As a committed social reformer with an uncompromising
rationalist urge, Kalaignar uses the most popular modern genre to explore the maladies that keep ruining the psychic health of the Tamil society and of mankind the world over. His stories marked by hardcore realism do not degenerate into naturalistic fiction wallowing in the seamy side of life. His stories of psychological import do achieve psychological realism but not at the expense of sociological realism. His social satires condemning the caste system and its perpetrators, the blind beliefs and practices, the addiction to meaningless religious rituals, the cruel subjugation of women, the callous indifference of the literate Tamils to their language and culture and, above all, the continuing suppression of the underprivileged and the downtrodden expose the evils without sacrificing art at the altar of propaganda. His is not the satire of a bitter life-hating Swift but of the genial type of Addison and Steele tempering justice with mercy. It is not the personal satire of a Pope aiming at particular individuals but the social satire of a Dryden with an explicit view to correcting the society. Kalaignar concedes that there may be a beast in every man but he would demand the society to recognize the man in man. It is always the public good and not personal reasons that would motivate his satirical attacks. Employing irony, mockery, invective, raillery, understatement, sarcasm, humor and hyperbole, his satire appeals to rational act and virtue.
As George Hart observes, ours is the only classical literature, constituted by the great Sangam Classics, Ettuttokai, Pattupattu and Tirukkural, which shows its interest in and concern for the subaltern. Greek, Roman and Sanskrit literatures are totally indifferent to the lower rungs of the social ladder. In Pindar, for instance, social consciousness is conspicuous by its absence and his reputed odes celebrate the victories of the royal and aristocratic sections of contemporary Greek society. In the plays of Kalidasa, women and all the other characters excepting priests and kings are openly assigned an inferior place and condemned to the use of Prakrit treated as an inferior language. In Sangam poems, on the other hand, the hunter of Kurinci, the shepherd of Mullai, the farmer of Marutam and the fisherman of Neytal are all heroes and the ladies with whoem they are in love are all heroines. And the Sangam poet loudly proclaims, “We do not wonder at the greatness of the mighty; much less do we despise the little.” Kalaignar, inheriting this glorious tradition, is obsessively engrossed in his thoughts about the lowest in the social set up and about their uplift and elevation.
In any collection of Kalaignar’s short stories the variety of settings and backdrops he chooses for his narrations is found to be staggering.
In “As Is in the Original,” it is what happens in a printing press that matters most. The ambience is subtly recaptured in a few sentences of the opening paragraph:
“This should go in bigger font.”
“Yes. Sir”
“You should never change anything from the original. Compose it as is in the original. Katha Kalakshepam and not kalatshepam.
“......”
“Let the “Anuman” block go to the centre. Design this corner with a nice border and frame Chettiyar’s block.”
“Yes. Sir”.
“Hm!......Okay? Do you understand? Don’t use your chaste Tamil here. As is in the original”.
“.......”
“Cheittyar is a furious man. If you want to show off your knowledge of chaste Tamil, then we will have to close down our press”.
“That you have already told me, sir! I’ll compose as is in the original.”
“You are absent-minded. Okay. Then rush”.
This conversation took place between compositor Kandaswamy and Velayudham Pillai, the manager of Vedanthi press, when the compositor showed the manager a specimen copy of a leaflet he had composed.
“A Rose in the Desert” is about the tragic life of one Kandaiah, who begins as a brilliant student, shines as an extraordinary public speaker but ends up as a poverty - stricken cynic seen travelling in train without a ticket. The story appropriately opens with the evocation of a classroom scene.
“We are not just students...... We are the shapers of the future world”. Kandaiah used to say loudly whenever he came across a few students. And he used to say that with a smile. He continued to say thus as if his mission on earth was to remind the students of their duty.
Our college is like a supermarket. One can get whatever one wants. You want ‘love’? you will get it. A battalion of young men are always on the march towards girls in the college. And the others would move aside giving way to them with all the good wishes. You want knowledge? Well! There is the library. You can spend all your time with books. You want “fun”? You want to have it just for an hour or for the whole day? A group of fun lovers is always waiting to give you company. And then there are also matinee show fans, playing card experts, etc., etc., all in large numbers.
In the last bench of a classroom there was a galaxy of stars. Amidst them Kandaiah shone like the moon.
“An aimless life is a useless life,” Kandaiah would lecture like Bernard shaw. He would bring Ingersol himself before the mind’s eye of his listeners.....
Kandaiah is not the lovely crusader. He has with him an army of like - minded students. Kannaiyan takes the last seat in the last bench. Kandaiah has honoured him with a title:”The Eldest in Bharathidasan Parampara”.
The one seated next to him is Ramu. He is very well - versed in Einstein’s theory. A scholarship is waiting for him. And his dream is to study in England and become a professor.
The next fellow is a singer. He would always complain of modernizing the South Indian Music.
A young soldier writing a series of love letters to a lady living far away from the place of war is the protagonist of the story called “Love Letter.”
It is the soldier’s daily life in the camp during the Second World War that is sketched at the beginning of the story. We can’t be sure of where we are. We can never say where our camp would be shifted next. We can’t be certain of our life or our death. It is difficult for us to say anything about our enemy’s strength and weakness. Minute after minute we hear news of conquests made by fanatics like Hitler and Mussolini. Go on the sea, we get trapped. Go in the air, we are shot down dead. Go on foot, we are surrounded by destroyers. Under this situation if we move out of our tents we have to tie plants and creepers to our heads and walk.....no....no...... not walk but move. That’s the way to cheat our enemies’ war planes. Our enemies would mistake us for plants and creepers moving in the wind. If they come to know that we are men and that too helmet-worn soldiers they would drop bombs from planes. We would be torn to shreds. Every minute is infested with danger. And during such times too, I didn’t forget to write letters to her. After the training hours in the battle camp, I spent much of my leisure hours in writing letters to my lady love. That day too I was writing.
