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Book Review: Of Ghosts and Other Perils by Troilokyanath Mukhopadhyay

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By Troilokyanath Mukhopadhyay (original author in Bengali)

&

Arnab Bhattacharya (Trans.)

book Paperback: 288 pagesPublisher: Orient Blackswan (7 November 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 8125052348

ISBN-13: 978-8125052340

 

Reviewed by

Ketaki Datta

Bidhannagar College, Kolkata

Arnab Bhattacharya’s translation of Troilokyanath Mukhopadhyay’s selected stories into English titled Of Ghosts and Other Perils is a novel work. It is not an ordinary work of translation, but, hours of assiduous research have gone into it to make it transcend all barriers of ordinariness. And that is evident from his Foreword, Note on the Translation and a detailed ‘Critical’ Afterword. He makes his point clear as a responsible ‘translator’ in ‘A Note on Translation’:

In my translation, I have ‘bent’ the target language, i.e. English, to the source language, i.e. Bengali. My modest attempt has been to make my target language recognizably English, and also to make that English recognizably different in being inflected with Bengali cultural idioms. In a way, this is my subversive response as a postcolonial reader/translator to T.B. Macaulay’s project of making English-educated Indians comprise “ a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect” ( the thirty-fourth point of The Minute published on 2 February 1835). I have attempted to make my translation English “in blood and colour” , i.e. in texture, and Indian “ in tastes” i.e. in spirit. [xviii]

And, truly he does so. He retains a few words and phrases of vernacular intact just to keep back the ‘taste’ of native culture and ways of life. And, again some of the words in the original Bengali has a special connotation which no other English equivalent can match. He adds a detailed Glossary of Non-English Words/Phrases at the very outset, for the convenience of non-Bengali or non-Indian readers.

Trailokyanath had a touch of humour in all his stories on ghosts. And, that is really impossible to retain in an alien language. But Bhattacharya successfully achieves it with impeccable use of diction and style. Nowhere it seems to be just a translation as the two languages, translated from/into, have made to sound in unison. Naturally the jarring effect of translation, as we usually come across, is not seen here in this book.

Now, let us take a peep into the content of the book. He has translated seven long stories by Trailokyanath, namely, Birbala, Lullu, Nayanchand’s Business, The Pearl necklace, Smile on MadanGhosh’s face, A Story by Damrudhar and Another Story by Damrudhar. Each story is a class by itself. For example, Birbala’s story requires ‘word-to word’ translation to keep back the flavor of the original tale intact. And, the translator retains the charm of the original in his own way, by keeping the culture-specific words intact. In fact, in almost all the seven stories he follows the same technique, leaving the readers, here and abroad, with a genial feel of the indigenous ‘culture’ the writer portrays, so authentically. The confusing identities of Debisingha, Birbala’s attachment to Debisingha, and, the final union of the two needed a lively portrayal as the original, where any deviation from both the nuances of the language and the genuine appeal would have been fatal to the appreciation of the story. Thanks to the translator, he took no false step to mar the beauty of the original story. Lullu and Nayanchand’s Business have an intrinsic humour in narration. When Lullu is won over by Amir[whose wife had been taken away by the ghost who was a prospective bachelor on the lookout for a perfect match], Lullu’s plight tickles us to laughter when he agrees to run errands for Amir and even be with him forever just to be given a regular supply of ‘chandu’[ sort of addictive leaves] ! Do the ghosts really get addicted to doses of ‘opium’, to be precise? Is it not laughter-inducing to extract oil from a ghost’s body to utilize the same in some sensible way?

In this manner, in almost all the stories in this volume the ghosts engage themselves in laughter-provoking, sometimes again hair-raising antics which ultimately lead on to a disaster for themselves. And, Bhattacharya has captivated us, the readers , with the befitting diction he chose meticulously. Snippets of his impeccable translation would speak volumes of the style he has adopted to mesmerize the readers:

In the evening, the ghost came to their door. They both rode on the ghost’s back. Lullu got out of water and took the sky route. He moved at lightning speed. At about the second prohor of the night they all came to Delhi. The ghost put them down on Amir’s rooftop. Amir had locked the door while leaving his place in the guise of a fakir. Now he and his wife unlocked the door and stepped in. They beckoned Lullu to a room, and said, “Lullu, this room is yours, from now on you’ll stay here. I will give you opium or chandu—whatever you need.”

Lullu said, “ I will never desert you in this life. No way can I do that.”

Next day, Amir called in his neighbours and narrated the entire saga in its right sequence. Seeing Amir back home everyone was elated. [Lullu, p. 51]

But, you know, since my childhood I am a doshokorma, I will do whatever I am entrusted with, having skill in all trades. I composed a rhyme on my own. Let me recite parts of it, listen:

Shitala says ‘Wherever I visit

Gobble up young ‘n’ old as raw meat.

Sixty four thousand in my pox army

Destroy households in matchless spree.

Big pox, small pox, pox’s grandson

Come back from households leaving alive none.’     [Nayanchand’s Business,p.66]

It is not so easy to translate the poetical lines of a piece, though, Bhattacharya does it with perfect ease and elan. Especially, the rhyme scheme of the original lines has been maintained with dexterity.

As The Pearl Necklace is a string of bizarre stories, the translator successfully maintains the oeuvre of the original by staying faithful to it and yet making it readable and appealing at the same time. A quote from the same would make my point clear, I believe:

“The skull said, ‘Listen, we all are betalas[ translator’s explanation follows].We like problems, riddles and stories. If I give you some problems, can you sort them out like Vikramaditya[translator’s explanation given], the king?’

“ I said, ‘No mahasay! I don’t have that ability. I am but a yokel with little knowledge. I don’t know stories.’

…..“ The betala or the skull said, ‘You cannot solve riddles, you cannot tell stories either. Which means you can do nothing. But still you want me to go and start knocking and banging against another skull! Does that make sense? Okay then, go and marry Coconut-face, and raise a happy family.’ [The Pearl Necklace,p.123]

The quote shows how the translator maintains a balance, while making the two cultures stand and shake hands with each other, on the same pedestal. Thus, in the next three stories, the translator follows the same style and goes winning the hearts of the readers.

The Afterword from the Translator is an added bonanza which, I am sure, would make us more knowledgeable about the story-telling modes of Trailokyanath Mukhopadhyay, with an erudite discussion on Magic Realism and the author. The translator expatiates on the ‘adda’ culture of Bengal too, at length.

This book is a rare gem in the field of translation and surely would add prestige to the stack of each library across the world, apart from being just an individual collector’s pride.

Dr. Ketaki Datta is an Associate Professor of English, Bidhannagar College, Kolkata. She is a novelist, short story writer, critic and a translator. She had been to Lisbon on an invitation from IFTR [Ireland chapter] to read out a paper titled “Human Values and Modern Bengali Drama”, which got published in the Festival Issue of The Statesman in India. “Indo-Anglian Literature: Past to Present” [2008], “New Literatures in English: Fresh Perspectives”[2011], “ Avenel Wings of Short Fiction” [2012],“Selected Short Stories of Rabindranath Tagore in Translation”[2013], “The Black and Nonblack Shades of Tennessee Williams”[ 2012] , “The Last Salute”[translated novel] [SahityaAkademi, 2013], “The Voyage”(translated novel) [2009], “Across the Blue Horizon”[poetry collection, England, 2014], and two novels [A Bird Alone(2008) and One Year for Mourning(2014)] are a few of her notable publications. Her short story has been published in New Asian Writing Anthology, 2013. She has also been interviewed by NAW [New Asian Writing]. She is the only contributor from India in the forthcoming book titled “Routledge Companion to Dramaturgy” [to be released in August, 2014], being compiled by Prof. Magda Romanska of Emerson College, Boston, USA.

