Assamese Literature

Narrating “India”: Liminal Narratives of Northeast and Assertion of Identity

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Liji Varghese
Assistant Professor of English, All Saints’ College, Trivandrum, Kerala, India. ORCID: 0000-0002-5373-5911. Email: liji.eng@allsaintscollege.ac.in

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages 1-10. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne27

First published: June 25, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

The canonical notion of the Nation has always been a highly problematic and significant motif in Indian English literature. A close perusal reveals the staggering conflicts that arise as the counter-narratives raise pertinent questions that dispute the validity of the official discourse. One may argue that it is too simplistic to think of a singular concept of ‘India’ that can appease the demands of pluralistic narratives. Rather, one should envisage ‘Indias’ that open itself to fluid perspectives and accommodate polyphonic narratives. It is at such a juncture that writings from the Northeast India play a decisive role as they effectively re-mould the concepts of identity and authenticity in narrating the Indian experience. When writers like Siddhartha Deb, Anjum Hasan, and Anungla Zoe Longkumer examine the nuances of a liminal discourse that had hitherto been excluded from the nationalist canon, they become potent narratives that hint at the palimpsestic layers of a pluralistic discourse. The present paper tries to analyse works like The Point of Return (2003), Lunatic in My Head (2007) and The Many that I am (2019) as narratives that become persuasive layers of a palimpsestic notion of nation.

Key words: Liminal narratives, fluidity, palimpsestic India, identity and authenticity, Self/Other dichotomy


Narrating "India": Liminal Narratives of Northeast and Assertion of Identity

Introduction: Narrating the Nation

The nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries witnessed the nationalist movement in India making its presence felt in the myriad aspects of quotidian life. The growth of nationalist literature is concomitant with the idea of creating a nationalist discourse that expedited the creation of an “imagined community” (Anderson, 1986) which naturally served its purpose in disposing of the colonial yoke. Sunil Khilnani notes how the creation of the political entity called modern India has been fashioned out of diverse ideas. According to him, “the possibility that India could be united into a single political community was the wager of India’s modern, educated, urban elite, whose intellectual horizons were extended by modern ideas and whose sphere of action was expanded by modern agencies.” (2012, p.5). However, as the literary nation thus narrated began its sojourn after independence, the earlier paradigms that served to define it had to be constantly re-written to accommodate nascent narratives that had remained silenced in an earlier era. The monolith of ‘India’ has been replaced by plural narratives that celebrate the protean nature of ‘Indias’.

“In emphasising the fluidity of boundaries, … texts have moved a long way from the totalizing narratives of territorial nationalism. The idealism and absolute dichotomies of the early twentieth century cannot sustain a writer who lives in a more ambiguous and tentative world.” (Mukherjee, 1992, p.148)

The task of narrating the new ‘Indias’ has been unreservedly taken up by modern Indian English writers like Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, Manu Joseph and so on who believe that the personal is the political. In the decades following Indian independence, the sacrosanct ideal of the Indian nation and its official narratives were closely emulated in literature as well. Though there were voices of dissent, they were few and far in between. The dawn of the new century brought forth a class of writers who deliberately foregrounded liminal narratives and their untold perspectives. Narrating the nation is a complex task and narrating the liminal discourses couched within the nationalist narrative is even more intricate. Bhabha acknowledges the complexity of this process when he comments on how it evolves into a “… liminal form of social representation, a space that is internally marked by cultural difference and the heterogeneous histories of contending peoples, antagonistic authorities and tense cultural locations.” (Bhabha, 1990, p.299).

If one is to observe the narration of a nation like India, there is a surprisingly diverse variety of indigenous cultures jostling with each other for space and voice. “This discordant material was not the stuff of which nation-states are made; it suggested no common identity or basis of unity that could be reconciled within a modern state.” (Khilnani, 2012, p.152). The very notion of a fixed national identity becomes extremely cliched as it trivialises the pertinent signifiers of identity like sexuality or ethnicity or social class that each individual embodies. Huddart opines that “the power of a national narrative seems entirely confident of its consistency and coherence, but is all the while undermined by its inability to really fix the identity of the people, which would be to limit their identity to a single overpowering nationality.” (2007, p. 111)

The post-independence era witnessed a number of counter-narratives that sought to (re)define the ideas of identity and authenticity through potent discourses that sought radical revisions of the official narrative. The official narrative of nationalism clashes violently with the counter-narratives as they both follow different ideological tangents. The discourse of nationalism is one that is “predicated on exclusion” (Munasinghe, 2005, p.155), while liminal narratives stress on the ‘otherness’ that had been displaced from the mainstream. “Counter-narratives of the nation that continually evoke and erase its totalizing boundaries – both actual and conceptual – disturb those ideological manoeuvres through which ‘imagined communities’ are given essentialist identities” (Bhabha, 1990, p.300).

It is in such a context that literature of Northeast India emerges as powerful counter-narratives that displace complacent notions of mainland India from asserting their perceived supremacy over the margins. The Northeast states had nursed an uneasy relationship with the Hindi heartland of India and had often been deliberately erased from what is touted as mainstream Indian culture. The literature from the Northeast area has made a powerful comeback in the recent decades and proudly stays away from the themes that preoccupy the official canon. While it is too simplistic to club together with the individual literary narratives of the various states under the rubric of Northeast literature, the same has been done by many critics as there are overarching themes and motifs that acknowledge a shared past. The precolonial oral narratives of the various tribes celebrated the unique and dynamic nature of the region. The Ahom dynasty in Assam nurtured a rich literary tradition and the invaluable Meitei scripts of precolonial Manipur reveal a heritage that is impressively expansive in its scope and design. The colonial need to homogenise the Northeast was an extremely complex process that shaped the later literary traditions of the region, with regard to its linguistic, cultural and political tangent. The postcolonial narratives of the region were often in English that passionately asserted the historic and social individuality of the Northeast. Commenting on the evocative nature of Northeast literature, Vivek Menezes comments that the reader is drawn “into an unknown world: tribal and globalised at the same time, not-quite India and perfectly content to remain that way” (Menezes, 2020). The Northeast literature is now characterised by poignant resonances of cultures that remain unique in the polyphonic narratives of modern India. The present paper tries to analyse how the crucial signifiers of identity and the Self/Other dichotomy manifest in layering the narratives of a palimpsestic nation by an intense perusal of works like The Point of Return (2003), Lunatic in My Head (2007) and The Many that I am (2019).

Gendered Identity and the dichotomy of Self/Other in Moulding Counter-narratives

In her Introduction to the anthology, The Many That I Am, Anungla Zoe Longkumer states emphatically, without any preamble, that the book is an attempt to narrate the Naga women’s account of history or specifically ‘herstory’. She says, “Instead of ‘others’ depicting a somewhat superficial image of the Nagas, it is Naga writers who are now espousing the need for honest probity into our inner selves in order to correct our past mistakes by creating a livable present” (Longkumer 2019, p.6). The Naga identity is here proudly proclaimed and the other narratives are dismissed as being “superficial”; narratives that masquerade as authentic but which lack credulity before the Naga Self. Chitra Ahanthem describes the book as “the socio-cultural history of Nagaland through its many women” (Ahanthem, 2019). One can even argue that the book and its creation constitute the emergence of a counter-narrative that revisits notions of Naga history and identity from a feminine perspective.

Identity is a crucial signifier in the creation of the Self and the process of asserting the authenticity of one’s identity is often quite complex.  “Rather than being primordial, identity is constructed, and its construction is strongly influenced by politico-historical and sociocultural conditions…. Depending on the context, an individual invokes different identities at different times” (Jayaram, 2012, p.56). One constantly seeks validation from other sources to assert a particular identity.

“Even more importantly, the self is projected in the first place in order to answer the glance of the other. Consequently, identity is not merely differentiated from alterity, the other, by singling itself out from a multiplicity of others; it is itself constituted in a dialectic process that interacts with the other” (Fludernik, 2007, p.261).

The Naga women writers have come forward to posit an identity that had earlier been silenced by master narratives of both the nation and patriarchy. They have initiated the “dialectic process” by a bold assertion that refuses to capitulate before the glance of the Other.

The validation of the Self doesn’t necessarily involve a blind negation of the Other; instead, it involves a keen awareness that accepts, disputes and re-creates the imposed sense of identity. In the essay, “Outbooks”, Narola Changkija narrates with great lucidity the clash of identities in her young Naga self when she develops awareness of the Others around her. “We lived in a tribal world, a Scheduled Tribes world, where our internal realities clashed with our external state of being. We were the descendants of ancient head-hunters, but we were dependent on the generous funds of a Central Indian government. We were not like the plains people, the tsumars” (Longkumer, 2019, p.128). She is aware of their ‘otherness’ and questions their presence in the world of the Nagas. It is this awareness that moulds her own sense of self as opposed to a militant stance of rejection or a supplicant attitude of mimicking.

