DIFFERENT REGISTERS
Issues that echo across time and space
BY C.S. LAKSHMI
THERE are some authors you remember only for certain works of theirs, for, those works are linked to certain phases of your life in a unique way. I remember, for instance, sitting one afternoon, in the Tamil section of the National Library in Kolkata in 1972 or so and going through their collection of Tamil books. Because of the rains I had taken a taxi that day which I could ill afford, only to realise that the glass windows of the taxi could not be raised. So I was continuously splashed with water, driving down fast on inundated roads. I reached the library even more drenched than I would have been had I taken the tram and I still had a lot of books to go through. Old, unbound books whose pages had gone yellow and brittle with time surrounded me. And I had not succeeded in drying myself fully.
The discovery
That was when I discovered Muthumeenakshi of A. Madhaviah. I read it through and felt as if I was alone with him in the room discussing the book, telling him where I agreed and where I didn't. I forgot that I was still wet and in danger of catching the worst cold of my life. Muthumeenakshi is about a widow remarrying and is a kind of indictment of blind, inhuman orthodoxy that treated women as if they had no personal desires and feelings. Reading the book excited me so much that I had to share it with someone who knew all about modern Tamil literature. I remember I sat and wrote an excited letter about it to a literary critic friend of mine in Delhi who had initiated me into reading modern Tamil writers. During the same field trip I also read Padmavathi Charithiram of A. Madhaviah. I had also made it a point to find out about other books he had written but I never made the effort to read what he wrote in English. I had taken the trouble to read Krubai Sathianadhan Ammal's original English versions of her novels Kamala and Saguna after I had read the Tamil versions. But in the case of A. Madhaviah the urge to read what he wrote in English may not have been there because maybe I got so involved with Muthumeenakshi and Padmavathi Charithiram. Those days, I was in a mood to demolish even writers who were sympathetic to the plight of women, for, I could discern so many hidden prejudices, living in 1972. My resentment was highest when authors introduced noble hearted young men who "sacrificed" their lives to marry a widow "to give her a new life" or when they became saviours of women in distress. I had my complaints against A. Madhaviah also. That is how I must have missed reading his English novel Clarinda. And now, after so many years, it has been republished by Sahitya Akademi, edited with an introduction by Lakshmi Holmstrom. And reading it tells you so much about the way he researched and the way he wrote.
An unusual life
Clarinda is the fictionalised version of a real woman who lived more than 200 years ago. She lived during the time of the Maratha Rajas in Tanjore. She had an unusual life to say the least, for, she was a Brahmin who lived with an Englishman whom she had married in an unconventional manner. She began to believe deeply in Christianity and erected a church in Palamcottah, where she lived later. With great difficulty she got herself baptised and got the church she erected consecrated and spent her life doing noble service among Christians even after the death of her husband. That a woman like her lived 200 years ago and that documents connected with her life exist is of great historical importance to anyone interested in social history. And yet, mainstream historians have never found it important to document her life and her struggles. As Lakshmi Holmstrom says in the introduction, A. Madhaviah could see the "complexities and dilemmas of inter-cultural and inter-religious encounters between Indians and the newly arrived English in the eighteenth century" reflected in Clarinda's story and he saw these "as profoundly relevant to his own time". Reading Clarinda, one feels that these issues are relevant even today.
More than a love story
Before beginning the novel, he tells us about two unnamed graves in a small cemetery enclosed by a masonry wall. In the northwest corner of the compound stands the small, plain church that Clarinda erected. The two unnamed graves are that of Clarinda and the Englishman she shared her life with. Madhaviah says East and West lie there side by side and indeed his story is about two persons from different cultures, from different religions who were bound by love. But Clarinda is not just a love story. It is a historical novel located in the 18th Century that tells us about individuals whose lives get enmeshed with the historical, social and cultural conflicts of the time. And as such, it is a document of great importance and the decision to republish it is a welcome one, for, certain documents need to be recreated for us to understand the context of present day conflicts and resolutions.
Admirable artistic instinct
The portion of the novel I enjoyed the most had to do with Clarinda's conversation with Madhava Rao, who is interested in living with her after her husband's death. Clarinda realises that what he was suggesting was a clandestine affair hidden from the public. She does not yet understand what love is and is not able to fully comprehend her own sexuality, but she has enough pride and education to understand that what he was suggesting would wipe her out as an individual. She has plans to handle her own stridhan but instead he was suggesting that she should stay within the four walls, happy to be his secret mistress. Clarinda speaks in clear terms about what she wants and who she is and what she thinks. Even though Srinivasa Sastri in his comments on the novel wonders if Madhaviah had infused her character with too much of Western ideas of love and relationships, he honestly admits that his knowledge of women is next to nil and that he would defer to Madhaviah's "superior knowledge and artistic instinct". It is this artistic instinct that makes this particular portion so acceptable in a fictional work located in the 18th Century. .
Reading an English novel first published in 1915 is an experience in itself. Clarinda is particularly so, for, A. Madhaviah writes translating proverbs and adages in Sanskrit and Tamil in quite an amazing manner. One immediately links it to the original version. Like the line "Kali is ripening" which occurs often and knowing its Tamil version helps us to grasp its meaning and mode of translation. One is also able to understand and appreciate the novel and its context because of the excellent introduction and well-researched notes provided by Lakshmi Holmstrom. If people do not appreciate such republishing efforts I can only say kali is ripening.
C.S. Lakshmi is an independent researcher and a writer. She writes in Tamil under the pseudonym Ambai. She is the founder-trustee and director of SPARROW (Sound and Picture Archives for Research on Women).
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