Rupkatha Journal on Interdisciplinary Studies in Humanities (ISSN 0975-2935), Vol. VI, No. 3, 2014.

Ed. Tirtha Prasad Mukhopadhyay &Tarun Tapas Mukherjee

URL of the Issue: http://rupkatha.com/v6n3.php

URL of the review: http://rupkatha.com/V6/n3/14_Review_Troilokyanath_Mukhopadhyay.pdf                               

Kolkata, India. Copyrighted material. www.rupkatha.com

Translation: “Mother India” by Mahasweta Devi

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Mahasweta Devi (0riginal author in Bengali)

&

Arun Pramanik (Trans.)

[Translated by Arun Pramanik from the Bengali Original Standayini Ebong Annyanya Golpa, Karuna Prakashani, 1997]

Mother India is eighty years, blackish-copper complexioned, curly small-haired. Every line of her face looks splitted like the visible mud on the banks of the river Ganga over which millions of earthworms have just moved after the ebb. Two hazy eyes look like the dead stars. Those two stars died long ago, yet they think that they are still shining as the earth pays no attention to them. A torn and tattered cloth wrapped twice on her back, and the end rounded on her neck.

Her name is Mother India. How many years ago when a cinema picture was frequently seen on the walls, and she used to sit on the footpath and only cry for days after days, nights after nights for her sons, then Sidhu told her, Masi you’re Mother India. It was Sidhu who gave her a place in this footpath. It’s to be fortunate enough to get a permanent place on Kolkata footpath. Every year those who come from the south can’t manage such a place.

They float from one place to another for days after days. She got such a place only for Sidhu’s grace. Sidhu said, I’ve called her Masi, so she must stay here. Sidhu is no more, he is dead. But before his death he bequeathed her the wood of his own packing box and the sackcloth tent.

Sidhu is not a son from her womb. Though he is not a son of her own, yet what he has given to her is not given even by her own sons.

At least a mere shade, space and the name too.

Sidhu even managed for her the means of getting rice. But she could not keep up that. She used to cook for four or five beggars like Sidhu. In the afternoon, she used to broom the marketplace and bring the cabbage leaves, spinach leaves, and the entrails of goats. By using three bricks as a furnace, she used to cook manna for these beggars. The mistress of the nearby building used to buy the begged-rice. She used to cook these in her house for the casual visitors of her relations. She did not know that her maid used to give Mother India salt, chillies etc. In exchange Mother India used to relief her from sciatica.

Mother India somehow could manage food then. But now for many years she can’t. With the passing of time, the new beggars are now her neighbours. Now Fullwara cooks for them.

Now Mother India supplies dried cow dung. Feels terrible back pain to bring the dust from the timber yard. She mixes mud with the wood-dust, and makes them big charcoal balls. Now in the neighbouring houses, the people use these charcoal balls. Wood balls emit lesser smoke than cow dung balls.

Putting these handmade balls under the sunrays, and sitting on the throne of the packing box she keeps a close watch on these. The whole body feels burnt in hunger. Like a big scorched tree. In those far old lost childhood, she used to go with her baul father to offer puja to the Bonbibi. Crossing three fields and two canals. She could get to see a badly scorched peepul tree every year. In every rainy season, new branches began to sprout with fresh leaves. But in the summer days, the leaves became dried up.

The father used to say, the banyan and the peepul tress are god-like. That’s why these don’t die even when dying. This is really strange.

Her body gets burnt like that tree. In the fire of hunger. Yet when it gets wet by the memory-water, still so many memories of those ever-lost past begin to sprout.

When she gets lost on those memories, the lines of her face become blur, and she looks calm. By this time she does not know that she looks like the goddess Manasa. Like her she is still waiting for worship only with handful rice, cupful oil and a mere cloth to cover her nakedness. She is like her whom nobody understands, only drives away saying as unlucky and unadorable ‘Go away, you ugly blind woman’. The people drive away – only drive away, that’s why her begging for handful rice never ends.

Now her appearance looks stern. From those blurred eyes, tearless cries seem to come out. She had three sons, but everyone is lost from her. By whom? Still she does not know which mighty force has taken away them from her.

Is that a recent story? It seems so many decades when Shashi Dhara and his wife Patul went with their fellowmen to cultivate in the land acquired from the Manna family. Shashi Dhara’s wife never accompanied them before. Her baul father did not allow her. He said, does anybody go there with the young ones? Besides, this is not right.

Why? Why not right?

Do you not know?

Like a hooded snake, Gagan Bauli looked at his son-in-law’s face with his fierce and red eyes, and said,

Do you not know that this Golbadan Manna does not evict those people who were cultivating the lands in other places for eleven years? One gets right of the land after cultivating twelve years. That’s why in the eleven year, they are kicked off. So these people are prior to claim the land. Would they leave you?

Knodding his head Shashi Dhara became silent with his helpless smile. But he did not give up his tenacity. He said, They have to get much pain to evict us. We have babus behind us.

But Shashi’s words proved false. Uncultivated forest land leads to ferocity, strife and anger. Those who once succeed to capture the land, and begin to cultivate, and if they are evicted later from that land, their anger knows no bound. The people like Shashi are to fight long against these evicted people, and the other exploiters of the forest. Then a long bloody war filled the air followed by the smell of autumn rice. The evicted forest like the evicted people felt defeated and was forced to go back.

All those past still come to her memory. As though someone unties the canvas of the tale of Shashi Dhara and his wife for a moment before her eyes, and then rolls back. Shashi married and had a family. They had three babbling sons. Seeing their domestic life, Gagan Bauli said, My son, they would evict you after eleven years. You rather come and settle in my house.

The words proved true. When Sashi and his family were evicted, by that time Gagan Bauli has left this world.

The people like Shashi make the uncultivated forest land fertile, but when they are evicted in the eleven years, they usually fight. And this time Shashi fought too. In the struggle between scythe and gun, the people like Shashi usually die. This time it happened too. Being desperate, Shashi’s wife too came out with the scythe. But she was taken to the jail. When released from the jail, she goes to the mother-in-law. The mother-in-law told, My son is dead. And your elder son too died with him. You can stay here. But it would create more trouble. The police would not leave you.

Shashi Dhara’s wife then could understand that she is drifting by the full tide. It’s like the swift tidal flow of the river Matla. During the high tide, the river merges into the sea. This tide of life took away the helpless woman, and threw her into the big world. But the struggle of the people like Shashi did not stop. That’s why the policemen were frantically pursuing these criminals. So, Haran Samanta told her, Is there no place in this world? Not any place? Let’s flee in the darkness of the night.

Many of them came to Kolkata. The old village man Haran took them to different places for a shelter. Once in how many places this Shashi Dhara’s wife succeeded to capture the highland; how many paddy-fields of the fortune’s favourites were filled with crops in the sowing of her own hands; how many days lowering her back for hours after hours, she used to plant in deep anger. In the days of the goddess Bipattarini, in the offering days of the Lotansasthi, Shashi Dhara’s wife used to clean the paddy-fields in almost knee-dipped water. During the harvesting time of the Pous month filled in the chilly air of the Pous Lakshmi, she used to harvest the golden paddy crops, and fill others’ farmyards – everything is now in the canvas of a village painter. Neglected. Disgraced. Blurred portraits after portraits.

