Honouring a Poet’s Memory

BY Prof. A. SRINIVAS RAGHAVAN, M.A.

We were nearing Ettayapuram.

The dark rain-clouds hung low over the flat land that stretched away, dull and dark, to the horizon. A thorn tree had thrown itself out of the sombre earth into a stunted interrogation mark. A few bedraggled crows sat on the scraggy branches keeping up a hoarse endless chant–the song of the spirit of flatness.

So this is the birthplace of a poet, I thought. There was something symbolic in that to me. Even so flat and spiritless was the world of Tamil letters into which Bharati was born; and when the Poet spoke, the iridescent contours of song came into being, making that world shapely and fruitful. For nearly seven hundred years after the great epic poet, Kamban, Tamil poetry had remained practically barren. Large numbers of works were written in verse, no doubt, during the period, but most of them were idle panegyrics of petty chieftains and Zamindars or clever artificial elaborations of erotic formulae. The few that were touched with sincerity and purpose were the works of Saints like Pattinathar and Thayumanavar, and these had breathed a chilling otherworldliness alien to Tamil or had lost clarity and vigour in the vagueness of mystical symbolism. Tamil poetry had cut itself off from life and buried itself in ornate inanities, Sthala Puranas, and theological hair-splittings, that is to say, it had ceased to be poetry. It was in this flat, spiritless world, this Ettayapuram of literature, that Bharati was born, and when he died he had accomplished a miracle. He had freed Tamil from the affectation and pedantry of the Pundits of Zamindars’ courts, the religiosity of the Sthala Puranas and the obscurities of arid, theological posing. He had it planted firmly on this earth, had fed it with the joys and sorrows of men and, by securing for it sincerity and truth, had enabled it, in the only manner possible, to reach out in its large, life-embracing sweep from realism towards reality. He had substituted experience for formulae, expression for ornamentation, vision for catch-phrases, and the spirit of poetry, alert and aware, was reborn in the Tamil land……

The road curved and then ran straight towards a cluster of nondescript grey and brown houses and we were in Naduvvirpatti, a hamlet of Ettayapuram. Were we? If we were, it was no longer the sleepy little outpost to an old-world townlet. Our car had to slow down because of the crowds in the streets. There were flags and festoons everywhere and small batches of white-capped volunteers bustled about or marched to the tune of ‘Kavi Chakravarti Bharatiki Jai!’ As we crawled into Ettayapuram, the crowds increased in volume and variety. White Khaddar-jubbaed cameramen, reporters and journalists jostled merrily with sturdy bare-bodied Naik and Marava peasants. The Editor of a well-known Tamil fortnightly grinned at us from within a fort of toy balloons and a swarm of half-clad children making a determined attempt to carry it. Who would have believed it? Bharati’s dream had come true. The barriers set up by English education were down and the Tamils, to whatever class they belonged, had learnt to fraternise as of old.

When we reached our lodging (we realised later that we were fortunate in having one) we were told that we should hasten at once to the Pandal if we did not want to miss Srimati Subbalakshmi’s concert. Someone said that we had still an hour and half before us, as the concert was to commence only at 5-30 p.m. Derisive laughter greeted him. Was he not aware of the hugeness of the crowd and how the Pandal was already full?

We started at once and, picking our way through the crowd, reached the spacious Pandal erected in front of the Bharati Memorial Building. Entrance was not easy and even our special tickets were not the talismans we thought they would be. After trying to storm a few of the entrances, we gave it up.

“Come along, I’ll take you,” said a cheerful voice behind us in rich colloquial Tamil.

We turned and saw the burly smiling figure of Sri Somayajulu. Sri Somayajulu was in charge of the local reception arrangements at Ettayapuram. He was well qualified for the task. He had been an intrepid nationalist, had endured prison and had spent his life in organising meetings and conferences and in addressing them. A Telugu Brahmin by birth, he is a great lover of Tamil and a distinguished student of Tamil literature. His mastery of spoken Tamil is something remarkable. He can hold an audience of thousands for hours with his rich humour, his never ending anecdotes, his sterling good sense and sincerity. We were happy to meet him. But he looked tired. The rains that had fallen the previous day had disturbed many of the arrangements, and he knew that even otherwise the arrangements were hardly adequate for the large crowd that had gathered. Just a few days before the function, the organisers had sent out a short press note warning the public that those who came to Ettayapuram should make their own arrangements for food and lodging. But Sri Somayajulu was not saved by the press note. The crowds came (that was inevitable) and swirled round the Reception Committee office clamouring for lodging and meal tickets. Sri Somayajulu bore visible marks of anxiety and strain on his broad face.

