divine tune on your flute?Indeed, this is how you see me.This is how I appear in the mirror of your heart.But let me make known to you my divine manifestation.I am the Atman that dwells in the heart of every mortal creature.82 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

I am the beginning, the middle and the end in creation.I am the Time without end: my face is everywhere.I am triumph and perseverance: I am the purity of the good.I am the knowledge of the knower.I am the divine seed of all lives.Nothing animate or inanimate exists without me.Indeed, my divine manifestations are limitless...I am the beginning, the life-span and the end of all.Oh, enough, enough, my Krishna.To me you are best in this enchanting formWith your peacock-feather’d hairbandAnd that lovely flute on your lips,Standing beneath this tree on my streetWhere daily I take my morning strolls.fgndi •Dr. Mangal Murty, born 1937 is a retired professor of English and Linguistics, who servedin universities in Bihar and Yemen for more than four decades, and has written and editedseveral books in Hindi and some in English. He has recently edited and published the collectedworks of Shivapujan Sahay (his late father) and is presently doing translations of SelectedWritings of Shivapujan Sahay. He now lives in Lucknow and is working on an Englishbiography of Dr. Rajendra Prasad. Email: bsmmurty@gmail.comApril-June 2013 :: 83

Malbe Ka MalikMohan RakeshJai RatanThey had come to Amritsar from Lahore after seven years and ahalf. The Indo-Pak hockey match was just a pretext. More thanthe match they wanted to see the buildings and the bazaars whichhad become alien to them seven and a half years ago. Bunchesof Muslims were to be seen sauntering along the roads, lookingas eagerly at everything, as if this was no ordinary city but a placeendowed with some very special attraction.Passing through the narrow alleys in the bazaars, they remindedone another, of things which had been so familiar. 'Look, Fatehdeena,how the candy shops in Sweets Bazar have dwindled in number!Do you remember the corner shop where Sukhi used to sell parchedgram? It's no longer there. Its place has been taken by that betelleaf seller. And, Khan Saheb, isn't this the Salt Market? It' s herethat they dye clothes in bulk. And those dyer women! So spicyindeed- each one of them!'It was after a very long time that plumed turbans and red fezcaps were seen in the Bazaars. Among the visitors from Lahorea good many were old inhabitants of Amritsar who had been forcedto leave the city at the time of partition. The inevitable changesthat had come about in the course of seven and a half years aroused84 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

their surprise and sometimes gave thema stab of pain : 'Good heavens, how theyhave widened Jaimal Singh Lane! Did allthe houses on this side burn down? HakimAsif Ali used to have his shop here,remember? Now a cobbler has entrenchedhimself in his place.'And, occasionally, one could also hearobservations such as,' Wali, this mosqueis still standing here in tact. How comethey haven't made it into a gurdwara?'Wherever the Pakistani groups passed,people eyed them with curiosity. Even nowsome people viewed these Muslims withsuspicion and stepped out of their path.But there were others who came forwardand hugged them warmly. They would askthe visitors, 'What's Lahore like these days?Is the Anarkali as crowded as before? Isit true that they have completely re-builtShah Alami Gate Bazaar? Krishan Nagarhasn't changed much, has it? WasRishwatpura really constructed from moneyraised by bribes? They say burqa is nolonger in vogue in Pakistan. Is it so?' Thequestions had such a ring of personalinvolvement that it would seem Lahore wasnot just a city but a personal relative, afriend to thousands of people who wereeager to find out how it was doing. Thatday these visitors from Lahore were theguests of the whole city and the locals wereunaccountably happy to meet them andtalk to them.Bazaar Bansan was a kind of neglectedmarket in Amritsar, mostly inhabited byfgndi •poor Muslims, before the partition. Mostof the shops here sold bamboo poles andwooden materials. All those shops hadburned down in one huge conflagration.That was the most devastating fire inAmritsar city and sometimes it was fearedthat it would spread and burn down thewhole city. Flames had already lapped upsome neighbouring areas. Somehow the firewas brought under control, but while itraged it burnt to ashes several Hindu andMuslim houses.In the course of seven and a half yearsmany of these buildings had been restored,but one could still see the piles of rubblelying in between the new buildings. Theheaps of rubble presented a strange sightin the midst of those new buildings.That day too, as usual, there was notmuch activity in Bazaar Bansan. Most ofthe people who had been living there hadperished in the fire and those who hadmanaged to get away could not musterenough courage to return.Only a thin, wasted-looking Muslimreturned that day to that scene ofdevastation. At the sight of the new andthe burnt-out buildings, he seemed to feelthat he had strayed into a maze. His feetrose to enter the lane to his left but hehesitated. He could not believe that thiswas the lane he wanted to enter. Near themouth of the lane some children wereplaying kiri kiri. Further down two womenwere brawling and flinging abuses at eachother at the top of their voices.April-June 2013 :: 85

'Everything else has changed but notways of speaking,’ the old man said tohimself in a low voice, and stood still,leaning on his walking stick. His knessstuck out of his pajamas, and his sherwaniwhich ended above his knees was patchedin several places.A child came out of the lane crying.'Come here, son’ the old man said in asoothing voice. 'Come, I'll give you sweets.'Putting his hand in his pocket, he startedto search for something for the child. Thechild kept quiet for a moment and thentwisting his mouth, again started crying.A girl of sixteen or seventeen came runningfrom inside the lane and holding the child'sarm dragged him back into the lane. Stillcrying, the child struggled to free his arm.Lifting him in her arms, she held him close,kissed him, and said : 'Stop crying, myprince. If you cry that Muslim will takeyou away. Keep quiet my good little boy.Keep quiet!'The old Muslim had taken out a cointo offer to the child but now he returnedit to his pocket. Lifting his cap, hescratched his head and put the cap underhis arm. His throat was parched and hisknees shook slightly. He leaned against thefront plank of a closed shop in the laneand put his cap on again. At the mouthof the lane, where they had once stackedlong wooden beams, now stood a threestoriedhouse. Two well fed kites satmotionless on the electric wire above thelane. Near the electric pole was a smallpatch of sunlight. The old man stood fora while, watching the flying specks of dustin the sun light. 'Oh Lord of all!' Thewords fell from his lips.A young man came along, twirling akey-chain, and stopped on seeing the oldman. 'Why are you standing here, Mianji?Is anything the matter?'A faint tremor ran down the old man'schest and arms. He brushed his tongueover his lips and looking attentively at theyoung man said, 'Son, aren't you Manori?'The young man stooped shaking hiskey-chain, and closed his fist over it. 'Howdo you know my name?' he asked, givingthe old man a surprised look.'Son, seven-and-a half years ago youwere so high', the old man tried to smile.'Have you come from Pakistan today?'Manori asked.'Yes, We used to live in this lane,' theold man said. 'My son, Chiraghdin wastailor to you folks. Just six months beforethe partition we had built our new househere.’'Oh, Ghani Mian?' Recognition shotthrough Manori.'Yes, son, I'm your Ghani Mian. Icannot meet Chiragh and his wife andchildren but I said to myself that I wouldhave one look at my house.'The old man took off his cap andmoved his hand over his head, trying tohold back his tears.'But hadn't you left here long before?'Manori's voice was filled with sympathy.86 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

"Yes, son, it was my misfortune thatI left earlier all by myself. If I had onlystayed back with them I too would have...'He stopped short, realizing that it was notright to say such things. But he could nothold back his tears.'Let be, Ghani Mian. The past is deadand gone. Why recall it?' Manori held theold man by his arm. 'Come, I'll show youyour old house,’ he said.The news had gone round that aMuslim was standing outside the lane andhad been about to abduct Ramdasi's son.The child's sister had saved him just intime, dragging him back, or else theMuslim would have decamped with thechild. Hearing the news the women sittingin the lane picked up their tuffets anddisappeared into their houses. They calledout to their children, who were playingin the lane to come indoors. When Manorientered the lane with Ghani, it was desertedexcept for a solitary hawker and Rakkhathe wrestler, who as usual lay sprawledasleep under the peepal tree next to thewell. Of course, faces peeped out frombehind windows and doors. Seeing Ghanithey exchanged remarks with one anotherin whispers. Although his beard had turnedgrey, they had recognized Chiraghdin'sfather, Abdul Ghani. ‘That used to be yourhouse,’ Said Manori pointing to a heapof rubble in the distance. Ghani stoppedin his stride and looked with lost eyes atthe debris. He had long ago resignedhimself to the death of Chiragh and hisfgndi •wife and children. But he was not preparedfor the shock of seeing his house in thisshape. His mouth turned drier and hisknees shook even more than before. Thatrubble?' he asked incredulously.Manori saw Ghani's face changingcolour. Supporting him by the arm firmly,he said in a steady voice, 'Your house wasburnt down in those days.'Leaning on his walking stick, Ghanisomehow managed to reach the heap ofrubble. Most of the rubble was now mudfrom which burnt or broken bricks stuckout here and there. "Anything made ofiron or wood had been pilfered long ago.Miraculously, a burnt door frame hadescaped although it was jutting out of therubble. Further back, there were twocharred almirahs blanching under theirdark surfaces. 'Is this all that is left of myhouse?' Ghani asked, seeing the rubblefrom close up. His knees seemed to giveway and he sat down holding on to theburnt door frame. After a while his headalso came to rest against the door frame,and a moan escaped his lips : 'Oh, myChiragh Deena!'For seven and a half years the charredframe had stood there somehow,protruding from the rubble but its woodhad badly crumbled. At the touch ofGhani's head fragments fell from it andwere scattered around. Some fell on Ghani'scap and hair. With the slivers a worm alsofell down and began to wriggle about,seven or eight inches away from Ghani'sApril-June 2013 :: 87

feet, on a brick path near the open drain,It raised its head to look for a hole andfinding none, struck its head on the groundnow and again in disappointment.Now there were several more facespeering out of the windows. They werewhispering among themselves, fearingsomething would definitely happen today.Now that Chiragh's father Ghani was here,the secrets of seven years ago were boundto unfold themselves. Maybe the rubbleitself would tell Ghani the whole story.It would tell him that on the eveningof that day Chiragh was in the roomupstairs eating his dinner when the wrestlerRakkha asked him to come down for amoment as he had something importantto tell him. Rakkha was the king of thealley in those days. Even the Hindus livedin awe of him and Chiragh after all wasa Muslim. Putting down the morsel he wasabout to eat, Chiragh came downstairswhile his wife, Zubeida and two daughters,Kishwar and Sultana, looked down throughthe windows. Chiragh had just emergedinto the lane from his porch when Rakkhagrabbed him by his collar, felled him tothe ground and sat down on his chest.Chiragh caught Rakkha's hand that washolding a knife and cried, 'No, RakkhaPahalwan, don't kill me... don't. Oh, won'tsomeone save me? Zubeida! Save me!'And upstairs, Zubeida, Kishwar andSultana screamed in despair. Zubeida randown screaming, while Rakhha's croniescaught hold of Chiragh's flailing arms.Rakkha drove his knees hard ontoChiragh's thighs and cried, 'What're youscreaming for, you sister fucker? I'm givingyou Pakistan. Here, take it.' And beforeZubeida, Kishwar and Sultana could reachhim, Chiragh had already been dispatchedto Pakistan.The windows of the houses aroundclosed. Those who had witnessed the scenebolted their doors from inside, absolvingthemselves of any responsibility. Evenbehind closed doors they could hearZubeida and her daughters screaming farinto the night. Rakkha and his croniesdispatched them too to Pakistan that samenight but by a longer route. Their bodieswere later found; not in Chiragh's housebut floating in the canal.Chiragh's house continued to beransacked for two days. When it had beencompletely looted someone set fire to it.Rakkha swore that he would bury alivethe man who had set the fire going, forhe had decided to kill Chiragh in orderto take this house for himself. He had evenbought ritual offerings for the ceremonyto purify the house. But he failed to findout who the arsonist was, so he could notcarry out his threat to bury him alive. Forseven and a half years now, Rakkhapahalwan had been regarding this rubbleas his private estate. He would not allowanyone to tie a cow or buffalo here norany vendor to put up a make-shift kiosknear the rubble. Without his permission88 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

one could not remove even a brick fromthe rubble.People expected that the whole storywould reach Ghani's ears somehow orother. One look at the rubble and he wouldsurely read the story on his own.Ghani scratched the earth from therubble with his nails, poured it over himselfand hugged the door frame, crying, 'SpeakChiragh Deena, speak to me. Where haveyou gone?, Oh, Kishwar, Oh, Sultana, Oh,my children, why have you left Ghanibehind, Oh, Oh!'Slivers of wood raineddown from the crumbling doorway.Someone woke up Rakkha Pahalwansleeping under the peepal tree, or perhapshe woke up on his own. When he learntthat Abdul Ghani had come from Pakistanand was sitting on the debris of his house,phlegm rose from his throat that made himcough and he spat on the well's parapet.He looked at the pile of rubble and a growlrose from his chest as from a pair ofbellows. His lower lip flared out.'Ghani is sitting on his rubble,’Rakkha's henchman, Lachcha Pahalwantold him, sitting down by his side.'How does it belong to him? It's mine,’Rakkha said in a voice hoarse with phlegm.'But he is sitting there’ Lachcha saidin a meaningful voice.'Let him sit there for all I care. Youget me the pipe.' He spread out his legsand stroked his naked thighs.'If Manori tells him...' Lachcha said,fgndi •with the same meaningful look. He gotup to fetch the pipe.'Why would Manori invite trouble?'Lachcha went away.Dry peepal leaves lay scattered aroundthe well. Rakkha kept picking them upand crushing them between his palms.When Lachcha came back with the pipeand offered it to Rakha after putting thefilter cloth under it, Rakkha took a longpull at the pipe and said : 'Has anyoneelse been talking to Ghani?''No.’'Here,’ Coughing, he handed back thepipe to Lachcha.Lachcha saw Manori returning, holdingGhani by the arm. Squatting, Lachcha tooka quick, short pull at the pipe while hiseyes darted from Rakkha's face to Ghani'sin the distance.Now Manori was walking a step aheadof Ghani, holding his arm as though hewanted Ghani to walk past the well withoutnoticing Rakkha. But Rakkha was sittingwith his legs sprawled as if asking to betaken notice of. Ghani had seen him froma long way off. As he came near the wellhe spread out his arms, ‘Rakkha Pahalwan!’Raising his head, Rakkha narrowed hiseyes and gazed at Ghani. A lump seemedto form in his throat but he did not speak.'Rakkha Pahalwan, haven't yourecognized me?' Ghani lowered his arm.'I'm Ghani- Chiragh Din's father.'Pahalwan looked him over suspiciously,from head to foot. Abdul Ghani's eyes hadApril-June 2013 :: 89

ightened up on seeing Rakkha Pahalwanand under his white beard his wrinkles hadfanned out in joy. Rakkha's lower liptrembled and he said in a booming voice,'What news, Ghania?'Ghani was about to stretch out his armsagain but finding no response they fell oftheir own accord. Supporting himselfagainst the trunk of the tree he sat downon the parapet of the well.The whispers in the windows aboveintensified. Now that the two were facingeach other, things were sure to come toa head. They might even start abusing oneanother. Rakkha couldn't have his way withthe old man any more. Now the timeshad changed. Lord of the rubble indeed!What braggadacio! The rubble was neitherhis nor Ghani's. It was governmentproperty. And this fiend would not allowanyone even to tie a cow there.And Manori was a coward. Why didn'the tell Ghani that it was Rakkha who hadmurdered his family Chiragh Din, his wifeand children. Rakkha was not a man buta bull and like a bull he roamed aboutbellowing without hindrance. How thinand wizened poor Ghani looked, his headgone all white!Sitting down on the edge of the well,Ghani said, ‘Just see, Pahalwan, I left abustling home behind me and to say I havecome all this way to see this mud. That'sall that is left of a whole household.Honestly, Rakkha, I don't have the heartto tear myself away even from this heapof mud.’ Tears rose to his eyes.The wrestler folded his out-spread legs,picked up his shoulder cloth from the wallof the well and flung it on his shoulder.Lachcha held out the pipe to him and hetook long pulls at it.'Tell me, Rakkha, how did all thishappen?' Ghani said in an insistent tone,holding back his tears. ‘All of you werenear him. All of you loved one anotherlike brothers. If he wanted to, couldn't hehave taken shelter with one of you? Didn'the have that much sense?'It happened, that's all,' Rakkha said,his voice sounding unnaturally hollow evento himself.Thick saliva glued his lips. From underhis moustache sweat dripped on to his lips.A heavy weight seemed to press down onhis forehead and his spine asked forsupport.'How are things in Pakistan?' he askedin the same hollow voice. The veins inhis neck had become taut. He wiped thesweat under his armpits with his shouldercloth and sucking the thick saliva fromhis throat he spat it out in the lane.'What can I tell you, Rakkha?' Ghanipressed down on the knob of his walkingstick with both hands. 'If you ask howthings are with me, only God knows. Ifmy Chiragh had been with me it wouldhave been a different story, Rakkha. Howoften did I plead with him to leave andgo with me. But he was adamant. He saidhe couldn't go, leaving a newly constructed90 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

house behind. He said this was his ownlocality, his own lane, and there wasnothing to be afraid of. It did not occurto that innocent pigeon that even if hisown lane was safe, danger could stalk itfrom outside. Four people laid down theirlives to protect one house! Rakkha, he hadgreat faith in you. He used to say thatas long as Rakkha was around, no onecould do him any harm. But when deathstalked him even his Rakkha could notstop it.'Rakkha tried to straighten up becausehis spine was now beginning to hurt him.He was feeling a great stress in his groin.Something seemed to be bottling up hisbreath in his entrails. His entire body wasdrenched in perspiration and the soles ofhis feet tingled. Every few minutes sparklersseemed to rain down on him from aboveand float past his eyes. The distancebetween his lips and his tongue seemedto be increasing. He wiped the corners ofhis lips with his shoulder cloth and thewords, 'Oh God, the True One, Only youexist, only you, only you,’ escaped his lips.Ghani saw that the wrestler's lips hadgone dry and the circles under his eyeshad deepened. He put his hand on hisshoulders. 'Rakkha, don't take it to heartnow. What had to happen happened. Thedead cannot come back to life. May Godstand by the virtuous and forgive all sinners!If my Chiragh is no longer here, at leastall of you are still here. I am comfortedthat someone of the days gone by is stillfgndi •living. Having seen you I have seenChiragh. May Allah keep all of you healthy.May you live long and see great happiness!'Leaning on his walking stick, Ghani roseto his feet. Walking away, he said, 'Rakkha,keep me in your memory!'A feeble sound of assent rose fromRakkha's throat. Holding his shoulder clothbetween his hands, he folded his handsin salutation. Lookingl round the lanewistfully, Ghani slowly walked away.The whispering in the windowscontinued for a while. Once out of thelane Manori would surely divulgeeverything to Ghani. How Rakkha's throatwent dry in Ghani's presence! Lost faceas he had, how could he now preventpeople from tying their cattle at the rubble?Poor Zubeida! What a good woman shewas. How soft spoken with everyone! Andhere was this friend, Rakkha with neitherhome nor hearth to call his own. Howcould he have any feelings for mothers orsisters?After a while the women startedcoming out into the lane and the childrenresumed their game of gulli-danda. Twoteenage girls started squabbling and thenfell upon each other.Rakkha sat long into the evening bythe well, coughing and dragging at thepipe. Numerous passers-by asked him,'Rakkha Shah, we hear Ghani Khan hadcome from Pakistan today?''Yes, he came,’ Rakkha had the samereply for everyone.April-June 2013 :: 91

