|
Magazine
South of the Vindhyas
|
One of David Davidar's special triumphs lies in the fact that his characters are real and their way of life is like that in any Tamil village with its social strata and caste clashes, says S. KRISHNAN.
|
TEN years in gestation and three years in the writing, David Davidar's The House of Blue Mangoes was definitely worth waiting for. Its manifold merits include one, which seems worthy of special mention — it is the first novel in decades about the Tamil country and the Tamil people (with the exception of that non pareil R.K. Narayan's fiction) which is coming out in several international editions — 10 at the last count, I believe.
Davidar creates an imaginary village in the deep South, Chevathar, which he populates with his imaginary creatures belonging to several imaginary castes. The fact that all his characters are all Christians makes no difference - their lifestyle is the same as that of any real caste, belonging to any religion. In fact, one of Davidar's special triumphs lies in the fact that his characters are so real and their way of life is like that in any Tamil village with its own social strata and caste clashes.
The novel is a saga of the Dorai family and begins in 1899 with the thalaivar, Solomon Dorai trying to keep the people of the village together. He is a strong man but now has to watch his grip slipping away. His life and this part of the novel end in gruesome violence. I should mention that Davidar successfully manages to etch in the political background and the Chevathar caste clashes are typical of the time especially before the advent of World War I. Solomon's son, Aaron, becomes a revolutionary who is totally weakened by the torture the British inflict on him and he dies. Davidar again goes to actual history, makes Aaron a member of the revolutionary group that assassinates the Tinnevelly Collector Ashe.
The other son, Daniel, makes a packet of money as a druggist and his bleaching oil becomes extremely popular all over the Madras Presidency. He has the big dream of bringing his relatives and friends from the same caste, together in one place and he conceives of a settlement, which would be named Doraipuram. This he accomplishes with a great garish centrepiece of a house with 50-odd rooms. Kannan, son of Daniel and representative of the third generation, gets western style education, gets a job with one of the planters and also marries much against his father's will. This section of the novel has as its political background the nationalist struggle, culminating in the Quit India movement. Kannan is comfortable first with the British tea planters but slowly starts thinking about racism and colonisation. He gives up his job and returns to settle down in Doraipuram.
This is a very bald account of a novel of more than 400 pages, which teems with a multitude of characters. I thought the Britishers were particularly well done — the liberal planter who is sympathetic to the national struggle as well as the thorough die-hard who makes no secret of his contempt for India — they are all here.
Davidar started as a journalist and later became a publisher and he puts to good use the experience gathered from both professions. He has intimate knowledge of the terrain he writes about, whether it is the hot and torrid plain or the green and salubrious tea country. The characters he has created are so real that one has the feeling one has met them before. One of the best things about the novel is the vignettes of scenes in town and country.
A special feature of David's writing is his refusal to put Tamil words in italics or give their translation. As a result, quite mercifully, the book does not include a glossary. His way is to let meanings of exotic words be understood from the context. As he said to an interviewer: "When I use Tamil in the book, I am not trying to prove I am a Tamilian. I might not know the fancy French dish mentioned in a French novel but I know the character is eating something."
Davidar's book seems to be selling well. Certainly the author is making waves and has been interviewed in the national media. I welcome the book as a very honest attempt to come to grips with the Tamil psyche. Irrelevantly I should add his description of the festive occasions and the meals provided.
Davidar's style is lyrical without being maudlin. Why the blue mango of the title when everybody knows that there is no such thing? Actually, there is a well-known variety called neelum and a great big tree that provides the fruit is an attraction of the Neelum Illam that Daniel builds. The quest to judge other varieties that Daniel undertakes is one of the most pleasant sections of the book and is representative of the immense research Davidar has done to make sure there were no errors — I couldn't spot any. Let me be maudlin and say the book is a sheer delight.
The House of Blue Mangoes, David J. Davidar, Viking in association with Weidenfield and Nicholson, p.421, Rs. 395.
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Magazine
|
