A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

LANGUAGE DISCOURSE WRITING

Volume 4 July-September 2010

Editor Mamta Kalia

Kku 'kkafr eS=kh

Published by Mahatma Gandhi International Hindi University Hindi : Language, Discourse, Writing A Quarterly Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya Volume 4 Number 7 July-September 2010

R.N.I. No. DELENG 11726/29/1/99-Tc © Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

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2 :: July-September 2010 LANGUAGE DISCOURSE WRITING

July-September 2010

Contents

Heritage Captain Rashid Upendra Nath Ashk 7 Dachi Upendra Nath Ashk 18

Memoir The Graceful Charmer, Ashk Rajinder Singh Bedi 25 Qissa Khan : A Coloureful Storyteller Named Ashk Phanishwar Nath Renu 3 7 Muktibodh Harishankar Parsai 45

Poetry Ten Poems Badri Narayan 51

Discourse Hindi Literary Journalism Since Bhartendu Age Bharat Bharadwaj 59 Dalit Saint Poets of Bhakti Movement : Pride and Prejudice Subhash Sharma 69 Some Great Indian Literary Theorists Ravi Nandan Sinha 86

July-September 2010 :: 3 Short Story The Bamboo Kashinath Singh 94 The Brats Manisha Kulshreshtha 9 7 Saaz Nasaaz Manoj Rupra 108

Pages From A Novel Anitya : Thoughts in Jail Mridula Garg 134

Films Meena Kumari Kanan Jhingan 1 4 7

Book Review Abbu Ne Kaha Tha : Unpacking Swag of Pangs Rohini Agrawal 155

4 :: July-September 2010 Editor's Note

On a recent visit to Goa, I had the occasion to be present at the conferring of Jnanpith award upon Konkani author and national activist Ravindra Kelekar. It was an event in which the Government of Goa not only took active part but mobilised the entire literati to participate in it. Jnanpith laureate Ravindra Kelekar was not in the best of health that day. He remained seated during the award function. However the audience of 2000 strong accorded him a standing ovation for full five minutes. Lovers of Konkani language and literature thronged the auditorium to have a glimpse of their venerated writer.

The Hindi world could learn a lesson or two from this experience. Hindi has a great number of writers and scholars who have given a lifetime of service to the enrichment of the language. In Hindi, books are published in bulk and marketed all over the world. Considering the vast number of people who speak Hindi and no less who read it, the returns of this harvest to the writer are meagre. Even worse is the output in terms of social status. This history repeats itself from Nirala to Nagarjun and from Premchand to Amarkant. Upendranath Ashk whose centenary occurs this year was one brave author who broke free from the clutches of commercial injustice to set up his own publishing house in 1949. His writer wife Kaushalya Ashk took over the reins of Neelabh Prakashan and relieved him of all humdrum business chores. Except for a few short term jobs, Ashkji remained a freelancer throughout his life. He formed an ideal family with an understanding, sensitive wife and an intellectual son Neelabh. The three shared great vibrations and ruled an otherwise difficult literary town– Allahabad. Ashkji’s life was not luxurious but self dependent. We carry two of his famous short stories in our heritage column and two memoirs on him by his contemporaries. His son Neelabh has obliged us by giving us this archive material. It is noteworthy that the level of

July-September 2010 :: 5 mutual appreciation among writers was exemplary fifty years ago. Bedi and Renu were writers of a different genre but they warmly acknowledged Ashkji’s individuality. This type of tolerance is totally missing in present times.

Other short stories by Kashinath Singh, Manoj Rupra and Manisha Kulshreshtha are very significant for their content and style. Badri Narayan is known for his simplicity of diction and richness of content. We bring you some of his poems. In discourse Bharat Bharadwaj has painstakingly chalked out the history of Hindi literary journalism. We also have a candid study of dalit saint poets by Subhash Sharma and an analysis of poetic theory by Ravinandan Sinha. Our readers are well familiar with both of them. Hindi has a rich treasure chest of memoirs and we bring you one by Harishankar Parsai. He recalls Muktibodh in all his shades of personality.

Mridula Garg’s novel Anitya has been translated into English recently and we present one chapter from the same. Chandrakanta’s collection of short stories ‘abbu ne kaha tha’ is reviewed by hindi literary critic Rohini Agrawal. In films column, Kanan Jhingan’s portrayal of Meena Kumari speaks volumes about that superb suffering artiste.

Friends, you can well assess that the number of women writing in hindi is no less than that of men, in fact it may be greater. But this is incidental. After all gender is not important in literature. Women writers can not wear it like a badge or a banner. Every writer has to face the test of time.

6 :: July-September 2010 CAPTAIN RASHID Upendra Nath Ashk

Translated by Jai Ratan

“I was thinking of Hanif. Why don’t you find a place for him in your new scheme?” Captain Rashid had his tunic on and was pacing the room as usual, while buttoning it. At the same time he was feverishly

Heritage thinking of giving a face-lift to his weekly. His imagination ran riot. He had already appointed new, able and experienced sub- editors; had asked the press to cast new type-faces; had prevailed upon the headquarters to supply better quality news stock; had increased the number of pictorial pages and during his editorship, the paper had undergone a vast change and had become far more useful for the armed forces... His wife’s words fell dimly upon his ears as if he were in a state of somnambulism. He knit his brows and turning round, he looked at her in surprise. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, preparing a cup of tea for him. Capt. Rashid’s office started at nine, but he had made it a point to be in the office fifteen minutes before time. It was his belief that an officer should be at his desk before the clerks arrived. He would set the alarm clock for an early hour and the servant had instruction to bring the morning tea in the bed room, so that he would be ready to leave for office by 8:15. As she stirred the sugar in the cup, a faint smile played across her face, like the first reluctant streak of an autumn dawn, and

July-September 2010 :: 7 her face gradually reddened with the and down the room. She did not mind ordeal of a request. She looked at her the ‘title’ that her husband had bestowed husband from the corner of her eyes. upon her for asking him to fix up her Stirring the tea, she repeated her request. cousin’s husband with a job under his “I was telling you about Hanif...” control. When Rashid had donned the “You are a fool. “Capt. Rashid snapped. military uniform for the first time, his There was a scowl on his face. Picking elder brothers had laughed at him. up the cup, he again started pacing the “What’s the army coming to these days.” room. his eldest brother would say with a merry twinkle in his eyes, “that even such prize His wife watched him silently as he specimens have come to find a place strode to the other end of the room. in it”. The elder brother would recite Her gaze sliding down his fast balding a couplet saying: head, the back of which ended in pronounced bulge, took in his thin neck ‘Seeing my photo said that impish and rounded shoulders and came to rest beauty. on his feet. She realised that his gait This cartoon is fit for a newspaper.’ had undergone a great change. For that Their wives stuffed handkerchiefs into matter, she had noticed the change since their mouths to keep them from bursting the day he had been appointed to his into laughter and Mrs. Rashid hung her new position. His thin neck was always head with embarrassment. This was the stiff as if he had pulled a muscle. He reason, that now her husband’s stiff neck, walked on his toes and on reaching the his short temper, his droll appearance wall he pirouetted on his toes, like a and irascible nature gave her a sort of top taking a sharp spin. satisfaction. She knew that his elder Not only his gait, even his manners brother felt sorry for having made him had undergone a change. His gaze, which the mark of his witticism and that the previously was always subdued and bore eldest brother felt awkward at this reed- a puzzled and helpless expression, had thin man having made the grade. Hadn’t now changed into a bold stare, brimming he lived up to his boast that without with confidence. While talking, he would the recommendation and help of his Khan smile ironically, thinking the other person Bahadur father, he would come up in to be a damned fool or curl up his life. Through his own ability and lips, as if the other fellow was indulging perseverance he had risen to the rank in some silly prattle, unworthy of his of capt. and been selected for this notice. important post. His words still rang in For sometime Mrs. Rashid watched her ears: “I am the first Indian to be her husband sipping tea and pacing up made the Editor of this weekly. For the

8 :: July-September 2010 past half century this position has been he is poor and lacks contacts to pull invariably held by Britishers alone.” the right strings.” Mrs. Rashid looked at her husband Capt. Rashid could not hold back with great pride. He had finished his his anger. ‘You foolish woman,’ he said cup and after putting it back on the to himself, tantalised, ‘did I get where tea-tray was now nibbling at a biscuit. I am through anybody’s help? Hard work, She drained the cup in an empty glass ability, honesty– these are the keys to and pouring the tea for a second cup success. I have not made this scheme broached the topic again. “You know to give asylum to worthless creatures how much regard I have for Shamim. like Hanif. I have no use for drones. She’s a distant relation, no doubt, but I want diligent and experienced I hold her dearer than a sister.” journalists, who know the ropes!’ But She paused. Capt. Rashid was still he did not say all this to her. He cast pacing the room. She said again, “Auntie a pitying glance at his silly wife, and is worried about shamim. It’s now four looked at the watch. It was going on years since she was married. She has to be eight. “I want journalists, not clerks,” two children. But Hanif Bhai is still without he said shortly, and without touching a decent job.” the cup of tea, he strode out of the room. She put a spoonful of sugar and half a spoon of milk. Capt. Rashid continued Mrs. Rashid didn’t get up. She sat to walk. He knitted his eye-brows which stunned and although she had stirred furrowed his forehead and his gait became the sugar, she went on stirring the tea heavy. His wife continued: “In these absentmindedly. expensive times one cannot feed even one mouth on sixty rupees a month.” Capt. Rashid was the third and the She sighed. “And then Shamim has two youngest son of a military contractor, children and father and mother to care whom the Government had honoured for.” with the title of Khan Bahadur. In She stirred the sugar. Capt. Rashid comparison with his two brothers, he made no reply. His lips twisted and the was not much to look at, but he had scowl on his face deepened. “People an alert and agile mind. Although he without even the rudiments of English was no match to these two ‘bulls’ (who, are these days earning a salary of Rs. he used to say, had fattened themselves 200/-” she continued, without noticing on the ill-gotten wealth of their father) her husband’s expression who stood he was fired with the ambition of facing the wall. “Hanif, as you know, outstanding them in some other field has done his B.A. with Honours. But of activity. That was the reason, while

July-September 2010 :: 9 his two brothers were busy squandering to beguile the tedious hours which hang their father’s money, earned through heavy on them after a full day’s ordeal; legitimate or illegitimate means, he had when their thoughts turn to their homes, put his heart and soul into acquiring when they pine to know about the welfare an education. After completing his college of their near and dear ones, the condition education he went in for a course of of the land and the crops. The paper journalism. He had hardly finished his had been started to fill this need. In course when he was offered a commission the beginning, the newspaper was in the army. Although his father had confined to a bare two sheets, and its a big hand in getting him this position, editorial staff limited to a few persons. Capt. Rashid however, attributed his Although the two world wars saw achievement to his own talent and the addition of number of translator- diligence; he was fully convinced that clerks to the journal, and its establishment he was worthy of this position. also expanded considerably, yet its mode The weekly journal, of which he had of editing was as hackneyed and been made the editor, was not one of stereotyped as that of the earliest days. those countless newspapers, which had The bulk of its material was supplied sprouted overnight like mushrooms by the Government Information during the second World War. The paper Department. The sub-editor and the typist had been established about fifty years between them vetted the text, which ago and was intended for the armed was then typed out and distributed to forces engaged in fighting the tribals the vernacular sections for translation. on the Afghan border. When Capt. Rashid The vernacular sections were faithful took over its editorship, it was being versions of the parent English edition. published in several vernacular The gossip columns and tit-bits were languages. first written in English and then translated The armed personnel do not have into the various vernaculars, where the access to the general run of newspapers. jokes failed to come off, and the Hundreds of miles away from home they translations, often made quaint reading. have to fight in jungles, difficult mountain The English edition was actually intended terrain, forlorn deserts and isolated for the Officers, so that they could make pockets. Although even in those days sure, that nothing objectionable or every effort was being made to provide seditious was going into the vernacular wholesome diversion through games and editions. Not a line was changed, not recreations to fill the leisure hours of even the captions, to suit the vernacular these semi-literate soldiers, yet it was texts. felt that they must have a newspaper As soon as Capt. Rashid came to of their own, which should help them the helm and examined the paper with

10 :: July-September 2010 the eyes of a professional journalist, he “I can look after the English edition frowned and curled his lips. “It’s a rag.” myself”, he said, “And the Urdu edition he said in disgust, flinging it down on too. But what about the Hindi, Gurumukhi, the table. Within a week he had drawn Tamil, Telugu and Marathi editions? Are up a scheme to infuse new blood into we to leave them at the mercy of petty its degenerate body. clerks?” The eye-brows at Headquarters went Capt. Rashid’s proposals were up. Would the finance Department accepted. It was decided in the first approve Capt. Rashid’s scheme? What instance to appoint Sub-editors for the could be wrong with a paper which had four vernacular editions at Rs.250/- a stood the test of time for fifty years? month and also a Sub-editor for the To admit that there was something wrong English edition. with the paper amounted to accepting the fact that Capt. Rashid’s predecessors It was a deep winter morning. had been a pack of fools. Although past eight, there was no Capt. Rashid had gone to the sunshine, as if like the inhabitants of Headquarters fully prepared to meet his the surrounding bungalows, the sun was adversaries on their own ground. First, also reluctant to fling aside its quilt. he patiently explained to them the In the sky’s slumberous eyes traces of significance of the newspaper. This paper, sleep still lingered. A cold wind blew he said, was the only organ of its type scattering the dead leaves along the road for the other ranks and could play an and the foot-paths. But the earth was important role in moulding their way awake. In the bungalows, on both sides of thinking. Then he impressed upon of the road, eucalyptus, jamun, mango, them that the soldier today was not silk-cotton and neem trees kissed the the same as his compatriot fifty years sky in their nude apology. ago. Today, he was politically conscious But Capt. Rashid was oblivious of and sensitive to what was going on around the indolence of the sky or the him. It was, therefore, necessary to show exhilaration of the earth. He was obsessed a greater degree of astuteness in framing with only one thought, how to change the policies of the paper so as to cater the garb of his journal. In his mind’s to his new requirements. He also ridiculed eye he was already seeing his journal the idea of entrusting the editing to petty shuffling off its skin like a snake. With clerks, who were not only innocent of his hands thrust in his trouser pockets the rudiments of journalism, but also he was mentally interviewing candidates, incompetent translators. He picked up who had been called for interview to the Urdu edition and pointed out some fill the newly created jobs. howlers.

July-September 2010 :: 11 Although there were only four jobs, Department. Not that he was any good the number of applications was at this job. Far from being an efficient inordinately large. Out of these, Capt. translator, he was still raw at the game. Rashid had called only twenty candidates But he was a past-master in the art of for interview– five for each section, out humouring his superiors, which is an of which he would select the most eligible invaluable asset in a Government Office four. Of these applicants, some were and helps one clerk to score over his already working in responsible positions fellow clerks, gaining him quick on well-known dailies; he personally knew promotion. He would bully his less that they were competent. This was one fortunate colleagues into grappling with reason why he was having so much the work of translation, while he took difficulty in making up his mind. On upon himself to hail a taxi for the Sahebs; his way to the office, he vacillated between procure rations and poultry for them; one candidate and the other, not knowing or ingratiate himself into their wives’ in whose favour to throw his weight. favour by doing odd jobs. He had made The orderly was sitting on a stool it a point to be the first to greet his outside his office. He jumped to attention officer on arrival, and bid him farewell and saluted Capt. Rashid. at the time of departure. He would break into a broad grin at the faintest trace Lost in thought, Capt. Rashid passed of a smile on his officer’s face and start him; slid into the chair and then rang frowning when his officer became grave. the bell. It was because of these sterling qualities Like a puppet pulled by a string, that by gradual stages he had risen to the orderly briskly strode into the room. be incharge of a section. Before the “Yes Sir.” orderly could convey the Captain’s “Give my salaams to Panditji.” He message to him, he was standing before said and picked up the latest edition his boss, teeth bared in a smile. of the journal. Ignoring his smile, Capt. Rashid Of those clerks, who, taking a cue acknowledged his salutation with an from their officers, arrived before opening imperceptible nod of the head. time, Pandit Kirpa Ram was the foremost. Unable to plumb the mind of his Fifty five years of easy going life had new Indian master, whose ways were made him soft and rotund. Now bald so different from those of the British headed, with his front-teeth missing, he sahebs, Pandit Kirpa Ram gave another had joined service at a young age, and bland smile and then stood there looking acted as the translator of Gurmukhi, Urdu blank. and Hindi sections respectively from time “How many people are coming for to time. He was now incharge of the the interview?”

12 :: July-September 2010 Pandit Kirpa Ram ran out to fetch will not be able to pull his weight with the files. others. They’ll laugh at him.” Capt. Rashid picked up the latest “The government offices are full of edition of the journal. The very first fools– one worse than the other.” The page carried such a rich crop of misprints Khan Bahadur who knew all about the that his mind boiled with rage. He was set up, said. about to pick up the telephone to call “You are inducing me to act up the press, when the telephone bell dishonestly,” Capt. Rashid bellowed into rang. the mouth piece. His voice was so loud “Hello” His voice had a touch of that the clerks in the other rooms held asperity. “Chaddu.” It was his father at their breath. the other end. “Your mother has already “You are a fool.” He heard his father spoken to you about it. It’s about Hanif. bang down the receiver. Yesterday he came to see me in this Pandit Kirpa Ram placed the file of connection. And besides, he’s our relation the candidates before Capt. Rashid and you know...” stood before him smiling. Capt. Rashid’s “I can’t do anything about it, abba eyes blazed like live coals. The Pandit’s jan*,” Capt. Rashid said interrupting his smile died on his lips. father. “Hanif won’t make the grade. He’s ‘er...er... may I...?” unfit for this job.” “Yes, you may go.” “What do you mean by unfit? He’s B.A. (Hons.)” Holding the collar ends of his tunic Capt. Rashid started pacing in the room. “A B.A. (Hons.) does not necessarily make a good journalist, abba. I want The image of his father and that of a journalist, an experienced hand, who the other Khan Bahadur, the owner of can give a face-lift to our paper. Hanif the press, where his newspaper was does not know even the ABC of printed, flitted across his mind. He journalism.” wanted to vent his spleen on this other Khan Bahadur, for turning out such a “He’ll learn. Given a chance, a diligent shoddy job on his newspaper. He sat man can learn anything.” on his chair and was about to lift the Capt. Rashid felt exasperated at the telephone receiver when a car stopped brazen demand of his father. “This is outside and next moment Major Saleem, a newspaper office, abba jan,” he said wearing a languid smile, entered the room, controlling his temper, “Not a school with a young man in tow. of journalism. If I recruit a raw hand, Capt. Rashid got up from the chair what will my superior officers say? Hanif and saluted major Saleem. Instead of

July-September 2010 :: 13 returning the salute the Major, who was Poultry Farming. You know, how acute on friendly terms with him in private the problem of supplying eggs to the life, held out his hand. “Please, please, army has become these days. All units don’t be so formal.” He sat on the opposite are being encouraged to run their own chair and before Rashid could take his poultry farms. You’ll do well to serialize seat, introduced the youngman to him. Col. Hurdon’s book in your journal. Mr. “Here is Mr. Jyoti Swaroop Bhargava, Bhargava can prepare Hindi and Urdu B.A. He’s a well-known Hindi writer and versions.” a journalist. He’s equally at home with As if a big load was off his chest, Urdu. He’ll help you with the Hindi Major Saleem leaned back in his chair edition.” Again putting on that and lit a cigar. “The book will be of languorous smile, he rang the bell and immense interest to our jawans,” He asked the peon to give his salaam to added. “Most of our Jawans are peasants. Pandit Kirpa Ram. Many of them may take to poultry farming But seeing the car, Pandit Kirpa Ram after the war.” was already on his way to pay his respects Capt. Rashid found himself in a serious to Major Saleem. predicament. He had already made up “Panditji, this is Mr. Jyoti Swaroop his mind to offer the job to a renowned Bhargava, B.A.” Major Saleem said, “He’ll journalist, who was working on a leading assist you with the Hindi edition.” He Hindi daily. It became difficult for him nodded to the youngman to go with to sit in the chair; the strain was getting Pandit Kirpa Ram. Both of them left too much for him. immediately. Do you think this fellow will do justice “He’s Col. Chopra’s man,” Major said. to the job?” he said at last hesitatingly. You’ll have to accommodate him. You’ll “Even our translators have some have no trouble with him. He knows grounding in journalism. I was looking his job.” for a really capable journalist.” “On which paper is he working?” Major Saleem ignored his remark. “He has come from Burma and is “Col. Chopra has recommended your now working as a canvasser for a business case,” he said after taking a few leisurely firm. But while in Burma, he brought puffs at the cigar. out a paper by the name of ‘Burma “My case?” Capt. Rashid looked up, Samachar’. surprised. “But translation...” “He was saying, you should be “He has translated two English books promoted to the rank of a Major. Your into Hindi. One of them is Col. Hurdon’s predecessors, who were in charge of this

14 :: July-September 2010 newspaper were all Majors.” howlers were strewn all over the pages. Capt. Rashid wanted to have more To safeguard against such mistakes the particulars about Mr. Bhargava, but he Brigadier had suggested that the never came to the point of asking more newspaper should have an officer on questions. its staff, who had seen actual fighting and was fully conversant with military “Aren’t you coming to the meeting?” terminology. The other officers present Major Saleem suddenly asked. at the meeting heartily approved the “What meeting?” Brigadier’s proposal and told him that “With the Brigadier of course. He in fact they were themselves thinking has returned from the front and would along these lines. Col. Chopra went one like to discuss a few important things better and pressed for the immediate in that connection. Come along. I’ll give appointment of an officer of the staff you a lift.” of the newspaper. “But I have to interview the After the meeting the Brigadier called candidate.” Capt. Rashid to his room and introduced him to a Sikh Subedar. “He is a seasoned “At what time?” officer,” the Brigadier said, “And is fully “Between eleven and four.” conversant with all the military terms. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be back in Put him in charge of the Gurmukhi good time.” section.” Capt. Rashid had no alternative. “My good sir, I know next to nothing Leaving word with his assistant editor, about journalism,” the old Subedar had Lieut. Ali Gul Khan to take care of the said as he sat by Capt. Rashid’s side candidates, while he was away, he left in the Car. “I worked with the Brigadier for the Headquarters with Major Saleem. Saheb a long time back and he is very kind to me. I requested the Brigadier Saheb to put me on some other job, In the evening when Capt. Rashid as I had never seen the face of a returned from the Headquarters, A sikh newspaper, much less edited it. But the Subedar accompanied him. Brigadier saheb won’t listen to me. He At the meeting the Brigadier had made said, “well Subedar, you just try your a pointed reference to the technical hand at it. It’s not difficult. I’ll ask the mistakes that abounded in the paper. editor to teach you the game. I want He was particularly sore at the ridiculous an officer who has seen actual fighting rendering of the military jargon into to serve on the newspaper.” the vernaculars. For instance, ‘fox holes’ “Which front were you at?” Capt. was being translated as ‘fox’s dens.’ Such Rashid asked.

July-September 2010 :: 15 “My good sir,” the old Subedar said “Please do not worry,” Pandit Kirpa naively. “If I had to die a dog’s death, Ram said effusively. “Your instructions what was the point in coming here. will be carried out. As long as I am Unfortunately, I had enlisted in the there, my officers need have no worry.” Engineer’s Corps. I have no experience And when he came out with the of this line. And what is worse, our Subedar the smile on his face had Corps is shortly being drafted to the broadened into a grin. Burma front. I ran to the Brigadier Saheb, Capt. Rashid again rang the bell for “Sir,” I said, “If you want to help me, the peon. “Give my salaam to Lieut Ali.” it is now or never. There’s no one to look after my wife and children. If I “Did you get my instructions?” he am packed off to the front, what good asked Lieut. Ali, when the latter came will your kindness be to me there? The to him. Saheb has a soft corner in his heart “Yes Sir.” for me. He took pity on me and shunted “Have you interviewed the me off to you. I’ll do my best to learn candidates?” the job. If I make a success of it, the Saheb has promised to recommend me “Yes Sir, only for the Hindi and for decoration.” Gurmukhi sections. The others, I have asked to report tomorrow. Reaching his office, Capt. Rashid immediately sent for Pandit Kirpa Ram. “You should have disposed them of But the Pandit was already coming to too. The selection has been more or Capt. Rashid. He wanted to pay his less finalised.” respects to his boss and was eager to “Who has been selected for English?” know what had transpired at the “He’s the Director General’s man. The Headquarters. He stood before Capt. Brigadier told me that the Director Rashid and smiled ingratiatingly. General wants the English assistant to It was for the first time in three be a man of the highest calibre. It’s months that Capt. Rashid responded to the English Edition that feeds the other his smile. sections. Probably he is a man from “Subedar Saheb is the Brigadier’s the Headquarters.” recommendee,” he said. “He’ll be the “And the Urdu man?” Sub-editor of the Gurmukhi edition. The “He too has been selected.” Brigadier Saheb wants us to have a man Capt. Rashid picked up a file and from the Military wing on our staff. Please got engrossed in it. tell the Gurmukhi translators not to make things difficult for the Subedar sahib.” Although the file was before him, he could not sign even a single paper.

16 :: July-September 2010 Pushing away the file he got up from Hons.’’ Capt. Rashid said introducing the the chair, and holding his tunic collars youngman to Pandit Kirpa Ram. “He’ll he started pacing the room. look after the Urdu section.” It was past seven. Hesitatingly the Pandit Kirpa Ram bared his teeth peon peeped into his room. Capt. Rashid in a smile and bowed to Mr. Hanif. was still pacing the room as before. As they were leaving the room, he Next morning when Pandit Kirpa Ram heard Capt. Rashid saying, “Please tell came to Capt. Rashid’s room to pay his the translators to help him with the job.” salaams, he found a youngman sitting by his side. “This is Mr. Hanif, B.A. Upendra Nath Ashk (1910- 1996), renowned author

whose creative output like Premchand was first in Urdu and later in Hindi. He was born and educated at Jalandhar, Punjab and settled at Allahabad in 1948. Except for a few short term jobs in All India Radio and films, he was a whole timer in creative writing. He wrote plays, novels, short stories, poems, essays, memoirs and literary criticism besides editing the famous literary volume ‘sanket’. He was a progressive writer who led an eternal struggle against reactionary forces. He wrote regularly from 1926 to 1995. Most of his works were published by his writer wife Kaushalya Ashk from their own publishing house Neelabh Prakashan, named after his illustrious son who is a major poet and an intellectual in his own right. Ashkji’s major works are ‘girti deewaren’, ‘pathharal pathhar’, ‘garm rakh’, ‘badi badi ankhen’, ‘ek nanhi kandil’, ‘bandho na nav is thanv (novels); ‘anjo didi’, ‘tauliye’, ‘sookhi dali’, ‘lakshmi ka swagat’, ‘adhikar ka rakshak’ etc. (collections of plays); ‘akashchari’, ‘judai ki sham’, ‘kahani lekhika aur jhelum ke saat pul’, ‘chheente’, ‘ubaal’, ‘dachi’, ‘kale saheb’, ‘palang’ etc. (short story collections); ‘deep jalega’, ‘chandni raat aur ajgar’, ‘bargad ki beti’ (poetry collections); ‘manto : mera dushman’, ‘chehre anek’ (memoirs); ‘hindi kahaniyan aur fashion (lit. criticism).

Jai Ratan : born Dec. 6, 1917 Nairobi, veteran scholar of Hindi and English who has devoted a life time to translation. He worked as P.R.O. in a prominent business firm in Kolkata and was founder member of Writers’ Workshop. Hindi owes him a tribute for numerous prestigious English translations including Premchand’s Godan way back in 1955. He now lives in Gurgaon.

July-September 2010 :: 17 DACHI Upendra Nath Ashk

Translated by the author

Bakar– the Muslim Jat from the hamlet Pi-Sikandar-was greedily eyeing the dachi (She-camel). Chaudhary Nandu, who was resting beneath a tree roared, “You there! What are you doing?” And his six-foot tall massive body, which lay propped against the trunk, suddenly grew tense and his broad chest and rippling biceps showed

Heritage beneath his buttonless kurta. Bakar came a little nearer. His eyes flashed for a brief moment from the dark, sunken hollows and his face lit up in the black and dusty frame of his pointed beard. His moustache, closely trimmed over the upper lip according to his religion, quivered slightly and he said with a faint smile, “I was just looking at your dachi, Chaudhari. What a lovely, spirited animal she is!” Hearing his dachi praised, Chaudhari Nandu relaxed. Smiling he enquired, “Which one do you mean?” “There, you see. The fourth one from the left” Bakar said, pointing to the dachi. There were about eight or ten animals tethered under the shade of a tree; the dachi in question was craning her long and beautiful neck to pluck at the leaves. In the cattle fair, so far as one’s eyes could travel, nothing was visible except a large number of tall camels, black and ugly buffaloes, hefty bullocks and cows. There were quite a few donkeys too. But the camels predominated in this fair, which was being

18 :: July-September 2010 held in the desert near Bahawal Nagar. it.” With 150 rupees in his pocket Bakar Camels in this region were put to work excitedly said, “It is none of your business in a number of ways, mainly for transport to ask me for whom I am buying it. and agriculture. In the past, when cows Your only concern is the price of the could be bought for ten rupees and camel. Now tell me.” bullocks for about fifteen rupees, a good Nandu again looked critically at camel fetched no less than fifty rupees. Bakar’s weather-beaten face, the dirty Even now, when this area received an clothes and the rough pair of home- adequate water supply, camels have not made shoes. And to get rid of the fellow, lost their usefulness; in fact, those used he indifferently demanded a high price, for riding are sold for anything between “You must look for an ordinary camel two to three hundred rupees, and those elsewhere man, for I shan’t accept a employed for agriculture and transport, pie less than a hundred and sixty rupees.” for not less than eighty rupees. A quiver of joy crossed Bakar’s seamed Advancing a little closer, Bakar said, and weary face. He was afraid that “To tell you the truth, Chaudhari, I have Chaudhary might suggest a price beyond not seen a more beautiful dachi in the his capacity, but now he felt happy. whole fair.” He was short of only ten rupees and “Why just this one? Nearly all my thought, if Chaudhary does not yield, camels are equally fine, because I feed I will ask him for credit for this small them properly,” Nandu said proudly. sum. He was simple and naive, ignorant “Would you like to sell it?” Bakar in the ways of bargaining and haggling. asked with diffidence. Hopefully, he whipped out the folded bundle of notes from his pocket and “That’s what I have brought it here flung it at Chaudhary, saying “Well, you for.” may please count these. I’m sorry I “Then tell me a reasonable price for don’t have more. It is entirely up to it.” Nandu’s penetrating eyes surveyed you to finalize the deal.” Bakar from top to toe and he said, smiling, Nandu started counting the money “Do you want to buy it for yourself rather indifferently, but as he finished or for your landlord?” it, his eyes brightened. He had quoted “For myself!” Bakar answered an exorbitant price only to avoid Bakar. emphatically. One could get good camels for less than Nandu nodded his head somewhat hundred and fifty rupees and for this indifferently. He could not think of this one he had not expected anything more poor labourer being able to afford a than a hundred and thirty rupees. But camel. He said nonchalantly, “I’m afraid, he artfully wore a grave expression on my man, you won’t be able to afford

July-September 2010 :: 19 his face and told Bakar in a patronizing everywhere a thick layer of dust had tone, “My camel could easily fetch two settled. The drinking water was carried hundred rupees, but I will give it to from the canal, but by the time it reached you for a hundred and fifty rupees.” the fair, it invariably became muddy. Saying this he got up, untied the camel Nandu had thought of drinking some and handed the bridle-string over to him. water after the dirt had settled. But his For a brief moment, Nandu’s hard- throat was dry and parched. He gulped heartedness melted instinctively and gave the water greedily and pursing his lips way to a rush of natural tenderness. asked Bakar if he would like a cup of The camel was born and bred at his water. Though Bakar was thirsty now, place; and today, after all the years of he had no time to drink water. He was affectionate rearing, he was no longer in a great hurry to return to his village its master. His heart was inundated with before nightfall. Holding the bridle of the same feelings that come to a father the camel in his hand, he gently led at the time of sending his daughter to the animal through the blinding dust. the bridegroom’s place. He murmured Kameens by caste, Bakar’s ancestors softly, “I needn’t remind you to take were potters; but Bakar had given up good care of this camel. I brought her his ancestral occupation and eked out up with great love and devotion.” a meager living in the fields, working “You need not worry, Chaudhary. as a landless labourer. He had always I’ll tend it with the greatest care possible,” been lazy, and he could afford to remain Bakar replied, his heart surging with joy. so, because his wife, who loved him and cared so much for his comfort and Nandu put the money carefully happiness, worked very hard. between the folds of his waist-cloth, and then filled an earthen cup with water His carefree days, however, ended from the pitcher to slake his thirst. with his wife’s passing away about five years ago, leaving behind a doll-like Everywhere in the fair, huge columns daughter. On her death-bed, she had of dust rose towards the sky. Dust is whispered to him, “I am now leaving a common feature even in fairs held Razia all alone in your care. My last in the cities. The temporary pipes there hope is that you will save her from and the water-bearers sprinkling water all troubles.” the whole day long do not help much; it was no wonder then that in this desert This last wish of his wife altered the fair, dust reigned supreme: on the vender’s course of Bakar’s life. After her death, sliced pieces of sugar-cane, on the halva Bakar brought his widowed sister from and Jalebi of the sweetmeat-seller, and her village, and throwing off his slackness, on the spiced delicacies at the stalls– devoted himself conscientiously to

20 :: July-September 2010 fulfilling his wife’s wish. wish, he started going to the neighbouring He worked hard so that he might villages seeking more work. Very soon be able to buy good things for his daughter his daily wages increased with the volume to make her happy. Whenever he returned of labour he was putting in. During the from the market, little Razia would cling harvest season, he used to reap the corn to him, and fixing her eyes on his dusty in the field, thresh and cleanse the grain, face, ask, “What have you brought for and prepare fodder for the cattle during me, Abba?” Bakar would lift her onto the sowing season; he ploughed in the his lap and planting a kiss on her cheek, fields and did many odd-jobs. Whenever give her many toys and sweetmeats. he could not find work in the village itself, he would get up early in the As soon as Razia got these, she would morning and go to the market, trudging jump down and run away to show her a distance of 16 miles on foot, to do toys to her friends. odd-jobs there. All the time he was intent When she was eight years old, one on saving a good slice of his income day she asked her father, “Abba, I want with a miser’s frugality. Sometimes his a dachi. When will you buy one for me?” sister would say, “How much you have Poor, innocent child! How could she changed, Bakar! Never before you worked realize that she was the daughter of a so hard in all your life.” poor landless labourer who could not “You want me to remain a lazy lout afford a dachi? But lest he hurt the throughout my life? Hmmm...?” tender feelings of his daughter, Bakar “Oh no! I don’t mean that you should smiled and said, “My darling Razzo, what remain lazy, but I don’t want you to will you do with a dachi?” earn money at the cost of your health.” But he failed in attempting to distract And always, on such occasions, Bakar her. Razia had seen the landlord coming would almost instinctively be reminded to their hamlet riding on his dachi, with of his dead wife and her last wish. He his little daughter seated in front of him. would then throw an affectionate glance It was then that Razia had begun to at his daughter playing in the courtyard. long to ride one herself. And realizing A tremor of inexpressible bliss would touch the intensity of her longing, the last the inner-most core of his heart and a vestige of Bakar’s laziness had vanished. contented smile would play across his Although he had somehow succeeded lips; and a renewed sense of energy and in diverting the attention of his daughter enthusiasm would pervade his whole being. that day, he took a vow to buy her Today, after a long spell of hard work a dachi before long. To earn enough for nearly a year and a half, he had money in order to fulfill his daughter’s at last fulfilled his long-cherished desire.