The story “Doves of a Banyan Tree” reminding us of “Parliament of Fowls” in Middle English and of Bharati’s adaptation of it in Tamil, may lend itself to more than one allegorical interpretation. But what would allure every reader is the idyllic opening scene.
The swishing sound of the brook, the Koel’s song in tune with that music and the peacocks dancing to that tune made the forest a heaven on earth.
At the centre of the forest stood a huge banyan tree. Doves had made their homes in the several hollows of the tree. From their homes the spotted doves peeped out to enjoy the ambience of the inspiring forest. “Did you watch the peacock’s dance?: ’a dove would ask. “Listen to the Koel’s song,” another dove would divert the attention. “Are you aware of the stupid turkey that tried to imitate the peacock’s dance and failing miserably declared that there should be no dance in the forest?,” yet another dove would lecture.
“Fine......Fine.... today my family and I could not find any food,” so would complain a lean and haggard looking dove. “An eagle flicked away my food,” a dove would remark in a pitiable tone.”Thank God! You escaped from becoming food to the eagle,” a dove would say joyously.
As such a conversation was in progress a falcon whirred through the air and perched on the banyan tree. Its very sight sent the doves fly helter-skelter into the forest. And as they became tense and rammed into each other in a hurry, the falcon simply gorged on them and burped.
Its burp would only amount to saying in pride “I came.....I conquered.” This had become a very common incident in the banyan tree, yes, in the kingdom of doves.
Some of the short stories shift the emphasis from plot and atmosphere to characterization and succeed in presenting characters that are at once typical and individual. Again, the variety is extremely impressive. In the story “Supporter,” a bogus trade union leader, a cheat leading a double life, becomes the centre of attraction.
His name is Punniyakodi. He involves himself in all sorts of social work. He may not be known in all parts of the world; he may not be famous throughout the Tamil country, but in his native place it is difficult to see him without his admirers around him.
A news item like “Municipal sweeps on strike” may get floated. But even before it could reach the public he would start for the battle. He would tom-tom: “Gear up, you Municipal sweeps! Let’s shed blood and drive out the cheats.”
The leader of those sweeps too wouldn’t dare to roar like him. But Punniyakodi would do it with ease. He wouldn’t rest till that agitation is buried and forgotten. He would give out several reasons for its failure all on his own and would conveniently sit to think of what new agitation would come up.
Even the little benefits enjoyed by those workers would considerably go down all because of his entry. “Only then will they fight for their rights all the more.....” He would give one more reason for the failure of the agitation and then proceed to search for roses in the garlands he was honored with.
If he found them his next action would be to calculate the number of days the rose petals would last for his coffee.
The story succinctly presents an episode as an instance of Punniyakodi’s double dealing. Though the court asks him to pay Rs.10,000 as compensation in a defamation case filed against him by a Municipal Chairman, he is able to hoodwink the people and by some shady transactions manages to get all the money that he lost and to retain his popularity among the public when a new Chairman is elected.
The story of a poet who becomes a victim of his own popularity has a humorous ending but it is the lyrical narration that wins the admiration of the reader.
He was a poet. He found delight in adorning Mother Tamil with golden ornaments studded with diamond all with his powerful words. He created in words an ivory cot and sandalwood cradle for the child Tamil to rest. He wrote verses to Girl Tamil by calling her darling and dear, and fondled her. His fame spread like a lamp seated on a hill. People began to call him “King of Letters”. Poets sang in praise of him and gave him the title “Rich Man of Ideas”. His years and years of experience, his powerful words all made him proud and stand lofty in the Tamil world. No journal was pleasant to read if it failed to carry his string of words. No drama was fit enough to enjoy if it failed to accommodate his songs.
No cinema was good if it failed to carry his sweet songs.
He would inspire the poor. He would instil courage in the coward.
The sharp teeth of a screw pine flower and the soft tender leaf of a plantain - are they one and the same? He would ask and thereby explain the culture of the Tamils and the arts of the Aryan race would never go together but would only get torn apart. Several wrote in praise of him.
The reputation of this poet grows as days pass by and thousands of letters in praise of his incredible creative skills keep pouring in. As he rises to greater and greater heights, he starts receiving letters applauding him sky high but seeking his help in one way or the other.
“Mine is a sad life. Show me a way out”
“All that I need is a role in your drama”
“Only a scene in the cinema”
“A chance to write in your journal”
“I will be of great service to the world of cinema”
“I must be given an opportunity to sing your song”
“Say yes to my request. Or else you will witness my death”.
“No vacancy, you replied. My heart is very heavy”.
These letters must have naturally driven him mad. One day his body is found hanging from a ceiling. There is an investigation and the police find a piece of paper in the dead man’s pocket stating that the box beneath his dangling feet is responsible for his death. The box, when broken open, is found to contain countless letters from his admirers seeking his recommendation to get a job in the cine world or elsewhere!
There are stories in which Kalaignar has a dig at the old puranas and legends, thereby instructing the Tamils not to be carried away by them but to lead their lives guided by rationalist principles. In these stories, Periyar and Anna understably make their presence felt. As early as the forties of the twentieth century, the writers belonging to the Dravidian movement started writing poems, short stories and novels reconstructing the Hindu myths in order to expose the hypocrisy of the Aryan race. In his Iranian Allatu Inaiyarra Viran, Bharatidasan presented Iranian as a Tamil king who is treacherously killed by the Aryans with the connivance of his own son Pirahalatan as the former is not prepared to accept their irrational ideas and deceitful world view. This was followed by numerous writings which re-presented Ravana and other mythological characters from the Dravidian point of view.
Kalaiganar’s “Nalayini” retells the story of the woman popularly eulogized as the very image of chastity just because she is prepared to take her leper – husband to a prostitute as desired by him.