The liminal narrative created by the Naga women becomes even more pertinent as it links gender with the idea of Nation/State/Tribe. Traditionally, women’s role in nationalist discourse has been subjected to specific paradigms that furthered the stereotypical depiction of women as custodians of culture. “The new patriarchy advocated by nationalism conferred upon women the honour of a new social responsibility, and by associating the task of ‘female emancipation’ with the historical goal of sovereign nationhood, bound them to a new, and yet entirely legitimate, subordination” (Chatterjee, 1986, p.248). This trope in nationalist discourse is cleverly subverted in Vishu Rita Krocha’s story, “Cut Off” when Tasu the patriarch acknowledges that the stories of history and myth change for the better when women are involved. The traditional role of women as passive participants in men’s militant history is disputed when women establish peace in a situation that could have wiped out many lives. In a thorough subversion of gendered roles, the man is grateful that women intervened (Longkumer, 2019, p.35). “This may mean that women are simultaneously both less militaristic and less nationalistic because militarism is often seen as an integral facet of a national project” (Walby, 1996, p.252). War and violence are negated as constructs belonging to an outdated discourse and women chart the borders of a new discourse that looks at other alternatives as opposed to the earlier way of life.

Othering the Self: Notion of Authenticity in Liminal Narratives

The metanarrative of the nation often imposes a set of signifiers that define the parameters of normalcy. “A shared bedrock of pre-determined differentials that include religion, language, ethnicity and/or caste, work in conjunction with the existing cultural systems to infiltrate the collective consciousness and become ‘normalised’” (Silva, 2004, p.15).  The liminal narratives of a geographic region like the Northeast pose a threat to the metanarrative as it celebrates its ‘otherness’ and foregrounds its difference as its identity. The tension that arises when liminal narratives clash with the metanarrative often gathers its momentum from the notion of authenticity. How does one define authenticity and who is qualified to be the authentic voice of the metanarrative? Siddhartha Deb and Anjum Hasan play with the concept of authenticity when they depict how the process of othering becomes the crux for counter-narratives that deconstruct the notions of Self/ Other.

In narratives from the Hindi heartland, especially visual narratives that cater to the edicts of ‘popular (Bollywood) culture’, people from the Northeast and the Southern parts of India are caricatured, thus emphasising their ‘otherness’. Analysing the situation, Nityananda Kalita points out that this “national-centric discourse about the Northeast shaped mostly by former bureaucrats and retired army, police and intelligence officers is heavily pro-state and insensitive to the vulnerabilities of the common man and dismissive of the frequent transgressions of rights of its own citizens by the state” (Kalita, 2011, p. 1358).  The Point of Return and The Lunatic in my Head eschew simplistic narratives of unity found in nationalistic discourse and address the conflict-ridden narrative of the Northeast from the perspectives of both the indigenous people and the Bengalis. The novels also subvert the Self/ Other dichotomy when the narrative is focalised1 from the perspectives of non-indigenous people in Northeast who view it as home. They become the Other in the eyes of the natives who regard them as outsiders. They do not belong to the Northeast and therefore they are the Other, and the illusion of being an Indian who has chosen to reside in another part of India becomes one that mocks its own pretentious ideological framework. In The Point of Return, Dr. Dam and Babu are perplexed and saddened by the stark realisation of their otherness. They are termed as useless Bengalis coming over the border (Deb, p.22). And in a very telling sentence, Deb captures the predicament of the Other, who had tried to forge a new sense of Self. “No use for Bengalis, always coming over the border.” They said nothing, looking away at the Indian flag fluttering in front of the guard-house” (Deb, p.22). The Indian flag is a symbol of the nationalist discourse that harbours ideals of unity among diversity and the fragility of such ideals is exposed when Bengalis are termed as outsiders by the indigenous Hill people. The colonial era’s attempt to homogenise the Northeast with the ‘Indian mainland’ witnessed cultural and linguistic impositions on the natives. The Britishers’ attempt to standardise the vernaculars by imposing Bengali language was met with stiff opposition. The subsequent influx of Bengalis from East Pakistan during Partition and later during the 1971 Indo-Pakistani war made the situation in Northeast (especially, the state of Assam) even more volatile. The indigenous people viewed the migrants with suspicion and hostility and this can be viewed as a continuum of their resistance to the erstwhile narratives of colonial hegemony. The conflict is rooted in the natives’ fear of “losing cultural identity and political power and not receiving its share of the region’s resources” (Kalita, 2011, p.1358). Deb’s portrayal of the tension between the natives and the ‘Bengalis’ like Dr. Dam and Babu emphasises this aspect. Such a narrative strategy can also be viewed as a parody of the official mainstream discourse where the roles of the Self and Other are subverted.

Dr. Dam muses about how people are deeply divided on account of their ethnicity.

“There had been a time when ethnic differences had been unimportant, and when he thought about it, even now most of his tribal colleagues were remarkably unprejudiced. If anything, it was his fellow Bengalis and other nontribal groups who were insular, with a vague sense of superiority over the tribal officers (Deb, p.74).

As the novel is narrated in a reverse chronological manner, we understand that Dr. Dam makes this observation at an earlier point in time and that the passage of years has eroded the fabric of unity that the metanarrative of the nation imposed on the individual states. The metanarrative of the Indian nation carries the vestiges of the colonial mission of homogenisation and this makes it even more problematic. The insidious ways in which the colonial power controlled the Northeast and the ensuing linguistic, cultural and racial conflicts are seldom recorded in the official discourse of the nationalist struggle. The renowned political scientist, Sanjib Baruah comments on how the colonial imposition of arbitrary political borders of the Northeast catered to the Britishers’ economic and administrative interests. He notes that such policies are carried forward by the Indian nation and argues that the term Northeast embodies the “history of a series of ad hoc decisions made by national security-minded managers of the postcolonial Indian state” (qtd. in Roychowdhury 2021). The conflict between the indigenous people and the Bengalis can be traced back to the colonial era, which witnessed a forceful imposition of the Bengali language on certain parts of the region. The Bengali presence in the region was perceived as an extension of the colonial regime and this worsened the relationship between the two communities. Dr. Dam’s observation about the Bengalis’ prejudice emphasise how the indigenous people were often alienated in their own land. As the narrative unfurls, the Bengalis are soon relegated to the status of the Other, just as they had viewed the tribals a few years earlier. When the tribal people make this distinction between themself and the immigrant Other, it becomes a counter-discourse to claim their sense of self that had earlier been effaced in the official narrative of the Nation. One can argue that “the novel shows the urgency of re-narrating the nation from the margin and also calls for the rethinking of the concept of nationhood and national identity or belonging.” (Mishra, 2021).

Hasan’s Lunatic in my Head takes this debate further when the outsiders are termed as dkhars and viewed with extreme hostility. The novel explores the seething undercurrents of the ethnic conflict that rages through the veins of Shillong. The political, regional and linguistic cartography of the Northeast had been remarkably altered during the colonial era and the initial years of the post-independence period. During the colonial period, the Bengali presence in the region was encouraged by the Britishers who wanted to assimilate the socio-cultural diversities of the various states into a homogenised mass for ease of governance. The violent undercurrents of Partition and the Indo-Pakistan war of 1971 witnessed successive waves of immigrants settling in the Northeast and this further heightened the ethnic tensions in the region. The people of Northeast define identity in terms of their ethnic and linguistic markers and the presence of outsiders who attempt to dilute these signifiers of individual identity has always been a point of conflict. The conflict depicted in Lunatic in my Head has to be analysed from this perspective. Aman, one of the primary focalisers in the narrative, is confused and scared by the hostility that he faces from Max and his cronies because he has always considered Shillong his home. One can argue that home need not always be a location with definite spatio-temporal co-ordinates. It is a concept that is concomitant with a state of security; a feeling of being ‘at home.’ Aman is an outsider who seeks validation of his self. While he is accepted by his Khasi friends, Ribor, Ibomcha and Bodha, there is a strong wave of hostility that he faces due to his status as an outsider. Aman is caught in the ethnic tension that is one of the crucial conflicts raging within the Northeast. After decades of marginalisation, the Northeast internalises this conflict and the resultant Self/ Other dichotomy is one that had been fostered by their invisibility in the national metanarrative.

Sophie Das, a child born to a Bengali father and a ‘North Indian’ mother, internalises this conflict when she shuttles between the security provided by Kong Elsa, the Khasi matriarch and the veiled hostility that she imbibes from Jason, Elsa’s son. Her pain and humiliation at a party (Hasan p. 98-99) make her realise that the world is indeed different for different people. Sophie is ignored at the party because of her outsider status and if not for Elsa’s intervention, the child would have gone hungry. Sophie longs to belong to Elsa’s world so as to defy the mantle of the outsider. “She thought that the nicest thing, the nicest thing by far, . . . would be if she could somehow turn into one of them, somehow become Khasi” (Hasan p. 99). Sophie’s longing to be a Khasi is again a subversion of the tropes seen in mainstream narratives where the marginal dreams of a space of belonging. In the narrative of the Northeast, Sophie is the marginalised, who yearns to gain acceptance through finding Selfhood. Her self has been othered by the rejection at the party and she wishes to reclaim the same by appropriating the elusive identity of a native. The primary marker of identity here is ethnic and Sophie covets this unique identity. Bhagat Oinam comments on the complexities that underline the politics of identity in the Northeast, “As much as caste-based identification and division mark the state of the social and political structure in mainland India, the sociopolitical reality of Northeast India can be well captured through ethnicity-based identities and their dynamics” (Oinam, 2008, p.19). Sophie’s upper-caste identity becomes redundant as she lacks the ethnic status that would help her belong. Hasan has admitted that she deliberately foregrounded the narratives of migrants in the Northeast as it was a theme no one ever addressed (cited in Rahman, 2008). Thus, we have the evolution of counter-narratives within the counter-narratives of the Northeast. The Indian mainland has a number of Northeast migrants and the appalling discrimination that they face is seldom addressed in the metanarratives of the nation. Hasan’s counter-narrative focuses on a conflict that stems from the colonial policy of assimilation and subsequent migrations. The steady arrival of migrants soon turned into an exodus that threatened the demographic balance of the region. The natives’ hostility to the outsiders can also be viewed in the light of their growing anxiety towards what they perceived as a cultural hegemony in terms of linguistic and racial obtrusions. Therefore, Sophie and Aman become the face of the outsiders though they long to belong. The conflicts within the narrative can never be perceived in simplistic terms as it carries the embers of a tension that arose centuries ago.