July-September 2010 :: 21 He held the bridle-string of the dachi himself riding the dachi along the canal- in his hand and was returning home bank with Razia seated in front of him. along the path skirting the edge of the It was evening and mild wind was blowing. canal. It was evening. The rays of the At times a jungle crow cawed and flew setting sun had daubed the scene in about, flapping its heavy wings. Razia’s tints of gold. The air had turned damp joy knew no bounds. She felt as if she and in level fields, far away, a ‘red- were flying in an aeroplane... Again, he wattled lapwing flew low over the ground imagined himself visiting a market at repeating its shrill cry : tihu-tihu-hut... Bahawal Nagar with his daughter. She tihu-tihu-hut. Bakar was however looked curiously at the mountainous oblivious of the surrounding beauty. His heaps of grain and innumerable hackney mind roved through the meandering alleys carts. A gramophone was playing at a of his past. Sometimes a farmer riding shop and Bakar took her there. Poor on his camel would pass him. At times girl! She was at a loss, not knowing where the children of the farmers sitting on the sound came from, wondering if there big stacks of hay in the carts would really was a man singing from within affectionately urge on the pair of bullocks that box. Bakar went on explaining but and sing a broken line or two of a folk she did not understand a word of what song, or play with the ungainly camels he said and her eyes gleamed with wonder who followed the carts. and excitement... Swaddled in his own dream, Bakar While he was lost in these dreams, threw an indifferent glance at the his mind was arrested by a sudden thought enchanting landscape touched by the as he entered the village of his landlord. last rays of the setting sun. His village This was not a big village. All the villages was still a long way off. He looked back in this part of the country were alike. momentarily at the dachi mutely Even the biggest one had not more than following him, and then, with a surge fifty houses. Tiled roofs or brick walls of unutterable delight, hastened his steps were not to be found in this area. In to reach home before Razia went to bed. Bakar’s own hamlet there were only fifteen With his landlord’s village in sight, houses. They were in fact small thatched Bakar’s own hamlet was only some four huts. His landlord’s village was slightly miles away. His pace slackened a little bigger with nearly twenty-five huts. The and as he neared his destination his landlord’s house was made of brick imagination began to run riot. Bakar although the roof was thatched. visualized his daughter clinging to his Bakar stopped before the house of legs joyously, her eyes full of wonder Nanak, the carpenter. Before going to and curiosity as she looked at him holding the fair he had asked Nanak to prepare the bridle of the camel... He imagined a saddle for a camel, and now on his

22 :: July-September 2010 way home he was reminded of it. Should wearing a white turban, a matching white Razia insist on riding the dachi how shirt, a milk-white tehmad and a velvet could he manage without a saddle? He jacket over his shirt. When he saw the called out the carpenter’s name once dust-smeared Bakar, holding the string or twice but his wife’s shrill voice of a dachi, he enquired, “Where are answered from inside that he was not you coming from Bakar?” at home, and had gone to the market. Bakar bowed a little and saluting him Bakar’s heart sank. If Nanak had gone said, “Sir, I’m just returning from the to the market, he could not possibly cattle fair in Bahawal Nagar.” have prepared the saddle. Bakar drew “Who owns this dachi?” some comfort from the thought that he “It’s mine, Sir. I bought it there.” might have just found time to attend to it and he enquired again, “I had asked “What price did you pay for it?” him to prepare a saddle for my camel, Bakar felt like telling a lie that he I wonder if he has made it.” had paid Rs. 160/-, because he felt sure “I don’t know”, came the curt reply that such a handsome dachi was worth from inside. Rs. 200/-. But he could not tell a lie. “He was demanding a hundred and sixty Half of his enthusiasm ebbed away. for it,” he said with utter naiveté, “but It was no use taking the camel home reduced ten rupees for me.” without a saddle. Had Nanak been there, he could have taken an old one from The landlord threw a searching glance him, even if he had not prepared the at the dachi. He was desirous of buying one he had ordered. Then suddenly his a beautiful dachi for himself. Although eyes twinkled as he thought of a solution. he had a good dachi for riding, she He could see his landlord who had many had contracted a disease last year and camels and might spare him an old saddle had lost her former gait. Bakar’s dachi till he got his own. And he took a turn appealed to him tremendously. How towards his landlord’s house. lovely and well-proportioned were her neck and features, her white and grey The landlord had amassed a huge complexion adding to her beauty. fortune while in government service, and when the canal was extended to this “Well, you take Rs. 160/- from me. area he had at once bought many acres I’ve been on the lookout for a camel of land cheaply. He was now earning myself,” the landlord said. a handsome rent from his lands after “Sir, I am sorry. I have bought the his retirement. camel to fulfill the long-cherished desire He was smoking a hookah as he of my little daughter,” Bakar mumbled. reclined there in his courtyard and was A chill of fear ran through his whole

July-September 2010 :: 23 being, but his lips trembled to form a two.” And without waiting for a reply weak smile. he turned away. Noore had once again The landlord rose to his feet, and started cutting grass. The landlord again coming near the camel, he gently patted shouted “O you, Noore! Better leave the its neck. “Oh, what a lovely dachi you fodder for the buffaloes now. Go and have bought, Bakar! You may take Rs. feed the dachi at once. She looks so 15 extra. Agreed?” hungry.” He called for Noore, his servant, who And coming closer to the camel he was cutting grass for the buffaloes. He appreciatively patted it. came running with the scythe in his hand. The landlord told him, “Take this The moon had not yet risen. There dachi and tie it over there. I am buying were a few stars twinkling in the clear it for Rs. 165/-. How do you like it?” azure sky, and in the distance the dumb Noore snatched the bridle-string from acacia trees took on the appearance of Bakar’s hand, who stood dumbfounded dark patches. When he reached his hamlet, and sorrowful, and eyeing the camel said, Bakar lurked behind a bush and looked “She is indeed very handsome, Sir.” breathlessly at the dim light that issued The landlord took out Rs. 60/- from from his hut. He knew that Razia would his pocket and gave them to Bakar with still be awake in anxious expectation a crafty smile, “Just now a tenant has of his return. And he waited for the given me this money and perhaps it lamp to be put out, so that he might was destined for you. Keep it now and enter his hut after she had gone to sleep. I’ll send you the rest in a month or courtesy : Neelabh

24 :: July-September 2010 THE GRACEFUL CHARMER, ASHK Rajinder Singh Bedi

Translated by S.S. Toshkhani

The year was 1936. A condolence meeting was held at a local hotel in Lahore to pay homage to Munshi Premchand. It was just the beginning of my literary career. I must have Memoir written about a dozen short stories or so, which slowly began to appear in literary magazines after minor difficulties. The entire batch of us new writers was influenced by Premchand. That is why all of us were feeling as though we had lost our godfather. That was the reason why I too went there to make my sorrow known to others and make the sorrow of others my own. It also occurred to me that this would enable me to meet the real inheritors of Premchand’s legacy, whom I knew indirectly but had never met. The programme of the condolence meeting began. It is rarely that good writers are also good speakers. Some people made very good speeches. Some such people too were in the meeting who beat their breasts and created a mournful atmosphere. They all were ‘pamphleteers’. This reminded me of Sharatchandra Chatterji’s Devdas who, when his father died, asked customary mourners wailing and weeping in a corner of the house to go to his worldly brother, saying, “Over there. That side.” There were some “this-siders” also in that meeting. One of them– a brown complexioned guy with his forehead as if a slate placed slantingly against the wall, his hair arranged in Tusharkanti Ghosh style, his eyes covered by Harold Lloyd glasses– got up.

July-September 2010 :: 25 He was dressed in dhoti-kurta– a mosque to him during his lifetime, which gave above, a temple below– tired-looking; the impression of emotional intimacy distracted; sad; dead ages before death... with a fellow writer rather than “guidance” “I want to say something”, he said, or “solution of problems”. In those joining his fingers to his thumb and moments of grief, these letters had extending his hand towards the chairman. become more of a literary treasure than mere letters. Even though the chairman had not yet given the permission, he went to This was Ashk. I had not even met the table and began to speak in a coarse him before this. I had no doubt read voice and rough accent. It appeared him in Sudarshan’s magazine ‘Chandan’, as if he was straightening the humps but not seen him. I had not even seen of Hindi and Urdu with a Punjabi hammer– a picture of his. Those who know Ashk Now he set out for London, arrived in will say that this cannot be possible, Calcutta; then people saw—“Oh, he is for Ashk, besides writing and editing, roaming in Coimbatore!”; no he is in also believes in publicity and regards Delhi; and just then he arrives at his the writer who knows merely how to destination in an imaginary jet plane. write not only as a fool of the first As for his speech, it was like the gait order but also stupid. of a person who has boozed a little too Later, I too noticed – with absolute much to drown his sorrow. But he didn’t informality, Ashk foists an absurd-looking bother about anyone. He went on photograph of his on an editor or a speaking in the “nalaa paaband-e-nay publisher and the poor fellow has to nahin hai” 1 (“the gushing water is not publish it willy-nilly. And what a bound by the pipe”) mode and, standing photograph it is. Front one fourth, three- at one side of the table, looked as if fourths or profile with the locks falling he was father of the whole universe and on the shoulders or if the face is well all else were his children who were playing shaven, then hair is very skillfully and should be allowed to play. fashioned into curls. After closely looking In spite of all this, his speech was at it for sometime, one thinks it is of effective, because it came straight from a man... now bare, now covered … If the heart, which does not accept rules earlier there was a Gandhi cap on the of grammar. It was suffused with a pain head, now he has a felt hat placed and restlessness which falls to the share deliberately aslant on the head, making of the devastated and the geniuses only; him look foppish. What is more, even its illogical reasoning leaving the he himself is smiling. Or else he is donning ‘pamphleteers’ dazed. He was referring a black curlew cap … with his eyes half- to the letters that Premchand had written open, trying to look very much like a

26 :: July-September 2010 coquettish charmer– which is irritating to Munshi Premchand and yet he was to the eyes of thousands of his readers, different. Munshi Premchand must have yet finds a place in their hearts. In written letters to so many other people the words of Hafiz2 , ‘he is relaxing in in his life, but the letters to which Ashk the private chamber of the heart and was referring pointed to something that the world is under the illusion that he they both shared… is sitting in the assembly’. I, who want The meeting came to an end. Those to see a beard only on the face of an days I was working as a postal clerk enemy, and because of that phobia do and was, hence, greatly afraid of public not even look into the mirror, see a complaints. I, therefore, approached French-cut goatee on his face. Nobody Ashk slowly and gingerly. He was knows what Ashk will look like in his discussing something with some editor. next photograph, not even Ashk. Because, Discussion for discussion’s sake has been despite his slender body and mind as Ashk’s hallmark to this day. It is not sharp as a razor’s edge, Chanakya’s that what he wants to say has no logic intelligence and far-looking eyes, Ashk or weight. It has everything, and yet fully respects only the present moment it has nothing. Ashk derives some sort in which he is living at that time. He of a vicarious pleasure from it and uses enjoys life not only through the senses all the weapons of argument and debate but his consciousness too is involved to make his point heard. A man may in it in full measure. If anybody has be saying something quite sensible, but 3 wrongly understood Krishnamurti’s Ashk tells him that it is two different discourse on the present, it is Ashk. things they are talking about and puts May be in one of his next photographs him in such a dilemma, such a quandary, he may appear in a Jogi’s dress with that he goes off the track and you know 4 one hand raised to pronounce ‘chhu’ what follows once a train goes off the on the spectator. The matter does not track. The opponent is left smarting end here. The photograph may even with impotent rage. If he is clever and be published in some novel ‘tender as does not want to be drawn into a wrong a flower bud’, but strong enough to ‘cut kind of discussion, then Ashk can be through the heart of a diamond’. seen bursting into a loud laughter and May be some primeval friendship or saying, “You’ve become serious, yaar!” lasting relationship was destined to be And while the opponent has still not established that even though not understood him fully, Ashk holds his introduced to Ashk, I was convinced hand and says – “Actually, I too am that this man could be none else than saying the same thing as you are.” And Ashk. Ashk was the only one among what else can the other person do after the writers of that era who was close this but feel stunned and think what

July-September 2010 :: 27 a silly person he is or feel angry that How far does a man’s ego reach? he has been unnecessarily made to Indeed, what a big forest this world is, exercise his tongue. The result in both what a vast desert in which he wanders the cases is the same. If someone is as though lost, wishing every moment displeased, Ashk wins the day, if someone that someone should recognize him isn’t displeased, then too Ashk wins the someone should call his name. And if day – it is a win-win situation for him that happens, how happy he feels. A every way. As I slowly went towards child slowly learns to say his name and Ashk, the editor had already faced the begins to distinguish himself from others. music. Now it was my turn. I stepped But when he grows up, acquiring his forward and said – worldly name, how hard does he strive “Ashk Sahib…! to know his real name and after being identified by it cannot distinguish it from Ashk swiftly turned round and fixing God’s name. And then in spite of his his gaze upon me started looking right desire to merge in Him, he wants to through me. Now, if you fit a camera retain his own separate identity as well. with x-ray light instead of the ordinary If I recognized Ashk without any one, what will even the best romantic introduction, he too recognized me at scene be like? What else than a skull one glance. I was a very small writer collides with another skull, a skeleton and such a big writer knew me by my raises its arm and it gets stuck into name. another skeleton’s throat, and it comes to be known that a member of the other … No, no, he even mentioned the sex has been pulled closer not to hug titles of one or two short stories of but to smother. And then where is mine, which had appeared those days the throat? …“Ashk Sahib, for a long at short intervals in some Lahore time it has been my desire to…” journals… He was even admiring them. … Can it be true? Is there a place “You…?” And then, (dropping the for an incapable postal clerk like me honorific aap) the next very moment, in this vast desert?… he was saying, “You are Rajendra Singh Bedi, I presume?” Whether a place was there or not, whether even now there is a place or Suddenly I felt as though I had not, that is not to be argued. If Ashk forgotten my name. At least I certainly likes someone, he also accepts him and felt that Rajendra Singh Bedi was some makes a conscious effort to create a other person, and I just happened to place for him in this world of name know him. Then coming to my own, and address. This is something that I said, “Yes, Mr. Ashk, Rajendra Singh I have found abundantly in Ashk. Today Bedi is what they call me.” when I look back at the thirty years

28 :: July-September 2010 of my literary career, I bow my head were walking on foot. Ashk was the with regret – I for one have not helped one who was doing the talking and I any new writer as Ashk has. I too could was listening. He wanted to say so many have praised someone, criticized things. Why was it so, I came to know someone, and made someone’s path easy later. At that time, we were talking for him. But Ashk is Ashk and I like a newly wed couple, who say a am I! Even now when I meet Ashk lot many things to each other for the and find him mentioning some new whole night and on the next day wonder writer’s name, I feel surprised. The what they had said. Walking on foot love that one has for oneself all the and chatting with each other, we reached twenty-four hours turns into hate, and near Anarkali where Ashk showed me because a man loves himself in all his house. circumstances, one feels annoyed with Ashk’s house was a little away from Ashk. … What is the reason for this the Anarkali Market in a densely weakness that I have? It may perhaps populated back lane where women could be difficult for me to explain this and be heard talking with one another face for someone to understand! To make to face from their houses: “Sister! What things simple, I will confine myself to have you cooked today at your place?” saying that from the beginning I have She replies, “I haven’t cooked anything been suffering from some kind of today as he is going to eat out. Could inferiority complex, and despite all my you please send me a katori5 of daal.” efforts, despite being praised and admired And if you happen to pass by lost in by others, I have not been able to shake your thoughts, garbage is likely to fall it off. For instance, I do not have on your head from above and set your confidence in myself… Why do I not mood right. The lane is not wide enough have confidence? If someone wants to for one to jump over and stand on one understand it, he shall have to live my side. And then there are windows facing life, and to know why Ashk has it, he each other. A boy standing at a window shall have to live Ashk’s life. holds the hand of a girl bending from Next very moment we were talking the opposite window and scratches her like two friends, as though we had known palm. This is a common scene in Lahore, each other for years. … It was summer, showing that in matters of amour there perhaps, and the sky was covered by is no place in the world that beats a cloud of dust. The dust had risen Lahore!... And it was in this very lane from the dirt tracts below and carried that Ashk lived. There is a difference upward by tramping of countless horses in the way you pronounce ‘ashk’ (meaning and unbridled winds and was now coming “tears’ in Urdu) and ‘ishk’ (meaning ‘love’), down slowly, particle by particle. We but it comes to the same thing. Who

July-September 2010 :: 29 knows when ‘ishk’ will change into ‘ashk’ Ashk’s writings have characters that and vice versa? … Ashk had a two- revolt against their parents. And it was storey house, with his dentist brother because of the overbearing personality Dr. Sharma living in the upper storey of his father that Ashk left paternal shelter with his wife and children, and Ashk to find a place for himself in life. The and his library – his workplace – located son threw a challenge, the father took in the lower. To reach it you had it up, and both were victorious. For, to pass through “heaven for the thin he who was buffeted by storms and had man” and “hell for the fat man” type faced hostile winds of life, who fell a of stairs. There was a rope, soiled by victim to a mortal illness like tuberculosis people’s hands repeatedly holding it. If but mocked death and escaped it, who you did not hold it for going up the despite utter poverty and indifference stairs, there was every danger of your of friends and kith and kin steadfastly tumbling down. … It was in this narrow ran the business of writing and and dark house that Ashk lived. It was publication in a jealousy ridden city like here that he would write in the wishy- Allahabad, could have been the son of washy style of an artist, cross what he such a father only. wrote, and then write again — erasing Ashk’s parents had brought six sons old lines and drawing new ones. Writing into this world (actually they had brought was a habit for him and an act of worship seven but one of them died in infancy), too. It was something that transcended and all of them males. They were brought life, and transcended death as well! up in Jalandhar, a zone which produces Ashk began to earn his livelihood gems of men; where every person is from his childhood. His father was a a poet or a singer; where the Harvallabh stationmaster, who had the habit of festival is held every year; a place to drinking and neglecting home. Whenever which maestros of classical music are he would proceed towards home, it was drawn from the whole of India and yet for reprimanding or thrashing someone are afraid to sing because every child – quarreling with his wife, thundering there is a ‘connoisseur’, knows where at her, or suspending a child upside a note has gone wrong and so feels no down and beating him up mercilessly. need for showing deference to anybody. He looked like a tyrant and thought like In whichever corner he may be sitting, a tyrant. A decision once taken was he will call out from there with an final and irrevocable. To this cruel man invitation to kneel submissively before was married an extremely gentle woman, him or his guru and learn music from Ashk’s mother. Her husband’s atrocities him for several years. During winter had left permanent lines of sorrow on nights, he will sit around a fire and her face. In addition to domestic quarrels, start recitation of couplets, which will

30 :: July-September 2010 go on until morning hours. … Every is father’s voice – the roar of a lion, person of that city considers himself hearing which the whole jungle falls silent. a genius, and if anybody does not accept In this mountainous zone, there is no him as one, then a hand will rise and fox — not one sister (one was born, go straight towards the turban of the but did not survive). Gentle as a cow, person who does not accept it mother trembles when father sits with straightforwardly, and then it could come the bottle in front of him. He commits to even abuses and blows. … All the a mistake but being a Brahman, he also six brothers were products of that city knows how to obtain pardon. He sings: and it is not surprising that each one “O lord, do not mind my vices!” of them was a well-known figure in his Ashk’s father was proud of being a own field – possessor of a personality Brahman. He was the descendant of that only he will deny who wants to that Parshuram who had decimated invite trouble. It so appears that a Kshatriyas twenty one times, axe in hand. punch is also a part of an argument. These descendants of Parshuram And, if for some reason he is unable intimidate Kshatriyas, whose profession to land a punch, he will at least be it was to kill and be killed and who raising hue and cry without any reason. were not subdued by anyone, and are Cries of, “Oh I’m dead! They’ve killed not even today. It seems that boozing me!” will be heard, with people pretending by Ashk’s father increased after the birth not to have heard them. It is not just of a couple of children. …After fairly one-day’s affair that one can do good names like Surendra Nath, Upendra something about it. Every day the roar Nath, he came to Parshuram, who was of someone or the other is heard from the third among these brothers. The this house. They are all lions, the six reason for this was that they lived in of them. If an elder brother pins the that quarter of Jalandhar where other one down under his weight, the Kshatriyas (Khatris) were always at younger one too will not desist from daggers drawn with Brahmans. About growling. If nothing, he will raise an a year back the Kshatriyas of the locality outcry. Nothing here happens without had mercilessly beaten up their mentally noise. There is commotion all around. unsound uncle in absence of Ashk’s father Two of them will be going hither, three as Ashk’s gentle mother and great- of them thither. They are coming out grandmother looked on helplessly with of their den; someone is being beaten suspended breath. Since then Ashk’s up for allowing himself to be beaten outwardly weak and gentle mother had up. This is followed by everyone coming taken a vow in her mind, and it was out to roar. A roaring voice is drowned because of this vow that the new- born by a still louder roar— “Silence!” This baby was named Parshuram. From his

July-September 2010 :: 31 childhood the child was told: “What! … of the locality and sent them to hospital. You cry although you are Parshuram, It is obvious that Parashuram was the he who decimated the entire Kshatriya hero of this war. He single-handedly clan and did not bat an eyelid?” … vanquished all his enemies. Although And the child would stop crying, thinking he himself was wounded and also fell that he will destroy all Kshatriyas when into the clutches of law, everybody was he grows up. … Ashk’s father named glad that the soul of the mad grandfather the fourth son as Indrajeet – son of would be feeling happy watching all this. the Brahman Ravana, who subdued Indra, These then were the main characters the king of gods, and made the Kshatriya of Ashk’s play ‘Chhatha Beta’ (The Sixth Lakshman unconscious by shooting Son) and his voluminous novel ‘Girti shakti-baan (arrow consecrated in the Deevaren’ (The Crumbling Walls). Ashk name of Shakti, the goddess personifying was the second of these brothers. Then divine power) at him. Were it in the the wives of these brothers started power of Ashk’s father, he would rewrite arriving. Goats began to be tethered the whole of Ramayana wherein it would by the sides of lions. Now, you say be proved that the Brahman Ravana was how they could have any food or drink. the hero and the Kshatriya Ramchandra Even if they did have food or drink, the villain. would it at all be wholesome for the About Ashk’s mother, astrologers had body in such an atmosphere of mutual predicted that she would be the “mother violence and commotion that prevailed of seven sons”. In the first place she in the whole house? Before the house would never have a daughter, and even in Anarkali, Ashk lived with his elder if she had one it would not survive, brother in an extremely damp, narrow the joy of kanyadaan (giving away a and dark house in the Changad locality daughter in marriage) was not written where they did not have air but each in her fate. And that is exactly what other’s breath to inhale. In this happened. Only boys fell to her share ‘Hairatabad’ or ‘place of surprises’, the and, because of the teaching they utmost that the women could do was received, each one was a brasher, more to cry or feel choked. belligerent than the other was. The When Ashk’s wife Sheela came as a vengefulness of the Pathans is well known bride, she was a plump girl of tawny in the history of the world, for they complexion laughing about everything. bequeath their feuds, like their property, She began to feel choked in the to their children in inheritance. But atmosphere of this house. Still, she Ashk’s parents were no less vengeful. would laugh at the earliest opportunity. In the end, a day came when Ashk’s It appeared that nothing could suppress brothers had thrashed all the Kshatriyas her laughter. I have not met Sheela,

32 :: July-September 2010 but in Ashk’s room in Lahore and later work. Meanwhile, Sheela gave birth in the room of his elder son Umesh to Umesh –Ashk’s eldest son. She fell in Allahabad, I surely have seen her ill because of the atmosphere in the photograph in which she is smiling. Even house and lack of nutritious diet. Ashk death could not suppress her laughter had not yet taken his F. E. L. examination …. Ashk would remain very busy those when the doctors suspected it to be days. He would take a close look at tuberculosis. Ashk did not accept defeat. his writings, take them to the market He passed his F. E. L in the first division. to see if they were selling or not. Some During his L. L. B. he took her to Lahore of them sold while some did not. Some and got her admitted there to the Gulab money was realized and some was not; Devi Hospital, eight miles away from but it was because of these very writings the city. Now he would do literary that he got a job of an assistant editor writing on one side, study law on the in the Urdu daily “Bhishma’ and later second, and on the third side visit Sheela in the ‘Bande Mataram’. During leisure twice or thrice a week in the hospital, time, he would engage himself in ghost which was situated away from Model writing – manuals written by Ashk sold Town even. He did not believe that in thousands but all he got for them fate would take this cruel joke to the was peanuts. Then another incident took limits of baseness. He thought that Sheela place. Ashk’s father-in-law became would get well, but even as he passed insane. His mother-in-law began to his law exam with distinction, Sheela work as a maid in the house of a rich passed away. God gave with one hand man. For her even taking water at her and took away everything with the other. son-in-law’s house was taboo, and she Now there was no order, no purpose wanted to be near her husband. This left in life. Ashk gave up the idea of hurt the sentiments of Ashk and Sheela. becoming a sub-judge. She for whose Ashk decided that he would give Sheela sake he wanted to become a sub-judge such a position and status socially that was no more. … He picked up his pen her inferiority- complex would go. He in a state of terrible sorrow, terrible decided to sit for the examination for grief, endless exhaustion and engaged a sub-judge’s post. himself in literary creativity, as it was Now he began to study law. Literary by burying himself in literary creativity work, college studies, tuitions during the alone that he could forget, to some extent, day and personal study and reflection that terrible tragedy of his life. It was in the evening. He had books as large domestic quarrels, dreadful as mansions, but the stuff of which Ashk circumstances, social injustice which he was made, the bone of which his spine formed the subject matter of his writings. was formed, could withstand any hard During this period he had already started

July-September 2010 :: 33 writing his novel ‘Girti Diwaren’ (‘The people do not normally tell everything Crumbling Walls)’, which can also be about themselves and that too to a person partly regarded as Ashk’s autobiography who is meeting them for the first time. and which is his greatest attainment. But Ashk wanted to say so many things Along with this, he also wrote the mini- to me. It was good that he found me, stories– Konpal (The Sprout), Gokhru, otherwise he would have talked to the Sangdil (Stonehearted), Nanha (Little walls, unburdened himself before the lamp Child), Pinjra (The Cage), which bear post on the street. …Till then it was a clear imprint of his extreme dejection. past midnight. The dust had settled, but Perhaps Ashk will bear witness to the sky hadn’t cleared yet. At some places, my statement that he had been in love a star in its keenness to show off had with only one woman in his life and started displaying its twinkling beauty, that woman was Sheela, because for all piercing through the layers of fog, dust his awareness, he did not know in that and smoke. While listening to Ashk, I age what love is. Nor did Sheela know. sometimes laughed and sometimes my Both of them were living, sometimes eyes brimmed with tears. ...Now I had for their own sake, sometimes for each begun to feel a bit bored. The thought other. And it was a love which was that Satwant—my wife—would be waiting effortless in its every act, which wasn’t for me at home also crossed my mind. dependent on any name or quality. .. Until convinced that he is a wanderer, . Even after this Ashk was in love, but every woman dispatches some horses it was love from which the passion was after her husband. Some of them turn missing. He had acquired a certain out to be asses, and among them was maturity that made it possible for him a relative of mine who was sent to look to leave Maya, his second wife, only for me. Ashk came down to give me one month after marriage and say to company for some distance so as to Kaushalya, his present wife, “Darling! see me off. He couldn’t go far for he I am tired in this journey of life. I had taken off his dhoti-kurta and changed 6 do not have anymore that flare of youth into his undershirt and tahband after in me. If you are looking for that in he had reached his home. But letting me, then it is futile. I am not worthy off squibs of talk, we came out of the of that love which flashes like a flame. big market of Anarkali and emerged in I can give you the love that cooks on front of Church Society, and from there low heat and therefore tastes good.” to Mall Road… towards my home… As we reached Golbagh, the same relative Thus it was that Ashk took me to of mine passed by us, singing (as we his house and talked about a hundred came to know afterwards): things. He revealed to me all about himself without any reservation. Experienced Chitthiye dard firaq waliye

34 :: July-September 2010 Laija laija sunehda sohne yaar da “Where have you been so long in (O letter of pangs of separation, carry, the night?” she asked me. oh carry, my message for my charming “In hell”, I replied, “Come with me Love) for a moment to the drawing room. A We sat down on a bench, free from very distinguished writer has come to all cares. Slowly, I began to feel somewhat meet me.” perturbed on account of my wife. I “At this hour?” tried to get up, but Ashk was reciting “Yes. You just come.” a poem: Holding Satwant’s hand I took her You will depart, this very moment, into the drawing room. Till then Satwant this very night had started thinking about writers with Leaving my cottage desolate some respect. She quickly overcame Entrusting me with the task of burning her anger and putting on her face the for ages make-up of “as if nothing happened”, she followed me into the drawing room And I was admiring him. I certainly and was frightened to see a man dressed liked the poem, but was also worried in that manner. At that time, Ashk was about home. Now the situation was that looking like a hoodlum of Bhati Darwaza I ‘wanted to leave hold of the blanket of whom all women of Lahore were afraid but the blanket was not leaving hold and if he appeared before them they of me’. At last, I mustered courage, would leave the road and stand on one but the words I uttered were nothing side. .I did not like this gesture of Satwant. less than an apology. As I got up, But what could I do. I extended my Ashk too got up and walked along with hand towards Ashk first – “This is Upendra me… Talking with me all the way… he Nath Ashk!”—and, then towards my wife– was standing in front of my house. “My wife Satwant.” My child opened the door and I went At once Ashk called my wife by name– quickly inside, opened the door of my “Don’t mind, Satwant,. I have come drawing room and asked Ashk to be casually dressed”, he said, pointing to seated there. In spite of the hot weather, his undershirt and tahband. ”You see, my wife, Satwant was waiting for me I am a careless sort of fellow.…” downstairs. She was the wife of an ordinary clerk, who wanted to see her Then striking his hand on my hand husband sitting near her knee within with force, he laughed — so loudly that half an hour after office and now it was his lungs could have burst. A sparrow already past midnight and, “bad thoughts that had made its nest on the cornice were coming to my mind.” She Said. flapped its wings. Someone switched

July-September 2010 :: 35 on the light in the house opposite and wife could say anything, Ashk was telling looked from the balcony. Before my her – “Satwant, I am very hungry.”

Courtesy Neelabh

1 A line from a ghazal by Mirza Ghalib 2 Hafiz Shirazi, a 14th century Persian poet. 3 Well known modern thinker 4 A blowing sound pronounced after incantation 5 A shallow metal bowl 6 A cloth worn by men round the waist

Rajinder Singh Bedi (1915–1984), his mothertongue was Punjabi but he wrote in Urdu. Equally accepted in Hindi as a foremost writer of short stories and novels. He worked for some years in the post office and All India Radio. Later he became a full time writer. He was interested in cinema and made an art film ‘garm coat’. His novel ‘ek chadar maili si’ was adapted for cinema and fetched him sahitya akademi award as well. His other famous works are ‘apne dukh mujhe de do’, ‘haath hamare kalam hue’ and ‘bejan cheezen’.

Dr S.S. Toshkhani, freelance writer, poet and translator. Writes in Hindi and English. Published many books in original and in translation. Chief editor of Malini quarterly journal. He lives in Delhi.

36 :: July-September 2010 “QISSA KHAN”— A COLOURFUL STORYTELLER NAMED ASHK Phanishwar Nath Renu

Translated by S.S. Toshkhani

Ashk’s name was heard for the first time by the people of our village from Bhimmal Mama– “az Upinder Nath Ashk.”1 Memoir Those days our village library did not get any Urdu journal and Mama had taken a vow to read Urdu. No, not a vow, call it a fit—it was a fit of Urdu. Bhimmal Mama gave an ultimatum that he would launch an agitation for it – Why aren’t we getting any Urdu journal here? If some member wants to read a short story by ‘az Upinder Nath Ashk’, where will he go to read it? How will he read it? …Don’t call it a public library. It is now a library of ‘Vivahit Anand’2 (‘Conjugal Bliss’) readers only. For several days Mama had launched a tirade against the library authorities in the name of Ashk in every lane, street and market of the village. But when Ashk ji started writing and publishing in Hindi, Mama was busy in propagating the Kaithi script3 . He had developed an aversion for Devnagari script and Hindi language. Once we sent a story by Ashk published in the Karmayogi, or some other journal, to him for his information and perusal. Mama was overwhelmed. So, it was Upendra Nath Ashk now? After full seven and a half years Mama had enjoyed a literary work in Hindi and Devanagari script, reading it aloud. Then he

July-September 2010 :: 37 had noted down some lines from the One day he opened his ‘wonder casket’ story in his huge ‘wonder casket’ alias and said, “Let someone tell me whose notebook, and said, “It’s Ashk and not lines are these: ‘Badshaho! mainu te Ashak!” A miscellany of things was being parichay-varichay da koyee tajarba neyi, compiled in the notebook. Bhimmal ...Badshaho kutte di maut marna honda Mama had several personal opinions te itthe aavan di ki lod si! Main saab about literature: nu aakhiya– Bhayee, je meharbaani karni a) No novel was ever written in hai te hun kar ...Main kamm sikkhan any Indian language after di puri koshish karanga. Jo main kamyab ‘Chandrakanta’. ho gaya te saab ne mere naal vaada kitta hai ki mere leyi tagme di sifarish b) Gulabratna Vajpeyi is the only karega’... fiction writer in the whole of India. (I don’t have any experience of But after reading a series of best introduction etc. Had I to die a dog’s short stories of Urdu, he had added death, why would I have come here? Ashk’s name to Vajpeyi’s and happily I told my Boss— Brother, if you have made the proclamation—now they are to do me a favour do it now. I will two. Fiction writer Vajpeyi and story- do my best to learn the job. In case teller (qissakhwan) Ashk! I am successful, Boss has promised me “All others are nobodies. They’re that he will recommend me for a medal.) all phony!” Now, tell me which author’s lines It did not take time for ‘qissakhwan’ are these?” (story-teller) Ashk to change to “Guleri ji’s.” ‘Qissakhan’! Today, Bhimmal Mama is no more, but all readers of our village, “No, Yashpal’s” both new and old, know that Qissakhan “Then, J.P. Shrivastava’s.” is another name of Ashk ji. Bedhab Ba…’ Nobody has ever seen such a devoted “Should I tell— Qissa Khan’s!” reader of Ashkji, or of any other writer Bhimmal Mama took out a new book for that matter, like Bhimmal Mama. He from under his gamchha4 and said— would say– “When my writer writes ‘Ek srot se phut bah rahin kab se yeh poetry, short story, drama, one-act plays, do dhara’ (‘Since long these two streams memoirs, travelogue, personal essay, have been gushing out from the same criticism, everything, why should I read source!’) …Ashk Made Easy … After going any other writer’s writings? …Does a through it, it will be easier for you to writer of any other language have such understand Ashk’s writings. a lovely name?” Giving the book to the winner of

38 :: July-September 2010 this riddle, Mama said— “Read it and devotion that he has his eye wounded, make out what Ashk is.” … Because of this strange carefree manner “Seems like I’ve already read some of his I grew more eager to know about stories of this collection. For instance, him.’” ‘Tableland’.” Further Commentary: “I think, and “You aren’t yet in the position of rightly so, that the name of this book giving your opinion about a book without is based on this sentence– ‘I had come reading it.” all the way to meet him’. Ashkji too has written in a poem: Before our eyes the number of Ashk’s ardent readers in the village had grown And I am a river which started on from one to eleven. That day there its course long back were one dozen members present at So, let us hear what this ‘river which Bhimmal Mama’s ‘Ashk vivechan goshthi’ started on its course long back’ has to (Symposium on Evaluation of Ashk), say about this lady– “Before seeing besides Bhimmal. Kaushalya (the sketch writer), I saw her Mama began to say— “First of all letters. I had decided to marry her hear this admission by an affectionate after receiving her very first letter. Had lady. What does this lady write? She Kaushalya not been so unusually skilled writes, ‘I hadn’t finished my morning in writing letters and, whether wrongly bath yet when his (that is Ashk ji’s) or rightly, pouring out the entire feelings younger brother arrived and I came to of her heart into the written words, the know that Ashkji has arrived four or extremely tangled chords of our life would five hours back. He (that is Ashkji) never have become disentangled.’ is not well; he has fever and has been Now have a glimpse of their domestic badly hit on the eye while playing hockey. life during the early days of their marriage I said, please go and tell Ashkji that in the words of Mrs. Kaushalya Ashk– I will be coming in half an hour.” “Once when suddenly more than the Brief Commentary: “This is about expected number of guests came, I called their very first meeting; till then their him into the drawing room and said. acquaintance was confined to an ‘While everything else is all right, baingan 5 exchange of a few letters. The sketch ka bhurta may not suffice for all. Should writer further writes— I quickly get a brinjal or two from the market and roast them? ‘Don’t worry’, ‘Partly because of veneration and he said, ‘everything will be all right’. partly because I had come all the way ...When at the appointed time everyone to meet him, I remained silent. Coming sat at the table, he took plentiful of to know that this poet who plays with bhurta on his plate and said, ‘Look here words can also play hockey with such

July-September 2010 :: 39 friends, this dish is only this much, please understood that this shower of abuses do think of others when helping yourself will go on for three- four days... We with it.’” never took offence at his abuses. A member got up to say something For three-four days he promoted but Bhimmal Mama did not allow him Ashk’s works along with two dozen to speak– “I know what you want to followers of his... ‘Buying Ashkji’s books say. What else than that I do not take means saving the precious life of a writer’. brinjals. Really this lady, Mrs.Kaushalya When he came after about a week Ashk, has an unusual skill of pouring he was relatively calm. He said, “I have her heart out in her lines.” After a come to talk to you in private. ...My brief interval Mama said– “The last line request to you is that please go to Patna is, ‘Now, for the last one year he is soon. Get yourself checked up. I am lying in the seclusion of Panchgani, afraid to look at your face. Have you suffering from tuberculosis.’” seen Ashk’s photograph in ‘Do Dhara’? Mama’s voice choked with emotion. I felt that Mama has touched my The pupils of his eyes rolled un-naturally. weakest spot. Mama said, “Why does I said, “Mama, that’ll do for today.” your face turn pale on hearing Ashk’s It seemed that a spark had ignited name?” a keg of gunpowder. God knows for I probed and found that for the last how long he had been smouldering inside two or three years I had been reading against me. He exploded– “I know a Ashk’s works but only superficially. This lot of old guilt has accumulated in your indifference, this disregard had intensified heart. You people wish ill of Ashk, since I had come to know that Ashk 6 because he is with the ‘Hansvadis’ . Have was suffering from T.B. The moment you allowed even a single copy of Naya I took Ashk’s name the thought of that 7 Sahitya to be kept in the library? Nobody disease growing in my lungs would come has even had a glimpse of Pakka Gana, to my mind. I had developed thickened not even cursory. …There’s a limit to pleura in jail. At the time of being meanness. …You think yourself to be discharged from the hospital, a famous a very big reporter …You aren’t even doctor, T.N. Bannerji, had cautioned me– a petty writer. …You heartless fellows! “No exertion. Sitting in your armchair …History will be witness… you may slay any king or queen, it does This was followed by some rustic not matter.” My weight was decreasing abuses... When even this did not satisfy day by day. him, it came to political abuses— You I brushed away Bhimmal Mama’s good Mensheviks! You social termites (Social advice immediately from my mind Democrats)! Traitors! And so on. We because many great things were going

40 :: July-September 2010 to happen... It was ambition versus the Two months later I suddenly began germs of the disease! to vomit blood. While spitting blood In Nepal the bugle of revolution had I would sometimes talk of ‘Tableland’, sounded. Thousands of Nepali young sometimes of Panchgani… Ashk… Dina men had taken part in India’s Nath… Qasim Bhai. At that time I independence struggle. Is there nothing found unprecedented pleasure in absurd I must do for Mother Nepal who had talk. Who knows why? brought me up on her nectar since I For the last five or six months Bhimmal was eight years old? ...Yes, I must do Mama is again obsessed by spells and something. …C-in-C Eastern Command incantations. From hocus– pocus, has written a letter to me. ‘Come here sorcery, witchcraft to even performing and see how desirable death is. Many certain rites in the cremation grounds. fathers, many sons are ready to die As I was coming to Patna, I looked together? Come…’ back to have a glimpse of my village. Then all fear vanished. It is better Everything appeared blurred. I caught to die like comrade Kuldeep on the front sight of Bhimmal Mama. He was returning than to die wretchedly of illness. home after ten or twelve days. After I was directed to go to Patna for tying an amulet on his arm, he took some urgent work. When I arrived out a number of ten rupee notes and in Patna, I had to halt there for four- a handful of small change from his pocket five days. Dear friend Narmedeshwar and said– “I was thinking of sending Prasad said– “Come to my place this this money to my ailing friend Ashk. evening. Ashkji has come on a visit to But the amount I had to pay to ‘Chiragi’ Patna. We have invited him to tea this during these seven-eight months came evening... Vishwamohanji, Gopiji etc. will to one hundred one rupees. Ashk ji also be there. has recovered now... Don’t worry, you too will return with your cheeks red Ashkji came dressed in a black as apples.” The four anna, eight anna, sherwani,8 brandishing a walking stick. two anna coins were all smeared with The conversation began with socialist vermilion. Once again I looked back realism and ended with the opening words at the village– it was no longer blurred. of a classical song appearing in the Naya The whole village was smeared with Sahitya: Sajni-i-i tadpat hun main nis- vermilion. din rajani... O sajani. O rajani! (O beloved one! I am restless for you day and night). Whenever I got Bhimmal Mama’s letter in the hospital, Ashkji was invariably “I just wanted to ask whether you mentioned. Ashkji has published a new have completely recovered now.” play. …A short story of his has again appeared.