But he smiled and took us in and left us. More he could not do. The rules assigning the enclosures to the several orders of visitors were “more honoured in the breach than in the observance”. Everybody was important. The sprit of Bharati’s famous line, “The time has come when all are equal” held the Pandal, and all were equal and all suffered Sri Saw Ganesan’s stentorian voice rose like a storm-wind from the microphone commanding order and silence, but the waves of men heaved and rolled and broke over the ropes.

Srimati Subbalakshmi came on to the dais. The flashlights danced, the cameras clicked and the crowd went frantic. But when the concert began and the rich golden voice of the talented singer filled the vast Pandal, quiet settled on the audience. The words of Bharati came to them on the wings of melody, and they forgot the sodden ground, the crowding and the discomfort, and were in a glorious dream-world where all ideals are within reach and all the sorrows of life grow into a triumph through their very intensity.

Srimati Subbalakshmi’s concert was followed by that of Isai Arasu Dandapani Desigar. His performance began rather late and he came to the dais after a great public favourite. These were disadvantages that would have disconcerted the stoutest artist. But Dandapani Desigar rose to the occasion. His renderings were easy and flawless and the catchery, like that of Srimati Subbalakshmi, was in every way worthy of the celebrations. But lovers of Bharati felt that it would have been more appropriate if both the singers had chosen only the Poet’s songs for musical rendering. It was strange that they did not do it.

It was very late when the crowd dispersed for the night. All the same, at dawn, the Pandal was full again. Thirty thousand Tamils awaited the coming of their revered leader, Rajaji. At 7 a.m. the leaders arrived and Rajaji declared open the Bharati Memorial Building. Drums beat, conches blared, pipes and timbrels broke into joyous music, and thousands of hearts were lifted with pride and enthusiasm as a nation’s mark of honour for its Poet came formally into being. Two silver lamps presented by the Pandara Sannidhi of Tiruvavaduthurai Mutt were lighted and symbolised the kindling by Bharati of the light of poetry in the nation’s life.

It was not merely a large but a distinguished gathering that turned to listen as Sri C. Rajagopalachari, Governor of West Bengal, rose to speak. Many persons of importance in the world of Tamil letters and public life were there, and those who could not come had sent spirited messages. Rajaji’s speech was, as was expected, both original and thought provoking. He pointed out that the greatness of Bharati lay in that he was the truest embodiment of our cultural traditions, and that our recognition of Bharati’s originality and his interest in the nationalist movement should not blind to the fact that he was a brilliant exponent, in poetry, of our philosophy and religion. Other speakers followed and it was significant that all communities and all political groups were represented among them. Janab Moulana Saheb of Madura, the Hon. Mr. Daniel Thomas and the Communist leader, Sri P. Jeevanandam, paid homage to the Poet’s memory in stirring words. Tamil scholarship found its representative on the dais in Prof. Somasundara Bharati. The Premier of Madras, Sri Omandur Ramaswami Reddiar, unveiled the portrait of Bharati with a characteristically quiet speech. But most of the speakers failed to take the hint that Rajaji had thrown out about the undesirability of emphasising too much the nationalist in Bharati and of forgetting the cardinal fact that Bharati was a poet.

Sri R. Krjshnamurti, the brilliant novelist and essayist, master of graceful, living Tamil and the talented Editor of the popular Tamil weekly Kalki, proposed the vote of thanks. As he went on cataloguing the names of those who had helped to make the celebrations successful, the gathering realised what a stupendous thing the function had been and how countless numbers of people had worked for days in a true spirit of devotion and service to make it worthy of a great poet’s memory. Sri R. Krishnamurti left himself out, but everyone was gratefully aware of how, but for him and his able colleague, Sri Sadasivam, the memorial might not have been erected so quickly and opened in such a splendid manner.

It was a great function. All the organisers deserve the warmest praise. But as we turned away from Ettayapuram in the afternoon, our hearts full of Bharati and the celebrations, we could not help feeling that greater emphasis could have been laid on Bharati, the man of letters, and that the function could have been enriched if an organised attempt had been made to interpret Bharati through drama and dance and tableaux, and if the enthusiasm kindled by the name of Bharati had been fed at Ettayapuram with the greatness of his songs and of Tamil literature. With a little thought, these splendid organisers who were responsible for the celebrations could have carved a great literary festival out of the occasion. But this is not a complaint; it is only one of the ‘might have beens’ that always accompany a great event. And it was a great event, an unforgettable one. A nation gathered to honour a poet, and everyone was elated with the realisation that the spirit of Bharati was abroad and that Tamil had come to life again.