A real beauty she is. The glow on her face speaks volumes about her charms. Her white apparel enhances her gait. A necklace of black beads adorns her fair complexioned neck. Her lovely tresses are rolled into a bun and above that sits a basket. She is seen walking in the street. Surely a parade of charming beauty, a class of its own. Is she one of those stars that has come down to earth? Her very sight in the dark street makes one think thus.
This is Nalayini carrying her husband in a basket to the house of a harlot. Kalaignar waxes eloquent over the beauty of the lady and the beastliness of her husband.
That rose is carrying a decaying bee to a dried up flower..... Had there been a poet he would have compared her to a rainbow. Had there been a script writer, he would have written: “I doubt if a deer would gambol like her!” Had there been a painter he would have said, “Stand as you are for a second. Let me paint a portrait of you that can be exchanged only for the world”.
But she is found weeping after her mission is accomplished and a woman who closely resembles her barges into her room and starts consoling her. She is called Idhaya (meaning heart, conscience) and she makes repeated enquiries about Nalayini’s inconsolable grief. Then Nalayini unburdens her heart and tells her why she has been willingly sending her leprosy – infected husband to a harlot.
I don’t desire to have fun with a leper. But he calls me to his bed desiring me. My hands tremble even to hug him. That is why I sent him to the hardlot’s house.
Let him quench his thirst without harming my beauty. That was my plan....... you say that I carried my husband on my head. Correct it. I carried only the basket on my head. He was in the basket. Am I out of my senses to touch a leper with my hands and carry him on my head?..... The husband abused me. I didn’t speak a single world......If I do not ignore his words then I will have to argue with him.
And to argue with him I will have to stand close by him. That’s what I hate. That’s why I allowed the leper to bark at me.”
The world (Ulaga) may think that she is a devoted wife, chastity incarnate but it doesn’t know of the live volcano in her. When she asks Idhaya to tell her a way to enjoy the conjugal bliss, the latter blesses her with a boon. In her next birth she will be born as Draupadi and will enjoy the company of five husbands. Nalayini, on hearing this, jumps for joy and her tears of sorrow turn into tears of delight.
Kalaignar, in this kind of re-construction of the myth about Nalayini, capitalizes on the bizaarre and repulsive statement in the myth itself according to which Nalayini in her next birth would be born as Draupadi. Another myth that is exploded by this kind of retelling is that of Ganga and Chandra who are reported to have been given shelter in Shiva’s plaits. The narrator of the story called “Love life of Ganga” has roaring fun at the expense of the gods and goddesses in the Hindu pantheon using only the details delineated in the myths themselves.
Lord Shiva was fast asleep in his heavenly abode, Mt. Kailash. His snake slithered away from his neck and was found playing with a young deer.
Shiva’s consort, Parvati Devi, was also fast asleep least aware of her husband’s vehicle, the bull, licking her feet with its serated tongue. Heaven dwelling women all perhaps are not disturbed even by the falling thunderbolt. Beaded sweat emerged on the face of Parvati. Lord Shiva’s body too showed no sign of life for he was fast asleep.
He is blessed with five heads, you know! So he has dismantled four of his heads, and rolled them up in a deer skin and kept it aside. Othewise it would be uncomfortable to sleep.
Deep asleep, the Shiva couple’s snoring was heard tearing the silence asunder. A plait from Shiva’s head showed signs of moving faster. Ganga was found walking. She placed her feet as soft as cat’s paw on Shiva’s head and then looking askance at different directions she was fast moving towards an unknown destination.
A young man called Chandran also comes out of Shiva’s head and has a happy time with Ganga. The conversation between the two brings in a few more myths only to be ridiculed.
“Ganga! Are you happy with the old man?”
“If I am happy, why should I search for Chandran!”
“Your tone is akin to that of Thara.....She complains to me of her aged husband with long grown moustaches and beard troubling her a lot”.
“If oldies get women like us- Thara and Ganga – as partners, then it is a feast to men like Chandra.”....
“They say it is a sin to sleep with one’s Guru’s wife. I would say that to be the blabbering of a madcap. A shishya is expected to be of service to the Guru....”
“Bagirathan called me from the skies. My body quivered at the sight of that handsome man..... But that good for nothing fellow pushed me into the hands of this old man of Kailash. This old fellow is not only old but worn out in the services of Rishi’s wives..... His women have to take turns..... What did Parvati herself do? If you are interested in that story, dear Chandra, you have to ask Brahma himself.
One of the warnings of Socrates was that the obscene tales about the Greek gods and goddesses would enervate and devitalise the young men of his time. Without directly condemning the downright vulgarity of some of the Hindu myths and legends, Kalaignar adopts this strategy of retelling them and holding them to ridicule. At the end of the story, the narrator leaves a wholesome message for the benefit of contemporary society. Ganga asks Chandran to put a word of advice to the people of the earth. “Do not marry off your daughter to an old man. Never consent for a second marriage.... Tell them so that no woman is pushed to my level”.
Kalaignar is in his element when he has to voice the condition of the poorest of the poor who cannot themselves articulate their case in any forum. He pleads for them in story after story drawing our attention to the struggles they have to wage for their food and shelter and to the natural and man - made calamities they have to face every now and then.
The story called “The poor,” though a very short one, tellingly brings out the plight of the poor giving a sketchy account of the tragic life of Parvathi, the young wife of a poor man.
It is only the pauper kings and queens who dwell in huts who never can devote time to the joys of life. Harassing moneylenders, nagging curd-seller and several such people have to be tackled in the morning. And at night worries about money badger them and they pray to God and weep. And very rarely do they find time for any pleasure. In the kingdom of the paupers the population is quite a good number. There would be not fewer than seven to eight children. And the last child would be six or seven years younger than the first. And their mothers, poor creatures, are not as affluent as Karunambal to go in for birth control.