July-September 2010 :: 41 Having recovered, I returned to my side by side. Ashkji tried to convince home completely healthy in body and Yagyadattji to the last, but Pandeyji did soul. At the station itself I learnt that not utter a word. Why? Bhimmal Mama was no more. I have I am going to Delhi with the Ashks never seen such a reader of any writer, and recalling all these things, one by a character who has proved worthy of one. Kaushalya Bhabhi9 is repeatedly his creator. ticking off her husband and son softly— During 1953-54, I again had the “Nilabh, don’t open the windows, sonny. chance to see Ashkji in Patna. He came …Ashkji, please be considerate. How with Virendra and stayed for about five can the poor fellow lie down on the minutes at my place. But in those very middle berth so soon?” The poor co- five minutes he laughed away all the passenger looks at Kaushalya Bhabhi with questions of health, literature and the gratitude, but Ashkji goes on— “But Renu, world. Bhairav said…” Ashk expresses his That day an unpleasant incident took ‘second opinion’ in the name of the absent place in the evening at the tea party Bhairavprasad Gupt– “But, Bhairav said…” arranged in honour of the novelist After dinner we went to lie down Yagyadatt Sharma, who had come from on our respective berths. Before going Delhi. Yagyadatt Sharma began to speak to sleep, the father gave the cry— “Hey on the problems raised in his forthcoming chai garam.”10 novel. He was speaking very well when Lying on the topmost berth, the son he noticed Ashk and Chhavinath Pandey responded with – “Moongphali hai, aye.” whispering to each other. Yagyadatt Kaushalya Bhabi warned both in the began to tremble with anger. He said, same breath—“Hey, what’s going on!” “Ashkji, please finish your conversation first so that I can also speak.” A flash And believe me, after that the father- of annoyance appeared on Ashkji’s face son duo did not utter a word. for a while, but it soon disappeared. I couldn’t sleep for the whole night. Licking a little lime, he said politely– …This evergreen writer! The other day “I was telling Chhavinath about you only, a jovial publisher friend had said in I was praising you.” Patna– “This man keeps doing peculiar Perhaps, Yagyadatt did not rise to kind of business. … To obtain writings speak again. When I recall that day’s for an anthology he has engaged a lady incident, a question or two arise literary agent.” ...An unhappy writer constantly in my mind. Was it a mere friend sat for hours trying to convince coincidence that Ashk Bhai’s and me that Ashk was an opportunist. I respected Pandeyji’s chairs were placed ask myself, am I not an opportunist?

42 :: July-September 2010 Am I not selfish? …It is my good fortune While eating, both kept on crossing that I am travelling with such a great swords with one another. Both are writer. artists; both know how to make use of On the day of the first session I didn’t sharp or mild invective as the need may find Ashk ji sitting in ease. There was be. From the beginning I occasionally restiveness in the atmosphere. It was looked at Yashpalji’s face from Ashkji’s necessary to pacify it. A friend from viewpoint– a spoilt Christian officer! Allahabad itself said— “So you think At Allahabad itself I heard a new Ashkji is worried about pacifying the writer criticizing Ashkji. I told him atmosphere? ….You’re foolish!” courteously— “Imagine Ashkji leaving Our host has invited Yashpal, Ashk Allahabad and settling elsewhere.” and Bhagvatsharan Upadhyay. On hearing The new writer smiled and closed this we did not fix any other programme. his eyes. “The literary scene there will Ashkji and Yashpalji started become very dull.” conversing. Upadhyayji would also chip Strange things come to light about in occasionally. I have nothing to do Ashkji every second or third month. but to listen. It does not behove us Every time Ashkji will burst out laughing to smile or shake our neck much at and pat someone on the back, saying– anything that either side was saying. “Brother, I have said what I had to Two renowned fiction writers of Hindi say, did what I had to do. Now I am are engaged in a discussion. It is the sitting back and enjoying the whole thing. merit of my previous birth that I am ...People are worried. …I am having fun.” sitting near them and hearing and seeing “Badshaho kutte di maut marna all this. …This is no small thing. honda to itthe avan di ki lod si?” (‘If Ashkji has referred to the discussion I had to die a dog’s death then why that took place on the occasion of that would I have come here?’ …‘And I am dinner party in a personal essay of his. a river that started long back’ ‘…. Stupid! Yashpal ji may also have written about …Dissolve green vitriol in water or give it. I do not remember the topic of it with curds’ … Hearing these mannerisms the discussion. …To keenly observe the from Ashk’s mouth hundred times a day way and the manner in which these two you will still want to hear them once venerated and elderly persons chat is again. And then Ashk will burst into no easy job. I repeatedly happen to laughter and say– “But friend, Bhairav glance at Kaushalya ji’s watch. Then had said… at Prakshvatiji’s watch.

July-September 2010 :: 43 1 ‘By Upendra Nath Ashk’. An interesting character, Bhimmal Mama takes az to be a part of Upendra Nath Ashk’s name. 2 An old sex manual 3 A modified form of Devanagari script used in Bihar 4 A kind of hand towel 5 A mash of roasted or boiled brinjals 6 A group of left-leaning writers patronizing Hans, a Hindi magazine started by Premchand 7 Another “progressive” Hindi magazine of the times 8 A long tight coat 9 Brother’s wife. A friend’s wife is also addressed as ‘bhabhi’. 10 } Cries of chaiwallahs 11 } peanut vendors at railway stations

Phanishwarnath Renu (1921-1977) twentieth century’s foremost writer with memorable short stories like ‘lal pan ki begum, ‘teesri kasam’ and novels like ‘parti parikatha’, ‘maila anchal’. Renu also wrote historic reportages that read like fiction. His prose reflected a rural world of post-independence India in all its colours and flavours. This Sahitya Akademi award honoree was also a social activist.

44 :: July-September 2010 MUKTIBODH Harishankar Parsai

Translated by Satya Chaitanya

The entrance to the old mansion in Rajnandgaon stands on the banks of the pond. The mansion has rooms close to the large gate on the ground floor. On the first floor there is a large hall

Memoir and more rooms and on the second floor, still more rooms and an open terrace. The pond skirts the mansion on three sides. Old doors and windows, broken ventilators, here and there bricks slipping off from their place, the walls with plaster peeled off. In front of the pond, vast open grounds. In the evening when Gyan Ranjan and I approached the lake and from there saw the mansion, it appeared shrouded in some terrible mystery. Muktibodh, incapacitated, was lying on a cot in one corner of the hall on the first floor. I felt this man’s personality was like that of some strong fort. There are signs of many battles on it. There are bullet marks, the plaster has come off, the colours have been washed off by time - but its strong walls rise from a deep foundation and it stands proudly with its head held high. “Only a brahmarakshas [ghoul] can live in this castle,” I joked. One of Muktibodh’s poems is called Brahmarakshas. There is also a story in which a brahmarakshas who has been cursed lives among the ramparts of an old palace. Muktibodh laughed. He said, “Say what you like, partner, I just love this place.”

July-September 2010 :: 45 Muktibodh was always filled with about that owl! I have never seen an affability, with friendliness. He used to owl as beautiful as that. And at times say a lot of things addressed to ‘the bats come in...” friend’. Poems, essays, diary - in He was talking animatedly about the everything the friend could be seen, either atmosphere there. Not in the least expressly or in some hidden form. He conscious of his illness. had a unique style of his own. He called We had reached the place in the friends partners. This is how he spoke: afternoon. When Muktibodh saw us, he “Say what you like, partner, but your went on saying “How great, how great!’ humour is mighty indeed!” Or, “You and kept laughing heartily. But the next might feel bad, partner, but I just don’t moment you could see tears flowing from like that man,” –this taking the name his eyes. of someone. And if he was in a very loving mood, he would say, “Just you He had come to Jabalpur a month wait, sahib, you will see all this passing or a month and a half ago. His eczema away!” was giving him trouble. He had become quite weak. In the middle of speaking, Muktibodh spoke as though lost in he became breathless. At that time I himself, “Where you are sitting now– had felt he was quite apprehensive about royal mahfils used to take place there. himself. As though he was scared. Then With dazzling lights everywhere, with too his eyes had filled up with tears songs and dances. In those days this when he told me, “Partner, I am place would blind you with its splendour. completely broken now. The cart cannot Say what you like, partner, feudalism be pulled along much longer. lf I get had its own grandeur... You come here some five or ten years, I could do some during the rains and sleep in this room solid work.” at night! The pond would be full to the brim and the winds would be blowing I had never seen tears in his eyes strong. The whole night the water would earlier. We friends became quite lap against the walls and you would hear concerned about it. We put a lot of the sound all through the night... At pressure on him to stay here and have times you would feel it is a beautiful himself treated. But he had to go to woman dancing and what you hear is Nagpur to see his sick father. He took the sound of her anklets. Last year leave of us promising to return in a Shamsher was here. And we sat listening week’s time. He never came back after until two or three in the morning... And that. partner, a pretty owl– what can I say In a moment he was back in control.

46 :: July-September 2010 “Where is your luggage?” he asked. that, he became silent. “In my house,” Sharad Kothari said. Then he began to speak again. “l “How come, sahib? What does that get letters inviting me to one place or mean? Aren’t you my guests?” he asked. another. But how can I go? Is it in my hands to go? ...Oh yes, I have written We looked at one another. Sharad a gruesome poem. I wouldn’t let you smiled. We were in the habit of teasing hear it. I am myself terrified of it. Muktibodh about this. “Guru, your Extremely dark, very gloomy! There are thinking might be very progressive, but frightful imageries. I don’t know in what in your habits you are very feudal’’ kind of mood I was. I have sent the “They are my guests, they will sleep poem to Vatsyayan ji ...But now I feel in my house, will eat in my house, no things are not that bad. Life is a powerful one will go without having a cup of thing. And there are very good people tea, I am going to pay the hotel bill, with me. How many letters of concern I’ll feed the whole city in my house... have come! And how many people want What is all this?” to make me healthy again! So much love, Seeing Sharad smiling, he too smiled. so much affection! ...Partner, now I shall He said, “You have no right to do that! write another poem. I mean, I shall now In fact, this is a plot against me!” write the right things.” This was not mere formality. There Gyan Ranjan said, “The earlier poem was never mere formality in any of was right and this one will be right too.” Muktibodh’s emotions– not in his love, He looked relaxed. We explained to not in his hatred, not in his anger. lf him that the disease was not serious he did not like someone, he would stare and in Bhopal he would become all right at him for an hour without uttering a in a month or two. word. The man would become very Brightness returned to his eyes. He distressed. said, “l will be all right, won’t I? That’s When he spoke of his disease, it was what I feel too. And even if I am not with scientific objectivity - as though cured fully, it does not matter. I’ll drag his hands and legs and head were not myself around. All I want is that I should his, but belonged to someone else. Very become well enough to continue my impersonally, as though he was bisecting reading and writing.” the body limb by limb and explaining In the meantime, Pramod Varma where the disease was, how it developed reached there. The moment Muktibodh and what the result would be. saw him, he burst out laughing. “Look, “So, sahib, this is my disease.” Saying

July-September 2010 :: 47 see there! He has also come! Wow, it’s money. He never bid anything that was going to be great fun now sahib!” against his credos merely for money. Pramod and I went to the other room It was amazing how the man who lacked to consult Shanta Bhabhi and Ramesh. money desperately used to say no to Muktibodh began to talk to Gyan Ranjan money without the least hesitation. An about new publications. account would be opened in the bank in his name– that was a very exciting It was decided that he should be thought to him. A bank account that taken to Bhopal immediately. belongs to Gajanan Madhav Muktibodh– A few friends had sent some money he wanted to experience what that would from different places. We suggested that feel like. Maybe, that would also perhaps this money be deposited in the bank bring him a greater sense of security. in Ramesh’s name. It was then that a letter came from Muktibodh’s reaction to this was very a senior writer. The letter asked strange. He became annoyed exactly like Muktiboth not to worry; he and some a child. And he said, “Why? Why can’t of his friends were soon going to release an account be opened in my name? It an appeal in the newspapers for his help. should be deposited in my own name. Muktibodh became very disturbed Why? Do you people think that I’m after reading the letter. He lifted himself irresponsible?” up slightly on pillows and said, “Now He became unyielding on the issue. what is this? An appeal will be released “The account will be opened in my own seeking people’s charity! Now they will name.” beg for my sake? Collections will be taken “The thing is, partner,” he said, “that’s in my name! No! I say, that will not how I want it. I wish it. I do not know happen! I am not about to die! I will how it feels to have a bank account. accept help from my friends. But an It will be a new experience to me. It appeal for donations on my behalf? No! is a silly desire. But I want to have That will not happen!” the experience of having my own bank We made him understand that his account once. Let me have that pleasure feelings would be communicated to the too.” senior writer and no appeal would be Muktibodh was always in financial released. difficulties. There was no end to the That evening Ramesh brought a letter list of what he did not have. He was and gave it to him. Inside the envelope always under the burden of debt. He was a twenty rupee note. The letter was wanted money, but he also rejected from a student of his. The letter said

48 :: July-September 2010 that he was working in some place and looking at each other for a while. His making money to meet his study expenses. eyes were on me, waiting for my answer It said, “l feel great reverence for you. and we were all struggling to control I notice that a writer like you is not our laughter. getting proper treatment for want of Then I said, “I am willing to consider money. I have saved these twenty rupees. your money as my money. But where Kindly accept it. This is my own earning, is the money?” so please do not feel any hesitation to Pramod burst out laughing. accept this. I do not have the courage Muktibodh too laughed. And then he to give you the money in person, so became serious all of a sudden. And I am sending it this way.” he said, “Yes, that is the problem. That Holding the letter and the money is indeed the trouble!” in his hand, Muktibodh kept looking out The little money that had come to through the window for a long time. him was making him restless. He was His eyes welled up. He said, “This is remembering the things he ought to do– a poor boy. How can I take money from a long list of them. Some friend was him?” in trouble, someone’s wife was sick, There was a school teacher sitting someone else’s daughter was ill, someone there. He said, “The boy is sentimental. had to get clothes made for his child. lf you return the money, he would feel He was himself incapacitated and suffering hurt.” from money troubles, but he wanted Muktibodh was moved by the boy’s to spend that money on others. Later love. He remained lost and silent for in Bhopal we had a proper battle with a long time. him over this. It was with great difficulty Preparations began for going to that we were able to make him understand Bhopal. His affableness was awake once that a patient had no responsibility again. He told me, “Partner, I want to towards anyone; everyone’s duties were tell you something very clearly. See, towards him. you make your livelihood by writing. And that night when we started, there You too should come to Bhopal with were reams of paper with us. Muktibodh me. We both will stay there. lf you do forced us to load all his finished poems, not write, you will be in financial troubles. unfinished poems and ready manuscripts. I am asking you to consider my money He said, “All this will go with me. When as yours and use it.” I will be well enough to do some work Muktibodh was very solemn. We kept after a week or two, I’ll complete the poems, write new ones and revise the

July-September 2010 :: 49 manuscripts. I cannot just lie in the word on those papers, nor did he write hospital bed without doing anything a single cheque. partner! ...And you have kept that His life was over without a chance passbook, haven’t you?” to see his collection of poems and without But Muktibodh never wrote another writing a cheque.

Harishankar Parsai (1924-1995), was a renowned satirist who commented on post-independence Indian society. He was equally involved with human concern about his peers and partners. His essays are available in many volumes, prominent among which are ‘sadachar ka taveez’ and ‘jaise unke din phire’. He lived in Jabalpur.

Satya Chaitanya, born 1952, has his management consultancy. He is visiting professor at XLRI and several other management studies’ institutions. He knows Hindi, Malayalam, Sanskrit and English and translates multilingually. He lives in Jamshedpur.

50 :: July-September 2010 TEN POEMS Badri Narayan

Translated by Mausumi Mazumdar

Poetry 1. Genealogy

In the ancestry of trees there were also leaves, But the leaves are not there in the genealogy of the trees

Neither are there birds Squirrels are not there

In it Buddha, who spent many years meditating under a tree Is also not there

For so many years I wept under it But I am also not there in its genealogy There should have been in it that girl Who killed herself hanging on it And whose soul that has transformed into a bird’s nest Is still hanging on its branches

Where are those female saints in its genealogy Who broke the four walls of their houses and came to it?

In it that man is also not there Who, to still his pangs of hunger, plucked Its first fruit

July-September 2010 :: 51 That’s why I say it is a mistake A grave mistake For in the trees’ genealogy There is one stump That has changed everyone else into stumps

2. Searching for

I am a little twig Searching for trees I am a tree Searching for birds I am that bird Which is searching for the half-eaten Bowl shaped guava

I am also the guava Searching for the unending perennial seeds I am a seed Searching for myself In the deeply etched lines of a farmer Sifting grain.

I am that deeply etched hand Searching for the husks of grain Lying scattered in the fields After the grains have been cut. I am also that husk Searching for the scattered seeds of grain.

3. For A little while

So spread out, so thickly branched Its roots strewn on so many sides I wonder who made this family tree That has spread into my existence Its branches have filled up my body Its roots have reached upto my finger tips.

52 :: July-September 2010 O my woodcutters! For a little while chop off from its roots This family tree Although by doing this my own blood will spill My own veins will be cut My own arteries will bleed But what can I do For a little while I want to be free from this family tree So that for a little while my soul can fill with pure water And the sand inside it can be shaken off For a little while I want freedom from this imposed orthodoxy. I am tired of incessantly imitating tradition For a little while I want to be original.

4. Why will anyone take me?

Even if I offer myself as a gift Who will take me Why will the Dom of Kashi take me Why will Rishi Vishwamitra take me Why will Gautam Rishi give the gift of immortality to the world If he gets me If I had been a milch cow may be someone would have taken me To obtain milk for his son If a desperate Dronacharya had been gold Some greedy Brahmin would have taken him If he had been a torn blanket An ascetic would have taken him.

I am like that word That is used to fill up the lies of wisdom Like the ‘dus paisahi’ in aluminium That is completely powdered. Not as a gift, even if I give myself as an offering Why will Bhama Shah take me Why will Queen Padmavati take me And why will Queen Victoria? The caged parrot will also drop me from his beak

July-September 2010 :: 53 Why will critics, why will editors and why will my poet friends Accept me When I am not worthy of any use And when usefulness also asks for value Then why will anyone take me? These thoughts led me to forsake my contemplation On usefulness And covering my face I fell asleep.

5. I’ve thrown away the eternal fruit

Earlier I used to think I’ll become immortal But after seeing the result of Buddha’s immortality I’ve dropped the idea of becoming immortal.

Many days in my dreams I saw Jesus Christ praying for death And poor mythical Ashwatthama Grief stricken by his immortality Wailing piteously And whenever he wails A quake hits the earth And a storm rises in the seas That is why I have dropped the idea of becoming immortal And From the window I threw away The eternal fruit.

6. Belief

I am fragile But more fragile than me is my book Which I write with so much dedication.

I am fragile But no less fragile than me Is my photograph kept in the album

54 :: July-September 2010 For my fragile self

More fragile are these diaries That were written over so many years And so flimsy is my belief That I will go beyond time with them During my lifetime I commission my own statues These myriad statues of mine That are immersed just after the auspicious days Are no less fragile.

The letters that I write That are burnt with matchsticks At the end of the year They are even frailer.

All the gifts that I give Break in a few years The age of presents is only one year That of good wishes is only four days Whatever I possess Inanimate words, tears That I am engaged in justifying Throughout my life Slowly melt away Like snowballs

Some say Words are immortal But how can I believe my words That dissolve with two drops of water.

7. Love Song

My kurta has collars of moon And buttons of stars. On my kurta Are faint imprints of deer running on the slopes of mountains On my kurta

July-September 2010 :: 55 Are my desires of meeting the girl with golden hair. On my kurta Are the fury of fathers And the rage of social beings. The romantic feel of summer evenings And the passion of sharad Are on my kurta

On my kurta Are the musical instruments of the seasons Yes beloved, on my kurta Are the drum beats of thunder.

8. Defenceless

Neither am I a favourite of the Gods Nor of the critics And not even of the editors

I do not get to meet the award givers often I do not have the power of wine I do not have any officer friend No strong hand of a paper mill owner Is there on me I neither have the power to benefit nor to cause loss to anyone I have never had any relationship with Agyeya I do not follow the tradition of Trilochan

Then who will be my shield Who will be my sword How will I survive in this battlefield defenceless?

9. While thinking

Thinking about birds and deer Means ultimately thinking about hunters That is why I see each narrative popular about them In the context of hunters

56 :: July-September 2010 In trees, mountains, forests, wherever, whenever I meet them I tell them to doubt every narrative popular about them And whenever I think about deer I believe That till there is no historian of the deer There is every possibility of the hunters being glorified And to save the birds from the hunter’s net it is very important That the birds have their own philosophers.

10. Library

Next to my library There is a house of sorrows In which live our ancestors Shackled in chains

They visit me when I read And say- See! The marks of whips on our backs Our tongues have been pierced See the black stain of blood Can you distinguish them from the awareness of time?

I want to escape from them And in reply pick up a book on colonialism One of them screams loudly- See! While pulling the carriages of the Angrez My shoulders have become skinned.

Some show their fingers That have cracked by polishing the shoes of English ladies Some come up and snatch away the book And say- See, my lips That are still stitched up. Some show the marks of hot iron rods etched on their backs Some come to me and say- Why are you sitting like an important person with books Come! See the nails pierced in your ancestors’ feet.

July-September 2010 :: 57 Some bring out my past That has been shredded to bits Some display evidences of hot canes rained on them at that time While going towards my future I think- Come! To save myself from them Let me search for salvation in a poetry collection And I pull out from the shelf a book of poems But how can I read the book? Right next to me lives my past.

Badri Narayan, born 1965, feels like writing poetry when he visits his village. He is a scholar of history, language and culture. Has been visiting fellow of Mason de Sciences, Paris and Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, Shimla. Received Bharat Bhushan award in 1991. He works in G.B. Pant Institute of Social Sciences, Jhusi, Allahabad.

Mausumi Mazumdar, born September 8, 1963, and educated at Delhi. M.A. in English from Delhi University, she works occasionally for G.B. Pant Social Science Institute, Jhusi, Allahabad. She writes for journals in English and Hindi and lives in Allahabad.

58 :: July-September 2010 HINDI LITERARY JOURNALISM SINCE BHARTENDU AGE TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY Bharat Bharadwaj

Translated by Ravindra Narayan Mishra

The economic, political and social exploitation of the British Raj was behind the political consciousness that visited the Hindi speaking states after the mass struggle of 1857. This mutiny had shaken

Discourse the entire Hindi speaking area. On the one side the British rule had consolidated itself, on the other its cruel oppression started. The Hindi renaissance that started with Bhartendu Harishchand had in its background, consolidation of the Indian colony and the expansion of the British rule. Together with the new political consciousness the restlessness for the growth of Hindi language inspired Bhartendu for social economic and educational reformation of the Hindi- speaking people. Bhartendu had lived in the company of social reformers of Bengal like Ishwarchandra Vidyasagar, Keshavchandra Sen etc and archealogy- lovers like Rajendra Lal Mishra. Not only was he fully aware of the Bengal renaissance but he used to read the contemporary journals and magazines also. He was restless to change the destiny of the Hindi-speaking people. He had known not only Urdu, Persian,Hindi, Brajbhasha, Bangla but also English. So he was familiar with western literature as well. Bhartendu had inherited his literary inclination from his father. He used to compose poems not only in Brajbhasha but also in Khari Boli. He used to enjoy sittings with his literary friends who lived close by. He encouraged Hindi writers by publishing a monthly letter named ‘Kavivachan Sudha’. In the beginning it used to have collection of poems by poets but before long this

July-September 2010 :: 59 magazine started appearing fortnightly concern for his motherland by writing and contained prose too. In the year ‘Swatva Nij Bharat Gahe’ and the progress 1875 ‘Sudha’ became weekly. Till 1885 of his language Hindi ‘Nij Bhasha Unnati it kept appearing in both Hindi and Ahe Sab Unnati Ke Mul’ (the progress English. of one’s language is route to all progress). By publishing Sudha Bhartendu had Only those people who don’t want stirred us when we were deep in slumber. to approach Bhartendu in totality with The talk of male – female equality was the inner contradiction of his age accuse a very big issue. There was a hint at him of devotion to the British rule. Among future independence of India, this view the contemporaries of Bhartendu were was expressed at a time when Congress not only Pandit Badrinarayan Chaudhary, was not even established. We should Premdhan, Pratapnarayan Mishra, Babu not forget that after 17 years when Radhacharan Goswami and Pandit Congress came into being it used to begin Balkrishan Bhat but also Keshavram Bhat. its resolution with display of devotion ‘Biharbandhu’ edited by Pandit Keshav to the British rule. The government used Ram Bhat was published from Maniklal to buy a hundred copies of Street, Calcutta. In the year 1874 this ‘Kavivachansudha’. paper started getting published from Babu Balmukund Gupt has written Patna. For forty years (1912) this that when this magazine, after becoming magazine kept getting published, some fortnightly, started publishing politics times as monthly, some times as fort- related and other essays freely, a big nightly, at other times as weekly. This movement was created. People started paper played a great role in promoting calling Bhartendu disloyal after publi- the tendency of learning Hindi. cation of his essay ‘Levi Pran Levi’ and Keshavram Bhat’s friend Hasan Ali used ‘Mersia’. People started inciting the to edit the paper in Patna. This paper government against him. Some of had a tragic end. In 1908 a retired police Bhartendu’s friends reasoned with junior inspector was made editor of this paper officer, Sir William Kyore, that ‘Mersia’ by some owner. He gave the title of is an attack on the government. On the the main essay How I was appointed? other side even before government In 1878 an important paper assistance could be stopped Bhartendu ‘Bharatmitra’ came out under the resigned from his post as honorary editorship of Rudradatt Sharma. magistrate. Bhartendu published the Bhartendu himself has mentioned this. magazine Harishchand in the year 1873. It was a political paper. Although it Later on it was published as Harishchand used to contain other- subjects also. Patrika. Bhartendu had inherited devo- From the year 1899 to the first half tion to the British. He composed poems of 1907 Babu Balmukund Gupt remained not only in praise of the English and its editor. A debate started over the English beauty but also composed poems word ‘Ansthirta’ with the editor of on queen Victoria and her son the Duke ‘Sarswati’ Pandit Mahavir Prasad Dwivedi. of Edinburg. He even prayed to God In this debate this paper played an when Prince of Wales had become unwell. important role. Everyone has praised But at the same time he severely criticized the editorial language of Bharatmitra. the British rule. He also expressed his Actually in answer to a question Pandit

60 :: July-September 2010 Mahavir Prasad Dwivedi had said, only please give the donation now.’But it had one person used to write good Hindi no impact on the subscribers. In spite - Babu Balmukund Gupt. Confronting of that it kept coming out from Kanpur tradition, statusquoism and aversion to till 1887. Later on a littérateur and change, Pt Balkrishna Bhatt published generous hearted Ramdin Singh the owner Hindi Pradip from Prayag in 1877. He of Khadagvilas Press, Bankipur, Patna kept its flame alive for 33 years. Bhat took the responsibility to publish this ji defined literature for the first time paper. Mishra ji used to say about him saying -literature is growth of the heart that Ramdin is so benevolent of people. Acharya Ram Chandra Shukla The paper and magazines published enriched this definition in the beginning in the Bhartendu age marked the of his History of Hindi literature. beginning of poems in Khari Boli and Calcutta played a leading role in also many genres of prose. Main among publishing Hindi papers and magazines them are drama, novel and review. Hindi not only in the Bhartendu age but even Pradip,Anand Kadambini and Bramhan afterwards. Third famous paper from the editors of which were Bhat ji, Calcutta Uchitvakta was published under Premdhan and Pratap Narayan Mishra the editorship of Durga Prasad Mishra. respectively were main literary papers This brilliant paper used to generally of the Bhartendu age. They used to publish publish essays of Bhartendu. In 1881 reviews of books. Generally these book- Anand Kadambni got published from reviews used to be brief and used to Mirjapur under the editorship of Pt Badri have merely the introduction of the work Narayan Chaudhary ‘Premdhan’ a close under review. Three such reviews were- friend of Bhartendu. The inaugural edition ‘Nil Devi’( Review of Bhartendu written of this magazine had come out in July historical tragedy- published in ‘Anand 1881. It was priced at Rs 2 and contained Kadambni’, ‘Ekantvasi Yogi’(The trans- 24 pages of royal size. The magazine lation of Pt Sridhar Pathak written used to be full with poems and essays Goldsmith Hermit in Khari Boli in Hindi of Premdhan ji. That is why Bhartendu Pradip of May 1886) and review of Sati wrote this is not a book that you use Natak in Bramhan. Not only this the it for yourself, actually it is a paper. two detailed reviews of Sanyogita It is necessary that it should have essays Swayamvar first published in Hindi written by people and it should not have Pradeep (April1886) and second in Anand only writings of the same type. ‘Bramhin’ Kadambni (second series - 10-10- published in 1883 from Kanpur under 12,1886) still have historical importance. the editorship of Pt. Pratap Narayan The flood of publications of papers Mishra was a brilliant newspaper of and magazines that came in the Bhartendu Bhartendu age. The annual price of this age led to not only the spread of magazine was one rupee. But it did not consciousness among Hindi-speaking have many subscribers. Even the two people it also exposed the exploitation hundred subscribers it had did not pay under the British rule.In this phase many their subscription on time. The helpless other papers-magazines were also pub- editor Pt Mishra had to beg in poetry- lished but their target was not English ^vkB ekl chrs tteku vc rks djks nf{k.kk education. But I must mention Nagri nku* ‘O master it has been eight months Pracharni Patrika published in 1896 on

July-September 2010 :: 61 behalf of Kashi Nagri Pracharni Sabha a rigid editor. In one of the issues he and Venkateshwar Samachar published criticized the research done by the Kashi from Mumbai.Babu Ramdin Singh was Nagri Pracharni Sabha. The tragic behind the publication of papers and consequence of this incident was that magazines of Bhartendu age and even the ‘Sabha’ withdrew its sponsorship. the complete works of Bhartendu. Ramdin Dwivedi ji wrote his comment with great Singh established the first Hindi press- excitement in the form of a poem - Khadagvilas Press in 1880 in the Bankipur Anumodan Ka Ant (the end of spon- area of Patna from a tile roofed house. sorship). This poem is very heart- The work had started by installing a touching. Dwivedi edited Sarswati till treadle machine. He had established the around 1920 with great proficiency. The press after the name of his intimate friend new consciousness that he spread in Lala Kharag Bahadur Malay. Babu Ramdin society and culture made the third phase Singh was very close to Bhartendu and of Hindi renaissance possible. Although now and then he used to help him scholars have written that his aim was economically. Hindi literature is highly to abolish feudal and colonial system indebted to Khadagvilas Press Patna and and establish democratic system in every its owner Ramdin Singhji. Not only he sphere of life, but Sarswati magazine looked after Bhartendu in his last days enjoyed some kind of government but he took upon himself the respon- patronage also because of which it sibility of publishing dozens of papers avoided openly criticizing the British and magazines of Hindi. Khadagvilas rule. Despite being an advocate of Press started the tradition of publishing judiciousness and concern for people complete works in Hindi by initially under the British rule Dwivedi ji did publishing the complete works of not lack patriotism. He had love for Bhartendu. In my knowledge ‘the role the country even then but had not of Khadagvilas Press in the growth of forgotten the objective of the owner of Hindi’ is first such doctoral thesis on the paper either. After 1906 Dwivedi role of press on which doctoral degree ji corrected these mistakes. He praised was awarded in the decade of eighties. the British government less. So much This Ph.D was awarded by B.H.U. This so that he even criticized the British research not only reflects the creative when he felt it necessary. In December tension of the Bhartendu age, it mentions 1906 while writing on Murshidabad he a great deal on Bhartendu himself. wrote that the English and some Indians Sarswati was perhaps the first public showered adjectives like sex maniac, magazine of Hindi which was published ocean of heartlessness, master of bad by Chintamani Ghosh in 1900 from Indian passions, greedy, human-demon on Press of Allahabad. It had got spon- Sirajudaula but Babu Akshaya Kumar sorship from Nagri Pracharni Sabha. Its Maitreya almost washed this black spot editorial board included Babu by writing life sketch of Sirajudaula in Raikrishnadas, Babu Kartik Prasad Khatri, Bengali. Dwivedi did a great work in Babu Jagannathdas Ratnakar, Pt Kishorilal Sarswati- by continuing to publish the Goswami and Babu Shyamsundar Das. poems of Maithlisharan Gupt he made In 1903 Pt Hazari Prasad Dwivedi got him a poet. He advised Nirala and Pant associated with its editorship. He was and then published them also. So long

62 :: July-September 2010 as Dwivedi ji kept editing Sarswati he of Kanpur. Ganesh Shankar Vidyarti and promoted his contemporary writings by Naveen remained its illustrious editors. using his editorial rationality. Dwivedi Prabha was also a committed magazine ji did another great work by refining and it stood in the freedom struggle. the essay what is poetry by newly The weekly Swadesh started being emerging critic like Ramchandra Shukla. published from Gorakhpur in 1919 under How many authors Dwivedi ji nurtured the editorship of Pt. Dashrath Prasad can not be counted. But Dwivedi ji was Dwivedi a disciple inspired by Ganesh an aggressive editor and used to keep Shankar Vidyarthi. Dwivedi was a bright gun under his pillow. Sarswati continued nationalist and a follower of Tilak. Firaq being published for decades after Dwivedi and Ugra were also associated with this ji. But after losing its shine and flavour magazine.This magazine continued being perhaps closed in the eighth decade. published till 1938. Because of its Its last editor was Srinarayan Chaturvedi. attacking editorials its editor and Ugraji In the year 1900 only Chattisgarh had to go to jail. The tradition of guest Mitra was published from Bilaspur(now editor also started from Swadesh because Chhattisgarh). Its editors were Ramrao the editor had gone to jail.From the Chincholkar and Madhav Rao Sapre and perspective of Swadesh literature was the publisher was Munshi Abdul Gafoor. as important as politics. ‘Karmvir’ was Sapre had literary taste and had interest published from Jabalpur by Makhanlal in economics as well. He wrote the initial Chaturvedi and it was edited by story of Hindi- Ek Tokri Bhar Mitti(a Madhavrao Sapre and Chhedilal. In 1925 basket full of soil).In 1907 Abhyudaya Makhanlal Chaturvedi took it to Khandwa. was published from Allahabad under the ‘Karmvir’ kept being published even in editorship of Pt Madan Mohan Malviya. post independence years under the In 1915 this paper became biweekly to editorship of Makhanlal Chaturvedi. begin with; later on it became a daily. The year 1922 is important from this In 1909 a monthly of poetry ‘Kavi’ was point of view that two literary magazines published by Ramnarayan Sarhari under came out in this year. Adarsh was the editorship of Rupnarayan Singh and published from Calcutta. It was edited Gayaprasd Shukla ‘Trishul’(later on Snehi) by Shivpujan Sahay. Its annual subscrip- After Bramhan a brilliant and revo- tion was two rupees. Madhuri was lutionary weekly Pratap was published published from Lucknow. It was a from Kanpur. Its editor was young and monthly published by Sri Vishnunarayan dynamic Ganesh Shankar Vidyarthi. Bhargav the owner of Navalkishore Press. Pratap was the paper of the revolution- It was edited by Dularelal Bhargav. Its aries which had the longing and rest- shape and size were just like Madhuri. lessness for independence. This paper Its annual subscription was six and a not only gave a revolutionary dimension half rupees and the editorial board of but also an aggressive gesture. this magazine included Rupnarayan In the beginning ‘Prabha’ came out Pande, Krishanbihari Mishra, Munshi under the editorship of Kaluram Gangrade Premchand and Ramsevak Tripathi. This and Makhanlal Chaturvedi in 1913 and was a famous magazine of its time in continued till 1917.Later on in 1919 it which Nirala used to write a column started coming out from Pratap Press in the name of Kaka Kalelkar. This was

July-September 2010 :: 63 included in the second edition of Nirala influence in Nirala’s poems published Rachnavali (edited by Nand Kishore in Matvala—In 1926 the publication of Naval). the monthly ‘Veena’ started from Indore. The monthly magazine ‘Chand’ was Central Indian Hindi literature commit- published from Allahabad in1923. Its tee had contributed to its publication.Its editors have been Nandgopal Singh editors have been respectively Kalika Sahgal, Mahadevi Varma and Nandkishore Prasad Dixit, Kusumakar, Ambikadutt Tiwari. For some time it was even edited Tripathi, Rambharose Tiwari, Shantipriya by Navjodkilal Srivastav.Problems re- Dwivedi, Prakash Narayan, Chandrani and lated to women’s life were central to Gopiballabh. Veena is still coming out this magazine. The Marvari issue, but it is lifeless. Nandkumar’s hanging issue and pros- Vishal Bharat got published from titute issue became much talked about. Calcutta in 1928. Its founder was Chand was an important magazine of Ramchandra Chatterji. Pt Banarsi Das its time. It did not play any less role Chaturvedi became its first editor and in the freedom struggle. The famous book kept editing it till 1937. In 1938 Agyeya Bharat Men Angrezi Raj(three volumes) accepted the post of its editor. Although came out from here. It was instantly Vishal Bharat has been the most famous confiscated by the British but still magazine after Sarswati yet it had a tragic thousands of copies of this book reached end.Probably Shreeram Sharma was its every nook and corner of the country. last editor. This magazine closed towards The beginning of the publication of the end of the sixth decade. the weekly Matvala from Calcutta on The first half of Premchand’s life was August 26 1923 was a remarkable event the phase of extremism in Indian politics. for the Hindi world. Nirala, Mahadev The Jalianvalabag Massacre had already Prasad Seth, Shivpujan Sahay, Pandeya taken place and the Simon Commission Sri Bechan Sharma Ugra and Navjodkilal had returned. The slogan of complete Srivastav were associated with its independence was already given. Bhagat editorial board.Matvala was a smart Singh had been given death sentence. magazine of humour and satire. It used This was the background in which to comment on not only the British rule Premchand started the publication of but also on Hindi authors. Its sharp ‘Hans’ from Benaras in 1930.He pains- comments used to have deep impact. takingly brought out its special issue For nearly six years it kept being on Kashi. He continued as its editor published from Calcutta and kept walking from 1930 to 1936. After that Jainendra on razor’s edge. In the fourth decade and Shivrani Devi became its editors. Mahadev Prasad Seth brought it to his Among its special issues Premchand own town Mirzapur.Ugra edited it but memorial issue, drama issue(1938) story by then it had lost its sheen and issue and autobiography issue are worth committee of its writers had got scat- mentioning. Actually the autobiography tered. Nirala’s poems used to be promi- issue of Hans raised some controversy nently published on the front pages of in the Hindi world. Shivdan Singh Matvala. On Matvala’s pattern Suryakant Chauhan, Sripat Rai and Narottam Nagar Tripathi’s - name was kept Nirala. There continued to be associated with its is culmination of Ravindranath Thakur’s editorship. After a long gap on October