It’s now difficult to remember that how many times they became anxious in the fear of being driven out as soon as they could see the coming of the new farmers. But when Shashi Dhara’s wife tries to remember these repeated evictions, she is reminded with the days of those far-old childhood time. Her baul father is going to offer his prayer to Bonbibi. The mother-lost dark-complexioned daughter with him. The small boat moves slowly in the canal. The shades of the mangrove tree get reflected in the water. The girl could see how the grasshoppers took shelter on the floating leaves after leaves, and how the leaves gradually merge in to water as the boat passed leaving the grasshoppers in water. She can still remember the water’s smell like the smelly fish-mixed dry earth wetted with rain water, and the smell of oil and tobacco of her father’s body.

And she can remember the smell of cooked rice. The greed of this smell of cooked rice made Shashi Dhara’s wife inhuman and wretched too. As Shashi Dhara told her when he left, Let me go. But you would never leave the scythe, they can do everything possible.

And that was the last time when Shashi put the scythe in his wife’s hand and left with his eldest son. From then Shashi’s wife does not leave the scythe. Before going to the jail, she put it in the leafy roof of her mother-in-law. As soon as she came out from the jail, she took out it.

Last time when Shashi Dhara’s wife was evicted from the land, she came from Midnapore to Kolkata with the mere cloth in her attire, the scythe and her two growing sons. Babus brought them with the words, Come with us to join in the procession. Then Haran told, This is rather good babu. They said, Such are the flags, and the processions are like this. You would get bread, you would get money.

Does the procession take place every day?

Shashi Dhara’s wife became scared. The procession does not take place every day, and they too don’t get bread every day. But she did not like to return to her village although her sons tried to take her back. She said, Should I devour the saliva which I spat earlier? What do you have there?

What do you have here? Who are with you?

I can’t float anymore, my sons. I would stay here.

What would you eat mother.

Whatever we would get to eat.

The sons said nothing after that. They are absolutely dependant on the mother. Shashi Dhara’s wife brought up her sons in hungry and fierce love. The sons are still tied to her as they were tied once to the biblical cord. Such dependence of the grown up sons on the mother is very rare in this hard and floating life. Shashi’s wife asked her sons once, At the end . . .

What mother?

Would you put Ganga water when I die? Here the whole city is on the river Ganga.

Still then they used to live at the corner of this footpath. Sidhu did not say them to stay there. He did not even give them shelter under his canopy. He did not even drive away them. He told the other beggars, See. They are not permanent. Temporary. They would go away.

From there, they went to Behala Market. Shashi’s wife used to clean spices in the spices-shops. The boys used to chop wood in the timber yard. Some people announced in mike, and took away them from there. The second son rushed to her, and gave six rupees in her hands. And told, Take this food mother. There is much uproar. Crowds of people are coming from elsewhere. We too are going.

Shashi’s wife told, If the disturbance gets worse, then come back my sons. Don’t get involved in any disturbance.

Do you think we would stay?

The portrait of her own son’s departure from her for ever is still clear in the canvas of her mind. The mother stood on the bus road, and they sons were getting away from her with the smiling face and nodding their heads. Crowds of people on the road.

After that even before the sunset, everything is silent, and looked dumb-stuck like the moment after the death of Shashi Dhara when she tried to hide in the silent forest to avert the police with the acute pain in her heart like the labor-pain felt by a dumb-born woman.

At night some people rushed in the midst of the disturbance. Some gossiped about the firing, and how the farmers rushed aimlessly as they did not know the way, and how the people gheraoed the surroundings when the dead bodies were secretly removed away in cars. Nobody except the dogs could enter the place under the vigilance of the boot-wearing policemen. Huge disturbance.

Shashi’s wife like others was not scared at the beginning. She too was in trouble because of her sons. She had to flee away like others from the vigilance of the approaching stick-holders and pursuing boot-wearers.

Her sons knew how to flee.

But the boys did never return. Does she herself not go in search of them? But there were only walls of the red-bricked houses towering to the sky. Nobody could give any news of Nirapada Dhara and Lakshindar Dhara.

Oh babus, all of you have returned, but where are my Nirapada, my Lakshindar?

Nobody could answer of her query. The babus then arranged another procession with the people like Shashi Dhara’s wife. But in the midst of that procession, Shashi Dhara’s wife somehow removed herself. She did not follow the path which the others followed. Rather she only howled in search of her sons, Oh Nirapodo, Oh, Lakshindo, why did you go my naughty sons? Thus she repeatedly slapped on her breast, and sometimes fell stumbled on the road.

The fleeting images of the canvas rapidly changed its shape like the deceptive Marichi. Being hopeful, Shashi Dhara’s wife used to roundabout in the paths and the Maidan of the city like a tired dung-beetle which circles in bewilderment under the extreme heat of the sun. Sometimes she remained busy to eat the leftovers of the marriage ceremony, sometimes she asked the passing air, Where are my two sons?

When someone said, Perhaps they are dead, Shashi Dhara’s wife at once threatened them saying, I would pierce your body with the scythe. By that time she lost the scythe, although unknowingly. Her mental state became turbid as the blood-mixed mud. But when the words ‘they are dead’ reach to her ears, she became startled. Her baul father used to say, If you don’t see anybody to die, then don’t believe that the person is dead. As there was still doubt, she thought to tie the sanctified-chanted cloth in her home. As long as the cloth would last, there would be hope.

By this time one day Shashi Dhara’s wife comes again on her way to the footpath of Sidhu and the fellow beggars. Sidhu recognized her at once. He said, Such is your condition?

Shashi Dhara’s wife frowned and asked, Why?

You’ve become so. Where are your sons?

They are gone.

Sidhu gave her shelter. Shashi Dhar’s wife then goes on begging satisfactorily. She used to put paises on her anchhal tied to the belley. She gave money to Sidhu. She did not even know why she gave him money. She could not later understand herself about her own conducts by that time. Then she began to bathe in the hydrant water. She began to eat, and thus one day she looked well. She again came back to her balanced state of mind. But in this intermediate time as she left her scythe, her cooking earthen-pot, her comb and napkin, she too left with these her uncontrollable anger, rage and tenacity too.

Sidhu said, The woman have become silent in extreme grief and anger.

The other beggars said, You are a woman and so angry you were?

Sidhu takes a puff in his bidi and said, one thing I have to say, She is no more temporary. She is permanent. And it’s the duty of the permanent beggars to give shelter to the other permanent beggars. This is the law of the footpath.

Do you know really?

Besides she would take care of our household activities.

The other beggars became convinced. This is true that their belongings too are increasing day by day – cloth- sack- paper- boards – sandals – kerosin – wooden box.

They became quite ensured. Sidhu is giving her shelter with this selfish motif. If Sidhu told them that it’s out of compassion that he has given her shelter, could they really believe him at all?

Sidhu again takes a puff from his bidi, and said, Do you see her appearance. Totally Mother India make up.

Sidhu said, Nulo cooks for us. But if you cook then he can go out for begging more and more.

The beggars cook once a day. Within few days, Shashi Dhara’s wife became habituated with this. She herself took the charge of selling the alms of the beggars to the nearby building, and giving money to the beggars. Within few days she learnt to sweep the market, and to bring the rotten tomatoes, cabage leaves, half-rotten potato and the entrails of goats. One day when Sidhu died, she entered into his sack- cloth roofed home. Nobody objected in that. Nobody even questioned whether he has the right or not.

