LITERATURE ~O} OXFORD"" Made into a powerful, award-winning film in 1970, this important Kannada novel of the sixties has received widespread acclaim from both critics and general read­ ers since its first publication in 1965. As a religious novel about a decaying brahmin colony in the south Indian village of Karnataka, Samskara serves as an allegory rich in realistic detail, a contemporary reworking of ancient Hindu themes and myths, and a serious, poetic study of a religious man living in a community of priests gone to seed. A death, which stands as the central event in the plot, brings in its wake a plague, many more deaths, live questions with only dead answers, moral chaos, and the rebirth of one man. The volume provides a useful glos­ sary of Hindu myths, customs, Indian names, flora, and other terms. Notes and an afterword enhance the self­ contained, faithful, and yet readable translation. U.R. Anantha Murthy is a well-known Indian novelist. The late A.K. Ramanujan w,as William E. Colvin Professor in the Departments of South Asian Languages and Civilizations and of Linguistics at the University of Chicago. He is the author of many books, including The Interior Landscape, The Striders, The Collected Poems, and· several other volumes of verse in English and Kannada. ISBN 978-0-19-561079-6 90000 Cover design by David Tran Oxford Paperbacks 9780195 610796 Oxford University Press u.s. $14.95 1 1 SAMSKARA A Rite for a Dead Man Sam-s-kiira. 1. Forming well or thoroughly, making perfect, perfecting; finishing, refining, refinement, accomplishment. 2. Forming in the mind, con­ SAMSKARA ception, idea, notion; the power of memory, faculty of recollection, the realizing of past per­ A Rite/or a Dead Man ceptions ... 3. Preparation, making ready, pre­ paration of food, etc., cooking, dressing ... 4 ... 5. Making sacred, hallowing, consecration, dedication; consecration of a king, etc. 6. Mak­ ing pure, purification, purity. 7. A sanctifying or A translation of purificatory rite or essential ceremony (enjoined U. R. ANANTHA MURTHY'S on all the first three classes or castes). 8. Any Kannada novel rite or ceremony. 9. Funeral obsequies. by From p. 1479, A Kannada-English Dictionary by the Reverend F. Kittel, Mangalore, 1894 A. K. RAMANUJAN OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS New York Oxford Oxford University Press Oxford New York Toronto Delhi Bombay Calcutta Madras Karachi Petaling Jaya Singapore Hong Kong Tokyo Nairobi Dar es Salaam Cape Town Melbourne Auckland and associated companies in Berlin Ibadan IN MEMORY OF Copyright © 1978 by Oxford University Press, Inc. M. G. KRISHNAMURTI (1932-75) This paperback edition first issued in 1989 by Oxford University Press, Inc., 198 MadisonAvenue, New York, New York 100164314 First published by Oxford University Press in 1976 Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press AIl rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press, Inc. JSBN-13: 978-{1·19-561079-6 20 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper CONTENTS Translator's Note viii The novel Samskara 1 Afterword 139 Notes 149 TRANSLATOR'S NOTE U. R. Anantha Murthy's Samskara is an important novel of the sixties. It is a religious novella about a decaying brahmin colony in a Karnataka village, an allegory rich in realistic detail. Popular with critic and common reader alike since its Part One publication in 1965, it was made into an award-winning, controversial film in 1970. Samskara takes its title seriously. Hence, our epigraph is a dictionary entry on this important Sanskrit word with many meanings. (See the Afterword for a fuller discussion.) I have tried to make the translation self-contained, faithful yet readable. But 'the best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them'. A translator hopes not only to translate a text, but hopes (against all odds) to translate a non-native reader into a native one. The Notes and Afterword are part of that effort. Many friends have willingly shared their expertise and good taste with me; I wish to thank the following especially: Girish Karnad, who checked an early draft meticulously against the original and offered detailed suggestions; U. R. Anantha Murthy, the novelist, for permission and generous Criticism; Philip Oldenburg, Donald Nelson, Edward Dimock and Molly Ramanujan at Chicago, Paul Engle, Peter Nazareth and others at Iowa for commenting on drafts and sections; Shirley Payne, who typed draft after draft, with tireless goodwill; The Rlustrated Weekly of India, for serializing the novel in their columns; the edi­ torial staff of the Oxford University Press for reading all the proofs and for their friendship and patience. Chicago A. K. Ramanujan 1976 ' I He bathed Bhagirathi's body, a dried-u wasted ea-pod, and wrappe a res sari around it; then he offered food and flowers to the gods as he did every day, put the flowers in her hair, and gave her holy water. She touched his feet, he blessed her. Then he brought her a bowlful of cracked-wheat porridge from tlie kitchen, Bhagirathi said in a low voice, 'You finish your meal first." 