64 :: July-September 2010 8, 1957(Premchand’s memorial day) Hans the Hindi Sahitya Sammelan Bhavan was published as a compilation of lit- Prayag the file of Rupabh is securely erature under the joint editorship of kept. Balkrishna Rao and Amrit Rai. From the In 1945 the publication of the monthly point of view of establishing new values Aaj Kal started from Delhi and exactly for modern Hindi literature Hans has one year before independence under the a historical importance. In the editorial editorship of Shivpujan Sahay the essays of Hans Premchand ridiculed the publication of ‘Himalaya’ started from British rule.Together with Hans Pustak Bhandar, Laheriasarai Premchand also published a weekly (Darbhanga). Only few issues of this paper ‘Jagran’. He became object of the anger came out. ‘Himalaya’ was a purely literary of the British. He paid a fine also. Anyway magazine. From another publishing the weekly was closed down but Hans institution Granthmala the magazine continued being published during his life. Parijat was published in Patna, in which Premchand is among those writers of for the first time some instalments of Hindi who continuously commented the novel Charuchandralekh were pub- against the British rule in his writings- lished. Later on they were published craved for the freedom of the Indian in ‘Kalpana’. people from the colonial slavery of the In the summer of the year of in- British.In the last issue of Hans of his dependence 1947 the publication of a life time Premchand’s essay Mahajani bimonthly compilation of literature Pratik Sabhyata was published. This essay bears started under the editorship of S.H. testimony to Premchand’s revolutionary Vatsyayan, Nagendra Nagaich (Dr consciousness becoming sharper. Nagendra), Sripat Rai and Nemichand The first issue of ‘Rupabh’ was (Jain). On looking at the list of contents published in July 1938. As editor together of the inagural issue it becomes clear with Sumitranandan Pant, Narendra that it was a purely literary paper. This Sharma was there. It was published from issue had an essay by Ramchandra Tandon Prakash Grih, Kalakankar(Awadh). The on Amrita Shergil, an essay by Nagendra annual subscription was four rupees. On on the condition of Ras and Marxist the front page it was written-represen- review of art- and in addition to Vishnu tative of the age : monthly paper. Vishal De on some problems there were poems Bharat of Pt Banarsidas Chaturvedi even by Naveen, Suman, GK Mathur, Prabhakar objected to it. As clarification the new Machve, Nemichand Jain, Narendra issue of ‘Rupabh’ wrote “Rupabh’s claim Sharma and Sumitranandan Pant. It also is not in the form of dictatorship. In had three reviews by Devraj Upadhyay, the age of democracy for giving voice Prakash Chandra Gupta and Chandrgupta to different classes and parts of society Vidyalankar of Bhagvaticharan Varma’s and literature there are and can be novel ‘Tedhe Medhe Raste’. The same different representatives and Rupabh is issue had famous story Hilibon Ki one of them.’ This good magazine closed Batakhen by Agyeya. It is perplexing in 1939. According to Dr Namvar Singh that in his compilation he has not only ‘I have seen only ten issues of Rupabh dilated upon the crisis in magazine and have heard that it could bring out publication but also searched the real only eleven issues. In the library of form of the English synonym of ‘Sanskirti’

July-September 2010 :: 65 – culture. He has tried to trace its origin this magazine declined and lastly it closed to Sanskirt— but ignoring the newly found in May 1978. But it was such a magazine independence of the country he only that it stayed in the memory of people wrote in the editorial-Pratik is not a decades after it closed. Kalpana’s Kashi paper or planning of any party. It is issue was proposed by Badri Vishal Pitti symbol of the free spirit of the country. (1928-2003) and got published under Only this sentence hints at freedom the editorship of Prayag Shukla in 2005 attained by the country. Some issues after the death of Pitti .Even this of this magazine were published. Later underlines the importance of Kalpana. on Agyeya published ‘Naya Pratik’. But After getting Jnanpith Award when Nirmal it did not have the original aura. Verma was asked as to when did he In 1948 under the editorship of Mohan know that he has been accepted as a Singh Saingar the publication of Naya writer? Then he answered that after Samaj started.Saingar had been associ- getting published in Kalpana he thought ated with the editing of ‘Vishal Bharat’. that he had got the recognition. That is why Naya Samaj kept being In 1950 the publication of two published for years regularly maintain- weeklies started one after the other. The ing a rich standard of taste. It was a publication of Dharmyug started under popular monthly magazine of the eastern the editorship of Ilachandra Joshi by region. the Times group from Bombay. Later The publication of bimonthly on Hemchandra Joshi became its editor. magazine Kalpana started from In 1960 Dharmvir Bharti became its Hyderabad in August 1949. Since its editor. It was an immensely popular beginning its nature had been literary. weekly and was deeply associated with Its principal editor was Aryendra Sharma contemporary literature. Nai Kavita series and the editorial board included Dr and many instalments of Ramvilas Raghuvir Singh, Pro Ranjan, Madhusudan Sharma’s book Nai Kavita aur Astitvavad Chaturvedi and Badri Vishal Pitti. Later got published in this weekly. Dharmyug on Maqbul Fida Hussain, Raghuvir Sahay published many story writers of its times and Prayag Shukla also got associated. including extracts of many important After 1952 this magazine became a novels in ‘Kathadashak’. In 1990 monthly. In 1959 the magazine com- Dharmvir Bharati dissociated himself pleted 100th issue. On this occasion it from its editorship and after only few brought out a special issue titled ‘Kalpana years this weekly closed down. In 1950 ke Sau Varsh’ . The Navlekhan ( New the publication of a weekly Saptahik Writings) issue of Kalpana was talked Hindustan started under the editorship about. Kalpana was an important of Banke Behari Bhatnagar. This weekly magazine of its time. To get published became popular under the editoship of in it was to become famous in the literary Manohar Shyam Joshi. In publishing world. It can be said that in spite of contemporary literature this magazine all limitations this magazine represented together with Dharmyug played an Hindi literature for nearly two to two unforgettable role.Towards the last and a half decades. Even Agyeya used decade of the century even this magazine to write comments in this magazine in closed down. the name of ‘Kuttichatan’. After 1970 In 1950 from Ashok press,Patna of

66 :: July-September 2010 Raja Radhika Raman Prasad Singh under Bharti, Raghuvansh, Vijay Dev Narayan the editorship of Rambriksh Benipuri the Sahi and Brajeshwar Varma also became publication of Nai Dhara started. In this its editors. The glimpse of the ideological magazine not only the poems of Nirala, war between right and left could be seen Pant and Mahadevi but also the poems not only in Alochna but was also available of Dinkar, Suman and Bachchan were in the essays of Ram Vilas Sharma and published. As Benipuri was associated Namvar Singh. Bharti and Sahi made with the socialist movement it published it an ideological platform of cold war. the writings of authors associated with Then for some time Nand Dulare Vajpayee that movement. This magazine published became editor of Alochna. Once again issues on Bernard Shaw (January 1951), in the beginning of the seventh decade Nalin reminiscence issue (Nov-Dec-1961), Shiv Dan Singh Chauhan became its editor. Shivpujan Sahay reminiscence issue But by then the scenario of Hindi literature (April-July-1963). This magazine pub- had changed so much that he could not lished special issue on contemporary handle it. Lastly amidst allegations and stories which was greatly talked about. counter allegations the command of For some years Vijay Mohan Singh also Alochna fell in the hands of Namvar had been its editor. He straight away Singh. From 1986 Nand Kishore Naval associated with young writing. Then not got associated with Alochna as an only Dhumil got published but also its associate editor. Namvar Singh edited columns on papers and magazines aroused the magazine efficiently for 23 years. interest. This way or that way the In 1990 this magazine was closed down. magazine is still being published in its Among the important special issues 58th year. published under his editorship were issues The history of quarterly magazine focused on Bhartendu, Maithlisharan ‘Alochna’ is very interesting and exciting Gupt, Premchand, Acharya Shukla, Hazari from the angle of literary history as Prasad Dwivedi,Ram Vilas Sharma, well as evolution of criticism. That means Nagarjun, Muktibodh, Dhumil and Marx. the history of post independence literary Alochna has been a brilliant ideological writing, ideological struggles and the magazine of Marxist critics. Republica- politics of ding dong battles. The tion of Alochna started in the year 2000 inaugural issue of Alochna came in from Rajkamal Prakashan New Delhi. This October 1951, it was published from way Alochna rejuvenated. The magazine Rajkamal Prakashan, Faiz Bazar, Delhi. is still coming out irregularly. Its associate editors were kshemendra Suman and Gopal Krishan The publication of Nai Kavita started Kaul. ShivdanJi had entered literary field in 1954 under the editorship of Jagdish by writing the introduction of progres- Gupt and Ramswarup Chaturvedi. In all sive literature. Eight issues of Alochna only eight issues of this magazine came came out under his editorship, among out. The last issue came out in 1966. them Ithihas Ank and Upanyas Ank were In the last issue Vijayadev Narayan Sahi worth mentioning. The much talked about had also got associated with its editorship. review of Renu’s Maila Anchal by Acharya This magazine has also played its role Nalin Vilochan Sharma was published in establishing ‘Nai Kavita’ . In 1956 only in Alochna. Afterwards Dharmvir Nikash a compilation came out under

July-September 2010 :: 67 the editorship of Dharmvir Bharti and published books and magazines in the Laxmikant Varma. Generally the begin- name of Nai Kavita and made it a ning of Nai Kavita is traced to Dusra movement was not considered worth Saptak and it is assumed that with the publishing in Agyeya’s compilation publication of ‘Tisra Saptak’ in 1959 it Saptak. Simlarly Laxmikant Varma who ended after attaining its culmination. The wrote a book on Standards of Nai Kavita interesting fact is that Jagdish Gupt who was not considered a new poet by Agyeya. To be continued

Bharat Bharadwaj : born 1945 Gyanpura, Vaishali, Bihar. He is a literary critic, essayist and editor of various books. He writes a regular column in the literary magazine ‘Hans’. He has edited the controversial volume ‘hamare yug ka khalnayak : Rajendra Yadav’. His original works include. ‘Sahitya Ka nepathya’, ‘Parikrama! Hindi Sahitya’, ‘Samkalin srijan Sandarbh and Betartib’ (all literary essays). He retired from I.B., Govt. of India. He lives in Delhi.

Ravindra Narayan Mishra teaches Political Science in Khalsa College, University of Delhi. He writes in original as well as likes to translate at will. He lives in Delhi.

68 :: July-September 2010 DALIT SAINT POETS OF BHAKTI MOVEMENT: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE Dr. Subhash Sharma

Bhakti (devotion) movement began in South India as early as eighth century CE. However, the idea and action of bhakti movement spread all over India in coming centuries (especially in fourteenth to seventeenth centuries). Interestingly saint poets from all castes ranging from Brahmin to dalits and even non-Hindus (Muslims) joined it with full enthusiasm. In Tamil, Marathi and Hindi languages and literatures many dalit saint poets composed poems and songs / hymns expressing their joys and sorrows in different ways. Some Discourse of them (like Marathi saint-poet Chokhamela and Hindi saint poet Raidas or Ravidas) expressed their self-experiences in daily life, especially their lower place in a hierarchical stratified society. As Eleanor Zelliot and Rohini Mokashi – Punekar in ‘Untouchable Saints, (2005) rightly point out, “Although time and the oral tradition have undoubtedly changed their songs, one still has a sense that these are the first authentic voices of untouchables, those outside the four-fold Varna system, and the only voices until the nineteenth century. In the South, there are no such voices. All that has survived from Tiruppan Alvar and Nandanar is one ecstatic song of praise of Vishnu.” Here we take up three dalit saint poets: one each from Tamil, Marathi and Hindi languages / literatures. In Tamil language the oldest dalit saint – poet was Tiruppan Alvar (eighth century CE). He composed only one poem of eleven verses in praise of Lord Ranganatha (Vishnu) at Srirangam. His poem is being recited both at Srivaishnav temples as well as at homes since eleventh century. His poem represents the typical ‘sanatan’ Hindu

July-September 2010 :: 69 tradition without any protest or oldest and highest clan is that of the questioning the hierarchical social order. devotees. But he again refuses because Actually, the title ‘Alvar’ was given by of being a sinner. Thus it is notable the Srivaishnavas to twelve saint – poets, that argument shifts from ‘loneliness meaning ‘who are deeply immersed in through birth’ to ‘lowliness due to sin’. the love of Vishnu’. The term Tiru refers Finally, Lord directs a Brahmin priest, to ‘Shri’ and ‘pan’ means untouchable. Loka Saranga Muni, to bring Tiruppan. But ‘pan’ also means music and ‘panan’ But he again refuses, so he along with means Tamil minstrel. Unlike other others forcibly brings him on his Alvars, Tiruppan does not use his name shoulders – still not putting his foot in the last verse of his poem. The oldest inside the temple and maintains the purity biography of Alvars is found in ‘Divya and sanctity of the temple. Suri Charitam’ in Sanskrit; then ‘Guru In a later hagiography, it is mentioned Parampara Prabhavam’ I and II that Loka Saranga Muni went to river (thirteenth and fifteenth centuries); Kaveri to bring water for ritual bath th Alvarkal Vaibhavam (in Tamil in 15 of the deity. There Tiruppan was singing; century) and ‘Periya Tirumudi Ataivu’ the priest asked him to move away but th (in Tamil in 16 century). According Tiruppan was deeply engrossed in singing to all traditional hagiographies (mix of and did not hear him. Then he threw fact and myth), Tiruppan Alvar was an a stone at Tiruppan whose forehead incarnation of Srivatsa (the mole on started bleeding. When Muni reached Vishnu’s chest). He was born as Pancham the temple with a pitcher of water, he (fifth varna). His divine nature was found Lord’s forehead bleeding. Lord’s hidden by the surroundings, it is voice told him about his sin and he described, he was given pure food, he was directed to bring Tiruppan on his never wept, etc. Vasudha Narayanan shoulders. But this story is not included comments on this aspect : “ It is very in old hagiographies, hence it is an significant that in all these ways the interpolation in modern versions ‘when ‘higher’ caste authors of these biographies prejudices were even stronger’. Now tend to insulate and protect the poet the question arises who inserted this. from his untouchable birth. The point Since such hagiographies were is seen to be a divine incarnation, a traditionally with Brahmins, they seem recipient of Lord Ranganatha’s grace, to have interpolated it “to convince the not tainted by impure food or non-Shrivaishnava Brahmins that Loka surroundings.” By 18, he is said to Saranga Muni did after all have a play ‘veena’ sweetly but cannot enter ‘politically correct’ attitude towards the Lord Vishnu’s temple, so goddess Lakshmi ‘Untouchables’ at least unless commanded asks Lord to bring him to inner sanctum otherwise by the Lord” (Vasudha sanctorum. Lord tells priests that the

70 :: July-September 2010 Narayanan). Further Amar Chitra Katha Lord as incarnation of Goddess Earth. tells that Tiruppan was abandoned by So Tiruppan was also seen as a unique his parents and was brought up by the singer (all singers could not get entry sweepers but panans are described as inside the temple). Here the paradigm singers in early Tamil literature. Hence is a divine being, not a social role model. this distortion is probably due to north In his poem Tiruppan’s depiction is a Indian stereotype. Further, this classic particular and local manifestation mentions that when Tiruppan was allowed identifying with the Vishnu manifestation by the Brahmin priests to enter the in the sacred hill of Tirumala Tirupati temple, he was full of anger and sorrow: and with the generic Vishnu of the “The priests have made my Lords a Puranas. First verse of his poem shows prisoner, he cannot see those whom he humility to Lord: wants to see.” Further he utters, “I ‘Pure Lord wish I were dead, Lord! With death the Primordial Lord questions of birth and impurity cease Faultless one to exist. No one can separate us then.” Who made me a servant? Furthermore it portrays senseless of his servants’ violence heaped on Tiruppan. Since Here ‘servant of servants’ is Vasudha these details are not in older versions, Narayanan’s realistic translation whereas these are interpolations. The agenda Steven Hopkins translates the phrase as of social reform is visible when Amar ‘slave of slaves’ but slavery has absolutely Chitra Katha mentions: “Even as early a different connotation in western world. as the time of Buddha, Hinduism was Further he depicts in fifth verse: already vitiated by the hierarchy of the caste system… the caste system is still ‘Destroying the bonds a blot on Hindu society despite the of my ancient sins relentless campaigns carried on against he made me his own, his love it by enlightened social reformers and keeping me so, thinkers through the ages….” the other day he entered inside me’ However, all hagiographies mention that when Tiruppan sang inside the Here the poet Tiruppan admits that temple, Lord accepted him, Tiruppan Lord had exonerated him of his old sins. ultimately disappeared into the sacred He made him his own and he entered feet of the Lord. Actually only two inside him – that is, he not only embraced Alvars, Antal (woman bhakta) and him outwardly but also absorbed him Tiruppan disappeared into the deity. inwardly. In tenth verse he expresses Antal had refused to marry a human his desire and inner voice: being and insisted to get wedded to the ‘Dark as the stormy cloud

July-September 2010 :: 71 Cowherd whose mouth wickedness. Similarly, he does not wish Swallowed butter. to serve other devotees, priests and so Lord who captured my heart on – rather he wants a direct relationship King of the sky lords with the Lord as well as equality with Lord of the jewel, Arankam humans. Needless to mention here that My ambrosia. another Alvar of that time Nammalvar My eyes, which have seen him prefers the devotees of the Lord as his Cannot see anything else.’ masters (even if they are untouchables). Here the poet, Tiruppan is of the Further, Tiruppan talks of Lord of clear view that he does not want to Arankam being the same as the Lord see worldly things after seeing the Lord in Venkatam. Like other Alvars, he closely and inwardly. But, unlike many presumes the primacy of Lord Vishnu. dalit saint poets of that era, Tiruppan If we analyse the legacy of does not mention social status of Srivaishnava community, we find that untouchable caste. He is spell bound Tiruppan (and Andal too) was considered by the Lord’s beauty, love, benevolence, exception to normal social system but powerfulness, purity, faultlessness, other untouchables were not allowed righteousness, sacredness, brightness, temple entry to worship Lord or Tiruppan fragrance and so on. One may be puzzled (whose idol was installed in temples and why an untouchable poet, considered worshipped). Srivaishnava scholars like impure and profane, frequently talks of Pillai Lokacharya observes in Lord’s purity and sacredness. This ’Sri Vachana Bhushanam’ that Tiruppan description, of contrast and assimilation Alvar is higher than other devotees with a Hindu God does not fit in with because being the servant, the lowly, the current dalit assertion where typical his lowliness was ‘natural’ while other Hindu tradition is questioned and devotees’ lowliness is ‘assumed’. Similarly abdicated, rather an alternative Buddhist it is said that Andal’s love for the Lord tradition (of B.R. Ambedkar) is adopted was ‘natural’ because of being a woman by a substantial section of dalits. But while men’s love was ‘assumed’. A myth also notable is the fact that during Bhakti is prevalent in South India that once period many dalit poets did not question Ramanuja and his disciples were lost the Hindu social order and its religious in wilderness, and some untouchables texts, temples and rituals – as did non- gave them shelter and showed the way. dalit poets like Tulsidas, Surdas, Mirabai Ramanuja called this group ‘tiru Kulattar’ Dadu, Malukdas, etc. He praises Lord (clan belonging to goddess Lakshmi). for destroying the bonds of his ‘ancient These people, living in Bangalore, are sins’ but these works are generic in nature, allowed temple entry but they prefer not specific about low social status and to worship in their community shrines–

72 :: July-September 2010 some kind of assertion and alternative familiarity, or, in Indian terminology worship. There are twelve shrines (first between ‘saguna’ and ‘nirguna’ one built in honour of Tiruppan Alvar)- conceptions.” Further Rohini Mokashi- four for Lord Vishnu and eight for all Punekar is rightly of the view that Alvars. Many followers (ex-untouchables) Chokhamela’s life ‘captures the wear sacred thread, believing that paradigmatic ambiguity of Hinduism: its Tiruvaymoli, composition of Nammalvar liberating intellectual plurality and its and the Sacred Collection of Four equally restricting social construction.’ Thousand Verses are the Tamil Veda. He belonged to Mahar (the lowliest According to Sri Vipranarayana, there caste) community of untouchables whose is a biological chain of Srivaishnava identity in Hindu society is shaped devotees on the one hand and a direct through a bunch of negations. Mahars link to Alvars, on the other. But were considered untouchable because Srivaishnava devotees, as Vasudha they were dragging out carcasses, Narayanan observes, have agreed in considered impure & polluting. He was, theory that bhakti (devotion) transcends like other untouchables, denied education, all religious prescription but not in scriptures, use of wells and tanks, entry practice. into the temple; hence these themes [II] became themes of his poetry. Chokha Chokhamala was a fourteenth century acknowledges Namdev (a lower caste untouchable saint-poet in Maharashtra. rebel saint poet) as his guru. Chokha’s He belonged to Varkari community that ‘samadhi’ is located at the foot of stairs worships Vitthal (Vithoba) at Pandarpur. to the Vithoba temple (Pandharpur). The pilgrims, during on foot journey As per weaving of one legend and to Pandarpur, sing songs and hymns poem, one day Chokhamela stood the (abhangas). Vitthal is identified by the whole day in front of the temple and stories about the saint-poets, not by at night the priests locked up the door myths & stories about himself. He stands of the temple and went away. Then without terrifying arsenal carried by many Vithoba himself came out & embraced armed Hindu deities. He is a ‘swarup’ Chokhamela and led him by hand to (not avatar) of Vishnu, and sometimes the innermost sanctum sanctorum. identified with the child Krishna. As Fred Vithoba took out his ‘tulsi’ garland and Dallmayre says, the identity of Vitthal put it around Chokhamela’s neck. So contributes to a feeling that it is Chokhamela being pleased lay down on “intriguingly placed at the crossroads the sands of river Chandrabhaga. On between the manifest and the non- the other hand, the priests found golden manifest, between revealment and necklace of Vithoba missing. So they concealment, familiarity and non- suspected Chokhamela who was wearing

July-September 2010 :: 73 the golden necklace while lying on the Chokhamela a due place because his rivers sands. So he was punished by protest ‘is contained in bhakti’ and also being tied with bullocks but these bullocks because ‘he accepts his karma, his birth did not move despite being lashed. as an untouchable due to his previous Finally, Vithoba revealed the truth. deeds’ (Rohini Mokashi – Punekar). Chokhamela’s poem is remarkable: Chokha had died along with other They thrash me, Vithu Mahar labourers when a part of a wall now don’t walk so slow. (they were repairing) collapsed on them. the Pandits whip, When Namdev went to pick up his remains, some crime, he found his bones chanting ‘Vitthal’. don’t know what: Hence his bones were buried at the foot How did Vithoba’s necklace come of the stairs of Vithoba temple – where around your neck? he used to stand all day long in worship. They curse and strike Now all devotees have to visit Chokha’s and say I polluted you. shrine first before entering the main Do not send the cur at your door temple. Chokha’s poem relates to rural away, professions of labourers: Giver of everything, “The saviour of his devotees, You, who never turns away. Chakrapani, hurries to help them Yours is the deed. with their chores With folded hands, he dusts and cleans Chokha begs and fetches water, I revealed your secret, Don’t turn the upholder of dharma; away.’ saves from the searing This poem reveals that Vithoba flames of nirvana. touches and eats with Chokhamela and He keeps the cows gave him the garland – these favours at the milkman’s house are not done to Brahmin priests. Since and happily with others then the devotee untouchables of Vithoba breaks the pot of curd… wear tulsi beads as a mark of respect says Chokha, he is so tender: to Chokhamela. Even today pilgrims his devotees know him to Pandharpur belonging to all castes as a fond mother.” recite this abhanga but he is not as In many abhangs Vitthal is addressed popular as Namdev or Tukaram (lower as mother (mauli). According to caste saint poets) – probably because A.K.Ramanujan, in bhakti poetry not only of his Mahar identity. But at present the poet is a woman before god but the dalits – Buddhists – have not given also god is a loving mother but, as says

74 :: July-September 2010 Rohini Mokashi-Punekar, ‘has little Similarly in another abhang control over the injustices and cruelties Chokhamela recites and questions the of the patriarchal family. Divinity very conception of impurity, becomes a powerless feminine principle, untouchability and thus the caste system thus turning the traditional hierarchy based on it: topsy – turvy’. Further, there is ‘Five elements compound the impure egalitarianism only in theory because, body; in practice, while going to Pandharpur all things mix, different castes walk and eat together thrive in the world. amongst their own groups. As the Then who is pure and who impure? sociologist Irawati Karve rightly The body is rooted in impurity. observes, the ‘dindi’ (group) in which From the beginning to the end, she was walking sang Chokha’s abhangs endless impurities but observed all purity rituals of the heap themselves. Brahmins, not eating together with other Who is it can be made pure? lower caste members of the dindi. Thus Says Chokha, one may say that this varkari movement I am struck with wonder. could not yield much result, yet this Can there be any such quiet movement has been more flexible beyond pollution?’ and durable. Actually dalit movement originated and took roots here and its But in the following Abhang, oral tradition contributed to Marathi Chokhamela accepts the ‘karma’ theory literature in a dynamic way with irony. of Hindu religion (destiny guided by For instance Chokhamela’s following actions in previous birth) which is rejected abhang is radical: by present day dalit writers, intellectuals and social reformers: ‘The Vedas and the Shastras polluted; ‘I will give you a key: the puranas inauspicious, impure; what must be, will be; the body, the soul contaminated; what will not, cannot. the manifest All joy and sorrow you will see Being is the same. are based in karma. Brahma polluted, Vishnu too; Don’t fret Chokha, says God, Shankar is impure, inauspicious. this is my promise: birth impure, dying is impure you are the best of devotees.’ says Chokha, Thus about 400 Abhangas (of pollution stretches Chokhamela and his family – wife, sister, without beginning sister’s husband, and son) have spiritual and end.’ impulse first and literary creations only

July-September 2010 :: 75 later. Chokha’s voice has a combination Brahmin as in case of Raidas). Earlier of both spiritual aspirations and physical no Mahar could go beyond ‘samadhi’ deprivations. Since Abhangas are oral of Chokhamela but in 1947 a Brahmin in nature, there is no final version (like Gandhian, Sane Guruji fasted in front Kabir’s Sakhis, Sabads and Ramainis). of the temple for dalits’ entry into the Chokhamela’s wife Soyrabai, their son temple and since then temple entry is Karmamela, his sister Nirmala and her open to all. Pandharpur pilgrimage is husband Banka composed Abhangas. To actually more a democratizing and know the importance of Chokhamela, one humanizing tradition than a revolutionary needs to see his impact on later one. We tend to agree with Eleanor generations of untouchables, especially Zelliot: “It is difficult to see Chokhamela Mahars. When B. R. Ambedkar openly as a revolutionary figure; it is easy to favoured conversion of Mahars in 1935, see him and his family as a proof of Kisan Fago Bansode (1879-1946) opposed two things: first, creativity dwells at all him. He named one of his newspapers levels; second, the idea of pollution is ‘Chokhamela’ and urged protest through rejected in no uncertain terms by even the following poem: the most devout of untouchables.” ‘Why do you endure curses? Chokhamela’s tradition is still living Chokha went into the temple and changing. He has been represented resolutely. in poetry, drama, music and film by You are the descendents of contemporary creative persons. Veer Chokha. Savarkar wrote a musical play ‘Sangit Why do you fear to enter the Uhshap’ (Antidote to the Curse) by temple? utilizing the image and character of Brace yourself like a wrestler, Chokhamela to project his views about Come, together let us conquer socio-political reforms. Its first pollution.’ performance was done on 9 April 1927 Though B. R. Ambedkar had a different but at the suggestion of the Censor Board path from Chokhamela, yet he dedicated its tragic ending was changed to happy with honour his book ‘The Untouchables’ ending. The anti-Islamic and anti- to Chokhamela, Nandanar and Ravidas Christian sentiments were combined with (Raidas). Ambedkar’s dissenting view the message of eradication of was that the untouchables had been untouchability in this play Savarkar draws Buddhists, forced into degradation when an affectionate picture of Mahar children a Brahminical revival in fourth century by invoking a sense of pride as Mahar CE had marginalized that religion. – it is more glorious to love and die Chokhamela is seen throughout as a as a Hindu than to convert to Christianity Mahar (no myth of being born as a or Islam. The greatness of Hinduism

76 :: July-September 2010 is expressed through the character of standing on its door for long. Then Chokhamela who hails Hinduism as a he sends a message to Lord through superior religion and provider of salvation Janabai, who is from a lower caste but to the downtrodden. Chokhamela not an untouchable and allowed to enter explains to fellow untouchables about the temple: My last johar (Mahar greeting) cleanliness, devotion and willingness to to God. Tell him that this devoted servant serve God. He praises Brahminism by remained loyal to him till the end.” There telling his son Karmamela: ‘don’t make Chokhamela accepts the destined karma such unbecoming poisonous remarks theory by even quoting Sant Gyaneshwar. against the Brahmin caste. A Brahmin But Chokhamela is casteless representing is the third eye of knowledge of Lord the huge oppressed masses and he Mahadev of our great Hindu Dharma.’ emerges to see the Lord but he is aware Further one female character, a Mahar of casteism. He says that the life of girl Kamalini hates her Mahar lover the untouchables has become defilement Shankar because he renounces Hinduism embodied throughout. The play depicts in favour of conversion. She claims the exploitation of Chokhamela at the to be a follower of Chokhamela and for hands of ‘deshpande’ and ‘patil’ (upper her Hindu dharma she is willing to lay caste village officials). It also shows down her life. Finally some opportunistic that he was crushed under a wall while Brahmins, Kshatriyas and Vaishyas working. Thus Chitins has realistically complain to the Muslim king that depicted the deep devotion of Chokhamela is corrupting Hindu dharma Chokhamela, on the one hand, and the by trying to enter the temple. Muslim hypocrisy of the upper castes towards king encourages him to convert to Islam him, on the other (Anil Sapkal). but Chokhamela confirms his loyalty to A Marathi film ‘Sant Chokhamela’ was Hinduism: “Yes, I am a Hindu. I am directed by D. K. Kale in 1941 showing a Mahar, a sweeper who cleans the him working dutifully as a Mahar but traditional circular path around Lord engrossed in devotion to Vitthal. Once Vitthal’s shrine”. Thus, Savarkar shows his shadow falls on a Brahmin Bindu divine justice to be preferred by Madhav who treats this as an act of Chokhamela to social justice (Anil Sapkal). defilement, hence denies him entry into In another play, ‘Yugayatra’ (by M. the street leading to Pandharpur temple. B. Chitins, an assistant of B. R. Ambedkar) But he continues his prayer. in 1956, the character of Chokhamela Consequently Bindu Madhav’s son Anant is depicted realistically with oppression Bhatt becomes Chokhamela’s follower. of the time. He is shown as a bonded Chokhamela stops Mahar tradition of labour of the village headman but not sacrificing a male buffalo before the deity allowed to enter Vithoba temple though Mariai. But Mahars regard it a blow

July-September 2010 :: 77 their pride. They along with upper castes his guru but in the film Banka introduces oppose Chokhamela but Vithal helps him him to ‘bhagvat dharma’. Though evils by appearing as a Mahar to share his of caste system are shown in the film, meal. Thus while underlining the caste yet poverty is shown as the major cause conflict, this film highlights the story of all troubles. Instead of inhuman caste of Anant Bhatt in a progressive way. system, a liberal social situation is shown. In the end, the bones of Chokhamela Namdev declares to Chokhamela, “All repeat the names of Vithoba and Namdev of you are Vitthal.” Chokhamela is a declares that Chokha has become God virtuous and moral person but is opposed incarnate. In the film the character by the village headman. However, the of Chokhamela says, “What kind of a priest Anant Bhatt is close to him. The Brahmin is he if he has no mercy, no character of Bindu Madhav is absent. compassion.” He feels the pain of Mahar Rather Chokhamela is shown caste but accepts the theory of Karma, accompanying Anant’s mother to “It is our credo, our duty to serve. Pandharpur. Chokhamela was engrossed The son serves his parents, the in devotion when village headman drags breadwinner serves his family, and the him away to construct the boundary lowest of society serves the Brahmin. wall around Manglevadhe. But the wall One community serves the other. I collapses and he dies. Vithoba directs serve you, you serve me – This is the Namdev to bring his bones to be placed basis of the credo of service.” (Anil in ‘samadhi’, to be constructed in front Sapkal). of his temple. Here is the effective Another Marathi film, ‘Johar Maybap’ use of music and moving performances (1950) was directed by Ram Gabale and about devotion. However, casteist famous Marathi writer P. L. Deshande humiliation is missing in the film. (Anil played the role of Chokhamela and Sapkal).Thus a comparative analysis of Sulochana acted the role of his wife two plays and two films shows that Soyrabai. Its story was written by the Chokhamela’s devotion to Vithoba is well writer Venkatesh Madgulkar, and represented but other aspects of his life screenplay, dialogue and verses by writer and perspective were depicted with G. D. Madgulkar. Poverty as well as specific ideology or partial understanding affection in the family are vividly of his persona. depicted. Vithoba’s early appearance before Chokhamela reflects a sign of III approval of his devotion. Chokhamela Raidas, Ravidas or Rohidas (in is shown as a bonded labour of the village Maharashtra) was a dalit saint-poet born headman doing all odd jobs, Though in Varanasi. His caste of tanners in poems Banka accepts Chokhamela as (charmakar) was considered physically

78 :: July-September 2010 and socially impure because in their Raidas’ devotion makes him a saint occupation dead animals were carried despite his lowest social standing (James outside the village and were deskinned, G. Lotchtefeld). and finally they made leather shoes. In third portrayal by Priyadas in Further because of Karma theory it was ‘Bhaktirasabodhini’ – a commentary on believed that people were destined by ‘Bhaktamal’ – in 1712, shows that birth actions of the previous birth. There in a Charmakar caste is not the result are six sources of Raidas, coloured by of Raidas’ previous birth’s actions (karma) their writers’ religious, social, economic but because of a curse in previous birth. and ideological views. The first source Then he was a Brahmin and disciple is Nabhadas’ ‘Bhaktamal’ (garland of of Ramananda, and he served food to th devotees), written at the turn of 17 his guru by begging from some specific century (1600 AD). There it is described families. But one day due to storm that the ‘banis’ (verses) of Raidas were he did not move out and accepted food skilled in the knots (granthis) of doubt, from a merchant who did business with but were not opposed to the Vedas, Charmakars. Knowing it, Ramanand shastras, and the practice of good people cursed him to be born as a Charmakar. – that is he did not rebel against Hindu Thus Priyadas’ account reinforces the order. Further, through God’s grace conventional view that Charmakars are Raidas attained the ultimate goal in this polluting and lowliest – even doing body. Finally, he showed pride in his business with dalits is considered impure. lineage, caste and ashram – i.e. he was Further, as per Priyadas, Raidas did not not ashamed of his birth. But Nabhadas’ suckle his untouahble mother’s milk due description lacks specific concrete details. to her touch. Again, Raidas is saved Second portrayal by Anantdas in by Ramanand who initiates Raidas alone. ‘Raidas Parichai’ (1588 but unpublished) Since initiation is considered ‘second is full of magic and miracles to prove birth’, and one’s guru a parent, Ramanand that Raidas was a great saint. He declares becomes Raidas’ ‘real’ father – thus Raidas that Ravidas was a Brahmin in previous is born in a lowly family but does not birth but he ate meat and kept an belong to it in reality. In addition, untouchable co-wife. Further, his parents Raidas is kicked by his father. in present birth were irreligious, Raidas If we compare the accounts of did not suckle mother’s milk for four Anantdas and Priyadas, the following days. Then Ramanand, directed by points emerge (Lochtefeld) : first, heavenly voice, appears and initiates regarding Raidas birth, Priyadas shows his entire family, then Rabidas suckles. greater ambivalence than Anantdas – His parents don’t share his devotion and for the latter Ramanand’s appearance he is deprived of his share of property. is merely dramatic, for Priyadas it is

July-September 2010 :: 79 continuation of an established guru- He tries to subvert the social system disciple bond, confirming that Raidas completely but Priyadas tries to is not a Charmakar. Second, as per rehabilitate Raidas as an individual, Anantdas, Ramanand initiated the entire leaving the social system intact. Though family of Raidas – availability of devotion both accounts are hagiographic but while to all - but Priyadas uses initiation for Priyadas’ ambivalence is about Raidas only Raidas as a way to remove the being both a saint and Charmakar, Anatdas stigma of being a charmakar. Third, focuses on devotion. both writers mention that Raidas was Fourth portrayal of Raidas by treated badly by his family, Anantdas’ Chandrika Prasad Jigyasu in his ‘Sant account reflects their individual Pravar Raidas Sahib (1956) is deliberately shortcomings but Priyadas tries to “A Discriminating Biography: Written establish that Raidas never really from a Buddhist point of view’ (as subtitle belonged to them. Fourth, both writers says). According to its author, Raidas show him as a saint. Both writers show was a Buddhist, drawn into the Hindu that Raidas did not suckle for four days, tradition later. He mentions B.R. but Priyadas adds that Raidas regretted Ambedkar as an example of the fact his error and refused to suckle until that great spiritual leaders can come initiated by Ramanand – hence Raidas from any community. He appeals all was not an ordinary child. Fifth, both to accept Buddhism and abdicate writers describe tales in which Raidas Hinduism as ‘Urine and faeces’. In 1956 displays superhuman powers. e.g. Raidas Ambedkar had converted to Buddhism. goes to his disciple Jhali, queen of Chittore Rejecting Priyadas’ account that Raidas but Brahmins refuse to take food with was Brahmin in previous birth, criticizing Raidas who goes in a corner but all birth due to curse, not suckling for four Brahmins see the figure of Raidas in days and surviving, he emphasizes that between them and later Raidas peels Raidas was a Charmakar and never his skin to reveal a golden sacred thread! claimed to be anything else. Brahmins This established his devotion, sacredness cannot accept that low caste people can and Brahminhood. Sixth, both writers know God by themselves. He gives an show him to worship with an image account of Raidas’ birth: Oneday Raidas’ (Anantdas explicitly describes him a father was passing through the deer park ‘saguna’ devotee) but Raidas actually at Sarnath where Buddha preached first. worshipped (and also in poems) ‘nirguna’ An ascetic there was very fond of ‘Khir’ (formless) God. Eighth, Anantdas shows (pudding), so Ravidas’ parents supplied the tension between dharma and bhakti, it, so the ascetic promised them a son. between a hierarchical social system and Jigyasu claims that an old sadhu at essentially egalitarian religious practice. Varanasi had told him this – but this