'So what happened?''Nothing happened. He went away.’As night approached, Rakkha, as usual,came out of the lane and sat down onthe front plank of the corner shop. Everynight he would accost the passers-by andgive them tips about the local stockexchange or the secrets of good health andnostrums which served as short-cutremedies for various chronic diseases. Butthat night he narrated to Lachcha the storyof a pilgrimage to Vaishnav Devi he hadmade fifteen years ago. After parting fromLachcha as he entered the lane he saw LokuPandit's buffalo tied on the rubble plot.As he did daily, he began to drive it awaytut,tut! After driving it away he sat downon the door frame for a short breather.The lane was deserted and since there wereno street lights it grew dark in the evening.At the edge of the rubble heap there wasa drain in which scummy water flowed,gurgling as it went. A medley of soundsrising from the rubble merged into thestillness of the night... chic... chic... chic...chir... chir... r.. ri... ri... ri,.A crow appeared from nowhere andsat down on the door frame, scatteringwood scantlings when it flapped its wings.A dog which was sleeping in a corner wokeup and started barking at the crow. Thecrow sat there, undecided whether to stayor fly away and ultimately flew awayflapping its wings and perched on thebranch of the peepal tree near the well.After the crow had flown away, the dogadvanced a few steps and resumed itsbarking facing the wrestler. The wrestlertried to shoo the dog away in a lazy,ponderous voice 'Get away, dum, dum,dum.' "Wow, wow, wow, wow!' "Get away!...Get away! ...dur ...dur ...dur...' But thedog drew nearer and continued to bark.The wrestler picked up a clod of earth andthrew it at the dog. The dog retreated astep or two but did not stop barking. Thewrestler abused the dog and then slowlyrose from the door frame and walking upto the well again, lay down on the parapet.After the wrestler moved away, the dogentered the lane and facing the well, againstarted barking. It kept barking till it sawthat nothing and no one was stirring inthe lane. Flapping its ears, it returned tothe rubble heap, where it lay down in acorner and set up a low, continuous growl.Mohan Rakesh, (1925-1972) was a prominent author and champion of the Nayi KahaniMovement in Hindi. He was an equally important playwright with memorable plays like'ashadh ka ek din' 'lehron ke rajhans' and 'adhe adhure'. He taught Hindi in several collegesbefore joining as editor of the literary magazine 'Sarika’ from Times of India, Mumbai. Someof his famous books are 'andhere band kamre", 'na ane wala kal', 'ek aur zindagi', 'faulad92 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

ka akash'. He was awarded the sangit natak akademi puraskar. He lived in several townsand was living in Delhi where he passed away abruptly in 1972.Jai Ratan (1917-2012), scholar of Hindi and English who devoted a life time to translation.He worked as P.R.O. in a prominent business firm in Kolkata and was founder memberof Writers’ Workshop. Hindi owes him a tribute for numerous prestigious English translationsincluding Premchand’s Godan way back in 1955. Last year he passed away in Gurgaon.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 93

Mad DelightMohan Rakesh was as much a playwright as a novelist anda short story writer. In the sixties the theatre of the absurdinfluenced these notes that were first published in the journal‘Enact’ in 1966. They have reference to his play ‘Chhatariyan.’Mohan RakeshThe script has a certain pattern, but no preconceived design. Itstarted with the idea of attempting something in which the identityof sound and words could be separated from that of the visuals.In theatre, inspite of all the technical peps, there is only a limitedpossibility of fragmenting the visual; for the most part it has tobe accepted as constant and whole. But in case the words can bereleased from their responsibility of sitting on the lips that are primaryto a performance, they could be exploited as an endless source offragmentation. Sound, which is already used in fragmentation asan effect, could also be elevated to the role of a principal entity,standing almost parallel to words and visuals. It may thus be possibleto explore areas of abstraction in theatre not fully tapped so far.The present script, which is only an outline, should be treatedjust as suggestions in the matter of juxtaposing sound, words andvisuals as parallel entities, all independent and yet very muchinterdependent; while they exist and grow in separation, they arenot at all meaningful separately. Whatever meaning can be discoveredin them is only in their collaborative totality. With any shift ofemphasis the meaning can, will and should change. That thismanoeuverability is a matter of emphasis is yet another thing thatcan be achieved through such separation.94 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Originally it was intended to have afast succession of images in the presentexperiment; the man struggling to pluckthe mushroom was an initial image. Butin the process of writing only furthervariations of the same image were arrivedat. Instead of rejecting or interfering withthe subconscious dictate, I have let thewhole thing stay with its own logic. Thedifference between the initial draft and thepresent one is only that a few indicativewords have been added in it; these canbe further detailed, modified, substitutedor eliminated according to the processinitiated in each mind while experimentingwith a production. One could entirely doaway with the 'character' of the Voice; (Idid not have this 'character' in the initialdraft); or substitute it with a live conductoron the stage; or make any other additionor deletion according to the convenienceand requirement of one's production. Ishould be a willing party in helping todestroy the present framework as much asin lending a hand to build it up further.VOICE. And that is the crisis of theage. The crisis involves values. The valuesinvolve the epidemic of ideas. The ideasinvolve de-humanizing of human lives. Andhuman lives involve...A man is kicked onto the stage as abunch of huge multi-coloured mushroomsis lit up in a corner, the sizes of themushrooms varying 1' to 3' in height and3" to 8" in diameter. The man recovershis balance and sheepishly looks around.VOICE. Human lives involveeverything, including the Charter of Rights,rates of interest, handicrafts emporia,microcosmic research, vacuum cleaners,coal mines, neurasthenia and democraticchoices. Democratic choices could beexercised in many different ways, such as...The man has by now moved to thebunch of mushrooms and is going aroundit. He puts his hand on the largest of themushrooms. As he touches the mushrooms,a shot is fired from a sten gun.He stays off for a while; then makesa bid to pluck the mushroom. Somecontinuous shots are fired.He stays off again; then makes a fewmore trial efforts.The sten gun fire synchronises witheach of his efforts.He now touches a few othermushrooms.No sound is heard.Feeling reassured, he sneakingly touchesthe largest one again.Shots are fired again.He makes a desperate bid to pluck themushroom, but without success.A volley of gun-shots.The man becomes more and moredesperate in his actions.Continuous volleys of gun-shotsovertake the action.The man is stupefied into inaction.A few moments of stillness.The man, assured of stillness, startsemerging into action again. Slow rhythmicmovements.He touches the mushroom again.A whispered abuse is heard: 'Bastard!'fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 95

In continuous rhythmic movements, hetries to pluck the mushroom.The whispered abuses synchronise withhis, rhythm : 'Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!’'Son-of-a-bitch. Son-of-a-bitch. Son-ofa-bitch . . .' 'Son-of-a-gun. Son-of-a-gun.Son- of-a-gun.'The man feels defeated. He stops,frowns and listens.There is no sound.The man suddenly spurts into actionwith vigorous movements.Clear mocking and derisive sentencesare heard this time... 'Pop corn in yourass, you gutter-swine ... 'A bulldozer onyour girdle you mamma's darling.'The man changes his movementpatterns quickly in order to run contraryto the rhythm of the words. Hismovements become more and moresporadic.A continuous derisive tirade : 'There'sa blind hyaena in your wife's bed, youlollypop. A donkey is spraying the tethersof her petticoat. Your granddad's candy isstuck in the slush of your grandma'sgraveyard. First go and lick the woundsof the puppy dog in your weddingwardrobe. Clear the thorns in yourbaby sweetheart's kitchen garden. Your dadis dying of guttural cancer. Go and givehim a throatwash of gasolene and mobiloil.. . etc.'The man jerks himself to shout anabuse at the unseen intruder.MAN. Will you shut up, you . . .?But before he can finish, he is surprisedto discover the mushroom already pluckedin his hand.The last word of the tirade is repeatedagain and again as if a gramophone needlehas got stuck at one place: '. . . mobiloil ...mobiloil. . . mobiloil . . . mobiloil . . .'The man, sick of the repetitive sound,throws down the mushroom in disgust.The sound ceases.The man, shocked at his own action,remorsefully sits down and starts fondlingthe mushroom.Sound of footsteps from all sides.The man gets up cautiously, holdingthe mushroom.The foot-steps slowly fade out.The man looks around to make surethat there is nobody to snatch themushroom from him. Then runs in onedirection.Sound of collective laughter confrontshim on that side.He runs from one direction to another.Sound of laughter confronts himwhichever way he goes.He stands still, centre-stage, holdingthe mushroom tight.VOICE. The history of allaccomplishment is the history of individualaction, highlighted by pamphlets, postersand headlines. Headlines provide a clue tothe working of both man and machine indirect relation to political upheavals, artisticpursuits, economic onslaughts, religiousrituals, assemblies, conferences, processions,walkouts, strikes and gheraos. The realthing, the great thing is one's will anddecision to hold on . . . hold on against96 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

all this and again all that is against this...The man feels the mushroom flyingaway from his hands. He starts strugglingto hold it back.Sound of a child giggling, as if tryingto loosen the tight grip on his arm andrun away from a parent.A similar struggle between the man andrhe mushroom.The giggling becomes more and moreplayful.The man successfully subdues themushroom.The giggling turns into sulking andprotest.The man slaps the mushroom.The child starts crying.The man, feeling helpless, startsfondling the mushroom like a child.The man is happy for a while; thengets startled as if bitten by the mushroom.Sound of circus music.The man now tries to get rid of themushroom but cannot. The whole thingis like the clown act in a circus. After ahard struggle he succeeds in throwing themushroom up and is happy to see it fallwith a thud.Snarling of a tiger.The man looks at the mushroomapprehensively; then pounces on it. A fiercefight between the two ensues.The snarling becomes more and morefierce. The man is exhausted and defeated.He lies on the ground, the mushroomoverriding him.VOICE. In spite of the duality ofperception and inception in all humandesigns, the intra-mural processes of one'sinner consciousness, that is to say the intramuralprocesses of one's innerconsciousness as explained and understood,go to determine what can be called . . .what can be described as ... described as... mauvai honte ... of... of... of you knowwhat. This you know-what is constantlypressurised by the forces at the back, forcesin front, forces to the right, forces to theleft, forces below, forces above and forces. . .forces . . . forces . . . A number ofmen and women cross the stage and makefor the bunch of mushrooms. The manlooks dazed.Dance music strikes up as the crowdstarts plucking the mushrooms.All mushrooms are plucked instantly.People dance about with their mushrooms.The man staggers up on his feet holdinghis own mushroom which he is all the timecomparing with those of the others. Theircolours somehow seem more fascinating.He offers to exchange his mushroom withmany of them, but is refused each time.Dance music is suddenly cut short by airraid sirens.People hide here and there huggingtheir mushrooms.Blasts of an air raid.The man, hugging his mushroom,desperately looks for a corner to hide, butdoes not find one.A big blast.The man springs up and falls as if theblast were just under his feet.VOICE.' The main thing, therefore,fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 97

is the silence within . . . silence that initiatesthe idea of peace and harmony, helps tobring the pieces together and . . . and itis already time for the National Broadcastby the man who is the supreme Head ofState, the Commander-in-Chief of all theforces, the spearhead of all technicaldiscoveries, the symbol of all supererogatoryvalues and the trusted fountainhead ofvirtue in a land of dehydrated souls. Pleasestand by for the broadcast.All people strike postures of listening.Only the man is unable to find acomfortable posture.VOICE. Please stand by for animportant broadcast.The man keeps adjusting his posture.VOICE. You are requested again tostand by for an important broadcast.The man finds the right posture.VOICE. You are once again requestedto stand by for an important broadcast.People start becoming restless,VOICE. You are yet again ... no no... you are no longer requested to standby. The broadcast;People are attentive again.The Broadcast lasts for about oneminute. Only sounds emanating from afast-winding tape-recorder.Everyone except the man listensattentively. The man is puzzled as he seemsto be the only one not following.Sounds now come to their naturalmotion. The broadcast continues: . . . canand cannot be achieved. We do not askfor any treaties; because all treaties canalways be violated. What we ask for isweapons and only weapons, to bechannelized to us directly or indirectly.Preferably indirectly as the indirect channelis the channel of non-violation which isour equivalent of non-violence. The mainpoint where non-violation scores over nonviolenceis its greater effectivity both inpeace and war : its viability in diplomatichinterlands and its flexibility in terms ofthe U.N. Charter . . . etc.'People start moving about casually,quite indifferent to the address, grumblingnow and then in unison.The broadcast continues, getting moreand more jumbled and confused. The manwants to listen attentively, but his listeningis interfered with by the people's increasinggrumbling.The man shouts a protest. Nobodycares.He protests more vehemently.His protest is mockingly brushed aside.(Here an argument could be introducedrunning parallel to the broadcast. At intervals,in the tense silences during the argument,the broadcast could be clearly heard.)His arguing, pleading and cajolinghaving become exhausted, the man, nowfacing a shout-down, hits a person violentlywith his mushroom.The broadcast now turns into thechanting of Hare Rama Hare Krishna.Violence spreads all over the stage.People hit each other with mushroomsindiscriminately.The chanting gains momentum,Fighting also gains momentum. Bothare synchronised.98 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

The chanting turns into the ramblingof a madman.Fighting goes into cinematic slowmotion. The rambling continues : 'HwaHwa Hwa . . . balloon in the lagoon .. . yeti yet yeti. . . Science and sentiment... snow in sunshine . . . hwa hwa yetiyeti etc."Fighting in slow motion continues.The sound of a whip.All action on stage is frozen. The man,however, remains mobile.Constant whipping accompanied bythe moaning and yelling of the madmanwho still cannot help rambling in the samestrain.The man behaves as if he is beingwhipped. Tries not to let go of themushroom in spite of it.A political slogan is raised. Many voicesresound in answer.The man regains his balance and looksaround.Continuous sounds of a procession ofstrikers marching and raising slogans.The man tries to defreeze differentindividuals but without success. The hands,and feet of different individuals stay in thepositions in which he puts them. Only,he cannot take a mushroom out ofanybody's hands.Police whistles are heard from allaround.All people get defrozen suddenly andcluster around the man, who is pantingwith fatigue.Someone starts testing a microphone:'One . . . two . . . three . . . testing. . . testing ... testing . . .' Also soundsof a restless crowd.The man tries to squeeze out of thecluster but cannot.A Union leader's voice on themicrophone asks the public to be quiet.He starts giving a call for all-out disorderand destruction. His oratory is interspersedwith the testing of the mike. 'What weneed is an all-out revolution ... testing. . . testing . . . testing ... We are notafraid of chaos because it is chaos alonethat gives birth to a dancing star... Onetwo ... three ... testing ... testing ... I callupon all of you to join us in the greatmarch ... on Parliament . . . the Marchwhich is against all the dying institutionsperpetuated by that august body ... one... two ... three ... testing ... testing ... testing...All through the oratory, the clusterkeeps narrowing around the man who,having become resigned to his lot, feelsmore and more suffocated all the same.A school bell at the sound of whichthe oratory suddenly ceases.All people in the cluster are releasedas if from a school task and form a straightline, the man heading it.A male voice takes the roll call.Different names are called out.The people in the line answer the rollcall one by one. The man is the only onewhose name is not called out.A male voice gives a command :'School . . . disperse!'The line is broken and the people runout disorderly leaving their mushroomsfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 99

ehind. The man remains alone once again,holding his mushroom and surveying thefallen ones. A lady's voice announces theend of the day's programme with a voteof thanks for all the participants hired forthe day including the whistlers, clappersand slogan shouters etc. 'Our thanks areparticularly due to the owner of the greatorchard where such a variety of mushroomsgrow, because without the remarkablecontribution of these tantalisingmushrooms, this splendid performancewould not have been possible. Weappreciate his generosity in lending us themushrooms for the evening with all therisk of their being squashed at the handsof our amateur actors who have no trainingin handling such delicate objects . . . etc.'The man is now trying to collect asmany mushrooms as he can, many morethan it is possible for him to hold.The orchestra strikes up the nationalanthem.The man, overladen with mushrooms,stands still. But as soon as the nationalanthem comes to a close, he relaxes andthe mushrooms start slipping down oneby one.Courtesy Manoj Mohan100 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Doodhnath SinghNapaniSanjay Devfgndi •“Turn off the transistor,” Father told his son just as the car started."Why the heck, listen in to all this tittle-tattle? Is that news? Whothe hell is doing and saying what, does that in any way matterto us? All useless stuff.” He said snappishly.Seeing the angry mien of father, son turned the transistor off."Though indeed, I was just going to listen in to the songs" hesaid by way of explanation.”"Will songs and stuff like that give you bread and butter?" beratedfather. He turned back. Seated behind were his wife, daughter andtwo children of his elder son. The children squirmed at the angrystare of grandpa."And where is that Napani?” Father asked.Son said that Napani, Adhikariji and chaprasi were in the carjust behind theirs.“How far is Bhagalpur?" Queried father.He was told the distance to Bhagalpur. Father took out a shabbywallet, opened it and counted tenners in it.“At how many places the goon tax will have to be forked out!”Father asked the driver."Wherever you will come across an obstacle comprising brick,bamboo, timber and such stuff,” the driver said looking at theApril-June 2013 :: 101

stretching road ahead."And how much?" Father asked."The bigger the goon, the higher thetax." Told the driver.Lest you come to know it might justbe anything."But we will have to keep account. Willhave to make up for it from the girl's father.Why foot the bill?" Father said matterof-factly."That's fair, sahib" The driver said."And how the rest will go on,remember do you?” Father asked the son.Befitting a submissive and obedientson, the son nodded in affirmation."Now you are an officer. You have aposition. You have a price. Things weredifferent when you were a rolling stone;when you were at the mercy of thosebloody examiners and members. Now itis entirely different. This is just about thetime to avenge the society. It should notbe like on seeing the girl you went weakon her and started slobbering. Your habitsweren't good earlier, but now you are anofficer. And see, I am not going to fallfor any pretence. All such fellows are craftylike crows. Tread carefully and don't showsigns of acquiescence. No political debateeither. I pretty well understand this politicalgame. All these people are living in plentifulhomes and preach others the value ofRamrajya (righteous living). To projectoneself in fair light is the way of the world.You are still naive. When you are seasoned,you will understand. You are thin- skinnedyet; and hence susceptible. I'm afraid youwill have your tail between your legs whenchips are down. Shyness and regard willget the better of you. And the girl's fatheris a minor leader — an MLA of communistparty. So he will definitely boast. Willdisplay simplicity. Will be extra kind. Willtry to snare us through talks. All this willbe a ruse. All the sublime talks in this worldare designed for hoodwinking. Through allthese sophistical things, he will try todistract our attention from the girl. Willpresent her all made-up, with enough facepainting. You don't have to fall for thatmake-believe.- got that?" turning his necksideways, father looked at his officer son.Looking askance the son winked hisacceptance."When we were trapped, did anyonefeel for us? That rascal father-in-law ofPremlata! He demanded horoscope. Weproduced and he gave us the run aroundfor three months, kept fathoming us, andwhen he found the alliance won't work,he evasively said the girl's horoscopeshowed no sign of offspring. And whenI showed him the colour of crisp currency,shoved five lacs up his fissured ass, itbrought about the missing sign of offspring.How the heck Premlata is now a motherof four. I sacrificed my life to make money,scrimped and saved, without letting go evena single penny waste. My entire fund wasused up. I am gone broke and now I toosuffer from fissure. I too will take revenge.You are the society and I will treat you102 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

the way you have done to me. SatheSathyam (tit for tat)....or whatever theysay." Father looked at the driver."Still we have not encountered goons?"he asked the driver."Will come up against them soonenough." the driver told."And one more thing..." father lookedat his son.The son was in rapt silence."If the girl turns out to be Bilarankhi(cat-eyed) then reject." Said father."Why?" Dared say son."Bilarankhi doesn't believe infaithfulness" Said father."What does that mean?""Forget meaning" Snapped father."Keep quiet, will you, now." Said wifefrom behind."And mind you, atttention will haveto be paid to complexion also" cautionedfather."For that you are there." The wife said."You know, that leaves a lot of scopefor deception. Have heard of beauticianswho would do such a 'fair job' that youwon't come to know of the originalcomplexion" wondered father.At this his adolescent daughter sittingbehind sniggered."O darling, I guess you would seethrough the original?" quizzed the father."Oh, yeah father." The daughteragreed."And what's the height of Dulhan (girl)in bio-data?" asked father.fgndi •"Five feet six inches." His daughterinformed."And how tall Napani is?" Asked father."Five feet three inches" His daughtertold."That means standing beside Napani,Dulhan should look three inches taller forwhich we will have to make allowance."Father said."What if she fell short of an inch orso, Saheb!" Bantered the driver."How the heck she will fall short?"Wondered father."You are right, Saheb. To ascertainbeforehand is just the right thing." Addedthe driver."And mind you, no idle talks.Whatever is happening in UP, how doesthat concern us? We are family people.Somehow managing to live saving our lives.We don't have to dance to the tune ofpolitics" Saying this, father lapsed intosilence.Transverse on the road ahead lay a longgreen branch of a tree and four guys weremotioning with their hands for the car tostop. Father immediately whipped out thewallet from his pocket. From it, he puta tenner in his fist and some tenners heput in his other pocket. And then the walletin the inner secret pocket Won't be safeto take out purse every time to shell outmoney at different points. Lest those goonssnatched the purse? father thought. Bothvehicles stopped in tandem- front and back.Opening the side door, father got out ofApril-June 2013 :: 103

