In the Land of God’s Own Country

A daughter of the village Umuofia was killed by the people of the neighouring village. The village elders imposed penalty of a daughter and a boy on the village for the murder. In the event of non compliance there would be war. The village knew very well that they were no match for Umuofia if there would be war. They gave a daughter and a boy. The daughter was given in marriage to the person whose wife was killed. The boy was given to Okonkwo, a warrior with titles and a respectable member of the community.

The boy Ikemefuna stayed with the family of Okonkwo. And he was forgotten. The boy grew up and earned affection from Okonkwo’s son, wife and from Okonkwo himself. He called him father and also almost forgot his own parents. But after three years Umuofia decided to kill him, the Oracle of the hills and the Caves pronounced it. He was taken to the caves. The voice of Oracle could not be defied. The fact of his going to be killed was hidden from him. He was told he would go to his village and returned to his parents. It was difficult on his part and on the part of Okonkwo’s family to be separated. Now he remembered his sister who was only three when he left her. He would be six by now.

While going in the deep forest a man of the group leading him hit him with his matchet. Ikemefuna looked back and said to Okonkwo, “My father, they have killed me.” Okonkwo drew his matchet and cut him down. He killed him lest he be known weak….

I was reading the novel Things Fall Apart of Chinua Achebe. I had read this novel thirty-thirty five years back. When I went to Kerala I picked up this book to read again while traveling and during my leisure. From here I could not read further. The scene moved me. The innocence of the boy killed and the helplessness of   Okonkwo imprisoned in traditions and beliefs disturbed me. I was lost in a trance.

I was reclining on the bed and reading the book. I heard a noise, rather song from outside. I was put up in a hotel on the Kovalam beach. In the night I slept hearing the sound of the waves dashing the coast. The noise / song woke me up from reverie. I went outside and saw a group of fishermen pulling the rope of the net spread over a big patch of the sea and while pulling, they were singing a song in rhythm.

The sight of the fishermen catching fish with the fishnet reminded me of the famous novel Cheemeen of Thakazhi S. Pillai. I had read it also thirty-thirty five years back. I still remember the characters Pareekutti and Karuthamma and the community which was also bound by taboos and traditions.

It is said a writer does not belong to a country or a region; he is a citizen of the world. And so also, a lover of literature. Nigeria is far away from Kerala coast, the distance being a few thousand miles and the story is of a society that happened in nineteenth century, but it moved a person sitting in Kerala in the second decade of twenty first century. Odisha is also far away from Kerala, but the person still remembers the story of Pareekutti. The story connects people and makes understand each other.

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There is a saying in Odisha, Laxmi and Saraswati do not live together in a house. In general, tax people do not have a taste for literature. For, they are worshipers of Laxmi. Since Laxmi resides in their houses, Saraswati has no place. But Kerala is an exception. Monsur, an Assistant Commissioner has a taste for literature and has respect for litterateurs. He was glad to learn that I am a writer. So also Dr Ramalingam, an Associate professor in Gulati Institue of Finance and Taxation (GIFT). He introduced me to Dr C.S. Venkiteswaran. Venkiteswaran is a writer. We did not have time to discuss  literature, but we exchanged phone numbers and e mail IDs to be in touch. This was my third visit to Kerala. I had earlier met Lalitha Madam, Shyama madam, Thomas, Professors in GIFT and also Thygaraj Babu, now Deputy Commissioner. I was glad to see them again.

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Commercial Tax Department, Kerala had arranged a boat cruise for the delegates in Kollam. It was a nice experience. Officers/delegates from different states speaking different languages sitting under the same roof of the boat house, gossiping and enjoying the boat ride on the still backwater. Kollam is seventy kms from Kovalam. There is a saying in Odia the cleanliness of a village can be known from the ghat where the washerman washes the clothes. The richness of the state can be known from the street side villages. Unlike other states, one cannot find a village on the street side from Kovalam to Kollam. One town begins soon after the end of the other and every where there is greenery, soothing to the eyes and mind. On the way at one place the driver of the car I was traveling slowed and threw some coins at a mosque. I knew Murugan, the driver was a Hindu. I asked, “You are a Hindu, but why did you put coins at a mosque?” He said, “A driver while driving on the road puts coins at temple or mosque or at a church, if he comes across on the way. All are temples for me where God resides. ” I remember Kerala is the first state in the world to have elected a communist party to form the government. But the people have respect for all religions.