Parvathi has to work like a bull all through the day in the house of her merciless boss. When she is taking the rich man’s child in a pram, her thoughts about her dear husband and the few brief moments of happiness they have had together keep haunting her and she has to be contented with dreaming sweet dreams. Her sad life comes to a quick end when she takes shelter under a tree with the child in the pram during a torrential downpour. A big branch of the tree breaks and falls down. The child is saved by her boss who comes that way but she is left uncared for.
This cruel treatment of the poor woman by her rich master leads the author to contemplate on the human condition in general.
Mankind is nothing more than a congregation of the poor. The rich are a herd of animals. Sometimes, by mistake men are born in that clan. And a few amidst the poor unable to bear the suffering turn into beasts. Parvathi had not become one so far. Such words would make Nallakannu Pillai say – oh! This is all Russian. For him the word “Russia” was like swallowing poison.
The author thus sums up the attitude of the rich Indians to what Russia and the Russian revolution stand for.
The message of “The Great Escape” is that the poor can make their great escape from the torture of their society only by killing themselves. Ramadurai, the proprietor of Leela Mill is murdered by a mill worker but the real reason is not known to the public which has been given to understand that Ramadurai is a noble philanthropist. The truth is that Ramadurai raped Vittal’s wife Thangam and was therefore murdered by him. But the rumor is spread that the motive behind the murder was Vittal’s disappointment as he was not given two hundred rupees by his boss. Thangam and Vittal try to escape but she begins to panic when chased by the police.
Thangam felt giddy. Her thoughts began to sing.
Vittal handcuffed…. Then he is in the gallows….
Thangam turns a widow. She was startled by the very thought. :”We are trapped, dear”. She squealed; Vittal turned his eyes in different directions. Her cheeks remained drenched with her tears. Thangam mustered up all her love for her husband and kissed him on his lips…. She found a way to escape from the police. She Stabbed her husband in his chest with all her might. He fell down dead. She then pushed the dagger into her throat and slit it. She saved her husband from the police. She saved herself from awaiting sorrows.
Kalalignar’s short stories may not be as technically sophisticated as those penned by postmodernists but they have other overwhelming merits. The African tradition, according to Chinua Achebe, unlike the Western tradition, expects the writer to play the role of a teacher. In the Tamil tradition, a creative artist may assume the responsibility of a teacher, a guide and a social reformer without being considered presumptuous or arrogant. Many of the early Tamil writers of novels and short stories including Bharati, Putumaipittan, Mu. Varatarasanar and Anna considered it their duty to discuss contemporary social issues in order to direct the Tamils in the right path. Some of them did not mind being openly propagandist. Following their examples, Kalaignar uses this medium also to preach the Dravidian ideals though he takes care to preserve the salient features of a modern short story. Every short story of his deals with a particular critical moment in the life of the protagonist and never encroaches upon the territory of a novel.
Some of the stories may have surprise endings and the plots may be carried forward with speed and suspense. But the endings are not artificially contrived; nor are we interested in the stories only because of the twists at the end. Even where the ending may appear to come as a surprise, if we go through the story again we will realize that there have been hints thrown here and there to prepare us for the artistically achieved climax. In the story appropriately called ”As is in the Original”, for instance, compositor Kandasamy is asked by Velayudham Pillai, the manager of Vedanthi Press not to change anything from the original and to compose the matter as is in the original. But Kandasamy being a rationalist and a well-wisher of the Tamil society is worried to note that one Ramanathan Chettiyar, who raped Ekambaram’s wife, walked away with Periyanna Padayatchi’s money-box when the latter was in his deathbed and removed all the diamonds from the crown of Lord Venkachalapathy of Vedapuram in order to build a palatial house for himself, is performing Mahakumbabishekam to cover up his sins. Being an ardent lover of Tamil, he feels sorry for the Tamil letters which are grossly abused by knaves and villains.
I am working in this pres for the last five years. And what am I doing here! Only composing from a dirty dustbin of a purana. I should have killed myself long ago, O, Tamil letters! Flowers are strung into garlands to garland the lamb to be sacrificed at the altar of Mahakali. Flowers are strung into garlands to adorn the necks of a couple on their marriage day. So too, you Tamil words! You weave between covers the sweetest songs and essays teaching the art of living. Also you create puranas overflowing with lies, cheating and cock-and-bull stories. Yes! Like the garland that gets torn in the hands of human beings, the Tamil letters too suffer.
But Kandasamy decides to teach the fraudulent merchant a lesson that he will never forget. On the day of the function, when Chettiar reaches the temple expecting a red carpet welcome, he is humiliated by the crowd and driven away. He later finds out that in the leaflet his name has been printed as Kamanadhan Chettiar and that Yoganada has been deliberately misspelt as Bogananda. When an explanation is called for, Kandaswamy tells the manager, “I only followed the original, sir”. The manager asks, “Does the original talk of Panchali’s prostitution?”
And Kandasami proves that he has been true to the real original!
“Yes! Of course! The real original is Mahabharata; and not this hand written piece of paper. In the original Mahabharata, Panchali was wife to five men. She was also in love with Karnan. That is how the epic depicts her. And so as per the epic original instead of writing Panchali Swayamvaram I felt it should be composed ‘Panchali prostitution.’ Not only that ……. This Chettiyar is ‘Kama’ to the core. That is his life’s original. That is why I composed ‘Kamanandhan Chettiyar.’ The swami supposed to deliver lecture is a Baktha only in the morning but at night he is a Bhoga cat. I didn’t want to change the original truth and that is why I composed ‘Swami Bogananda’.
