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I. RAMA RAO'S PAINTINGS

BY O. C. GANGOLY

To the Editor, TRIVENI

SIR,

Professor Couldrey's memory sketches of D. Rama Rao published in the January-February number of the ‘Triveni’ are embroidered with such golden hue of personal, intimate and affectionate threads, that it is Singularly ungracious on my part to address the Editor to place on record my sense of disagreement with many of his criticisms and judgments, and the incorrect evaluation of the works of a charming young student who was cut off in the prime of his life. The tragic fact of his early death indeed explains much of the cobwebs of sentimentalism which are being woven round the personality of a "young hopeful," and of whom very high hopes were entertained by his friends, relatives and sympathizers. One could not take exception to a single syllable of Professor Couldrey's affectionate utterances, if they were published as an obituary notice in February, 1925, but six years after,–when one is expected to formulate a sober, sound and critical judgment,–the sentimental exaggerations of an obituary tribute are not only out of place, but singularly harmful to contemporary works and to the popular appreciation of the merits of the latter. It is a matter of idle speculation what dizzy heights in art achievements the young artist would have reached, if he was spared to finish his training and education. But taking the output of his works and judging their main tendencies and inclination's, truth and justice to contemporary Southern Indian artists demand that it should be admitted that he strayed into pitfalls which ruined his artistic future, and Professor Couldrey's affectionate and laudable ambition to make him a really "Indian" artist, shipwrecked not on the great monuments of Greek ideals, (the poor artist had never a chance of coming in contact with Greek Art, or, for the matter of that, with any forms of Western painting which could give him inspiration for any creative urge), but on the petty hillocks of the decadent travesties of Greco-Roman absurdities of the Leightonesque brand.¹ One cannot say if the teachings at the Bombay School of Art or his own personal inclination were responsible for this tragedy. I am inclined to believe in the latter alternative, for the system of teaching in the Bombay School of Art is much too sound and effective to leave any room for such solecisms. But with all respect and regard for the affectionate interest of the writer of the article, it must be recorded that Rama Rao's sentimental and theatrical costume-poses and concoctions of the spurious and derivative manner of the Leighton-David-Gerome brand, are one of the most tragic occurrences of the revival of modem Indian painting. Those who desire to go deeply into the matter should compare his figure subjects with the water-colour studies of Southern Indian ladies from the brush of M. Albert Besnard published in Art et Decoration. Rama Rao's really creative tendency lay in the realm of landscape-painting, and one only wishes that Professor Couldrey had lent some of the Christmas cards to be reproduced in accompaniment with his article,–in place of his futile, and weak attempts at figure composition,–absolutely devoid of any linear and plastic qualities. One would hesitate to throw cold water on such warm enthusiastic and well-meant "hero-worship," but misguided and exaggerated praises of the works of an unsuccessful ‘Indian’ artist, with all the evils of piling sentimental laudations on a wholly undeserving artistic performance, have a wholly undesirable effect on popular taste and judgment by leading them on wrong paths,–particularly in India, where popular interest in art is so untrained and indiscriminating as to be unable to formulate just, accurate and critical estimates of works of art. The young artist's death is certainly a tragic occurrence spelling great pain and sorrow to big immediate circle of relatives and friends, but to exaggerate and interpret this loss as a tragedy in Modern Andhra Art is the height of indiscretion, and is, indirectly, a slur on the merits and achievements of living Andhra artists. We do not, generally, indulge in long and tearful eulogies in print on a promising prodigy, studying in the Fourth Form in an elementary school, if suddenly cut off by the cruel hand of death, however sure his promises might have been to rival the virtues and attainments of the Right Hon'ble Srinivasa Sastri, or of Sir C. V. Raman. There is no reason why an exception should be made in the case of a young art student, who might or might not have turned out to be a good artist. Whatever his achievements were, they are entirely overrun and superseded by the excellent works of several living artists of Southern India.

There is a Bengali proverb that the fish that escapes the angler's hook is supposed to be the biggest. There are living artists who have achieved success which Rama Rao could never have done, and who are still awaiting their Ruskin and Boswell. Why not extend to these struggling but talented living painters, a tithe of this enthusiastic mountain of praise?