80 :: July-September 2010 is equally irrational & unscientific. Ganga and came daily for a ‘holy dip’. Second, criticizing Priyadas he further They pray to the sun God for son. As says that Raidas never mentioned in his per teaching of Sandan Swami he breaks poems that he was a disciple of Ramanand. his mental block – stops thinking himself Third, disagreeing with Nabhadas, he as a Charmakar and then destroys the argues that Raidas’ poetry was distant distinction between ‘self’ and ‘other’. He from Hindu tradition. But, surprisingly, sees God everywhere and says that seeing he uses many mystical stories and God only in an image puts the image miracles from Bhaktamal to buttress his between one self and God. To name point that Raidas was a great saint though is to limit and particularize but God in his book Jigyasu keeps one chapter transcends human conceptual capacities. ‘Buddhists are not convinced by miracles’! Hence, Raidas says, he refers to God To him, miracles were harsh tests of solely as ‘Name’. Later, in the story, his devotion. This contradiction is duly Mirabai visits Raidas and says that she pointed out by James G. Lochtefeld, “On cannot bear to be separated from Lord the one hand Jigyasu shows the rationality Krishna. In response, Raidas says that and rejection of the miraculous since she is already with God, how could characterizing in both early Buddhism there be any separation? Mira, finally, and twentieth century scientific thought. sets the image down, feeling liberated But, on the other hand, he also fixes from slavery to a statue. Further the a full account of these miracles, as if conflict between Raidas and his parents these could provide further proof of arise due to his compassion for the poor Ravidas’ sanctity. It seems as if Jigyasu for whom he steals shoes and money wants to simultaneously deny and affirm from his parents. these miracles.” Sixth portrayal of Ravidas comes from Fifth portrayal of Raidas is in Amar his 39 poems included in Adi Granth Chitrakatha (1988). There it is mentioned (1604) and 8 poems in Fatehpur that real problem is not poverty but Manuscript (1582). These poems are lower status associated with tanning. benchmarks defining the real Raidas. Raidas’ teacher Sandan Swami tells him These poems, however, depict his that distinction between pure and impure religious concerns, mentioning little occupations are the product of ignorant about his personal life. In one poem persons. Later Raidas tells his followers: the image of absolute identity with God “Do not be ashamed of yourself. Do is depicted: not be afraid of your caste. Do your ‘What is the difference work with dignity and bow before no Between you and me one but God”. This book shows that Me and you? parents of Raidas were taking bath in Like the gold and the bracelet

July-September 2010 :: 81 Water and waves.’ (sadguru) one can know the saints; he In another poem the identification exhorts people to follow guru’s path. is less direct, phrased in terms of Often ‘sadguru’ is another way of referring associated things: to the Divine. He does not favour rituals: ‘If you are the mountain, ‘One cleans the outside body with I am the peacock; water, but inside there are various If you are the moon, faults. How can one become pure, I am the Chakora bird.’ this is like the elephant’s bath.’ Third poem shows a humble man In another poem he tells that a man with little faith in his capacities; his of good family performing rituals without only hope lies in surrender to God: devotion is no better than an untouchable. Though he does not reject ‘Tanner Ravidas says: Vedas and shastras, (as Jigyasu thought) My birth is low in one poem he says: ‘O Lord, the Vedas My people are low call you the Inner Knower, but they My caste is also low do not know your glory’ – thus he is Raja Ramachandra not totally unopposed to Vedas (as I have come to you for refuge!’ Nabhadas asserted). Thus he has some However, in one poem, he talks of kind of ambivalence regarding Vedas. ‘begampur’ (the sorrowless city) where Thus against these six portrayals, his there is no anxiety, no jealousy, no taxes poems express the authenticity. As his or trade; there is ‘no second or third’ one poem says about devotion as the (social hierarchy) – all are equal. People ultimate decider: live there comfortably – this is a utopian version indicating what his society was ‘In whatever family a good wanting. However, he seems less vaishnav is found, interested in changing the society than Whether they be high caste or in transcending it altogether. In one outcaste, lord or pauper, poem, he compares himself to a fish the world will know the one by that never forgets her home, even after his flawless fragrance. her body has been cut up for cooking, Whether one’s heart is Brahmin every piece still longs for water. This or Vaishya, conveys a sense of alienation and displacement. Though he does not Shudra or Kshatriya mention his guru’s name, Raidas Dom, Chandal, or Mlechcha recognizes his significance: through through the worship of the Lord, guru’s grace one attains God and does one becomes pure and not go to hell; through true guru

82 :: July-September 2010 liberates the self and both family all good qualities, Ram – Govinda lines.’ … In another poem he questions the My caste is Kutabadhala. I carry very conception of impurity: cattle hides ‘The baby calf makes the cow’s All around Benares always. udder unclean, Now the Brahmins and leaders the bee spoils the flower and the bow down before me. fish, the sea. Ravidas, your servant, has taken Oh mother! What can I bring to the refuge of your name. offer in worship to Govind. In another poem he calls himself ‘the There is no perfect flower to be servant of servants’. It is noteworthy found! that Sikh’s Guru Granth Sahib consists The snake has spoiled the of forty one poems of Raidas – here sandalwood tree; ‘a dalit forms part of the spirituality the poison and the nectar are of a major religion,’ says Chandrabhan one. Prasad, a dalit scholar who quotes Engels: “Every struggle against feudalism at the Incense, lamps, offerings of food, time had to take on a religious disguise,” fragrances: and Ravidas did that centuries back. How can I, your servant, offer Actually, Raidas has got a large number these? of followers called ‘Raidasis’ or Ravidasis.’ I would offer my body, my mind; Raidasi Sikh migrants in US and Europe have built temples and gurudwaras in through the grace of guru I will his name and celebrate continuously by find the one without stain. organizing seminars, discourses and I cannot worship you and offer festivals. His followers made first Raidas rituals, temple in Varanasi. But like Kabirpanthis, So, Ravidas says: What is to be Raidasis, too, have indulged in rituals my end? (instead of devotion) and different sub- He declares his tanner caste but tells sects, groups or individuals indulge in that devotion to God has brought upper fighting for the capture and control of castes to bow down to him: the seat of power there. Oh people of the city! From above analysis, the following critical points emerge about dalit saint My notorious caste is Chamar! – poets in different parts of India during In my heart is the essence of Bhakti movement:

July-September 2010 :: 83 First, the voices of dalit saint-poets life but they deliberately ignore similar are the first authentic voices of the magic and miracles associated with dalit untouchable communities. saint-poets. Second, these saint-poets opened their Sixth, these dalit saint-poets often following to all humans, irrespective of developed new sects like Ravidasis (like barriers like caste and creed, language Kabirpanthis and Dadupanthis), or annual and residence. A sense of companionship Pandharpur pilgrimage or new temples and brotherhood exists in their poems. (Raidas temple in Varanasi, Punjab, US Third, all saint-poets praise and etc.) or ‘samadhis’ at the foot of the worship God as ‘saguna’ (with qualities) stairs of ancient temples (Chokhamela) or ‘nirguna’ (the formless) and see in – reflecting some kind of latent and partial them the saviours of the oppression, inclusion in the Hindu social-religious untouchability and helplessness. order. Fourth, all dalit saint-poets are Seventh, these dalit saint-poets used conscious of their lowest caste position vernacular languages of the masses for in a hierarchical social system. They mass appeal through their poems, songs dislike and humbly protest against the and hymns. This process of caste, impurity and pollution but they democratization of regional literature is did not rebel against the existing stratified noteworthy since medieval period in social systems as such. They often see different parts of India. Their personal individual liberation through devotion self-experiences with caste-linked to God, but not radical collective occupations popularized new terms, liberation from the socio-economic, idioms, tools & techniques of depiction, political and religious inequalities. and metaphors from grassroots reality. Contemporary dalit writers criticize them Finally, a new trend of establishing for being liberal and not questioning personal bonds with the divine power the caste system itself. without any mediators (like priests) Fifth, they are proximately associated opened new vistas of word and deed. with various myths, legends and anecdotal What feminists adopted in the second tales reflecting unrealistic magic and half of twentieth century for ventilation miracles to establish their authority of of their grievances under the idiom of great sainthood. Contemporary dalit ‘personal is political’, was expressed many writers usually question the Hindu centuries back by dalit saint poets, religion and social order on the ground though in a latent form that may be that it has various miracles which are accurately called ‘personal is social’ not rational and scientific in everyday because liberation from the caste prejudices could be achieved through

84 :: July-September 2010 devotion to God and the so-called upper incremental (not fundamental) changes castes also became their followers and in socio-religious and cultural order of disciples in due course of time. Hindu society in India during Bhakti Thus, the poems and songs as well movement period (fourteenth to as the religious discourses of dalit saint- seventeenth centuries) in more than one poets did bring functional and ways.

Subhash Sharma, born 1959, educated in J.N.U., author of ten books including books in English ‘why people protest, dialectics of agrarian development.’ His main interests include culture, environment, education and development. He works in Ministry of Defence and lives in New Delhi.

July-September 2010 :: 85 SOME GREAT INDIAN LITERARY THEORISTS Ravi Nandan Sinha

Indian poetics is at least as old as Greek and Latin literary theory, and no less rich. From Acharya Bharat to Pandit Raj Jagannath (a contemporary of Mughal emperor Shahjahan) there was an almost unbroken tradition of literary criticism and theory in India. Among the greatest Indian theorists Acharya Bharat is regarded as the earliest. His Natyashastra has influenced all later writers who have either re-stated Bharat’s theory of literature or have commented on it. It is not possible to determine definitively the age in which he lived. All scholars, however, accept that Bharat Discourse must have lived before Christ. It is certain that he lived before Kalidasa, who has referred to him in his play Vikramorvashiyam Professor Keith believes that Bharat did not belong to an age earlier than the 3rd century B.C. Harprasad Shastri, on the other hand, believes that he lived in the 2nd century B.C. He must have lived between these two centuries. Some scholars think that the Natyashastra was not written by one person but must have evolved over centuries. There are thirty six chapters in the Natyashastra, though Abhinavgupta thinks that there are thirty-seven chapters in it. Abhinavgupta has commented on the thirty seventh chapter. Some parts of the Natyashastra are in verse, others are in prose. The book deals with various fine arts, but its main focus is on poetic drama. Bharat is supposed to be the originator of the Rasa theory in Sanskrit poetics, which simply stated, is an analysis of the process in which literature is experienced imaginatively. It deals with the origin of drama, the stage, music and musical instruments, acting, dancing and the theory of Rasa. Bharatnatyam, the famous

86 :: July-September 2010 Indian classical dance form draws most consider the combination of word and of its theory and grammar from this its meaning as poetry (shabdartho book. Later scholars wrote commentaries sahitau kavyam). on the Natyashastra. In the 7th century, Dandin, another great commentator Sri Harsha (606-647), the last Hindu on literature, lived in the early part emperor of north India and a dramatist of the 7th century. Maxmueller, Weber of no mean ability, wrote a commentary and Mcdonald believe that he lived in on it. The finest commentary on the the sixth century, but a majority of Natyashastra, however, is scholars today accept the view that he Abhinavbharati written by belonged to the 7th century. He was Abhinavgupta, who lived between the a member of the court of the Pallava 10th and 11th centuries in Kashmir. The king Singhvishnu in South India. Three Natyashastra is the original source book of his works Kavyadarsh, for Indian poetics. Dushkumarcharit and Avantisundari Bhamah occupies an important place Katha-are known. Dushkumarcharit, as among the earliest Sanskrit theorists. the name indicates is the story of ten Not much is known about his life. He princes. Avantisundari Katha is in prose. possibly belonged to Kashmir and lived Kavyadarsh is one of the most important in the 6th century A.D. Some people Sanskrit texts on poetics. It has been believe that Bhamah was a Buddhist, translated into many languages including but since he has criticised the Buddhist Tibetan. Dandin discusses the nature and theory of apoha, it is difficult to believe kinds of poetry, riti, alankara, and that he was a Buddhist. various defects in poetry. Dandin was His Kavyalankara is said to be the not only a theoretician but also a very first independent and fully organized book good poet. He is famous for his beautiful on Sanskrit poetics. It has six chapters phrases (Dandinah padalalityam). and 400 verses. Bhamah discusses the Udbhat (his full name is Bhattodbhat) purpose, nature and types of poetry, of the 8th century may be considered the three qualities- madhurya to be one of the founders of the Alankara (sweetness), prasad (tenderness) and oj school of Sanskrit poetics. He was a (energy) – of poetry. He gives a detailed native of Kashmir and was the chief account of various alankaras (poetic scholar in the court of Jayapida, the devices) and also describes the defects king of Kashmir. In his Rajtaringini in poetry. It can be said that no other Kalhana mentions one Bhattodbhat who poetics in the world discusses the features was the chief scholar in the court of of bad poetry in such great deatil as king Jayapida and who was given a salary Indian poetics does. Bhamah’s greatest of one lakh dinar a day. contribution is that he was the first to Kavyalankarasangraha, Bhamahvivaran

July-September 2010 :: 87 and Kumarsambhav are the only texts has authored a number of books on of Udbhat available today. grammar, philosophy and poetics of Kumarsambhav is a short poetic work which the best known is Dhwanayloka. based on Kalidasa’s Kumarsambhav. Dhwani is an extremely old principle Bhamahvivaran is a commentary on in Indian poetics. Even before Bhamah’s Kavyalankara and Anandvardhan, this principle had been Kavyalankarasangraha is an exposition discussed by scholars. Abhinavgupta says of various kinds of alankaras that this principle of dhwani was not (embellishments of poetry or figures of propounded by any single scholar. speech). He has discussed forty one kinds Anandvardhan also says that great poets of alankaras taking most of his examples like Vyas, Valmiki and Kalidasa were from his own Kumarsambhav. aware of this principle. He says that Vaman, who is said to be the founder dhwani can be seen in Bharat’s theorist of the Riti school of Indian poetics Natyashastra also. In the Natyashastra was also a minister in the court of rasa has been accepted as the primary Jayapida. His only work is Kavyalankara. element in poetry. Dhwani seems to be He has described riti as the soul of an elaboration of rasa. Anandvardhan poetry. (ritiratma kavyasya). He says has therefore accepted rasadhwani as that the word (shabda) and its meaning the soul of poetry. In the Agnipurana (artha) constitute the body of poetry also dhwani has been mentioned, but of which riti is the soul. By riti he means not as a principle but as a figure of a particular arrangement of words speech (i.e. alankara). (vishishtapadarachna). These Defining dhwani, Anandvardhan has arrangements in turn depend on certain written in his Dhwanyalok, “Where the definite gunas or excellences of vachak (literal expression) and vachya composition. Riti connotes something (its literal meaning) make themselves more than the English word ‘style’ in and their meaning secondary and express which there is always an element of their symbolic meaning, scholars call subjectivity. Riti, on the other hand, that dhwani.” Poetry in which dhwani suggests a proper agreement between predominates is called dhwani-kavya by sound and sense that is based on clearly Anandvardhan. He considers dhwani to defined gunas. be the fundamental quality of poetry. Anandvardhan lived in the 9th He divides poetry into three kinds: century and was the chief scholar in vastudhwani, alankardhwani and the court of Avantivarma, the king of rasadhwani. The first two may sometimes Kashmir. He is one of the most important give a literal meaning but rasadhwani theoreticians associated with the Dhwani always has a symbolic or suggested school of Sanskrit poetics. Anandvardhan meaning. The suggested meaning does

88 :: July-September 2010 not depend on the individual meanings belonged to Kashmir. He has cited from of the constituent parts of poetry. It the works of Anandvardhan and is much more than that and constitutes Rajshekhar which proves that he must what is known as poetic beauty. have belonged to a period after them, Abhinavgupta says that some scholars that is, the late tenth century and the consider the experience of beauty to early 11th century. He saw dhwani as be the soul of poetry. He accepts that a part of vakrokti. definition because according to him there Kuntaka called vakrokti the soul of is no difference between the experience poetry (vakroktih kavya jivitam). The of beauty and dhwani. word vakrokti was first used by Bhamah Anadvardhan says that poetry can in the 6th century. Bhamah considers have many forms but it has the same vakrokti to be a synonym for hyperbole basic quality, and that is its power of or exaggeration and considers it the suggesting a symbolic meaning. He primary feature of poetry. He believes illustrates his point with the help of that alankara, that is the element of an example. When a woman tells a embellishment in poetry is not possible wandering ascetic, “The dog which barked without vakrokti. According to Bhamah, at you has been killed by the angry poetry without vakrokti is not poetry lion living in the forest of the Godavari”; but mere statement. it has both a literal and a suggested Acharya Dandin divided poetry into meaning. The suggested meaning is just two parts: swabhavokti and vakrokti. the opposite of the literal meaning. The Swabhavokti alankar for him is a plain literal meaning is that since the dog statement. An expression that is different that barked at you has been killed, you from swabhavokti and is hyperbolic is can come here without fear. The suggested vakrokti. He however does not accept meaning (dhwani) is that now though that all eccentric or vichitra writing can the dog has been killed by the lion, claim to be poetry. It should be tadvid it is more dangerous for you to come ahlad kari (that is, capable of giving here as you too can be killed by the pleasure to the sahridaya, that is, the lion, so you should not visit this place. connoisseur). According to him all She says this so that the ascetic will alankaras (figures of speech) are secondary not come there and disturb her when to vakrokti. Vaman considers vakrokti she meets her lover in the forest of to be just one of the many alankaras. the Godavari. Anandvardhan also equated vakrokti with Acharya Kuntaka has propounded the hyperbole. According to him all alankaras principle of vakrokti. He is the author basically tend towards vakrokti. of Vakroktijivita. Like most other Indian The description of vakrokti by scholars of Sanskrit poetics, he too

July-September 2010 :: 89 Kuntaka is different from all other scholars (conventional words), before him. He does not consider vakrokti identification based on to be an alankara but the very soul resemblances, attributive words, of poetry. He established a new school covert expressions, adjectives, of vakrokti. He says that when a thing affixes, bhava (roots of words), or condition is expressed indirectly it gender and verb. is called vakrokti. It is the idea of iii. Padottarardh vakrata (vakrokti vaichitrya that creates extraordinary in the terminal part of a word) charm in poetry. He calls it vichitra Under this come the peculiar uses abhidha (a striking denotation). The of kala (tense), karaka (case), common man expresses something in sankhya (number), purusha an ordinary manner but a poet says (person), upagraha (voice) and the same thing in a manner that results particles. in poetry. The quality of poetry depends iv. Vakya vakrata (vakrokti in on the skill of the poet. Elsewhere too syntax). Kuntaka says that a in Sanskrit poetics the poet’s skill is skilled poet can arrange words equated with the power of his in a sentence in innumerable ways. imagination. It is because of the skill of the poet that his expression acquires v. Prakaran vakrata (vakrokti in the a miraculous property or a special kind presentation of a particular topic). of charm. Thus, in his view vakrokti vi. Prabandh vakrata (vakrokti in is different from ordinary language. the organization of the parts of Kuntaka has given a greater poetry into a whole). He says importance to vakrokti than rasa, dhwani that vakrokti can have many other and auchitya (roughly translated as the types also but he has indicated quality of being right). He believed that only the six main types. vakrokti includes in itself all the other Abhinavgupta lived in the 10th three. He has identified six kinds of century in Kashmir. He was a great vakrokti: exponent of the Shaiva philosophy. He i. Varna vinyas vakrta (vakrokti has written authoritative commentaries in the arrangement of letters). on the Natyashastra and Dhwanyaloka. It includes alliteration and Another great scholar from Kashmir consonance. was Mammat who lived in the second ii. Padapurvardha vakrata half of the 11 th century. We do not (vakrokti in the substantive of know much about his life except that the phrase). It includes the he had studied in Kashi and that he striking uses of synonym, rudhi was a Shaiva. His most famous work

90 :: July-September 2010 is Kavyaprakasha (written between 1050 (c) faults relating to words. These three and 1100 A.D.). He was interested not kinds of faults are interrelated. only in literature but also in grammar Probably it was Vaman who was the as he has quoted Panini’s Mahabhashya first theorist to discuss the faults of in a number of places. Kavyaprakasha poetry. He said that the nature of faults is a kind of compendium of all the earlier is the opposite of qualities. Acharya ideas in Indian poetics and yet, all along, Anandvardhan has not discussed the the entirely original voice of Mammat faults of poetry separately, but in his can be heard. discussion of dhwani, he has mentioned One of the remarkable things about them. Indian poetry is that it discusses in detail Mammat begins by discussing the the defects in poetry. Mammat’s faults in the use of words. According Kavyaprakash gives a detailed account to him the following kinds of words are of what constitutes bad poetry. His advice faulty: is timeless, from which poets writing i Those words that are not pleasant today can learn a great deal. He says that when the primary meaning of a to the ear are faulty. A word poem is not expressed properly, it is that does not go with the music a fault. He also says that in poetry rasa of the other words in the (emotion) is the primary meaning and composition are called so when it is not expressed properly, shrutikatu (that is, sounding it is a fault. He says, “That which unpleasant). diminishes the primary meaning is known ii Words not used according to as fault in poetry.” In poetry rasa the rules of grammar. (generation of emotion, feeling etc.) iii Words which have become constitutes the primary meaning. The obsolete must not be used in literal meaning given by words too is poetry. influenced by the rasa and so that too is part of the primary meaning. Both iv Asamartha are those words rasa and the literal meaning are caused incapable of conveying the by words and phrases, therefore they intended meaning. They are also may have this fault. Mammat’s view words that are grammatically is that any element of poetry that correct but cannot be diminishes the rasa nishpatti (creation understood without help from of emotion in the reader) is a fault in some other source. it. Mammat considers three kinds of major v A word may have a well-known faults in poetry: (a) faults relating to and a little known meaning. If rasa (b) faults relating to meaning and a poet uses a word in its less

July-September 2010 :: 91 known sense, it will be seen as of the use of the word ashaya a fault. Mammat gives an example as a synonym for vasana or to illustrate this. If the colour samskara. Ashaya is used in this of the lips of a woman is indicated sense only in the Yogashastra with the word shonit, the and not elsewhere. common meaning of which is xi Words that are crude and are blood and not red, it will be used by uneducated people only seen as a fault. When a reader must be avoided. reads such a line he thinks first xii Difficult words that do not of blood, which is not the convey their meaning intended meaning of the poet. immediately must be avoided. vi Those words are faulty which Mammat says that similar faults can have an improper meaning. It be seen in the use of phrases and sentences means that the word gives a also. meaning which instead of praising someone ends up insulting him, Many other scholars like Rudrat (9th despite the poet wanting to praise century), Rajshekhar (10th century), him. Mukulbhatta (10th century), Bhattanayak (10th century), Dhananjaya (10th vii Use of meaningless words is a century), Mahimbhatta (11th century) fault in poetry. It means words and Kshemendra (11th century) made (such as ‘and’, ‘also’) that have important contributions to the been used just to complete the development of Indian poetics. The last metre and which do not add major literary theorist was certainly anything to the meaning of the Panditraj Jagganath, who is mentioned line. with great respect by all the later writers viii Those words that are obscene on the subject. He was a South Indian are faulty. Words that create a Brahmin who spent many years in Delhi feeling of embarrassment or in the court of the Mughal emperor disgust may be called obscene Shahjahan, who honoured him with the words. title of Panditraj (the king among ix Words that give an uncertain scholars). He has written a number of meaning are seen as a fault. books two of which–Rasagangadhar and x Apratit is a word that has a Chitramimansa–are on poetics. He also technical meaning in a particular wrote a book called Jagdabharan on subject and does not have a Darashikoh, the eldest son of Shahjahan. meaning that everyone can There is great originality in his literary understand. He gives the example theory and his style is mature. He

92 :: July-September 2010 considers talent to be the only cause observation and experience to be the of poetry, while Mammat considers talent causes of poetry. as well as skill born of practice,

Dr. Ravi Nandan Sinha, edits The Quest, a journal of Indian literature and culture established in 1987. Sahitya Akademi and National Book Trust India have published books of Hindi poetry and fiction translated by him. Presently, Head, PG Dept. of English, St. Xavier’s College (Autonomous), Ranchi.

July-September 2010 :: 93 THE BAMBOO Kashinath Singh

Translated by Minu Manjari

Stories are to tell and to listen — be they of present or of past. And they are of many types. There are some we don’t hear even while listening. Some take entry from one ear and get straight out of the other. Some come, stay for a while and leave. But some reside in our hearts and minds, forever. Such is this story. Very old— thousands of years old — of the time when Buddha! also called Shashta and Tathagata, was sojourning in Jaitvana near Shravasti. A person had gone somewhere for some work and was now returning home. Perhaps after a considerable time. The forest Short story was dense and the season was rainy.The month of Saavan-Bhadon. Lightning and thunder in the dense, bushed, dangerous, forest. He had to reach home before dark. Walking fast, he felt someone following him. He looked, back. A fierce man-eater was following him. Hungry and ready to jump. The man ran with all his might. The lion also bounded. But behold the tricks of nature! He reached a place where in front there was a river. And the river not calmly flowing but frisking madly. Not meandering, but plucking trees, crushing stones. Uncivilized mountain river,ready to crush anything. The current so fierce that even an elephant would be swallowed. The lion behind, in front the bouncing river. Both sides death with its mouth gaping. If he stopped to think, he’d die. He jumped. If one has to die, why think!

94 :: July-September 2010 When he became conscious again, difficulty. he was on the other side of the river. ‘Where are you going Arya? Exhausted but alive. He did not remember ‘Pattangram!’ how he got the bamboo that saved his life. Even now his hands clutched it. ‘Is it near?’ He got up. This is not just a bamboo, ‘No, Bhante! Its quite far. On the this is my god’, he thought. ‘It has saved other side of the jungle.’ my life. I must have drowned without Tathagata looked at the vast forest it. Even my dead body wouldn’t be found’. and the bent man. He pondered. His eyes filled with tears of gratitude. ‘Arya, are bamboos not found in He pulled the heavy bamboo out of water Pattangram?’ and joined his hands in devotion. ‘Bhante, Pattangram is situated amidst He decided that he will take this ‘god’, bamboo woods.’ his ‘god’ , to his house and worship it. ‘If this any special variety then?’ The green bamboo had become even ‘No, it’s easily found.’ more heavy soaked in water. It was hard Tathagata was silent. After a pause to turn it. But the man carried it on he spoke —‘Arya, you are so tired; his head and went on; sweating, hungry. Pattangram is far away. The way was uncouth. Black clouds You can’t even stand up, then why are descended and the jungle was dark before you carrying this bamboo?’ night. The burden was heavy. His legs ‘Bhante, what you call bamboo is faltered. He breathed heavily, but never my god’. for a moment he left the bamboo. ‘Tell me in detail’. Tathagata was coming that way and The man recounted the story and he saw the plight of this man. ‘Are you said in the end — ‘Bhante, this bamboo alright, Arya!’ Tathagata asked. The man has saved my life, it helped me.’ stopped. He straightened his neck with ‘But Arya, now it is killing you.’ difficulty and saw — a hermit in ‘cheevar’, shaved head, calm and peaceful face. ‘But I am alive by its help only.’ ‘you did not answer, Arya! Either ‘Arya, it’s work is over now. Now, you are worried or angry!’ it’s just a burden. Meaningless.’ ‘Bhante, I am neither worried, nor The man shook his head and looked angry. Forgive me for not answering at the bamboo with tender gratitude. you. I am tired with this heavy load, ‘Arya , use your reason, put away so I can’t speak.’ The man spoke with this bamboo and go home.’ Tathagata

July-September 2010 :: 95 told him before going. So this is the story — read or heard ‘Don’t ask me to become ungrateful years ago. I don’t remember what the Bhante,’ said the man. man did after all. But I keep imagining him — standing still with the burden ‘Life is most important, Arya. I am on his head, exhausted, moving this way with life.’ and that. He has to go miles, but what The man kept looking at Tathagata to do with the bamboo? who was vanishing in the dark.

Kashinath Singh, born 1937, is a prominent author whose short stories, novels and memoirs have stirred the literary scene in Hindi. The present short story is a laghu katha that reads like a fable. Recipient of Katha Samman, Sharad Joshi Samman and Sahitya Bhushan Samman. He was professor and head of Hindi department in B.H.U. He lives in Varanasi.

Minu Manjari, works in an office of the Ministry of Defence. She translates in many languages. She is also doing her D. Phil. in English from Patna University. She lives in Patna.

96 :: July-September 2010 THE BRATS Manisha Kulshreshtha

Translated by Eishita Siddhartha

These three youths had boarded the Pink City train early in the morning at 6’o clock after me. It seemed as if the dormant breath of this last, deserted coach of the train had suddenly started to move...talking loudly, interacting, carrying their luggage. Though imitating the foreign tourists, these tourists were clearly looking like natives. In their conversation, words like fuckin... fuckoff... fuckall abounded. All this was very annoying to me. As they came, they dashed down their entire luggage with a bang on the front seat. A kind of liberal, middle class but a modern sort of callousness was visible in their conversation, Short story be it their way of talking, manner of throwing the luggage, walking style or the hair, the slippers, the shoes without the socks or the faded jeans. In their eyes whatever they were doing was the fashion, was modernity. This modernity was sometimes concealing their middle class poverty and sometimes exposing it. The pink city leaves from the Sarai Rohila station of Delhi exactly at 6’o clock and reaches Jaipur at 3 in the afternoon, so my son seated me in the train at 5:30 in the morning, settled my luggage, gave me a cup of espresso coffee from the front stall and left. Already seated...moreover a settled, free, Indian passenger, on top of that a woman passenger... and that too a creative passenger like me, tries to investigate about the state of environment

July-September 2010 :: 97 according to the appearance— face, the They all settled in their respective way of talking, the kind of names of places after seeing the map. The bags every newly boarding passenger, believe were thrown callously in their upper me I was also doing something similar berth. The older boy kept the guitar to that. A sort of weird hobby isn’t in his lap, as if it was a pet. The younger it... the excessive liking of an Indian put the walkman in his ear, the girl to interfere in others’ matters. kept the eatables in the bag near to The three were definitely the residents her. of Goa. I didn’t take the decision by The girl though dark complexioned merely looking at their faces...because was attractive, of average stature, slim it was written in the front of the shirt and cute. Her hair was disorderly... She that the girl was wearing, ‘My Goa, Heaven had coloured some of her otherwise curly on Earth.’ A big silver cross in black black hair in dark red and golden hue. thread was hanging by her neck. Not It seemed it was an effort to conceal only this, they were sometimes talking the white hair by applying henna at in English and at times in Konkani home. I remembered Mrs. Batra of my language. All the three boarded with college; she also looked like her after their guitar, camera, walkman, three old applying henna on her greying hair, but bags, lots of chips and cold drink bottles this is today’s fashion, uncouth fashion! and some magazines... and now all three The adult woman inside me clenched. of them were settled in the seat exactly Among the boys, the younger one in front of me in a disorganised manner. by his face seemed to be her brother, The girl was there, the rest of the two (yes... the structure of his nose and lips were boys. One younger, the other older. were exactly like the girl... the girl was The three of them were bending over dark complexioned but charming and a tourist map of north-India and were he! Absolutely black) that... the one who making some programmes... in Konkani. has the ear plug in his ear and is humming Their camera was lying callously in the while shaking his leg. Sometimes he used corner of the seat, I whimpered in the to sing a bit louder completely ignorant heart, it seems as if they don’t have of his environment... the girl then struck any idea regarding the north-India... him with her elbow. specially the pickpockets and the petty The hand of the elder boy was slowly thieves of Delhi or they have never heard caressing the strings of the guitar, he of it. I thought I should warn them... was humming some English song and but their indifferent look on me had looking at the girl sweetly, and the girl offended me and so I thought, ‘Ah! What smiled and started looking outside the do I have to do with it”.

98 :: July-September 2010 window. The station started bursting with After a minute when the noise got activity. The window near which the girl unbearable I bent towards him and asked, was sitting... some road side Romeos ‘Isn’t it Madonna!’ I thought he would started wandering there. They said in understand the sarcasm in the sentence Hindi some purely roadside filthy and will lower the volume. sentences that the girl was unable to ‘Huh...’ he said. comprehend but as a girl she understood The girl nodded her head, made a by her sixth sense that something has face and said, ‘She is not for our been said regarding her clothes. generation... he likes Shakira and Britney’. She was wearing a small, backless I was not able to read anything top which was showing her navel. She from the set of books that I had brought was wearing a silver belly -ring. The with me. I kept listening to that deafening elder boy instantly understood her music for fifteen minutes. The middle hesitation and there was a light shadow aged man understood my problem. He of frenzy on his face. He gave her a patted on the knee of the younger boy. shirt with long sleeves from the back. He took off the earphones and started And then he made the younger boy sit looking at him in an irritated manner. by the window. He made the girl sit The music coming out of the earphone in between and placed his arm on her was confronting the galloping sound of shoulders and sat very close to her. the train with full force. The girl was wearing the shirt carelessly given by him, but unbuttoned. Forever... forever... tan tan tan The train had whistled now. Those Toun... chak chak chuk chuk...da to. who had to board the train... had boarded “Agar tum itana tez music sunoge and had started locating their seats. It tumhare kaan kharab ho jayenge”, the was a second class coach. And a middle middle aged man said politely and quietly. aged man had seated himself next to The boy nodded his head, indicating me... and his wife also. The younger that firstly he can’t hear anything and boy was exactly in front of me now... secondly he cannot understand Hindi. he was wearing a green bermuda and He said in English in a relatively a flowery shirt. The hair in front were louder voice that “if you listen to loud bleached so much that they had turn music your hearing will be damaged.” golden. The younger boy had increased the volume of his walkman as the train “What?”, he asked in a loud voice started. It was so much that even I and switched off the walkman. could listen to it. So much noise and “He is saying... you are going to ruin in between the voice of some pop singer. your hearing, if you will continue playing

July-September 2010 :: 99 music so loudly”. I shouted loudly in boy hesitated and in reaction pulled his the silence. bermuda which was at his thighs- Suddenly all three of them started downwards and started looking outside laughing loudly. The younger boy the window. controlling his laughter said in a sort “It is our mistake also...where do of fragmented Goan Hindi “accha! we have the time to teach them the Shukriya!” And he hung the earphones lessons of values”. I said taking a cold around his neck and kept his walkman breath. in the long hanging pocket of his Bermuda, “Looking at them they seem to be because of which it hung even further. middle class... but look at the fashion I got up embarrassed and taking my and manner of living. These Christians hand towel started preparing for going are like that only. You just see, how to the bathroom. As I turned I heard shamelessly they are seeing those filthy the voice “...what fuckin concern these books, they have no respect for elders”. oldies have!” this was the girl’s voice. The doctor’s wife whispered. “Shut up Liza. She is right” this serious “It’s not about just one caste, our voice was of the older boy. young generation is completely like this. When I came back from the bathroom It is the effect of the western culture the older boy was looking at the centre and the rest has been completed by spread of Debonair. The girl was also the T.V. channels. They have so much bending with him... time and again she of freedom, did we have that?” the doctor was pulling his hair or giving a punch said. to the elder boy on his back for the “Yes, every generation has its merits comments made by him in a low voice. and demerits”. That middle aged man and his wife were “Yes, but this generation...they have now addressing me with sympathy. no maturity whatsoever. Look at them... Through mutual acquaintance it came just useless passion. They have no talent, to be known that he is a doctor. His no brain, no courage to do something, wife is a teacher. or to become something. In terms of “This is the condition of our young social values-a zero. As she showed a generation”. Doctor sahib was saying. zero by joining her thumb with her index “Day by day they are getting finger the young trio started looking discourteous. No values are left”. His at her with surprise. Actually they all wife said staring at the threesome who believe in enjoyment... enjoy what you were engaged in themselves. The younger are getting now... earn money anyhow and spend it... just spend it. Let the

100 :: July-September 2010 rest of the world go to hell”. The doctor’s each without hesitation and started wife was cursing them. The three of them eating. The girl said with a mouth were understanding that the topic of crammed with poori, “very delicious our talk is them... may be because of aunty, what pickle is this?” saying this this the younger boy had started singing she took up another poori and spread loudly while listening to the walkman the pickle on it and started making a and teasing the girl who sat close to roll. the boy. The boy had started playing “Teti” she said indifferently. some Goan music on his guitar. “What T?” “Call it enjoyment or materialism... “A wild fruit.” The doctor explained. we are also not left untouched. Yes but this young generation is more “Oh I thought... these are sea fish’s irresponsible. Whatever may be, our eggs”. future is based on them”. “No no we are pure vegetarian”. “Future! Except for the old age homes Saying this, the teacher madam drew what can this youth give us? This her tiffin from them and started eating generation is too selfish. Did we ever facing towards me. I sat close to the hear the names of the old age homes window. in India before? Our mother-in-law kept The train made the sound of creeee... vexing... I mean she kept staying with kich and stopped. May be it was the us.” chain pulling. This is the industrial area The doctor nodded his head and was outside Delhi. This is everyday’s story, lost in thought. It seemed as if his wife many local passengers board this train had said something very important. He and every train that leaves from Delhi then picked up the newspaper and started till 8’o clock. Then there is chain pulling reading it. His stupid wife started again and again. The train is not able preparing the snacks. to leave Delhi’s boundary even in two hours. It is the same case with the evening “Take something”. trains. Not only a lot of time is wasted, “No... I’ am fasting”. I clearly told these people enter everywhere-from the her. The assimilation of my mother’s first class to the reserved seats. And saying in my childhood ‘don’t take then they misbehave with the passengers. anything to eat from a stranger while If they see a girl or a beautiful woman travelling’. they sit very close to her. If her guardians The doctor asked the three youths disapprove-then a fight... then these formally... the three took up a poori people won’t let the train move. Will damage the train. It’s such a hole in

July-September 2010 :: 101 the administration that cannot be closed. I asked a question to myself... did This trend is many years old. I have I perform a great job by keeping my become an adult from a youth seeing kids safe and in severe discipline? Isn’t this. Even today I am scared of these Nishi become very timid in this harsh people. discipline and in an excessively secure It’s good luck that my coach is at environment. Did we make her safe just the very back because of which no crowd by marrying her? boarded it... as there would have been We didn’t allow our talented M.B.A. a massacre because of this girl’s clothes daughter to go to Bombay for a and gesture... and these two lanky guards multinational job... both of us got scared. of hers would not have been able to She cried so much... but we didn’t agree. do anything. I started thinking, isn’t this Outside world... means a world full of openness, this excessively callous dangers. We had said... stay here and behaviour on their part pushing them do a job... or we said do a job after towards danger? Do they do any studies marriage, if the husband wants. or some job or not? Look at their age, Now! She is dependent on her husband they are hardly 18 or 19, the younger for every penny, there is a big business one looks just 15. And to top it what in her family no doubt, but her husband sort of irreverent parents send them being the youngest amongst the three in this world all alone. It seems that brothers is always fooled. There is no they are like that... kind of rebellious shortage of anything; it’s a big house, spoiled kids. I felt like saying, ‘bloody a joint family. fuckin brats’. But if Nishi wishes to purchase Our colleges, co-workers have also something or wishes to go somewhere... been Christian... but this sort of openness that cannot happen. She is scared to is never seen. Will they be able to solve come alone to her mother’s house by any problem intelligently? Will they be train; the son-in-law is not free to drop able to save themselves from danger? her. That is why I am going to bring Leave it... what do I care? Let them her along, Nishi’s father is diabetic; he go to hell. It’s good that I have brought doesn’t leave the house alone. up my son and daughter with extreme If today Nishi would have been patience and hard discipline. My son economically independent... what if we is somehow fine, studying in I.I.T. Delhi, had allowed Nishi to marry out of her but Nishi...!! choice! Then! Today Nishi’s face would I took a deep breadth... the train have shone just like the girl sitting in started moving slowly. front! Doesn’t she look like 35 at the

102 :: July-September 2010 age of 27... a permanent dejection would Filled with surprise I said gratefully not have been on her face... but... this that I have seen such kind of cashew shamelessness! Openness, that is giving nuts for the first time which are baked invitation to dangers. I was confused. with their shells on. He told me that I felt like crying on Nishi’s situation. he has 4 trees of cashew nuts in the The older boy and the girl were leaning backyard of his house... these cashew on each other and sleeping in the front nuts are from those trees. Mom gave seat. Health and reader’s digest were it to him when they were coming. An kept on debonair... the chip magazine image of a motherly Christian woman was lying leisurely on the floor. So... wearing a dark frock, slim but having today’s youth reads everything. The a slightly bulgy stomach floated in my younger one had again played the imagination. I wished to ask something walkman but in a low volume. The doctor more... for example is this girl your and his wife were dedicatedly playing sister? Why would your mother send rummy .Suddenly I felt very lonely. My an unknown boy along with you? Where feet were swollen... more so they were are you going? When will you go back getting numb... I pulled them up. The home? And just tell me... what all has train was running fast through the forests, your mother planted in the backyard. it was the month of April and the weather Are you Anglo-Indian Goan Christian was getting hot. It seemed like afternoon or converted? Ah! Why will you ask at 10’o clock in the morning. I was hungry all that? What if he says you nutty oldie... also... but what did I have? Three apples! what fuckin concern do you have with A sandwich! I stopped a stray tea vendor us? What’s her problem? Let him and passing by. his sister go to hell. Wretched, just see the way she is sticking to that young I didn’t have change. Asked the boy. younger one... his reply was... one minute... he took out 3 rupees from The younger boy said enthusiastically his pocket and paid. ‘some station is coming’. One or two were becoming visible. Some I even said, ‘I need change only’. warehouses... and another set of railway ‘Come on mom’...saying this he started track had started running alongside our laughing. train. I said to myself, Alwar! Oh! In ‘Sandwitch?’ a hurry I forgot to purchase some sweets from Delhi... Nishi had suddenly called ‘No thanks...’ saying this, he took up and said that mummy, my mother- out some salted cashew nuts of light in-law has given me permission to go brown shell and put them in my plate. home, send bhaiya tomorrow itself.