The ethnic conflict raging within Shillong is emblematic of the identity conflicts that take place throughout India. It is a microcosm of the fissured world that we live in. The place is symptomatic of the nation that we belong to, an India that “is riddled by extremism and hatred for the other, for the outsider and where your identity is increasingly being attached to fixed, political categories, leaving no space for any fluidity and understanding of those who do not fit in into neat compartments” (Singh, 2019). The liminal narratives of Shillong and the other Northeast cities clash with the ossified dominant discourse that hinges on the ideas of nationalism and territorial integrity. As we are busy contesting the notion of authenticity, where does that leave the idea of India? Who then, is the real Indian, and whose narrative is the most authentic? As the earlier notions of a national discourse are now replaced by fragmented narratives, the idea of the nation itself has undergone a sea change. Khilnani notes that “the lines of political connection now run across and among these fragments, and are producing an intricate tessellation of identities” (Khilnani, 2012, p.193).

Conclusion: Towards a Palimpsestic Narrative of Nation

David Huddart defines palimpsests2 as “overwritten, heavily annotated manuscripts, on which earlier writing is still visible underneath newer writing: they offer a suggestive model of hybrid identity” (p.107). In an era, which celebrates the fluidity of narratives, it is perhaps imperative to explore nation as a palimpsestic narrative. A narrative that disputes canonical absolutes and embraces the protean power of nascent discourses. The literature from Northeast, both in English and in regional languages, contributes greatly to the rich yarn of a palimpsestic narrative. By foregrounding lived experiences and value systems that are distinctly different from the mainland culture, these liminal narratives forge explosive links between identity, gender, and the politics of power.

The sub-nationalist narratives of the Northeast have emerged as powerful counter-discourses that do not cater to the normative categories of the official narrative. The normative narratives that attempt to paint a glossy picture of turbulent political realities have now exploded in the face of persistent sub-nationalist currents. The monolithic ideals of religion and race; the deification of nation as motherland and the celebration of cliched ideals like unity in diversity are now actively disputed by counter-narratives. The Northeasterners’ pride in their ethnic identity far surpasses their political allegiance to the Indian nation. In the novel, Lunatic in my Head, Aman notices the slogan “We are Khasis by Blood, Indians by Accident” (Hasan, 2007, p.32) as he explores the city with his Khasi friend, Ribor. The slogan becomes a symbol of the principal ethnic identity that the Khasis hold dear. Rather than taking umbrage at this blatant questioning of national identity as one’s primary social marker, one should view identity as a coalescing signifier that binds together the notions of nation, tribe, community, religion and gender into a fluid construct. “Their cultural foreignness to the Indic cultural system clearly marks off the hill “tribes” from the rest of Indians. The non-Indic-ness is the mark of “tribal” identity in the Northeast” (Kalita, 2011, p.1367). The ethnonationalism of the Northeast gains momentum through such palimpsestic narratives as they contest the official discourse of a pan-Indian identity.

India is a ‘nation’ that is home to teeming multitudes that subscribe to diverse socio-cultural, linguistic and religious contexts. How then can we fixate on a notion of a singular identity? In contemporary India, the very idea of defining one’s national identity is an act that is politically charged. Oinam analyses how the concept of “othering the other” (2008, p.21) becomes crucial in the configuration of identity in Northeast India. The counter-narratives that emphasise this process of othering resonate with the reality of the Northeast as opposed to the mainland’s predilection to blatantly ignore the source of conflict.  The narratives of Northeast often emphasise the motif of conflict as it outlines the volatility of its socio-political structuring. These narratives enhance the palimpsestic reality of narrating ‘India’ and the ensuing liminalities are as important, if not more important than homogenising metanarratives. “Nation and community remain important, it is just that they need to be imagined in new ways” (Huddart, 2007, p.117). While there is no need to eulogise and idealise the emerging protean narratives, one should embrace its resistance to cower before the monoliths of hegemonical structures and ideological frameworks. “There is no ideological or cultural guarantee for a nation to hold together. It just depends on human skills” (Khilnani, 2012, p.207). The power of the people to narrate and sustain their unique narratives should be lauded as it sets out to trace uncharted territories of “imagined communities.”

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Endnotes

  1. Focalised: A term used in narrative theory. Focalization specifies the concept of perspective and can be categorised into the focalizer (the one who sees) and the focalized (the one who is seen). Genette and Mieke Bal are the leading theoreticians who have formulated the various aspects of focalization. According to Genette, there are three categories of focalization; non-focalization or zero focalization, internal focalization and external focalization. Zero focalization is characterised by a panoramic point of view. In internal focalization, events are filtered through characters internal to the narrative. Lastly, external focalization refers to a stringent reduction in the amount of narrative information that is available.
  2. Palimpsests are defined as manuscripts or written materials from which the earlier writing or drawing has been erased to create a new layer that can be used again. In ancient times, it was a matter of necessity to re-use these manuscripts due to the acute shortage of parchments, that were primarily used as writing material. The term has also been used in the fields of architecture and archaeology. In modern literary criticism, the idea of palimpsests has been deployed to suggest models of hybridity and plurality. Jawaharlal Nehru viewed India as a palimpsest that has layers of thoughts, beliefs and value systems inscribed as part of its rich heritage. David Huddart has commented on Salman Rushdie’s play with the idea of palimpsestic history in his novels. Critics have commented that Rushdie might have borrowed this palimpsestic ideal from the ideas of Nehru. In the Indian context, one can also view the nation as a palimpsest of pre-colonial, colonial and postcolonial histories which exist in a continuum.

References

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Khilnani, S. (2012). The Idea of India. Haryana, India: Penguin Books.

Longkumer A.Z. (Ed.). (2019). The Many that I am: Writings from Nagaland. New Delhi, India: Zubaan Publishers.

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Menezes, V. (2020, September 23).  Why is Writing from the Northeast often Ignored by mainland Indian literary culture? Scroll. https://scroll.in/community/article/973821/different-ways-of-belonging-literature-from-indias-north-east-states

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Dr. Liji Varghese is an Assistant Professor of English at All Saints’ College, Trivandrum, Kerala. She is also an Approved Research Guide registered with the University of Kerala and has a number of publications and presentations to her credit. Her areas of interest include Gender Studies in Digital Media, Cultural Politics and Indian Literature in English.

Partition and its Afterlife: Tracing Home, Memory and Longing in the Imagination of the Displaced Sylhetis

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Suranjana Choudhury
Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong, India. ORCID: 0000-0002-3662-9252. Email: tushi.chou@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages 1-11. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne26

First published: June 25, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract:

As people had to choose between one nation and the other during and after the Partition of 1947, homes were lost and lives were altered forever. India’s northeast, despite continuously bearing the consequences of this historical experience, remains largely an unacknowledged area in Partition studies. Any cursory exploration of Partition scholarship would reveal that Punjab and Bengal remain the primary sites of investigation. Where does one locate specificities of Partition experience of India’s northeast? Creative writers and artists in this region have also engaged with Partition and its seminal impact on the society and culture of India’s northeast. Through a study of select Partition writings from India’s northeast, this paper will examine the different registers of public and personal memories of Partition and its afterlife in the literary imagination of the displaced Sylhetis to bring forth a better understanding of the perpetuity of dislocation, loss and anxiety in the spheres of everydayness. Drawing upon Memory Studies and discourses concerning home and identity, this paper aims to explore how literature becomes important vehicle for representing inscription and transmission of Partition memories and connected idea of a lost home.

