A scintillating parade

Photos: Translator AJ Thomas; Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, Lalithambika Antharjanam and M. Mukundan

Translator and Editor Dr. AJ Thomas talks about the anthology he has curated titled 'The Greatest Malayalam Stories Ever Told'

By Shevlin Sebastian

One afternoon in November, 2018, Aienla Ozukum, the Publishing Director at Aleph Book Company, walked into the Delhi office of AJ Thomas, the editor of ‘Indian Literature’, a bi-monthly literary journal which is brought out by the Sahitya Akademi.

She told Thomas Aleph was planning to bring out a ‘Greatest Stories Ever Told’ series from all the regional languages. “Since Malayalam is one of the major literatures in India, Aienla wanted me to select and translate the stories into English,” says Thomas.

Immediately, Thomas realised it was a daunting task. But for Thomas, the Malayalam short story was his forte. His M. Phil and PhD dissertations were on the subject. And he has done several translations of notable books throughout his career.

Thomas won the Katha award for his translation of a story of author Paul Zacharia called Salam America. He translated Ujjaini, based on the life of Kalidasa by ONV Kurup, the legendary Malayalam poet. Thomas also translated noted Malayalam writer M. Mukundan’s novel, Keshavan’s Lamentations. This won the Vodafone Crossword Book Award in 2007.

The bespectacled Aienla asked him whether he could deliver the manuscript by January, 2020. Thomas agreed.

The span of selection was 50 years, from the 1950s to 2000s. The first Malayalam short story, ‘Vasana Vikriti’ (Strange Stirrings), was written by essayist Kesari Vengayil Kunhiraman Nayanar in 1891. It appeared in the literary magazine ‘Vidya Vinodini’. “But the serious, well-formed short stories began to appear in the 1930s,” says Thomas.

He based most of his selection on two books. The first one was ‘100 Varsham 100 Kadha’ (Hundred Years, Hundred Stories), which came out in 1991, to celebrate the centenary of the Malayalam short story. Professor KS Ravi Kumar, the former Pro Vice Chancellor of the Sree Sankaracharya University of Sanskrit, curated the stories. The second was author NS Madhavan’s ‘60 Kathakal’ (Sixty Stories). This came out in 2017, commemorating the 60th year of the birth of the state of Kerala. Thomas also relied on several notable previous anthologies, and literary periodicals of the past several decades as well.

The Aleph anthology comprises 50 stories. All the great authors are represented. They include P Keshavadev, Ponkunnam Varkey, Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, SK Pottekkatt, Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai, Uroob, MT Vasudevan Nair, OV Vijayan, T. Padmanabhan, M. Mukundan, Kakkanadan, Paul Zacharia and several others. Expectedly, the quality remains superb throughout.

Some of the female writers include Lalithambika Antharjanam, K. Saraswathi Amma, Rajalakshmi, Madhavikutty, Sara Joseph, and Manasi.

Lalithambika’s stunning story, ‘Dhirendu Majumdar’s Mother’ is about Shanti Majumdar, the mother of a revolutionary, who herself becomes a heroine during the partition of Bengal and India in 1947, and the Bangladesh Liberation war of 1971.

OV Vijayan’s story, ‘The Hanging’, talks about a father visiting his son in a prison a day before he was hanged.

Here is an excerpt:

‘An intense keening issued from Kandunni, a wail so high-pitched and shrill, it was on the edge of auditory perception.

“Appa, don’t let them hang me.”

“Time’s up, Sir. Please come out.”

Vellaayiappan walked out of the cell and the door clanged shut. When he looked back, he saw his son looking at him from behind the bars as a stranger might from behind the barred window of a train hurtling past.’

P Padmarajan is known for his novels and films. But he has written a short story called Choonda (The Hook). It is about an old man sitting by the side of a pond trying to hook a varal (murrel). He has a 38-year-old daughter who is not married. She goes on cursing him for going to the pond daily and returning empty-handed. One day, the old man finally catches a murrel. The story ends with these lines: ‘A thought gave him great relief. That day, for the first time in the last five days, he could sleep without listening to cursing.’

“It’s a fantastic story,” says Thomas. “There is a superb creation of atmosphere.”

Asked whether there is a difference between the older and current writers, Thomas says, “There is no difference. There are only different ways of story-telling. I selected stories that read well.”

Thomas had interesting experiences while dealing with the writers or their heirs to get their permission.

Thomas called up the multiple award-winning writer T. Padmanabhan, who is 92.

“What will I gain?” said Padmanabhan in a playful tone. “Will I be around when the book comes out? What is the use? What am I worth?”

Thomas said, “You are the greatest living Malayalam short story writer.”

Padmanabhan said, “Who says that?”

“Sir, I am saying it,” replied Thomas.

Padmanabhan laughed.

“His clarity of mind was amazing,” said Thomas.