July-September 2010 :: 103 ‘How will bhaiya come Nishi, he is cake vendor was far ahead. The station having his exams.’ was very crowded. The whole crowd will ‘So mom...’. Poor soul, she was almost go in the pink city, thinking this I came in tears. down from the train hurriedly and dashing against the people... taking long steps ‘Why don’t you come by yourself. I reached the shop, panting. Carrying There are many trains from Jaipur that 2 boxes of sweets and carrying my purse... come directly to Delhi. Get the I was half way from my destination when reservation.’ the train gave the whistle... I was ‘You know, mummy, with two small distressed. Cutting through the crowd girls he will not send me alone. He is I moved forward and I remembered an not free... then tell me... how can I advertisement of Doordarshan that in come, it will be difficult, both of them India there are more people on the railway keep bothering me. Oh! Mummy after stations that come to drop their relatives so much difficulty my mother-in law than the actual passengers. In that has agreed for my going to my mother’s moment I realised that I was not able place’. to walk... my coach was not visible to ‘Ok ok... I will...’ me... then suddenly the scream of the younger boy made me realise that I ‘Come on Maa leave tomorrow itself. am very near to the coach. I am longing so much’. ‘Auntie’ ‘Let me see’. The door was crowded... there was So early in the morning how could crowd behind me... I had somehow got I purchase the sweets. Let me take 2 hold of the handle of the door and had kilos of milk cake from Alwar itself. There moved my foot than this train started in Jaipur, my son-in-law will come to moving faster, I fell on to the platform receive me, will it seem good to purchase badly, if my foot had moved further, the sweets in front of him? I saw Alwar then I would have been dragged between approaching and took out my purse. the tracks. As I was falling I heard the I said to the younger one to look after scream of the younger boy. After that the luggage. The doctor couple were lying the crowd hanging over me seemed like on the empty berths on the top. The a whirlpool and then something girl whined and leaving the boy she got somewhere drowned. I searched the end up. As she got up she started eating of my consciousness with a splash of chocolate. cold water and jumping the stairs of The train had stopped. The coach sub consciousness ... in a hurry to was really at the very end. The milk come back to my senses I was shouting

104 :: July-September 2010 with my clenched fists under the over my wound, “Doc, first give her transparent lining of that injury... that tetanus injection.” was turning into an unclear sound. Finally “Youngman don’t teach me my the lining was torn open by my blows... duties.” The doctor replied smilingly and I was looking all around in a bewildered started preparing the injection. I saw manner in that hot and humid railway the doctor was a man of short height, retiring room. black, crude sort of a person. Maybe “Auntie, are you ok! Doc, she opened Muslim. That’s why... again and again... her eyes.” The younger boy was sitting was saying... Khuda ke liye... Khuda ka close to me on the floor in an agitated shukra hai. manner. His voice was trembling with Mustering courage I asked the girl the heat of care. in the ambulance. “How are you?” bending, an unknown “Oh god aunty, that scene was doctor asked me, “There’s nothing to horrible... not even an hour had passed... worry... If these youngsters wouldn’t You fell badly onto the platform. Your have been there...! Say thanks to them hand lost grip of the handle ...you dragged and to God. It’s good fortune that there along. It was my fiancé Roger... He pulled is no serious injury. It’s because of the the chain... then the three of us came good health.” Smiling, the doctor tried down with our bags... were not able to bring me back to my senses. to reach you... all the people were “The ambulance will be here soon.” covering you, then my brother shouted When I tried getting up a little... and scattered them and brought you that girl came forward... with the support to the retiring room. Roger rushed into of her arm. I saw that a big portion the station master’s room. Then the of her shirt is drenched in blood. I felt doctor came and... . pain on the side of my right eyebrow. ‘All three of you missed the train When I touched it a wet scarf was tied for me.’ I said. up, it was of the older boy. Two “Yes! It was necessary .We wouldn’t handkerchiefs were tied up on both the have left you amongst those stupid knees. people. They were watching the scene, In the meantime the older boy came, nobody was picking you up.” drenched in sweat, carrying the medicines “The doctor who was in the train...” and the bundle of bandages in his hands. “That! bloody selfish fellow. ” This “Don’t get up, you are still bleeding.” was the younger one, “His wife scolded The elder boy said, pressing the scarf him not to come with us and he stayed

July-September 2010 :: 105 back. We literally prayed to him. But her.” he told ‘I can’t... get down... I have ‘...... ’ to reach today’.” “No...No. We want to leave for Jaipur “Leave it Keith. There are selfish as early as possible. Day after we have people auntie. My mother told me that further reservation also.” to serve humanity is to serve Christ. ‘...... ’ You tell me, if we would have been in your place! Wouldn’t you have stopped “Thanks doctor.” for us? ” We had reached the railway hospital. I was lost in thought! What would Doctor Rasheed(I read his name from I have done? Would I have come down the name tab on his coat. Can’t help for an injured? In this age, with these it, this curiosity is by birth.) had done swollen feet what would I have done the bandage. Two X-Rays were done... for the injured? They are young. The but according to dr. Rasheed by God’s excuse of elderliness would have served grace everything was fine. Now we could good purpose. The question was the catch the 3 o’clock train. Those young same... What would I have become among and kind angels were taking complete the ‘Man, sheep and wolf’ the story read care of me. They were more worried in the childhood. Not the wolf, would about me than their future programme. I have mustered up the courage to become They were holding my luggage along a human being or maybe... like the doctor with theirs. I looked at the table nearby... in a hurry to reach my destination I There the two sweet boxes were lying would have closed my eyes and moved along with my purse. My body with freshly on like the sheep. cleaned and bandaged four or five big and small wounds and the mind entangled The girl was very close to me, her with varied thoughts was completely tired. blood stained shirt was clung to her. I closed my eyes lying on the hospital The older boy was sitting next to the bed. The three of them had left to change doctor and was discussing about the next their clothes after the doctor left. train going to Jaipur. The four of us were again sitting in ‘No we won’t leave her alone.’ the 3 o’clock train. The station master ...... had done us a favour... He got us seats “Please complete all formalities and in the A.C. compartment of this train. give her proper medication. We have Dr. Rasheed had got the biryani packed to leave this place today only.” for us from his home, along with the “Don’t worry... We will take care of caution ‘Take care sister.’

106 :: July-September 2010 “Whaoooh! This is my first chance “Keith, please raise the volume, let when I’m sitting in A.C. compartment.” me also listen”. It was me. The younger one was very happy. He Those two youths were engrossed took out his walkman and started listening in one another. Liza was watching Roger’s to Shakira in low volume. fingers playing on the guitar.

Manisha Kulshreshtha, born August 26, 1967 at Jodhpur, M.A., M.Phil. in Hindi, Manisha writes short stories and novels. Some of her short story collections are: ‘Kathputliyan’, ‘Kuchh bhi to romani nahin’ and ‘Bauni hoti parchhayian’. Her first novel ‘shigaf’ has been released this year by Rajkamal Prakashan. She is editor of web magazine– hindinest.com. Her e-mail ID : [email protected]

Eishita Siddharth, born 1984, is pursuing a post graduate course in English Literature at Lucknow University. She has already completed her Diploma in French. She is interested in literature and translates at will. Lives in Lucknow. Eishita is writing her first novel ‘sabko maaf kiya’ these days.

July-September 2010 :: 107 SAAZ NASAAZ Manoj Rupra

Translated by Dhiraj Singh

I was lying on the parapet that separates Nariman Point from the sea. There were many others like me there that evening. Some had their eyes fixed on the city, others just sat and stared into the vastness of the sea. I had my legs hanging on either side of the parapet. Like a fence-sitter unable to make up his mind. My eyes were on the sky above me while my ears listened to the waves crashing against the rocks on one side and the sound of the city whizzing past on the other. Hanging between the Devil and the deep sea I was suddenly gripped by the thought of my loneliness. Back home at my place Short story I had so many friends, people who I could depend on and relate to, but here despite the crush of bodies I felt distinctly separate and alone. I was reflecting on my life back home, when I heard someone playing the saxophone. I have always been crazy about the sax. Whenever I hear it on the radio or on a record player, it feels like I’ve met a long-lost friend. As the familiar sound began to fill my ears I got up. I turned around and saw an old man playing the sax. It was a beautiful tune. On his shoulder was perched a grey mottled pigeon. The sun’s dying light shone through his long silver hair and beard giving him the appearance of an archangel. A silver angel with a golden sax. It was a scene straight out of a movie.

108 :: July-September 2010 He was also playing a very familiar downpour. Until then I had only heard tune. And then it struck me that he about how unpredictable the rains in was playing Pete Tex’s ‘Blue Sea and Mumbai were. People started to scatter, Dark Clouds’. First I thought he was as if there had been a lathicharge. But a foreigner, because I just could not I didn’t panic. What was the use, for believe that an Indian could play the there was no shelter for as far as the sax so beautifully. It was like his music eye could see. So there really was no had the power to lift the waves and point in running for cover because the turn them into foam or squeeze out rain rain would ultimately get you. from the clouds. In fact, the kind of Everyone was running helter-skelter wild frenzy with which he was playing but the old saxophonist kept playing made him seem like a Beatnik transported with the same single-mindedness and from the past into present-day Mumbai. urgency. The change in the weather had When I went closer I realised that had no effect on him, it only made him he had actually been living quite a Beatnik change his tune. Where he was first life. He seemed like he didn’t care much playing the calm soporific sound of the about what he wore or how he looked. sea, the storm outside seemed to have He was like a madman. He looked like whipped up a flurry inside his lungs. he hadn’t been anywhere near a bathroom As the rains became heavier, the wind for days. His clothes were patched with more furious and the waves seemed to sweat stains, his skin was covered in swallow entirely the rocks at Nariman grime and his hair and beard had begun Point the veins in the old man’s neck to matt. too seemed to throb with a kinetic force. People were now starting to mill It seemed that the blood inside them around him. But because he wasn’t playing was boiling. And that if the storm didn’t any popular film song they didn’t stay stop the old man would erupt like a too long. Those who were drawn to him, volcano. listened to him for a while and then But before that, a giant wave rose went their own way, only a few stayed and crossed the parapet spreading its longer. hissing froth all over Marine Drive. When Suddenly the wind began to gain it receded I realised that the old man speed. Soon it seemed a storm was on had been hit. He was lying sprawled its way. And before anyone could react, on the road like a rag doll. I ran towards the dark clouds drenched Mumbai with him and tried lifting him up, but his the first rains of the season. I had never body had become too heavy and rigid. seen it rain so suddenly or in such a So I just sat down next to him and put his head on my lap. I brushed his

July-September 2010 :: 109 long hair away from his face and looked something like it. But his face lightened at his face for the first time. There was up soon and a flicker of a smile passed a certain puffiness to it, the kind that through it as he put his hand on my gradually spreads over the faces of those shoulder and sat up. In no time he was who try and drown all their sorrows talking to me as if nothing had happened. in the bottle. I hadn’t expected him to recover so I didn’t know what to do next so soon. I just kept sitting. His breathing was Usually when people meet for the uneven, and with every breath he took first time they ask each other things I was assaulted by the smell of stale like: ‘What do you do?’ or ‘Where you’re alcohol. I tried to wake him up by patting from?’ or ‘Where do you live?’ But he his cheeks but it didn’t help much. I didn’t ask me any of those questions. was scared that he might never wake Instead he asked me: up. I looked around but no one seemed “Do you like to get wet in the rain?” interested in us. We could have been “Can you talk to the wind?” street dwellers or those living off the crumbs of the rich. The city, whizzing “Do you feel a happy sadness when with its fancy cars and taxis, had no you’re drunk?” time for people like us. When I said ‘Yes’ to all his questions The sea behind us had still not calmed he seemed pleased with me. down. Above us, a new platoon of clouds “Then I am sure you also like music.” was getting ready for a fresh assault. “Of course,” I said, “I especially like I made no effort to move. Once again the sax!” I looked into the face that lay on my “That’s great. I think we’d get along lap. It must have been a handsome face fine.” He said with a sudden burst of once upon a time. Time, hard knocks warmth as we high-fived to celebrate and bad habits had taken away some our new-found friendship. of its beauty but lying like that it seemed filled with a placid acceptance of its “You’re quite something… as a sax fate, which in itself was quite charming. player. I never thought I’d find a good A few minutes later his eyes began Indian sax player.” to move behind their lids. When he finally But praise didn’t go down too well opened them they stayed fixed blankly with him. He made a bitter face and on my face. Even though they had turned to gaze at the frothing sea. The generous lashes there lurked over his rain and the foam of the sea were together eyes a dark shadow of a tragedy or forming a dense mist over the area.

110 :: July-September 2010 Suddenly a thought entered his head “Because when I am drunk I feel and he turned to face me: “Do you have a happy sadness inside me. And I like some money?” to get wet in the rain. And also talk His question took me by surprise. to the wind. And yes, am a big fan I put my hand inside my pocket to check, of Pete Tex.” wondering if he was one of those swindler Hearing this, he relaxed, his lips began guys. But his face seemed to be devoid to spread into a smile. He put his arm of any shame, embarrassment or greed, around me and started walking. “How which to me was reassuring. I whipped long have you known Pete Tex?” out my wallet from my pocket and asked “Five years ago I first heard that him how much he needed. He said nothing tune that you were just playing.” but took the wallet from my hand like “No you’re wrong. I wasn’t playing some old friend used to being indulged. that tune,” he suddenly seemed very He helped himself to four or five hundred serious, “that tune was playing me.” rupee notes from it, and gave the wallet back to me. Then he started to walk “What do you mean?” away. “You won’t understand… so soon… “Hey, wait!” I ran after him. He turned it takes time, you know.” around. His sudden presumptuousness “Take more if you need,” I said pointing irritated me. But then I realised that to my wallet, “but you have to promise even if he was acting like my chum me one thing… to spend the evening, it was true that he was in age my double maybe the night with me.” so why should I mind. “When did you start playing the sax?” I asked him trying “Am not a fucking whore!” He said to keep pace with him. this with such vehemence that I was taken aback. “Twenty-five years ago a Hippy in Goa first gave me a taste of it. And “I didn’t mean it like that… it’s just then slowly I got hooked to it.” that I have no friends here. So I thought we could just hang out together.” “Seems like you’ve been doing it forever.” “Hanging out with me is gonna cost you. I am not that cheap, you know.” “No, at first I used to treat my sax like a bad ass rider treats his horse. “I am not trying to strike a bargain But since I got totally into it I’ve become here. I just thought it’d be a good idea the horse and my sax is the rider. I to hang out with you.” don’t know if you know this, but the “But why me?”

July-September 2010 :: 111 sax is the worst son-of-a-bitch there ever Once inside we left behind us a cruel was among instruments. You must have testimony of our rain-soaked adventure noticed… just now… how the son of a on the clean and gorgeous looking carpet. bitch was playing me. Had it not been We had barely made ourselves for that wave that knocked me out it comfortable when a girl, gaudily would have just squeezed the life out decorated like a Christmas tree, came of me.” to our table. She shook hands with me “Then why do you keep the son of and then without any formality sat down a bitch with you all the time?” next to my old friend, arm lazily resting on his shoulder. He looked at his instrument with a strange fondness and then smiled at it. “Hey, Bhau Uncle! What’s up? Looks “It’s a bloody twisted tale. C’mon, let’s like you’ve forgotten me…” go and sit down somewhere and then “Don’t try and butter me up,” the we’ll talk.” old man shrugged her arm off his He took my hand in his and we started shoulder, “just go and get me a rum.” walking through the puddles of rain water, The girl got up to go in mock anger and the gusts of sea breeze. The wet and then she spun around to face me. breeze managed to awaken in us a sudden “Would you also like a rum?” she asked thirst—a thirst that could only be me pushing her hair away from her quenched by vast amounts of alcohol. beautiful face. I quickly nodded. She His grip suddenly grew tight. He was looked at me very seductively, as if about to change tracks: from the nothing else mattered to her that evening, promenade to the footpath running except the thought of devouring me. parallel to the maniacally busy road. I felt very self-conscious and started Soon, we were standing in front of a looking at my feet. pub. The doorman seemed reluctant to The old man didn’t find it necessary let us in—two stragglers from god-knows- to wait for his drink. Without any warning where. He was actually quite a sight he began his tale. He spoke as if there as his filthy clothes dripped and his was no necessity for any chronological shoes squelched oodles of muddied water. order or sequence to his life. As if his But he had to, since we were guests life so far only comprised tales from and not some stragglers from god-knows- here and there. Once while talking about where. So he opened the door for us, his sax he began rambling about the at the same time made no attempts to girls working in the bar. After the girls hide his disgust at our appearance. he spoke at length about the importance of drinking. And then we time-travelled

112 :: July-September 2010 to a graveyard where his friend was were still ‘artistes’. But they artistic buried. We stood there in silence, contribution could not be denied. Theirs mourning for his friend. Then rushing was the generation of musicians who to a chawl in Dadar where he used to had after Independence taken Indian film live with some room-mates some 20- music to great heights. They had in many 25 years ago. Together they used to ways described the Indian soul in music. make background scores for Hindi films. In fact it can be said that these drunks, Those were the days when they earned gamblers and womanisers had given voice well and lived like kings. to the spirit of their times. One hour of talking to him left me When we came out of the bar nearly with a graph that was full of ups and two hours later there seemed to be a downs. As if he and his friends were fresh conspiracy of gathering clouds. But always chasing one dream after another. we were now unafraid to face their music. They seemed like the kind of arty people We were actually looking forward to who neither give a damn about what getting wet once again, having soaked people think of them, nor respect any up the storm and thunder of the previous boundaries. As a result they have no cloudburst. clear virtues nor possess an essential The three stiff drinks that my old wickedness. Instead, they inhabit a friend had consumed had given him limning space that lies between sin and renewed energy. He now walked as if sinlessness. he owned the whole metropolis of Most of his friends from that time Mumbai. But in his new avatar there were victims of this sort of ‘music was no hint of the false liquor-soaked madness’. Some of the smarter ones confidence of a poseur or a coward but had established themselves in the film the strident idealism of a bona fide industry or become solo artists of some subversionist. stature. The rest had remained pretty We walked without a destination or much where they were in the old days, a plan. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, when the glamour and the blinding and neither was I impatient to get shimmer of the music market had so somewhere. Our lack of plan seemed enamoured them that they had exhausted to be challenging the focused and driven themselves both creatively and busy-ness of the city. Close to the VT physically. The market had in fact footpath we struggled to walk against squeezed them into pygmy caricatures the flood of busy people. We were like of their former selves. Now they were lint caught in the straws of a massive just expert drunks, gamblers, womanisers broom. In the face of the active mob and borrowers but in their minds they

July-September 2010 :: 113 our passiveness was not a result of our His reaction had taken me by surprise inebriation or fatigue but sprung from and I tried to look for signs of evil our will to let go of all kinds of controls. and malice in the piece of equipment I was gradually coming around to the but I couldn’t find any such signs in view that my old friend was a rebel the cold buttons and keys of the machine with a cause. ‘The cause’, being the active that lay before me. My old friend’s face enjoyment of ‘being’, of standing up to on the other hand was contorted with the artificiality of goals and milestones. a peculiar hatred. He was trembling as I tried to catch a glimpse of his face if he was experiencing the rigors of high as we walked, he seemed lost in his fever. I got worried with his unnatural thoughts. His face and stride had taken reaction to what was to me just a piece on a clear purpose. Suddenly he stopped of equipment. I put my hand on his in front of a shop. It was a music shop shoulder and tried to egg him to move whose glass window contained many ahead. But he seemed immovable as if different types of musical instruments. he had grown roots there. Then in an The centre piece of the whole instant he picked up a stone from the arrangement was an electronic keyboard. footpath and was about to hurl it at My friend seemed transfixed by the the glass window. I immediately caught keyboard. I thought it must contain a hold of his hand but this angered him trigger for some old memory as his faced more. He pushed me aside and railed began to grow dark. His expression against the crowd with a vengeance, as darkened further as if he had suddenly he showered people left, right and centre come face to face with a bitter enemy. with the choicest of abuses. I had no Soon he was trembling with clue why he was behaving in such a uncontrollable rage. manner, except that behind his sudden change of mood was a supposedly “Do you know this useless piece of innocent instrument that he was calling shit?” He asked me pointing towards the the vilest of names. keyboard. He then started abusing the record “Yes,” I said, a bit unsure of his companies that had replaced musicians response, “it is a Japanese synthesizer.” with such agents of change, dishing out “No,” he said in a loud and irritated bald and tasteless film music that had voice, “this is a fucking despot, a blood- flooded the market. Then he showered sucking killer. It is because of this thing his attention on the manufacturers of that Das Babu and Francis lost their such instruments that aimed at lives. It is because of him that we are duplicating the sound of manmade music. in the dumps today.” In a way he was right because such

114 :: July-September 2010 instruments had become hot favourites side of the road. of the music industry replacing those It took some time before the traffic musicians whose livelihood depended on could resume. I was keeping track of making music. my old friend from my side of the road. “Now who is going to explain to these I saw him stumble through the crowd bastards who can only think of profit and turn a corner. and more profit that there is this thing When the pedestrian light turned green called ‘art’. Who will? Because these I rushed towards where I’d seen him fuckers just don’t care about the turn. I finally spotted his wet and angry musician. The man whose violin is his form in the midst of all the cosy umbrellas. life… can he be expected to drive a When I caught up with him I grabbed bloody taxi? Can a tabla-player turn hold of his shoulder. He turned around into a masseur? Can you ask a pianist and faced me. I saw his bruises and to become a bloody butcher?” cut marks. Dark blood had congealed I don’t know who these questions around his nose and his jaw making him were directed at. I think he had by now look like a maniacal murderer. In the forgotten that I was with him. He was red light of the signal he looked like like someone who had left his faculties someone from a horror film. of logic far behind. And then he decided “Where is your house?” I asked him. to get down from the footpath and cross But I don’t think he could hear me the road. There was neither a zebra- over the sound of traffic and blaring crossing there nor a red light. His sudden horns. entry into the traffic caused many brakes to be jammed. A city bus missed him “Where is your house?” I said again, by a couple of inches which caused a this time going closer to his ear. His taxi to hit the divider. Many cars and face was still frozen in cold rage. When taxis behind it suddenly rammed into he didn’t answer me the third time I each other. The commotion resulted in realised that the cocktail of booze, blood some drivers getting out of their cars and rain had somehow affected him more and surrounding the old man. When a than was apparent to me. And to leave traffic policeman got him out of their him alone would amount to knowingly hands I noticed that he was bleeding pushing him to the brink. in two places. But he was unconcerned I was confused, as to what I should about his wounds, he was still hurling do next. It would’ve been okay had he abuses at some invisible enemy from been just ill but his condition was more his past. The policeman took him by mental than physical. In fact, had it the collar and deposited him at the other just been mental also it would’ve been

July-September 2010 :: 115 okay but he had shown me a side of she was dancing with a bunch of other his that was pure genius and that made girls on the dance floor in the centre. it very difficult for me to leave him I tried to catch her eye but she was and move on. The dirt and squalor of busy trying to hook a rich customer. the city had nipped whatever desire there He was seated on a chair facing the was in me to be a bleeding heart or dance-floor and was covered in gold a Mother Teresa to the homeless and chains and rings that spelt new money. the crazies. He was throwing 100 rupee notes at I was racing my mind to think of her whenever she so much as even moved what to do next when a thought occurred her body. to me. Maybe the girl at the bar knew After much trying when I still failed where he lived. I quickly stopped a taxi, to get her attention I whipped out some helped the old man into it, got in myself currency notes from my pocket. The and told the driver to take us to Sandhurst money in my hand suddenly made me Road. It was 11:30 in the night when very attractive… the centre of attention we reached the bar at Sandhurst. The for everybody, from the waiters to the old man’s rigid body fell into my lap dancing girls. It didn’t take much for as soon as the driver applied the brakes. the girl to gravitate towards me. Before I don’t know whether he was asleep or handing the notes to her I loudly said had passed out. I quietly arranged him to her: “I need to speak with you!” But on the backseat and got out. whatever she said was drowned in the “I’ll be back in five minutes,” I told music. She grabbed my hand and took the driver. He was unsure of my me behind the door that connected the intentions, after all this was Mumbai bar with the kitchen. and instances where people dumped “What is it? Quick, I have a customer drugged or passed out passengers in taxis waiting.” and vanished into the night were not “The old guy I’d come with earlier… unheard of. I gave him a 50 rupee note do you know him?” and quickly climbed the bar staircase. “Yes, he’s not one of my regulars I was assaulted by some very loud music but he’s good… makes everyone very as soon as I entered the bar. The loud happy when he comes.” senseless beats were making holes in my head. I had never heard such a vile “Well, he’s in a bad shape now. Do use of sound. It took me a few moments you know where he lives?” to get used to the dim blue light inside “Am not sure. But I think he lives and then I began to scan the bar for somewhere near the Dadar bird-shelter… that girl. I didn’t have to look too far,

116 :: July-September 2010 Ah, just can’t remember the name of hear anything. Finally, I put my hands his chawl.” under his shoulders and dragged him “Look here, I am new to this city out of the taxi. While pulling him out and am afraid I don’t know places here of the taxi I noticed that he had not too well. Do you think you could take let go of his bag from which peeped me there?” the neck of his sax. “No,” her flat refusal left me I left him in sitting position against speechless, “why don’t you understand… the grill of the bird shelter and went my customer is waiting…” to pay the taxi guy. It was 3:15 in the morning. It was the in-between hour I didn’t know what to do next. When in the life of the city when it stood I came back to the taxi I found the absolutely still and silent. After pacing old man lying there as I had left him. up and down for a few minutes I also He was just like a dead body. I opened sat down next to the old man. The the car door and sank into the seat. unnatural silence and the sound of my “To Dadar,” I told the driver. My heart beating pushed me into looking voice now seemed weak and remote as back at my own life. Like the old man if it was coming from some far away I too was a rebel. I was also rebelling place and not my mouth. Immediately against my father and his immense wealth he started the car, went some distance, by spending it in whatever way I thought took a U-turn and we were back on fit. In my life there was also no place the main road zipping ahead in top gear. for common sense and caution. I just I lit a cigarette and began to play wanted to be free. I was very proud back the events of the evening inside of the fact that I had no career to speak my head. The thinking made my head of. But in the company of my old friend hurt yet nothing seemed to be coming and his sax and perhaps the effect of out of it. Then the nothingness began the booze, blood and rain I felt less to get bigger and bigger and bigger till stubborn and aggressive. And in the it became a huge ‘zero’ that buried me lightness of that feeling I fell asleep like under its weight and I fell asleep. a child who had exhausted all his tears. I woke up feeling the driver’s hand I woke up to the sound of fluttering shaking my shoulder. For a moment I wings. The old man was lying on the didn’t know where I was or how I got floor of the bird-shelter. His entire body there. When realisation dawned I began was covered with a blanket of grey that to shake the old man. But he seemed fluttered every now and then. There was to have entered a place beyond dreams hardly an inch of his body that was from where he could neither feel nor not taken up by the pigeons. Even his

July-September 2010 :: 117 face had pigeons squatting on it. For somewhere. It nodded and then gradually a moment I thought he had died but took two steps from our handshake I chucked the thought out of my head, towards me. I felt a bit ticklish where when I realised that only crows come its padded feet rested on my arm but for the dead, not pigeons. I tried not to move my hand. It looked I jumped over the grill of the bird- at me again and after a moment of shelter and came to where the old man hesitation it took a few more steps. I lay. The sudden thud scared the pigeons knew it was testing me to see if I was away. When I came close to his face a reliable perch. And I seemed to have I saw that it had not even the slightest passed the test, as it moved closer to hint of the anger and violence of the my shoulder. Now there was no fear previous night. Instead it was bathed in its eyes. Then in an instant it just in a cherubic luminosity and had a smile took off and landed on my shoulder. to match. His clothes were covered in I am not sure whether animals and birds bird feed. It looked like he had sprinkled can take a leap of faith but it seemed it on himself to attract the birds. this one had done just that. I was so overcome with feeling for the pigeon When he opened his eyes he smiled that I began to stroke its back. and stretched his hand towards me. I took his hand in mine and as he was “It first used to be Robert’s friend,” about to get up a pigeon came and sat the old man told me regarding the bird on his hand. It was a grey mottled pigeon on my shoulder lovingly. that had a black string tied to its leg. “How long has it been?” I asked still It was the same pigeon that had come petting the bird. and sat on his shoulder the previous My question seemed to have thrown evening. him into a thoughtful mood. The old “Shhhh… don’t move,” he cautioned man didn’t say a word for some time me, “don’t try to take your hand away… and then spoke distractedly, “Exactly just stay still and slowly he will come a year, today.” With those words the to you and become your friend too.” previous night’s dark anguish seemed I nodded and looked at the bird with to have returned. I didn’t want him to a new kind of fascination. The pigeon get melancholic again, so I grabbed his was also looking at me directly from hand and pulled him to his feet. its perch on top of our handshake. I “Come, let me drop you home.” could see dilemma play hide and seek He looked up at me surprised. “How in its tiny eyes. Then it seemed to smile do you know where I live?” at me as if it had recognised me from “Yesterday when you had passed out

118 :: July-September 2010 I had gone to that bar again.” thankless a bum... come and have a cuppa “But who knows me there... except chai with me,” he grabbed my hand and for... that... that girl...” pulled me inside. “Yes, she’s the one who told me.” There was just a bed and a table in the name of furniture. A filthy mattress “Oh, did she say anything else...” lay on the bed like wrinkled skin. But “Nope. I guess she was too busy.” the walls were something else. They were The old man sighed. Then his face covered with nails and on each nail hung darkened, as if a bitter memory had musical instruments in various states entered his head. He put his hand on of disrepair. The tabla for example had my shoulder and we started to walk. been ripped open and now provided a We crossed the road and then took a cosy nest for a family of sparrows. The right turning into a narrow lane. “Do violin’s strings had come apart like the you know who that girl is?” he asked hair of an angry woman. A sarangi in without looking at me directly. I shook the corner had been covered by veils my head and then looked at him of cobwebs. The flute’s holes had turned expectantly. He was trying to say green and black with fungus while its something important but he stopped mouthpiece had been eaten away by himself. The bitter memory seemed to termites. A harmonium lay on the floor have come back to him. like an ancient mummy violated by grave- diggers. Once again we came to a turn. This was a narrower lane, as wide as a small While I was taking in the assortment room, cramped with chawls on both sides. of decay on the walls, the old man went It seemed like we had entered an old, out and shouted out for some chai. The decrepit museum whose crumbling boy who got the tea didn’t hand us our woodwork, stale air, dampness and cups but took out a tiny notebook and perpetual darkness had replaced all the pen from his pocket. But the old man treasures it once contained. snatched the ledger from him and began turning its pages. When he came to his We climbed a creaking staircase to page and was about to scribble something reach a second floor shack. It was the on it the boy interrupted. “These two fourth one from the left. The old man cutting chais making 70 rupees. Boss was panting heavily as he dug into his telling, taking money, then only giving pocket to find the key to his kingdom. chai…” “I think I’ll take your leave now,” I said trying not to sound gruff or cold. The old man dug into his pockets and took out the soggy notes I’d given “What? Do you think I am that

July-September 2010 :: 119 him the previous night. From them he I don’t think that I am basically a took out a hundred and another fifty greedy person. Curious, yes, but not rupee note and gave them to the boy. greedy. Or for that matter, small-minded. Then he tore out his page from the I think I am just a little mixed up, notebook, grabbed the tea cups from especially when it comes to people trying him and poured the tea into the street to figure out their way around life. below. The boy picked up the cups and Perhaps, I have the gift of understanding left as if nothing had happened. confusion. Suddenly, silence descended on us The wait was turning out to be endless. till the old man’s mood came back to My head was also heavy from all that normal. “You wait here… I’ll just be nocturnal adventure. Before I knew it back.” His face took on a bitter expression I was fast asleep. as he made a dash for the staircase. I was woken up by his sudden entry It’s funny how old age is often compared into the room. He was standing in front to infancy but what most people don’t of me with two cups in his hands. The realise is that while one is cute and cups smelt not of tea but of a strong adorable the other is mostly a pain, flavoured local brew. He gave one cup both for the one going through it as to me and the other he raised to his well as those who have to put up with lips. In one long swig he emptied all it. I was now coming around to the the liquid in the cup into his mouth. belief that this man meant big trouble. Then he wiped his mouth on his shirt For a moment, I thought of quietly sleeve and looked up at me very strangely. slinking away but curiosity got the better His red eyes and the wild expression of me. I now really wanted to find out on his face clearly told me that he was what was it that kept alive the music in a better shape today than he was in him. the previous night. His other hand, that But I was also scared that this quest held my cup, was shaking. of mine would take me to depths that “This isn’t my room. It is Robert’s. contained very slippery ground, a tangle So technically you’re his guest. And in of weeds and many sharp-edged rocks the Robert School of Thought the day where I could seriously injure myself. begins with drinking. So if you want However, despite the risk I was like a to get initiated in to this School then pearl diver who, spurred on by a visceral you’d have to drink up.” greed for the treasures of the sea, would I smiled and took the cup from him continue to risk his life and limb. That and like him gulped its liquid in one without realising the essential nature of go. his desire.