Keywords: Partition, Northeast, Sylhet, Memory, Home

To Remember:

To make peace is to forget. To reconcile, it is necessary that memory be faulty and limited. (Sontag, 2003, p. 115)

The act of remembering is compulsively tied up with the act of forgetting because one initiates the occurrence of the other. This phenomenon of simultaneity is symptomatic of various registers of remembering- collective and individual. Paul Ricoeur in his exploration of arsmemoriae observes if “a measured use of memorization also implies a measured use of forgetting” (Ricoeur, 2006, p. 68) and proceeds to further explicate issues concerning the relationship shared between remembering, forgetting and memory. Ricoeur, in his analysis of this complex and layered relationship, contends that it is the initiative to recall or remember that provides crucial scope to reframe forgetting. (Ricoeur,2006) The idea of ethics and aesthetics of memory and its working also assumes significance in our understanding of this connectedness between remembering and forgetting. As a conceptual framework for analyzing historical events, Memory Studies as a discipline offers useful insights and valuable interpretations. This subject of memory and its concomitant dimensions have attained crucial potency in the context of renewed interest invested in addressing and understanding the Partition of 1947 and its afterlife. As people had to choose between one nation and the other during and after Partition, homes were lost and lives were altered forever. Shelley Feldman (2004) while discussing the subject of displacement and its cascading effects in the context of Partition comments pertinently:

For those who chose to move from their place of residence after that date, they were no longer merely changing residence, as in shifting from one city to another for employment or education, but instead were risking immigrant or refugee status in a place that had been, only the day before, part of a shared national space, their home. (p. 113)

The tormenting process of displacement entailed devastation of lived space, cultural practice and social ties. It also signified violence of loss and the unsettling emergence of an immensely difficult life for the displaced. Appropriately noted by Ayesha Jalal (2013) as Partition being “a defining moment that is neither beginning nor end”, it continues to remind us that its perpetuity belongs to our time, to our everyday realities. (1) To this day, this historical episode which is more of an ongoing process significantly impacts discourses concerning identity formations, dynamics of nationhood and communal politics of entire South Asia. The chief engagement of this paper is with select Partition writings from India’s northeast to situate memories of this catastrophic event and the bearing of such memories on constructions of home and identity among Sylheti community residing in the northeast. Through an analysis of chosen narratives, this essay proposes to examine the different registers of public and personal memories of Partition and its afterlife to bring forth a better understanding of the perpetuity of dislocation, anxiety and longing for a lost homeland in the spheres of everydayness as shared by the displaced Sylhetis in different writings.

India’s northeast:

India’s northeast remained primarily an unacknowledged and unexplored site of analysis in Partition studies till very long. However, the story of Partition here, like many other marginalized narratives, has curiously entered the realm of visibility and scholarship only at the present times.  Any discussion of Partition experience has addressed Punjab and Bengal as two sites that suffered the violence and loss triggered by division and associated dislocation. It is important to note here that for a very long-time official projects and academic endeavours tended to overlook the primacy of Partition as a seminal occurrence altogether. Instead, one witnesses that maximum attention had been directed towards celebrating and marking 1947 as a glorious historical juncture of the end of oppressive, long-drawn colonial rule. Kavita Daiya (2008) in her discussion on Partition points out how after 1965, Partition violence largely disappeared from public discussion and how it was relegated to a remote past from the perspective of Indian nation-state. It was desirable that the past should be forgotten to maintain harmonious communal relationships within the nation. In his plea for an appropriate revision of historiography, Gyanendra Pandey (2004) has rightly argued that a very simplistic separation has been made between Partition and violence which in turn has led to omissions and erasures of important truths and insights pertaining to Partition experiences. David Gilmartin (1998) in his essay, “Partition, Pakistan and South Asian History: In Search of a Narrative”, had pointed out that the primary issue is the apparent irreconcilable dissonance between articulating a history of ‘high politics’ and that of ‘popular violence’. However, over a phase of the last few decades, historians, ethnographers, anthropologists, and memoirists have directed their attention towards the duality of independence from British colonialism and the enormity of complexities that characterize refugee issues and idea of nationhood. As Tarun Saint (2010) argues in his study of alternative modes of representation and contends that “such counter-narratives allow for the voicing of alternative perspectives and a reckoning with some of the more unpalatable and even grotesque aspects of the Partition experience and its aftermath.” (2) Seeking to retrieve undisclosed gaps and silences, recent studies have initiated valuable discussions about what happened and how things happened. These findings have helped in mapping out the complex nature of Partition legacy and its connected ramifications.

It also remains true that these alternative trajectories of Partition studies have compellingly been centered around Punjab and Bengal experiences. Even today a major research gap in Partition scholarship is inadequate engagement with India’s northeastern region.  It is important to remember that Partition has not rendered uniform experience shared by those who crossed borders in the east and the west, it altered on the basis of ethnic, class, caste, gender differences. The case of India’s northeast reiterates the dimension of characteristic heterogeneity of Partition history. Because of the paucity of scholarship on this area, very little has been known to the rest. This contentious past rooted in individual historical constructions and notions has “produced and reproduced the kind of social and political milieu within which the North East region (NER) is situated at present.” (Yumnam,2016, p158) Sanjib Baruah’s contention that in the case of Assam, specifically, the meaning of Partition which has been opening slowly and gradually over time through a tortuous process renders important meaning in the context of understanding multiple truths about Partition in the northeast. (Baruah,2015) When Partition became a reality it impacted community lives, social fabric, and culture of northeast in more ways than one. The displaced communities had to negotiate with numerous problems in the aftermath of the division of the country and continue to remain affected because “India is yet to frame transparent policies linking rights and laws regarding them.” (Sengupta,2016, p. 192) It separated northeast India from the rest of newly formed India except for a slim passage commonly referred to as chicken’s neck. Udayon Mishra (2000) in The Periphery Strikes Back provides an assessment of how Partition made Assam a landlocked province because Chittagong port which was a major outlet for Assam tea became a part of East Pakistan due to Partition. It had an adverse impact on the socio-economic structure of this region. Not only that, it immensely affected societal compositions and everyday realities of various linguistic and ethnic communities who were part of the people of northeast. Binayak Dutta (2019) in his discussion on this aspect pertaining to the Partition experience in India’s northeast alerts us:

The Partition of Bengal and Assam in 1947, culminating in the Radcliffe Line of 1947 divided not only the Hindus and Muslims of this region on religious and ethnic lines, it also divided the smaller ethnic communities like the Khasis, Garos, Hajongs, Rabhas, Karbis Koch-Rajbongshis, the Reangs and the Chakmas, to name a few. (para.9)

This wide-scale diversity of cartographic ramifications and border alignments with altered realities of belonging and identity reminds us of the urgency to recognize Partition as a defining moment that has had far-reaching consequences in the larger scheme of South Asian politics and culture and which to date remains unscripted and unacknowledged.

Sylhet and its specificities:

“My heart cries for the islands on the river Padma, o my dear compassionate folk

My heart cries for the islands

Who shattered my peaceful home, my happy dreams- o my dear compassionate folk?”[i]

As in the case with many cultural and ethnic communities in the northeast, Sylhetis have also been crucial recipients of the Partition experience and its associated terrains of subject formations. The story of Sylhetis in the context of Partition is not the story of a moment, it is the narrative of a continued exile, movement, and resettlement. Sylhet Referendum that had happened around seventy-four years ago and which led to the Partition of Assam is a crucially significant episode that has not been told adequately in mainstream Partition histories. The subtext of Partition (Sylhet) is more absorbing than the dominant text of Bengal Partition because it offers an entirely new perspective to our understanding of Partition politics. (Hossain, 2013) In recent times, questions have started being asked about the reasons behind such absence of representation and inadequate visibility of this important chapter of Partition. It had in reality permanently changed the lives and futures of generations of Sylhetis who were displaced from their homeland to arrive as refugees in the newly formed nation-state. In the wake of the decision to hold the Sylhet Referendum, there was a sincere assumption that Referendum would initiate a proper, clear mandate on the issue of Partition. Unfortunately, the reality was otherwise, a great number of people were displaced, dispossessed and rendered homeless within a very short span of time. Subsequent to the Referendum, most of Sylhet, except the three and a half thanas of Patharkandi, Badarpur, Karimganj and Ratabari, was transferred to East Pakistan. Referring to the complex layers of contextual politics and machinations that shaped the orchestration of the referendum, Mousumi Dutta Pathak (2012) notes that it was the “shared responsibility of the two religious communities of East Pakistan- the Hindus and the Muslims and the two linguistic communities of Assam or specifically the Brahmaputra Valley- the Assamese and the Bengalis.” (159) Because a sense of unpreparedness prevailed around the event, the displaced community struggled hard to negotiate with the changed circumstances. This forced displacement of Sylhetis, as argued by Anindita Dasgupta, “created and erased the newly drawn national boundaries by building diasporas and ‘de-territorialized’ fractured identities across South Asia on the one hand, and by raising serious questions about the authenticity and citizenship of Partition migrants on the other.” (2014,p.15)Seven decades on, this specter of the past and contentions surrounding its materiality raise fundamental questions about memory, home, and identity.

