Reviews

The Indian Literatures of Today: A Symposium. Edited by Bharatan Kumarappa. (Published for The P. E. N. All-India Centre by The International Book House Ltd., Ash Lane, Fort, Bombay. Pp. Demy 8 vo. x + 181. Price Rs. 5.)

In October, 1945 the P. E. N. Centre in India organised at Jaipur the First All-India Writers’ Conference. “By common agreement, one of the most valuable features of the conference was the symposium on the Modern Indian Literatures, in which the sixteen addresses which we bring together here were given by as many representatives of leading languages of modern India.” The languages thus represented are–Assamese by Sri Nilmoni Phooken, Bengali by Kazi Abdul Wadud, English by Prof. N. K. Siddhanta, Gujarati by Prof. Jayantakrishna H. Dave, Hindi by Dr. Ram Kumar Varma, Kannada by Principal V. K. Gokak, Maithili by Dr. Umesha Mishra, Malayalam by Dr. C. Kunhan Raja, Marathi by Prof. M. D. Altekar, Oriya by Sri Kalindicharan Panigrahi, Punjabi by Sri Madan Gopal, Sanskrit by Dr. R. N. Dandekar, Sindhi by Sri Lalchand A. Jagtiani, Tamil by Sri M. R. Jambunathan, Telugu by Dr. C. Narayana Rao, and Urdu by Prof. Rashid Ahmed Siddiqi. It will be seen that the list includes all the major spoken languages of modern India together with Sanskrit and English which latter, in addition to being used as media of expression by learned Indians, have inspired and profoundly influenced all the living literatures of the land.

One notes with admiration the surprising amount of information that the distinguished contributors to this symposium have been able to pack into the few pages that were at their disposal. Not content with giving us a bare chronicle of authors and books, many of them have traced the trend of literary development in their respective languages in modern times, noting carefully the political and social influences that have been at work. The story of all Modern Indian Literatures is very much the same in outline: the impact of English literature, the revolt against the old conventions, the birth of work-a-day prose, the vogue of the novel and the social drama, experiments in new literary forms and technique, including the revolution in metrical patterns, the predominance of the secular outlook, the upsurge of national spirit and patriotic fervour, and lastly the ‘progressive’ movement. And everywhere translations and adaptations from English literature have played a very important part. It is also of interest to note that Bengali, which came earliest under English influence and moreover has produced the greatest Indian poet of our times, has in its turn influenced a good number of Modern Indian languages. In fact, we can distinguish the Ages of Bankim, Tagore (and of late Saratchandra) not only in Bengali but also in sister literatures!

The lists of prominent names, dozens and scores in each branch of writing, put together by many of the contributors to this symposium are impressive enough. They give one the feeling that the creative impulse is active in every nook and corner of India. But these strings of names, given by the contributor in his anxiety not to miss–shall we even say, not to offend–any ‘important’ writer, often become un-illuminating. Significant authors cannot easily be distinguished from passable ones in this rather indiscriminate company. This very ‘inclusiveness’ prevents the critic from giving the due meed of praise to a deserving author. For instance, K. S. Karanth’s Marali Mannige, one of the outstanding Kannada novels of our times, certainly merits greater praise and longer notice than Principal Gokak has accorded it here. Nor can one feel happy over the fact that K. S. Narasimha Swami (whose name, by the way, is wrongly given as Narasimha Murthy) is dismissed in about half a line as ‘an accomplished poet of love’. Among the list of modern writers in Sanskrit, one particularly misses the name of the talented poet and playwright, Jaggu Vakulabhushana Kavi of Melkote.

The editor of this volume aptly observes: “It would have been well in a symposium such as this if the same general outline had been followed by all the authors. This would have ensured uniformity of treatment which would have enabled the reader to compare adequately developments in one language with those in another.” It appears, however, that the contributors prepared their ‘reports’ independently. In planning volumes of this kind, it would be best if the contributors could be given a comprehensive questionnaire to be kept in view and answered to the best of their knowledge and critical acumen. They must be particularly requested to concentrate upon the outstanding and characteristic achievements in their respective languages against the larger all-India ground This will not only enable them to give full praise where it is due, but will also deter them from yielding to the common impulse to cry up every ware displayed in their respective shop-windows.