Because within these few days, both sides of the river Ganga have been repaired and the C.M.D.A. has begun road work. The slogans on the walls, and the words on the wall of the crematorium become faded. So many days are passed now.

Entering into the home, she tied two rags of cloth on a bamboo blade.

You have entered into the new home. Would you not offer Puja? Thus Nulo said. He also said, Would we not get sweet?

She did not say anything. Her bauli father used to say, As long as you’ve hope, don’t untie the cloth. It would work as a force. So long as you know one to be dead can return one day.

After knotting the rags of cloth she said, If anybody unties it, I would not spare to kill.

Why? What is there in it?

My sons’ lives.

Would they return any more?

They would surely come. They would quench my thirst of getting Ganga water in my death-bed.

When Shashi Dhara’s wife keeps close watch on the cow-dung balls under the sunrays, her life story hovers in her mind. Her mind is like the sun. In the life-sky of Shashi Dhara’s wife, this sun has to reappear again. But now she can feel that her life is coming to an end. The brightness of her life-sun gradually moves to twilight. It slowly loses its heat.

Now her neighbours are the new beggars. They come back in the evening. Then Fullwara cooks for them. Fullwara wanders at the bus stand during the day. Sometimes she comes to Shashi’s wife for medicine. This woman has gone astray, dirty too. She cannot tolerate the other women beggars. But this Fullwara tied a cord in Shshi’s wife’s hand, and a scrape in her neck after bathing naked in the hydrant water.

Today after putting the dried cow-dung balls in the basket, she said, Oh Fullwara, call Mokshada to take away these.

Would you not go?

I can’t. My health is not well.

What are you telling. Today there is a burnt-offering in babu’s house.

You go and eat there.

Fullwara became very surprised. The houses where Shashi’s wife supplies cow-dung balls, on those houses she is surely invited during marriage, sraddha, in the ceremony of the wearing holy-thread and birthday too. And she would not attend in such invitations!

Fullwara asked why are you shivering?

Is it too cold today?

Who told you cold? Let me check your body.

Not much fever, yet the whole body shivers. She said, Fullwara you should rather take the cow dung balls today, and take money properly.

Would you eat sago and molasses?

Hush!

She pulls the curtain of her home. Lay down with folded body.

She keeps a small gap in the sack-clothed wall, and looks at the way. It’s as though the salt water of a canal flows through her mind. And the mangrove leaves are falling one by one. Today she is trying to seat on a leaf again and again but whenever she tries to sit on the leaf, it floats away.

Her mind is trying to seat on how many leaves. A leaf reflects the image of excited and red-faced Shashi Dhara just before his last departure. That leaf moves away. Her bauli father says, don’t untie the cloth, your uncle would surely return from the tiger’s clutches. That leaf too goes away. There is huge torrent in the salty canal now. Santhal daoals of murshidabad are ready to cut the crops, but as they flee away with their children, their tree-leaves huts are burnt into ashes. But the sons say now, They would give us meal, give us money, we would return too. This leaf again and again comes back defying the flow of the river. She abuses them, and says, Remember, if you don’t return, I would not get Ganga water.

She awakes in amazement. How starange! She did not say these to her sons. She only said, If the disturbance gets worse, then come back my sons. My sons, don’t get involved in any disturbance.

Fullwara lights the lantern before leaving.

As she lies on the bed then and there, never rises up. The next day the sun rises. It is gradually becoming bright. After the whole night revelry, Fullwara on her way to bathe rises the curtain and asks, O Masi, are you not well today too.

Then as she bends down, she comes to realize everything.

The beggars of the footpath, and the maid servants on their way shake her head. Sidhu used to call her Mother India. But she is surely from a fortunate and good family. She falls ill and dies in silence. Pointing her thin fingers to the tied cloths. A mere footpath beggar does not die such. The wealthy people die such suddenly. Masi is perhaps from such a wealthy family.

Police brought a carrier for her funeral. She was cremated at the government cost. Before picking up the body by the dom, Fullwara and the beggars lifted the body to the van.

Fullwara asked where are you going to burn the body?

The other beggars said, Why are you asking?

The woman longed for Ganga water, but her sons are missing. Would they give her Ganga water in the cremation ground?

Suddenly Fullwara feels deep grief for Masi. As she is crying, she can’t see the van to take away the body, and the legs of the Mother India lay flat in the open gate. She is going to be cremated as an unclaimed body. And Mother India could not see how a few beggars and a prostitute being grief-stricken on her death are performing ‘no work’ and desecration.

Arun Pramanik is a Reserch scholar of the Dept. of English, Vidyasagar University (W. B.). He is working on Translation Studies. He studied M. A. from V. U., and M. Phil from the University of Burdwan. He taught in Raja N. L. Khan Women’s college, Midnapore. He has participated in different national and international seminars, presented papers, and published translations and articles. He is also an Academic Counselor of IGNOU.

Rupkatha Journal on Interdisciplinary Studies in Humanities (ISSN 0975-2935), Vol. VI, No. 3, 2014.

Ed. Tirtha Prasad Mukhopadhyay &Tarun Tapas Mukherjee

URL of the Issue: http://rupkatha.com/v6n3.php

URL of the review: http://rupkatha.com/V6/n3/15_translation_Mahasweta_Debi_Story.pdf                               

Kolkata, India. Copyrighted material. www.rupkatha.com

 

                       

 

 

Editorial

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We are happy to release Vol. VI No. 2 online. We received good response from contributors from many parts of the globe and after a very prolonged review process the issue is completed. We thank all the contributors for their valuable contribution.

Indigenous literature was selected as the focus area for inviting critical works that would attend to the major issues stemming up from the condition of indigeneity. Of course, the term evokes political nature of the condition following the collective imperial invasion of the modern times. But we wanted to use it as an umbrella term too for allowing broader areas and simultaneously for reducing its political implications. So certain indigenous art forms celebrating basic human emotions and aesthetics principles of life—the properties which defy western theoretical normalization, have been included in the issue.

Documentation of the indigenous life and culture had been started by the colonialist administrators long ago for their special purpose of ‘administration’ and soon it took theoretical turn resulting in certain bipolar theorization and arbitrary policy formation. In the case of India, however, such theoretical turns had occurred long ago with imposition of various cultures on the preceding ones. Much has been said and written on tribal/indigenous culture in India, but unfortunately the bulk of literature follows western critical norms conforming to the principles of the Enlightenment, and little serious effort has been made to look upon the indigenous ways of life in its own right.

One very encouraging trend towards this is to be found with the emerging social media interactions: as the media control is lifted up in the social media platforms, individuals can share documents, ideas, pictures etc which can instantly challenge an established notion quite unexpectedly. Again, as documentation in multimedia form with all its colours and sounds is possible now, it can challenge verbal documentation produced in monologic form and monochromatic reflection. Institutional support too is coming up now in the form of grants, scholarship etc. True interdisciplinary research can start from this polyphonic expression of life in its true colours.

Book Review Censorium: Cinema and the Open Edge of Mass Publicity by William Mazzarella

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Censorium Duke University Press, Durham, NC, 2013.

pp. ix +284. Notes. Bibliog. Refs. Index. Pb.