                                (Murugan, the driver and Gopinath, the protocol officer)

                                                         

A person is judged by the books he has kept on his shelf

I do not remember the exact date, but it was a rainy day in the first week of August. I had received a call letter to appear in an interview for the post of lecturer in Alaka Mahavidyalaya. I started from Bhubaneswar in the morning and reached Basantpur that falls around ten kms before Jagatsingpur around 10 AM. Then I was completely shattered, frustrated and also angry with myself. I had been unsuccessful in many competitive exams. I had not been able to get a respectable job.

There was no pacca road to Alaka Mahavidyalaya from Basantpur which is nearly one and half kms; it was muddy that I had to walk; the rain in the morning had made it worse. The condition of the road was depressing that further worsened my black mood.

Gangadhar Rath, the president and founder of the college was himself in the interview board. Besides him, the other members were Binapani Mohanty, the eminent writer, Basant Das, a reader in Psychology, then serving in a government college, and the principal of the college. Rath asked me the first question, “Who is responsible for partition of India?”

I could guess the background of such a question. Then, the thirty remaining pages of the book of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, India Wins freedom had been made public. Maulana Abul Kalam Azad had made a will not to publish the thirty pages until thirty years of his death. Thirty years ended and the unpublished pages were made public. There was accusing fingers at Nehru for certain decisions and statements; otherwise, partition could have been averted. There was much discussion in the newspapers and magazines on the issue. Almost every day there was an article in any of the newspapers or magazines.

I said, “No single leader should be held responsible for the partition. The existing social conditions, certain political decisions, ‘divide and rule’ policy of the foreign rulers, certain events and many more factors taken together are responsible for the partition. We cannot say a single leader or a single event caused it…”

He did not seem to be pleased with the answer and perhaps thought, I was evading the main issue. He asked, “If we are to zero in one person, who will be that person?”

I answered, “We cannot hold one person responsible. Rather, we may hold all leaders, including even Gandhi, responsible for the partition…”

He was rather shocked, “Even Gandhi? How?”

I explained, “Not knowingly he did, but unconsciously his actions and his sayings alienated the Muslims from the Hindus. For example, he was saying he wanted a ram rajya, the concept of ram rajya did not appeal the muslims. When there was a discussion between Hindus and Muslims, Gandhi always invited Jinha, thereby accepting him as the leader of the muslims. Since Gandhi gave importance to Jinha by inviting him, he was accepted by the muslims as their leader. In the process, nationalist leaders like Mualana Azad were ignored by the common muslims….”

Rath did not look pleased. He asked a few more questions. All those went through the same way. I thought I failed in this interview also.

Dark clouds were floating on the sky. Though rain had stopped, but as condition of the sky indicated, it would rain anytime.  I wanted to have a cup of tea and then, after taking tea I would go to Basantpur to get a bus back to Bhubaneswar as soon as possible. I went to the tea shop that was near the college gate. I was taking tea when the college peon came and told, the principal had sent him to say to wait till the interview was over. The president wanted to meet me.

I waited. Rath said, “Will you join the college if you are selected?”

I said, “I have come all the way for this job. How could I not join?”

He said, “You are a good student. You may leave.”

I said, “I have been unsuccessful in many competitive exams. I have not applied for anything which will give me a job within one year, if at all I am selected. I assure you I shall stay here at least one year.”

He said, “Okay. You will get the appointment letter within one week.”

Later, I learnt from others in the college, Gangadhar Rath loved three things. One, the student should be good and well read. Two, he should speak with confidence whatever he says and third, he loved tall boys. More or less he found all the three in me.

Gangadhar Rath loved books and library. The library of the college is Subrat Memorial Library, named after his departed son. He had received a large donation from his wife Dr Nirupama Rath to build the library, and himself had donated almost his entire collection of books. It is said a person is judged by the books he has kept on his shelf. The books he donated varies from classics like Tolstoy’s Anna Karenia or Dostovesky’s Crime and Punishment to Nirad Chaudhury’s Autobiography of an Unknown Indian or J P Dalvi’ s Himalayan Blunder, and also thrillers.