After all, in this case the Editor is more to be blamed than the writer of this article who has been pursuaded to contribute by the importunities of the Editor. And the Editor's anxiety to exploit a sentimental myth, and his neglect to notice the really talented living artists of Southern India, can hardly be compensated by the warm, sincere, though highly exaggerated memorial tributes to one who did not rise above the level of average mediocrity. I had the pleasure of meeting the young artist in Calcutta and was really charmed by his personality, and in accordance with my general practice of purchasing the works of young artists by way of encouragement, I bought a piece of landscape by Rama Rao, depicting a scene on the Godavery,–a school-boy's sketch of no distinction,–an acquisition which was quickly consigned to the dust and oblivion of the remote corner of my cabinet.

I have not thought fit to go into the patent mistakes that an amateur under the burden of love and affection has been led to make with regard to fancied "influences" of Chinese Art on "Behar (?) miniaturists," and on "Nepalese Paintings." It is, also, useless to argue with an "Early Victorian" in Art whose visit to Japan and acquaintance with Kiyonaga have failed to evoke any perception of the linear values in pictorial art.

In a country like India, where really artistic talents die out for want of moral and material encouragement and where spurious and incompetent artists draw crowds of ignorant and untrained admirers, a prejudiced and exaggerated tribute such as the subject of this protest is likely to mislead and wean away popular sympathy from real artistic talents in Southern India, to whom a fraction of these eulogies would have meant real help and advancement.

It has given me much pain and regret to record my protests, for I am deeply moved to admiration and regard for the Professor's kind, sympathetic, and almost parental care with which he has nursed and guided the early efforts of a young Indian artist, and I wish every living Indian student of art had the good fortune to possess such a warm-hearted and kindly god-father as Professor Couldrey. And it is because my affection and claim for the achievements of many living artists in Southern India are equally sympathetic and ‘insurgent’ as that of the warm-hearted Professor, that I have ventured to take exceptions to his exaggerated eulogies. All the same, I wish we had more loving and sympathetic educationists alike Professor Couldrey in all our schools and colleges.

CALCUTTA, Yours faithfully,

5^th April 1931 O. C. GANGOLY.

EDITOR'S NOTE

We are publishing Mr. Gangoly's letter in its entirety. Mr. Couldrey will reply in due course. But there are Some points which the Editor feels bound to notice.

Readers of ‘Triveni’ are aware that, from time to time, we have been publishing reproductions of paintings by South Indian artists like Messrs. Adivi Bapiraju, C. Vasudevan, K. Rama Mohan Sastri, T. Kesava Rao and Anisetti Subba Rao, along with editorial comments. We may justly claim that ‘Triveni’ has done more for South Indian artists than Mr. Gangoly ever sought to do through the ‘Rupam.’ If there are others awaiting recognition, we shall be delighted to know them and to lend the pages of ‘Triveni’ so that Mr. Gangoly might play the Ruskin or Boswell to them.

The allegation that the Editor was anxious to ‘exploit a sentimental myth’ is altogether unworthy of Mr. Gangoly. We wish that, as a scholar and a friend, Mr. Gangoly had not said it of an Editor who is well-known to him.

Mr. Gangoly need not have referred to his purchase of a picture from Rama Rao long years ago, nor mentioned that he consigned it to "the dust and oblivion of a remote corner of his cabinet." Obviously, the world is not interested in knowing how Mr. Gangoly disposes of the pictures he purchases or obtains as presents from artists.