The title, the setting, the opening paragraph, the narration, the characterization, the word-play and the ending contribute to the artistic success of the story.
rationalist urge, Kalaignar uses the most popular modern genre to explore the maladies that keep ruining the psychic health of the Tamil society and of mankind the world over. His stories marked by hardcore realism do not degenerate into naturalistic fiction wallowing in the seamy side of life. His stories of psychological import do achieve psychological realism but not at the expense of sociological realism. His social satires condemning the caste system and its perpetrators, the blind beliefs and practices, the addiction to meaningless religious rituals, the cruel subjugation of women, the callous indifference of the literate Tamils to their language and culture and, above all, the continuing suppression of the underprivileged and the downtrodden expose the evils without sacrificing art at the altar of propaganda. His is not the satire of a bitter life-hating Swift but of the genial type of Addison and Steele tempering justice with mercy. It is not the personal satire of a Pope aiming at particular individuals but the social satire of a Dryden with an explicit view to correcting the society. Kalaignar concedes that there may be a beast in every man but he would demand the society to recognize the man in man. It is always the public good and not personal reasons that would motivate his satirical attacks. Employing irony, mockery, invective, raillery, understatement, sarcasm, humor and hyperbole, his satire appeals to rational act and virtue.
As George Hart observes, ours is the only classical literature, constituted by the great Sangam Classics, Ettuttokai, Pattupattu and Tirukkural, which shows its interest in and concern for the subaltern. Greek, Roman and Sanskrit literatures are totally indifferent to the lower rungs of the social ladder. In Pindar, for instance, social consciousness is conspicuous by its absence and his reputed odes celebrate the victories of the royal and aristocratic sections of contemporary Greek society. In the plays of Kalidasa, women and all the other characters excepting priests and kings are openly assigned an inferior place and condemned to the use of Prakrit treated as an inferior language. In Sangam poems, on the other hand, the hunter of Kurinci, the shepherd of Mullai, the farmer of Marutam and the fisherman of Neytal are all heroes and the ladies with whoem they are in love are all heroines. And the Sangam poet loudly proclaims, “We do not wonder at the greatness of the mighty; much less do we despise the little.” Kalaignar, inheriting this glorious tradition, is obsessively engrossed in his thoughts about the lowest in the social set up and about their uplift and elevation.
In any collection of Kalaignar’s short stories the variety of settings and backdrops he chooses for his narrations is found to be staggering.
In “As Is in the Original,” it is what happens in a printing press that matters most. The ambience is subtly recaptured in a few sentences of the opening paragraph:
“This should go in bigger font.”
“Yes. Sir”
“You should never change anything from the original. Compose it as is in the original. Katha Kalakshepam and not kalatshepam.
“......”
“Let the “Anuman” block go to the centre. Design this corner with a nice border and frame Chettiyar’s block.”
“Yes. Sir”.
“Hm!......Okay? Do you understand? Don’t use your chaste Tamil here. As is in the original”.
“.......”
“Cheittyar is a furious man. If you want to show off your knowledge of chaste Tamil, then we will have to close down our press”.
“That you have already told me, sir! I’ll compose as is in the original.”
“You are absent-minded. Okay. Then rush”.
This conversation took place between compositor Kandaswamy and Velayudham Pillai, the manager of Vedanthi press, when the compositor showed the manager a specimen copy of a leaflet he had composed.
“A Rose in the Desert” is about the tragic life of one Kandaiah, who begins as a brilliant student, shines as an extraordinary public speaker but ends up as a poverty - stricken cynic seen travelling in train without a ticket. The story appropriately opens with the evocation of a classroom scene.
“We are not just students...... We are the shapers of the future world”. Kandaiah used to say loudly whenever he came across a few students. And he used to say that with a smile. He continued to say thus as if his mission on earth was to remind the students of their duty.
Our college is like a supermarket. One can get whatever one wants. You want ‘love’? you will get it. A battalion of young men are always on the march towards girls in the college. And the others would move aside giving way to them with all the good wishes. You want knowledge? Well! There is the library. You can spend all your time with books. You want “fun”? You want to have it just for an hour or for the whole day? A group of fun lovers is always waiting to give you company. And then there are also matinee show fans, playing card experts, etc., etc., all in large numbers.
In the last bench of a classroom there was a galaxy of stars. Amidst them Kandaiah shone like the moon.
“An aimless life is a useless life,” Kandaiah would lecture like Bernard shaw. He would bring Ingersol himself before the mind’s eye of his listeners.....
Kandaiah is not the lovely crusader. He has with him an army of like - minded students. Kannaiyan takes the last seat in the last bench. Kandaiah has honoured him with a title:”The Eldest in Bharathidasan Parampara”.
The one seated next to him is Ramu. He is very well - versed in Einstein’s theory. A scholarship is waiting for him. And his dream is to study in England and become a professor.
The next fellow is a singer. He would always complain of modernizing the South Indian Music.
A young soldier writing a series of love letters to a lady living far away from the place of war is the protagonist of the story called “Love Letter.”
It is the soldier’s daily life in the camp during the Second World War that is sketched at the beginning of the story. We can’t be sure of where we are. We can never say where our camp would be shifted next. We can’t be certain of our life or our death. It is difficult for us to say anything about our enemy’s strength and weakness. Minute after minute we hear news of conquests made by fanatics like Hitler and Mussolini. Go on the sea, we get trapped. Go in the air, we are shot down dead. Go on foot, we are surrounded by destroyers. Under this situation if we move out of our tents we have to tie plants and creepers to our heads and walk.....no....no...... not walk but move. That’s the way to cheat our enemies’ war planes. Our enemies would mistake us for plants and creepers moving in the wind. If they come to know that we are men and that too helmet-worn soldiers they would drop bombs from planes. We would be torn to shreds. Every minute is infested with danger. And during such times too, I didn’t forget to write letters to her. After the training hours in the battle camp, I spent much of my leisure hours in writing letters to my lady love. That day too I was writing.