He himself every year purchased books for the library. He asked the lecturers of all the departments to give lists of books for their respective departments. I gave the list of books for the History department. He had handed over the lists to the supplier. One day he came to the college, called me and said, “What list you have given? First, the books are not available here and second, the books are very expensive.”

I replied, “The books to be bought for the library are not only for the students, but also for the teachers. The teachers need to read to teach better.”

He pointed out one of the list and said, “Do you know how much this book cost? More than two hundred and fifty…”

That book was Modern India: The Origins of an Asian Democracy by Judith Brown. I had read that book. I told, “This is a good book. She has written the book and interpreted Indian history with a different approach. She has discussed how culture or tradition affects historical events. For example, Gandhi gave a call for non violent movement. But it is a culture of the forest people to move always with an axe or bow and arrow. When they participated in the movement, the movement turned violent. Their grievance was not foreign rule per se, but against the forest laws…” and I told some other things that was in the book.

Rath told the supplier to get the books from wherever those were available. Not only that, he also he found time to read the book and remarked, “An excellent work, but I don’t have the scope to know.”

 Besides books and library, his other interests were in flowers and garden. He had designed the college garden himself. That was one of the best garden any college of the state had at the time. He planned the garden and arranged the plants and trees in such a way one could find flowers at any time of the year. The garden was at its best in winter.

Rath was an eminent lawyer. He was Advocate General for the state for two terms, perhaps, the longest serving Advocate General. But he was a man who loved books and flowers, had love for good students, respect for the writers and poets. He had written his autobiography and a few books including a collection of stories. Had he not entered into legal profession, he might have become a great writer.

I stayed in that college for two years, one month and seven days.

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Award/Reward, etc

                                                            (Poet Pallavi Nayak, sitting first from the left)

This year, Anandpur Lekhak Samabaya Samiti, constituting with fourteen literary organizations of the Sub Division, felicitated young poet Pallavi Nayak in its annual function. I have read Pallavi’s poems and I liked the poems. I have  come across her poems in the literary page of daily newspapers and magazines during last two or two and half years only. She is yet to publish her first book of poems.

Recently, C. Radhakrisnan of Malayalam literature had come to Katha annual function. He told about his writing. He wrote a novel when he was only 17. After he finished his novel he did not know what to do with the novel or how to publish it. He came across an advertisement. Matrubhoomi had invited novels for a competition. He sent his novel to Matrubhoomi. After one year the result of the competition came out and his novel was adjudged first. The novel was serially published in the magazine, which gave him name, money and also pleasure. Subsequently, the novel was published as a book and the book also won him Kerala Sahitya Academy award.

Radhakrisnan has won Moortidevi award and has lived a life of a writer. He says what he is today he is because of his first novel and the rewards he won for it. There are many instances when a writer’s first book has won him/her awards. Ruskin Bond had also written a novel at 17. That is, the Room on the Roof that won him an international award. Jhumpa Lahiri’s first book, Interpreter of Maladies had won the prestigious Pulitzer Prize.

But this is not the tradition in Odisha. Young writers are normally ignored. Something other than merit is sometimes considered for an award. Achyutananda Pati, the eminent writer was awarded Sarala Samman in 2013 when he was  87. His first story was published in 1952 in Asanta Kali, the reputed magazine of the time, so the award cane to him after 61 years of his first story published. In reaction to the award he said, I should first thank the Yamaraj who had not taken my life and allowed me to live to receive this award.

Anadapur Lekhak Samabaya Samiti’s gesture is an exception and what I know, perhaps, first of its kind. It’s definitely a welcome move and I hope, they will continue with this and create a tradition of felicitating the young and the worthy.  The felicitation will, no doubt, encourage Pallavi in her literary pursuits.