K. R.

II. ‘NEW WAYS IN MARATHI LITERATURE’:

A CORRECTION

BY PROF. MADHAV T. PATWARDHAN, M.A.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. This is a very trite maxim that one learns by rote at school: but its significance comes home later when one comes across an article like Mr. R. L. Rau’s "New Ways in Marathi Literature." Mr. Rau wields a facile pen and writes in a piquant chatty manner. One can be piquant and chatty without being deep or accurate and Mr. Rau is a good illustration in point. The people of Maharashtra who are singularly reluctant or incompetent to advertise themselves before other peoples will certainly be grateful to Mr. Rau for his attempt to introduce modern Marathi poetry to the wider English knowing public in India. But such work if it is to be done properly would require a deep detailed study of the subject and a living sympathy for Marathi poets. Unfortunately Mr. Rau appears to have neither to his credit. To him "most poets are a conceited lot," and the celebrities "the big living bugs in versedom." His appreciations are coloured by a personal pique against them. Girish is characterised as "the somewhat ambitious schoolmaster" and "a clever coiner of words," and Yashawant who is tall and well-built is but a ‘little man.’ But Mr. Rau's lack of personal sympathy would not have mattered if his knowledge of Marathi poetry had been deep, systematic and accurate. Even his knowledge of Marathi is questionable. He refers to a poem "On a mosquito drowned in a tea- cup." But the poem is not about a mosquito but about a fly. In his translations of some lines from "To Shyamala" he translates ‘miskeel’ by ‘darling.’ But ‘miskeel’ means mischievous and sly; ahd ‘gul-daree’ does not mean a simple vale, but a flowery vale.

In preparing this sketchy article on "New Ways in Marathi Literature," Mr. Rau has depended more upon stray talks, hasty impressions, and pure hearsay than upon a first-hand acquaintance with books of the period 1921-1930. He makes up for his deficiency of knowledge with an entertaining account of personal impressions hastily formed and gushingly given out without any sense of responsibility. This dilettantism is dangerous, Mr. Rau has often called on Yashawant and sat listening to ‘the magic of his song’; but he shows little regard for his poet-host's feelings when he, while the poet is still living, publicly tells us how "the shabby dwelling and the surroundings in which the little (?) man lived were enough

to depress anyone." The clerk's quarters provided by Government and separated from the main building of the Reformatory School are situated on a stretch of wind-swept land within sight, not of Yerawada prison so much (as Mr. Rau is very careful to tell) as of the Deccan College buildings on the one hand and of the snow-white Thackersey Palace crowning the bald black Yerawada Hill on the other. But the aesthetic Mr. Rau had to shut his eyes to the glories of the Thackersey Palace and of the distant line of blue hills beyond, as he had to make his article spicy at the expense of the "little man" who has the misfortune to belong to "the conceited lot!" Mr. Rau feels rather proud to tell us that it has been "his privilege to have listened to most (?) of Madhav Julian's poems while the ink in which they were written was yet wet"; and he abuses the privilege by giving publicity to a pure myth, telling us that Madhav Julian has immortalised one of his students in his exquisite poem which he calls "Shyamala." The pity of it is that Mr. Rau who shows himself to have known Madhav Julian intimately should not have felt the need of ascertaining the truth regarding the damaging allegation: Decency perhaps forbade his frankly asking the poet himself about the matter; but decency did not forbid his gulping it down and publishing it for the delectation of his admiring readers. With an amazing impudence Mr. Rau assures them that "the subject of his verse was indeed a dark person with darker eyes and endowed with a charming personality." The compliment will hardly be agreeable to the dark person after her personality is thus unnecessarily dragged into the mire of controversy. As a matter of fact the dark person was never Madhav Julian's student, far less a Persian student as Mr. Rau says. No poem of Madhav Julian's has so far been called by him "Shyamla"; and though an obscure poem, not at all "exquisite," does begin with the word "Shyamala," it was written in July 1920 and published in the "Maharashtra Sahitya" in 1922, more than a year before the dark person joined college or came to be introduced to the poet.

It was Keshavakumar's poem "To Shyamala" that gave, by innuendo, public currency to the scandalous lie. This piece cannot be said to successfully parody Madhav Julian's poem, for that poem is too obscure to be recalled by the parody. The parodist has picked up details from three different poems and deliberately mixed them with his own inventions in order to cast an aspersion on Madhav Julian's character and bring about his death, literary and social. But Madhav Julian has not only survived the murderous attack but with unabated energy and enthusiasm published a series of books that have not yet sunk into oblivion. The attack was not made "recently" as Mr. Rau seems to think, but in 1924, more than six years ago: it was the second edition of the book that was published last year. Apart from such unseemly personal attacks which are not many, however, there can he no difference of opinion regarding the merits of Keshavakumar’s parodies. The humour, the satire, couched in flowing

simple Marathi that makes no demands upon the reader, appeals to all. The book is read even by those who ordinarily read little poetry; and the most unexpected and tragic result has been that Keshavakumar the parodist has successfully obscured Keshavakumar the romantic poet!