the car."Tell me what do you want?" fatherasked with a tenner clenched in his fist."Tax" one of them demanded."Tax?" wondered father."Donation!" one of them added."Donation to which party?" Fatherasked."Congress, Communist, BJP...whichever you like"One of them coolly said."So you guys play politics" said fathersmilingly."Are you a stupid cunt?" one of theboys quipped.Father put a tenner in his hand. Theboy rolled the note, spat in it and madeas if to hand it back to father."What's this?" Father winced."Returning your thing with interest,spit... You corrupt rascal, how much youhave digested?" The boy flicked the notewet with spit, at father.Father dodged sideways."Where's your home?" asked anotherboy."Dumrao." Promptly replied father."Raja Ka Budhwa Jharela Hey Sala!"Two boys laughed mutually."Today is an inauspicious day." Fathersaid."What did you say?""Not to you," Father quickly changedtrack."Trying to act smart. You rascal cheat,you bloody cheat people, government...amass wealth. Will move in two cars andpreach philosophy!"Father vaguely smiled."Look at this green branch? will rudelyforce it up your bottom to scare thedaylight out of you." Said one boy dourly."Oh no, I' m happy to have seen you""Happy?"Father again smiled wanely.'Fork out you craven coward, or else"Threatened the boy."How much, Saheb" Getting out ofthe car the driver asked."Seventy for two vehicles."The driver handed the money from hisown pocket."Pick up that currency Panditji andpaste it on your vermillioned forehead"Saying this the boy moved towards otherheld-up vehicles.Thus paying goons a tax at four orfive places, father and party reachedBhagalpur. Keep account, father told thedriver and got down the car.Their venue, the hotel was given afacelift and the road was swarming withactivity.It was learnt that his Samdhi hadconveyed his regrets. He was in a processionand hence couldn't turn up to receive. Mustbe on his way. Dumping family andluggage father sulked. "I do understandeverything. Everything. Do as you please.But will have to pay for your deeds. Youalready knew we were coming? In that case,what was more important- procession or104 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

us? They have already begun by standingus up, the future promises only worse. Youwill change the future of the country? Thecommunists are mistaken for a long time.Though almost negligible in number, theyboast they are the entire country. Look,in the process of leadership your bald patehas started showing; cheeks gone sunken,life has turned miserable, how many moresuch revolutions? You have a youngdaughter at home to wed and still you wentto salute the Red Flag. Escaping from tenpetty thieves and thugs somehow we gothere staking our lives only to see the Redleader missing? So too we will vanish inthin air. So too we will.. .father made amotion of vanishing with his hand."Oye Napani listen." He called outloud.Napani came up to stand closer- aswarthy, thin and listless girl."Did Bhayya measure you correctlywith tape-measure? Asked father.Napani nodded in affirmation."You hadn't worn high heels whilebeing measured?""Nope" Napani said with head down."Presently you have it on." Fatherlooked at Napani's feet.Napani said nothing."Doesn't Upadhyayaji feed youproperly?" father cast a glance at theemaciated figure of Napani.Napani still kept quiet.“Raise your eyes a bit" father suddenlygrew wary.fgndi •Napani raised her eyes."look straight at me,” father asked her.Napani did."She is Bilarankhi, bro" father got upand started pacing."Ok, what benefit you get teasingsomeone? Father's wife said finally."Teasing ?" Father glowered."What else! Napani, Napani, the refrainhas gone all this while! You may go Beti!"Father's wife told Napani.Napani darted to the next room andstarted weeping on the shoulder of father'sdaughter."I'm telling her and only her." fatherbristled, "Women lack intellect in theirupper storey. Brahma the Creator didn'tbless them with; only hollow-handful. Forone she is Bilarankhi, moreover she wouldcry .That's why we were robbed all theway" saying this father plonked down inthe sofa."For one, Upadhyayaji sent this girl,and the same Oi Napani, Oi Napani refrainfrom all through the way" saying thisfather's wife got up and moved towardsthe wash basin.After a while, Dixitji arrived with hisretinue in attendance. This word was fromfather peering out of balcony. Dixitji badegoodbye to his associates from the groundfloor, and came up through the lift. Hefolded hands before father. Father slightlynodded his head in acknowledgement."Sorry, Pandiji, in fact I was attendinga procession" Dixitji explained.April-June 2013 :: 105

"Was it necessary today itself ?" fatherasked."The matter concerned today; mustn'tthe protest be lodged today itself ?” Dixitjisaid."Protest.. .umm." Father jerked hishead unconvinced.“Hope you got here without anyproblem?" Dixitji asked."Without any problem? Would rathersay life was spared.”"Oh...but then the drivers weresupposed to know that,” Dixitiji said."That means you know it? And stillyou are a leader?" Father's brows arched."Poverty...unemployment...anduncertain future, dear...there are manyreasons." Dixitji offered in an apologeticway."Dear who" father queried." Oh, that'sa habit. More appropriately I should'vecalled Panditji. But then what do I do.I have been in the party ever since I was15. It has almost become a ritual with me."Dixitji said helplessly."What will come of staying in sucha party?" Father quizzed in apprehension."What will come of, means" Dixitjiwondered.What will come of means what will,"Father smiled."In fact, our thoughts don't match."Dixitji said."In the name of thoughts some peopleremain misguided throughout their lives,Dixitji" father threw a clincher."And without thoughts too" Dixitjisnapped."Both are thieves" Father returned.Dixitji smiled because that's what hecould do. But father also smiled."Have heard that bridegrooms arepoached in your part of the world"Suddenly asked father."Poached?" Dixitji couldn't understandanything.“If the boy turned out to be an officer,his life is at risk. It is heard they prowlaround with a list. Are always hunting forthe prey. And they are helped by RanvirSena cadre. Post determines the wages forlabour. It is learnt for a collector it is fivelakh. This is for abduction. Kill the parentsif they object. And for worse, it could bethat you are married to some disabled girl.If married to such a girl, it's curtains toyour wedding night ...” Father turned silentafter this narration."You are very simple, Panditji" Dixitjisaid smilingly."That I am. I raised this issue lest weare in the crosshairs?" Father said inapprehension."If you had this wild apprehension, youshould have called me" Dixitji saidagitatedly.“My son too is an officer" Looking athis son, father said."Panditji is our guest." Dixitji cast aglance at the boy."You have raised us to this pedestal;this has only caused doubts in us. Now106 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

where can we get away from it" Fathersaid.Dixitji wanted to say Oh! But insteadsaid... "Well I must make a move, andshould send my daughter and wife. Ideallyit would have been better, if the programmewas at home. But since you wanted it ina hotel. . . I have a meeting lined up. Restall is at your mercy." And with that Dixitjifolded his hands."You aren't required either. Yourpresence will only make your daughter shy"father said in agreement.Dixitji took leave of him.After about an hour and a half, Dixitji'swife came along with her daughter anda friend. Casting a suspicious glance atthem, father's wife greeted them withtrepidation. Dulhan bent to touch father'sfeet who shrugged off saying it's all right.The girl was seated in a chair. Her friendstood behind her holding the chair. Boththe women occupied a sofa. Thebridegroom officer, his sister and two smallkids sat on a long sofa opposite the bride.Both kids looked fixedly at the bride.Father's attention was first fixed at bride'sfeet; that's at her sandals. His head movedsmelling conspiracy and with that healternately looked at his son and wife andwinked."What's the bargain this time?"whispered Adhikariji in father's ear."Six lacs, a car and the entire expenseson marriage" father whispered in the samevein in Adhikariji's ear.fgndi •"He is a comrade, wherefrom he willgive?" went Adhikariji.So what if he is comrade and to hellwith the fact" said father impatiently."You should have thought before fixingthe bargain" went Adhikariji."It was his job. And what about thetrade union donation he collects" fathersaid callously."Communists are not that type" wentAdhikariji."You are a bloody ass" snapped father."Only a mule will befriend an ass"retorted Adikariji.In his happiness, father heldAdhikariji’s hand. It was not an occasionto burst into a guffaw. The son was"interviewing" the bride and she wasblushing. Whenever out of shyness she'dclam up and bow down her head, theofficer son would say with a drawling voice."Oh, look straight at me, no? At this thegirl would further blush. It was thenthat the friend at her back would touchher shoulder to reassure her... But sittingwith Adhikariji and keeping an eye andan ear on what was going on, father wastrying to sound out his son on whetherhe was yielding."Where is Napani?" suddenly askingfather looked at his wife, “What's hername?”For the first time it occurred to fatherthat she must be having some name."Parmita." Father's wife told him."Upadhiya Sasur." ContemptuouslyApril-June 2013 :: 107

laughed father “not a morsel to eat at home,and kept her name — Parmita! Where isshe?" Inquisitively father looked at his wife."In the room over there."Parmita entered the room with herhead bent down as if she was being shown.The bride's mother was looking atfather with a near stare; how on knowingNapani's name he had used derogatorywords for her father. Father had realizedwhat the askance look of his Samdhinmeant.“Look at it this way." Father turnedto his Samdhin," how I got used to callingher Napani. The father of this girl wouldhave a kilogram of boiled rice everymorning. When this girl was young, shewould take out rice from the earthen potin the hollow of her hand. Her motherwould use this hollow hand as a goodmeasure. Eight-hollow-hand-fulls. SoUpadhiyaji would tell, she was his Napani.She measures out rice for his feed. Ifsomeone other than her measures out, itfalls short or goes excess. So I too got usedto calling her Napani." Father bared hiswhite teeth.Napani looked daggers at father.His wife was flabberghasted at herhusband's convincing narrative style andfather's imaginative power which combinedimpromptu ability to tell a lie. Adhikarjifelt his friend could exasperate anyone."Now stop that son, you have alreadyheard her voice. What more interview isrequired. Now leave her alone,” fathercommanded.The officer son stood up and movedacross to sit on a sofa on the opposite side."Beti, remove your sandals," fatherasked the prospective bride.The girl looked in a way as if shecouldn't understand."Sandals" pointing to remove them theofficer son-impatient to be husbandgestured.The girl's swarthy face turned coppery.Almost shaking, she just startedremoving sandals.“And Oi you, just move over from theback of the chair you,” Father gesturedsternly at bride's friend."Why?" Adhikariji whispered in father'sear."Can't you see the coal-dark figuremade to stand in the background to offsetthe dark complexion of the girl. I prettywell understand such stratagem" father saidin a subdued tone.Bride's friend moved over from behindthe bride and went up to sit beside Dixitji'swife."Stand up Bitia!" father asked the bride.The girl stood up."Napani, get beside the bride" fathersaid.Napani went and stood beside thebride. "Stand level, upright." Father spokewith the precision of a carpenter who ismeasuring line by line.Everybody looked at father, his wife,daughter and Adhikariji.108 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Adhikariji too kept looking with ameasuring eye."Liar." Father whispered in Adhikariji'sear."She's just about the height of Napani.""Parmita Beti, take Bitia to wash basinand wash her face" father said."What next?" Adhikariji asked softlyin father's ear."It's a big deception" father blurted."Well, it is, but then how you will denythem?"We will.” Father murmured.""But how?""As we have often done in the past."Father looked at his friend slightly losinghis temper."Will say that your daughter'shoroscope bears no sign of offspring" fathermurmured.Adhikariji looked at father withconsternation.Father gave a friendly slap atAdhikariji's shoulder.Parmita (that is Napani) held Dulhan'shand and took her to wash basin towardsbathroom."I'll wash," Splashing water on her facethe girl said.She was washing her tears and angersimultaneously. Even after wiping her facewith towel her tears wouldn't stop.Her eyes were red from weeping. Shelooked at Parmita standing mutely. “Youare looking more beautiful than before"Parmita said appreciatively.The girl smiled through tears. Thensquirmed. She saw Parmita too wasweeping."Why are you crying?" Dulhan asked."Can't you give a tight slap on theface of this man?" Parmita quizzically asked."Do you really mean!" Dulhan gotcloser. Parmita nodded her head as if shewas the Dulhan.The girl again went up to the mirror.She took out the hair pins from her bunand let her hair loose. She flung carelesslyher dupatta across her shoulders and cameout of the bathroom.Everybody looked ather in dismay. Parmita slunk away in acorner. The girl's mother rose to her feet."You are an idiot." The girl gave a rudeslap across father’s face and stormed downthe stairs."She was Bilarankhi." Father toldAdhikariji on their way back in the car."Perhaps" Adhikariji smiled.Doodhnath Singh, A prominent writer of the post-sixties who has contributed to Hindipoetry, short story, novel, memoir and literary criticism with equal energy. His major publishedworks are — akhiri kalam Mai ka shokgeet, tu fu, raktapaat.Sanjay Dev, born 1964 Jaipur has 20 years experience in translation. Occasionally publishesin the Speaking Tree Column of The Times of India. Works as Assistant Director for Parliamentof India. Resides in Delhi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 109

Rites for The DepartedChandrakantaRaji NarsimhanSeated on the ghats of the Ganga, a little off the steps, all thethree sons were performing the last rites of their late father. Thepriest, Radhanand , was conducting the ceremony with single mindeddevotion : the two forms of rice neatly-arranged round him wereall the ingredients of the funeral ceremony—the two forms of rice—cooked and uncooked — fruits, flowers, clothing, incense. The otherpriests were reeling off the chants, hurrying through the job, oneeye on the look-out for incoming patrons.The river flowed, leaping across and over the many steps ofthe ghats. Foamy circles wheeled in the muddy waters off the pillarsof the bridge. It had poured in the night. From the embankmentsearth had got mixed with the river water, making it mud-hued.The black clouds swelling on the sky added to the dolefulness ofthe hour.Nearby were two sallow-faced youths, rain-spattered, blowingrepeatedly into the firewood to keep it from going out, and rubbingtheir smarting eyes with the towel over their shoulders. Some othershad slung sheets over sticks dug into the ground in a semblanceof tents. For the most part they seemed to be coping well enoughwith their task of putting the souls of the dead firmly on the roadto moksha.110 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

But for the three sons umbrellas hadbeen provided. Two junior officers of theirs,Sharma-ji and Verma-ji, had come alongin person to make arrangements for thesons' stay here : their father was father tothem too, wasn't he? So didn't they owehim a duty too...?The weather was treacherous, butSharmaji and Vermaji, in full consultationwith the priests had made specialarrangements for the sons' stay. The funeralrituals had to go off without hitch; thiswas a must. The departed one was thefather of a special and very high official,was he not?The ceremony was going on more orless on prescribed lines. Fingers ringed withdried, sacred grass, the sons were offeringto the departed soul the cooked funeralrice made into little balls by the priest,:he who was chanting the incantations inringing tones with a clear accent.'Name- Father's name'?'Gokulnath'.‘Gotra?’‘Madguley’.‘Now, then... repeat after me...’Up there in the dharmshala, thewomen were busy with the rituals offasting. After the ceremony there wouldbe milk, sago, fried potatoes, wheat cubes,halwa of wheat flour... to eat what youfancied. Arrangements for pure ghee, milkand so on had been made well in advance.Sharmaji and Vermaji were going abouttheir tasks with perfect dedication.fgndi •The sons had been on fast sincemorning, along with their wives anddaughters, as laid down in the rules. Thewives went nervous at the wilted faces oftheir husbands. Worthy son number onehad an acidity problem. And as for theother worthy sons, number two andnumber three — what did they eat, birdpecks at best — but the pecks had to behad in time. Otherwise, it meantproblems...‘Ye-e-ess... that’s right’ the priestsdrawled, ‘but on this day and occasion...’The children, cameras dangling downnecks, clicked away at whatever caught theirfancy. Children were, well, children, whatwere they to make of this world or that,of tradition, reverence for it, and so forth?Mahant jee had said in indulgent tones,looking at them,’ Children are images ofgod, all is forgiven them...’Full arrangements had been made inthe main ashram for the stay of the threesons with family. It had all the necessaryand not very necessary conveniences.Dunlop mattresses, twenty four hour watersupply, kosher food, and in addition,trimmed, green lawns: and from the roof,the view of mother Ganga far off, inunceasing flow.It was all carnival-like, in a way. Thefuneral food offerings, the rites, the callingout of the fathers’ names, the children’santics with cameras, the poses they struckfor clicking... Yes, the youngest girl didseem aloof, did seem away from it all,April-June 2013 :: 111

gazing at the swiveling waves of theGanga...But...The priests were in competition: ‘Here,come this side here... So, from which statedo you come? From that far! Glory! glory!To be free of your obligations to your forefathers,isn’t a Benaras Yatra the only way?The rites of death for the dead performedon the banks of the Ganga! For cleansingthe thousand sons of the Raja Sagar, didn'tthe river Bhageerathi, who is Ganga indisguise come down to the earth from theheavens and since then been mother tous earthlings...?'The destroyer of fear, Ganga, buryingin her breast the tears of the afflicted, thedirt of minds and bodies, the ashes of thedead, the food offerings to the dead—Ganga, flowing without easing, looked likea waned great-great-great grandparent,waned with life-long washing of the soiledclothes of generations of children.From around and about sharpfragments of voices landed, leaping,landing, leaping again...'Caste?' 'Brahman...''You have to be, of course, but whatkind? Orthodox? Kanyakubj, Shiv-bound,Vishnu-bound... what? And name andaddress?''Look at this. Here's the name of yourancestor, your great-great-great grandfather.Everything is written down in these ledgers.Vaikunthnath was his name, yes? And hereon this page, your great grandfather'sname...Neelkanth...and here your father'sname, Shree Gokulnath, see it well. Andyou will write down your signature here.The family trees of everyone we have herepreserved in these ledgers. Priests of longtradition we are, no fly by night sorts weare...'Ledgers gone yellow with age, wornout and fragile-looking-swelling with pridethe priest wrapped them up in red cloth.Rare, unattainable keys of family historieshe had in the ledgers.Dakshina -(fees)! Son! What is this? Doyou have the least inkling of the kind offather you are son to? At the funeral feastof his father Neelkanth he fed the wholepopulace of sadhus, sanyasis and priests ofHaridwar city with halwa, poorie andvegetables unlimited. Fed them and fedthem. So satisfying that food was, ahaa,you couldn't think of food for the nexttwo days. And topping it all, the fees hegave us! Not a paisa less than the amountfixed!Receiving the fees, gnarled bony handupon brow, he scanned the notes with hiscataract- afflicted eyes and sighed deep. Thebreeding that the father had had, devotionunlimited — may he live and live inheaven : may he make rivers of charity toflow without end : may his soul rest inpeace.The sons had made advancepreparations for halwa, poorie andvegetables for two hundred guests. Theytoo wanted nothing missed out in theobservances. They had a stake too in the112 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