'No, no. Finish your porridge. That DrSt. ' The words were part of a twenty-year old routine between them. A routine that began with the bath at dawn, twilight prayers, cooking, medicines for his wife. And crossing the stream again to the Maruti temple for worship. That was the unfailing daily routine. Mter their meals, the brahmins of the agrahara would come to the front of his house, one by one, and gather there to listen to his recitation of sacred legends, always new and always dear to them and to him. In the evening he would take another bath, say more twilight prayers, make porridge for his wife, cook, eat dinner. Then there would be more recitations for the brahmins who gathered again on the verandah. Now and then Bhagirathi would say: 'Being married to me is no joy. A house needs a child. Why don't you just get married again l' Praneshacharya would laugh aloud. 'A wedding for an old man .. .' 'Come now, what kind of an old man are you? You haven't touched forty yet. Any father would love to give you his girl and bless her with wedding water. You studied San­ skrit in Kashi .... A house needs a child to make it home. You've had no joy in this marriage.' Praneshacharya would not answer. He would smile and 1 pat his wife who was trying to get up, and ask her to try and 'He came back from Shivamogge and took to bed in a go to sleep. Didn't Lord Krishna say: Do what's to be done fever. Four days of fever, that's all. He had a painful lump with no thought of fruit? The Lord definitely means to test on his side, the kind they get with fever.' him on his way to salvation; that's why He has given him a 'Narayana.' brahmin birth this time and set him up in this kind of family. Praneshacharya ran out, still wrapped in the ritual raw The Acharya is filled with pleasure and a sense of worth as silk, ran to Garudachatya's house and went straight to the sweet as the five-fold nectar of holy days; he is filled with kitchen calling out, 'Garuda, Garuda!' compassion for his ailing wife. He proudly swells a little at The dead Naranappa had been related to Garuda for five his lot,. thinking, 'By marrying an invalid, I get ripe and generations. Naranappa's great-grandfather's grandmother ready.' and Garuda's great-grandfather's grandmother were sisters. Before he sat down to his meal, he picked up the fodder Garudacharya was in the act of raising a handful of rice for Gowri, the cow, on a banana leaf and placed it in front mixed with saru to his mouth, when Praneshacharya-entered, of Gowri who was grazing in the backyard. Worshipfully he wiping the sweat of midday from his face, and said, 'Nara­ caressed the cow's body, till the hair on her hide rose in yana. Don't. Garuda, don't eat. I hear Naranappa is dead: pleasure. In a gesture of respect, he touched his own eyes Dumbstruck, Gani.da threw down the mixed rice in his hand with the hand that had touched the holy animal. As he came on the leaf before him, took a gulp of consecrated water in, he heard a woman's voice calling out, 'Acharya, Acharya.' and rose from his seat. He couldn't eat, even though he had It sounded like Chandri's voice. Chandri was Naranappa's quarrelled with Naranappa, severed aU relations with him, concubine. If the Acharya talked to her, he would be pol­ and shed his kinship long ago. His wife, Sitadevi, stood there luted; he would have to bathe again before his meal. But motionless, ladle in hand. He said to her, 'It's all right for how can a morsel go down the gullet with a woman waiting the children. They can eat. Only we adults shouldn't, till the in the yard? funeral rites are done.' He came out with Praneshacharya. He came out. Chandri quickly pulled the end of her sari They feared that the kinsmen next door might eat before over her head, blanched, and stood there, afraid. they got the news, so they ran from house to house-Pra­ 'What's the matter?' neshacharya to Udupi Lakshmanacharya, Garudacharya to 'He ..