But when Mr. Rau assures us that Keshavaktlmar's satire is one that "neither hurts nor vilifies another," and cannot see the thinly-veiled libel in the lines

"You are a beauty from Madras,
I am but a faquir from Watodar;
Even with a child at your waist
You are to me a little child.
Come home, O dark one,
Let us sit snugly, close to each other,"

either he deliberately connives at the poet's malicious suggestion or his knowledge of Marathi is very poor. Watodar is the Sanscritized form of Baroda as Punyapuri is of Poona. It is because the veil becomes dangerously transparent here that the poet took the precaution in the 2nd edition to change the lines to

"You are the dark one from Madras
I am but a Kalandar faquir"

A few more glaring inaccuracies of Mr. Rau may be mentioned here. The ‘Manoranjan’ began to publish regularly the poems of men like Gadkari not thirty years ago but twenty years ago. Anand Rao Tekade has been universally popular. He has never been looked upon as "an out-sider" and hence "a foreigner." He is on the best of terms with all the "big living bugs in versedom" in Poona and elsewhere. Shridhar Ranade and Manorama Ranade appeared on the scene, not just when Yashawant and Girish were becoming famous but long before that, while Govindaraj was still living. It was not a "strange destiny" but an idea long cherished and consistently acted upon that brought Madhav Julian to Poona. The statement that Madhav Julian has made "a thorough study of the masterminds of the West and is an authority on Browning, Shelley and others, is too exaggerated to receive any credence. Have his employers been so blind as to his qualifications that they still want him to lecture on Hafiz and Sadi? The name of Madhav Julian has never been a household word wherever Marathi is spoken. He is less known than Tekade and less popular than Yashawant.

Keshavakumar became an educationist and qualified himself by a degree in pedagogy in the University of London, not before but years after the publication of his parodies; and lastly, Keshavsut's poem is not "a very close imitation"–in fact it is no imitation at all–of A. W. E. O’Shaughnessey’s poem "We are the music-makers."

If Mr. Rau's paper had appeared in Marathi it would and could have been ignored. Appearing as it does in a very influential journal ‘Triveni,’ where it is likely to mislead many who will take it as an authoritative survey of recent Marathi poetry, it does require a correction and a drastic one.

MR. R. L. RAU’S REJOINDER

Dear Mr. Editor,

Will you allow me to say a word more on the somewhat lengthy and irrelevant observations of Professor Madhav Patwardhan with reference to my article in the March-April issue of the ‘Triveni’ on ‘New ways in Marathi Literature’?

In the first place, I must assure the Professor that the article in question is not a chronological account or a historical study; nor does it claim to be a detailed criticism of the career of modern Marathi verse or literature. On the other hand, and rightly as the Professor complains, it is a sketch and deliberately so written as to convey to an outside public a very general account of Marathi modern verse and of some of its contemporaries who were responsible for its growth.

It is most amusing therefore to note Prof. Patwardhan's remarks about the alleged discrepancies and corrections he wishes to emphasise in the paper under question. I am afraid that such a criticism, or an appreciation as he insists upon will serve no useful purpose and especially so in the pages of a journal like the ‘Triveni.’

I do not propose to dispute or to refute the Professor's allegations re my want of sympathy with the living poets in Maharashtra and the "absence of a deep detailed study" on my part. All this is a matter of opinion and Professor Patwardhan is welcome and is entitled to hold his own views on the subject.

Now to come to a more personal detail. I have as much to do with Maharashtra as Prof. Patwardhan has had to do; only our spheres of activities were different.

As regards my knowledge of Marathi being questionable, I may take the liberty of informing the Professor that, here again, his is not the final word in the matter. It may further interest the Professor to know that a very prominent firm of publishers will shortly bring out a monograph of mine on Modern Marathi Literature, when he is welcome to use the columns of a hospitable daily to ventilate his grievances against my way of writing.