£16.99. ISBN 9 7808 2235 3881

Commissioned by: Dr. Jacob Copeman

 

Review by

Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi,

Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University, Jammu, India

 

In his carefully researched ethnographic project, William Mazzarella uses the dialectical approach to analyze censorship in the Indian film industry, and he highlights that censorship has become a “burning topic of public controversy in India” (p. 3). To do so, he develops a theory of performative dispensation to show that “any claim to sovereign power is also a claim on a particular relation between sensuous incitement and symbolic order” (p. 3).

The book is organized into six equal, thematic sections, including introduction and other five interpretative chapters, and eschewing conclusion as a chapter, deliberately it seems, so that this work should be evaluated as a “contribution to the political anthropology of mass media” rather than “a history of Indian film censorship” (p. 3-4).

The author demonstrates a close reading of contemporary literature and popular culture, including, quotations, excerpts from newspapers’ editorials, interviews, film scenes, and court cases. His ethnographic approach throughout this book is amply justified and informed by the growing scholarship and references on the themes of public culture with reference to history, society and politics inside and outside India from 1830 to 2013.

Every chapter has a title and sub-titles; in the first chapter the author explores Performative Dispensation. He gives an outline of the history of censorship in India

juxtaposes a problem of distance between audience’s pleasure and moralizing discourse which professes liberal principles and practices authoritarian pragmatics, which the author defines “a classic colonial symptom” to Indian film industry (p. 74). The author gives a reference of Article 19(1) (a) and Article 19(2) that ensures freedom of speech and expression, and also limits it respectively in India, probably to show that the transition period in India demands a permanent institutionalized discourse.

The second chapter recounts the grounds of the censor’s judgment by interrogating who the hell do the Censors think they are? Mazzarella actively argues whether the age of strife/a transitional phrase in India calls for incompetent Censor Board members whose “parallax view” fails them to synthesize between policing and pedagogy (p. 78). Quite suggestive in his tone, the author engages himself with everything in cinema that is against the so-called healthy entertainment of Indian cultural/social/political perspectives. He quotes Polanski’s remarks “Fuck the censors… … …” while giving references of political and social intervention for the flicks e.g. Shyam Benegal’s Ankur (Trans: The Seedling) (1974) (Trans: and Nishant (Trans: End of Night) (1975); Amrit Nahata’s Kissa Kursi Ka (Trans: Tale of Thorne) (1977); Shekhar Kapur’s Bandit Queen (1994).

The book is largely jargon-free but Mazzarella coins his own register for his narratives: “the pissing men” represents ignorant and illiterate Indian minds which he uses throughout the book (p. 13). The same pissing men, echoing in the chapter three, according to the author is responsible for not getting a “unified performative dispensation” and it also helps other Indians to project the “uncannily extimate self-relation” and maintaining distinction between “continent spectator-citizens and incontinent pissing men” (p. 191). Probably, this line of thinking in India makes “public man” as an actively engaged citizen and “public woman” as a prostitute (p. 13). The chapter provides references of how the pissing men react to Shekhar Kapur’s Bandit Queen (1994), Mani Ratnam’s Bombay (1995), and Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1998).

The next chapter Quotidian Eruptions is supported by the theory of Slavoj Žižek and Jacques Lacan to describe “something in the way” which is in between aesthetic distinction and extimate squirm (p 190). The author argues that the role of the censorship is to fill the gap between something that is uprooted from tradition and not properly educated. The final chapter argues that obscenity is a tendency, and it should not be seen as obscene materials. He further suggests that is not an obstacle but a “provisional name for the amorally generative potential” (p. 191). As Deleuze puts that the virtual tends toward actualization, without undergoing any form of effective concretization.

This documentary on censorship shows that censorship is essential to the sovereignty of a state, and it presents an analysis to the regulation of mass publicity in India. The book is informative and worth reading. Researchers and readers who are interested in ethnographies, anthropology, media studies and critical theory are advised to read this book as well.

There is but one criticism of this book. The consistency of providing a sort of summary or wrap-up chapter has been employed only partially. The author should have translated the Romanized names of the Hindi movies to give more meaning to the narration. There are no posters and movie stills in this book, I think these inclusions will make it more reader’s friendly and consequently increase the sale of the book.

Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi is Assistant Professor (Linguistics), School of Languages & Literature, Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University, Katra, Jammu, India….PDF Version of the Review


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Book reviews: Santal Creation Stories

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We Come from Geese_coverEarth Rests On Tortoise_cover We come from the Geese: Santal Creation StoriesText by Ruby Hembrom

Illustrations by Boski Jain

Published by Adivaani, 2013

ISBN: 978-81-925541-1-2

32 pages; 90 INR.

 

Earth rests on a Tortoise: Santal Creation Stories

Text by Ruby Hembrom

Illustrations by Boski Jain

Published by Adivaani, 2013

ISBN: 978-81-925541-3-6

32 pages; 90 INR

 Review by Jayeeta Ghorai, University of Leeds

 Like children curious about, ‘Where do I come from?” nascent civilisations all over the world have been preoccupied with the question of human origin. All peoples have their own intrinsic theories about how the world as they know it and human life on earth came to be. With time, written traditions and organised religions have overshadowed the oral narratives prevalent among many indigenous groups. In India, various orally transmitted stories about creation are getting pushed to oblivion as the languages they are transferred through are spoken by lesser number of people with the passing days. Children of indigenous origin are being taught employability-enhancing linguistic skills, being indoctrinated into formally organised education systems and assimilated intomainstream faiths with larger following, in order to aid their future sustenance. The habit of storytelling is losing its relevance in social structures, through infrequent tribal gatherings, and is getting restricted within individual families, as a legacy passed down through the generations, at risk of being lost forever.

Adivaani has stepped in to address the void of these missing traditions by publishing a series on Santal creation stories, with two books printed and a third in the offing. In a tiny, easy-to-miss foreword, the publisher explains that each tale was ‘written to rescue one of the many oral stories of the Santal people. [Their] version is adapted from that of Rev. A Campbell’s “Santal Traditions”, published in Indian Evangelical Review in 1892, and described by Rev. Dr. Timotheas Hembrom in his book, The Santals, 1996.’

Erudite earlier works like the aforementioned A. Campbell anthology, Cecil Henry Bompass’ Folklore of Santal Parganas (now digitised by Project Gutenberg) Verrier Elwin’s Myths of Middle India, Folk Tales of Mahakoshal, The Fisher-Girl and the Crab, The Tribal Myths of Orissa, among other notable titles from similar scholastic canon, being out of print, their circulation is limited withinlibrary shelves and purely academic interest groups. The urgent need to document some of these stories for wider knowledge transmissionwas met in a welcome endeavour. The short accounts covering thirty-two pages each, written in easy English, filled with drawings and affordably priced, have children as their primary target readership.Children are the desired receptors to the carrying forward of all traditional knowledge, and the books fulfil that purpose amply. But the books would also prove insightful to anyone who is interested in learning about the Santal traditional thought on cosmology.

We come from Geese, the first book in the series, gives the Santal account of how the first humans originated. The second part, Earth rests on a Tortoise, describes the planet’s origin and how land was raised from the water.

But why in English? As the writer of the stories Ruby Hembrom, one of Adivaani’s small publishing team of three, and a Santal herself, explains her aim, English as a world language, and one of the main languages through which literacy is being disseminated among present day Santal offspring, ensures wider reach. Not only were these stories important to document in a written language, to save them from ultimate oblivion, that language had to be one accessible to both the modern generation of Santals as well as non-Santal populations within India and the world at large. The overarching need was to place this historiography of cosmology among other world traditions.