elite section they came from : and theyshouldn't be faulted for want of dedicationor care.The ladies of the family personallyserved the hungry and the afflicted presentamong the guests. Sharmaji and Vermajiwere doing the job with zeal, but the seniordaughter in law said : 'Give us too a chanceto repay our debts to the dead. Will ourfather in law die and go to heaven againand again?’The diners' hunger was endless.Swooping down upon the poories andvegetables like birds of prey, they calledfor more, more — called unendingly.When their din went up too high the chiefpriest told them to pipe down and staycalm, meaning eat whatever you getwithout your din and clear out from herefast.The younger girl was unwell, or hadher periods, perhaps. She was not takingpart in any ritual. It did displease her sistersin-law.The middle one said the departedone was father to her too, she too hadsome duties to him. The senior sister-inlawsaid sadly, 'The poor thing! Her servicesare probably not acceptable to the fatherhimself. Did she have her last sight of him?If she was fated to hold his touch in herhand would she have landed up four daysafter his death? And now, going uncleanat this time — must be having a meaning,her period coming up now...'The youngest sister-in-law kept quiet,though she too wanted to grumble thatfgndi •the girl had lost faith in customs. Else,couldn't she have eaten some pill orsomething to put it off ? So many waysthere were these days...!Her sisters heard it all and got busyscraping out the halwa from the pan. Whatwere they to say? The girl had turned upfour days after father's death. By then theyhad gone half dead with their mourningbouts. Eyes wide open and dry she hadkept staring at the lamenting women. Andwhen she did cry it was at the wrongmoment, when the soul of the dead feelspain at crying. Everything she did waswrong, ill-timed. Dead set against learningthe ways of the world as she was, whatwas anyone to say to her? And now childrenof her own too, she has.The youngest one had actually wipedoff the drops of tears risen in her eyes atthe sight of the lamenting women : asthough making her private grief public haddemeaned it : although a competition wason in the room for the most tunefullament, for the best weave and compositionof words.The city's entire populace of the lameand tottering, of beggars wrapped in rags,scratching dirty heads and thighs, plonkeddown in rows. Shoveling in handful uponhandful of food, bent on filling up withall they could. Someone choked over a puri,someone coughed kha-kha, but the canyonsin their stomachs wouldn't fill.The chief priest came over to the sons,punctuating his speech with sonorousApril-June 2013 :: 113

salutations to the Ganga : 'These poor,hungry ones today are beside themselvesat the sight of halwa and puris. Earlier theyused to go away leaving half the fooduneaten. Who feeds them full meals thesedays? No, no, nothing to do with the risingcost of living and so forth! What otherthings are they economizing on, tell me!Just charity work it is that they thinkdispensable, to be thrown overboard'.'Look here, look here! What's thisyou're doing? Paying each sadhuindividually one by one! Give me themoney, here, I'll take care of thepayments...Sadhuram! You there,Sadhuram! Come up here...'Sadhuram came over on fast feet : andthe chief priest now engaged with hispatrons more vigorously : 'You need nottarry, sirs. Have something to eat, milk,fruit... Leave this job to us. Tackling thesesmall fry is not for you...'The three brothers were intelligent,took the cue. Setting out for their pilgrimcentre the third brother said to the chiefpriest : 'Everyone should get his share, youwill ensure that, won't you?''Of course! Of course! Without doubt!We don't have to be told!'Lines of displeasure creased the chiefpriest's brow. Brother number one witha sign made number three pipe down.They'll manage. Don't fret. Meaning,expressing doubt is a sign of smallmindedness.The crowd of alms seekerswatched the departure of the patrons withnervous eyes. Perhaps they had already losthopes of getting any of the money. Anywaytheir stomachs were full, for the time beingat any rate.After their meal of fruits and milk, theyleft straight away for Lakshman Jhoola forsightseeing. The children got busy clickingtheir cameras at pilgrims by the riversidedoing their poojas and other rituals, sacredthreads slung across shoulders, at womenwrapped in saris dipping into the waters.Roundabout stood the green hills ofRishikesh. Gusts of clean air filtered intolungs and made the body feel weightless.Sharmaji sought permission from sonnumber one for clicking a group photoof them —'Forget it, it's not a picnic we'vecome on, but for father...' Despite his no'showever, a group photo of them allstanding at the head of the bridge didmaterialize, with the whole family wearingthe prescribed, appropriate, sad looks ontheir faces. The children clowned, strucksome comic poses, but children from tento sixteen years of age, how'appropriatelysad'would they be?At the rows of temples they stood inreverent worship before the gods andgoddesses : admired the carvings on thepillars and walls, dropped coins and notesinto the collection boxes. Looking at anidol of a goddess with clean, aquilinefeatures, Worthy Son Number Two saidto his wife : 'This goddess looks exactlylike Parul, doesn't she?'114 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

'Parul?' the wife was well into thespiritual atmosphere of the place.'The daughter-in-law of our kin, Sujata.Don't you think so — eyes, lips — exactlylike these we are seeing'...Seated in the boat they crossed theriver. The children scooped water into theirhands and flung it high into the sky likefountains, and the elders growled at themto stop. Sharmaji shook his head likeNandi, Shiva's bull, and reiterated thesolemnity of the occasion. The childrendid not understand this call for solemnity,sitting in the boat, rocking to the jollyslaps of the wind, a float on the broadbreast of the Ganga. Hadn't grandfathergot relief from his illness by dying, dyingin a natural death? The dirty foamswimming on the face of the river led themto talking about the Ganga CleaningCampaign : this was not the time fordebates with the elders.In the temple across the river arenowned yogi was holding discourses.Devotees from far away had congregatedto hear him. Son Number Two had heardthat he was a seer and soothsayer. Problemsof office and job came crowding into hismind. He might have a solution. Why notmeet him? Sharmaji had listed the namesof several top ministers and leaders whocame to consult the yogi. 'All come to him',he'd said, 'from the highest to the lowest,come to hear him'.'We'll go, definitely', Son Number Oneread his brother's mind and said to thewomenfolk, 'You too go along, have hisdarshan. A proven guru he is; we don'thave the time to hear his discourse, ourschedule is tight, but yet...'On the stone walls of the Gita templeshlokas from the Bhagwatgita wereetched — the dialogue of Krishna andArjun in the battle field, the soul'simmortality, the significance of karma, lineslike 'weapons do not pierce it',' yours isonly the right to do your duty...'The youngest girl set to, reading theshlokas on the walls, while the othermembers of the family were away seekingthe darshan of the yogi. 'Father used tosay, "Performing your karma is solely upto you. If your good sense and judgmentare with you, why fear public censure andsocial opprobrium?" Father remained dutyconsciousand duty-abiding to the last, buthis body failed him at the end. Boreimmense pain. Who bears the innatetroubles of whom? That is left to the body.Dying far away and off from the shadeof trees planted by one's own self is alsoa strong truth among the truths of time.Work-duties — job — where is there anytime and space apart from these? Howcomplex life has become! The youngest sonstayed with him to the end, and for thisfather blamed himself to the end.The clothes went frayed and the soultook off in search of new clothes. Aftermany years of nightly vigils, father sankinto deep sleep. At peace, free of strife.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 115

He won his mukti in that instant ofwakeless sleep.The sons left nothing undone, ofcourse. The casket of father's ashes heldin their hands raised above their heads,wading through neck deep waters, they sentafloat his ashes in the quick-streams of theriver, into the lap of mother Ganga. Eachson clasping the other by the right shoulder,standing in a row they bid their finalfarewell to father. The daughters anddaughters-in-law wiped their eyes with thecorners of their saris, the paternal andmaternal aunts prayed to Maa Ganga, thegiver of release. And the younger girl, hersobs held in her throat, stood watchingthe ashes skimming over the ripples of theriver, skimming away far, far away.This very same father, rowing acrossthe lake on stormy winds, had come tothe small island where he had been stayingfor many days with his children and theirailing mother. The doctors had advisedclean air and weather for the patient. Inpouring rain and heavy storm, the childrenhad stood on the shore, nervously scanningthe boats coming from far away. Fatherturned up, finally. And suddenly, fromamidst the storm winds, the sun hadsmiled. The children had been chantingpapa-papa even as his boat was far off.Father did not get as fatigued from hisday-long toils as from the scattering of hisfamily that his wife's illness had caused.The song he had sung that day, sittingin the shikara, suddenly came back to theyounger girl. 'On this sea are storms andhigh winds, boats innumerable areswimming on it, some drown, and some,tumbling along on the waves, stay a-swim...'.Wander, flow, and tumbling along arethe givers of life, storms and high windsits given conditions. For the sufis andmahatmas, to drown is to reach the goal,to merge with the beloved, decipheringwhose mystery a lifetime goes by...But father was no saint. Was anordinary man - with his own virtues andshort-comings. About the tribulations oflife, however, he neither complained norsank down on his knees : never soughtthe shoulders of tantrics or mystics as leantosfor attaining mukti. In the performingof duty he had unshakable faith. That waswhy, even after his wife's death, along withkeeping his scattered household together,he knocked around for helping relativesand kin too. Not for winning praise andadmiration : but solely because of hisnaturally sympathetic temper that couldn'thelp reaching out to those in need of beingreached. But looking at the hosts ofdissatisfied men and women around, herealised that inner peace was not anythingyou could gift to people, every individualhad to earn it himself or herself. And nowthese ashes of his! Will they stay a-swirlwith the swirls of the river? Or will theyflow far, far, peacefully riding in the lapof the Ganga like a new born child clingingto its mother's breast?116 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Is this the truth — this squeeze -outof lifelong hopes, battles and pleasure-pains,this handful of ashes? Or is it oncemore...'vaasaansi...')The cheif assistant or official of thetemple stacked into the children's hands,a mound of Prasad made in pure ghee 'youcome here so rarely...' he complained withauthority : looking like an influentialnational leader. Son Number One foldedhis hands with respect.'You know the problems we have,mahantji...'The women did some buying in thesmall, congested bazaar. The aunts andaunts-in-law bought strips of cloth withram-ram embossed on them, garlands ofsandalwood...for their own last journeys.If they kept them after taking dips in theGanga, there would be some provisionstanding ready for their last hours. Thegirls bought garlands made of sandalwoodpowder. These were in vogue now.Crossing the river again they returnedto their ashram. After a dinner of purevegetarian food cooked in equally pureghee, served in silver plates, they went offfor rest.They had secured the mahant'sblessings, putting in into the donationboxes mornings and evenings hefty sumsfairly beyond their means. The mahantpressed them to stay on a day longer, towhich Worthy Son Number One pleadedhelplessness. ' Resting at peace on the banksof the Ganga is just not writ in ourdestinies, mahantji! It's only because offather that even our coming here hasmaterialised... you know it...''True, very true. Only because ofworthy sons like you has even a modicumof a sense of duty survived...'On the way back, Varma-ji pressed fora darshan of the sanyaasini maa who wasthere at present. Sharma-ji had already beendispatched to maa's ashram — on areconnoitre, sort of.The sanyaasini maa was staying in aworn-looking ashram amidst narrow,circuitous lanes. Seated on a platform ina longish room, clad in pure white, shelooked like devi Saraswati. Worthy SonsNumber One and Number Two tried toask her questions of spiritual cum everydayimport, to which she gave brief replies ofa sentence or two. Perhaps they wereexpecting handy solutions to some problemor the other they were faced with.Somewhat disappointed, Worthy SonNumber one turned to his womenfolk :'You have any questions for Maa?'' Maa's darshan we have had : nothingmore we need...' Paternal aunt folded herhands and spoke for all.And then, nobody knew why, theyounger daughter, all this while aloof andfar-away seeming, burst out in brokentones, 'I am very depressed, Maa...' It waslike one who'd struggled long for releasefrom the hangman's rope stifling her, or,like one drowning in deep waters makingfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 117

a rush for a plank she suddenly sees driftingtowards her.....The family members looked at her insome surprise. Sat quiet all along, this girlhad, and then speaks-thus?Not a single rite of the funeral hadshe as much as touched or taken part in :not participated in any event for thesalvation of her father's soul : not even acouple of tears had she shed. Suddenly nowthis inapt behaviour? In this spiritual, nonmaterialair? But to the girl the mothersanyaasini seemed only like a mother, asshe ran her hand over her head withmaternal warmth. She spoke a few wordstoo, which the girl did not hear. In hereyes she was seeing her mother's eyes, inher voice she was hearing her father'ssayings : she was hearing Krishna's wordsto Arjun in the battlefield : 'Your duty isyour sole release, only duty is your mainconsideration, all else is secondary...' Onthe return journey everyone turned busythinking of the tasks back home they hadleft pending, and drew up blueprints offuture tasks.Worthy son Number One had landeda chance after much string-pulling, to goabroad with the minister, but his father'ssudden death had ...'Anyway, all the rites and rituals wentoff well...' he sighed deep and long...''Long, long life you'll have, son, Fatherhas attained moksha'. His paternal auntblessed him.Worthy son Number Two, who wasan executive in a private firm had beeneaten up with worry about the demandsof the employees there and their threatsto go on strike. His father's death hadprovided some timely relief, but he'd befacing the music again, once he got back.His expenses had been pretty heavy here,at this immersion ceremony, but the guilthe had been under for not having lookedafter father when he lay ill had certainlyabated a bit. Folding away the holy clothwith raamnaams printed on them, hismaternal aunt brought it home to him thattheir standing in society had gone up bymany notches. Who does even half as muchthese days? At best the eldest son goes tothe Ganga and sets afloat the ashes of thedeceased. This kind of full, collectiveparticipation by the whole family... evena rich merchant or businessman wouldn'thave.Worthy Son Number Three did notsay anything. He was the youngest of thebrothers. It was in his house that Fatherhad attained release; it went without sayingthen, that the whole year round theexpenses of father's monthly and yearly riteswould be his responsibility.The daughters spoke a sentence or two,recalling the pain their father had endured :already, worries about their families backhome were beginning to claw at theirminds.The youngest girl, her head resting onthe window, silently watched the flow ofthe Ganga. The knots of her heart and118 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

mind were beginning to unknot : somethingsoft within her flooded her eyes and poureddown. For her father, for her brothers andsisters, and perhaps for her own self too,quiet notes of prayer were beginning togrow within her. 'Jadaanandaan, pangun,prakritividhira, mukti viklaan' 'GoddessAmbey! All those born deaf, lame, dumband blind, all those who earn release fromthe load of their sins and for whom allroads are closed, redeem all such afflictedones'.Away there, on the banks of the Ganga,funerals, food offerings, the immersion ofashes etcetera went on; the priests kepttaking the signatures of their patrons; wives,holding the hands of their husbands, divedagain and again into the river. And thehordes of hungry, naked and disabled whohad left sated with the halwa-puri feastspread out for them by the worthy sonsof Gokulnath, are today again afflicted bypangs of hunger, and are again on the lookoutupon the banks of the Ganga for someother worthy sons of some otherGokulnath.Chandrakanta, born 1938 in Srinagar, is a Vyas Samman laureate who is known for portrayalof Kashmir in its varted shades and her major books are: ’Ailan Gali Zinda hai’. Kathasatisar, mere bhojpatra,’ ‘abbu ne kaha tha’ and ‘antim sakshya.’ She lives in Gurgaon, Haryana.Raji Narsimhan, Migrating from journalism to creative writing in the seventies, Raji Narasimhan,writing in English, has produced to date five novels, two short story collections, two booksin literary criticism, and three translations from Hindi to English. Her novel, ‘Forever Free’published by Hind Pocket Books in 1979, was short listed for the Sahitya Akadami Award,and was on the English literature syllabus of the IIT, Delhi. ‘Sensibility Under Stress : Aspectsof Indo-English Writing’ was short listed for the Sahitya Akadami Award, and was recommendedreading for students in a number of universities. A second book of criticism, dealing withtranslation processes, is recently published. She lives in New Delhi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 119

The Voice Which was Progeny...Tarun BhatnagarThe AuthorIt was the time out of this world, from some other era, and neverever occurred again. It ended there.It was a village in that time.Was it really a village?Huts roofed of palm leaves thatches, far scattered and seldomto see in intensely dense jungle. Those were not huts, but somethingmuch, much older. They were not made of mud. Three sides closedand one front open in place of door. A horizontally erected wottlemade of bamboos and woods, mainly of bamboos that did notlook like a wall. A thatch of dry palm leaves resting on bambooframe tied with barks of trees. There is no word yet for this structureerected in an empty place surrounded by darkness of thick jungle.No doubt they are not huts or homes as we call. In the dialectof the jungle — a shape, that doesn't have a name yet but justa sound indicating it. I will rather call it shelter.Hardly a shelter it could be said? Even two people couldn'tsleep in it properly and is so tiny and low that their legs fromknees will be out of it.The same shelters in dense haunting silence of sagaun and saaltree woods, some much far from each other and some much morefar, somewhere deep in green black silence of the forest filled with120 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

numb dense darkness of trees and shrubs.It couldn't be guessed where and whenan empty place will emerge with such ashelter in it and one would see two blackhuman figures sitting near scintillatingwaving fire.Human figures, because they were notbelieved as human beings then. They werenot human in attire because they werecompletely nude, they could make soundsbut didn't have a dialect, it was only acall, a sound, a symbol and an expressionthey only could say or could hardly beunderstood in the mysteries of our forestswithout parlance of tongue, thus unknownyet, awaiting to be explored even aftermillions of voyages in the past.God knows what they ate? Perhapssomething never been eaten by humanbeings. They were not well aware of meals.Whenever they felt hunger they gazed atthe deep forest with eagerness and thensuddenly jumped in it with their primitivearms made of wood and stones. Deep anddeep, whenever they had appetite they ranawfully into jungle, cutting shrubs andcreepers, making a hasty way. Womenstarted sowing nearby jungle, but it wasnot exactly the tillage. They were hunters.Tillage had to wait for decades.The outside world knew that the worldinside the jungle is unchanged and pausedfrom centuries. First of all they wereknowing that there are only hills, deepunknown jungles, the streams frommountains, too many kinds of snakes andinsects, dense thickness of creepers andshrubs growing fungus and mushroomswetting in rains and dropping, that justafter two steps one couldn't see further.Only this they knew, but not that thereis a secluded and intensely unknown worldof black figures look alike humans or so.The outside world knew just a littleabout the inside jungle. The outside worldwas most unaware of the inside jungle.Some people had peeped inside it after atedious job of cutting wild creepers andtrees, going deep within. They told thatthere are some human beings and it is hardto say whether they are human or somekind of wild animals.One day someone came near theshelter. They were scared to look at him,those two, the naked man and the nakedwoman, the primitive man and theprimitive woman, the stone aged figures.The man gripped firmly at the rawprehistoric type spear made of slender treetrunk and targeted it towards him. Thewoman blared, ran and stood behind theman. She held a burning wood from thefire. The man standing in front of themwas a human being, a well defined humanbeing and there was no question about it.He wore clothes. The nude man and thenude woman were scared looking at hisattire. The woman was waving burningwood in her hands. She had done the sametoo many times growling and shoutingwhile facing a wild animal. Every time herfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 121

growl, blare and shouts had compelled wildcarnivores to flee out of her area.The man and the woman almostattacked the man from outside world, butthe man from the outside world sat down.He bowed his head and gripped it in hispalms. The man and woman came closerto him leaving their fear aside, startedgazing at him with awe. The man had stilltargeted the spear pointing towards himand the woman holding the burning wood.The man from outside world smiledlooking at them. The man and the womanwere looking at him with puzzled eyes. Theman from outside world placed a radioon the terra just in front of them. Theman and the woman didn't see him puttingthe radio on the ground but were stillstaring at him, as they had never seen ahuman being before.It is said that in those years thegovernment collected mahua, wood, tendu,chaar, boda, etc. from that thickly woodedand unknown jungle, so it decided to giveradios for that, to the people of the jungle.How nice it would be if someone fromjungle might hear the voices from outsideworld, might be connected with them. Soit was decided that somewhere deep andfar in jungle a few radios should bedistributed.But it was a risky job, perhaps at thecost of life, filled with suspicions. Whoknows what kind of people they are, arethey really the people or some zone else?But it is said that even after that thegovernment distributed some radios inthose endless hilly jungles. People whoperformed the job did a remarkable task.Those were the first people in the mostsecluded areas of our time.The man from the outside world wentaway, leaving the radio there. The man andthe woman sat at a distance from the radio.The Radio was making all sorts of sounds.Radio was speaking. The man and thewoman were hearing the radio speaking.The man pointed his spear towards theradio. He believed it might be a wildanimal left here carelessly and any timeit could jump on him. That day and nextwhole night the man and the woman saton a small mound, in front of the radio.Both of them did not feel the cold weather,neither summer ever scorched them northey felt irritated soiling themselves in nonstoppingrains. They could keep awake thewhole night and whole day. They couldsleep the whole night and whole day. Theycould roam in jungle crossing endless riversand hills. They could roam whole nightand whole day. They could do all this upto too many days and too many nights.Next night the woman came in shelterto sleep leaving the radio. Deep in the nightwhen the crescent moon was floating inthe dark sky and a painful growl of a rhinowas coming from inside the jungle, theman got relieved from the fear. The growlof the rhino made him afraid and he alsocame in the shelter leaving the radio122 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

discarded and alone, not too far from theshelter.The radio was speaking continuously,It spoke whole night and day. Nextmorning a stormy wind with rain first filledthe whole jungle with dust and dry leavesand then wet it up to all twigs and tricklingrivulets from leaves, radio was speaking.The whole night trees were makingswishing sound waving in winds and theman and the woman slept embracing eachother, radio was still speaking. Fire wasburning with bursts, radio was speaking.Next day both of them went deep in forestto subside their hunger and came after twodays, radio was still speaking....the woman felt pity for the radio.The woman had seen those animalsso many times sitting calmly and growlingin a low tone, sometimes wounded andsometimes left out of their groups. She feltmercy for them. The woman had no issue.She had seen infants and had an idea thatsome day it will come out from her belly.She waited, but it hadn't come yet. Theradio seemed something like a small bodyof flesh and blood made from man andwoman.She had a half eaten prey they got fromthe forest. She placed a piece of meat infront of the radio, believing that aftersometime it will eat it and calm down.But nothing happened. The radio keptspeaking.The woman became impatient. Shestarted sitting near the radio for a while.fgndi •The man gazed at her sitting afar. Somany times the woman touched the radio,cuddled it, tried fondling it in a low tone—la,la,la, but the radio was still speaking.She rolled about sleeping near her man,man tried again and again embracing her,but she got herself detached from him,sitting on her knees hearing the voices ofradio coming from dark silence and slightlyblowing winds from outside the shelter.The man also awakened, both of thempassed the whole night without even a dropof sleep.One night the man heard the womancalling—la,la,la...’, with choking throat,pointing her index finger towards outsidedark, towards radio. The man came inopen, picked a burning wood from fire,came close to-the radio, gazed at it andsuddenly threw out the wood in forest andscreamed aloud. He shrieked again andagain and the voice which was yet not adialect echoed in the jungle, trembledbetween the land and the sky. Silence ofnight and wild animals heard the screamingsound cautiously with erect keen ears.The radio was speaking, speaking inobscured low tones, it sang and madedistinguished voices, the voices of man andwoman, the voices as of their own.The man and woman felt an appetite.They went deep in to the jungle, into thedeepest deep.There was continuous raining for threedays. The whole jungle became wet andTress were dripping. The shelter flowed.April-June 2013 :: 123