In this context, it is useful to indicate the potential of literary representations of Sylhet chapter of Partition to understand the negotiations of the public as well as personal memories of this historical experience. Literature is perhaps one of the most potent means of properly expressing essential truths about human dilemmas and understanding the world around us. It is useful to recall what Svend Erik Larsen (2016) notes about the role of literature:

Human experience, broken or not, is always local; it takes place as it were. But literature is always invested with translocal motifs, genres, metaphors, symbols, plots; characters travel across cultural boundaries in order for any local literature to come into being and, hence, to suggest interpretations of a local life world. Literature makes possible a shared understanding of human experience, but it does so by turning it into memory in a translocal perspective. (514)

The issue of how and what to represent in the midst of loss and crisis of displacement was not easy to resolve, especially keeping in mind the fraught history of Referendum politics and its connected dissonances. Furthermore, people who were at the receiving end of Partition-induced displacement were intensely busy resettling and starting life anew. These groups of displaced Sylheti people were engaged in rebuilding lives and homes in different parts of northeast. Moreover, the experience of loss and pain was raw and fresh for many to be able to come up with meaningful articulations. A sense of reticence marked literary imagination of creative writers and artists who could have taken this up. This initial lack of literary responses, in the words of Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee and Dipendu Das, should be viewed as a failure of the writers to “distance themselves from their immediate context and explore the themes in literary productions.” (Bhattacharjee &Das,2012, p.xi)It is pertinent to note that Barak Valley of Assam, which is Bhattacharjee and Das’s point of reference, happens to be the primary locus of most discussions concerning Sylheti culture and society in a post Partition milieu. Speaking about this pall of silence surrounding Partition, Amitabha Dev Choudhury points towards the lack of any internal evidence which may bring any ready-made answer to the issue. He further contends that “there is not a single signifier anywhere that can tempt the reader to read this silence itself as a narrative.” (Dev Choudhury, 2013) Eventually, this silence was challenged and new voices emerged to embody different layers of issues signifying post Partition predicament. One witnesses how the experience of loss and pain, consequent to displacement, produced important reflections on exile and memories of a lost home. A popular folk song records this measure of dispossession and vulnerability poignantly:

“O dear kin, you have visited my home after a long time

What shall I offer you here at my place?

I have neither roof nor hearth, only endless woes

Selling off all my possessions, I am bereft of all savings

I left my homeland because of Partition….”[ii]

This song further tells us how home before Partition meant prosperity and availability, this lost world, described with markers of plentitude, is reflective of an intimate, endearing and everyday memory. Here, this powerful engagement with Partition through the lens of memory is suggestive of a larger issue predicated on emotions of longing, loss, and return. The evocation of a lost place and longing connected with it is central to the analysis of literature written about a home left behind by the Sylhetis. And while memory of a lost homeland is invariably imbued with a discourse of loss, the idea of return is something that remains deeply problematic. As Stephan Feuchtwang (2003) has posited that a home is a mappable place of shared memory, acts of remembering, grieving and yearning demonstrate avenues for multifold layers of understanding home and belonging. It is interesting to note here that quite a few fictional representations written about lost home in Sylhet and subsequent trauma play out in various ways this interconnectedness between territory and self. Jhumur Pandey’s short story “Lost and Found” (originally published as “Mokkhodasundorir Haranoprapti”) is an apt example of this. At one point, Mokkhoda, the central figure in the story, reflects how her life is “based on memories; on dreams; on pain.” (Pandey, 2017, p.283) In exploring the relationship between mapping of places and the functional aspect of nostalgia Elizabeth Wilson (1997) points out that romance of nostalgia is tied both to a place which is lost and that we tend to understand our present through the remote perspective of the past. A complex web of desire and memory through which homeland is constructed by the protagonist here is symptomatic of many such constructions by survivors of Partition. Lore Segal in her work “Memory: The Problems of Imagining the Past” (1998) claims how recollection is a double experience like a double exposure, the time frame in which one remembers superimposes itself on the remembered time and the two images fail to synchronize perfectly at any point. The short story is replete with a delirious outpouring of an individual about a spatial entity of the past that is defined through its plentitude, bountifulness, and a kind of emotional comfort that is completely absent in post Partition life. The fragmented, non-sequential narrative switching continuously between past and present is heavily invested on the production of a sheltered home which is profoundly connected with the identity of the speaker. Her desire for her village concentrates equally on objects and activities thereby representing an affective intensity for a world that was known, whole, and that also must be experienced as a lack in the present context. This compulsion, as explained by Halbwachs, (1950) is the reason for remembering places and objects. Focusing on an amalgamation of objects and activities, Mokkhoda remembers her land, the sky, the water, and the sports had she indulged in:

“Mokkhoda remembers playing prisoner in the rain. She remembers Bamacharan Bhattacharya’s little school. Steamed leaves of amrul, the soft flesh inside palm fruits, tall tamarind trees, Karimchacha, the banks of the river Manu, Nehru at Panchabati, Aminabibi, a sweet dish made of taro roots. Some patchy visions and memories assail her.” (Pandey,2017, p.283)

Her remembrance in terms of earth, water, plants and other elements of nature can be read as a layered lamentation of emotions she associates with the topography of her erstwhile home and it also serves as a reminder of an embodied experience of a territory with which she shares a deep sense of belonging. The noted author Amit Chaudhuri, discussing Ritwik Ghatak’s engagement with Partition in his films, records how air, water, and sky are invoked as properties available to the homeless to embark on the task of memory-making. Chaudhuri notes:

Ghatak’s images of Partition, thus, are the elemental ones of land, water, and sky, suggesting the composition of the universe in its original form, and belonging to mythology of creation. It’s not so much history-book Partition we have here as the world as an immigrant or exile or newcomer would see it, starting from scratch and reconstructing his life and his environment from nothing.” (Chaudhuri, 1997, p.95)

Mokkhoda with her lost son and husband seeks out an escape from a life that has turned topsy-turvy owing to Partition and which shall not offer her any relief from her immediate circumstances of destitution and denial. Ananya Jahanara Kabir (2013) in her analysis of Siddharth Deb’s novel demonstrates how this “spatio-temporal elsewhere” with its vivid description of “tempestuous rivers, fishes and snakes, its groves overflowing with mangoes, guavas and jackfruits” is lost to Dr. Dam’s mind. (111) Kabir further contends how that left behind place is “a knot around which swirls remembering and forgetting, narrating and silencing.” (77) The concluding part of the story foregrounds the need for connecting Mokkhoda’s personal narrative of loss and rumination with the larger narrative of country’s Partition and how she finds her lost husband and son not in the real sphere of existence , but in the realm of a fractured, dream-like sequence of narration .The final lines of the story which say, “the shower of memories and dreams are running in rivulets down her shrunken body”(Pandey,283)and also how “Mokkhoda spreads her arms out in deep and longing”(Pandey, 283) give a sense of the merger of the linguistic with the somatic to establish an illusory reconciliation.

In Amitabha Dev Choudhury’s short story “Wake Up Call” (originally published as Ghoombhanganiya), it is possible to discern an interweaving of the theme of memories sweeping across generations and the texture of longing for another time and place. This story told from the perspective of a second-generation recipient of the Partition experience represents the trope of interconnectedness and entanglement of impressions of homeland and mental cartography remembered, desired and articulated by different subject positions. Just as arbitrariness of political boundaries and new forms of belonging and citizenship had assailed Thamma in Amitav Ghosh’s The Shadow Lines, similar mode of affliction is conveyed through the character of Masi, an elderly woman in the neighbourhood of the narrator.

Alastair Bonnett, (2015) talking about the persistence of loss in the realm of migrant nostalgia, makes us aware about how loss and longing have different consequences. He states how this sense of loss and longing “range from and shift between creative attempts to re-script identity in new contexts to forms of exclusionary identity politics” (p. 97). Masi’s persistent yearning for home and concurrently her desire to return that remains unfulfilled imply a loss of personal wholeness and moral certainty which is examined as an important component in Bryan Turner’s discussion about the second level of nostalgia. (Turner, 1987) Masi’s mental map cataloguing “lush green fields; vast horizons, endless expanse of water, full-grown crops of corn bending downwards in the vast open golden fields; the archetypal dwelling places of rural Bengal; the big ponds; the clamouring fish; the village barns spilling over with the overflowing reserve of harvest…” (Dev Choudhury,2012, p.142) is indicative of a reflexive, interminable relationship that she shared with her village. Edward Said contends in “Invention, Memory and Place” that in recent years it is possible to witness an increasing interest in the interface between humanities and social sciences: memory and geography or, more specifically, the study of human space. (Said,2000) This aspect is evident in most of the stories discussed in this paper. Anjali Gera Roy in her essay, “Memories of lost homes” (2020) provides compelling insights into the ongoing debates surrounding notions of home, displacement and longing in the context of India’s Partition. She notes, “The choice of places and objects- a street, a terrace, a fruit, a snack, a sport or a melody- that evoke sentiments of longing in Partition refugees is inexplicable to those who have not partaken in the cultural memories of those shared pleasures” (Gera Roy, 2020, p.138). The overt source of pain and loss in “Wakeup Call” is a kind of irresolution that will forever affect generations of displaced community in the northeast because of Partition’s cartographic consequences. What Jahanara Kabir terms as “Cartographic Irresolution” (Kabir,2013,72) while contextualizing northeast’s marginalization and its consequent identity politics is powerfully evoked in the narrative through constant endeavours to arrive at an understanding of a settled home. The emotional anatomy of Masi in relation to the territory she is unable to go back to throws out the set of complications unleashed by political conundrum on individuals who must wrestle with multiple identities, pasts and presents. Masi’s chronic ‘out of place’ situation is set in parallel motion with the narrator’s own sense of exile and longing. Focusing on inter-generational dynamics of remembrance and forgetting, the story is structured around a complex encounter between two generations’ affective ties with their partitioned pasts. For the narrator, a historical event that had happened much before his birth continues to influence his identity formation and determines inscription of such formations within particular spaces. The author examines psychological effects of quest for a stable and settled home on a subjectivity that does not remain unified, it gets blurred between the narrator, his mother and the character of Masi, as he reflects, “I wonder, after all these years, why couldn’t this land become her own? The search for one’s homeland eventually becomes synonymous with the longing for one’s childhood. Isn’t it a familiar adage that in old age a man enters his second childhood?” (Dev Choudhury, 2012, p.144) Fragmentation of memory is the tenor of this short story and it is through this fragmented and oblique representation of memory that one discovers a concern with deeper patterns underlying everyday experience of dislocation and longing for an elsewhere.

