A Note on Venkataramani's “Paper Boats”

A NOTE ON VENKATARAMANI’S
“PAPER BOATS”

Dr. G. S. BALARAMA GUPTA, M. A., Ph. D.
Karnatak University Post-Graduate Centre, Gulbarga

It is perhaps only a commonplace statement that generally writers live in the memory of the common reader only through a couple of their more important works, and K. S. Venkataramani seems to be no exception. It is on Murugan the Tiller and Kandan the Patriot that his reputation stands secure today. However, Venkataramani has to his credit several other works which deserve to be better known, and his very first work, Paper Boats (1921) is definitely one among them.

As the title itself amply suggests, Paper Boats is a fleet of ten delightful sketches mainly of rural life and characters. The most arresting feature of these sketches is their simple but immensely impressive style: it is all along scintillatingly light-hearted and effortlessly epigrammatic, and there is all through a deep poetic note which successfully lends a kind of unity to the pictures painted here. Each essay is a little well-wrought vignette, beautiful by virtue of its very simplicity.

“Any peg would do to hang the hat on” is a maxim which quite adequately holds water so far as an essayist’s choice of topic is concerned. And the first paper boat that Venkataramani sets assail has ‘the Indian Beggar’ as its occupant. The subject is such that one would expect either an economist’s grave concern for, and his expert solutions to, the alarming problem of beggary, or a pathetically elaborate enunciation of the manifold miseries of our mendicants. But Venkataramani’s approach is entirely different: his outlook towards the problem is essentially humanitarian and poetic. He calls beggary a fine art, and, aided by his minute observation of various beggars, he divides them into seven classes, and the whole essay makes a refreshingly pleasant reading indeed. First we have ‘the beggar with the bowl,’ ‘an orphan and a bachelor,’ and whose profession is ‘the most ancient and least expensive form of begging.’ Then we have ‘the beggar with the monkey and the dog’ who is ‘truly the demagogue of the polity of beggars’ and is known for his nomadic instincts. Then comes ‘the beggar with the snake,’ grim and obdurate. And ‘the gypsy beggar’ combines in himself the dual professions of begging and palm-reading. Other interesting variations of the tribe are ‘the beggar with the bull,’ ‘the musical mendicant,’ and ‘the nocturnal beggar.’ The essay gives the impression of being an apology for beggars, and though, no doubt, economists might frown at it, it must be said to the credit of the essayist that the strong currant of poetry that runs through the essay successfully elevates the drab subject to a heightened dignity which somehow reminds us of Charles Lamb.

A considerable segment of Tamilian commonalty lives on angling, and it is with understanding and sympathy that Venkataramani sketches their bold and toilsome life in his second essay, ‘On Fishermen.’ Ever restless and always hopeful, the fisherman is known for his dexterity at the rod. Extremely industrious, he is endowed with a soul full of infinite patience. “He goes to his work very early in the morning and toils in the sea till sunset with unequal fortune everyday, and returns at dusk to partake of the meagre comforts of his home. In the worst of troubles he is never given to whining. He grasps the cold hand of penury, if he has to, with a courage and resignation that would do credit even to a more cultured being. He ends as he begins, without a sigh.” Venkataramani tells us also of the fishermen’s virtuous wives and their timocratic government, their exciting marriage ceremonies and their religious festivals. But what is most touching is their unceasing devotion to the rod, their stout heroism which never fears the storms of the sea, and their resigned attitude to life.

In the ‘Village Cricket’ Venkataramani describes how cricket in an Indian village is a cousin of that English game. It is, no doubt, true that it is a crude version, but it is definitely ‘the sunniest of pastimes’ of the village boys, and since there are no fastidious rules governing the game, it easily provides a buoyant outlet for the brimming vigour and enthusiasm of the rustic youth. And there is a delightful touch of romance that colours the description of the game: “It has the wayward buoyancy and mirth of the evening breeze. Under the shade of coconut palms, by the side of the village tank, and the rippling laughter of girls carrying home pails of water at the hip, leaning and glancing gently to the side, the game is a glorious feast for the youth.”

Never allowing his usual simple style to degenerate into pompous verbiage, Venkataramani distils into his next short sketch the charm and significance of the several aspects of the ‘Hindu temple.’ Without resorting to any elaborate architectural jargon, he vividly points out how the Hindu temple is an emblem of the rich religious instinct of man in co-ordination with his love for beauty–or, in short, it is “an architectural attraction as well as a spiritual solace.” Again, without ever becoming pedantic, he reveals his keen power of observation. For instance, the gloomy interior of a small Hindu temple is exactly and admirably caught in a few words thus: “The minor gods are arranged inrows along the colonnades. They come in only for the casual obeisance of the over-pious. A number of glow-worm lamps, fed with oil and fixed artistically, illuminate with a pale effulgence the sombre idols wrapped up in gracious slumber with a charming disregard for posture.” And there are occasions when the author breaks forth into lyrical rapture even in the small compass of a short sketch like this. For instance, it is difficult to imagine a more poetic or eloquent adulation of the glory that is the temple car than the following: “...the charming glory of the Hindu temple is the celebrated car. It is a dream in timber which bridges Heaven and Earth. It is the stateliest projection of the Hindu mind. It is the pillar of our pictorial life. It is the rallying-point of all castes and creeds. It is the supreme exponent of the oneness of man in the service of God, be he a Brahmana or a Pariah. It is the symbol of united worship.”