120 :: July-September 2010 “Very good… very good. You’re a life didn’t have the necessary rhythm. good man. You and I will be great In fact they went out of tune totally together.” He then poured two more towards the end. But they were good drinks. And we drank them up like the blokes.” He looked at the four with a first ones. It was a great start to a day sudden tenderness and then abruptly whose end we had no way of predicting. turned to the harmonium on the floor. The first drink had for me the effect “This is Nitin Mehta’s harmonium. He of being lifted by a giant bird. The second was the most cunning of us all. Five one made me feel like an eagle floating years ago he’d come to us to learn the on the thermals. I felt I was rising higher basics and today he is the top-most music and higher without losing sight of the director of Mumbai. You know why? details below. After the second drink, Because his fingers quickly jumped from I began to look at the instruments on the harmonium to the synthesizer and the wall. This time they looked a bit he, from a musician became a different as if they now had things to businessman. He started doing all sorts tell me that they earlier didn’t. “Aren’t of scores till there came a time when you going to introduce me to your friends there was no more music left in him. here,” I said pointing to the wall. And then he found a Sindhi partner who invested big money in his business. With The old man was staring into the this money he replaced all the musicians trembling glass in his hand. He raised with machines. Did you know that in his eyebrows and looked up at the wall the past there used to be more than with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. 100, sometimes 150 musicians for a single He quickly emptied the cup once again recording. Now electronic ‘effect’ and went over to the wall and stood machines have taken over. Robert and next to the torn tabla. “This is Rafiq I tried, many times to fight against the Khan, the prodigal son of Ustad electronic terror. We even approached Salimuddin Khan sahib. He began by the Film Artistes Association to place playing in a brothel at Congress House. a ban on it. But sadly we were alone Then he moved on to films.” After the in our fight and even the Association tabla he moved on to the sarangi. “Salim didn’t support us.” here was also one of his pals. And here I must add that their company also spoiled After what had been a long harangue poor Vasuki Prasad and Jamnadas (he against the electronic terror he fished said pointing towards the flute and the out a cigarette pack from his pocket, shehnai). These four were pretty good placed a stick between his lips and lit in what they did but somehow their up. He offered one to me. I also followed him and lit up. After a few drags his

July-September 2010 :: 121 attention was caught by the violin and usually cheerful sax was left speechless. he turned to gazing at it very intently. And then out of nowhere Robert from “You know, Das Babu had the rawest his room joined in with his piano. His deal. An A-grade artiste forced to live notes seemed to rush towards us with a C-grade life. He was a shy and serious open arms ready to calm our ruffled man. He used to be especially called nerves.” for tragic numbers. Bastards like Nitin “The three of us from our different Mehta really abused his trust. He used rooms began to create a beautiful mood to make him record four-five songs in in the chawl. And then from another one go and then he’d mix and match room came the wail of a sarangi. It them in different songs and situations. was like a child left behind by its parents. This really hurt Das Babu, but he never Soon the sarangi also became part of said anything to anyone…” our orchestra. Who were we to deny “Once during a recording he broke this sweet and sad child an entry into down. I had to play a long sequence our group?” towards the end but I just couldn’t. I “Then it seemed the flute and the couldn’t see him like that so I took him shehnai too had been woken up by our out and we left the studio together.” music. At first they were listless and Seething at the memory of that day he sleepy but gradually they came into full angrily stubbed out his cigarette and form, catching up with us, afraid to be pulled a chair and stumbled on to it. left behind. Soon the whole chawl seemed “That night when the whole chawl had to have been lit up like a cigarette. gone to sleep Das Babu began to play We were playing without a plan, without his violin. From the sound of it I could music sheets, we were just jamming with make out that he was not just playing each other, trying to break free of all it but also weeping. I was hypnotised the chains that kept us to the ground. by his playing, I’d never heard such We were like small kids dancing in the sadness before. And then I picked up rain. Running and chasing and falling my sax and played him a few cheerful and then getting up and running again. notes. I could see that my sax had touched The piano was like an elephant towering him for after that he was unstoppable. above us all. But the sarangi would pass So I just let him play on and on and through his legs and leave him panting. on. It seemed it would be a crime to The shehnai, however was smarter for interrupt his violin that night. I can’t she would trip the sarangi whenever tell you, there was such an otherworldy she wanted. But when the poor shehnai beauty in his music that night. I still stopped to catch her breath the wily can’t get it out of my head. Even my flute jumped over her and bounded out

122 :: July-September 2010 ahead of all of us.” me, he seemed to be relieved but that “I thought I’d teach the flute a lesson relief was short-lived for suddenly an so I picked up my sax, but then I realised unseen arm wiped the weak smile off what had happened. The violin was his face. And I knew that Das Babu had nowhere to be heard. First I thought left us.” the sound of the violin had been drowned Das Babu’s death stayed with me like out by the others. But the violin had a movie scene. As did the old man’s gone absolutely silent. The others voice that kept ringing in my ears like probably didn’t notice it because they an echo. When I emerged from what were having a lot of fun but I was worried. had become for me a momentary cage I strained my ears in the direction of of thoughts and emotions I found the Das Babu’s room and then I heard the old man too lost in deep thought. I sound. It was the sound of murder. The thought it best to not disturb his peace. sound of an instrument thrashing against I don’t remember how long we sat the wind. And then everything fell silent. there in complete silence. We would’ve I wasn’t sure what exactly had caused continued had the mottled pigeon not that sound but I was sure of the ring come and sat on the ledge outside. He of finality to it. And that it had come kept looking at us with its round eyes from Das Babu’s shack. I put my sax wondering what had caused us to be back on the table and came out into so still and silent. Then like a playful the corridor. All the doors across the child he flew the short distance from courtyard were shut. Das Babu’s room the ledge to the old man’s lap and he too was shut. The only difference was absently started stroking its back while that light was coming out of the cracks his eyes remained fixed somewhere in in his door. This light was from time the distant horizon. to time being interrupted by a shadow. “Why was he so sad?” I finally broke When the shadow seemed to begin moving the silence that had begun to get awkward. faster I realised that Das Babu was in trouble. I rushed towards his room first “Why? Who?” he looked at me going down my staircase, then up his. confused. My heart was in my mouth for I was “I mean Das Babu.” sure something bad was happening to My question seemed to upset him. him. The door opened in one push and His mouth became bitter again and he there lay Das Babu sprawled on the floor. stood up to go somewhere. His hands His violin was ripped apart and he was were trembling but he clenched them clutching at his heart. I leapt towards into fists. His face had darkened and him and held him in my arms. Seeing his lips had begun to quiver. I had a

July-September 2010 :: 123 strong suspicion that he would erupt to the other side of the room. any time and start raving and ranting “Does that piano belong to Robert?” against the world. But he didn’t say I asked the old man. anything. The mood in the room had His mood had completely changed suddenly changed. And I was scared, now. He was now looking at me with as was the mottled pigeon, who gave a broad and open smile. us one terrified look and flew out of the room. “Er… the piano inside? Did it belong to Robert?” I asked again. I realised my bladder was bursting. So I got up and went to the other side This time he nodded. of the room that was parted by a dirty “But why is it so badly injured?” old curtain. This part was the kitchen. I had once again asked a very stupid Several utensils and odd instrument were question. And I was cursing myself for thrown around in this part as if a storm having said those words. The old man’s had just passed through it. I was not eyes were filled with rage. And I had surprised. Moreover my most urgent only myself to blame for bringing it on need was to relieve myself. The toilet so soon. He sprung up from the chair, was behind an old tin door. When I leapt out of the room and stomped down came out I began to notice the things the staircase in a matter of seconds. in the kitchen. They weren’t really I don’t know what came over me but separate things, for they had lost all this time I too ran after him. When individuality and merged into a collective I reached the end of the staircase, I heap of trash. The only exception was could see him turning left, when I reached the piano which outwardly still retained the end of the lane he was crossing its shape and form even though it was the main road. I made a dash for him covered with old clothes and laundry. finally catching up with him. I was On closer inspection I realised that both completely out of breath. I grabbed him its foot pedals were broken. The keyboard by the shoulder and turned him around. too had many cavities. I lifted its top “Listen, man!” flap to look inside but quickly shut it. “What the fuck?” he was white with Its inside was as hollow as a well. It rage, “Why are you after my life? Why had been completely disembowelled. No strings, no flat-hammers, no key cushions, don’t you just fuck off and go your own nothing was left behind. There also came way? I don’t need your fucking charity.” from it a stench that reminded me og “But where are you going?” a dead animal. “How does it matter to you? I can I lifted the curtain and came back go where I fucking want.”

124 :: July-September 2010 This time I was also angry. sorry for whatever pain I’ve caused you… “It fucking matters, alright!” I don’t Let this be a lesson never to get involved know what came over me but I caught with crazies like me.” hold of his collar and was shaking him Something in his voice and manner to and fro, “Do you think I am a fucking made me turn around. “Look, I am sorry idiot?” too. I know how hard it is for you to My sudden burst of aggression had live with the burden of knowing how a calming effect on him. He let out a Robert and Das Babu suffered. But don’t long sigh but I held on to his shirt. you think you’re really belittling them “I know you’re a big loser. In fact, you’re by drinking yourself silly and making bloody useless. And what’s worse is that a fool of yourself. Can’t you sublimate you don’t know it. ‘Coz you think you’re your feelings through your art, your an unsung genius. I also know that you sax?” don’t have very long to live. Coz you He looked at me with bitterness as have a death wish. You want to die if I’d asked him to do something that like no one else. You want it to be was humanly impossible. I kept looking a fucking Greek tragedy. And I also know at him waiting for his face to change that you are in the dumps not because expression. But it remained stubbornly you can’t do any better but because immobile. To escape my gaze he turned you like it down there. This is your away and started looking at the pigeons. fucking make-up that you put up to lure They were busy picking at the bird-feed, people to you. You’re no better than unaware and distanced from the buzzing a fucking whore who paints her face city around them. He took a few steps to go out at night.” and grabbed the iron grill of the shelter I am not usually given to such strong and stood there staring at the pigeons, words but then I had been drinking. perhaps looking for a solution to his And the old man had driven me up present problems in the feathery flutter the wall. “Go and fuck your art!” I barked of grey, mottled and white. at him and turned around and started He stood there for quite some time. walking towards the main intersection. Twice he wiped his eyes on his shirt I was about to turn from the bird shelter sleeves. Since his back was towards me towards the station when I felt a hand I wasn’t sure if he was crying or just rest on my shoulder. I stood still without wiping the sweat around his eyes. Then turning around to see who it was. suddenly he swung around and looked “It was not my intention to upset straight into my eyes. He was smiling you,” his voice was soft, “I am truly as he came forward and put his arm

July-September 2010 :: 125 around my shoulder and we started some old pictures of him and his friends. walking together. Some of them were taken during stage When we reached his place he burst performances and some inside recording into activity with an urgency I had not studios. There were also some prize seen in him before. He took a piece distribution and party pictures. Many of cloth and started wiping and dusting of these pictures were of his younger things around the house. He took a broom days. And I could see that he had been and swung it around the wall corners quite a handsome guy in his time. to remove the cobwebs. After cleaning But somewhere halfway in to the the room in a frenzy he took another album the pictures started to change. piece of cloth and started wiping the They became quieter, sadder. Towards instruments on the wall. Throughout this the end they had gotten so sad that frenzied activity he kept whistling it was impossible not to cry. In the fragments of a tune. It was as if he last pages two dead bodies lay surrounded was trying to recall a tune he had long by a sea of mourners. One body was forgotten. By the time he had finished on the floor and the other, inside a cleaning up he had fully retrieved the coffin. The body in the coffin had his whole tune from the recesses of his hands cut off. Was this Robert? Did this memory. mean he died a violent death? Next he transferred his attention to Before I could speculate any further, the part of the room that lay on the the curtain moved and the old man other side of the curtain. I could hear emerged from behind it. I could not the tap in his toilet run for a long time. believe my eyes when I saw him. He I was most pleasantly surprised to see had shaved and his face now had a strange the new look of his room. The instruments and ethereal glow. He was wearing brown despite their bad condition were shining. suede trousers and a clean white shirt. The whole room seemed to have been I was very happy to see him like that. resurrected from the dead. Everything It was a good sign. It meant he was had been restored to its original beauty, ready to face the world. He turned the perhaps except for an old album that fan on to full to dry his hair. His silver lay on top of a table in the corner. hair framed his face in a way that it Its cover was still coated with dust. seemed other-worldly and angel-like Since it was the only object that had again. not been cleaned and dusted I took a “You look so much better,” I couldn’t piece of cloth and wiped it. Despite my resist complimenting him. not being too curious about it I opened He smiled and ran his fingers through it and started going through it. It had

126 :: July-September 2010 his hair. “So you’re saying I was full and took me by the hand. of shit before?” “Your house, you know, reminds me “No, not really. I mean, maybe you more of a rehearsal studio than a house,” were somewhere in between.” I said while going down the stairs. He gave his long hair a toss and “Actually,” he said putting his hand turned to face me, grinning widely. “Man, on my shoulder as we were coming down you are something. I am beginning to the stairs, “we had taken up this place get jealous of your reserve.” for rehearsals. But in time it became “Well, it’s actually in my blood,” I a den for us degenerates, especially those said laughing, “you see I am a Bania’s of us who had left home or were thrown son after all, so balance and reserve out of their homes. Robert and I were are in my DNA. But if you ask me I practically living out of this dump...” really hate that about myself. In fact Once again he seemed to be lapsing into what drew me to you was your carefree time-travel, not the fevered and or should I say unbalanced life. Funny disjointed kind that I had seen him do isn’t it, how I like your ‘unbalanced- earlier. This time, he seemed very calm ness’ and you, my reserve.” and at ease with the thoughts that were passing through his head. I knew he was growing to like me by the way he was looking at me. And “No matter what shit life was throwing then for the first time he asked me our way,” he continued, “we stood by something about myself. “So tell me, each other. It didn’t mean we never what do you do?” fought. In fact we fought like animals. But when we jammed together we were “Right now, nothing,” I said. something else. Then when the market “Nothing? How can I believe that? began to change, our ‘happy days’ got Right now, you’re putting up with an further and further away from us. Our old and crazy fart like me, no?” He started whole group started splitting up. Those to laugh. who had already made it to the A-Grade “Nope, not true,” I was laughing too, club were spared. Despite Robert and “How do you know that I am not having me being pretty senior, we didn’t have fun as well. You are very good company. much to do. Most music directors were In fact, you’re so damn good that I’d looking for cheap imitations. No one give anything to be around you.” really had the sense or sensibility of using serious instruments like the piano This time he laughed even more and the sax.” heartily. He then picked up his sax bag, pulled a gift-wrapped box out of a drawer He suddenly stopped, caught hold

July-September 2010 :: 127 of my hand and started running. We like the plague. Like that Vasuki Prasad, entered a cafe and ordered some who I saw selling flutes at Chowpatti. breakfast. He was now completely silent. He was also playing one. I just kept After a long pause he began mumbling looking at him... and then a thought to himself. “Bloody Nitin Mehta… you came to my mind... what if the sax was were the smart one. And we were the also made of bamboo. Then I could go idiots. Good, you kicked the tabla. Good, around selling them like Vasuki Prasad. that you took to the new instruments, But I got no clear answer.” if you hadn’t you’d also be a loser like “And not having an answer is not us. We were fucking idiots to have cared good for me. So what could I do, I about our instruments and the purity had a few drinks, maybe more than a of sound. Robert, he fucking thought few. Then I stumbled across to Charni he was god, just because there wasn’t Road, and was coming down the overhead a pianist like him in the whole of Mumbai. pass when right at the bottom of the And that’s why he made fun of your stairs I saw Robert. He was holding on new machines. He said they were bloody to the railing and was looking very angry. toys, electronic toys. But look what these It looked like he was having trouble bloody toys have done to his jumbo holding it all together; his huge body, piano. Why only Robert, in those days his blood pressure and his drunk and every artiste used to think no one could tired legs. He was in no condition to take his place. But they were fucking stand straight, how was he going to climb blind not to see the huge gap that was up? Yet I was sure he would, he was growing between their skills and the never a quitter, even if it was killing market.” him. The old man was mumbling between “Then I saw him climb two stairs sips of coffee and bites of bread and at a time. And in no time he was right butter. And in this effort to eat and in front of me. So I stretched out my drink and mumble alternately he choked. hand and pulled him up and asked him: I quickly offered him a glass of water. ‘Where are you coming from? Where have The water dissolved the piece of bread you been all these days?’ stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat “But he didn’t say anything, just kept and coughed a little and then shook panting. Then he looked at my sax bag his head vigorously. “It was their fucking and asked, ‘You coming from the studio?’ pride that took them down. Bloody idiots! I shook my head. Had I said ‘yes’ he None of them survived. They all would’ve put his hand in my pocket disappeared without a trace. Now even and taken out all the money. What could when our paths cross, they avoid me

128 :: July-September 2010 I have done, it was not as if I was grabbed my hand and started pulling making millions. But I am a very bad me along… we were rushing down the liar. He just had to look at my face stairs like a pair of madmen, any time and he knew that I was lying. He grabbed we could trip over and fall. He could my collar and with the other hand he neither take care of himself nor was started searching my pockets. ‘You lying he letting me get steady. I wasn’t surprised to me, bloody bastard. C’mon give me when we both tripped and rolled down a hundred fast.’ the few stairs that were left. We became “‘Leave my fucking collar first.’ I was a sorry spectacle… funny thing was there also angry. His grip on my collar eased. was no one to see us. I took out whatever money was in my “But Robert didn’t find it funny. Nor pocket and threw it at him. I was very was he bothered about the cut on my angry with him so I started walking away forehead. He got up and then pulled from him. But he grabbed my collar me up by the collar and started to drag again and shoved the money back into me through the evening crowd. I tried my pocket. ‘I thought I was borrowing to get out of his grip but he was in from a friend... but you are a bastard. no mood to let me go. Finally we stopped And you’re no friend of mine. Now get in front of the One Night beer bar and lost.’ he shoved me in, like a policeman pushes “This made me madder than before. a prisoner into the cell. The loud music I grabbed him with both hands and and the flickering strobe lights inside started dragging him down the stairs began to give me a splitting headache. with me. ‘Two fucking years... from two I banged into a waitress and tried to fucking years I’ve been putting up with steady myself by holding on to a table your bullshit. Since two years I’ve been edge. I was confused why Robert had paying for your fucking habit. But now brought me to the bar. The only thing you’ve just crossed the limit. Now tell I could make out was that the music me what do you fucking want from me?’ playing in the bar was composed by Nitin Mehta. The same Nitin Mehta that “He looked at me hurt and angry Robert hated with all his heart. and then suddenly his face lost all expression. He lowered his head and “The music stopped suddenly and just stood still. His silence made my there followed a few moments of complete blood boil more so I slapped him three- silence before another disco number four times. But he didn’t duck or resist began to grate on my ears. This song me. He just stood there like a prisoner. was also from the same film. The Then something came over him and he brainchild of the great Nitin Mehta, maker of pathetic cocktails of Rajasthani folk,

July-September 2010 :: 129 raunchy Bhojpuri, disco Garba and fake somewhat. I let him be. I didn’t want Bhangra. And to that came this beauty to disturb him. Instead I kept observing who’d set the dance floor on fire with him; His brown suede pants and white her filmi dancing. She was wearing a shirt and the suspenders crossed on his very tight ghagra-choli. The choli was back, his black cap and his silver hair more strings and less cloth. She had underneath it and his bag with the golden her backless back to us and she was knob of the sax peeping from it. In fact moving like a seasoned seductress. On his new avatar was so attractive that the cue of a drum beat she spun around I’d forgotten his former unwashed self. and showed her face. I was stunned. He stopped by the footpath after taking This was Robert’s daughter, Vinny. The a left. He bought some flowers from guys were whistling, blowing kisses and the florist there and stood in the queue throwing money at her. And she would at the bus-stop. I didn’t find it necessary go dancing to each one and take the to ask him where he intended to go. money from their hands smiling. The I also stood behind him in the queue. whole scene was so unbearable that I A bus came and we quickly boarded couldn’t take it any more. I quickly it. After a couple of stops we got down rushed out of the bar with a bad taste in what seemed like the middle of in my mouth. I threw up on the road nowhere. There was cemetery right next side. It struck me now why it was so to the bus-stop. We entered the place, tough for Robert to make peace with walked some and stopped at a white himself.” marble grave. On it was written in black We came out of the café when the letters Robert’s name, the dates of his morning had already turned to evening. birth and death and some lines about The sun was setting and it was leaving his stopover on this planet. behind long shadows. Robert’s memories The old man slunk his bag off his once again left a dark shadow on the back and placed the flowers on the grave. old man. Once again, old memories had After a few minutes of silence he took made him go totally silent. He soon forgot out his sax and the gift box from the that I was there walking with him. He bag. He unwrapped the box and inside was also mumbling as he walked. And it was a bottle of Peter Scot. I guess this time it was all gibberish to me. he must have saved the bottle for a He had entered his own sweet Universe— special occasion. His face, I noticed, a place that was his own and I or our had taken on the same dark shadow of present time had no place in it. his past. The only difference was that We were now close to the Portuguese now his face was clean-shaved and his Church and he had slowed down hair was washed. He opened the bottle

130 :: July-September 2010 and emptied its entire contents into the Caught in the frenzy of his sax. The whisky poured out of its keys performance I lost all sense of time. and mouth piece in tiny streams. Soon It was only when the shadows began it spread over the whole grave like a to get longer and the birds began to golden film. He flung the bottle with return to their trees did I notice that all his strength to the other end of the our remarkable day was soon coming cemetery. The empty bottle seemed to to an end. The old man stopped playing. fly through the air in slow motion till It seemed that some gigantic being had it crashed against a marble crucifix with suddenly died after a long struggle with a shattering thud. Again he went breathing. The old man was breathing completely still staring without blinking very heavily. The veins around his neck at his sax. His eyes had the hungry were bulging. Then he stumbled across look of someone trying to win a race. to a tree nearby and sat down resting He picked up the sax and blew hard. his back against it. He motioned me The sound that came out of it was like also to do the same. the blare of a horn. The old man cursed “That was a Beatnik tune,” he said and rudely shook his instrument. The catching his breath, “Robert was a big whisky trapped in its pores came out fan of the Beatniks, the kind of life they like rain. He took out a handkerchief lived.” and wiped the mouthpiece and then blew “And you? Are you a beatnik too?” hard again. This time his breath worked I asked. its magic on the sax. He stretched his “Me, I am fusionist.... a fusionist of breath on and on making a zig-zag line jazz and Indian classical. It’s something through the silence of the cemetery. He I’ve always done and still do.” wasn’t in a hurry to reach anywhere, sometimes he would touch the highest “And where do you think you’ll go octaves, sometimes reach out to the with it?” lowest and broadest possible notes. It “Back again. Back to where I began.” was pure jazz: beautiful and very hard “Meaning?” to put into a box. Listening to him I “Meaning it will find its own course.” felt that it wasn’t really him who was playing, but some wandering spirits that “Doesn’t look like that to me.” had entered his sax. I had an urge to “It doesn’t because, my instrument make him stop but then I realised that is the sax while my lungs are pure desi. he wasn’t playing for me alone but for And together they make jazz, which is the entire cemetery: its marble crosses, not jazz but quite jazz. Meaning it is its ancient trees and its dead. jazz but with a desi soul. Do you know

July-September 2010 :: 131 what I mean...” had carefully nurtured for years. “But what you were just playing, it “I have difficulty breathing,” he said didn’t sound desi to me.” looking at me with anguish in his eyes, “I know it didn’t.” He was once again “I can’t breathe in as well as I can breathe lost in his thoughts. out...” “On another note, don’t you think “But how,” I asked surprised, “can your music has hit a blind alley...” you blow for so long when you can’t breathe in...” This seemed to have touched a raw nerve because he jerked his head and “I don’t know. I just know that with turned to me. Once again he had that every breath, I pass out a part of me bitter expression on his face. “I think that has rotted and dissolved.” it started with Robert’s death... I was Those words dissolved all hard feelings the one who found him. He was lying that I had for him until now. Instead, on the railway tracks... with both arms I felt a deep sorrow for him. I kept cut and bleeding... I saw a dog run away staring at his face for a long time. I with one arm. That scene did something had finally understood what rot was to me. I think it killed the music in me.” dissolving and passing out of him. I took “No it didn’t,” my words came out the sax from his hands. “Don’t play this with much too much force, “you have for a few days. Just breathe... in and as much music as any other artiste. I out and in and out. Just get into yourself strongly believe no amount of pain or and heal. Recharge your fire. Then you’ll loss can kill the music in an artiste, see how restored you’ll feel. I’ll help especially an honest artiste.” you do that... really.” “You said ‘honest’,” he was staring He smiled weakly. “I am beyond all at me now. help, my friend. Nothing you do can help me now.” “Yes, when we start blaming our shortcomings on ‘time’, that’s an “But let me try... at least.” indication that we are not being honest “Try what... huh? What?” He was with ourselves.” getting aggressive again. He flew into a rage and grabbed my “I... I want to try and see...” collar. I thought he was going to slap “See what? See me rot in misery? me next but the next instant his grip See me puke blood and soil my pants?” over me loosened and he let go of me. “No that’s not what I want to see... It seemed as if he had suddenly accepted I just want you to play the sax... not defeat. Let go of an attitude that he

132 :: July-September 2010 let the sax play you.” some old almost forgotten dream that His eyebrows stood up in angry arches he had given up long ago. again. He kept staring at me like that “My sax,” he said and then went for some time and then he looked away silent. at his sax. He stroked it with a lot of I too became silent for these two love then put it back in the bag and words, said lightly, were anything but stood up. He came to me and put his light. They meant everything that he hand on my shoulder and we started was and ever wanted to be. It was walking. We left the deepening darkness probably the most serious thing he had of the cemetery and stepped out into said about himself in a long time. the illumination of the city. Suddenly, the city seemed like a We were walking on the pavement brighter place and my old friend less and his hand was still on my shoulder. angry. Gone was his seething anger that The weight and tautness of his hand wanted to crush the city like a plastic had reduced and there was also a spring cup. Gone was the need to rage against in his step. Then in a low voice he said the world for all that it had denied him. something that made me very happy. In its place was a balance that I had “It seems like I am going home after not seen in him before. As I bid him a long time... seems like I am finally goodbye I felt reassured that my old going somewhere.” friend and his sax would make it home… “So where is your somewhere?” I someday… somehow… in one piece. asked hoping that he would mention

Manoj Rupra, born 1963 and educated at Durg, M.P. He is a novelist and a short story writer. Came into limelight with his very first short story ‘dafan’. He has two collections of short stories and a recent novel ‘pratisansar’. He lives in Nagpur.

Dhiraj Singh is a short-story writer (writing in English), essayist, journalist, abstract artist and translator. He has translated Asghar Wajahat’s celebrated play ‘Jisne Lahore Nai Dekhya Woh Janmya Nai’ (‘Unborn in Lahore’, The Little Magazine, 2000). Currently he is Programming Consultant with Lok Sabha Television. He lives in Delhi and his art and writings can be seen on his blog: http://bodhishop.blogspot.com

July-September 2010 :: 133 ANITYA : THOUGHTS IN JAIL Mridula Garg

Translated by Seema Segal

Someone was at the gate. ‘Anitya!’ Avijit cried out. ‘What’s the matter, Bhai Saheb? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’ ‘When did you come?’ he asked. ‘When you saw me.’ ‘Anyone else with you?’ he asked warily. ‘Yes, a friend, Shukla...’ ‘So, it is you...’ The words were out before he could control himself. Disconcerted, Anitya asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’ ‘Chadha is dead!’ ‘When?’ ‘Today.’ By then Prabha and Shubha had come out. ‘What are you saying Pitaji? Chadha uncle is really.. .?’ exclaimed Prabha. ‘Yes.’ ‘You were with him?’ Pages from a Novel Pages from ‘No, he was in Meerut. I heard only a while ago... after the last rites.’

134 :: July-September 2010 They fell silent. ‘Some people came to him and took ‘I can’t believe it,’ Prabha broke the him to the church. He realized what silence, ‘he was so full of life... told they wanted him to do only on reaching us such amusing stories when he was there. He had mastered baptism but a here last.’ Catholic wedding! He had no inkling how to go about it. He panicked. All he could ‘About the time he was working under think of doing, at the spur of the moment, cover. How we laughed! What happened, was to twist his leg on the way to the was he ill?’ asked Shubha. pulpit and fall flat on the ground. He ‘Yes,’ Avijit sighed, ‘he had been ill was saved from the trauma of conducting for twelve years.’ the wedding but broke his leg!’ ‘Twelve years?’ ‘He did not break it that way’ , Avijit ‘Didn’t he tell you about it?’ blurted. ‘I never dreamt he was ill.’ ‘How then?’ ‘What was he ill with?’ Prabha asked ‘It was in the jail.’ sombrely. ‘You were in the jail with him, weren’t ‘Something or the other’, Anitya butted you?’ Anitya interposed. in. ‘Isn’t death itself an illness. What ‘That was in 1932. He broke his leg did Chadha talk about?’ later in 1942 in Fatehgarh Jail, when...’ ‘About his undercover work mostly. ‘What else did he tell you?’ Anitya Told us how he broke his leg... that did not let him finish. really had us in splits!’ ‘The story about Miss Bannerjee was ‘How did he break his leg?’ equally exciting’, said Shubha. ‘He was working disguised as a ‘It was incredible!’ added Prabha. Christian priest those days. There ‘Tell us’, said Anitya. happened to be a wedding in the church nearby when the real priest went down ‘She was also on the run in 1942. with measles. The bride and groom were Where was she...?’ there eager to be married but the padre ‘Bombay.’ was missing! Someone thought of Chadha ‘Yes, Bombay. She was operating a uncle... what name had he taken those People’s Radio there under the name days?’ of Shahnaz. The day she found that the ‘Father Chalice’, said Shubha. police were after her, instead of going ‘Yes, Father Chalice’, Prabha into hiding, she went straight to the recounted the tale with the same gusto Collector’s house. Told his wife she was with which Chadha had, trying to keep collecting funds for a play by the Women’s the man alive a while longer. Club. She spoke English fluently... the

July-September 2010 :: 135 Collector’s wife was duly impressed and feeling a little lighter. ‘Chadha was the asked her to stay for tea. The Collector tough one, ready to fight at the slightest turned up a while later. He looked pretext. We were arrested on the 4th surprised to see her but shook her hand of January while demonstrating outside and sat down to tea. When she got up Anand Bhawan. All of us were put in to leave, he said nonchalantly, “Please the same barrack.’ use the back door, Miss Shahnaz.” Herded like cattle! Thirty people in “You know my name?” she asked, one barrack. They had heard that the surprised. government had created A, B, and C “Yes. Also, that your real name is classes in the jail and had hoped to Kajal Bannerjee.” be put in B–if not A–class as political prisoners.But that was for important ‘She asked him if he had informed people. The government wanted to give the police. “Not yet,” he said, the rawest deal to the students; after “I’m a student of history. How can all they were the future of the nation! I forego the thrill of watching history So they got C class. being made before my eyes? Get rid The iron gates of the prison closed of the radio and leave town... I’ll inform after them... their clothes were taken the police after two hours.” Miss away and they were asked to wear the Bannerjee thanked him, left by the back regulation kurta and shorts of the jail. door and escaped the police.’ Avijit felt embarrassed. He was finicky ‘Miss Bannerjee never talks about about clothes. He washed his khadi dhoti herself. If you ask her anything, she and kurta to such perfection, taking out waves it away with a laugh.’ the wrinkles while drying them that his ‘Chadha never talked to you about friends teased him, asking him who his the jail?’ Avijit asked. It seemed he had dhobi was! To be forced to wear the not heard the story at all. crumpled kurta and shorts of C class! ‘No.’ The kurta was still all right, but the ‘Did you know that all of them were shorts! in jail together,’ Anitya broke in, ‘Chadha, Chadha had laughed, ‘Stand in a line, your father, Harish, Chatterjee, who else all of you. Let me see, who’s the biggest Bhai Saheb?’ joker of all?’ ‘Saran.’ Avijit could not join in his laughter. ‘That mole too!’ It was never easy to join Chadha in anything. ‘Pitaji never tells us anything about the jail either’, said Shuhha, ‘What did Chadha uncle do there?’ he heard Shubha ask and was dragged ‘What’s there to tell?’ said Avijit

136 :: July-September 2010 back to the present. escape anywhere... yet one coninues to ‘We had proclaimed 26 January as run with hands covering the head to the future Republic Day. We knew we save the skull from the blows. With what could not celebrate it in the jail, but powerful yearning and hope does the Chadha was not one to give up...’ will to live function in each one of us; let the bones of the back or shoulders He had stood up and raised the slogan break... so long as the skull remains of VandeMataram. whole, one may yet live, though half The boys from his and the other dead. barracks soon joined him. The words The blow had landed right on Chadha’s ‘Vande Mataram’ resounded from each head... no, his leg did not break in 1932. and every barrack around them! It was The moment he fell, the flock of cranes magic! For a while they forgot everything– came crashing down to earth. A stunned the walls of the barrack, the iron gates silence followed... of the prison, the threats of the warden, the disgust on the face of the jailer. ‘You were forbidden from saying ‘Vande Mataram’, weren’t you?’ It was magic indeed! asked Shubha. Fleet-footed deer sprinting through the lush green forest... a caravan of wild Avijit’s yes was like a long drawn cranes soaring high into the open sky... out sigh. ‘There was a lathicharge soon letter after letter unfolding its wings... after the slogan was raised; many were vande matram... eleven cranes, soaring injured.’ with outspread wings, heads held high, ‘You too?’ asked Prabha. ready to touch the sky! A flock in flight... ‘No.’ the beat of melody in space... the She did not say anything but he felt resonance of... freedom! compelled to retort, ‘Not everyone has Then the warning bell clanged! to get hurt.’ Baton wielding sepoys... whistle ‘Chadha uncle was.’ blowing wardens... the jailer barking ‘Yes. He didn’t try to save himself. orders! The melody turned into He kept on shouting “Vande Mataram”.’ cacophony. But one voice soared on ‘What happened then?’ Shubha asked undeterred! guilelessly. How does one feel when blows rain on the head and one can run for cover ‘There was a delay in taking the injured to the hospital, so we went on a hunger only within the four walls? strike.’ Ten steps forward, ten steps back... lathi blows everywhere... forward... ‘You too?’ Prabha asked again. backward... wherever one turns... no

July-September 2010 :: 137 ‘Why not me?’ who had a penchant for looking in the ‘Prabha, go get a glass of water’, Anitya distant future. Such farsighted people, came to his rescue. as you know, are not good at seeing things close up. He had a clever business ‘You thought Chadha uncle was crazy, project in mind, according to his didn’t you?’ she insisted. reckoning. He made some of his friends ‘Who said so?’ invest around twenty thousand each in ‘I’m asking you.’ it. It was all above board, nothing ‘Prabha, didn’t you hear what I said? dishonest, each an equal partner. The Go get a glass of water.’ project started with a bang but ‘I’m going. What’s the hurry?’ unfortunately soon went bust. He then devised an equally farsighted plan to ‘There is. Get it.’ save himself from the wrath of the She went in. partners. He committed suicide. Shukla ‘God knows what Kajal teaches them’, was one of the bereaved partners. I don’t said Avijit. know how he got my address but he ‘Kajal... Bannerjee?’ came crying to me. What could I do? A man without money can only offer ‘Yes.’ friendship. So he became my friend.’ ‘She is here?’ ‘You’ll now take him wherever you ‘Yes, teaches Prabha.’ go?’ ‘Was she involved with Chadha?’ ‘No, I’ll leave him here.’ ‘No, she was involved with me and ‘What!’ so is out to punish me. Chadha and ‘Poor fellow sold off his wife’s jewellery she both... as if I did not suffer in the to become a partner. Now that he has jail...’ lost everything, he is afraid to go home. Prabha brought the water and said, Let him stay here for a few days... you ‘Mummy wants to know why everybody could get him a job as an insurance is standing at the gate. Has something agent or something... he’d go home after happened?’ a while.’ ‘God, I forgot!’ said Anitya. ‘I left ‘Is this an alms house?’ Prabha Shukla with her. Was he there?’ exclaimed before Avijit could respond. ‘There was an odd looking guy.’ ‘No, a mad house’, Anitya whispered ‘Who’s Shukla?’ asked Avijit. It was to her. good to talk of something else. ‘He needs help, Prabha,’ Avijit rebuked ‘A friend of sorts. Rather an her, ‘of course he can stay for a few interesting type. I had another friend days.’

138 :: July-September 2010 ‘There must be some four hundred ‘He left Gandhiji, did he not? Was million people who need help. Will you...’ it because of the head injury?’ ‘Let it go,’ Shubha spoke up, ‘Why ‘Where was the question of leaving; do you go on and on?’ there was nothing left to leave. The Taken aback, Prabha fell silent. movement was over by the time we were released from jail in 1934. Chadha was ‘Let’s go inside,’ said Anitya, ‘Bhabhi not one to leave anything because of must be getting worried.’ an injury. He didn’t even stay in the But Shyama was fine. She reclined hospital beyond four days...’ on the bed while Shukla sat in an armchair He stopped mid-sentence. Why did by her side, reciting the tale of Yayati’s Prabha have to dwell on the days that devoted son Puru. She was not the only he had partially forgotten but was afraid one listening with rapt attention. Khokhee to recall fully? sat at the foot of the bed and wonder of wonders, Sudhanshu was in Shukla’s Chadha had returned to the barrack lap! after four days in the hospital. ‘He has eight children’, whispered They were surprised to see him back Anitya. so quickly after a serious injury. Shukla had gone to Swarna himself ‘Discharged... so soon?’ they asked and taken Sudhanshu from her. him. He could be useful after Swarna left, ‘Not discharged, but they did not thought Avijit. The introduction and insist on my staying.’ greetings did not last long as Shyama ‘Why would they? They are doctors, wanted him to carry on with the story. not your lovers’, Harish said. Avijit returned to the drawing room with ‘Don’t know about that but I do know Anitya. Prabha followed them. Shubha there are no patients there.’ stayed on for a bit as Shukla’s narration ‘What!’ was rather dramatic... more like a musical ‘All of them are pretenders. They play. She was enjoying herself but felt have got themselves admitted to the that Avijit might need her. So she went back to the drawing room a while later. hospital to escape the hardships of jail. Remember that businessman we met the ‘Why did Chadha uncle and Miss first day...?’ Bannerjee leave you?’ she heard Prabha ask as she came in. ‘The goldsmith who was moaning for the A class?’ asked Chatterjee. Prabha was really impossible; once ‘Yes, and all of you so sympathetic! she latched to something, she hung on like a leech. Sethji, how come you got the C class?’ ‘He was bent on boring each one ‘Leave? What do you mean?’

July-September 2010 :: 139 of us with his story, so we thought he my full two years in C class. What right might as well do it at one go.’ Harish has Kajal to cast aspersions on me? It laughed, ‘Remember how he reared up is true that I did not get beaten up at the sight of the prison roti as if he like Chadha... after all I was not competing had stepped on a snake!’ with him. ‘He’s in the hospital these days’, said In any case he was crazy. If one Chadha. man wanted to bash his head against ‘I thought he must have got his class a wall, did that mean others had to changed’, said Chatterjee. follow? ‘He has put in an application. His That day... relatives, friends, lawyer are all trying The jail Superintendent was to make but can’t breach the red tape. They have his rounds to inspect the jail, so it was put the biggie in C class by mistake being thoroughly cleaned up. The but can’t trace where the mistake was prisoners were moved from the made. So he is hospitalized with the grindstone and put to washing floors. dreadful disease of piles.’ The Superintendent was rumoured to ‘And he pretended to be a devoted be a fiend for cleanliness. He inspected Gandhian; spun the wheel without fail.’ the floors and walls inch by inch and was especially disgusted by cockroaches ‘Still does that to pass time. He’s and rodents. The prisoners were to keep not fortunate like us to have twelve seers the cockroaches and rats out of his sight. of wheat to grind, and not know when He was also known to never speak to the day began and when it ended.’ a prisoner. ‘Fine,’ said Avijit, ‘but what has that Chadha had the temerity to step up to do with your leaving the hospital.’ to him, throw his broom on the floor, ‘An emergency case came in today. and bellow, ‘Political prisoners are not Everyone suddenly developed bad meant to sweep floors!’ stomachs, afraid they might be asked Everyone, from the warden to the to give up their beds to him and return Superintendent, was dumb-struck. The to C class. I said shame on you all and other prisoners stood petrified. Chadha walked out.’ ‘Piles is actually quite a had turned and looked at them but no dangerous disease’, came from Saran. one had stirred. He was on his own. ‘You have it too?’ asked Chadha. ‘Twenty lashes’, barked the Saran was embarassed momentarily Superintendent. but soon found a way out. If not piles, They had held him down and... an itch would do! He got hospitalized now and then by giving a small bribe. No, he did not want to remember. But none of the others did. I passed They had warned Chadha that once

140 :: July-September 2010 he entered the jail, it was all the same The lash whistling over the naked whether one was handed the loom or back ... one, two, three, the blood spurting the broom. The great politician, from the torn flesh, mingling to form Kamalnain himself had come down from bubbling streams! Four, five, six, seven... his B class quarters and explained to the streams merging in a rivulet, screams them that chanting ‘Vande Mataram’, challenging consciousness. Eight... nine... protesting, or inciting revolt had no place an ocean of blood... a last burst of in the prison. All one had to do was heightened consciousness! Fifteen, to follow the rules and regulations; other sixteen... delirium pounding on the sand things did not matter. of impending prostration... the broken Everyone had tried to make Chadha mass of flesh hanging from a wooden understand that but he did not care. board... He thought he just had to raise his voice From the board hung Chadha... not and the others would follow, the way Avijit but Chadha! they had when he had chanted ‘Vande ‘Miss Bannerjee was saying’ he heard Mataram’. He had forgotten that seven Prabha, ‘Chadha uncle was tortured in or eight months in jail were enough to jail.’. cool people’s ardour. In any case they ‘So,’ thundered Avijit, ‘what’s new had been burnt once. Moreover, every in that? What can you expect in jail other day the warden came up with a if not torture?’ . fresh rumour. They had no access to ‘Pitaji’ , Shubha cried out terrified. newspapers. Trapped in a cauldron, they clung to whatever filtered through the Blind to his surroundings, his holes in the lid. Sometimes it was a bloodshot eyes turned from Prabha and letter, sometimes a chance remark of came to rest on her. the warden. A few days ago, he had ‘By the time you were released from told them that Gandhi planned to go prison in 1934, the movement had been on a fast to protest MacDonald’s called off. Wasn’t that why Chadha and Communal Award. The agenda of Kajal Bannerjee drifted apart?’ said Independence had been shelved and he Anitya. was intent on improving the lot of the ‘All of us did. Gandhiji called off the untouchables. The Congress had accepted Movement’, Avijit took hold of himself, the principle of participation in the then added austerely to Prabha, ‘You Governing Council. What possible ardour should try to understand a situation fully could be left and for what after that? before passing comments.’ If Avijit had moved to Chadha’s side, He remembered that day in April what then? He too would have suffered 1934 when jailer Brown had personally the lash... told them that Gandhiji had called off

July-September 2010 :: 141 the Satyagraha. this made me see my own weakness. If you told someone to jump into My friend told me that he thought I the river blindfolded and he did so had known of his weakness. I was blind. believing that the river was full and Blindness in a leader is unpardonable. landed on sharp rocks, how would he I saw at once that I must, for the time feel? being at least, be the sole active Satyagrahi. Jailer Brown usually did not think it worthwhile to talk to the prisoners’ That was all! Gandhiji had called off in C class. But he could not keep that the movement for an insignificant reason stupendous piece of news to himself, like that. A single person made a mistake so he had delivcred it to them personally. and he used it to bolster an ephemeral ethical principle and withdrew a National ‘Impossible!’ Chadha had said. Movement, leaving thousands of people ‘Impossible?’ Brown smiled mockingly stranded! At the end of his statement and placed the day’s editorial on the he had counselled the Congressmen that table. they should try to learn the art and A newspaper! beauty of self-denial and voluntary A dozen hands grabbed it. poverty. They should engage in nation- The pages came apart. The front page building activities; promotion of khadi reached Avijit’s hands. He began to read through spinning and weaving; spread it aloud to prevent others from snatching of communal unity through it. Every word broke his heart over and irreproachable personal conduct towards over again. one another in every walk of life; eradicating untouchablity in every form; Gandhiji had called off the Satyagraha. total abstinence from intoxicating drinks Avijit read the reason he had given but and drugs while working with addicts; could not understand it. The listeners and scrupulously cultivating personal were equally puzzled. He read it out purity. The performance of these services once, then started all over again. would mean living in poverty. Those The information I received in the who did not want to live in poverty course of a conversation about a valued could take up jobs in the cottage industry companion of long standing was a sector and earn minimal wages. revelation. He was not ready to perform They looked at each other stunned. the full quota of work in the jail and preferred instead to engage in his private ‘Will we get Independence by doing studies. This was undoubtedly contrary all that?’ asked Harish. to the principles of Satyagraha. More ‘Gandhiji has always believed that than the imperfection of the friend whom if one’s personal life was pure, other I love dearly, now more than ever, things will follow’, said Saran.