Most were happy that they were selected for an English edition.

But many writers remained in obscurity during their lifetimes. They include writers like TR (T Ramachandran), Victor Leenus and Thomas Joseph. “They set a different tone,” says Thomas. “You read their stories and you become aware of other realms. Thomas Joseph is a surreal painter with words.”

Joseph had high blood pressure. On September 15, 2018, Joseph suffered a stroke while asleep at his home in Keezhmad, Aluva. The family took him to the Rajagiri Hospital. Since they could not afford to pay the medical expenses, his literary friends, including the writers Paul Zacharia, AK Hassan Koya, and others, including Thomas, pooled their resources. After being released, Joseph spent three years in a coma before he passed away, on July 29, 2021, at the age of 67.

The tragedy, says Thomas, is that when society loses a great writer, nobody is bothered. “Everybody goes after celebrated authors like MT Vasudevan Nair and ONV Kurup,” he says. “I have nothing against these great writers, only admiration. In music, people will celebrate singers like Yesudas. But there are also superb writers like TR and Victor Leenus, whom the public is not aware of. These are the people who, like the great Irish writer James Joyce, worked on the margins. That is why I took pains to include these immortals in this collection.”

The public is no longer bothered about the aesthetic quality of a literary work. “Earlier generations valued art and literature,” says Thomas. “Literature no longer touches people. They seem to be in another world. They are going ahead at a fast pace. The common man does not have the time to stop and look around. They regard literature and the arts as a luxury. To appreciate art, you need time and a meditative mood. Those things are no longer there. Having said that, there is also a minority which is deeply interested in these subjects.”

As to why so many Malayalam writers are being translated into English, Thomas says, “The quality of the writing is very good. This is widely known now. The opening for Malayalam literature into the wider world through English translation happened when Arundhati Roy won the Booker Prize for ‘The God of Small Things’ in 1997, even though it was an English book set in Kerala.”

Thomas also mentioned that the quality of translators has increased significantly. “Translators like Jayasree Kalathil, EV Fathima, Ministhy S and many others are of international standard,” says Thomas. “This has helped create a market for Malayalam books in translation.”

As for the modernist style in Malayalam fiction, Thomas says, “The earliest model of Modernism existed till the early 1970s. Thereafter, there was the Post-Modern period and After Post-Modernism. These are subjective descriptions.”

From the 1990s, the scope of the story changed, says Thomas. “After the liberalisation of the Indian economy, the advent of the information superhighway, the rise of the Internet and social media, these are the new experiences,” he says. “All this is expressed in the writing these days.”

Asked what elements have to be there in a story to make it timeless, Thomas says, “It should be life-affirming. It cannot be a story glorifying Hitler, for instance, or genocide. There should be aesthetic appeal. It should appeal to the intellect. There should be an original voice and fresh experiences. The narrative style is important. It should be tight and competent.”

Thomas is working on a companion volume of stories by writers mainly from the 1990s till the present. He mentions the names of K P Ramanunni, S. Hareesh, Benyamin, KR Meera, B. Murali, Unni R, VJ James, Vinoy Thomas, Subhash Chandran, Santhosh Aechikkanam, VR Sudheesh, E Santhosh Kumar, and a few others.

“They belong to the New Wave of Malayalam short story writers,” says Thomas.

(An edited version was published in The Federal)

Many thanks to 'The Fourth' for this moving interview with VK Thajudheen, the protagonist of 'The Stolen Necklace'

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49bkqrmOVCM

At Death’s Final Stop

Manikarnika Ghat. Photo by Dennis Jarvis

Radhika Iyengar’s debut non-fiction work, ‘Fire on the Ganges: Life Among the Dead in Banaras’, takes an in-depth look at the much-maligned community of the Doms. They have been cremating the dead for centuries

By Shevlin Sebastian

As Radhika Iyengar walked through the narrow lane leading to the Manikarnika Ghat in Banaras, she heard a rhythmic chant. It rose and fell. The people were chanting ‘Ram Naam Satya Hai’ (God’s name is the truth).

She stood at one side of the ghat. It is one of the oldest burning ghats on the banks of the Ganges. An inscription about the ghat dating from the 5th century AD Gupta Empire has been found.

Radhika saw several pyres burning at the same time. A few brown-skinned men were lighting other pyres. They were, of course, the Doms. Smoke rose in the air. On the ground, she saw a lot of ash. At one side, a barber was shaving the face of a mourner. On another side, there was a tea stall.

Some men, with bent backs, brought logs into the area. Every few minutes, pall bearers brought bodies on bamboo biers. Stray dogs wandered about. Several men sat on their haunches and watched the proceedings. Out on the surface of the Ganges, Radhika could see marigold garlands floating.

“It was a spell-binding experience,” she said. In 2015, she had come to Banaras to do a report on the Dom community for her thesis project. At the time, Radhika was doing her Masters in Journalism at Columbia University.