The next essay acquaints us with Venkataramani’s unstinted admiration for ‘my little Arunalam,’ a Pariah whose growth from cradle to the field is rapidly and respectfully described. Arunalam’s first profession is that of a cowherd, and there is perfect sympathy between him, the ruler, and the cattle, the governed. As he grows up into a man, he is drafted as a farm-worker on whom depends the agricultural prosperity of his master. Hard labour and pastoral life have made him a strong man: “In stature stalwart, in bearing dignified, all brawn and muscle, the gift of daily toil, he is easily Nature’s well-built child.” The key to Arunalam’s success seems to be his toilsome routine and contentment with his lot. “His (Arunalam’s) is always a message of Labour and Love to our ancient land...Like the toiling wave between the land and the sea he is restless and ever active... The raptures of his life are the verities of a fixed orbit of labour, even as the diurnal rounds of the earth.”

Then we have a portrait of ‘the Hindu pilgrim,’ variously described as ‘a spiritual monument of our race,’ ‘a step and an experiment in the realisation of an ideal,’ and a restless wanderer, ‘as restless, as the Lingam which he worships is immobile.’ He may be gullible and superstitious, but his faith is unshakable. Though Venkataramani’s outlook towards these pilgrims in general is reverential, he is mildly sarcastic when he describes the periodic pilgrim whose motive behind the pilgrimage is not altogether God-realisation. “He undertakes a pilgrimage only for purposes of expiation or for the acquisition of extra religious merit. As a successful worldly man, he is always conscious of his sins of omission and commission...A pilgrimage to Benares and Rameshwar will not only promote the virtues of his seed, but is sure to give him a fresh and pure start for his balance of years in the game of life. It quiets his conscience. He returns to work from the holy shrines, and sacred waters, chastened with more of faith and energy to face the subtle ways of the world. And his neighbour attaches greater sanctity to his name. “This periodic pilgrim takes with him not only his wife and children but also his poor relations, not because he is generous, but because, “it is the injunction of the Smrithis not to neglect poor relations”, and (now another dig!) “they may be helpful on the way.”

‘My Grandmother deals only partially with the grandma who is occasionally irascible and always agile, who is, in short, ‘a benevolent despot.’ The essay is mainly an eulogy of the beneficence of the Hindu joint family of which, of course, the grandmother is ‘the mainspring...and its most efficient regulator.” It is difficult to imagine a better, at any rate a more graphic, description of the advantages and glories of the joint family than, this: “The Hindu family is the greatest conservative tradition and reality of our civilisation. It is full of sweetness, even as the honeycomb, its sweetness, as honey, separated, assimilated and deposited in individual cells. It is the Rishi-made school for the Hindu from the cradle to the grave. No generation wastes its sweetness in the Hindu joint family, but leaves behind its experience and work for a richer harvest of tradition in succeeding years.” Venkataramani is not unaware of the sociological fact that the joint, family among Hindus is a fast-vanishing institution, and so he closes his essay with a plaintive note: “It (the Hindu jointfamily) isthe most fragrant champak flower of Aryan culture. In the autumn dust and wind of modern life, thepetals are falling off. Ere long the flower will be no more. May at least its immortal fragrance live for ever in the memory of man!”

In the next essay, ‘My Neighbour’, Venkataramani sketches the character of an intelligent, hard-working man, but a hen-pecked husband. Mr. Pichu Sastri, a Brahminboy, not only secures a university diploma at the age of seventeen, but rises from a clerk to Deputy Tahsil in the British Sircarby dint of honest labour. But he is quite a docile creature at home under the crushing spell of his wife, a splendid shrew who sours all the sweetness of his life, and ultimately compels him to renounce his home and become a sanyasi.

The penultimate essay, ‘The Jagat Guru’, is devoted to a faithful veneration of Sankara, the Adi Guru, and an ardent account of the Kamakoti Peetam, an ancient seat of ‘conservative yet enlightened Hinduism’, situated on the banks of Cauvery. The rest of the essay is taken up by a passionate sketch of the Guru whose life is one of supreme selfless service to mankind, barring all distinctions of caste, creed, and social status.

The last essay, ‘Saraswati’s Marriage,’ is not to be taken as a description of only Saraswati’s wedding. Instead, we have here a detailed picture of Hindumarriages ingeneral. Marriage is an elaborate ritual with us and it spans over four busy days. It is a social gathering and at the same time a religious function emphasising the sacred significance of the Hindu marriage which is sacrosanct and irrevocable.

In matters of faith and religion, Venkataramani reveals himself as a conservative traditionalist, no doubt with notable sensitivity to beauty–as revealed in his ‘Hindu Temple,’ ‘Hindu Pilgrim,’ and ‘The Jagat Guru.’ The same mental attitude is at work when he deals with social issues also as evidenced by his remaining essays.

Venkataramani’s powers of close observation, mild humour, and simple yet charming prose which almost always has poetic grace, have made these little elegant essays both lovable and memorable. Paper Boats is important as a collection of pleasant pictures of South Indian social and religious life, but it is no less important as a sure sign of Venkataramani’s capacities for writing essays in the engaging manner of A. G. Gardiner, E. V. Lucas and Charles Lamb.