Awards given to writers often land in controversy. It is alleged that awards are not given to the right person or the right book, something other than merit is considered by the members of the jury deciding the award. A few years back there was much controversy over Kendra Sahitya Akedemy award given to an Odia novelist and a case was also filed in the High Court. Wrong selection for the award does more disservice to literature than any good. The Kendra Sahitya Akedemy award winning books are translated into other languages. A person of the other language when will read the book as an award winning novel and finds it not worth reading he would think reading the book a waste of time and money. That gives a bad impression of the literature of the language which the award winning book represents.

Now it is said, young people have no interest in literature. This is a myth. The number of Chetan Bhagat’s book or Arundhoti Roy’s The God of Small Things sold in Odisha is more than any Odia book. The fact is that interest in literature in young people has not diminished, but Odia books do not sell. The reason given is that parents now send their children to English medium schools and the boys/girls forget Odia. That is also another myth. One will find many old people who have mastered Bengli or Hindi to read literature in those languages. The mother tongue or the language they speak in their families is Odia. If a person can master Bengli or Hindi which is not their mother tongue to read literature, a boy or girl who speaks Odia in his/her family, though taught in English medium, can’t learn Odia to read Odia literature?

Here I would like to narrate an anecdote. A few years back a computer professional was working in our department. He is a Bengli and a lover of literature. When he learnt I was a writer, he was very happy to work with me. He requested me to give him one of my books. I gave him one novel. During his stay here in Odisha he learnt Odia and read the book. Last time, one year back he talked to me and said sometimes when he came across an Odia magazine he bought it to read the stories.

A book lover normally is tempted to buy the book which has won an award or the books of the author who has won awards. If the award is given to the wrong person or to the wrong book, the reader feels cheated and gets disappointed. He will lose interest in literature. Awards should be given to the right person, to the right book and also at the right time.

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Glimpses from Imphal

While traveling from airport to the city one gets the impression that Imphal is a city under construction. The footpaths are dusty; the brick walls of three or four story houses on both sides of the road are not cement plastered or coloured. The bricks used in the walls are visible. But most of the houses are single storied and tin-roofed. One noticeable feature is the women selling vegetables, fruits, fish and other goods; one does not find a man selling on the footpath.

On the way to Loktak Lake one comes across armed police standing at every hundred or two hundred metres.  That reminds me of Irom Sharmila who has been on hunger strike since 2000, more than fourteen years protesting against killing of civilians at a bus stop, known as ‘Malom Massacre’ allegedly by Assamese Rifles and against AFSFA [Armed Forces (Special Forces) Act, 1959]. Then Sharmila was 28, and now at 42. Her youth has been spent on fasting and protesting for a cause. The presence of armed police is intimidating for visitors like us. The driver Nelo Singh, perhaps, guessed our discomfiture, and said, “Don’t be afraid, they are paid ; they have to guard to justify their salary.”

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(Loktak Lake)

Loktak Lake is the largest freshwater lake in North East India. It’s situated near Moirang, forty five kms away from Imphal. It’s also known as ‘Floating Paradise’. While climbing the hill at Loktak, a person standing in a corner, pointed to Nelo Singh the detached mudguard of the Bolero he was driving. Parking the vehicle on the hill top Nelo noticed it and wanted to get it fixed while we would have a look at the Lake. After nearly half an hour we got back to the place where we had left Nelo and found the person who had pointed out the detached mudguard. He was in tracksuit and holding a few tourist books on north east. He introduced himself as Vinod Patel from London.

He said, “I am originally from Modiland i.e Gurarat. My father was a British civil servant in Kenya. I was born in Kenya. When Kenya got independence from the British we were treated as foreigners, and asked to leave the country. We had to leave, and leave everything in Kenya, our property and all. We came to UK as pauper. In UK we are also not treated as equals to the British citizens. I am a person who cannot have emotional claim of a land as his own. Neither UK nor India, and we are driven out from the country where I was born.”