T. N. SREEKANTAIYA

Life and Myself by Harindranath Chattopadhyaya. (Nalanda publications, Bombay, Price Rs. 6-12.)

This is a book of autobiographical memoirs by Sri Harindranath Chattopadhyaya. The reason for the unusual title is that the author looks upon Nature as a great experimenter, and “we human beings are as the test tubes into which she constantly pours her many-coloured liquids of dreams and desires, mixing and re-mixing them until they change from colour to colour, composition to composition, bearing her further and further towards success in her experimentation.” (P. 83) It is in this mood of experiment ‘for which he is not responsible’ that the author has objectified the events of his life which he has set down in this book, bringing the story down to about 1930 when he returned from Europe and when the Salt Satyagraha movement was convulsing the country. One can only guess the actual date for, unlike the usual books of biography, this one dispenses with dates and documentation of any kind, mentioning only occasionally and incidentally the age of the author.

Sri Harindranath has won fame as a good writer of English verse, and has proved popular wherever he has gone as an actor, reciter, and singer. He belongs to the small, and dwindling, band of Indo-Anglian poets whose influence on the life and thought of the country is, as might be expected, not very considerable. If Harin had chosen to cultivate with some assiduity his powers of expression as a poet and dramatist, say, in Hindi or Bengali, and utilised his talents and bent his will to make his contributions in these Indian languages, the story might have been far different. But it was not to be. With all his brilliance, one hears an undertone of loneliness and frustration sounded in the course of this book.

The early years of Sri Harindranath were spent in Hyderabad (Deccan) where his father, Dr. Aghoranath had migrated from Bengal and occupied a high and honoured place in the Nizam’s Government. Dr. Aghornath was among the early stalwarts of Bengali English- educated gentlemen, and Acharya P. C. Ray’s tribute to him recorded in the book (p. 26), in the course of the interesting meeting between Harin and Acharya Ray, is noteworthy and revealing in respect of these two great men of Bengal. Dr. Aghoranath’s early life consorting with freebooters on the boats plying on the rivers of East Bengal, and his meeting and eloping with his future wife, a girl of nine, read more like a romance than an excerpt from life. The author has sketched with loving reverence the portraits of his father, a vigorous personality, of unbending rectitude and of encyclopedic learning; and of his mother, a lady of high artistic sensibilities, of catholic sympathies and a magnificent matron and hostess. But ill-luck overcame the family, and debtors attached the house, and the family broke up when Harin was about fifteen. The events leading up to this disaster are, however, not clear from the book. Harin then migrated to Madras, and his ventures as a playwright and performer, his love-episodes, his meeting with Kamaladevi and marrying her, are all set down with engaging frankness.

The latter part of the book deals with Sri Harindranath’s voyage to England, and his studies and contacts there, his visit to his brother Sri Virendranath in Berlin. The treatment is more objective, the sketching of men and events is more convincing, and the first personal pronoun obtrudes less frequently. The hospitality and affection that the author enjoyed in English homes, and the encouragement that he received from fellow-writers and artists seem to suggest that this was about the most happy period in the author’s life; Owing to the absence of dales, it is difficult to say how many years Sri Harindranath spent altogether in England. Of the sketches given, that of Sri Virendranath, the Indian revolutionary in Berlin, is very arresting and describes, incidentally, the sufferings of Indian political exiles in foreign countries. There is a glimpse of Subhas Chandra Bose at Cambridge (p. 179) which is noteworthy.