The English narrative is cleverly entwined with Santal words in transliteration, with aglossary at the end of each book. The names of the essentially Santal figures from the original stories were retained; so a reader gets acquainted with ?h?kur Jiv (the Supreme Being in Santal folk lore), Pilcu Haram (the first man), Pilcu Bu?hi (the first woman), Hãs (the gander), H?sil (the goose) and K?chim K??r (the tortoise prince). Simultaneously, the names of the natural elements that appear in the tales and play a role in larger Santal culture or are exclusive to their inhabited locales, were mentioned in original, with a further explanation of the cultural significance included in the glossary. In the stories one comes across Johar, the traditional Santal greeting, Bo?gas, Gidr?, Sirom grass, Karam Tree and Sole Hako. One gets instantly transported to an essentially Santal world, unadulterated by the passage of time, via the conduit of easily comprehensible English.

The books are pictorial, with full pages dedicated to visual representations, to appeal to early-age readers. The narrative is contained in short sentences, no more than one per page. The nearly graphic novel layout would fire a child’s imagination. Artist Boski Jain has risen to the challenge of making quintessentially ‘inexplicable and formless’ notions easy to grasp for young readers without losing authenticity among the original Santal ‘owners’ of the stories. She incorporates tribal symbols like the tortoise, fish, and flower and leaf patterns with large chunks of her creative acumen, to fill gaps where no original design existed. For instance, concepts like ?h?kur Jiv or Bo?gas had no reliable preceding representation in the otherwise rich artistic tradition of the Santal. The line drawings and black-and-white illustrations retain the wonderful charm of ethnic tribal artistic legacy.

One can hope these books would find coveted place as bed time stories of children across geographies. Not only is indigenous folk lore at a risk of getting lost today, but the ritual of storytelling and the excellent habit of reading, popular till a few decades ago, is seeing a sad decline in this age of easily accessible multimedia-driven childhood entertainment. Like J. K. Rowling brought a fresh surge with her modern mythmaking, it is time the age old tales from indigenous quarters found a stronger voice.

[Adivaani books are available through online portal ofEarthcare Books. For further queries, write toinfo@adivaani.org or visit their website, http://adivaani.org]

Jayeeta Ghorai have an MA in English from University of Calcutta and am currently pursuing a Joint Honours in Chinese and Italian from University of Leeds with an aim to study a higher degree in Social Anthropology.

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Search for an Alternative Aesthetic in Bangla Dalit Poetry

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Indranil Acharya, Vidyasagar University, West Bengal, India

Savarna critics assert that Dalit literature should be critiqued strictly as literature. They assert that it is totally inappropriate to treat this literature from a reverential or sympathetic perspective simply because it has been created by Dalits. According to them, the literary evaluation of this literature should be based on literary criteria. They say that this may well be Dalit literature, but the reader will read it only as literature. Therefore, extra-literary considerations will have to be disregarded in its appraisal. But Dalit writers reject this point of view. It is their opinion that a middle-class criticism cannot properly evaluate this literature. (Limbale, 2004, 103)
I
This paper intends to focus on Bangla Dalit literature- a phenomenon that started in the last part of the 19th century and built its structural pattern on Dalit sensibility. In terms of experience and expression, this literature attempts to invade a new space outside and beyond the middle class Bengali sensibility- the Parnassus of Bengali mainstream literature. But the publication history of Dalit literature is one of upper-caste neglect. Leading Bangla publication houses- Ananda, Dey’s, Mitra & Ghosh etc. turned a deaf ear to promising Dalit poets. The situation was so hostile that the Dalit poets finally consolidated to establish their own publication house- Chaturtha Duniya. It was a very powerful statement on the politics of Savarna publishers. Moreover, it was a loud protest against the diseased Bengali psyche that refused to admit the existence of caste discrimination in West Bengal under the influence of Marxist ideologues and in the name of liberalism and progressive intellectualism.
I propose to concentrate my attention on a groundbreaking anthology of Dalit writing, the first of its kind in the language, Satabarsher Bangla Dalit Sahitya (Hundred Years of Bengali Dalit Literature), published in 2011 and edited by Manohar Mouli Biswas and Shyamal Kumar Pramanik. In this anthology we find specimens of what Limbale terms ‘alternative aesthetic’ in the explosive rejection and piercing revolt, occasioned by unrestrained anguish and finding release with aggressive character and insolent, rebellious attitude. I would also like to show, with necessary textual illustrations, the uncharacteristic rhetoric of restraint that completes the construction of an alternative aesthetic.
Dalits of India are farthest from power and hence belong to the lowest stratum of caste hierarchy. The marginalization is based both on the religious principle of pollution and purity and the cultural construction of power. Dalit literature reveals the collective consciousness of people whose voice had been suppressed through long ages of history. It is a protest against the establishment and a commitment to inculcate the new values for ushering in a new order. This revolutionary aim was rooted in anger and sorrow- the two crucial emotional stimuli of all Dalit writing.

Cursed with the stigma of untouchability, Dalits are “treated like animals, they lived apart from the village and had to accept leftovers from the higher caste people, in return for their endless toil” (Dangle, 2009, xxi). Dalit literature reveals the collective consciousness of this community whose voice had been suppressed through the long ages of history. It is seen in the main as a protest against the establishment, as a commitment to inculcate new values aiming at a new order. This revolutionary aim to create a new order is deeply rooted in anger and grief. In ‘Akkarmashi’ by Sharankumar Limbale one discovers ‘a lofty image of grief’- a major construct of the alternative Dalit aesthetic. He defines Dalit literature as something “which artistically portrays the sorrows, tribulations, slavery, degradation, ridicule endured by Dalits” (Limbale, 2004, 30). He sums up his idea with a beautiful expression, “This literature is but a lofty image of grief” (Limbale, 2004, 30). Arjun Dangle is of the opinion that, “Dalit literature portrays the hopes and aspirations of the exploited masses. Their fight for survival, their daily problems, the insults they have to put up with, their experiences and their outlook towards all these events are portrayed in Dalit literature” (Dangle, 2009, xlviii)….Access Full Text of the Article


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Towards a Poetics of Reconstruction: Reading and Enacting identity in Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih’s Poetry

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Subashish Bhattacharjee, University of North Bengal, India

&

Saikat Guha, University of North Bengal, India

Abstract

Literature from the Northeast is usually rendered with a homogeneous proliferation of signifiers that dissolve its native capacities. The Northeast Literature is structured as a possible stance against majoritarian discourses. However, most commentators who view this particular regional literature in terms of an assortment for access often fail to locate the displaced qualifiers which are integrated into such socio-literary practices. While a segment of the literary output from the region is decidedly an attempt towards integration or absorption into “central” discourses, there also exists a substantial voicing of the resistance which is offered by means of extending the regional identity. The question of this micro-politic endorsement is arguably bestthe poetry of the Shillong-based poet, Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih. Nongkynrih assumes the role of a revisionist who recapitulates the identity-experience of the Northeast in the form of a politico-poetics that distinguishes him from the mainstream Indian English poets or even from the largesse of the Northeastern poets. An essential denominator for Nongkynrih is his sublative poetic existence which owes muche historical, contemporary and lived-experiences which illuminates the ethos of a Khasi identity. The following paper would attempt to evaluate Nongkynrih’s poetry in light of the political, socio-cultural and literary scenario of the Northeast, and the imbroglio which is encouraged further by his poetic engagement.