The disputed verses with reference to the poem "Shyamala" are not translations of Madhav Julian's poem as he seems to think, but they are adaptations of the parody of Keshavakumar.

As regards the allegation that I have abused the little intimacy which some of the poets mentioned in the paper showed to me when I described their dwelling or their personality, I must again point out to the learned Professor that his capacity to understand some of the most common usages in English seems to be sadly limited. Surely I bear no malice to anyone of the personalities I have mentioned in my paper, and if I did call the poet Yashawant’s dwelling a ‘shabby’ one, I never used the word to mean that the poet himself was responsible for the shabbiness. We all know exactly what comfortable dwellings Government quarters are.

Professor Patwardhan takes objection to my making the observation that poets are a conceited lot. Why not? Why must I not say it out if my experience of many of them was such?

One more point. This is neither the place nor the occasion to ventilate or to explain one's personal impressions, personal prejudices and the many details which may interest no one. I might therefore be pardoned, Mr. Editor, for making your ‘Forum’ a little less sensational.

I have not given an exaggerated account; nor have I allowed my personal impressions to get the better of me. I do not propose either discussing at length or answering the many dry-as-dust personal details that Professor Patwardhan seems to be in the habit of writing or mentioning when he thinks of sending a "Correction" or a contradiction to a purely bona fide literary sketch.

R. L. RAU

III ‘GAJENDRA MOKSHA’

BY M. S. SUNDARA SARMA

To the Editor, TRIVENI.

Dear Sir,

Will you be good enough to permit me to draw the kind attention of your numerous learned readers to the excellent frontispiece ‘Gajendra Moksha’ with which that erudite critic of Indian Art, Mr. O. C. Gangoly, has chosen to illustrate his fine article in your valuable magazine of November-December 1930?

The picture is a typical example illustrating how wonderfully the pictorial traditions in India have been handed down, unbroken from generation to generation, till we come to very recent times, when Western realism and Far Eastern superficiality have crept in to mistranslate and misunderstand the high spiritual content and symbolic nature of the once glorious real Indian Art.

Why the well-known Bengali critic dismisses the pair of seated figures at the lower right corner with a guess as representing the donators of the picture, is not more surprising than his idea of the other pair above as gods in ordinary human dress! Please look first at the lower pair of figures. One is in grey coat with a white turban and the other is in white coat with a grey turban. And then look at the pair above on the left. There you have the very same persons, the grey coated and the white coated. The dress and even the very facial expression and cut are too identical to be missed even by a novice in art criticism. Only the lower pair face each other and are opposed to one another evidently in a verbal tug; the white-coated person is jumping up, bawling louder surely and is beautifully represented as having literally the upper hand. Please note his right hand in a higher level than that of his opponent's. That is and has always been the way of the world! The result of it all being the neglect of the surroundings which is well brought out in the picture by the crooked growth of the adjacent tree and its flowerless drooping foliage behind their very .

Now diagonally opposite and above, you have the very identical pair transformed and, instead of opposition and tug, you see them sailing along in the same boat, borne by buoyant clouds. The white-coated person who was more vociferous formerly, is now content and happy to occupy a quiet second place with his very height dwindled below that of his erstwhile opponent! Their co-operation and union result in rich and luxuriant surroundings, as evidenced by the adjacent tree having symmetrical growth and blossoming flowers with an young off-shoot sprouting joyously from its very root. The whole surrounding air even, is vibrant with songs and dances of the immaculate birds.

Now, what is this wonderful transformation due to? Of course, the transforming link is ‘Gajendra Moksha’ and the traditional artist has beautifully interposed that idea between the two diagonally-opposed pairs. The key to the understanding of the rationale and true significance of ‘Gajendra Moksha’ has been, it is feared, missed by Mr. O. C. Gangoly, and that is the reason why he has simply narrated the mere story which every Indian child knows, and dismissed the lower pair with a guess as representing the donators of the picture and accounted for the upper pair as gods in men's clothing!

MADRAS M. S. SUNDARA SARMA

3rd February 1931

1 Professor Couldrey seems to be mortally hurt by the fact that Leighton is out of fashion in the West. One would have to wait till Domesday for any revival of the vogue of his futile mannerisms which are quietly and deservedly resting in their graves.