Broken bamboos and thatches strewed allover. While the rain stopped, for almosttwo days wild dogs and jackals made theshelter their home, chewing bones andeating flesh. After five days it was the manwho came first, followed by the woman.The woman had a long piece of leg meatgripped and hanging in her hand. The mansuddenly started shooting those wild dogs,holding spear in both his hands above head,making mysterious shrieks. The two wilddogs were barking again and again on him,jumping towards him, growling, butreceding and at last the man won, the wilddogs left his area. The man squatted nearbyhis demolished shelter.The woman came suddenly close tothe radio while looking at jackals and wilddogs running afar. God knows whathappened to her gazing at those wildanimals barking, voraciously gulping meatand chewing bone running towards forest,she suddenly ran close to the radio, heldit up and embraced it to her breast. Theman also came there and hugged thewoman. A low tone obscure voice wascoming from the radio clasped betweenthe naked chests of the man and thewoman.The radio was singing in a murmuringtone. A sound coming out from the depthof an unknown zone and the beat takingit the right way was vibrating slightly herthick black skin. The sound out ofperforated metal plate was meltingsomewhere in the deep. Something wasgetting intoned under the skin. Radiostopped a bit, murmured, picked the righttone, some new melody arose, some newvoice melted and the metal plate shivereda bit. The woman felt as some unknowninfant's fingers are running on her breastholding her calmly. She looked at themoaning jungle spellbound. A tiny dropemerged in her eyes. The man wassmilingly looking at her.She clasped radio in her arms for along time. The man started making shelter.She was eyeing man with love holding theradio in her arms.All the night passed away.The next day also passed away.The shelter was erected again. The manburnt wood to make fire. Soiled woodburnt with little fire and much fume. Thewoman baked the leg piece of prey. Bothof them swallowed it up to full satisfactionof hunger and came in the radio also camewith the woman. Both slept and the radio,as it was, continuously singing in low tone.A terrifying incident happened thatnight.Late night the woman awaked the man.She was holding the radio. The radio wassilent. It was saying nothing. The womanwas waving the radio in her hands, takingit up and down, clasping it to her chestagain and again, but the radio was mumb,nothing coming out of it. The womanbecame perplexed, looking at the man withoverspread eyes, shaking his shoulders todo something. The man patted it slightly124 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

with his palms, but nothing happened.The woman was filled with intensegrief and fear.The man went outside, took somewater in his palm making it concave. Thewoman threw some droplets on the radiotaking water from her fingers. They Didthis again and again, but nothinghappened. Radio was silenced forever. Thewoman burst into tears. The man tried toconsole her in unknown voice, sometimesembracing her, sometimes looking at theradio and sometimes aimlessly goingoutside and coming back.The man had dug a pit by evening.The woman was holding the radio in herhands and the man sitting knelt downnearby the pit, holding his head in hispalms. The woman handed him the radiocoming closer to him and he buried it inthe bottom of the pit. Both started fillingthe pit with mud and earth.The woman was sobbing, while slidingmud in the pit. After filling the manoverburdened it with soiled mud andtreaded with feet. The woman broughtsome white and orange coloured powderfrom the jungle and the man a piece ofslender trunk of sagaun tree. All night herubbed the slender trunk thoroughly tomake it glazy and then dug it on the place.The women started making some figuresof wild animals and insects on it by herfingers from the paste made of colouredpowder and water.fgndi •Those were the saddest hours of theirlife.....sometimes, the woman rememberedthe radio.....A voice, her progeny. No matter ifit had not taken birth from her womb.No matter if never the semen of her manfloated inside her to shape that voice,to frame the call made as of only for her.When she clasped it in her chest her breastswere not containing even a drop of milk.....voice is made of her blood,undoubtedly.....voice has the blood of a woman inits veins, the naive vanity of her existence.....voice, the love. Voice, of too manyendless heartbeats.The woman from unknown, barren,secluded, dense and ghostly dark forestsof our times....A woman crying with broken hearton the grave of the voice.The government again called herpeople and ordered them to go in to thejungle, this time again to those peoplewhom they had given the radio. They mustfind out how much the people of jungleunderstood the world outside and whatchanges came through the radio in theirlives. Agents of government had been givenforms and papers to gather, fill and submitthe correct information regarding thisproject.That day, the outside man came verysecretly nearby the area of the man andthe woman. He sat along with in betweenApril-June 2013 :: 125

forest and open land. The man and womansaw him and came hastily towards him.The man was holding wooden spear andthe woman a burning piece of wood....the man saw the long canines andbig thorny nails from dreadful paws of thatferocious wild animal. It seemed to thewoman that this carnivore is just goingto attack her.The jungle man threw the spear withfull power towards him, broached his chestin a sudden blow. The outside man criedand fell down. The woman attacked himwith the burning wood. He got upstruggling and trembling and tried to runout of the deep jungle. The woman wascrying while attacking him again and again.The outside man ran away deep intoforest. He reached a rivulet coming fromhigh mountains flowing in sharp streams.A perennial stream made its way deep interra filled with vegetations. The man felldown nearby fainted and lost sense. Hisback and head was burnt and a flow ofblood from his chest was trickling in therivulet's flow.The year was 1952.In deep, dense, unknown, dark andprimitive jungles of Bastar, it was the firstmurder of a man from the outer world.Tarun Bhatnagar : Born at Raipur, is a poet and short story writer. He is in civil servicesin Madhya Pradesh. Tarun's first collection of short stories entitled 'Gulmehndi ki Jhadian'is published by Bharatiya Jnanpith, New Delhi. He lives and works in Bhopal.126 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Shadows of The PastRamesh Pokhariyal ‘Nishank’Pramila Gargfgndi •It was a wintery night with bone chilling cold but Bhagirathi wasfast asleep with the burning charcoal and cow dung cakes in theangithi. From her quivering nostrils came out smothered soundof snoring, which filled their little room. But there was no sleepin Ramrath's eyes. This wakefulness was neither because of coldnor because of snoring of Bhagirathi, all these he was used to. Oneface was coming up again and again before his eyes. If his Sarjuwas with him would he look like that boy? He felt like shakingBhagirathi vigourously to wake her up, why should he face thisheartache alone? But he pitied his old woman; she had undergonegreat pain and misery in her youth. So many years have passed;she might have removed those memories from her mind.But what should Ramrath do? No sleep in his eyes, he wasfeeling today more cold as compared to other days and Bhagirathi'ssnoring was disturbing him a lot. Still, he knew the reason forno sleep was not all this.A group of local and foreign students had come there for tracking.They had stopped on their way to have tea at Ramrath's shop.Ramrath had made delicious tea with ginger and cinnamon forthe boys who were trembling with cold. A boy stepped forward;putting a hundred rupee bill in Ramrath's hand he said somethingin a foreign language.April-June 2013 :: 127

"But I have already taken the money,"Ramrath was flabbergasted."Keep it, he says you have made verygood tea," one Indian student told him.Now Ramrath looked at the foreignerboy more closely. He was smiling, Ramrathagain looked. His hand shook and the notefell from his hand. His whole bodytrembled as if the entire snow of themountain had entered his body paralyzinghis nerves.'Why this face is so familiar to me?'he thought.'Sarju. Yes he is Sarju, the same noseand the same mole on the chin, how couldhe forget him.’"Grandpa, where are you lost? Keepthis money, this boy has come from aforeign country and he is pleased to drinksuch good tea."Ramrath woke up as if from sleep."Which country he has come from?Where are you people going?" he askedboth the questions rapidly."Grandpa, do you know the names ofthe countries?" he counter questioned."Yes son," Ramrath smiled.Looking at the dilapidated conditionof the hut and the old wrinkled man hethought, 'how could he know the namesof various countries. He must be thinkingthat we are students.'"Grandpa, his country is theNetherlands," and looked towards thehillock, "we are going there," he saidpointing towards the mountain in frontof them.There was so much facial similarity andthe name of the country was the samewhich moved Ramrath to tears."What happened grandpa? Why thesetears?""Nothing, only I rememberedsomebody. But why are you people goingthere in such cold? Now it will startsnowing soon," a natural worry entered hismind."Don't worry grandpa, we will comeback and have your tea once again."Gradually that group of boysdisappeared from his eyes.Once again Ramrath changed his sidewhich woke Bhagirathi up from her sleep."Why are you so restless? Aren't yousleepy?" Bhagirathi looked at him withsleepy eyes. Because of Ramrath changinghis sides so frequently her sleep wasdisturbed and she was feeling cold too."Today I saw Sarju," these words ofRamrath drove away whatever sleep wasleft in her eyes.She sat up immediately and startedstaring at Ramrath thinking, 'Could be,the old man has gone crazy.' Ramrath waslooking in the darkness and tear dropsrolled down his eyes.'Sarju' how much joy and happinessthis name gave her and after a few yearshow much pain and sorrow.After ten or twelve years of marriagewhen no child was born to them they lostall hope. They got treatment from localmedical practitioners, got special prayersperformed for the purpose. They followedwhatever treatment anybody suggested, butnothing happened. They never had so128 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

much money that they could go to thecity and get treatment from the doctorsthere. But whenever they heard of any saintor sage from the nearby villages they wouldgo and offer their obeisance to them.After fifteen years of marriage whenthey had relinquished all hopes of a child,a miracle happened. Bhagirathi waspregnant. This heartening news at this stageof life instilled a new life in them. Ramrathalmost became crazy with joy. He took careof Bhagirathi with utmost effort, wouldnot allow her to do any household chores."You remain fit and healthy, don't liftany heavy thing. If you feel like eatingsomething do tell me, I will make." Thisuntimely happiness made even dim witRamrath more intelligent.Bhagirathi used to laugh and felttitillated by such behaviour of Ramrath,still she did not like him doing householdwork. On this account they would oftenhave tiffs.As the time passed Bhagirathi gavebirth to a baby boy. The whole house wasfilled with unspeakable joy. There was noold experienced person in the house to tellthem how to bring up the child, butBhagirathi was such a sweet temperedwoman that all the old women of thevillage would come and help her. Both ofthem named the child 'Suraj' but with timeit got distorted to 'Sarju'.With time Sarju grew up, became adarling boy of three years. He would followhis mother wherever she went. Then camethe day when their whole world wasshattered and they were filled withunspeakable sorrow.After finishing the day's workBhagirathi had gone to the village pondto get water and wash utensils, Sarjufollowed her. Otherwise also it was nota new thing. Sarju mostly remained gluedto his mother all the time. But that daysomething unusual and unexpectedhappened. Like other days Sarju did notreach home following his mother. Theystarted searching for him in every home,each pond and each ditch but Sarju wasnot to be found. Bhagirathi and Ramrathwere very agitated, they looked for Sarjuin all pits and gadhoras lest he might havefallen in one of them. As they could notfind him in the village they started lookingfor him in nearby villages and complainedto the village headman. The headman wasa good man and he could not bear to seetheir agony.The case was taken up at thegovernment level, and more extensivesearches were made. They came to knowthat their child was seen with a boy ofnearby village. That boy didn't have a goodrecord; he was arrested earlier for pettytheft. After serving the jail term he hadrun away to the city. He remained therefor quite some time but last month hewas seen in the village again. Somehowby putting pressure on his parents hisaddress was found; but by then it was toolate. He was found in Mumbai, but fora few thousands he had already sold thechild.When further investigations were madewith the help of these leads, once againfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 129

Ramrath and Bhagirathi's fate gave way.There was a very big gang which abductedchildren and would let foreign couplesadopt them against very heavy monetarycompensation. Sarju was already sold tosome foreign couple.The only thing they came to know wasthat some couple from the Netherlands hadpurchased and adopted their Sarju, as ifSarju was a commodity which could bepurchased and taken away with them.That's all. They couldn't do anythingbeyond that. Whatever was done was alsobeyond their reach. Actually it was donebecause the villagers had helped them;otherwise they would have been completelyin the dark about their sonIn spite of so much effort since theycouldn't find Sarju a pall of gloom spreadover their lives. Earlier they were unhappythat they were childless but now afterhaving a child they once again becamechildless. Sarju had shown them a beautifuldream and then vanished from their lives.Now on, neither could they pass their livespeacefully nor could they end it. Thismisery had made them old before theirtime. Many years passed and Bhagirathiand Ramrath had more or less settledthemselves in their childless existence.Though it was not possible for them toforget Sarju, gradually the layers of timestarted settling on his memories. Todaypeeling all those layers of time Sarju'smemories stood before them."Have you gone crazy with old age,from where Sarju will come now?"Bhagirathi asked Ramrath shaking himvigourously."No Bhagirathi, I have not gone crazy,he was Sarju only. Just imagine how Sarjuwould have looked at the age of twenty.That boy looked exactly the same, thenhe told me the same name of his country."Thus Ramrath told her the complete story.Bhagirathi started thinking 'was he reallytheir Sarju, if yes, how would he recognizethem, what did they have to prove thathe was their son?'"Will they come again?""Yes, they did say that they would comeagain to drink tea made by me." Ramrathreplied in a lost tone."From tomorrow onwards I will alsosit at the shop, the day Sarju comes I willfold my hands and tell him that he is myson.""Woman, have you gone mad? Hedoesn't even know our language, don't beso foolish." For some time they argued butRamrath got defeated by the overwhelminglove of Bhagirathi. Ultimately he permittedher to sit at the shop on the conditionthat she would not say anything after seeingSarju.From the next day onward Bhagirathiwould go to the shop with Ramrath afterfinishing her household work in themorning. Ramrath was surprised to lookat the agility with which she finished herdaily chores. Very early in the morningBhagirathi would make tea and breakfastfor them and would pack four chapatisin a cloth. The desire to meet her soninfused a new life into her fragile frame.Sometimes Ramrath would be worried130 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

to see her, if that group of boys didn'treturn this way Bhagirathi might lose herbalance of mind at this old age.While sitting in the shop her eyeswould be fixed in the direction by whichthey were supposed to be returning; andshe would ask again and again when wouldthey return? Ramrath would be irritated,"How do I know when would they come?"Bhagirathi was flabbergasted still shewould once again start looking withdoubled enthusiasm, but by evening shewould be disheartened. Now it was gettingvery cold, the higher peaks of the mountainwere covered with snow and Ramrathwould have liked to close the shop early.Otherwise also there were hardly anycustomers in the evening, but Bhagirathiwould not allow him to close. Facing thearrows of biting chilly winds she wouldcontinue sitting near the open hearthwiping her nose.One day her penance bore fruit. Thatstudents’ group returned to have tea at hisshop. Ramrath saw them coming from adistance. He had recognized his Sarjuamidst that group of ten or twelve boyseven from a distance. But he kept quietas he wanted to get confirmation of hisbelief from Bhagirathi. The boys camenearer and he looked at Bhagirathisideways. She was staring at the foreignstudent steadily."Baba, give us tea, didn't we tell youwe will come back," the Indian studenttook off his gloves and stood near theburning hearth enjoying the warmth of thefgndi •fire. "Sarju" as the whispering voice ofBhagirathi reached that boy he lookedtowards her."Amma, what are you saying?" thatIndian boy was rather talkative."Nothing, son nothing, she is old andkeeps on babbling," before Bhagirathi couldsay anything Ramrath spoke.Bhagirathi acted as if she didn't hearanything and kept on staring at Sarju, 'thesame features, the same mole at the chinand the same habit of smiling by slightlyslanting his mouth.' Bhagirathi felt thatshe would go mad, tears started rollingdown her eyes."Amma, aren't you feeling well?"Looking at Bhagirathi's condition theIndian student asked.Bhagirathi looked up as if she hadsuddenly woken up from sleep."No son, I am ok," and looked at Sarjuwho was standing in front of her. Shethought 'where he is now and where theyare. True they had brought him up forthree years only, but how the other parentsare bringing him up. Could they have givenhim such fair, healthy and blooming life?No, never. If he had been with them hewould have probably been sitting in thisshop only.Bhagirathi looked at the boy and askedthe other boy, "Son, do ask him wherehe has come from and what his parentsdo?" What went between two of themneither Ramrath nor Bhagirathi couldunderstand, but whatever was told themit confirmed Bhagirathi and Ramrath'sbelief that this foreign student was no otherApril-June 2013 :: 131

than their son.That boy knew this much that he wasnot the biological son of his parents andthey had adopted him from India'sMumbai, otherwise he knew nothing abouthis biological parents. His father is a bigbusinessman in the Netherlands; he visitsIndia quite often in connection with hisbusiness. This boy often visited India withhis father but had come to this area forthe first time.As Bhagirathi stepped forward feargripped Ramrath's heart, God only knowswhat she is going to do. He wanted tostop her but his voice failed him.Bhagirathi came and stood near the boyand put her trembling hand on his head.Once again tears streamed down herwrinkled cheeks, her eyes got blurred withtears which she wiped immediately so thatshe could see her Sarju properly. All theyoung boys with him were amazed andworried at her behaviour."Come again son," Bhagirathi said ina trembling voice, hearing this Ramrathheaved a sigh of relief. That Indian studentagain played the role of translator, "SureI will come," saying this that young boywaved and running and jumping on themeandering road disappeared before hereyes. Bhagirathi was standing like a statueand kept on staring in the direction.Once again their life started on theold pattern but definitely a difference camein Bhagirathi's life. Now daily she startedsitting at the tea shop with her husband.After all her son had promised to comeagain.Nishank : Ramesh Pokhariyal writes under the pen name Nishank. Former chief ministerof Uttarakhand, Nishank is a prolific poet and fiction writer with published volumes like—Pallavi, Pahad se Ooncha, Beera and Shaktiroopa (novels) and Sangharsh Jari Hai, Pratikshaetc. (collection of poems). He has published five collections of short stories. He lives inDehradun.132 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Arundhati Roy in Indian Languages—What Distances?Vijaya Kumaran C.P.V.fgndi •Alice Truax wrote in her literary review in NewYork Times (25May, 1997) that 'the quality of Ms. Roy's narration is so extraordinary— at once so morally strenuous and so imaginatively supple —that the reader remains enthralled all the way through to its agonizingfinish.' Roy uses a variety of English in The God of Small Thingsand she is successful to communicate to the world the culture sherepresents. The beauty of her novel lies in the use of Indian Englishand the varieties of techniques she uses. She uses that English, whichis a distorted one from the standard conventional use of wordsand sentences from regional languages in India apart from the useof subjectless sentences, faulty spellings, capital letters, use of italics,single word sentences, change of parts of speech, clustering ofadjectives, nouns and deviation from normal word order etc., inEnglish. That English is a kind of 'Manglish' (Malayalam-English)and 'Hinglish' (Hindi-English) as far as the Indians are concerned,but for the international readers she had the Oxford and Cambridgeversions too. In her forward to the Malayalam translation ofArundhati Roy, the acclaimed story writer Smt. Priya A.S. disclosedthat 'The God of Small Things' is a book which is intranslatable,and this sounds like the referred title of Raji Narasimhan in HindiDiscourse Writing. Priya took it as a challenge to pen the wholediscourse which felt her like 'a sea of sorrow.' To make more clearspecifically, 'it is the sorrow of those, who are haves and who haveall but, those marginalised.' Raji took it for granted the languageApril-June 2013 :: 133