[Keywords: Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih, poetry, indigenous, Northeast, culture]

Apart from the geographical disadvantages of the region, India’s Northeast’s condition of exclusion has been exacerbated by a step-motherly behaviour of the country’s mainstream politics. “Although the Northeast historically has served as the eastern gateway for the passage of people, commodities, and ideas between India and its neighbours,” cites Das, “the Northeast’s emergence as a separate region bounded nearly on all sides by other territorially defined nation-states brought such continuities and interrelations…to an abrupt end” (Das, 2008, p. 5-6). Surrounded by international boundaries, Northeast’s only route of communication with the mainland India is the narrow Siliguri Corridor. Such poor communication system, to a certain extent, hinders Northeast’s social, economic and cultural transactions with the mainland. As an obvious result of negligence of the Central Government and poor communication system the region is underdeveloped and underprivileged which result in poverty, dissatisfaction among people, and insurgent activities. Since the post-Independence era the intra-India hegemony, of which Northeast becomes a victim, renders the regional subject one step further down the hierarchy to the limit of an almost unspeakability. The Northeastern subject’s condition is aggravated by issues of underdevelopment, regional turmoil and fast disappearing ethnic heritage. In analogy to Spivak’s choicest “subaltern,” immolated Hindu widow or “sati,” who is a victim of two-fold oppression of colonialism and patriarchy (Loomba, 2005, p. 192-203), the Northeastern subject turns out to be a victim of a coercive Central apparatus and conflicts within the State which have a kind of complicity for mutual interest (Barua, 2008, p. 19- 24). What again deteriorates the condition of the Northeastern subject is identity crisis resulting from “the large-scale migration of population from outside the region during the past one hundred years” (Singh, 1987, p. 162). The clash between the myriad ethnic groups, some of which call themselves ‘native’ and label others as ‘immigrant’, mounts up to the palimpsest of multi-layered conflict. The rivalry between different ethnic groups each of which makes their own claim of negligence and oppression prolong the disorder. However, the cultural heritage of the Northeast is not completely lost as different ethnic groups of the region have begun to discover their cultural roots although much of their purity has been obliterated.

Usually considered backward and ineligible for ‘central’ contestations, the region has suddenly become the centre of social, political and literary activities, and the three elements often construct a combined survey of the ‘condition of Northeast’ question. The literary output of the region has been decidedly incisive in presenting the identity politics and other pressing concerns for the Northeast. This is particularly exhibited in the reconstructive poetics of Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih, one of the Shillong Poets, who has broken away from “the mainstream tradition of city based cultures and urbanized images which marked poets from Mumbai, or Calcutta” (Guha, 2013). The poetic and politic significance of these poets, emerging from a neglected region, is immense, as Mark Bender illustrates:

The poems here tend to converge on themes and imagery (of the region): origins, migration, material culture, rituals, and features of the natural and human-manipulated environment. Though the cultural and linguistic links between these poets may be ancient and modern divisions complex, many of their poems resonate in ways that seem to dissolve borders and create poetic homes for their respective voices within the terrain of this upland region. (Bender, 2012, p. 107)

Nongkynrih is aware of Northeast’s various conflicts, both intra-regional, national and international, which provide him with fertile themes for his poetic projects. But the poet maintains an aesthetic distance from the chaotic ambience of the region, never producing an opprobrium against any agency or over-glorifying a scenario….Access Full Text of the Article


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Literature of North East India: Oral Narratives as Documents for the Study of Ritualization in the Darlong Community of Tripura

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Benjamina Darlong, Tripura University, Tripura, India

Abstract

The abstract attempt to read into rituals of the Darlong community of Tripura pitched on different phenomenal vines. The Darlong believed that there exists spirits, shadows and supernatural elements in every living and non-living body of nature. In the orature of the Darlong community, there are many such instances where the people response the natural happenings and old practices that are rooted in the oral narratives there by developing their rites and rituals. This article will investigate into the oral narratives and the evolution of certain rite and ritual that are either abandoned or carried out till today. However, it must be remembered that the Darlong, accepting the Christian creed in 1919, no longer preserved the belief today.

[Keywords: Darlong community, ritualization, oral narrative, Christianity]

  1. Introduction

Oral narratives are cultural materials and documents transmitted verbally from one generation to another in speeches or songs that later take up the form of folktales, folksongs, ballads, sayings or even chants. No doubt, the origin of this tradition may date back to some stone age when men knew not the art of writing yet watermark their every deed for their forth coming generations. It might also have originated in circumstances where a grandmother or a grandfather attempts to quench the thirst of their grandchildren about the outer world which according to them is a world full of adventures and strange happenings. In this way, it is possible for a society to transcend materials of the past across time. The Darlong oral tradition records the lives of the common people, their beliefs, simple joy and sorrow, customs and their encounter with strange forces of nature. It can be considered borrowing its accounts from an individual’s or group’s cultures functioning as a mediator to political decisions, validates conduct, release emotions and evaluate their social administration. The general themes of the tales are adventures, love, beauty hunting, hero tales, legendary tales, revenge and vengeance. The tales also manipulate the customs, rites and rituals of the people, beliefs faculty to form the plots and sub-plots or the wardrobe of it. On the other hand, they also records all the notable events of the past embedded with thought provoking stories revealing the historical, cultural, inhabitation, religious aspect and names of the kings, queens and chieftains of the community in the past. The folksongs also memorized almost all the drive made by the people. For instance, song for dead, song for harvesting, word play, song for encouragement, song celebrating success, song sang on their usual way of challenging the evil spirits, songs celebrating their hunting spirits and their way of courting their beloved etc.

The Darlong community does not have any written document. Hence, the community preserved their traditions and cultures through oral tradition and artifacts, which too is in a dwindling state. Every materials with which the community define its identity, existence and world where he is living in, taking from the anthropological myth to fairy tales are transmitted from generation to generation through oral tradition. Nevertheless, there are some writings maintained by early educated person on different subjects and those documents which the Village Council maintained in regard to their respective villages called ‘Khuahniangsia’, which of course is a product of later age. To begin with, the Darlong literature had its genesis of documentation with ‘Parkam’ (a collection of nine folktales) and followed by ‘Tian Thephung Bu’ (collection of folktales) by Pu. Siamkunga Darlong, Darchawi. Beyond these, there are monthly or weekly bulletins such as ‘Darlong Eng’, ‘Varna Sirbi, ‘Saibual Rawl’, ‘Vanglai’ etc. which records sermons, tales, songs, poetry, jokes, sayings, fictional stories and articles giving an explanation on varieties of topics like the ‘Tharlak Kut’ and other fest of the community. In addition, there are some referential writings of Holy Bible’s testaments in Darlong language like ‘Johana Hrilfiahna’ (reference on the Gospel of John) by Rev. Tlanglawma Darlong of Darchawi and ‘The Darlong of Tripura’ by Letthuama Darlong through Directorate of Tribal Research Institute, Govt. of Tripura. Recently, a successful effort on audio recording was made from Mr. Muana Darlong and as a result, the community could document their folksongs in ‘Ngaibang’. In the latest Tharlak Kut held on 11th– 12th Jan. 2013, Venue; Lamkhuang Khuahlui, effort has been made to revive the oral tradition of the community….Access Full Text of the Article


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The Fruitful and the Fulfilled: Looking at Adi Rasa and Shringar Rasa in the Folk Aesthetics of Bihu

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Prerana Choudhury, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi

Abstract
This paper seeks to explore the folk aesthetics of the springtime Bihu festival of Assam. The concept of Rasa, a significant part of the classical aesthetics found in Bharatmuni’s Natyashastra, has been outlined and illustrated through the Bihu songs- the dancing, the gestures as well as the overall ethos of the festival. A major aspect of the paper is the dialectics that form between the folk and the classical canon; an effort has been made to understand the juxtaposition of the two as well as the formation of the classical from the folk. Bihu as a celebration of eros, romance and fertility forms the core of the argument; adi-rasa and shringar-rasa form the primary essence of this celebration and this paper. This folk festival is undergoing rapid modernisation which has brought the dance form onto the urban stage that has led to the metamorphosis of the otherwise agricultural nomenclature of Bihu into a more ‘sanitised’ version of the same.