The story “Doves of a Banyan Tree” reminding us of “Parliament of Fowls” in Middle English and of Bharati’s adaptation of it in Tamil, may lend itself to more than one allegorical interpretation. But what would allure every reader is the idyllic opening scene.
The swishing sound of the brook, the Koel’s song in tune with that music and the peacocks dancing to that tune made the forest a heaven on earth.
At the centre of the forest stood a huge banyan tree. Doves had made their homes in the several hollows of the tree. From their homes the spotted doves peeped out to enjoy the ambience of the inspiring forest. “Did you watch the peacock’s dance?: ’a dove would ask. “Listen to the Koel’s song,” another dove would divert the attention. “Are you aware of the stupid turkey that tried to imitate the peacock’s dance and failing miserably declared that there should be no dance in the forest?,” yet another dove would lecture.
“Fine......Fine.... today my family and I could not find any food,” so would complain a lean and haggard looking dove. “An eagle flicked away my food,” a dove would remark in a pitiable tone.”Thank God! You escaped from becoming food to the eagle,” a dove would say joyously.
As such a conversation was in progress a falcon whirred through the air and perched on the banyan tree. Its very sight sent the doves fly helter-skelter into the forest. And as they became tense and rammed into each other in a hurry, the falcon simply gorged on them and burped.
Its burp would only amount to saying in pride “I came.....I conquered.” This had become a very common incident in the banyan tree, yes, in the kingdom of doves.
Some of the short stories shift the emphasis from plot and atmosphere to characterization and succeed in presenting characters that are at once typical and individual. Again, the variety is extremely impressive. In the story “Supporter,” a bogus trade union leader, a cheat leading a double life, becomes the centre of attraction.
His name is Punniyakodi. He involves himself in all sorts of social work. He may not be known in all parts of the world; he may not be famous throughout the Tamil country, but in his native place it is difficult to see him without his admirers around him.
A news item like “Municipal sweeps on strike” may get floated. But even before it could reach the public he would start for the battle. He would tom-tom: “Gear up, you Municipal sweeps! Let’s shed blood and drive out the cheats.”
The leader of those sweeps too wouldn’t dare to roar like him. But Punniyakodi would do it with ease. He wouldn’t rest till that agitation is buried and forgotten. He would give out several reasons for its failure all on his own and would conveniently sit to think of what new agitation would come up.
Even the little benefits enjoyed by those workers would considerably go down all because of his entry. “Only then will they fight for their rights all the more.....” He would give one more reason for the failure of the agitation and then proceed to search for roses in the garlands he was honored with.
If he found them his next action would be to calculate the number of days the rose petals would last for his coffee.
The story succinctly presents an episode as an instance of Punniyakodi’s double dealing. Though the court asks him to pay Rs.10,000 as compensation in a defamation case filed against him by a Municipal Chairman, he is able to hoodwink the people and by some shady transactions manages to get all the money that he lost and to retain his popularity among the public when a new Chairman is elected.
The story of a poet who becomes a victim of his own popularity has a humorous ending but it is the lyrical narration that wins the admiration of the reader.
He was a poet. He found delight in adorning Mother Tamil with golden ornaments studded with diamond all with his powerful words. He created in words an ivory cot and sandalwood cradle for the child Tamil to rest. He wrote verses to Girl Tamil by calling her darling and dear, and fondled her. His fame spread like a lamp seated on a hill. People began to call him “King of Letters”. Poets sang in praise of him and gave him the title “Rich Man of Ideas”. His years and years of experience, his powerful words all made him proud and stand lofty in the Tamil world. No journal was pleasant to read if it failed to carry his string of words. No drama was fit enough to enjoy if it failed to accommodate his songs.
No cinema was good if it failed to carry his sweet songs.
He would inspire the poor. He would instil courage in the coward.
The sharp teeth of a screw pine flower and the soft tender leaf of a plantain - are they one and the same? He would ask and thereby explain the culture of the Tamils and the arts of the Aryan race would never go together but would only get torn apart. Several wrote in praise of him.
The reputation of this poet grows as days pass by and thousands of letters in praise of his incredible creative skills keep pouring in. As he rises to greater and greater heights, he starts receiving letters applauding him sky high but seeking his help in one way or the other.
“Mine is a sad life. Show me a way out”
“All that I need is a role in your drama”
“Only a scene in the cinema”
“A chance to write in your journal”
“I will be of great service to the world of cinema”
“I must be given an opportunity to sing your song”
“Say yes to my request. Or else you will witness my death”.
“No vacancy, you replied. My heart is very heavy”.
These letters must have naturally driven him mad. One day his body is found hanging from a ceiling. There is an investigation and the police find a piece of paper in the dead man’s pocket stating that the box beneath his dangling feet is responsible for his death. The box, when broken open, is found to contain countless letters from his admirers seeking his recommendation to get a job in the cine world or elsewhere!
There are stories in which Kalaignar has a dig at the old puranas and legends, thereby instructing the Tamils not to be carried away by them but to lead their lives guided by rationalist principles. In these stories, Periyar and Anna understably make their presence felt. As early as the forties of the twentieth century, the writers belonging to the Dravidian movement started writing poems, short stories and novels reconstructing the Hindu myths in order to expose the hypocrisy of the Aryan race. In his Iranian Allatu Inaiyarra Viran, Bharatidasan presented Iranian as a Tamil king who is treacherously killed by the Aryans with the connivance of his own son Pirahalatan as the former is not prepared to accept their irrational ideas and deceitful world view. This was followed by numerous writings which re-presented Ravana and other mythological characters from the Dravidian point of view.
Kalaiganar’s “Nalayini” retells the story of the woman popularly eulogized as the very image of chastity just because she is prepared to take her leper – husband to a prostitute as desired by him.