Svetlana Boym (2001) talks about restorative nostalgia as something that involves a desire to “rebuild the lost home” and views the past with an eye towards reconstituting and recreating it, it also implies a desire to relive those special moments. Very often, for the displaced community, it is used as a kind of strategy to ameliorate struggles pertaining to the experience of dislocation. It becomes important to draw on the restorative potential of nostalgia for the native home to cope with their existing dilemmas. Anjali Gera Ray gives an insightful analysis of emotional affiliation and affective belonging to the homeland and its subsequent impact and in this regard, she comments that nostalgic recollections oftentimes in selecting the convivial “exhibit an exilic yearning for a lost home and are coloured with emotions of love, care, attachment, friendship, happiness and comfort for spaces, objects, practices and people.” (Gera Roy, 2020, p.132) Mukti Choudhury’s memory piece “Tale of Broken India” (originally published as “Bhanga Bharater Kotha”) is another reminder of the role of memory-work in which identity of the displaced is brought into being at the intersection of place and selective remembrance. The narrative conducts a motion towards a place and time, a journey back in time from the ruins in the present. Like many other Partition survivors, the narrator places an array of visual detailing to establish his affiliation with lost physical space with all its material features and also to underline the close connection between memory and displacement. As the author describes:

Who do I explain and how do I explain that a sense of Viraha[iii] plays through my entire being? Through a journey into that remote homeland, I derive a wonderful pleasure, I smell the earth of my motherland. I feel the soft touch of paddy grain and I affectionately embrace the fragrance of shiuli-rose-gandharaj flowers. I rest my on head on the shore of Manu listening to fairy tales, at midnight of Monsoon I hear the cacophony of the boatmen of Hakaluki, I listen to the tune of Bhatiali, I take a long walk amidst Surma Valley touching the tealeaves on my way to the villages of Baramchal, Samser Nagar, Sreemangal, Chhatak, Sayestaganj, Chunarughat, Habiganj and immerse myself…. (Choudhury, 2013, p.245)

The author clings on to his personal memories describing and evoking haptic, sonic, and visual dimensions of his own place in the midst of decreasing collective anchoring and attempts to bring forth a unified locality with an enshrined past that will activate a better understanding of his self. Raymond Williams (1985) noted that “landscape takes on a different quality if you are one of those who remember” (72) and the remembering agent here through his cognitive mapping brings alive distant Sylhet land with all its everyday splendors and that mapping is constitutive of his own sense of self. It is useful to note here that remembrance, time, place and loss are phenomenological realities and it clearly implies how echoes of past places might resonate with displaced people also it is easy to map how the loss of a particular place produces a keen sense of nostalgia. One finds a similar resonance in Margaret E Farrar’s essay, “Amnesia, Nostalgia and Place Memory” (2011) where she argues how “accounts of people’s experiences of displacement—whether as a migrant, exile, or refugee—repeatedly emphasize the interconnections between body, mind, and place.” (728) Choudhury’s narrative shows how investment in memory entails the opening of a repeated process of continuous and fragile negotiations that may always remain a risk and may never offer final reconciliation. This is an essential point of view that runs through most of the narratives written about Partition. Indeed, this study has attempted to demonstrate how forms of longing and mental cartography assume a new poignancy in the context of newer battles of identity politics. The canvas of representations produced by Sylheti imagination insists on the layered nature of memory and illuminates our understanding of how home might not be a palpable, tangible entity, it might just exist only in writing.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Notes

[i]  Hemango Biswas, the noted singer, composer, poet and political activist composed these memorable lines to convey his pain and angst after experiencing dislocation in the wake of Partition. The composition, in a way, talks about collective sense of suffering and longing for homeland.

[ii] This widely sung Sylheti folk song brings forth the idea of dispossession and vulnerability that attends to it. The entire song echoes a kind of sadness for having lost everything due to Partition and it is sharply contrasted with prosperous life before the division had happened.

[iii] Viraha refers to an emotion of separation and realization of love through that phase of separation.  It is a common trope used in Partition fictions and reminiscences to express the intensity of longing for homeland on the other side of the border.

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Dr. Suranjana Choudhury teaches literature at North Eastern Hill University, Shillong.   Her areas of interest include Partition Studies, Women’s Writing and Cultural Studies. Her recently published books include A Reading of Violence in Partition Stories from Bengal published by Cambridge Scholars, UK, and a co-edited volume titled Understanding Women’s Experiences of Displacement: Literature, Culture and Society in South Asia published by Routledge.

The question of the ‘foreigners’ in select fictional narratives from Assam

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Rimi Nath
Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University, Shillong, India. ORCID ID 0000-0001-9366-5498. Email: riminath664@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages 1-9. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne25

First published: June 25, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

In this age of metamorphosis of cultural transition and assimilation, in this age where everyone in one sense or the other is a migrant, the issue of identity can never be resolved. Iain Chambers (1994) holds that migrancy “calls for a dwelling in language, in histories, in identities that are constantly subject to mutation” (p. 5). ‘Home’ sometimes becomes a provisional location as it fails to provide assurance and security; and hence, in many instances, one witnesses an individual’s desire to break free, to migrate. Memory and narratives can be seen as symbolic ways of making homes, of negotiating different and competing allegiances. Jahnavi Barua’s novel, Undertow, Arupa Patangia Kalita’s novellas and stories like ‘Face in the Mirror’, ‘The Half-burnt Bus at Midnight’, stories from the Barak Valley of Assam like Moloy Kanti Dey’s ‘Ashraf Ali’s Homeland’, Amitabha Dev Choudhury’s ‘Wake Up Call’, Arijit Choudhury’s ‘Fire’, among others, provide multiple perspectives on the question of identity. The paper seeks to delve into select fictional narratives from Assam and analyse the question of ‘foreigners’, keeping in mind the current discourses on the issue of migration, especially the issue of illegal Bangladeshi migrants.

Keywords: Assam, identity, migration, Bangladeshi, foreigners

Introduction: The question of ‘foreigners’

Assam has been through different phases of ethnic nationalisms and the region has been through different phases of inclusion and exclusion geographically, ethnically and culturally. Assam has been grappling with the issue of ‘foreigners’ for a long time and the question of Bangladeshis, in particular, has become the most crucial factor in Assam’s politics. Terms that are used to describe Bangladeshis in Assam are: settlers, Bongal, bohiragoto (outsider), bideshi (foreigner), illegal migrants, illegal immigrants, invaders, Bengali peasantry, land-hungry Muslims, land grabbers, Mia Muslims, undocumented migrants, etc. (Shamshad, 2017, p. 59). In the book, Migrants, Refugees and the Stateless in South Asia (2016), Partha S. Ghosh highlights how the issue of illegal Bangladeshi migrants is a “subject on which everybody seems to be knowing so much, still they know so little, largely because of the unavailability of hard data” (p. xii). There are assumptions, fragmentations, doubts, fears and lost/ forgotten documents that heighten the confusion.

Nandana Dutta, in the introduction to Questions of Identity in Assam (2012), points out “that existing interpretations of migration and nation did not and could not do justice to the location” (p. xx). When Assam was made a part of the Bengal Presidency in 1905, the fear of loss of identity because of the demographic changes, crept up, and the Bengali speakers were seen as the ‘other’. Bodhisattva Kar (2011) highlights the forgotten history of Bengali racism, on the other hand, during the partition of Bengal in 1905 where the Bengalis saw the Assamese as the ‘other’ (p. 45). Assam’s position as a separate province was restored in 1911, with the unification of Bengal. The Muslim League demanded that Assam be a part of East Pakistan. Assam, as a British colonial province, included Sylhet while prior to 1874, Sylhet was a part of Bengal (Baruah, 2015, p. 82-83). In 1947, Sylhet became a part of East Pakistan (Bangladesh) except for a portion of it (a part of Karimganj subdivision in Barak Valley) which remained in India. Sanjib Baruah (2015) highlights that for Assam “the meaning of partition has been unfolding slowly over decades through a torturous process” (p. 81). The British colonial rule encouraged the settlement of Muslim East Bengali peasants in Assam while Partition instigated massive movements. Many people migrated to Assam in 1965, during Ayub Khan’s regime in Pakistan, and Assam also sheltered refugees during and after the Bangladeshi Liberation War of 1971.