The uncensored recollections of men and women who live an unconventional life are in vogue in Western countries, and often prove to be very good ‘sellers’. But this genre is new to our country and perhaps foreign to our genius and temperament. Sri Harindranath, who is nothing if not unconventional, has blazed a new trail with this book of memoirs which is candid to a fault, and serves to show up the author and his intimate life as they were–sometimes worse than they really were. There is a queer mixture of self-condemnation and self-praise noticeable in the book, which is only another way of saying that the author is highly temperamental. “The artist has no half-way house: he is all extremes”, says the author (p. 169)...“Either he is in the seventh heavens with the ecstasy of life and the gladness to be alive, or he is down in the unfathomable depths of depression full of the ache to die, and be done with the whole damned thing called human life. This is true of the artists of our class who are ego-centric, who take up the attitude towards existence that they are the centre round which all things move, breathe, and have their being, or, if they do not, they ought to. They fall into the trap of loneliness because of their dislike for collective living, a subtle form of snobbery which wears the garb of humility.” Whether the above should be taken as a confession or an apology and defence, it is difficult to say. But the ego-centric attitude above referred to colours the book, and makes parts of it, particularly those that deal with adventures in philandering, somewhat trying.
K. S. G.

KANNADA

Audaryada Urulalli: By Sri Sivarama Karanth. (Published by Harsha Mudrana Prakatanalaya, Puttur. Price Rs. 6.)

Sri Sivarama Karanth is among the front-rank novelists in modern Kannada. A new novel from his pen is, therefore, an event which is looked forward to by the Kannada reading public. This latest novel of his, the title of which may be translated as ‘In the Noose of Generosity,’ deals with the life and career of a high-souled national worker and patriot called Radhakrishna and traces the vicissitudes of his fortunes, from the days of the Non-cooperation movement of 1921, when he gave up his college studies and plunged into constructive national service under the inspiration of Gandhiji’s leadership. Radhakrishna takes his due share in all the three campaigns in the non-violent war of Independence conducted by Mahatmaji, viz., the Non-cooperation movement of 1921, the Salt Satyagraha movement of 1930, and the Quit India movement of 1942. The untold privations undergone by the hero of the story, his unswerving loyalty to the ideals of Gandhiji, his grim determination against odds, that damped the spirits of those around him and left him the lone standard-bearer in the march of freedom these make the portrait of Radhakrishna the type of which there are a few thousands scattered in all parts of this wide country. These known warriors stuck to their posts unwept, unhonoured, and unsung while others reaped the harvest of their toils.

Sri Sivarama Karanth locates the plot of the story in the South Canara district. Every inch of ground in this region is familiar to the author, so that the description of landscapes, of hills, rivers and valleys, monsoons and of floods, of villages and townships is realistic to a fee. And so are the descriptions of the village folk, of labourers landlords, of Harijans and caste-men and of political agitators and wealthy patrons.

The story opens with a description of a propaganda tour over the villages, to carry the message of Non-cooperation, along with two companions, Sadananda and Sakharam, who however soon desert him, being equal to the privations of this nomadic life. Sadanand completes his medical studies, reappears as Doctor Nanda in Mangalore, makes name money, and tries to play the benevolent godfather to Congress workers and national institutions. Sakharam migrates to Bombay and becomes a journalist. We do not hear of him till almost the end of the story, when depressed and war-worn Radhakrishna seeks him out in Bombay. That is about the time when the All-India Congress Commitee meets in Bombay and passes the famous Quit India resolution. A new glow enters into the heart of Radhakrishna and he takes the plunge for a third time.

The story, which is woven round Radhakrishna as the nucleus, trails away to a tame and inconsequential end, “not with a bang but with a whimper.”

Radhakrishna’s wife, Satya, the daughter of a landlord, proves to an admirable help-mate in the story, and her character is almost as fully portrayed as that of the hero himself. She becomes the mistress the Ashram, which Radhakrishna started in the neighbourhood of Mangalore for Harijan boys. Dayananda Rao, the leader of national activities in Mangalore, was the very embodiment of liberality, and put a childlike trust in all whoever professed to work for national uplift. He gave his support and patronage to Radhakrishna in his undertaking. The author in his Foreword tells us that Dayananda Rao is drawn from actual life, and those who are acquainted with the course of political life in South Canara and Karnatak will have no difficulty in recognising the portrait of Karnad Sadasiva Rao, one of our most amiable and noble-hearted public men who lost his all in the national struggle and who, alas, is now no more!