[Keywords: aesthetics, folk, rasa, adi-rasa, shringar-rasa, modernity, eros, romance, Natyashastra, gamusa, Huchori.]

I. Introduction
Rasa, the essence of a work of art, literally translates to ‘taste’ or ‘savour’. Theorised by the ancient sage Bharatmuni (between 200 BC and 200 AD), rasa refers to the specialised emotion inspired by the performers in an audience, which enables the viewers to relish the performance and engage with it in a manner that is deeper and more involved than in the actions of everyday living. It is what demarcates a performance, a work of art- or even a celebration- from the mundaneness of daily existence and thereby aestheticises the emotions provoked in the viewers by the ‘spectacle’ created to inspire good thought which in turn will inspire good living. The moral injunction within a classical framework such as that of the rasa theory is undeniable- it would be largely reminiscent of the question about art’s moral responsibility in place throughout history- specially in the context that the Natyashastra itself arrived at a time when society faced decadence, and it was left to the realm of the arts to elevate man from moral downtroddenness. (It is said that the four Vedas Brahma created- Rigveda, Samaveda, Yajurveda and Atharvaveda- were not allowed to be studied by the lower castes and the women of society; so Brahma created the Natyaveda to be studied and practised by all.) Is the experience of rasa subjective or objective? Different philosophers and scholars thoughout history have provided their own perspective on it based on their philosophical stances. Although the navarasas per se are objective categories in terms of codification of the aesthetic experience through particular words themselves, Bharata stated how rasa and emotionneed to be felt in experience while words exist as the suggestions of the same. This democratic rendering of rasa stresses on the ‘experiential or subjective side of poetic meaning’ which ‘seems rather pointless, for ultimately everything is an experience, such as a colour, taste, or emotion, and can be known as it is in itself only through direct acquaintance.’

II. “The Springtime Bihu of Assam”- a Celebration of Eros
One of the seven northeastern states of India, Assam encompasses numerous ethnic communities, each with its own distinct cultural flavour, thereby negating the notion of a homogenous ‘Assamese’ identity. The contours of such a representation would be multifaceted, then; not simply as a result of diverse tribal identities but also as a consequence of the interaction between the ‘greater’ mainland Hindu influence that has seeped into the region and interacted with ‘indigenous’ tribal faiths, ensuing a process of assimilation. This can be said to have been possible because “(t)he religion described as Hinduism is a body of beliefs and customs traceable to various sources- Aryan and non-Aryan, Indian and non-Indian, modern and old. It is absorptive in character and has an attitude which has found itself expedient in dealing with people of various grades of development- from believing in a super soul to worshippers of stones and trees… Indian folklore is as much the Hindu’s as it is the tribal’s.” A melting pot, hence, Assam fuses communities that trace their origin to the Aryavarta, the Tibeto-Burmans and the Ahoms who are descendants of the Shun community from China’s Unan province, alongwith traces of Dravidian and Austric people as well….Access Full Text of the Article

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Hybrid and Hyphenated Arab Women’s English Narratives as a New Coming-of Age Literature

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Dalal Sarnou, Mostaganem University, Algeria

Abstract
Anglophony rose in most Middle Eastern countries from the long years of British colonization as it is the case with other South Asian and South African countries. After Bhabha, this has favored the emergence of hybrid identities, hybrid writings and hybrid cultures. Compared with the literature in French produced by North African (Algerian, Tunisian or Moroccan) or even Lebanese writers, the list of writings produced by Arabs (from Middle East mainly) in English was one on the whole unimpressive. This statement was challenged by an impressive increasing of English productions by Arab writers, mainly and interestingly women like Ahdaf Soueif, Leila Abulela, Soraya Antonius, Fadia Faqir, and others who either live in Britain, in the U.S or between the U.S/Britain and the Arab world. In reality, although scores of books have looked at Anglophone literature around the globe, they tend to make scant reference to the contribution of Arab writers, and specially women. Knowing that names such as Chinua Achebe, Bharati Mukherjee, Salman Rushdie and Anita Desai among others now are forming what can be identified as ‘parallel canon’, a similar recognition must be dedicated to significant Anglophone Arab writers –most of which are women as Ahdaf Soueif, Fadia Faqir, Diana Abu Djaber and others. This paper raises issues of hybridity, hyphenation and the literary specificity of Arab Anglophone women writings by looking at various bestselling English works produced by Arab British and Arab American women authors.

[Keywords: Arab English literature, Arab Anglophone women narratives, Arab British, Arab American, Diaspora, home, minor literature.]

Introduction
The recent impressive boosting of narratives produced in English by women authors who are Arab British/American immigrants or daughters of early Arab British/American immigrants has encouraged many critics and academics to categorize this coming of age literature within specific frameworks.These narratives are now widely recognized by Western critics and are interested in by many academics and researchers . Indeed, the last few decades have been marked by an important increase of literary works produced in English by Arab male and female writers who are described either as Anglophone or hybrid , needless to mention that Anglophone Arab female writers outnumber male writers. These women writers , in particular, are of Arabic decent: either academics and/or intellectuals who migrated to Britain or USA and decided to write in English or British / American writers who are daughters of early twentieth century first Arab immigrants settling mainly in the US and whose mother tongue is English. Interestingly, literary works written by Arab Anglophone women writers –mainly novels and short stories –brought more recognition and visibility to the Arab Woman and defy the orientalist representation that was promoted since the nineteenth century in Western literature, media and art as is the case with European paintings and photographs and also in images from the World’s Fair in the U.S. in the 19th and early 20th centuries; these paintings depicted the Arab World as an exotic and mysterious place of sand, harems and belly dancers, reflecting a long history of Orientalist fantasies. Examples of these paintings are Delacroix, Death of Sardanapalus (1827), Delacroix, Women of Algiers in their apartment and others.
Arab women narratives produced by immigrant writers represent a distinct trend that falls into various literary areas, but the most recurrent of these areas in recent literary criticism is Arab Anglophone literature. Certainly, Anglophone Arabic literature, that is a literature conceived and executed in English by writers of Arabic background, is qualitatively different from Arabic literature and Arabic literature translated into English (Nash 11). This trend of Arabic literature is to be considered as the formative influences on contemporary international literatures: the postcolonial, with its theorization of intercultural relations by reference to the impact of colonialism and imperialism on non-Western literatures. The transnational aspect of Anglophone Arabic literature, which may add to this trend the feature of international literature, goes back to the impact and the cutting edge effects of globalization….Access Full Text of the Article


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