A real beauty she is. The glow on her face speaks volumes about her charms. Her white apparel enhances her gait. A necklace of black beads adorns her fair complexioned neck. Her lovely tresses are rolled into a bun and above that sits a basket. She is seen walking in the street. Surely a parade of charming beauty, a class of its own. Is she one of those stars that has come down to earth? Her very sight in the dark street makes one think thus.
This is Nalayini carrying her husband in a basket to the house of a harlot. Kalaignar waxes eloquent over the beauty of the lady and the beastliness of her husband.
That rose is carrying a decaying bee to a dried up flower..... Had there been a poet he would have compared her to a rainbow. Had there been a script writer, he would have written: “I doubt if a deer would gambol like her!” Had there been a painter he would have said, “Stand as you are for a second. Let me paint a portrait of you that can be exchanged only for the world”.
But she is found weeping after her mission is accomplished and a woman who closely resembles her barges into her room and starts consoling her. She is called Idhaya (meaning heart, conscience) and she makes repeated enquiries about Nalayini’s inconsolable grief. Then Nalayini unburdens her heart and tells her why she has been willingly sending her leprosy – infected husband to a harlot.
I don’t desire to have fun with a leper. But he calls me to his bed desiring me. My hands tremble even to hug him. That is why I sent him to the hardlot’s house.
Let him quench his thirst without harming my beauty. That was my plan....... you say that I carried my husband on my head. Correct it. I carried only the basket on my head. He was in the basket. Am I out of my senses to touch a leper with my hands and carry him on my head?..... The husband abused me. I didn’t speak a single world......If I do not ignore his words then I will have to argue with him.
And to argue with him I will have to stand close by him. That’s what I hate. That’s why I allowed the leper to bark at me.”
The world (Ulaga) may think that she is a devoted wife, chastity incarnate but it doesn’t know of the live volcano in her. When she asks Idhaya to tell her a way to enjoy the conjugal bliss, the latter blesses her with a boon. In her next birth she will be born as Draupadi and will enjoy the company of five husbands. Nalayini, on hearing this, jumps for joy and her tears of sorrow turn into tears of delight.
Kalaignar, in this kind of re-construction of the myth about Nalayini, capitalizes on the bizaarre and repulsive statement in the myth itself according to which Nalayini in her next birth would be born as Draupadi. Another myth that is exploded by this kind of retelling is that of Ganga and Chandra who are reported to have been given shelter in Shiva’s plaits. The narrator of the story called “Love life of Ganga” has roaring fun at the expense of the gods and goddesses in the Hindu pantheon using only the details delineated in the myths themselves.
Lord Shiva was fast asleep in his heavenly abode, Mt. Kailash. His snake slithered away from his neck and was found playing with a young deer.
Shiva’s consort, Parvati Devi, was also fast asleep least aware of her husband’s vehicle, the bull, licking her feet with its serated tongue. Heaven dwelling women all perhaps are not disturbed even by the falling thunderbolt. Beaded sweat emerged on the face of Parvati. Lord Shiva’s body too showed no sign of life for he was fast asleep.
He is blessed with five heads, you know! So he has dismantled four of his heads, and rolled them up in a deer skin and kept it aside. Othewise it would be uncomfortable to sleep.
Deep asleep, the Shiva couple’s snoring was heard tearing the silence asunder. A plait from Shiva’s head showed signs of moving faster. Ganga was found walking. She placed her feet as soft as cat’s paw on Shiva’s head and then looking askance at different directions she was fast moving towards an unknown destination.
A young man called Chandran also comes out of Shiva’s head and has a happy time with Ganga. The conversation between the two brings in a few more myths only to be ridiculed.
“Ganga! Are you happy with the old man?”
“If I am happy, why should I search for Chandran!”
“Your tone is akin to that of Thara.....She complains to me of her aged husband with long grown moustaches and beard troubling her a lot”.
“If oldies get women like us- Thara and Ganga – as partners, then it is a feast to men like Chandra.”....
“They say it is a sin to sleep with one’s Guru’s wife. I would say that to be the blabbering of a madcap. A shishya is expected to be of service to the Guru....”
“Bagirathan called me from the skies. My body quivered at the sight of that handsome man..... But that good for nothing fellow pushed me into the hands of this old man of Kailash. This old fellow is not only old but worn out in the services of Rishi’s wives..... His women have to take turns..... What did Parvati herself do? If you are interested in that story, dear Chandra, you have to ask Brahma himself.
One of the warnings of Socrates was that the obscene tales about the Greek gods and goddesses would enervate and devitalise the young men of his time. Without directly condemning the downright vulgarity of some of the Hindu myths and legends, Kalaignar adopts this strategy of retelling them and holding them to ridicule. At the end of the story, the narrator leaves a wholesome message for the benefit of contemporary society. Ganga asks Chandran to put a word of advice to the people of the earth. “Do not marry off your daughter to an old man. Never consent for a second marriage.... Tell them so that no woman is pushed to my level”.
Kalaignar is in his element when he has to voice the condition of the poorest of the poor who cannot themselves articulate their case in any forum. He pleads for them in story after story drawing our attention to the struggles they have to wage for their food and shelter and to the natural and man - made calamities they have to face every now and then.
The story called “The poor,” though a very short one, tellingly brings out the plight of the poor giving a sketchy account of the tragic life of Parvathi, the young wife of a poor man.
It is only the pauper kings and queens who dwell in huts who never can devote time to the joys of life. Harassing moneylenders, nagging curd-seller and several such people have to be tackled in the morning. And at night worries about money badger them and they pray to God and weep. And very rarely do they find time for any pleasure. In the kingdom of the paupers the population is quite a good number. There would be not fewer than seven to eight children. And the last child would be six or seven years younger than the first. And their mothers, poor creatures, are not as affluent as Karunambal to go in for birth control.