Little did she know then that she would come many times, as the idea crystallised to do a book on the community of Doms. They belong to the Dalit community. Society considers them as an untouchable caste. For centuries, their primary job has been the cremation of bodies. There is a belief Doms should cremate upper-caste Hindus if they are to attain moksha (relief from the cycle of rebirth).

“A Dom’s work is highly skilled,” said Radhika. “It is also dangerous and underpaid. Since it is a profession that is anchored in the caste system, the work is passed down from father to son. For many Dom families, there are no alternative work opportunities.”

What pained Radhika was the humiliating way the upper castes treated them.

A few children from the community sometimes accompanied Radhika to the ghat. They would avoid a route that had a small temple. Instead, they would request Radhika to take another way. Later, she realised the children avoided that alley, because the priest would shoo them away. They could not be near the temple premises. “It was unsettling to learn that,” she said.

Radhika also perceived the huge psychological effect this had on the children. “They had no means to cope and no language to express their angst,” she said.

The children also saw dead bodies from an early age. One boy told Radhika that he was only five years old when he saw a corpse. After that, for weeks, the dead man’s face would haunt him in his dreams.

Even the adult Doms went through trying times. The labour was very hard. On summer days, with the heat from the pyre and the climatic heat, it took a toll on their health. Radhika said they could not afford proper medical care. Their burns and wounds went untreated. To see a doctor, they sometimes borrowed money to pay the bills. This led them into debt.

And to cope, they consumed large amounts of alcohol, gutka and ganja. “They do it to forget the stark reality of the work they do, and the lives they lead,” said Radhika.

It took courage and determination by Radhika to befriend the members of the community. She found it easier to talk to the women. “My frequent visits to Chand Ghat made me a familiar face,” she said. “The more time I spent with them, the more they realised I was serious about my work.”

The men were not forthcoming initially. “I was a stranger from a different city. They were also not used to having a woman asking questions about their work or their lives.”

But Radhika persisted. She began writing the book in 2019 and completed it in 2023.

And interacting with the Doms affected Radhika. “Some stories they shared with me were raw and emotional,” she said. “It’s impossible not to be affected. But I tried to ensure that my opinions did not seep into the process of storytelling.”

The book, ‘Fire on the Ganges: Life Among the Dead in Banaras’ (HarperCollins Publishers) is an absorbing read. Radhika delves into the struggles, the sufferings, and the agonies of the Dom community.

The intense politics between family members, the jealousies, the anger, and the hate. Radhika described the financial hardships they faced and their problems with addiction. She also spoke about the difficulties of the new generation in moving away from this strenuous life and to try something new.

There is a youngster called Bhola. He had a great desire to study but was forced to stop in 2001 when he was seven years old because of poverty. In 2006 film-maker Vikram Mathur made a documentary on the Manikarnika Ghat and focused on the boys who ran around collecting the shrouds from the dead bodies. In 2009, an American named George Grey saw the premiere in New York. He felt he had to do something.

George and Vikram came to Banaras and offered to fund the education of the boys. The parents demurred saying they preferred their children work to earn some money. In the end, George agreed to pay Rs 1500 a month to the parents to make up for the loss of income the boys would have earned. And the boys, including Bhola, were enrolled in a school in Cholapur. It was a few hours away from Banaras. Later, Bhola graduated from a college in Ludhiana, and managed to get a job in Chennai. To his relief, nobody knows he belongs to the Dom community.

There is a story of Komal, a Brahmin girl, who fell in love with Lakshaya, a youngster of the Dom community. Lakshaya was studying in a school. Soon, neighbours came to know. Expectedly, there was fierce opposition from both families. But they ran through the gauntlet of fire for a few years before they got married.

The death of one male member, Sekond Lal, the husband of Dolly, had a searing impact on the community for several years. There was suspicion that two neighbours, Gopi and Bunty, had murdered him. But the family members said the police told them it was an accident.

Here is an excerpt:

‘In 2019, even though some years have passed since his death, a strange disquiet continues to linger in Dolly’s body. It makes its presence known whenever she speaks of Sekond Lal’s death or of those who she believes are his murderers. The disquiet manifests in the form of dry grunts, a widening of her eyes, and incessant name calling. Tired and alone, Dolly is consumed by feelings of anger, sadness, betrayal, and vengeance. She slings accusations at Gopi and Bunty routinely, and at times, she issues roaring threats. “I say this: those who have murdered my husband — the way they have stolen my youth, the same way their youth will be ruined.”

After you finish reading the book, you will look at the Dom community with new eyes. You would have seen them from the inside.

A possible future Hindi translation, available at Banaras, might remove the scales of prejudice from the eyes of the higher castes. At Manikarnika Ghat, they might even treat this much-maligned community with sympathy, respect and kindness.

(Published in The Federal)