Va. Ra.

VA. RA.
(A Sketch)

(Rendered from Tamil by K. S. G.)

THERE was a Public Reading Room situated on the top floor of a building in the bazaar street of Trichinopoly–I do not know if it is there now. There were four book-shelves stocked with books, mostly in English. There was a good collection of books dealing with the National Movement in India.

In the middle of the room was a long table. A few armless chairs were lying about on either side of it. Seated in one of them, I was reading the trial of Lokamanya Tilak.

There were five or six others in that Public Reading Room at the time, some of them looking through newspapers, others reading books.

A gentleman walked into this place. Nobody took notice of him. Instead of taking one of the chairs, the new arrival settled himself on the edge of the long table. Immediately he drew everybody’s attention. I too looked at him, His face beamed with intelligence.

The Manager of the Reading Room was a quiet, unoffending gentleman. He came near the stranger and said, “Sir, you should not sit on the table. Please get down and sit on a chair.”

The stranger regarded the Manager for a moment, and turned away his look. He neither made a reply nor did he get down from the table. The Manager pursued the topic, “Sir, don’t you hear what I am saying?” This released a cataract of words from the stranger. “I hear very well indeed! O, yes. I am quite good of hearing, You ask me to get down, don’t you? You want to put me down, to degrade me somehow. Is that not all? Is it not because of this we are a nation of slaves? We are always busy looking for opportunities to pull down one another, to degrade one another. We never lose a chance. There is no desire to lift up one another, to encourage one another. Even if there is the will, there is not the capacity. But when it comes to pulling down one another, well, we are ready. No, Sir, I won’t get down,” and so on and so on. The Manager interrupted this unending flow of words and remarked: “Well, Sir, you seem to let yourself go rather freely.” “Yes, Sir, indeed, I do talk, Sir. And why not may I ask? And who are you to gag me? The foreign ruler, of course, gags us and prevents our free expression of views. And you follow his example. I am not going to be suppressed in this fashion. I will talk. You may hear if you please; if not, you are welcome to stuff your ears with cotton wool.” And more words to the same effect.

It seemed as if a storm burst, the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and a torrent of rain had emptied itself. The poor Manager was utterly discomfited. There was silence for a time. The stranger who was doggedly sitting on the table, glanced at the book which I was reading.

“O! This young man is reading Tilak’s lecture. You know why? Just to improve his knowledge of English. If this book had been written in Tamil, he would not have touched it. Chidambaram Pillai of Tuticorin has delivered many speeches. Has any one thought of publishing them in book-form? Not at all. And even if there were such a publication, who would have cared to read it? None of us will touch a book if it is in Tamil. This very Reading Room contains a good library. But is there a good Tamil book in it? Not one. There is no one in this world so degenerate as the Tamilian. He will read any other language but not his own. ‘What is there in Tamil?’ he will ask unashamed. He feels no pride as a Tamilian. There are so many of you sitting here, and you read all sorts of grand things. Have any of you heard of Subrahmanya Bharati? Where is he now? What is he doing? Are any of you bothered about these things? Why sirs, why are you all silent, why won’t you talk? You will never even open your mouths. Why won’t you say something in reply. Well, well, none of you seem to care what I am shouting about. Why should I cry myself hoarse? I will not continue my cry in a widerness. Mr. Manager, here I am getting down from the table. You are now satisfied, aren’t
you? Be at peace. I shall not only get down from the table but shall take myself away from this premises altogether.” With this parting shot the stranger went down precipitately.

I cannot say the above is a verbatim report of what happened thirty years ago. I can vouch only for the impetuosity which characterised the outburst of Va. Ra.

Yes–the stranger who visited the Reading Room that day was no other than Va. Ra, the celebrated author. I got to know that it was he from the talk that followed on his departure.

“He is V. Ramaswami Iyengar, a devotee of Subrahmanya Bharati. He lived for a time in Pondicherry,” said one.

“He has then come away from Pondicherry? Why has he done this?” asked another. “I do not know about it. He is acquainted with K. V. Rangaswamy Iyengar of Srirangam. Perhaps he has come here to see him,” said a third.

This is all that I learnt about Va. Ra on that day. But it was enough for that occasion. He made an indelible impression on my mind.

This year, Va. Ra is reaching his sixtieth year. There has been a proposal to celebrate the occasion. It is also intended to present him with a purse. Among the speeches that were delivered at the preliminary meeting convened to take steps to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, some dwelt on his great services to Tamil literature; others laid emphasis on the presentation of a purse to him and the need to keep him above want, and to ensure that he lived in some amount of comfort in his old age.