Parvathi has to work like a bull all through the day in the house of her merciless boss. When she is taking the rich man’s child in a pram, her thoughts about her dear husband and the few brief moments of happiness they have had together keep haunting her and she has to be contented with dreaming sweet dreams. Her sad life comes to a quick end when she takes shelter under a tree with the child in the pram during a torrential downpour. A big branch of the tree breaks and falls down. The child is saved by her boss who comes that way but she is left uncared for.
This cruel treatment of the poor woman by her rich master leads the author to contemplate on the human condition in general.
Mankind is nothing more than a congregation of the poor. The rich are a herd of animals. Sometimes, by mistake men are born in that clan. And a few amidst the poor unable to bear the suffering turn into beasts. Parvathi had not become one so far. Such words would make Nallakannu Pillai say – oh! This is all Russian. For him the word “Russia” was like swallowing poison.
The author thus sums up the attitude of the rich Indians to what Russia and the Russian revolution stand for.
The message of “The Great Escape” is that the poor can make their great escape from the torture of their society only by killing themselves. Ramadurai, the proprietor of Leela Mill is murdered by a mill worker but the real reason is not known to the public which has been given to understand that Ramadurai is a noble philanthropist. The truth is that Ramadurai raped Vittal’s wife Thangam and was therefore murdered by him. But the rumor is spread that the motive behind the murder was Vittal’s disappointment as he was not given two hundred rupees by his boss. Thangam and Vittal try to escape but she begins to panic when chased by the police.
Thangam felt giddy. Her thoughts began to sing.
Vittal handcuffed…. Then he is in the gallows….
Thangam turns a widow. She was startled by the very thought. :”We are trapped, dear”. She squealed; Vittal turned his eyes in different directions. Her cheeks remained drenched with her tears. Thangam mustered up all her love for her husband and kissed him on his lips…. She found a way to escape from the police. She Stabbed her husband in his chest with all her might. He fell down dead. She then pushed the dagger into her throat and slit it. She saved her husband from the police. She saved herself from awaiting sorrows.
Kalalignar’s short stories may not be as technically sophisticated as those penned by postmodernists but they have other overwhelming merits. The African tradition, according to Chinua Achebe, unlike the Western tradition, expects the writer to play the role of a teacher. In the Tamil tradition, a creative artist may assume the responsibility of a teacher, a guide and a social reformer without being considered presumptuous or arrogant. Many of the early Tamil writers of novels and short stories including Bharati, Putumaipittan, Mu. Varatarasanar and Anna considered it their duty to discuss contemporary social issues in order to direct the Tamils in the right path. Some of them did not mind being openly propagandist. Following their examples, Kalaignar uses this medium also to preach the Dravidian ideals though he takes care to preserve the salient features of a modern short story. Every short story of his deals with a particular critical moment in the life of the protagonist and never encroaches upon the territory of a novel.
Some of the stories may have surprise endings and the plots may be carried forward with speed and suspense. But the endings are not artificially contrived; nor are we interested in the stories only because of the twists at the end. Even where the ending may appear to come as a surprise, if we go through the story again we will realize that there have been hints thrown here and there to prepare us for the artistically achieved climax. In the story appropriately called ”As is in the Original”, for instance, compositor Kandasamy is asked by Velayudham Pillai, the manager of Vedanthi Press not to change anything from the original and to compose the matter as is in the original. But Kandasamy being a rationalist and a well-wisher of the Tamil society is worried to note that one Ramanathan Chettiyar, who raped Ekambaram’s wife, walked away with Periyanna Padayatchi’s money-box when the latter was in his deathbed and removed all the diamonds from the crown of Lord Venkachalapathy of Vedapuram in order to build a palatial house for himself, is performing Mahakumbabishekam to cover up his sins. Being an ardent lover of Tamil, he feels sorry for the Tamil letters which are grossly abused by knaves and villains.
I am working in this pres for the last five years. And what am I doing here! Only composing from a dirty dustbin of a purana. I should have killed myself long ago, O, Tamil letters! Flowers are strung into garlands to garland the lamb to be sacrificed at the altar of Mahakali. Flowers are strung into garlands to adorn the necks of a couple on their marriage day. So too, you Tamil words! You weave between covers the sweetest songs and essays teaching the art of living. Also you create puranas overflowing with lies, cheating and cock-and-bull stories. Yes! Like the garland that gets torn in the hands of human beings, the Tamil letters too suffer.
But Kandasamy decides to teach the fraudulent merchant a lesson that he will never forget. On the day of the function, when Chettiar reaches the temple expecting a red carpet welcome, he is humiliated by the crowd and driven away. He later finds out that in the leaflet his name has been printed as Kamanadhan Chettiar and that Yoganada has been deliberately misspelt as Bogananda. When an explanation is called for, Kandaswamy tells the manager, “I only followed the original, sir”. The manager asks, “Does the original talk of Panchali’s prostitution?”
And Kandasami proves that he has been true to the real original!
“Yes! Of course! The real original is Mahabharata; and not this hand written piece of paper. In the original Mahabharata, Panchali was wife to five men. She was also in love with Karnan. That is how the epic depicts her. And so as per the epic original instead of writing Panchali Swayamvaram I felt it should be composed ‘Panchali prostitution.’ Not only that ……. This Chettiyar is ‘Kama’ to the core. That is his life’s original. That is why I composed ‘Kamanandhan Chettiyar.’ The swami supposed to deliver lecture is a Baktha only in the morning but at night he is a Bhoga cat. I didn’t want to change the original truth and that is why I composed ‘Swami Bogananda’.
The title, the setting, the opening paragraph, the narration, the characterization, the word-play and the ending contribute to the artistic success of the story.
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