Vinod Patel, besides English, speaks manageable Hindi and fluent Gujarati. He says, though they have been staying in foreign land before his birth (He is now at 63), their family language has been always Gujarati. He has visited almost whole of India. This year he is on north east tour. Then, he asked whether we were going to Kaibul Lamjao National Park to see sangai. Of course we did not have the plan. He said, “How could you return from Loktak without visiting the Park, only ten kms away and miss the chance of seeing sangai? You may not have another chance to come to Manipur.” Sangai is called the dancing deer. “It’s only seen in Manipur, nowhere else. It’s also an endangered species. If you miss the opportunity this time, you may not have a chance second time, even in your life. If you get a chance to come again from Odisha, the deer might have become extinct by then.” He added. We were influenced. We decided to go. Then, he requested to take him in our vehicle. We agreed.

He did most of the talking and we listened. In fact, he became our leader and in a way, hijacked us. We reached the park, bought tickets for him and also for the vehicle and reached the spot. We did not find a deer; only a long stretch of tall grass where they told the deer lived. In a board, we saw the picture of the deer only and read, in the last count in 2013, the number of deer survived was only 204. It was 12 noon when we reached. This was not the time a deer could be noticed. We were told by a forest official posted there that we could see in the morning only and that was possible if we would have stayed the previous night there. We had to be satisfied with seeing the habitat of the deer.

We returned and dropped Mr Patel on our way back at Loktak. We spent extra Rs 750/ the driver charged for our journey to the National Park and for the tickets. The next day we met him in the dining room during breakfast. We asked when he returned the previous day. He replied at 10 in the night and said, he happened to meet a doctor who took him to a few beautiful places. We realized how he could he have enticed the doctor. He is a true tourist who loves to see the places and the things. He does not carry a camera, or a mobile phone. He says, “Everything is captured in my mind.”

                                                         (Vinod Patel in the middle)

*****

In the Sahitya Akademy function, a lunch was arranged by the functionaries of Manipur Sahitya Akademy. The lunch contained dry fish curry. Of course, I love dry fish, and we eat at home, but the preparation of the curry was not to my liking. We could not relish it. In Odisha, dry fish is not served in any feast. I asked about dry fish to our driver Nelo Singh. He said, people in Manipur are fond of dry fish. Dry fish of different quality is sold. The price varies from Rs 300/ per kg to Rs 1000/. At the viewpoint of Kaibul Lamjao National Park we found some labourers preparing their mid day meal. We found they had boiled rice and dry fish chutney for their lunch.  

*****

We were told to visit at least Kangla Fort and Ima market in Imphal. Kangla, situated in the heart of Imphal city, was the capital of Manipur. Kangla was the royal palace since the reign of Pakhamba who ascended the throne in 33 AD. It was a seat of political power as well as a holy place for religious worship and ceremonies. Kangla has grown into a fortress through centuries. There is a moat surrounding the fortress. Inside the fort situated Sri Govindjee Temple and Ibudhou Pakhambagi Sanglen. Sri Govindjee Temple was built in 1846 AD. It was damaged in an earthquake in 1868 AD. Later, it is reconstructed. The priest at Ibudhou Pakhambagi Sanglen said, this has been the deity worshipeed by the people before Hinduism entered into Manipur. The deities look like Radha and Krisna.

                                             (Ibudhou Pakhambagi Sanglen)

Ima Keithal or mother market is entirely run by women. ‘Ima’ in Manipuri means mother and ‘keithal’ means market, it’s known as Ima market. There are around four thousand women stalls in this market. It is said, this is the only market in the world to be entirely managed by women. One cannot find a single man selling goods here. Even there are a few male buyers. They sell clothes and handicraft, shawls, bedspreads, fish, vegetables, utensils, etc and also dry fish. We noticed at one place a woman selling cockroaches along with dry fish. Ima market is more than hundred years old and it shows the dominance of women in Manipuri society.

*****

We three (Gour, Prdeep and myself) are staying in Bhubaneswar, but we hardly meet each other. We are busy in our own work. First time, perhaps after fifteen years, we had the chance of having all the time for ourselves after we reached Bhubaneswar airport on 21^st December till 26^th December. We could freely talk completely free of any worldly worry. Pradeep met Jyotirekha Hazarika, a poet from Assam after ten years. He had met her ten years back when she had come to Odisha. Jyotirekha presented him with a red scarf which he fondly wore on his shoulder. On our way back we had to stay a night at Kolkata, and enjoyed wandering on the street with jhalmudhi and sandesh.

                                                          *****