Prabhudev, the political adventurer, the hot-gospeller of Socialism, ever seeking the limelight and eager to fish in troubled waters to make his own private haul, may be considered the villain of the story. This character, alas too true to type, is drawn with consummate artistry. He is the very contrast of Radhakrishna and is the evil genius whose unscrupulous financial adventures under the guise of raising funds for Radhakrishna’s Ashram and school, brought about the crash in the hero’s life and left him desolate, his hopes wrecked and his life’s aspirations utterly frustrated.

Shyama, the faithful assistant of Radhakrishna, who inherits unexpectedly a small property and helps Radhakrishna to buy up a plot of land on the outskirts of Mangalore, on which to run a farm and build his school, is another unforgettable character in the story. Ramanna, whom Radhakrishna rescues from the floods that overran the district, proves his gratitude by deeds of kindness which constitute some of the most touching incidents in the narrative.

When the Salt Satyagraha campaign was launched in 1930, and the Forest Satyagraha as an off-shoot of it, North Canara became the centre of a heroic non-violent struggle against the Government. Radhakrishna hastened there, more as a ministering angel than as a combatant. While the outstanding features of this memorable campaign are faithfully sketched in the story, one feels that the author’s touch has not the firm grip or fervour noticed in the earlier part of the story. And the third phase, namely the Quit India movement, is treated still more succinctly and even perfunctorily. This is, presumably, because the author was an actor himself in the Non-cooperation movement, but was little more than a spectator of the 1930 and 1942 campaigns, and got his information more from hearsay than from vivid personal experience.

Ichanniah and Mahabalibhatta, the stalwart peasant proprietors of North Canara whose sufferings are almost epic in their intensity, are characters that are sketched very successfully, but one wishes that this phase of our national struggle had occupied a larger area on the author’s canvas. Towards the end of the book, appears the character of Banhatti, the wobbling Congress leader, playing at the same time both for popularity and safety, the type of power politician with whom expediency weighs more than principles, a type which seems to have become somewhat too common in the present day.

Sri Sivarama Karanth is a skilled craftsman in the creation and portrayal of characters. As a vivid narrator of events he has few rivals, though in this latest novel of his one may reasonably complain that the story element often wears out so thin as to make the book rather desultory and halting in many places. Of plot, presumably, there is none in this almost biographical (or is it autobiographical?) narration. And the story fails to grip the reader and carry him along as other stories of Sri Karanth have done. This is not to suggest any flagging of the powers of the talented author, but due to the sense of frustration that lies heavy on the novelist’s soul and clogs his usually virile and fluent pen. It is no more than a reflection of the depression that has overtaken the hearts of sensitive spirits all over the land at the sad fate that the country is passing through. The first glow of idealism seems to have faded out, and pettiness, the seeking of sordid ends and barefaced self-aggrandisement are stalking the land in unashamed effrontery. Sri Karanth, with all his irrepressible buoyancy, seems to have suffered the chilling touch of this encircling gloom.
K. S. G.

TAMIL

Thaimai: By Dr. Tripurasundari, M.B.B.S., “Lakshmi.” (Pudumai Padippaham, Ltd., Karaikudi. Pp. 208. Price Rs. 4-8.)

Very rarely does a book of this kind come across the reviewer’s way. Dr. Tripurasundari, under the pseudonym “Lakshmi” has made a name for herself as a novelist in contemporary Tamil letters. To my knowledge, this is the first time that she departs from her usual genre from fiction to fact.

