Religion, especially the practices of the orthodox Hinduism into which she was born, hasremained a major concern in Goswami’s writing. It has also fuelled her uncompromising, directengagement with violence, custom and prejudice. Her novels have focused on subjects suchas the anti-Sikh pogrom in Delhi after the assassination of Indira Gandhi, and animal sacrificein one of Hinduism’s holiest shrines, the Kamakhya temple near Guwahati. Never afraid to takea stand on principle, whether as a woman writing about the sex trade or as a vegetarian con -demning animal sacrifice, she has made her art into a potent instrument of social change. Thishas brought her death threats from fanatics as well as the highest literary <strong>awards</strong> in India, suchas the Sahitya Akademi Award (1982, for The Rusted Sword) and the Jnanpith Award (2000). Hershorter fiction is equally admired and widely anthologised. She has published poetry in English,though she disclaims the title of poet, preferring to be known as a novelist and critic. She hasresearched the Ramayana tradition, comparing the Ramayana of Tulsidas with an <strong>11</strong>th centuryAssamese Ramayana. For many years she was Professor in the Department of Modern IndianLanguages and Literatures at the University of Delhi. Through her creative writing in her mothertongue and her translations, she has brought her native Assamese language to the forefrontof India’s literary scene.But Indira Goswami was not content simply to be a woman writer of exceptional creativityand brilliance. As President of the Nagorik Santi Mancha (Citizen’s Peace Forum) of Assam, shemade courageous attempts from 2004 onwards to broker peace with the banned militant group,ULFA (United Liberation Front of Asom) that had, for over two decades and at a cost of nearly10,000 lives, carried on a liberation struggle in the strife-torn state. Despite her own ill-health,and at great personal risk, she even offered herself as hostage to the rebels, many of whoseleaders she visited in jail or in their jungle hideouts. Their respect for her writing, her intellectualleadership, and her espousal of a proud Assamese identity within the fold of the Indian nation,gave her unique authority as a negotiator. Whether or not her efforts meet with final success,her commitment and endeavour are already an indissoluble part of the tangled politics of selfdeterminationin India.For Indira Goswami, then, the political is the personal as much as the personal the political.Her life and work have rendered irrelevant the tired labels of feminist, activist, reformer. In inter -views, she has politely disclaimed attempts to link her with any ideology save the human.Her writing is located as much in the body as the mind, celebrating the physical and materialdimensions of existence at the same time as it explores the realms of intellection and affect. Fora woman to write and act as candidly and fearlessly as she does is a remarkable achievement.But it is not as a woman writer that we should think of her, but as a writer and as a woman, asa person and as a poet, as a citizen and as an activist. In many ways the story of modern India,its pains, its struggles, its triumphs, its self-making, is inscribed on the creative identity ofIndira Goswami. Like the greatest art, it is not finished, not settled, not fixed: it is still in process,as she would admit with her characteristic humour and irony. In her own life, this capacityfor imaginative projection into the lives of others has enabled Indira Goswami to look beyondimmediate disappointment or tragedy to the permanence of art and even – odd as it may seem –the optimism of politics. Let us celebrate it today with something of her own spirit, hercombative, life-affirming, zest.342008 <strong>Prince</strong> <strong>Claus</strong> Awards
Extract from ‘The Offspring’With great difficulty the priest reached the verandah and shut his umbrella. His hands weretrembling. He looked extremely agitated. He squeezed out the water from his dhoti and said, “Your firstwife died under an inauspicious star, Pitambar. That must be the reason for what has happened now.”“What? What did you say? What is wrong now?”“It is said in the Shastras that when a person dies under this star even the shortest blade of grassin the courtyard burns to ashes. For you now, everything has become ashes!”Pitambar cried out in alarm, “What has happened? For God’s sake, tell me quickly!”“Alas! She has destroyed it. She has got rid of the unborn child. She will not carry the seedof a low caste. She is a Brahmin of Shandilya Gotra. Oh, Pitambar! Pitambar! She has destroyedyour child!”The youth walking along the Dhaneshwari had suddenly slipped and fallen into the river…One day, in the middle of the night, Damayanti woke with a start, disturbed by some soundscoming from the backyard, as if someone was digging up the earth. Alarmed and frightened, she wokeup her eldest daughter. Both strained their ears. Yes, yes, there were distinct sounds of diggingcoming from the direction of the bamboo grove behind the house. That was the very spot where bothmother and daughter had, some nights before, dug a pit for the aborted child! Yes, that was the nightwhen both mother and daughter were terrified by the frequent howling of the foxes as the daughterhad held the earthen lamp and Damayanti dug the earth with a crow bar in jerking movements andscooped out the loose earth with nervous hands.Thuk! Thuk! Thuk!They opened the window cautiously and looked out. They saw a man digging in the dim lightof a lantern hung from a bamboo tree nearby. Damayanti’s heart started beating fast. Was it Pitambarout there?Yes, it was! He was digging the earth with single-minded determination. Gradually the tempoof the digging increased. The Mahajan’s whole body and face assumed a terrible, violent aspect.He dug and clawed the earth frantically with frenzied energy.Damayanti’s body started trembling from head to foot. Her heart beat violently. What shouldshe do? Should she shout? Should she keep quiet? A terrible thing was happening!“Mahajan! Mahajan!”There was no response!Thuk! Thuk! Thuk! Thuk!“Why are you digging, Mahajan?”Pitambar looked up but did not reply.Thuk! Thuk! Thuk! Thuk!Damayanti became frantic. She shouted furiously, “What will you get from there? Yes, I haveburied it! It was a boy! But he is just a lump of flesh, blood and mud! Stop it! Stop it!”Pitambar raised his head. His eyes were burning. “I’ll touch that flesh with these hands of mine.He was the scion of my lineage, a part of my flesh and blood! I will touch him!”(Indira Goswami, The Shadow of Kamakhya,2nd ed., New Delhi: Rupa & Co, 2005)Culture and the Human Body 35
- Page 1 and 2: Prince Claus Fund forCulture and De
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- Page 6: Forewordby HRHPrince FrisoandHRH Pr
- Page 9 and 10: The 2008 Prince Claus Laureates rem
- Page 11: 92 Elia SuleimanLike Nazareth or Ra
- Page 14 and 15: IntroductionThrough its diverse pro
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‘Untitled’ from the series 'Go
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OusmaneSowOusmane Sow with one of h
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Exposing the Limitations of Categor
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Elia SuleimanPalestineBorn into a P
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James Iroha UchechukwuNigeriaJames
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Photographs at a slaughterhouse in
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‘Vaseline Beads’Photo © James
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An OverviewThe Prince Claus Fund is
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Artistic ProductionsInnovative cult
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One of the fashion shows at Alokpa
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Capoeira action in the roda in Sout
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Provoking the audience on the stree
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Stage on Redondo Beach, PeruPhoto
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118 2008 Prince Claus AwardsFilm st
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Essam Marouf, ‘Untitled’, 2007,
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‘Buddhist Religious Representatio
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Metis participants at the XVII Inte
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Poster for a performance in Burkina
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Rajanikara Leng Kaewdee in ‘Spiri
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Damage to cultural heritage at the
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‘Hidden Afghanistan: The Collecti
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Contributing AuthorsShahidul Alam i
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Els van der Plas, art historian and
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The 2008 Prince ClausAwards Committ
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Rahul Mehrotra studied at Ahmedabad
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Laureates of the Prince Claus Fund
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The 1998 Prince Claus AwardsThe Pri
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Faustin Linyekula, the 2007 Princip
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AcknowledgementsThe Prince Claus Fu
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The Prince Claus FundThe Board of t
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