142 :: July-September 2010 He was unshaken as always. be no dearth of jobs under the British ‘How?’ asked Chatterjee. rule.’ ‘What’s our aim, Independence or ‘We want freedom, not jobs.’ charity?’ an infuriated Harish asked. ‘Who cares what you want.’ Brown ‘Gandhiji says take care of the means had laughed contemptuously. ‘Thousands and the end will follow.’ of mad people like you have been hanged. We understand and the Congress ‘Shut up!’ said Avijit. ‘Don’t repeat understands that the British and India his words like a parrot! Whatever Gandhiji can never be parted.’ may say, the question is what would happen to our goal of Independence now ‘Shut up!’ Chadha had shouted. that the Movement has been called off?’ There was dead silence in the ‘Nothing’, said Harish. ‘This is the barracks. end.’ The mask of decency dropped from ‘No’, Chadha spoke up. ‘This is the Brown’s face and a flush of contempt beginning of the end. The end of slavery! and cruelty suffused it. We don’t need Gandhiji. We shall fight ‘Twenty lashes were not enough to and win freedom!’ bring you to your senses, need more, The determination in his tone lit a you bastard!’ he said sharply and kicked ray of hope in their hearts when Brown him hard. The heavy boot caught Chadha, broke in with, ‘Why do you people need who fell on his face. Independence?’ Then... They had forgotten that jailer Brown No, he did not want to remember; was in their midst. nor become a stranger in his house again. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Avijit. Ever since he had met Kajal... ‘This Gandhi of yours is really astute. something had happened which called He knows that India won’t survive for for every ounce of his will power to two days once the British leave, that’s stay in touch with the present. why he talks of reform, not war.’ How could he live clinging to the They fumed at his words but swallowed past like this? their fury and remained silent as no Twenty years was not a short time one had an answer. span especially if one did not want to Jailer Brown had said in a fatherly remember it. He had kept things in limbo tone fit for dealing with errant young for as many years... choosing to men, ‘Why do you want to rot in remember only that which was pleasant prison?You are young; your future is and comforting and did not weigh on before you; go home and study. There’ll the conscience, as Anitya would say...

July-September 2010 :: 143 but he had not said anything... It was adversary of the wind disappeared Avijit himself who could not forget; with somewhere from his view. whom the past lived every moment of He had left the window then, ran the day... wildly to the door and started beating He did not want to remember but on it. He would not stay shut in a moment did. Kajal had visited him in jail for longer! Don’t release us from the jail the last time, twenty years ago... but let us at least go into the compound! The people seated in the room became Let us fly for a while with the plane invisible to him and leaving them there in the sky! But no, the prisoners were in the present, Avijit walked out to the locked in at night and let out only in verandah and back in time. the morning. A huge lock hung outside the door. Ten steps forward... ten steps back... then forward... he kept pacing, trapped ‘Are we pigs to be locked up like within the four walls. this!’ he shouted. A man trapped in the jail eagerly ‘Why are you ranting?’ Chadha looked forward to the Visiting Day... rebuked him. ‘The plane did not come contact with the outside world could for you.’ make him feel human for a while. That He had gone listlessly back to the was where his thoughts lay day and window and stood staring at the void night... in the outside world! The spread across the sky. companions inside could never fill the Then came the Visitors’ Day... he void; they only increased it. heard the warden say, ‘You have a Ah for a touch of the outside world, visitor.’ however ephemeral! ‘Who is it?’ he asked and hoped it One night, around ten, he happened was Anitya, not Pitaji who was always to see a plane framed by the patch of whining and complaining. blue that the prisoners called the sky, ‘It’s one Kajal Bannerjee.’ from the skylight of his cell. The outer Ecstasy... then terror! He wanted to world in flight! The prisoners ran as refuse to meet her but the yearning for one man to the window... if only they contact with the outside world made could see the plane disappear far into him go to her. the horizon! But how? The sky within the bars of the window was too miniscule Had there been no grill between them, he was sure she would have run to him an area. Avijit had not moved from the and thrown her arms around his neck window for a long while, his strong arms pushing the others away... he had stood as she had done two years ago... and equally sure, he would have held her and stared into the distance... till the tight and kissed her. The touch of her

144 :: July-September 2010 warm body would surely have inflamed ‘What does Baba say?’ him! When he saw a female form approach ‘Never mind Baba. What do you say?’ him from a distance, he wanted to tear ‘What can I say? It’s for you to decide.’ down the grill and run to her ‘I have given it enough thought; I’m impetuously– as he had on the night he saw the plane– and take her in his asking you now. This is not the time to act coy. Tell me, will we be married arms! But the grill stood between them. after your release?’ They were saved from a great injustice! Avijit from committing it and Kajal He could not say yes or no. from bearing its burden! They were on ‘This is not the time to talk of these either side of the barrier; not man and things.’ woman, but Kajal and Avijit. ‘Why not?’ She had never looked uglier. Sallow ‘I’m in jail. Even if I’m released now, rough skin pitted with deep pockmarks! I’m sure to be arrested again, soon. My A foul smell from the toilet nearby life is committed to the nation. I can’t filled him with disgust. There was so think of marriage.’ much commotion in the room that he As he said this, he could see the could barely hear her or himself. If they pockmarks on her face deepen, turning spoke loudly, everyone present would the skin coal black. hear them. ‘You don’t want to think or there’s If they dropped their voices, not even some other problem?’ the other would hear. What Kajal had ‘Gandhiji says we should be celibate to say was not something to be shouted to devote ourselves fully to the nation from the rooftop. But it did not deter and...’ , he began but Kajal interrupted her. It was Avijit who was embarrassed. him. They had to talk standing as there ‘Forget him. What do you want?’ was no place to sit. ‘I want the nation to be free. I want ‘How are you?’ she had asked. to get out of jail. Will it happen because ‘Fine.’ I want it?’ ‘Ma and Baba are going away to Patna.’ ‘So ... should I ... go ... to Patna?’ ‘Oh.’ she asked in a tremulous voice. ‘What do you want me to do?’ He knew that any other woman would ‘What can I say?’ he had pretended have been in tears. not to understand. He took refuge in cruelty. ‘Should I go with them or remain ‘You are free. You can do what you here till you are released...’ want. I’m a prisoner. What advice can

July-September 2010 :: 145 I give you?’ shaving brush and soap, and devil take ‘I was also in jail, Avijit,’ she said, him, his razor and even his precious ‘but unlike you I did not turn into...’ mirror, saying, ‘This is a jail. You are not here to indulge your whims.’ ‘Time’s up!’ A loud voice shattered the environs. Kajal’s sentence was lost Bastard! Avijit would never forgive in the cacophony. him! He trembled with rage. The endless list of people he would not forgive! Not Avijit returned to his barracks but that anyone had ever forgiven him either. dwelt on what the unheard words might have been. He returned to the cupboard from the other end of the verandah. What exactly had she said? Unlike you I did not turn into a coward... into If I were to be imprisoned on this a hypocrite... into a selfish wretch... verandah, I could last for years! Avijit came to a stop before the True, Kajal, I found a good job and cupboard in the wall. He opened the married on being released from prison door gently and peered in. He saw all in 1934 but I was not to blame! Gandhiji his things, the needle and thread, the had withdrawn the movement. scissors and knife, the shaving kit, the I could not run the movement alone, plate and cup arranged neatly. He felt could I? He tried to lift his spirits by a sense of relief and turned back. persuading himself to believe he had Why did I feel a sense of relief? been right. It was another matter to Why would it not be arranged properly? convince Kajal. This was not the jail after all, where He could not return to the room. the neat arrangement of his razor and The evening turned to night. He kept mirror on the shelf, had angered the pacing, never more than ten steps each authorities. way...

The warden had confiscated his Courtesy : Oxford University Press

Mridula Garg, born 1938, contemporary Hindi writer. She is the recipient of a number of prestigious awards, including the Vyas Samman for her novel Kathgulab in 2004; the Sahityakar Samman awarded by the Hindi Akademi; and M.P. Sahitya Parishad’s awards for her novel Uske Hisse ki Dhoop and her play Jadoo ka Kaleen.

Seema Segal, runs the Munshi Premchand Memorial School in Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, focusing on the underprivileged.

146 :: July-September 2010 MEENA KUMARI Kanan Jhingan

Translated by Ghanshyam Sharma Films

“Zindagi kya isi ko kehate hain Jism tanha hai aur jaan tanha” (Is it what they call life? alien to each other is the body and the soul.)

A very restless Alibux was waiting for the arrival of his third child at the doorway of the clinic of Dr. Gadre in Mumbai. ‘Blessed’ as he already was with two daughters ‘Khursheed’ and ‘Madhuri’, his sole desire was ‘only if Allah can show him the face of a son; when news broke he tried to come to terms with the third girl child but could not. ‘This girl I shall not take home’, he said to himself. He headed straight to an orphanage after his wife was discharged. They abandoned the newly born, derelict, on the staircase itself. Soon, within a couple of hours or so, the tears of the mother and his own self-reproaching conscience forced him to go to the orphanage. The child was brought back home. The helpless body of the little child, while it lay inert on the staircase, had been infested with ants. Alibux condemned himself, and the mother embraced the baby to her heart. Later, whenever the girl committed any mischief, the vexed mother would shout at her, “Why did not those ants devour you.” Father christened her ‘Mehjabeen’ — the one whose forehead is like the moon. Thus, ‘Mehjabeen’ set about her excursion of life on August

July-September 2010 :: 147 1, 1933. Father Alibux was familiar with father. The role of brother was also the cinematic world, playing harmonium beyond her understanding. She had no and writing nazms. Occasionally, he was brother of her own. And if the fellow offered some mediocre roles. However, out there was her brother, why did he he could not carve out a potential place not live at her home with them? that could sustain his family and his The pain of not having attended a household. Wife ‘Iqbal Bano’ was a stage school for education pinched her all performer. Very few people know, in through her life. At an age when kids fact, that ‘Prabhavati’ also knows as ‘Iqbal go to school, enjoy themselves, when Bano’, the mother of ‘Meena Kumari’, their pains and pleasures affect the pride hailed from the family of Rabindra Nath and happiness of their parents, Baby Thakur. Her mother Hemsundari was Meena Kumari delivered dialogues given married into this family. When her by directors unknown to her, wearing husband died, she had to step out of artificial smiles and shedding glycerine the four walls. For survival of life, she tears. While talking to President had to enter the world of dance and drama. Radhakrishnan much later she had said Alibux and Iqbal Bano were privileged —”Poverty never condoned me from life that they lived close to Rooptara studio, of destitution and want. The beautiful where they used to send the elder years of education passed in vain for daughter ‘Khursheed’ as a child artist. me.” Having come of age, now she stopped Post shooting in the evening time, getting work. Then, the mother started she would invariably enjoy the fun and taking ‘Mehjabeen’ along with her. The frolics of childhood with sisters at home. child of six years wished to go to school, Her elder sister recalls how they all but her wishes could not prevail. would say that Munna (nickname) was She debuted as ‘Baby Meena Kumari’ haunted by some spirit; how she would in Farjande Vatan, a film by Digvijay scare them all, wearing rags of clothes Bhatt. Her role in the scene was not like a rosary round her neck. How once, to utter anything as she was supposed when she asked her to do some domestic to let a cat lick her cheeks silently. chores, she smashed her (sister’s) thumb The child shrieked in fear. But gripped in sheer mischief during grinding turmeric with another stronger fear of the wrath on a ‘sill’, and then she wept so bitterly of the mother, she completed the scene. herself, that all rushed to her rescue, At such a tender age, she could not rather than her sister’s. Her sister’s make out anything of acting. There was bleeding thumb was noticed later. A a film in which she had to call out someone master was there who would teach her as ‘father’. Baby Meena said many times English. After the teacher would leave, that the person before her was not her she would play a teacher herself forcing

148 :: July-September 2010 them all to learn by rote; say MAT— the same docile woman suffering in meek mat. If the sister did not say, she would silence which qualified her to be more threaten. Even when she was grown up popularly known as ‘Tragedy Queen’. She enough, she would play hide and seek, also played some comic roles hiding herself behind the closed doors, occasionally, such as in Azad and and then she would weep. Then she would Kohinoor. ‘Mai Chup Rahungi’, ‘Aarti’, come after a while and fight, “why didn’t ‘Dil Ek Mandir’, ‘Kajal’, ‘Phool aur Pathar’ someone come to find me.” fetched Meena Kumari awards in quick Films such as ‘Ganesh Mahima’ or succession. ‘Veer Ghatotkach’ and ‘Aladin and the ‘Parineeta’, ‘Saheb, Biwi aur Gulam’ wonderful lamp’, with which Meena and ‘Chitralekha’ are novels that are Kumari started her career, were legendary known to be classics of Hindi and Bangla in nature. It was ‘Baiju Bawra’ with Bharat literature. Meena Kumari breathed life Bhushan as its hero that fetched her into the roles of ‘Lalita’, ‘Choti Bahu’ the ultimate renown as an actress. and ‘Chitralekha’. Blessed with physical Released in 1952 this film ran for a charm externally and cerebral elegance hundred weeks. She got ‘best actress’ internally, she was a poetess at heart. award in 1953, and her price soared That is why, she could infuse life into to rupees 1 lakh from a paltry rupees the imaginative projections of 15,000. Meena Kumari had a narrow Sharatchandra, Vimal Mitra and Bhagwati escape from drowning during the Charan Verma. shooting of this film. During the Production of ‘Pakeeza’ that began picturisation of the song ‘tu ganga ki in 1958 had to be packed up halfway. mauj mai Jamuna ka dhaara’ her boat Her separation with Kamal Amarohi was trapped in a whirlpool. Many people notwithstanding, Meena Kumari decided from among the unit jumped into the to restart the production. The blatant lake and she was rescued. In films such rejection by society, of a dancer and as ‘Dayraa’ and ‘Parineeta’ she played prostitute has been filmed very the roles of conventional Indian woman, sensitively. Ghulam Muhammad’s music, as an embodiment of sacrifice, so Kamaal Amarohi’s dialogues and the alluringly that it become her own identity. portrayal of Muslim society, together In ‘Dayraa’ we have a 16 year old girl take the art form to its zenith. Meena in the service of her ailing husband who Kumari had grown very feeble. So much is old enough to be her grandfather. so that she would collapse when dancing the dialogues were fewer, but her eyes to the tune of, ‘Thade Rahio’ and ‘Sare spoke a lot of her pain. In ‘Sharda’, raah chalte chalte.’ Kamaal Amarohi ‘Ek Hi Raasta’, ‘Aarti’, ‘Dil Apnaa aur would make her sit in front of him to Preet Parayee’ she played the roles of take close-ups so that the dance

July-September 2010 :: 149 performance could be taken from Padma During the shoot of ‘Amar’, Meena Kumari Khanna. Meena Kumari, even in this found his misdemeanours too excessive weakness, helped Padma rehearse her to put up with. When she rebuked him walking style upto her own satisfaction. naggingly, she was expelled from the Meena Kumari herself had designed the film, and Madhubala was called in to costumes of ‘Pakeeza’. The Film was supersede her. The feeling of revenge released on February 4, 1972. The film did not subside even after this, and received a cold response. Death laid its Mehboob in league with Zia Sarahadi icy hands on Meena Kumari in Saint the director of ‘Footpath’, hatched a Elizabeth Nursing Home on 31st March conspiracy. A scene was devised in the 1972 at 3:25. The film became such film where Dilip Kumar was to slap Meena a huge hit as the news of her death Kumari in her face. So many ‘retakes’ broke out that it looked as if people were taken for the scene that her were desperate to have one farewel bludgeoned face swell. Jankidas, a glimpse of the departing Meena Kumari; character artist, had disclosed to who knows afterall whether or not they Narendra Rajguru that Meena Kumari will get an opportunity again to see her had been a victim of rape when she face. was 11 years old. (Dard ki khuli Kitab/ Having reached a certain height of Rajguru) art, most artists find themselves Once Meena Kumari’s arm was automatically associated with scandals seriously injured in a car accident when true and false. Meena Kumari was no she was on her way back from exception to it. The pages in her diary Mahabaleshwar, and her fingers were cast light on her personality. Children smashed. In every film after the accident who are rejected since their very birth, she would wrap her injured fingers very who are pushed into strenuous work nimbly with her dupatta or the pallu are like bonded labourers, who have of her sari. When some one asked her stepped the ladder of innocent childhood once about how her fingers were injured amidst false glamour away from the cozy she replied, “This is only the fingers, ambience of family life, who have been I have given away my whole life to victims of lustful predators from their films.” own acquaintances, are injured for their It was during these days when Kamaal life time, gripped with the feeling of Amarohi dropped in at the hospital to insecurity. see her. Meena fell for him at this gesture On one occasion, during a meeting of affection. Against the will of the parents with film journalist Narendra Rajguru, she married him furtively, when she was Meena Kumari had given details of the 21 years and he was double her age. indecent advances of director Mehboob. They fondly nicknamed each other as

150 :: July-September 2010 ‘Chandar’ and ‘Manju’. Meena Kumari mercilessly till she fainted. He also had showered a lot of affection on Tajdar, her thrashed by his agent ‘Wakar’. He the youngest son of Kamaal Amarohi. told the doctors in hospital that she He still recalls fondly how he had gone slipped in the bathroom many times, to his Abba for a short trip of 15 days and therefore, was injured. When Meena and when Chhoti Amma would not let Kumari gained her consciousness, she him return till one and a half years. came to know that her desire to be The marriage lasted for 13 years. a ‘complete woman’ was crushed again. There was no clue regarding how the She was a champion of man-woman spouses were distanced from each other. equality. Meena, in spite of her His envy with the growing fame of Meena propensity to fight for her rights, Kumari, his capricious attempts to govern withstood all this atrocity in silent her life forging his rights of superiority resignation. If she would be late from as a husband, and Meena Kumari’s own shooting, Kamaal Amrohi would beat her insatiable thirst for love, all these together again with a flog and she would collapse turned the love between Chandar and into injury and pain. But the very next Manju into hatred and animosity day she would resume her shooting as Writer Madhup Sharma (Aakhri Adhai per schedule. And those who knew it Din) has referred to the excesses of Kamaal would be left with their eyes wide open. Amarohi. Meena’s wish to experience On one such occasion, Meena Kumari motherhood remained unfulfilled because grabbed the flog in her palm and her Kamaal Amarohi was not prepared for whipping husband was all disbelief at this. When she conceived once, he took his wife’s audacity. Vigilance on her was her to a doctor on the pretext of strengthened. Wakar would stand at the counselling. She was injected and aborted doorway of her make up room. Once in unconsciousness. When Meena he prevented ‘Gulzaar’ from entering in. conceived a second time, she kept it Meena ran out to hear the scuffle. When a secret for five months as Kamaal she rebuked ‘Wakar’ to know his limits Amarohi had started living in and behave accordingly, Wakar slapped Mahabaleshwar in the name of script- her in the face in front of all present. writing. Though he had deployed a She did not go back to her home that manager named ‘Wakar’ to keep espionage day, rather she went to her Behnoi on her — to note the people she would Mahmood’s home for shelter. Kamaal meet, the places she would go — and Amarohi came up with many overtures he was briefed about each and every of persuasion, but things had crossed detail. This time when he returned he their limits. caught hold of her hair, and dragged Did divorce take place between the her down from the palang, beating her husband and the wife? According to

July-September 2010 :: 151 Meena Kumari– magazines. Curious Journalists looking “Taqdeer ne mara wo patthar, for spicy news made much fuss about meri kanch ki duniya toot gayee.” these rumours. Some even dared to christen her ‘nymphomaniac’ because of (The stone of my destiny shattered her lust for insatiable love. the marble hopes of my world) Dharmendra was a new artist. Meena Kamaal Amarohi and his son reject Kumari tried her utmost to help him this version of divorce outright. Meena succeed. She believed that “when a newly Kumari did not mention either of the born baby learns to walk, his toddling two in her will. Her last rites were, steps need the support of an elder’s however, performed in line with the fingers. Every artist coming to film wishes of Kamaal Amarohi, and she was industry is like that newly born; he gets buried into the place of her choice. All firm footing when someone extends his rituals were performed in conformity help to him.” with ‘Shia’ community’s conventions. Kamaal Amarohi’s claims of ownership Having attained success once, on Meena Kumari are grounded in this. Dharmendra sidelined the supporting He also claimed that he could have hand. After all, he was married. Meena invalidated her will in the capacity of Kumari would have written these lines her husband, but that he kept silent under similar situations: giving respect to her wishes. Meena ‘Hans–hans ke Jawan dil ke hum Kumari completed ‘Pakeeza’ with kyon na chune tukde whatever power was left in her body Har shakhsa ki kismet me inaam nahi even after being estranged from her hota.’ husband. She did not want Kamaal (Why won’t I pick the ruins of my Amarohi to bear any loss on account heart and yet smile, of her. Reward can’t be, after all, the kismet While talking of love, She had said of all rank and file.) once ‘Tukde-tukde din beeta, dhajjee- “I tasted the honey of love in the dhajee raat milee. lap of my mother, thereafter my share Jitna Jiska aanchal tha, utni hi saugat of love in life was evaporated and was milee.’ lost in the farthest skies.” (We lived our days in fractions, we Spicy stories of Meena Kumari’s had our patched nights, fondness for Bharat Bhushan, Pradeep We all had our endowments, though Kumar and Dharmendra were talked about with our fated rights.) notoriously in the world of films and Bitter experiences of her life endowed

152 :: July-September 2010 beauty, delicacy and sweetness to her there was no money in the account for tongue, behavior and her overall the payment of hospital bills. It was personality. She never foul mouthed Dr. K.M. Shah who paid on her behalf. anyone. She was always the Meena Didi “Live or die whatever I must, it will in the studio. She called everyone by be only by your hands Doctor.” She their names, be it lightman, waiter or would say to him. It still pains him anyone else. People would remain to recall that he could not save her wonderstruck to find her prodigious from the disease of ‘liver cirrohsis’. Such memory remembering so many names a fatal disease was coupled with equally together. At their surprise she would dangerous habits of Meena Kumari. She laugh and say, “If I can cram the dialogues never took a ‘paan’ without ‘zarda’, when of Khalil Saheb, then what is so special spicy meat and wine joined the fray, about these small names.” She loved the trio destroyed her heart irrevocably. to address Nargis as ‘Baaji’. who extended Often she would remove the oxygen pipe her solacing shoulder to the aggrieved from her face and say, “Jara paan ki Meena Kumari whenever she needed it. gilori dena.” Narendra Rajguru has underscored If Meena Kumari were not an actress, some idiosyncrasies of Meena Kumari’s she would have been a complete Shaira nature. If someone, for instance, (Urdu poetess). She always considered happened to touch her even the art of poetry superior to acting. unintentionally, she would immediately “This acting that I do has one disadvantage retaliate by touching them back in the about it — this art was not born in same part of the body. She believed me from within the imagination. The that all her diseases would pass on to concept belongs to one person, the the person whose nose she would touch character to another, script to a different first. writer, and the direction to someone She was so fond of eating stale roti, else. Only what I write is originally born cooked the previous night, with green from within me, representing what I wish chilly that she would weep like a little to say.” In her will Meena Kumari has child if she were not given the same entrusted Gulzaar with the onus of getting in the morning. her nazms (songs) and diaries published. Gulzar still wonders why he was chosen She was an all time Samaritan. In for it, though he carried out the an instance, a man asked her for 500 responsibility very well. rupees for the treatment of his daughter. She gave away 5000/- rupees. How In fact, her poetic couplets, and lyrics ironical that, on the death of such a are attempts to give voice to pain. The magnanimous and bountiful princess, pain that had thawed in her heart like a Himalaya, and melted out like a river

July-September 2010 :: 153 in the streams of nazms. She was a on some thorny plant piercing every dreamer by instinct. She would say, “I pore of its soft existence, and bleeding. would catch every star of the milky way.” “Chand tanha hai, aasma tanha How unfortunate that there was not even Dil, mila hai kahan kahan tanha a single shining star in her share of Raah dekha karega sadiyon tak life. But this could not prevent her from chhod jayenge ye jahan tanha.” dreaming. (The moon is lonely, and the sky “I weave dreams. I embrace them a wilderness and go to sleep. And all along this heart has been I join them in their fanciful flights, alone and wander across the unlimited skies.” The world will look for me down She was a self-annihilating woman the ages, but who had taken pain as the sole object I will leave it for good, and leave of her life, heading towards it with it all alone.) deliberate steps, like a ‘thorn bird’ that Courtesy: Kadambini monthly sings sweet melodies, though itself sitting

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. Kanan lives in Rohini, Delhi.

Ghanshyam Sharma, is rajbhasha adhikari and deputy manager, State Bank of Hyderabad. He translates from Hindi to English. He lives in New Delhi.

154 :: July-September 2010 ABBU NE KAHA THA: STORIES UNPACKING SWAG OF PANGS Rohini Agrawal

Translated by Sanjay Dev

The evaluation of literary contribution of storyteller Chandrakanta who carved out a special niche in Hindi storytelling by poignantly depicting the sufferings of Kashmiri migrants, is particularly important from two angles. One, for an attempt at capturing the woman’s destiny, pains and imagination by taking them beyond their immediate, routine surroundings and judging them in the context of stark, subjective, politically and socially sensitive situations, where she encounters more the grotesque, horrific faces, activities and apprehensions than the experiences restricted to the safe confines of her home and family. And two, for the evaluation of body blow to Kashmir which remains ever fragile because of international political equations. Thus the ambit of Chandrakanta’s concerns is wider, so much so that it stretches beyond the known feminine Book Review caustic writing and conventional prescription for communal opposition. May be today poet Agnishekhar, story teller Sanjana Kaul and Kshama Sharma may have registered their presence in Hindi literature, but it was Chandrakanta who first took up the gauntlet of presenting the Kashmir problem, passing through critical phase in the turbulent eighties, with courage and stout convictions. This socio-political, cultural journey of Chadrakanta reaches its culmination in Katha Satisar, a voluminous novel conferring Vyas award on which is as if the intelligentsia underscores the density of and demand for solution to the Kashmir problem. The journey

July-September 2010 :: 155 is made via novels like ‘Eilan Gali Jinda agreement, peace or brotherhood. Hai’, Jahan Vitasta Bahti Hai and spans Of course, the pangs of displacement numerous stories. Chandrakanta’s recent are sharp as needles, sharpening the story collection, ‘Abbu ne kaha tha’ is realization of having been rendered an extension of the sensibility depicted rootless and rudderless. Don’t the same in ‘Katha Satisar’. A collection of eleven pangs offer the reasoned passion to unite stories, this book touches and moves humanity, know the core of humanity human sensibilities from various angles. and play a human innings full of human While from factual viewpoint, these responsibilities? Unlike the ‘indian’ refugee stories provide a glimpse into the who migrated to northen india upon tormented, alienated mindset torn being displaced from Punjab in Pakistan between one’s own and aliens in the following drawing of new geographical utterly impersonal and informal climate borders during 1947 partition? They lived of foreign soil, they also keep introducing every bit of having been robbed and us to the dying, innocent, human beaten, terror and everything, the intimacies turning into victims of moments and shades of them all, without nefarious designs born of terrorist letting their beings get subsumed by insurrections, political chicanery and the riverine flow of time. They picked blinding cavern of selfishness within the themselves up, dusting off every country’s borders. In fact the diversity suggestion of grudge and rankle, evolved of Chandrakanta’s story writing is the themselves anew, and made themselves periodic extension of the same situation necessary in changed state of affairs and that is unavoidable and urgent. ‘Abbu environment. This is the way civilizations ne kaha tha’, ‘Shayad Sanvad’, Jalkund get on, and shape past by putting it ka rang aur Nusrat ki aankh’ and ‘Lajawab’ alongside new changes in the name of these four stories bring alive the sufferings culture. Whatever in present is our of bruised ego, shattered dreams and own;what lies beneath our feet is our disorientation of Kashmiri Pandits’ lives home. The resilient human strength of in exile. Ending up at a dead end, these aligning doesn’t stay anchored to stories make the situation pitiable and ancestral soil, smell, air and other boons, horrific; complex and unresolvable by rather it extends the symbolic home depicting the sufferings as desperation; and keep spreading humanity. Stories bruised ego as martyrdom and shards of Chandrakanta deeply underline the of shattered dreams as petrified characteristic structure and obvious melancholy. A stubborn situation of distinctness of Kashmiri migrants and making dialogue impossible despite desire Punjabi refugees. Nostalgia emerges as to hold one, where nobody is allowed the leitmotif in Chandrakanta’s entire to open the blocked doors of pact or writings and what remains is an attempt

156 :: July-September 2010 at justifying it. As the female protagonists belonging, both have found in the valley in ‘Jalkund ka rang and Nusrat ki Aankh’ only killing, estrangement, chilling silence get back to grandeur of Kashmir valley, and life creeping in the dense, black don’t they have reasons to rejoice? They eternal abyss. One can derive the pleasure have justified reason to rejoice as they of creating a sharp contrast by placing recall” I have passionately loved every the picture of throbbing, vibrant, nook and corner of the valley; have soft,verdure of the valley against this cried with falling leaves and kept dancing drab, dreary scenario, but those salutary with the smell of rejoice. The feeling human options cannot be explored which of insouciance coming from” May the implant new life in the parched existence plains welcome those..whose..” is also of Hiroshima tragedy. Perhaps the writer justified, so what if this feeling was tinged in Chandrakanta doesn’t want to see this with shade of contempt? Contempt is side as she herself wants to play-act in fact a projection of our insolent ego the part and live in nostalgia to keep that tries to prove itself to be superior her sufferings alive. Perhaps she is by getting entrenched. “ The air of plains familiar with her emotional weakness, only robs the face of glow…with us therefore particularly in story collection Kashmiris, neither air of plains, nor water ‘Abbu ne kaha tha’ she rises above the agree; and as food, what ? Dal, Roti, lamenting emotionality and creates Bhindi, Tinde. Oh, Allah don’t have me characters like Nusrat (Jalkund ka rang tell a lie, I feel a certain dryness. Am aur Nusrat ki aankh) and pining for my ‘hakh bat’. And moreover Rahamatullah(Shayad Sanvad) and it is hot. Ajhad bile, itchiness, oh no. Fatima(Abbu ne kaha tha) who unlike As if someone has nettled with displaced pandits are facing the curse ‘bicchubuti’. Besides there is also this of terrorism, and coming in for a lot feeling of having the distance stretched of flak as terrorists from international by alluding to maintaining a certain community. distance with ‘other’. In such a case, The pangs and sufferings of the aloofness born of isolation is not displaced Kashmiris of this remarkable wholesome matter, it wears thick with story bear a wonderful parallel with the sense of insecurity and stress. isolation of the Indian family in the story Whether it is master Ratanlal, held ‘Raat mein sagar...... Since there are our haplessly captive by terrorists in ‘Abbu physical compulsions behind the opted ne kaha tha’ or the oldie Neelkant who isolation in America, it becomes easier has returned to the valley upon getting to lacerate the isolation-encouraging released from Jammu refugee camp after American culture in place of momentary a twelve- year gap, in search of their foolhardiness of returning to one’s roots. roots,relations, home land and sense of Taking recourse to minute observation

July-September 2010 :: 157 in an imaginatively artistic way, the way feminist viewpoint, this story can possibly the authoress has captured the loneliness, be considered a misogynist story but compulsion and guilt-conscience of man, what is required is to psyche out what is indeed commendable. The dying human all goes on in the mind of a woman, relations in pursuit of mirage of material or for that matter, any reasonable man comforts in today’s globalized era, present is not any ‘ism’ or ideology, rather a a supplementary on Kashmir problem reasonable human insight. Who wouldn’t where human relations have little value want to live a fulfilled life of mutual in fulfilment of one’s supremacy and harmony, consent and intimacy? Who existence. wouldn’t want to resist the unwanted But the authoress wants to maintain brutal invasion of feudal, domineering the beauty and strength of human forces on one’s self respect? Who wouldn’t relations in all her stories. She feels want to establish one’s own self in the hurt that towering ego of the individual battle of existence. Who wouldn’t want wants to trample each moment of this to shape future to strengthen the ground boon of human life. Whether it is story beneath one’s feet? Having been broken like’Lagatar Yuddha” or ‘Is daud mein nobody wants to suffer the pains of self- kahani; ‘Puraskar’ or ‘Sapne mein Gulab’- exile in isolation, but if left with no somewhere the feudal structure in option, if the suffering comes to one’s marriage institution has trampled the lot why not make it one’s strength? woman’s existence; elsewhere red tape Gurpreet of ‘Laughter Yuddha’ couldn’t has broken man’s ego. Feudalism exists free herself of the horrendous memories not only within the system, but deep of her husband despite shaking off the inside man too. It finds echo in placation, brutalities of her husband, but she is sycophancy and nepotism, and together so conscious that she doesn’t allow herself they take no time to trample a talent to be a poor dab even after shedding that dares to stand on its own.Thus the blood. It is this positive assertiveness story ‘Puraskar’ turns into an attempt of hers that finds creative expression to trace the origin and solution of all in doing excellent work. This problems of human society. assertiveness makes this story including Gurpreet special and different from other Among the interesting stories of the Kashmir-centric stories. The obstinacy collection, two stories ‘Lagatar Yuddha’ to live on one’s own conditions against and ‘Chuppi ki dhun’ need mention. The the piercing adversities; the obstinacy story ‘Lagatar Yuddha’ attempts to reveal to make one’s surroundings full of life the cracks within a happy, successful and carefree. and wealthy divorcee, and belittle her entire achievements, history of triumphs, ‘Chuppi ki dhun” is not a superficial in the same breath. Evaluated from love story, rather it is a mature story

158 :: July-September 2010 suggesting the kernel of love. Love is new lexicon. Here silence speaks; neither stark attraction, nor oblivion of distances unite, and absence makes it self. Love is the main factor of deliverance. presence felt every moment and But with the ultra-mundane feeling of permeates the existence of the lover deliverance, it links the glorious sense to every part of the beloved. of man’s resposibility towards humanity All told, this story collection of to a tenuous link of intimate relations; Chandrakanta is worth reading. it is here that fetters and deliverance, Repeating the momentum and style of relation and interaction lose their the author’s writing for which she is physical meaning and start creating a known!

Rohini Agrawal : born 1959, Emerging as an important literary critic, Rohini has written widely on contemporary Hindi fiction. She is professor of Hindi at Rohtak University.

Sanjay Dev, born 1964 hails from Jaipur. Has a master’s in English literature and a bachelor’s in journalism. As a free-lancer, published in various national dailies. Has 20 years experience in translation. Works as Editor for Parliament of India. Resides in Delhi.

July-September 2010 :: 159 CONTRIBUTORS’ ADDRESSES

1. Neelabh : 219, Bhagat Colony, Block A/2, West Sant Nagar, Delhi-110084 2. Jairatan : C-12/14, DLF City, Phase-I, Gurgaon-122002 3. Badri Narayan : G.B. Pant Social Science Institute, Allahabad 4. Mausumi Mazumdar : G.B. Pant Social Science Institute, Allahabad 5. Ravinandan Sinha : 202, Preeti Enclave, Chandni Chowk, Kanke Road Ranchi-834008 6. Mridula Garg : E-421, Ground Floor, Greater Kailash-II, New Delhi-110048 7. Seem Segal : C-2/4061, Eros Garden, Charmwood Village Road, Faridabad, Haryana-121009 8. Subhash Sharma : D-71, Nivedita Kunj, R.K. Puram, Sector-10 New Delhi-110 022 9. Bharat Bharadwaj : C-60, I Floor Shivalik, Malviya Nagar, New Delhi-110017 10. Ravindra Mishra : A-26, Shakti Apartments, Sector-9, Rohini Delhi-110085 11. Manoj Rupra : Rabnoor, Plot No. 165, Christian Colony, Bhikoos Bagh, Nagpur, Maharashtra 12. Dhiraj Singh : 1/7D, Block C, III Floor Express View HIG Flats, Sector 105, Noida-201304 13. Rohini Agrawal : 258, Housing Board Colony, Rohtak-124001(Haryana) 14. Manisha Kulshreshtha : [email protected] 15. Ishita Siddhartha : 537/121, Puraniya, Near Railway Crossing, Aliganj, Lucknow-226024 16. Sanjay Dev : A-9/38, Sector-18, Rohini, Delhi – 110085 Mob: 9971008165 17. Kashinath Singh : B-61, Brij Enclave Colony, Sundarpur, Varanasi (U.P.) 18. Minu Manjari : C/o Sri Vinod Anupam, B-53, Sachivalay Colony, Knkarbagh Patna – 800 020; Tel - 09835699558 19. Ghanshyam Sharma : Deputy Manager, State Bank of Hyderabad, Karol Bagh Branch Delhi 20. Prof. Satya Chaitanya : 151 New Baradwari, Jamshedpur 831001. 21. S.S. Toshkhani : Flat 8050 D-8, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi 22. Kanan Jhingan : 48 Swastik Kunj, Sector 13, Rohini, Delhi-110085

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