Shamshad (2017) lists five distinct phases of the anti-Bengali and later anti-Bangladeshi discourse in Assam. “The Bengali officials presented the immediate face of colonialism” (p. 253) and the anti-colonial, anti-Bengali discourse ensued from the fear of the Assamese elite – of loss of power. The second phase started with the fear of territorial loss which crept up with the arrival of the Bengali cultivators brought in by the colonial officials. The potential loss of demographic dominance during Partition is listed as the third phase. The tussle for language supremacy in the 1960s/70s is the next phase and the fifth phase is the Assam movement (1979-85)” (p. 253). The language issue in Assam created riots during the 1960s and 70s, where “the Official Language Movement of 1960 and the Medium of Instruction Movement of 1972…were based on the ‘Assam for Assamese’ ideology. The Bengalis of Barak valley had protested against it” (Ghoshal, 2021, p. xv). Weiner (1983) highlights that during that time Bengali Muslims had much to gain by siding with the Assamese (in securing their stay) but with the Assam Movement, this alliance faltered, where the “Bengalis in Assam – both Hindus and Muslims – became ‘foreigners’ to the Assamese” (Shamshad, 2017, p. 77). Shamshad (2017) highlights how gradually the Nepali migrants completely fell out of discourse and the only migrants who were considered ‘illegal’ were from Bangladesh (p.101).

The difficulty of identifying illegal immigrants persists and the question of rehabilitation or granting citizenship becomes complex and ambiguous. Neither the Illegal Migrants (Determination by Tribunals) Act (IMDT Act) nor the Assam Accord could bring any resolution to the ‘foreigners’ issue. The National Register of Citizens (NRC) also has its shortcomings and pitfalls. The detection and repatriation of ‘illegal foreigners’ is an ongoing process as a recent news report states that “till October 31, 2021, as many as 1,42,206 illegal foreigners have been detected in the State. Among them, altogether 29, 663 were pushed back till December 15 of this year”. (The Assam Tribune, 2021, p. 1)

Shamshad (2017) points out that with Bharatiya Janata Party’s (BJP) entry into Assam’s politics “Assam’s anti-Bengali ethnic nationalist discourse” changed to “anti-Bengali Muslim ethno-religious discourse” (p. 254). The Asom Gana Parishad (AGP)-BJP coalition further strengthened it. In Chatterji’s Breaking Worlds: Religion, Law and Citizenship in Majoritarian India – The Story of Assam (2021), we find a strong criticism of the Hindutva ideology and the writers voice their fear about ‘absolute nationalism’. The agitation in Assam against illegal immigrants has targeted Hindus as well; but with the changing political scenario, largely the Muslim population begins to get targeted:

“In Assam, the NRC and Foreigners Tribunals have commenced the political segregation of “national subjects” and rights-bearing citizens from “invaders” without rights. A disproportionate number of persons who are alleged to be “foreigners” and “illegal persons” are Muslims. “Miya” Muslims, from marginalised social classes are the principal target.” (p. 56)

We have seen the state changing its response to changing political scenarios. The recent development, i.e., the fourth amendment of the Citizenship Act in which the intent has been to grant citizenship to people who have fled religious persecution from neighbouring countries (including Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, Christians, Jains and Zoroastrians), the Hindutva orientation of the government came under scrutiny amidst mass agitation. The anti-CAA (Citizenship Amendment Act) movement was based on the “Assamese” people’s “fear of demographic swamping…and raised, once again, questions about their citizenship rights” (Goswami, 2021, p. 1). While some saw NRC and CAA as discriminatory, especially against the Muslims, many saw CAA as discriminatory while they supported the NRC. The Hindus who have lived with the stigma of being illegal migrants in the region did not see the situation working in their favour either. The majority of the population did not seem to be aware of the historicity of the documents. NRC and CAA also saw opposite reactions from the general masses of the Brahmaputra and Barak valleys. The Bangladeshi issue has been a matter of much contestation heightening the difficulty of coming to any negotiable position.

To consider the citizenship debate, reports that show Indians giving up citizenship provide another perspective. According to a report published in The Wire, from 2016-20 just 4,177 persons were granted Indian citizenship – where “for every one person who has been granted Indian citizenship in the past four years and more, 145 persons have forgone their citizenship” (Bhatnagar, 2021, para. 2). Also, the statistics that four out of ten applicants were granted citizenship and that maximum applications came from the citizens of Pakistan are also data that need to be considered and evaluated at the national and regional levels.

Analysing Select Fictional Narratives from Assam

Fictional narratives from Assam provide different perspectives on the question of ‘foreigners’. Telling or writing a story can, to a large extent, help in the process of negotiation. Narratives can be a form of travel, which can traverse the distance between communities or societies in their exploration of inner journeys. In Jahnavi Barua’s Undertow (2020), the question of foreigners and the agitation against them is highlighted as an overpowering consciousness. The novel touches upon the turbulent times of the Assam movement, of how “the state had been thrown into chaos” (p. 17). The central character, Rukmini, has marched on the streets too. Rukmini ponders upon the bandhs in Assam (which has been absolute) where everything “came to a grinding halt” (p. 19):

“No one challenged the protests because everyone supported them, understood the need for them. Nothing so complete was possible without deep feeling. The people were gripped with an urgent desire to fulfill what the Boys had begun: to make the government do its duty; to expel illegal aliens, instead of arming them with citizenship and voting rights.” (Barua, 2020, p. 19)

“Four years now and the Agitation – it was aptly named, the movement the students had launched in 1979 – showed no signs of abating. The people of Assam had not lost hope or courage or energy yet. They spilled out onto the streets in their thousands when summoned by the student leaders – the Boys, as they were affectionately called – to picket and demonstrate and protest, and stayed indoors with windows closed and lights out when ordered to by the same leaders.” (Barua, 2020, p. 17)

The question of illegal immigrants in Assam has been quite complex because of the political, historical, and geographical reasons, as highlighted in the introduction. There have also been cases of people acquiring documents illegally facilitated by communal sympathy, corruption or carelessness on the part of the officials. It is difficult to demarcate illegal immigrants from ‘original’ inhabitants and “as a result, neither the Assamese Bengalis nor the Assamese Muslims could fully identify themselves with the Assam agitation” (Ghosh, 2016, p. 224). What the character, Rukmini, refers to as “so complete” may not have actually been absolute. Through her research, Shamshad (2017) also studies how the Assamese and Bengali Muslims saw each other:

“The ethnic Assamese representatives of the civil society who were interviewed in this research did not express any hostile views or see the Bengali Muslims/ Bangladeshi migrants as an economic or security threat.” (p. 253)

Shamshad (2017) highlights how “the exercise of violence is a constant factor in the process of ‘Othering’” (p. 250) – violence that is state induced and also the ethnic flare.

In Jahnavi Barua’s novel Undertow (2020), when Rukmini decides to marry Alex (an outsider from Kerala) “she felt like a traitor” (p. 19) adhering to the insider-outsider tension in her consciousness. She has been a traitor even to her mother who accused Rukmini of betraying “state and race and family” (p. 19). Rukmini realises the pain of being treated as an outsider when she herself receives such treatment from Alex’s family. Rukmini’s daughter Loya, who is raised in Bangalore, is surprised to see how “strong a subject it (politics) was in life here” (p. 86). Loya comes to know that “the illegal migrants had been received with open arms by the government, which, sensing the opportunity for a vote bank, had even issued them with citizenship papers” (p. 86-87). Loya also comes to know about Robin Koka’s grandson, who, being fascinated by the revolution against foreigners, joins the insurgents, the ULFA (United Liberation Front of Assam). In Assam, the anti-colonial discourse surged with the ULFA, where India was seen as the coloniser (Shamshad, 2017, p. 254). Since its inception in 1979, the insurgent organisation emphasised on the national liberation of Assam. They maintained that “the question of ‘secession’ is a mistaken one since ‘historically’, Assam has never been a part of the Indian nation and its location within the political map of India has to be explained simply as a fact of ‘colonial occupation’” (Kar, 2011, p. 57).

It is interesting to note that in Barua’s Undertow (2020) Loya questions the idea of a ‘foreigner’. When her grandfather tells her about the Ahom dynasty – “a race of princes from the Shan state of Burma” (p. 148), she insists that they are migrants, to which her grandfather remarks: “Isn’t everyone, in the beginning?” (p. 148). Her grandfather tells her about their assimilation,

“Yes, but they settled down. Assimilated. Converted to Hinduism from Buddhism and married our local girls. Why, they even gave up their old Tai language” (p. 148).

The statement raises questions like if forsaking religion or language can be the only way an immigrant may be accepted? What are the grounds of assimilation? Can the ‘foreigners’ of Assam ever assimilate? Can assimilation not happen if cultural/ religious/ linguistic differences are respected? Will Kymlicka in Politics in the Vernacular (2001) highlights how minority nationalisms are not always illiberal, pre-modern or xenophobic and questions, “…is it permissible to adopt illiberal policies in order to create conditions under which civic forms of minority nationalism can emerge?” (p. 277). There are no definite answers. The sad disappearance of Loya towards the end of the novel, when a blast rocks the Bazaar in Guwahati, shows the futility of violence. Loya embodies both the elements of an insider and an outsider (her father being an outsider from Kerala and her mother from Assam). In her disappearance, both the insider and the outsider become victims, where symbolically violence consumes all.