The rate of infant and maternal mortality has been the highest in India–it is a terrible task to fight ignorance and superstition–but with the advance of scientific knowledge in recent years, things are looking better. A Doctor of Medicine, with considerable experience gained from work in the Government hospitals in the City, Dr. Tripurasundari brings to her study of motherhood and its problems, authenticity, conscientiousness, and with her gifts as a writer, economy and an anecdotal liveliness which save a technical subject from dry monotony. The difficulties of adolescence, married life, pregnancy, the health of the woman during pregnancy, delivery, care of the mother and the new-born infant, are some of the main topics dealt with in a well-planned book, with a simplicity that is not strained; such simplicity can come only from a profound sympathy and understanding.

“Is Kamban a great poet? Or is Sekkizhar? Is Sangam literature glorious? Or is the literature of the later era? Are devotional songs necessary? Or songs of love? In discussions such as these, ‘lovers of Tamil’ have been disparaging one another subtly and on the sly. Their number is on the increase and conditions in Tamilnad have not been favourable to the production of books on scientific subjects in a language (our mother-tongue) that will be understood by the common man.” So reads the publishers’ preface. I can assure them that they have made a splendid beginning to meet a long-felt want by publishing Thaimai. It is a very good book; its author has demonstrated that the popular interest Dr. Marie Stopes was able to achieve by her manner of writing in works like Radiant Motherhood and Married Love, can, with profit, be adopted in Tamil.

MANJERI S. ISVARAN

Esunathar Bothanai: By J. C. Kumarappa. Rendered from English in Tamil by “Kumudini.” (Shakti Karyalayam, Royapettah, Madras 14. Pp. 131. Price Re. 1-8 as.)

Great men were born with great decisions to suffer in the midst of those bereft of reason and sympathy. Man is ashamed to look on the face of a Jesus or a Buddha, the reflection of his own illumined features and finest instincts. This has been the effect of his being through the ages a victim of superstitions. It was to liberate him and make him see his own kinship with the Creator that the son of Virgin Mary wore the crown of thorns. His was not the ambition to annihilate the Jews and rule over a city. To establish a religion his aim was to found the Kingdom of his Father on earth. He preached the highest means of detaching oneself from the ways of the senses and sense-objects. But those who heard him never understood him. Those who were near and dear to him could not save him. His death on the Cross ended a life of perfect gratitude to the Maker. Christianity was established. But the nations professing Christianity have not honoured in action the memory of that noblest of mortals. Attempts to reform human society from the days of Socrates have been futile and man is still primitive in his emotions and moods. The invention of engines of destruction, the devastating political and economic ideals of certain nations, the intolerance of man against man show how uncivilized we are. But the irony is, in all of us there are the thoughts of Jesus in an egg shape, but we never hatch.

Mr. J. C. Kumarappa’s brilliant exposition of the teachings of Christ affirms how far we have failed to grasp the meaning of Truth and non-resistance to evil.

Mahatma Gandhi’s life of interminable pains, lived in beautiful principles laid by the master minds of the world, ended like that of Jesus. Even in this century, here in India too, the shape of the human mind is distorted beyond redemption. What a tragedy? Man advances for pleasures, is self-seeking in everything he does, clothes his criminal instincts in scriptural phrases, exploits society, and insults his own culmination in a superman. We pay for our own errors in wars and tribulations.

We had Buddhas and Christs. In recent times we had Ramakrishnas; and in eminent pacifists we never lack. But when are we going to be ourselves? To those sincere men and women desiring to tread the path of Jesus in the right ways of renunciation and action, Mr. Kumarappa’s book is a little torch radiating beneficent rays of light. It is exposition of his own likeness to the ‘Salt and Light’ Christ wanted man to be.

Kumudini’s translation is in simple, attractive Tamil. It makes reading easy and shows her grip over the subject.

Shakti has brought out the book at a normal price, with an excellent picture of Jesus with a lamb in hand–a beautiful symbol of God’s Shepherd on earth.

M. S. GOPALAKRISHNAN