of power of the original to be translatedfor making the effect of the original. Theopening comment of the translation criticin Hindi is that "The language of The Godof Small Things is overpowering. For thetranslator this strong, fore-groundedpresence of the parent language createsproblems." Raji, is quite convinced thatmastering the target language Hindi is notenough to create the nuances of the originalsince the content of the novel is encodedin two-three languages, by deconstructingthe traditional writing style.As the English publisher of the booktook meticulous care about the typeset,cover design and other details of the qualityand publication and the publicity the bookreceived was undoubtedly the result of awell-planned strategy, a fact so muchemphasized by her detractors, it is bindingon the translators to keep all of them intheir re-renderings. We have both Hindiand Malayalam, the Indian languagetranslations of Mrs. Roy, which had thesimilar cover designs of the original.Arundhati took freedom to arrange eachword as in English Capital letters, whichshe retained from her childhood. That issaid to be an innovation in language ofsource text. In characterizing BabyKochamma, the novelist had the sametechnique of depicting her life backwards.Regarding the calligraphy of English whatthe original text attracts and creates bestimpact on the context of rendering, is thecapitalising of the beginning of someselected words, wherever there are stressesand intonations. Non-English phraseswhich are italicized include those inMalayalam as well as the Latin "εt 'tu:bru:tε?” the Hindi & Malayalam mixedslogans 'Inquilab Zindabad! Thozhilali EktaZindabad!" (Arundhati, 66), and the Tamil'Rombo maduram'; expressions inMalayalam, such as 'Ruchi lokathindeRajavu,' and its literal translation of'Emperors of the Realm of Taste'(Arundhati, 46); (The novelist herself hadcommitted that the translation isridiculous.) To quote : 'It was a literaltranslation of Ruchilokathinde Rajavu,which sounded little less ludicrous thanEmperors of the Realm of Taste. (Ibid).Malayalam translator did some overttranslations on similar occasions and addedboth the source and target idioms andphrases, viz. in transliteration and shifting,to communicate the original (Priya, 65).Hindi translator had a recreation of theoriginal as he translated the term as —Swaad Ke Sansar Ke Samrat, (Neelabh, 60)to be faithful to the TL readers, where hecould create the alliterations by using therepeated consonants S & K in each word,and we have to forgive for making themeaning of the whole phrase in plural -viz. Ke Sansar, Ke Samrat etc.The children's extraordinary habit ofreverse reading, of words as seen reflectedin a mirror, is also given emphasis in asimilar way : "ehT serutnevdA fo eisuSlerriuqS. enO gnirps gninrom eisuSlerriuqS ekow pu. None of the translatorsin Malayalam or Hindi could becomefaithful to this craft. They would hesitateto tell that the Indian Language scripts134 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

cannot be scribed as English language. Torecreate such idioms in other languages isa Herculean task, even though the wordMALAYALAM has the reverse reading andwriting pattern.Let's see the transference of some ofthe source subtitles, which paved way forthe enthusiastic reading of each subtopicsof the novel. There are 21 subtitles inEnglish, and Hindi translator transformedthem with equal numbers (Malayalamtranslator did not put the numbering, butthe chronological order kept as such). Assome of the phrases in original are ofphrases in colloquial Hindi and Malayalamthe translator has to adopt both languagesin TL also. The opening subtitle is withalliteration using the syllable 'P' in "ParadisePickles and Preserves". The first distancingtranslation of this phrase in Hindi to makethe TL meaningful is — 'Paradise AcharAur Murabbe.’ In terms of loan words inSL, the translator has to transliterate orcarry them into TL. So did for the faithfultranslator in Malayalam, without changinga single word of the original. The 7thsubtitle phrase in English 'Wisdom ExerciseNotebooks' could have in transliteration assuch in Hindi, but Neelabh made it absurdwhen got literally translated as 'Gyan AbhyasPustikayen." Every Malayalee is quite awareof the notebook ‘Wisdom' (with itsglobalised marketing strategy) for exploitingthe buyers, just like 'Ganga' soap advertisedfor cleaning body or removing sins. Similaris another cultural term used for anelephant — 'Kochutombhan.' This word iscoined by the novelist in resonance to thecollective noun — 'Kochukomban' meaning— small tusker. Neelabh's choice of thisword created some other nuances in thecultural milieu by a similar word 'Kochuthomman'.Besides, the title Kochu Thomman isdenoting a satirical poem of modernMalayalam poet N.V. Krishna Warriorcharacterizing a common man. Whiletranslating the cultural terms 'Mrs. & Mr.'as well as 'Ms.' into any Indian languagesincluding Sanskrit, the intranslatability liesin coining the cultural equivalences in theTL. Here Neelabh had tried the dynamicsof equalizing them with 'Smt. & Shri.',as one of the subtitles where there are threeSmts - viz. 'Smt. Pillai, Smt. Eapen, Smt.Rajagopalan'. The referred Malayalamtranslator did not go for that extreme toundervalue Indian culture by substitutingthose terms, but merely carried over theSL to TL.With regard to the title of the book,it was a difficult task for Arundhati to putsome apt title, and that came only afterfinishing the total discourse, that sheremembers: "...When I read the book now,I can't believe the amount of referencesthere are to small things, but it wasabsolutely not the case that I started withthe title and built the novel around it."Shashibala Talwar and R.S. Sharma tracethe origin of the title to Salman Rushdie'sMidnight’s Children. Saleem, the hero ofthat novel is worried about a slight errorin specifying a certain date. Padma, hisbeloved, remarks under the circumstances :"What are you so long for in your face?"Everybody forgets some small things, allfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 135

the time. "That raises a question in themind of Saleem : "But if small things go,will large things be close behind?With those reminiscences we can reachthe conclusion that Mrs. Roy had used theterm 'Small' and its contrast 'Big' as binaryopposites, throughout the novel, tofabricate her theme. The translator inMalayalam had made those terms soundlike the original and found it easy toliterally and faithfully translate as 'Kunju'(viz. KunjuKaryangalude Odeythampuran)for 'small' and 'valiya' for 'big'. NowherePriya had to think to distance these wordsfrom one another with alternative terms.Odeythampuran — the compound phraseis coined by two words — Odeya (colloquialword literally meaning — Creator) andThampuran (master or King). There is atransition from Raja — King (Kshatriya)ruling to democracy, such ruling castesprevalent in Kerala in Travancore andTrivandrum dynasty and their femalesubjects are also honorified as Thampuran.But this colloquial idiom bears the nuancesof the caste hierarchy and supremacy ofthe wealth and power in the society. Hence,the Malayalam reader could get thesuggestive meaning with the well structuredphrase, more than that those readers inEnglish.Neelabh has to play hide and seek gamewith some words like 'small' as 'nanha (2times)' (literally 'innocent' - p. 32.), 'chhotichhoti' in page 15, 'mamuli' in rest. Eventhe title of the book 'Mamuli Chizor kaDevata' is the acquired expression in TL.But in choice of words in TL this oddword and phrase with deep cultural valuedoes not match the contrasts which soundsin its original. The reasoning is clearlymentioned by Raji : 'The immediate effecton the translator of this thrust of languageis that it thwarts him, from sufficientlydistancing himself from it, and focusingon the thought/thoughts behind it. Suchdistancing is a necessary step in alltranslation exercises. The aural incursionof the source text has to somehow get toneddown sufficiently, to enable the translatorto go past it and make contact with thecerebral-cum-psychic propellers behind thecascade of voice and tone.' (RajiNarasimhan, 2013, 138)The language of Arundhati is extraordinary as remarked by several veteranInternational authors, so to quote theremarks of Kamala Das : "We didn't takeEnglish lightly... But Arundhati Roy usesEnglish as plaything. She can spit at correctEnglish. She is Cinderella and fame is herprince." She further added : "She is lucky.We are not. But she is our child and weare happy for her. Because she is youngto enjoy it." Soozan Douglas, anotherjournalist found its reading "like eating achocolate bomb — you take small bitesand slowly savor the layers... The book isabout the gorgeousness of language."(Amitabh Roy, 2012, 39) Anita Desaipraised Arundhati Roy and observed :"When we wrote, we tended to write basedon the literature we read, not on the waypeople spoke. I congratulate ArundhatiRoy" (ibid,) But there are certain criticswho found Arundhati as copying some136 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

others style. It is C. Satyananda whorevealed that the language innovations inArundhati Roy's work were done fifty yearsago by Enid Blyton and The God of SmallThings was no better than an imitationof Toni Morrison's Beloved.In discourse analysis, let us go backto the same passage referred to by RajiNarasimhan : "He didn't know that insome places... Worse things kepthappening." She did deconstruct thisparagraph into three sections and came toa conclusion that it left behind a semanticsfor the natural poetry of free expression.Whether we get the beauteous constructof semantics and poetic fervour from Hinditranslation? (Raji Narasimhan, 2013, 139)The paragraph is full of finite noun clausesintroduced by the subordinator that followthe main clause verb. They function assubjects, direct objects, or compliments ofthe main predicate. The Hindi syntaxhaving complex structure began with 'Usepata nahin tha ...', and the rest of thesyntactical arrangement is in support ofthe same main clause subordinating withthe word ki. viz. 'Ki jab niji uthal-puthalek raashtra ki vishaal, prachand, chakkarkhati,eid lagaati, haasyaspad, unmath,asangat, saarvajanik uthal-puthal ki, sadakkinaarebani, samaadhi par pahunchti tokuch ghatit hotaa. Ki vah badaa devta garmhava ki taraf chikhta aur sijade men sirjhukane ki maang karta.' (Neelabh, 2008,32). The deviation that can be mentionedhere is in the tense of the verb, in thosesubordinate clauses, which distanced thewhole sense of the TL. Main verb is putin simple past as that of the original, butthen Neelabh changed the latter phrasesin conditional past, that deviated the senseof TL text. But it is made clear with thebeginning of each adjectival phrase withthe conjunction ki. Raji also made it clearthat 'scrambling up the language is aprominent feature of Roy's prose style andform. But the scramble you come up with,alas, is devoid of the method gone intoRoy's creative scramble.' (ibid, 140). Thereaders in Hindi can also reach the sameconclusion. Three sub-clauses are there inthe original paragraph, without muchsemantic variations — 'that somethinghappened' / 'worse things had happened' /'things kept happening.' So beginning withthe past and continuing with the perfectand going to the eternal present the wholesequence of narration is taking the readerto strengthen the character of Larry, thehusband of Rahel to look into the thirdworld citizen in tears always, and thatbecomes the predicted ending of therelation between that couple. Towards theend of the paragraph, the novelist madeit literal : 'In the country that she (Rahel)came from, poised forever between theterror of war and horror of peace, worsethings kept happening.' (Arundhati, 2002,19)It is Arundhati the novelist who utteredthat 'I don't see a great difference betweenThe God of Small Things and my nonfiction.In fact, I keep saying, fiction isthe truest thing there ever was... The Godof Small Things is a book which connectsthe very smallest things to the very biggest.'fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 137

The novelist was translating her own lifeinto this fiction. The experiences at thevillage Aymanan in the district of Kottayamin Kerala seem to have left a lastingimpression on Arundhati. Novel completedon April 6, 1996, with four years' time.She told Vir Sangvi, the editor of Sunday :'I just started putting down what was goingon in my head... It was all just comingout of me, like smoke I suppose, and Ikept putting it down.' As observed byArundhati's critic that her novel is not animitation of some western model, but hasbehind her a long and rich tradition ofsocially committed writing in Indo-Angliannovels. It is relevant here, therefore to havea look at this tradition and discover herroots.On translating some of the folk versesand lyrics in the original, Priya could easilyomit the English version, where sometimesthe author had given simultaneousMalayalam and its translation in English.Like the one Kuttappen's appeal to an overripeguava (Arundhati, 207). For thetranslator in Malayalam, Priya could chooseonly those lines as in original Malayalamwithout caring for the re-renderings ofArundhati. Will it be more liberty on theauthor to surpass her? Hindi translator hadto transform both languages into target —'Paa pera-pera-perakka (Mr. gugga-gug-gugguava)Ends parambil thooralley (Don't shitherein my compound); correspondingly —Paa pera-pera-perakka (Shri am-am-amamruda)Ende parambil thooralley (yahanmere hate men mat hag dena) (Neelabh,225). Here the translator had takenphonetic adaptation to utter the Hindiworld for gua — amrud. He did it witha vowel ending — amruda, in the first line,but the same is not opted for the cominglines, that which are of different endingsin original. Again the adaptations for someaspirated consonants in Hindi are notscientific as those used in Malayalam script.Arundhati herself scribed those tabus —thoorikko/thooralle with the beginningdental consonant as aspirated, but in realpronunciation of that is non-aspirated.Transliteration of that into Hindi did thesame adaptation of making that intoaspirated dental consonant. Similar problemlies in pronouncing the word gua = perakkaand compound = parambu. The allophonesra and ra (as in Raphel) in Hindiintonations are not specified. But inMalayalam those two are distinct. Priyacould differentiate them in her TL, butNeelabh was helpless (as Arundhati toowas). Arundhati did this with some of theproper nouns also like the names ofEsthappen, Kuttappen, or compound propername coined like Esthapappychachen,Veluthapappychachen etc. Here again thetranslator went in tune with the novelist,but quite aware of the demarcation betweenthose phonetic adaptations in MalayalamSmt. Priya did coin the exact word. Takingfor granted the ending three consonantsas that of the original, in their translationsNeelabh opted the same phoneme e(spelled as in air). Hence, those words rerenderedin Hindi as Kuttappen, Esthappen,Veluthapappychachen etc. School rhymes arealso finding its place in Arundhati's138 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

memory - "Koo-koo kokum theevandi /Kooki paayum theevandi/ Rapakal odumtheevandi/Thalarnnu nilkum theevandi."The explanations in the brackets are allthe more evident in the depiction ofpopular Malayalam folk as well as filmsongs. The discourteous-sounding lines ofthe boat song that Estha sings in the picklefactory are rendered alternately in the nativelanguage and in English :Enda da korangaxha, chandi ithrathenjadu? (Hey Mr. Monkey man, why'syour bum so red?)... (ibid, 196 & 211-12). Later, the same technique is used bythe paralyzed Kuttappen while shoutingrepeatedly in his desperation : Pa pera-perapera-perakka(Mr. gugga-gug-gug-guava,)Ende parambil thooralley. (Don't shit herein my compound.) (ibid, 206). Fordepicting a song from 'President's Goldmedal winning film Chemmeen the samebracketed illustration is applied by theauthor, (ibid, 219-20). Arundhati uses thetechnique of brackets in The God of SmallThings to explain her own point of view,to make the narration effective and to showthe innermost feelings of the characters.The former translator Priya is free fromthe brackets that carried explanations bythe author. (Priya, 235). She could alsotake liberty in transcribing the folk songs,or film songs in Malayalam as if Arundhatidid it in one language.In stylistics, what is referred asdeviation, distortion etc., can be observedin Arundhati. On some occasion thisresearcher has to mention that there isfaulty spelling and notion of Arundhatiwhile describing the Kathakali and somefolk rituals of Kerala. But deliberately whenthe author had used faulty spelling on somewords like — Amayrika= America;Angshios= anxious; Verrry= very; Hell-oh=hello; Orlways = Always; Mint = Minuteetc. This can be taken as occasions if aprejudiced man and woman who try tocreate the Occidental Culture by learningEnglish. Neelabh tried similar constructionsin Hindi, whereas Priya did somealterations in phonemes with colloquialusage of Malayalam. Both of the translatorsdid free rendering to avoid such emphaticusages.Repetition of determiners, prepositions,negatives etc., are also common in theoriginal : "One corner for cooking, one forclothes, one for bedding rolls, one for dyingin."; "Past floating yellow limes...Past greenmangoes...Past glass casks of vinegar withcorks...Past shelves of pectin andpreservatives...Past trays of bittergourd...Past gunny bags... Past mounds offresh green peppercorns..."; "No milesstones marked its progress, No trees grewalong it, No mists rolled over it, No birdscircled it."Apart from these repetitions, Royuses variety of repetitions. For example :'In the lobby, the orange drinks werewaiting, the lemon drinks were waiting,the melty chocolates were waiting, TheComing Soon! Posters were waiting'...Shutup or Getout. Getout or Shutup.";"Went where they went, stopped wherethey stopped.""Nothing mattered much. Nothingmuch mattered." From the second to thefgndi •April-June 2013 :: 139

13th paragraph, Arundhati used the samesyllable P to begin with (Arundhati, 193-4), but none of the translators could adaptthis style of the original. But, the translatorsalso have their own versions that insidethose referred paragraphs, there are somewords in repetitions or alliterations, whichmake some musical re-rendering of theoriginal.In the subtitle 'Kochuthomban', thereis a recreation of cultural milieu of Keralaby depicting the 'kathakali.' The novelistmentioned two stories — one of 'Karnasapadham' (Karna's Oath) and other'Duryodhanavadham' (killing ofDuryodhan). Neelabh by mistake misspellsthe former as 'Karnasabdam' (Neelabh,234) which literally means the Oath ofKarna, may be by mistake of giving stresson the latter phrase in the compound word—Sapadham as Sapdam (replacingunaspirated d to aspirated dh). Hence thewrong transliteration appeared in Hindi.We have to make the novelist moreauthentic to define the latter story, whereshe had taken 'Duryodhanavadham' as —the death of Duryodhana and his brotherDushasana, but in practice nowhere in stagethe killing of Duryodhana took place, theversion will be complete after killingDushasana, his brother. Kathakali is atraditional art-form of Kerala depicting theMahabharata into stage-play observing thenatyasastra techniques.We can take the discourse of the funeralof Sophie Mol- ‘...Earth to earth, ashes toashes, dust to dust' (Arundhati, 7) whichderives from the English burial service. Thetext of that service is adapted from thebiblical text, genesis 3:19 (King JamesVersion). Arundhati depicted the last riteperformed by the sad priests' voices muffledwith mud and wood. Towards the end thenarrator tells that 'Her funeral killed her.The Epitaph on Mol's tombstone is alsoin italics. 'Dust to dust to dus to dus to dus'.On her tombstone it said A Sunbeam LentTo Us Too Briefly.' Both the target textshad their own transformations to this. Theconnotation that Neelabh's readers inHindi after reading the tombstone will belittle impressed as it is human to lose her- Atyalp Kaal Ke Liye Hamen Mill EkSuryakiran'. (Neelabh, 19). Priya did afaithful rendering here by translating thisidiom literally — njangalkukshananerattekku katamayikittiya orusuryarashmi' (Priya, 23) If the word 'Lent'is carefully omitted from the originaldiction, then the suggestion of creatorcreatedrelationship will be totally lost.Hence from the believer's point, nuanceof the original that human being is beinglent by the Almighty, got lost in Hindibut retained in Malayalam. In addition,Priya kept the original English diction untranslated,to make the effect of theoriginal.There are some other occasions, wherethe Malayalam translator is devoid ofcarrying the bi-lingual interpretation ofphrases used by SL text, since Arundhaticoined most of them by her mothertongue. Contexts like describing eachalphabet in the word POLICE, the Hinditranslator had to transcribe them both in140 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