Half an hour after the meeting, I called on Va. Ra at his residence in Madras. I thought he would be cheerful and pleased. On the other hand, he seemed to be put out and shouting at people. Someone had preceded me and acquainted him with all that had happened at the preliminary meeting mentioned above. The reference to his poverty had not at all pleased him, and so he was rather upset. As soon as he saw me he burst out: “Well, Sir; what is this idea of giving me a purse? Because I am a poor man? I am not a poor man. I command all the wealth of the world. If you intend to present me with a purse because of my poverty, there are many others poorer than I. Why not present purses to them? Why only to me? I am a writer. I have done some little service to the cause of Tamil literature. If in recognition of this you wish to honour me with a purse, do so. Otherwise, I shall have nothing to do with your arrangements.”

I saw that it was the same Va. Ra whom I had seen thirty years ago–the same traits of character, nothing altered. His mode of talking, his way of arguing, his sense of self-respect, these were as pronounced as ever. I said, “I request you to listen to me. Different persons will always speak in different ways. No two faces are quite the same in creation. In the same way no two have exactly the same way of thinking about things. But all are actuated by motives of regard and affection towards you. I beseech you to bear with everybody patiently till September 17th.” ¹

“Fine advice, indeed! It is like the bride’s mother telling the bride’s father prior to the marriage: ‘Please bear everything patiently till the marriage is over. Please do not show yourself till then; control your anger!’ No, I cannot put up with all this! No one need harp on my poverty or enlist commiseration on my account. Cut out, please, this miserable talk about my poverty,” said the distinguished writer, with some vehemence.

It was indeed venturesome of me to have offered to advise Va. Ra. But as I left him, I said to myself “Long live Va. Ra!” I could not help admiring his keen sense of self-respect and pride as a Tamil writer.

Bharati, the great poet, was indeed Va. Ra’s father, mother, and preceptor. That India and the world should recognise Bharati’s greatness is the life’s ambition of Va. Ra. Love of the Tamil language is the very breath of his nostrils. His mind and heart are set on its improvement. Love of liberty is the inspiration of his life. Self-respect is his soul.” The welfare and prosperity of writers, particularly of Tamil writers, is his religious creed. He gave up distinctions of caste and creed long ago. But I do not think he will demur to my saying that he belongs to the ‘Writers’ Caste’ and none other.

It would not be wrong to describe Va. Ra. as the first writer of Tamil Nad, the foremost among Tamil writers, and their permanent leader.

Many others have been Tamil writers before Va. Ra. Sri Vedanayakam Pillai, Sri Rajam Iyer, Sri Madhaviah and others had other interests in life; they followed other avocations. And during their moments of leisure they wrote great books like Pratapa Mudaliar Charitram or Kamalambal Charitram or Padmavati Charitram.

Bharati was a hero who sang of the country’s freedom, he was a revolutionary. He was influenced by the time-spirit; he was a master poet. His poems and prose writings were written in response to different urges, to serve different purposes.

Sri V. O. Chidambaram Pillai and V. V. S. Iyer were embodiments of patriotism and service. They were writers too, but wrote in their periods of leisure–more as a hobby. They did not look upon the writer’s profession as one of great moment, and did not take to it seriously, as a mission in life.

The first among those who took to the writer’s profession seriously in Tamil Nad was Va. Ra. He accorded it a place of honour, and desired that it should be looked upon as a respected profession. He pursued it as an art, and made it the vocation of his life, as a means too, for his livelihood.

He created a band of new writers. He inspired them with purpose and enthusiasm. The honour of the Tamil writer became a matter of deep personal concern with him. He was vigilant in guarding the self-respect of the writer. He made himself their champion and protector and still continues to be one.

The services rendered by Va. Ra to Tamil Nad and to the cause of Tamil literature are great and incalculable. The power of the pen is readily acknowledged by all. That it is more powerful than the Drama, the Cinema, and the Radio has been put to the test in the affairs of the world during the last decade. The Drama, the Cinema, and the Radio cannot bring about a change of government in a country as the pen can. The country is beholden to Va. Ra. for having made it realise the enormous power that the pen can wield. And Tamil writers are bound to him by ties of great gratitude for all that he has done for them.

¹ Va. Ra’s 60th Birthday.