‘The Triple Stream’

Triveni is devoted to Art, Literature, and History. Its main function is to interpret the Indian Renaissance in its manifold aspects.

Triveni seeks to draw together cultured men and women in all lands and establish a fellowship of the spirit. All movements that make for Idealism, in India as well as elsewhere, receive particular attention in these columns. We count upon the willing and joyous cooperation of all lovers of the Beautiful and the True.

May this votive offering prove acceptable to Him who is the source of the ‘Triveni’ -the Triple Stream of Love, Wisdom and Power!

...he that laboureth right for love of Me
Shall finally attain! But, if in this
Thy faint heart fails, bring Me thy failure!
-THE SONG CELESTIAL

THE EDITOR’S ARREST AND AFTER

Our Editor Sri. K. Ramakotiswara Rau was arrested in his native town, Narasaraopet, Guntur District, on 13th September and subsequently removed to Vellore as a detenue. He is a member of the Madras Legislative Assembly representing his District and elected on the Congress ticket.

It was the Editor’s intention to see to the publication of the third issue which was due by the end of September. But this was not to be. It has now devolved on his friends to carry on Triveni as best they can in his absence.

It has taken some time, therefore, to set Triveni on its path again. Never a prosperous journal even in normal times, the task of bringing out the journal in the absence of its devoted editor who gave all his time and energy to its editorial as well as business affairs has resulted in unavoidable delay. The generosity of a few friends enables the Journal to see the light again. We would beg the indulgence of all our readers and patrons and request them to forgive the delay in bringing out this issue.

Though Triveni is mainly cultural in its scope, the Editor still made room in it occasionally for articles and notes bearing on current politics. The limitations of those now entrusted with the task of conducting Triveni preclude their giving themselves even this occasional latitude. It has therefore been decided to make Triveni a purely literary and cultural magazine, devoted especially to the interpretation of the Indian Renaissance as reflected in the literary and artistic efforts in the different provinces of India, until such time as the Editor Sri. K. Ramakotiswara Rau comes to the helm of Editorial management.

We have been forced to reduce the volume of the Journal owing to the enormously increased cost of production. We would bespeak the sympathy and forbearance of all our readers towards these and other deficiencies that will be noticed in the absence of the Editor.

THE LATE MAHADEV DESAI

While it is impracticable in a quarterly journal like ours to notice even important events and comment on them, we cannot omit to refer to the great loss sustained by India in the passing of Mahadev Desai at the early age of 52. His was an end such as he might have just wished, serving his master to the very last and casting off his own body in the very presence of him whom he most delighted to serve in this life. But the end was so unexpected and premature and came so soon after the incarceration, that its poignancy literally stunned all India with a spasm of inexpressible grief, in which was mingled deep-felt commiseration for Gandhiji who lost verily a ‘spare body’, as C. R. expressed it, by the death of Mahadev Desai.

Mahadev Desai threw in his lot with Gandhiji as early as 1917, as a member of the Satyagraha Ashram, and soon came to occupy the position by which the world knows him, the private secretary, attendant, nurse, chronicler and interpreter of Gandhiji. Mahadev Bhai’s weekly letters in Young India giving pen pictures of Gandhiji's numerous and far-flung tours were eagerly looked forward to and read with great avidity all over the country. His faithful and authentic summaries of Gandhiji's many public utterances, conversations and interviews with visitors, friends, coworkers, and journalists from all over the world are Mahadev’s most enduring work for his master. These involved, in addition to devoted industry, an incomparable gift to seize on the essentials and to present in an engaging and delightful manner a picture of the working of Gandhiji's mind and the way the master reacted to numerous situations as they arose. Often the very words of Gandhiji were reproduced, abridged, edited and invested with literary grace. Mahadev Bhai not only wrote extensively week after week but found time even amidst strenuous tours and exacting duties (and Gandhiji is no easy chief!) to read widely books and magazines, not only for his own delight but for the benefit of Gandhiji who rarely had time to read for himself. Mahadev acquired gradually a style of writing that closely resembled Gandhiji's own, restrained and terse and avoiding embellishments with puritanic rigour, but with a grace and polish which was all his own.

Gandhiji once referred to Mahadev, in a somewhat humorous way, as one who out-Boswelled Boswell in chronicling everything about him. This comparison with the great English biographer is less than just to Mahadev as to compare Gandhiji with Johnson would be more than ludicrous. Mahadev saw in Gandhiji not merely a political leader but a great master in whose message to India and the world he cherished abundant faith. And it was this devotion, and discipleship, so characteristic of our eastern tradition, that prompted Mahadev Bhai to preserve a faithful record of Gandhiji's sayings and doings for the benefit of a wider world. Those who believe in this mission of Gandhiji in the modem world can hardly overestimate the value of the devoted labours of the disciple in this respect.

Tall and dignified in bearing, a gifted conversationalist, with a mind richly stored and highly receptive, he still chose to remain in the ground and shunned the lime-light. But he did take, as can be easily imagined, an important and effective part as Gandhiji's envoy and spokesman on many occasions.

In him India has lost a noble soul, and the world of Indian Journalism a gifted and versatile writer.

SERVANTS OF HUMANITY

In the midst of the din of battle and the terrors of widespread carnage, when prejudices and animosities between race and race and nation and nation are accentuated in loud and unearthly shrieks of conflict, there are still a few voices raised which harp on noble ideals, world-wide harmony and international peace urging that justice and security shall be guaranteed to all nations, and that exploitation and revenge shall cause to disfigure the mutual relations between men and nations in the future world. While statesmen and politicians give expression to these lofty sentiments in somewhat measured words, and but occasionally, it is the men of letters, the philosophers and other votaries of culture who have written and spoken with generous fervour. To whatever nation they belong, they are verily the citizens of the world, the salt of the earth, the salt that shall savour the new world to be India which is passing through days of unmentionable gloom finds much to be thankful for in the utterances of these noble souls. The writings in recent times of Middleton Murray, E. J. Thompson, Pearl Buck, Louis Fischer, Mrs. Gunther, Lin Yutang and others of their kind give assurance that, in spite of racial and national conflicts, the spirit of Humanity is awake. The destinies of the world are safe and assured when such servants of humanity shall arise in greater number bearing testimony to the brotherhood of man, irrespective of creed and clime, and obtain the hearing that is their due.

K. S. G.

In the modern civilisation, for which an enormous number of men are used as materials, and human relationships have in a large measure become utilitarian, man is imperfectly revealed. His revelation does not lie in the fact that he is a power but that he is a spirit. The prevalence of the theory which realises the power of the machine in the universe, and organizes men into a machine, is like the eruption of Etna, tremendous in its force, in the outburst of fire and fume; but its creeping lava covers up human shelters made by the ages and its ashes smother life.–RABINDRANATH TAGORE in "Letters from Abroad".