English and its transliteration, whereasPriya got rid of by penning them in Englishonly, and if she tried to interpret eachMalayalam word after scribing Police, nomeaningful idioms or phrases in thelanguage can be created. That's why wehave to take for granted what Priyadisclosed in the foreward to her Arundhati'stranslation that she has been rolling stonesfor a long time, and the pain and pleasureof that rolling is to be released with theone in black and white what she couldproduce, but without any prejudice.Neelabh has not produced any Translators'Note or forward to his translation as if heis prejudiced to have this acclaimed bookinto the skies of Indian National LiteraryTreasure, in Hindi.To conclude, if we could compare bothtranslations of Arundhati in IndianLanguages, one of the Aryan tongue andother of the Dravidian, we could see thetranslators are blessed with their owncreative intelligence in Malayalam andHindi and they had a tremendous task aswell for compensating and substituting theauthor. Neelabh even took pains to explainso many foreign and culture boundcontexts, and re-create his own style in there-renderings. Priya had some hesitationto pen that she was not too much closeto the original, even though she had verymany contexts of leaving Arundhati withher bilingual interpretations tomonolingual in Malayalam. Thismasterpiece is a sea of language inventionsand interventions in The God of SmallThings. Even if, Raji Narasimhan withsufficient proofs comes to the conclusionthat Neelabh took a wrong book totranslate, when we go through the otherIndian Language translations of Arundhati,the same opinion can be repeated. Takingfor granted the translator's choice andliberty in translation, the overt and coverttranslations that we do have with aperspective to knit Indian Literaturethrough Malayalam and Hindi with thatof the Malayalam bound English author,the trios referred above, can be proud ofilluminating the Indian Culture andTradition to the World of Letters. We canalso have a view of Arundhati's own viewsof her language use to put this discourseto an end : "Language is a very reflexivething for me. I don't know the rules, soI don't know if I've broken them. As avery young child my mother gave me abook called Free Writing and we wereencouraged to write fearlessly. The firstcoherent sentence I ever wrote, which isactually in this book, was written whenI was five. It was about an Australianmissionary who taught me. Every day shewould say, 'I can see Satan in your eyes.'So, the first sentence I ever wrote was :'I hate Miss Mitten and I think her knickersare torn."fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 141

Referencesi. 'Arundhati Roy, transl. Priya A.Si,2011, "Kunju Kryangalude Odeythampuran",(Malayalam) Kottayam, D.C. Books, p. 7.ii. Raji Narasimhan, The God of SmallThings : A Wrong Book to Translate,HINDI Discourse Writing, Wardha,Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya HindiVishwavidyalaya, pp. 138-152.iii. Quoted from the book, Dhawan.R.K. (ed.), 1999, Arundhati Roy : TheNovelist Extra Ordinary, New Delhi,Prestige Books, p. 14; in Amitabh Roy,2012, p. 45.iv. Conversations with Arundhati Roy,2009. The Shape of the Beast, New Delhi,Penguin Books, p. 26.v. Quoted Amitabh Roy, 2012, TheGod of Small Things : A Novel of SocialCommitment, New Delhi, Atlantic, firstedition 2005, -p 37.vi. lbid. p. 2.vii. http://www.india50.com/arundhat.htmiArundhati Roy, 2002, The God of SmallThings, New Delhi, Penguin Books, firstpublished 1997. Neelabh, 2008, MamuliChizom Ka Devata, (Hindi) New Delhi,Rajkamal, first edition 2004. http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/05/25/reviews/970525.25truaxt.htmlVijay Kumaran, is professor of Hindi at Central University, Kerala Kasaragod: He lives inKerala.142 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

The Challenge of TranslationKanan JhinganRavi Nandan Sinhafgndi •Translation has become a powerful medium for exchanging cultural,spiritual and scientific knowledge in the world. The message ofthe universality of human emotions and feelings generated by thereading and teaching of the literatures of various countries takesthe world towards a greater sense of unity. This is the need ofthe modern times.In order to promote the art of translation, efforts were madeat two levels : the governmental and the non-governmental. Underthe Rajbhasha Act of 1963, instructions were issued that along withEnglish translation Hindi translation too be used. The Hinditranslation of orders and regulations issued under any central actwas considered to be the authorised version. In the High Courtsalso, the alternate use of Hindi was accepted. Because of the trainingcurricula of the Central Translation Bureau opportunities foremployment in the field of translation grew. Apart from this, theCommission for Scientific Technical Terminology too did a greatdeal of work. Some two or three years before that, over eight lakhwords had already been created. This effort proved very useful insimplifying the process of translation. There is a facility of translationthrough the computer but as yet, mechanical translation cannotbe considered as successful as done by man. At the non-governmentallevel, the translation into Hindi developed in three streams : theApril-June 2013 :: 143

translation of literature in English and otherforeign languages by publicationinstitutions; the print medium and theelectronic medium.Newspapers occupy an important placein the print media. Articles published inEnglish have regularly been translated intoHindi. Earlier in Hindi newspapers thereused to be news published in Englishnewspapers but now because of quicktranslation articles are published in bothlanguages at the same time.In this context, in the electronic mediathe contribution of cinema and televisionis noteworthy. Almost all the classic novelsin English have been made into Hindifilms. 'Wuthering Heights', 'She', 'Prideand Prejudice' and 'Guide' are some suchexamples. Apart from these, the works ofShakespeare, known as the father of Englishliterature, such as 'Comedy of Errors','Macbeth', and 'Othello' were made intoHindi films titled Angoor', 'Maqbool' and'Omkara' respectively. A Hindi film wasmade on Ruskin Bond's 'Blue Umbrellawith the same title. 'Manpasand' was a filmbased on Bernard Shaw's 'Pygmalion' and'Dharmatma' was based on Mario Puzo's'Godfather'. The films ‘Anamika' and'Kohra' were based on Daphne duMaurier's 'Rebecca'. Films were made on'Namesake' of Jhumpa Lahiri, a writer ofIndian origin, and on a number of novelsby Chetan Bhagat.Television serials on the works ofIndian English writers were made and theywere also appreciated. R.K. Narayan's'Swami and Friends' and 'Malgudi Days'are examples of this. The Hindi versionof foreign channels such as NationalGeographic and Discovery can be accessedonly by changing the frequency a bit. Onchannels like Animal Planet, Disney, Pogo,Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon etc., thereare English programmes dubbed intoHindi. Everyone is familiar with the factthat these channels are extremely popularamong children. This kind of work is beingdone on a large scale. Discovery channelgives the English programmes made by itto a number of dubbing producers. A largenumber of translators are involved in theexcercise. Experts edit the translated scripts.Discovery Q-See gives its comments onthese. Artists under the guidance ofdirectors lend their voice to these finallyedited scripts. In this way, knowledge,science and entertainment comes to Hindispeaking people.A large number of publishes belongingto the non-government organizations havetaken up this kind of work. Apart fromthose of literature, a large number of bookson science and other subjects have beentranslated into Hindi. These activities arenot recent; they began a long time ago.Under the British rule innumerable copiesof the Bible translated into Hindi weredistributed among the people. This processcontinues even today.In fiction Ramanath Suman translatedWashington Irvin's 'The Sketchbook' in1848 and called it 'Bikhare Chitra, whichwas published by Rajpal and Sons, Between1915 and 1931 Lala Seetaram of Allahabadtranslated the plays of Shakespeare into144 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Hindi. He translated 'The Tempest' as'Jangal mein Mangal', 'As You Like It' as'Apni Apni Ruchi', 'Comedy of Errors' as'Bhoolbhulaiya', 'King Lear' as 'Raja Lear','Much Ado About Nothing' as'Manmohan', 'Macbeth', 'Hamlet' as'Denmark ka Rajkumar', 'Othello' as'Jhootha Sandeh' and 'Romeo and Juliet'as 'Prem ki Kasauti'. Premchand translatedGeorge Eliot's 'Silas Marner' as 'Sukhdas'published by Bambai Hindi Granthagar,and in Calcutta Ishwari Prasad Sharmatranslated 'Woman in White' titled'Shuklavasana Sundari'. Bernard Shaw's'Back to Methuselah' translated byPremchand under the title 'Shristi kaArambh' was published from Banaras.In 1950, Mahavir Prasad Poddartranslated Mrs. Beecher Stone's famousnovel 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'. Mahavir PrasadDwivedi had written its foreword. TheEnglish translation of Lara Ingalls Builder'snovel 'Little House in the Big Woods' waspublished in Allahabad in 1953- GangaPandey translated Pearl Buck's novel 'GoodEarth' titled 'Dharti Mata' (PrabhatPrakashan, Lucknow) in 1955 and heranother novel under the title 'Mrigtrishna'in 1956. Surya Narayan Singh Sharmatranslated Cameron Howell’s novel'Executive Suite' under the title AdhyakshaKaun Ho' in 1957 (Pearl Publications,Bombay). Malini Viz translated StephenCane's collection of short stories 'The BrideComes to Yellow Sky' under the title'Navavadhu ka Grampravesh' (PearlPublications, 1958). In 1959, GyanChandra translated Helen Mackins's 'Northfrom Rome' (Pearl Publications). In 1960,Devendra Kumar translated Pearl Buck's'My Several Worlds' (Rajpal and Sons) andin the same year Shree Shyam translatedher 'Nor Five Nor Three' under the title'Na Paanch Na Teen'(Pearl Publications).Umapati Rai Chandel translated MarkTwain's 'Roughing It' under the title'Yaadon ki Ghantiyan' (Rajpal and Sons,the page giving the year of publication wastorn). In 1967, Virendra Kumar Guptatranslated Jack London's 'The White Fang'and 'The Call of Woods' under the titles'Paltu Bhedia and 'Jungle ki Pukar'respectively. In 1968, the translation of F.Scott Fitzgerald's 'The Great Gatsby' waspublished by Rajpal and Sons. In 1970,Ramesh Bakshi rendered Herman Melville'sAmerican novel 'Moby Dick' into English(Radhakrishna Prakashan) titled 'SafedWhale Machhli'. In 1972 Mridula Gargtranslated 'Man Never Know' as 'TikonaDaira' (Akshar Prakashan) and in 1977Amrit Rai translated Howard Fast's bookas 'Samar Gatha' (Allahabad). In 1993Anand translated Alice Munroe's shortstory collection 'Something I Have BeenMeaning to Tell You' (Viplav Karyalaya,Lucknow) and in 1995 Deep ShikhaGhosh translated Henry Rider Haggard'snovel 'She' under the title'Mayavani'(Startrek Publishers). In 1998Gurucharan Das translated ErnestHemingway's 'Farewell to Arms' (VidyarthiPrakashan, Delhi). In 2003 the translationof Arrowsmith', a novel by the Americanwriter Sinclair Lewis was published. Thetranslator was Satya Prakash. Rajkamal andfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 145

Sons published it under its Tradition andHeritage of World Classic series.Lal Bahadur Sharma translated JackLondon's 'Iron Heel' in 2004 (Itihas BodhPrakashan, Allahabad). Around this time,Sanjiv Tanwar translated ErnestHemingway's 'The Old Man and Sea'under the title 'Boodha Sagrik', and also'The Reivers' by the Nobel Prize winnerWilliam Faulkner and Steinbeck's 'Travelswith Charlie' under the title 'Charlie kaSafarnama' (the publishers were BharatCyan Vigyan Prakashak, Delhi andRashtrabhasha Prakashan, Shahdara, Delhirespectively). Ashok Pandey translatedIrwin Stone's biography of the painter VanGogh in 2006 (Samvad Prakashan). In2006 itself, Indu Prakash Kanungotranslated Balzac's collection of short storiesunder the title 'Lal Sarai' (Surya PrakashMandir, Bikaner). In 2007 UdaykantPathak translated the short stories of ErnestHemingway under the title 'Adivasi Basti'(Nav Prabhat Sahitya, Delhi). In 2011Chandrabali Singh translated the poemsof Emily Dickinson for Vani Prakashan,Vardha. In the same decade Uma Pathaktranslated the stories of Grimms, HansAnderson and Kipling and also Naipauland Paulo Coelho.The Indian English writer R.K.Narayan's 'The English Teacher' ('JeevanMrityu') and 'Bachelor of Arts' weretranslated. In the same category thetranslation of almost all the novels ofVikram Seth, Naipaul, Amitav Ghosh andPaulo Coelho are available. In thecontemporary times the literature ofspiritual gurus like Osho, Dipal Chopraand Shiv Khera has been translated veryquickly.Between 1848 and 2012 a great dealof literature in English was translated intoHindi and is also being read with greatinterest. In the library of Sahitya Akademithere is a separate section for translatedfiction. One can guess from the worn-outcondition of books kept there that theyhave been read frequently. This is anencouraging fact for translators andpublishers.I had the opportunity of translatingthe English literature of two authors. Thefirst is Khalil Gibran, the philosopher, poet,short story writer and novelist of the 19thcentury, and Amitav Ghosh, a novelist ofmodern times. Translating my favouriteauthors was a labour of love for me. Itwas the reiteration of the pleasure ofreading them in the original that I wantedto share with the perceptive readers ofHindi. I had begun to read Khalil Gibranin my youth. His literature is available inboth Arabic and English. His famous worksin Arabic are 'The Spirits Rebellious', 'Tearand Smiles', 'Broken Wings', 'Thoughtsand Meditation' and 'The Voice of theMaster'. Khalil himself wrote in English'The Prophet', "Jesus Son of God','Wanderer' and 'Sand and Foam'. Whiletranslating him, there was always a doubtin my mind. Khalil himself translated intoEnglish some of his works written in Arabicwhile others translated some of his otherworks. Thus whenever the source text istranslated first in one target language and146 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

then in another, there is a danger of theloss of meaning, or misreading of theintended meaning. If the first translatormakes a mistake it can finds its way inthe work of the second translator. Thatis why there was a great deal of risk intranslating the works of Khalil Gibran. Dr.M. M. Khan, the Head of the ArabicDepartment in Delhi University helped megreatly in understanding Khalil in thecontext of Arabic literature. The origin ofGibran's creativity is in his spiritual life.To capture his meaning from the secondlanguage into the third is in itself a greatchallenge. For me, the process of firstinternalizing the second language, and theemotions expressed therein, and thenexpressing them in a third language hasbeen adventurous journey.Among his popular works I havetranslated 'The Prophet' as 'Ishwar kaDoot', 'Wanderer' as 'Yayavar', 'BrokenWings as 'Toote Pankh', 'Spirits Rebellious'as 'Vidrohi Atmayen’ and the selected partsof his remaining works 'Sand and Foam','Tears and Smile', 'The Forerunner', 'TheMadman’ under the title 'Vividh’. 'TheProphet' is written in the prose-poem style.In it, instead of long prose passages thereis a wonderful rhythm in the consecutivesentences that are written like an unrhymedpoem. Many times, even after a full stopKhalil Gibran begins the next sentence with'And'. The syntax of Hindi is not like that,but to retain Khalil's style and rhythm asit is, I have used the word 'aur'. To givea feel of his tender emotions and his subtlethoughts, I have tried to use a euphonicvocabulary in my translation. While doingthis, Urdu words have naturally been used :for instance, though both 'soul' and 'spirits'are used as synonyms, when Khalil talksabout his beloved Salma, I felt thatchoosing the word 'rooh' would beappropriate because 'rooh' means 'lifebreath' and 'life' and Salma was his lifebreath. When the context is spiritual I haveused the word 'atma. Similarly, Hindiwords such as 'phusphusana' or'kanaphoosi' for 'whisper' cannot expressthe feel of two lovers talking in a low voice.For 'whisper' I found the Urdu word'sargoshiyan' to be the most appropriate.The word 'gosha’ means a corner, orsolitude or the ear. That is why'sargoshiyan’ expresses better than any otherword the meaning of someone sayingsomething in her/his ear when there is noone is around. At another place I had touse Urdu words while translating linesexpressing great pain. Away from home,and tormented by the memory of hisbeloved, Khalil requests his friends :"Ah! You friends of my younger daysliving everywhere in Beirut! Whenever yougo to that graveyard in the pine forest,walk with soft steps. Ensure that the soundof your feet does not wake those dead,and approach Salma's grave with greathumility, bow to that land that holds Salmain its lap. Mention my name with a deepsigh, and tell yourself, 'Here the hopes ofGibran are buried, Gibran who lived asa prisoner of love across seas. It was herethat he was robbed of his happiness, itwas here that his tears dried, and it wasfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 147

here that he forgot to smile.'"After translating Khalil Gibran I hadthe opportunity of translating 'The GlassPlace', a novel by Amitav Ghosh, thepopular Indian English novelist. The canvasof the story in this epic novel is vast. Theprimary and secondary actions in the noveltake place in Burma, Malaya and Calcutta.The main story is set in Burma. It istherefore natural that the names ofcharacters, geographical locations, rivers,festivals and religious events are all in thelocal language. While translating the novelinto Hindi my problem was that if I wrotethose names as they were written in theEnglish version, it would have meant beingtwice removed from the original. That iswhy I decided that I would write thosenames in the devnagri script with theiroriginal pronunciation. Because I did notknow the original language, it was not aneasy task. I received no help from theMyanmar Commission. I went to theregistration office for foreign students inDelhi University. There were manyBurmese students registered there but Icould not locate them. It was there thatsomeone suggested to me that I could meetmany Burmese students studying at theinstitute for Buddhist studies. Ashinkumar,who is a research scholar there, introducedme to their professor. In the early chaptersof the translated novel, the Burmese wordsare written in the manner he suggested.He then went back to Burma. Then Isought help from Bhante Shree SayadoUegga who lives at 'Samta Vihar' inPashchimpuri. I had to pay a number ofvisits to him. With great patience, he taughtme the pronunciation of some threehundred words. Some the examples are asfollows :What is written 'The Baw' in Englishis pronounced 'Tee Baw' in Burmese. Thequeen of Burma 'Supayalat' is called'Suphyalat'. The minister 'Wungyis' wascalled 'Wonjee', his assistant 'Wundauks'was called 'Bonda', the courtier 'Pudeinwunwas called 'Patewan’. The dress 'Htamein’that women wear below their waist is called'Thamein’. ‘Angayi’ worn like a blouse iscalled 'Enjee'. A popular snack of that placeis called 'Bayagyaw' that is 'Byajo'. Thename of a place of worship, that is apagoda, is called 'Shwedagon' and ispronounced 'Shwitakon'.It was necessary to gloss many wordsused in the novel. For instance, those wholook after elephants are called 'usi' and'pasi'. Kneeling down before the king andqueen with hands spread on the groundto pay obeisance to them is called'sheekho'. In China, Malaya and Malayasiathere is a religious sect called 'Hakka.’Among its followers, there have beenpeople following teachings of Confucius,the Buddha and Jesus. The language ofthis religion too is called Hakka. I shouldhave explained the meaning of such wordsin the introduction, or the footnote or atthe end of the chapter, otherwise the flowof the reader's pleasure would have beenhindered, but all that was deleted in theediting. Perhaps the editor's purpose wasto make the book appear original.In modern English writing, an involved148 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

and elite style is being preferred. Itsometimes becomes difficult for the readerto follow this labyrinthine or confusingstyle. Translating such places becomes anexercise in solving a riddle. Prose passagesfull of long complex sentences often actas a hindrance for the reader to understandthe meaning.Sometimes a single word has manyalternatives. Of them, the word that canbest convey the meaning in a given contextis used. Two lovers, Alison and Dinu areabout to be separated because of war. Inthe last moments they are together, thephilosophy of love has been presented interms of a positive being made from anegative in a darkroom. The author writes,"The darkness of the one becomes the lightof the other. The first time I saw it happenI thought what must it be like to touchlike this — with utter absorption. For onething to become irradiated with theshadows of another." "Jab aap negative kokaagaz par rakh kar unhe jeevit hote dekhtehain. . . ek ka andhera doosre ka prakashban jata hai. Jab maine pahli baar yeh ghatithote dekha to maine socha ki sampoornavilayan ke sath is prakar ke sparsh kaanubhav karna kaisa hota hoga...ek vastuka doosari vastu ki chhaya se jagmaga uthna,kaisi anubhuti.In this context, the words for 'utterabsorption' given in the dictionary are'tanmay', 'antarlayan', 'shoshan', and'samaveshan'. But in that context, I feltthat 'sampoorna vilay' was the betteralternative to express the pinnacle of lovedescribed therein. In 'He is a difficult man'the words suggested for 'difficult' are'bedhab', 'adbang' and adbanga'. Theadjective 'khadoos' too is sometimes usedin the spoken language. All these wordsare ill-sounding. In that situation, and forthat particular character in the story andfor his background etc., words or sentenceslike 'jiddi', 'tedha' or 'jiske saath nibhanamushkil ho' have been used. Similarly, for'fog' words like 'kohra', 'dhundhalka' etc.,did not appear apt in the given context.The fog coming out of the fields of Malayawas sticking to the workers' clothes whichthey were pulling out. In this context, Ifound the word 'kharpatwar' to be the mostappropriate to express the meaning. Thisword was given in Reynolds' Englishdictionary.In ('Sheeshmahal') 'The Glass Palace'an Indian soldier uses the proverb 'dhobika kutta na ghar ka na ghat ka' for SayaJohn. The reader in Hindi understandswhat it means therefore the explanationgiven by the writer was not translated. Totranslate an English proverb for which thereis no corresponding proverb in Hindi, Ihave used in my translation a simplerlanguage to express my meaning.Translation is not merely changing thetext from one language to another—thereis enough scope for research in it. Whatare the bases of the development of thestory in the original work, what is its social,political and historical background, andwhat are the tools of expression used init—without researching these it isimpossible to do justice to the author. In'The Glass Palace' ('Sheeshmahal’) therefgndi •April-June 2013 :: 149

are the opulence of royalty, struggle forpower, slave trade, cultural and socialfestivals, the colonialism of the British, theSecond World War and its consequences,the work culture in the army, photographyand similar subjects were such areas whichneeded to be researched in order tounderstand them. I took the help of relatedbooks and the internet. I also talked toformer soldiers and tried to understand thefiner points of photography from expertsin photography, and only then could Ibegin to translate the text.Kanan Jhingan : born 1938, Karachi (undivided India), educated and worked at Delhi.Kanan was reader in Hindi at Daulat Ram College, University of Delhi from 1961 to 2003.Author of seven books, she specialises in writing on films and philosophy. She has translatedAmitav Ghosh’s novel ‘The Glass Palace’ for Penguin India. Kanan lives in Delhi.Dr. Ravi Nandan Sinha : has published poetry and literary criticism in India and elsewhere.He has also translated poetry and fiction which the Sahitya Akademi and National BookTrust India have brought out. He is the founder-editor of The Quest (estd. 1987), a journaldevoted to Indian literature and translation. He has been a member of the awards committeeof Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. Presently he is the Head, Postgraduate Department of English,St. Xavier’s College (Autonomous), Ranchi. Email: questranchi@gmail.com150 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Globe on Potter's Wheel : ClimbingSteps of MediaPradeep Trikhafgndi •Madhav Hada's Seediyaan Chadhataa Media is a landmarkcontribution to the media studies in Hindi. This is a timely andwelcome addition to the current wave of books on a range ofcontemporary issues. It demonstrates the method of literary andcultural evaluation as multiple ways of shaping popular consciousness.It is a known fact that media have played an important role in theprocess of globalization and there is ever growing academic materialon the subject but rarely do we find a formal, systematic andconvincing detailed study on the issue. He has elevated media to thecentre stage of globalization discourse. This is also an attempt to fillthe gap in the burgeoning globalization literature. Hada definesglobalization as 'the process in which worldwide economics, political,cultural and social relations have become increasingly mediated acrosstime and space'. This is a first-rate resource book for research studentsand for general readers and even the beginners who are interested indetails of contemporary issues on media. He traces the process ofglobalization to the beginning of the fifteenth century, with theonset of European powers for trade with the rest of the world and insearch of new countries. According to him a fresh phase started in1492 with Christopher Columbus' voyage to America that ended in1800. The second phase came to an end in the year 2000 and sincethen the third phase has started which in literal sense gave rise to aunified globe due to steep decline in prices, of personal computers,cell phones, satellites, fiber optical cables and expansion of worldApril-June 2013 :: 151

wide web (www) which has created aphenomenon of 'knowledge explosion'. Inthe opening essay 'Globe on the Potter'sWheel', Hada refers to Thomas L.Friedman's The World is Flat, (2000). Inhis overview of contemporary media scenehe submits to the historical facts such asBritain wood's Agreement among fortyfournations after the Second World Warto revive global economy which laterrenovated into open market economy.During 1997, in order to counter globaleconomic recession globalization becameinevitable. In India its cumulative influencecould be seen on culture, literature, societyand media. Hada skillfully installs logicalline of reasoning in order to substantiatehis analysis in the ensuing essays such as'Concurrence of Short Story in Hindi visa-visthe Media', 'Poetry in the Realm ofMedia', 'Newspapers in Villages and SmallTowns', 'You Have come a Long way Baby','Hindi on the Flipside of Hinglish','Changing Perspectives', 'Constructing &Deconstructing Jargon of Media' and'Climbing Steps Media'. In the post scriptto the anthology an interview with SwayamPrakash, Hindi contemporary writer istitled as 'Mahabharata is on in Minds', is asignificant addition to the book. Hadaemphasizes that literature is a culturalproduct and thus like any other productin global economy it should havemarketability. According to him rumpusand entertainment have become thekeywords for the writers as well as thepublishers and the readers also for now thesociety is in constant search of voyeuristicdesire-fulfilment, by peeping into theprivate lives of the politicians,administrators, actors and sports persons.It is not that masses are only interested inreading books on Clinton-Lewinsky affairs;they are equally interested in Nehru-Edwina Mountbatten affairs even today. InHindi the writers such as Rajendra Yadav,Ashok Vajpayee, Maitriyee Pushpa,Surendra Verma and scores of others haveswitched over to mode of creating ruckus,for it sells and generates economic gainsfor the writer-publisher nexus, no longerthe trepidation is for sensitization.'Poetry in the Realm of Media' dealswith contemporary scene of Hindi poetryin which the number has grownexorbitantly but the quality declined, thereason for this is extensive use of blankverse, which is more often, prose-convertedpoetry and thus neither it remains a prosepiece nor turns into a poem. Thus it hardlysensitizes its readers or its listeners and yetit is extensively flooding the markets.'Kitaab Se Katti' Apathy to Books} is aninteresting essay on onslaught of televisionon children's life style in India. Hadaretraces 1960s and 1970s that witnessedmushroom growth of children's magazineslike Champak, Nandan, Parag andChandamama which were spitefully readand fervently anticipated by the hordes ofkids around the country and werepublished even in regional languagesKeeping in view their marketability duringthe 1990s, the divide between books andchildren grew due to the 'plug-in-drugs'(44) i.e. television, computers and now152 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

even cell phones—the devices that haveunique mesmerizing end product forchildren and that have even delinked themfrom reading habits or even makingattempts to do so.Hada, deliberately or unconsciouslyavoids to say anything on 'Policy' and'Politics' of contemporary media scene inglobalised India. But he does not hesitatein emphasizing the peculiarity, possiblyeven uniqueness or bifurcation in politics'of perception and 'politics of practices' onmedia. With further implication thatnirvana could practically be within reach,no longer through transcendence of classstruggles in communist utopia, but byrescuing 'policy' from the ghostliness ofclashing social and economic agendas. Inthe essays like 'Advocates of Middle Class''Newspapers in Villages and Small Towns','Hindi on the Flipside of Hinglish' and'Changing Perspective' he deals with multifacetedissues in the domains oftelecommunication infrastructure andbroadcasting practice. Hada criticallyevaluates a brief history of discoursebetween 'Information Society' and 'CivilSociety'. He goes on to summarize in detailthe empirical issues, the global institutionalactors and their social impact on Indiansociety.On one level the book is a masterpieceof compression. Yet at times especially inthe earlier chapters, this virtue alsosometimes becomes its vice. The details ofthe arguments are so densely delivered, thethickets of information so tightly clustered,that for a student reader at least, it wouldrequire additional commentary from aninstructor.Not withstanding this drawback, thebook’s particular merit is to link togethersocially relevant issues in which mostIndian academicians delve into off and onand grope for the way out from the area ofdarkness. The analyses of such topical issuesare muddled over much published researchin the field. Hada however, due to hiscareful handling of the argumentsestablishes that international variety ofchanges entailed in the globalizationprocess should be perceived in affirmativemode. The essay 'You have come a LongWay Baby' is a fine example of how theinternational variety of changes hasradically transformed the image of Indianwoman as a whole conventional perceptionof an ideal woman is replaced with 'selfempowered','independent' and 'smart',though it appears to be realistic andimaginary but at the same time it is inconcurrence with and within the domainof Indian long-established value system. Itis rich fare, and thus hard to summarizepassably in the course of a review. Asintermittently is the case, not all essays canbe made to fit in the confines andcategories provided but frankly this is notan instance with Hada's present study, aseach essay incorporated in the book isworthwhile contribution to our knowledge,and on the whole it can be said that anyreader or researcher would agree that it isindeed a very stimulating work in the fieldof media studies. The title of the book hashidden metaphors in it but the contentsfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 153

in it move beyond Cultural Studies orPolitics of media. Economy divide that isoften interpreted in a melancholic tone bythe essayist provide some very indispensabletake off points for the task ahead for thosewho would like to take it as a challenge.But, one feels persuaded to conclude thatthe writer has systematically engagedhimself in connectional issues with atranscultural approach.The Book Reviewed Seedhiyan Chadhta MediaAuthor : Madhav HadaPublished by : Adhaar Prakashan PanchkulaPrice : Rs. 250/-Pradeep Trikha, is professor in Deptt. of English in M.L. Sukhadia Univeristy, Rajasthan.He lives in Udaipur.154 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Apni Dharti, Apna Akash : ADiscourse on HopeOma SharmaSatya Chaitanyafgndi •The monstrous terror of two world wars, the horrendous atrocitiesunleashed by Hitler, the program of the Jews by the Nazis, theconflicts culminating in the end of colonialism, the rise of neocolonialism,the emergence of the Soviet Union as a super powerfollowing the Bolshevik Revolution, its subsequent fall, scientificdiscoveries and technological inventions that set the flag of humaningenuity aflutter in the terrestrial and non-terrestrial spaces of aworld born anew and the shamefully contrasting dire poverty,malnutrition and epidemics, the collision of numerous and divergingideologies — these form the soul of the twentieth century. Thecentury's passage through a decisive stage in the history of humanityhas amply been painted vividly both in its human and psychologicalhues by its literature. To take a good look into the creative outpouringsof the great masters of literature who have been honoured by theNobel Prize is to understand the alternative history, philosophy oflife, and the deformities and crudities of contemporary social realities;and that calls for the art and the pen of a master with sensitivity sothat these could be comprehended in their true nature and being.True, great literature does not depend on any prize for its greatness— even if it is the universally reputed award for literature, the NobelApril-June 2013 :: 155

Prize. Wasn't it in the early years of thisvery century that we saw brilliant masterslike Premchand, Joyce, Stefan Zweig,Tolstoy and Chekhov ignored by the Prize?But it still remains a fact that the Prize isgiven to great masters of the letters fromacross the world — to such writers whoseliterary contribution is beyond questioning;whose art is peerless; who have portrayedhumanity's consciousness, faith, love,savagery, suffering, hopelessness, loneliness,displacement, and woes in such depths thattheir writing transcends the boundaries oftime and place and attains universalsignificance.In this book, Vijay Sharma haspresented before us the creative urges andpassions of fifteen writers who have beenhonoured with the Nobel Prize, at thefoundation of which are the lectures theygave in response to the Prize given to them.Just as the Nobel Prize, the Nobel lecturestoo have been accepted as important eventsin world literature because through theseeach writer shares with the world hispersonal reflections on such topics as histimes, the society, art and literature, valuesand ideals, the creative process andliterature, and so on. It is clear that eachof these lectures gives us material forunderstanding the literary work of theeminent author and its place in our life.Among the chosen writers we find, onthe one side, such masters as playwrightHarold Pinter and poet Pablo Neruda whoare advocates of social politics in their ownways and on the other, such novelists asIsaac Bashevis Singer, V.S., Naipaul, GaoXingjian, Toni Morrison and NaguibMahfouz who protest against looking atthe writer's art and the freedom inherentin it through the spectacles of a politicalor ideological thought system.The speech of each awarded writer isan outstanding statement but the words ofthe Chinese writer Gao Xingjian on thecontemporary and timeless issues ofliterature appear to be most powerful —as for instance, when he makes statementslike:"In order that literature safeguard thereason for its own existence and not becomethe tool of politics it must return to the voiceof the individual, for literature is primarilyderived from the feelings of the individualand is the result of feelings.""Controversies about literary trends or awriter's political inclinations were seriousafflictions that tormented literature duringthe past century."Once literature is contrived as the hymnof the nation, the flag of the race, themouthpiece of a political party or the voice ofa class or a group, it can be employed as amighty and all-engulfing tool of propaganda.However, such literature loses what is inherentin literature, ceases to be literature, andbecomes a substitute for power and profit."It is a fact that a writer like Xingjian isonly marginally known in Hindi thoughnot altogether unknown — this in spite ofhis winning the Nobel Prize. And to thiscategory belongs the name of Hungarianwriter Imre Kertesz at the source of whosecreativity are those hair-raising atrocitiescommitted in the concentration camps like156 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

Auschwitz that he had personallyexperienced as an inmate. If Gao Xingjianwas being distanced by the communistsbecause of ideological differences, Kerteszwas paying the price for being a Jew. Butthe work of neither of them is altogetherlimited to the terrible life experiences theyhad to undergo. On the contrary, treatingthese experiences as mere manifestationsof the basic human nature, they rise beyondthe cesspits of those experiences andbecome precious documentations of art andliterature in the form of Fateless and SoulMountain. Every writer selected heredisplays in his writings faith and a positiveattitude towards life in the middle ofconditions of wretchedness and darkness.While painting the canvas of thewriter's creativity, thought and artisticuniqueness on the basis of their Nobellectures, Vijay Sharma proceeds with thedrive and enthusiasm of an eager guide.Through her thorough research and effortsshe does address those aspects of the writerand his work that may generally beunknown to the common Hindi reader;but more importantly, going further, shepresents to us the heart of the creativeimpulses in the writer and the innermostmessages of his writing, drawing these outfrom details of his personal life. She alsorelates writers to one another, thus helpingthe reader understand them more deeply.For instance, she relates Naipaul's tendencyto shy away from public speeches to whatProust said about a writer being the ownerof two different personalities. In the sameway, while speaking of Czeslaw Milosz, shepoints out how there is similarity ofthoughts between him and GiordanoBruno; while speaking of Singer, she pointsout how he and Oswald Spengler sharethe lifestyles of cultures; and speaking ofToni Morrison, she brings up Nat Turnerand the first slave revolt in America led byhim. These cross references add to the easewith which her purports could becomprehended.In her analysis of the authors, VijaySharma speaks about what their early lifewas like, what the financial conditions athome were, how they began to write, whatincidents and what books influenced them,and what their inspirations were. She givesus lots of minor but fascinating detailsrelated to the way creativity finds expressionin each of them [for instance GaoXingjian's way of drawing with ink, GunterGrass's way of reading with fingers pluggedinto his ears, Singer's love for feedingpigeons], discusses the difficulties eachexperienced in getting their bookspublished, what fame means to each ofthem, the unique shades of each writer'slanguage, the roles and limitations ofliterature in our times when the marketand consumerism dominate the world andso on. These discussions are among therich aspects of Vijay Sharma's work,reflecting her commitment to her work.At a time when systems are beingglobalised and along with that a new worldis emerging as a powerful reality in whichall aspects of life on the planet arebecoming more and more complex, it ishoped that this rich book that gives usfgndi •April-June 2013 :: 157

deep insight into the life and works ofNobel Prize winning writers will energizewriters in novel ways and stimulate readerswith hope.The Book Reviewed : Apni Dharti, Apna AkashAuthor : Ms. Vijay SharmaPublished By : Samvad PrakashanPrice : ...Oma sharma, born 1963, has published three collections of short stories. Besides he hasalso translated stegan Zweig’s book ‘The World of Yesterday’ in Hindi. He has also translatedmany other classic works. He received Vijay Verma Katha Summan in 2006 for his creativewriting. He resides in Mumbai.Satya Chaitanya : born 1952, has his management consultancy. He is visiting professor atXLRI and several other management studies’ institutions. He knows Hindi, Malayalam, Sanskritand English and translates multilingually. He lives in Jamshedpur.158 :: April-June 2013fgndi •

1. Ganga Prasad Vimal, 112, South Park, Kalkaji, New Delhi-1100192. Shobha Narain, 33, Siddharth Enclave, Ashram, New Delhi-143. Pradeep Trikha, Professor, Eng. Deptt., M.L. Sukhadia University, Udaipur-313039, (Raj.)4. M.S. Kushwaha, A-3/6 Corporation Flats, Niralanagar, Lucknow-2260205. Dr. R. Thillai Selvi, Asst. Professor, Hindi, Annamalai University, Annamalai Nagar,Chidambaram, 608002, Cuddalore Dist., Tamilandu.6. Oma Sharma, 4, Central Revenue Apartments, Narain Dabholkar Road, Napean Sea Road,Mumbai-400086, email : omasharma40@gmail.com7. Prof. Satya Chaitanya, 151 New Baradwari, Jamshedpur-831001, satyachaitanya@yahoo.com8. Dr. Premlata, 8, Dakshinapuram, Jawaharlal Nehru University, J.N.U. New Delhi-1100679. Shri, Ramesh Pokhariyal ‘Nishank’, 37/1, Vijay Colony, Ravindranath Tagore Marg,Dehradun (Uttarakhand)10. Dr. Gopichand Narang, D-252, Sarvoday Enclave, New Delhi-11001711. Mr. S.S. Toshkhani, Flat 8050, D-8, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi-7012. Prof. Shambunath, 389, G.T. Road, Howarh-71100613. Ms. Pramila Garg, 5/19, Roopnagar, Delhi-11000714. Anita Rakesh, C-7/57 East of Kailash, DDA Flats, II Floor, New Delhi-6515. Sarla Jai Ratan, C-12/14, DLF City, Phase-I, Gurgaon-11008516. Shri Manoj Mohan, LP 61 B, Pitampura, Delhi-11006817. Shri Doodhnath Singh, Writer-in-residence, Mahatma Gandhi Antar-rashtriya HindiVishwavidyalay Wardha, MH.18. Shri Sanjay Dev, A-9, 38, Sector-18 Rohini, Delhi-11008519. Dr. Vijaykumaran, C.P.V, Deptt. of Hindi, Central University, Kerala, Post. Vidyanagar,671123, Kasargod, Kerala. email : hindi.vijay@gmail.com20. Shri Tarun Bhatnagar, Bharat Bhawan, Shyamala Hills, Bhopal21. Ms. Kusum Ansal, 26, Firozeshah Road, New Delhi-11000122. Ms. Vazda Khan, G-264, II Floor, Sector-22, Noida, U.P.23. Ms. Chandrakanta, House No. 3020, Sector-23, Palam Vihar Gurgaon-12201724. Ms. Raji Narsimhan, B-107, Gulmohar Park, New Delhi-110049fgndi • Contributors’ AddressesApril-June 2013 :: 159

25. Ms. Kanan Jhingan, 48, Swastik Kunj, Sector-13, Rohini, Delhi-11008526. Dr. Ravinandan Sinha, Editor ‘The Quest’ 202, Preeti Enclave, Chandni Chowk, KankeRoad, Ranchi-83400827. Ms. Kim Yang Shik, 5F, Daehan B/D, 1465-11, Seocho-dong, Seoul-137-070, Korea,email : tagoresociety@hotmail.com28. Shri Gulzar, Boskiana, Palihill Bandra (West) Mumbai-40005029. Dr. Divik Ramesh, B-295, Sector-20, NOIDA-20301.160 :: April-June 2013fgndi •