The plight of the refugees, their lost homelands, their trouble and brutal torture – are mainly captured in the stories from the Barak Valley of Assam. The stories also highlight how threats to life and livelihood lead to migration from Bangladesh as “the migration of the uprooted refugee families was primarily for seeking refuge and a national identity” (Ghoshal, 2021, p. 37). In Arijit Choudhury’s ‘Fire’ (2012), the protagonist, Mahendra Das, faces the consequence of not supporting the Assam Movement, the “cruelty meted out to innocent people, be it murder or arson” (p. 63). According to Mahendra:

“Spotting a Bengali-Hindu or a Muslim or a Nepali, immediately branding him ‘foreigner’ and inflicting torture on him is inhuman and unjust. Even if one is a foreigner that does not mean that he should be driven away or his house and belongings should be burnt down – Mahendra would never support this.” (p. 56)

In the story, we see that the nearby villagers (who are Bengali-Muslims) are called Bangladeshis although they have never been to Bangladesh. Mahendra’s house is set on fire by the people of his own village, who consider him to be a traitor, “an agent of the Bengalis!” (p. 56). Within the imagined nation/state, battle lines are drawn, as Siddhartha Deb in his novel, The Point of Return (2004), describes the nation as a fortress where “new battle lines were being drawn and fresh groups of people were being defined as outsiders, borders bristling with barbed-wire teeth” (p. 221).

When Ashraf Ali moves to Assam (to Karimganj) from Bangladesh as a child, in Moloy Kanti Dey’s ‘Ashraf Ali’s Homeland’ (2012), he feels happy –

“When? When did they cross the border? Why was there no wall anywhere? It was merely like a stroll from one street to another. Is this how the two countries were divided then? Ashraf seemed to be in a trance. Hindustan, Bharatbarsha. It’s not a separate country – rather an assurance that promises supply of food.” (p. 119)

The ‘shadow lines’ that borders are highlighted in his sentiments. When Ashraf Ali is marked as a foreigner amidst the Bangladeshi row, the fate of his family becomes uncertain. They are deported and their destiny remains unknown.

Fear and discrimination incite the surfacing of nostalgia for a lost or ‘imaginary’ homeland. In another story ‘Wakeup Call’ by Amitabha Dev Choudhury (2012), the narrator’s family has had to flee Bangladesh in the 50’s in order to survive. The narrator struggles to come to terms with his own identity as a foreigner as he cannot think of any place as his home other than where he is, i.e., Assam –

“Yes! This is my homeland, my own soil. Eternal! Embodiment of my soul! My beloved nest of tranquility! My dream! My memory! My identity!” (p. 148).

The fond memories or stories of a lost homeland linger but that place is no longer home. In any tale of migration, there is always a contestation between humanitarian support and nativist backlash. Partha S. Ghosh (2016) asks the much-debated humanitarian questions, “Is not it, once again, the question of refugees’ rights, and not state doing a favour to them? Minorities in Pakistan or Bangladesh were not responsible for the Partition of India.” (p. 220)

During the Assam Movement, there were numerous attacks in places like Barpeta, Kokrajhar, Bongaigaon, among others. In the larger backdrop of the anti-foreigners protest, the Nellie massacre happened. Samrat in Insider Outsider(2018b) writes: “The danger in any tale of victimhood is the obverse: victims on the one hand and villains on the other” (p. ix). In her stories, Arupa Patangia Kalita (2015) highlights the communalisation of the Assam movement. In the story ‘Face in the Mirror’ Kalita writes:

“In August, a young girl took many bullets in her body, her body was perforated by gaping holes. She had come from outside the state, looking for the body of her husband, crying and beating her breasts in sorrow. In March, a talented professor had committed suicide. 1991. The killings that defied counting.” (p. 138).

The protagonist of the short story shows her displeasure when her cousin’s husband, “a leader of Assam’s andolon, agitation” (p. 142) becomes angry as she praises her Muslim house help, Zamila. He tells his wife, “I now know why your sister is so fond of Bangladeshis” and then addressing the protagonist, he says, “You know Baidew, don’t indulge these people. You were talking about cleaning the bedpan etc. If you allow them to enter the house, they will even lick your feet…Keep an eye, if nothing can be done about them we’ll kill them all” (p. 146). The protagonist ironically smiles and says, “We’ve heard that people of Assam should forget about humanity. This is the time to forget humanity.” (p. 146)

As a writer, Arupa Patangia Kalita, often gets targeted for her stand against the brutality of the movement. This resonates in another story, ‘Surabhi Barua and the Rhythm of Hooves’, where the protagonist Surabhi Barua –

“Became one of the few who stood against the Assam agitation. She wrote a few articles, saying again and again that this overwhelming sentimental outlook would stand in the way of constructing a strong Assamese national character.” (Kalita, 2015, p. 194)

Expressing her viewpoints calls for trouble as it calls for trouble for “a section of intellectuals who had to pay a heavy price for protesting against the unreasonable dictat of the so-called separatist leaders” (Biswas, 2015, p. 215). Kalita’s writings, thus, make a strong comment on the meaninglessness of jingoism, xenophobia and mindless killings.

The writers discussed above, both from the Brahmaputra and the Barak valleys of Assam, bring to light the humanitarian ground relating to the question of the ‘foreigners’ in Assam. They are able to transcend the ethno-religious boundaries in raising their voice against atrocities and mindless divisions. In a world where border lines are rigorously drawn, the writers highlight the necessity of preserving borders from encroachers while at the same time they talk about the futility of violence. There is empathy and perceptiveness regarding what it actually feels to be an ‘outsider’.

Conclusion: Between Memory and Forgetting

Citizenship continues to be a contested domain in Assam. There is a jostle between the ideas of nationalism and globalisation. Colonialism continues in the form of subjugation: “the domination and denigration of the Hills, the delegitimation and chastisement of Bhati, the inauthentication and vilification of the ‘settlers’” (Kar, 2011, p. 54). This subjugation leads to ‘othering’ that brings in the question of authenticity. The search for authenticity has been crucial in any societal formation (province/ state/ nation). However, we can question if there is anything called authentic identity or if authenticity is a desire. In Assam the question of foreigners versus authentic citizens has been the reason for the region’s political and social volatility. The definition of ‘Assamese’ still remains a matter of debate and contestation. A recent report states how a sub-committee formed by the State Government in 2006 to formulate the definition of ‘Assamese’ as per Clause 6 of the Assam Accord still could not come to a conclusion after seeking views from different organisations and bodies as only a few organisations could submit their views in this regard (The Assam Tribune, 2021, p. 1). It is difficult to resolve the politics surrounding migration. The Assam agitation while initially upholding the agenda of safeguarding Assamese identity in the face of the fear of ‘foreigners’ soon degenerated “from an anti-foreigner agitation to an anti-non-Assamese agitation by turning its wrath against even the domestic migrants from other parts of India, mostly Bihar” (Ghosh, 2016, p. 223-24). Kar rightly says, “territorial nationalism can never abolish its mythical other – colonialism – which always threatens to lodge itself within the very claims of nationalism” (Kar, 2011, p. 57). Memory and narratives, in this regard, can provide multiple perspectives while trying to negotiate different and competing allegiances.

“Memory is also about what you decide to remember, so that you can make sense of what has been irrevocably lost” (Deb, 2004, p. 192). Memory, which operates within the realm of forgetting, distortions, manipulations/ modifications, partial memory, selective memory, representation and narration, plays an important role in the process of negotiation. Memories help in reshaping boundaries and, hence, help in the process of negotiation. Collective memory, especially that of trauma, is difficult to erase. But then there are questions asking if amnesia will reduce the effects of trauma or if it is justified to forget the trauma, if it is necessary to carry the burden of trauma or if forgetting the history of violence will lead to its repetition and if acknowledging the memories will lead to a kind of resolution? In the book, Between Vengeance and Forgiveness (1998), Martha Minow writes – “To seek a path between vengeance and forgiveness is also to seek a route between too much memory and too much forgetting” (p. 118). Forgetting is also a very important part of memory and hence narratives play an important role in developing perspectives, as Benedict Anderson asserts, “all profound changes in consciousness, by their very nature, bring with them characteristic amnesias. Out of such oblivions, in specific historical circumstances, spring narratives” (Anderson, 1983, p. 204).

Any one kind of reading or interpretation will be grossly inadequate while dealing with such a sensitive issue and this paper does in no way want to preach or put across a one-sided view of the question under discussion. However, the paper wants to highlight the dangers of a lack of understanding and how across North-East India, as Samrat points out, “it will take only a little communal foolishness for a return to the bad old days” (Samrat, 2018a, p.171). Nationalism needs to be rethought and reinvented towards a more inclusive society where the aspirations of the masses are respected, the history of turmoil taken into consideration, where collective self-reflection, telling and re-telling of stories are encouraged. Most importantly, the political and media-hype that create fear-psychosis need to be regulated, systematic brain-washing that incites hatred needs to be avoided and the perspectives of “not only marginalised women but also other vulnerable segments like the indigenous and immigrant populations” (Goswami, 2021, p. 7) need to be heard and considered – where people are allowed to express their opinions without the fear of persecution, attack or marginalisation. Literary representations can help in negotiating different positions and standpoints – of memories, tales of loss, of place, of identities. They can be a means of cross-cultural travel, bringing revisions as well as a cultural revival and harmony.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

References

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Barua, Jahnabi. (2020). Undertow. Penguin.

Baruah, Sanjib. (2015). Partition and the Politics of Citizenship in Assam. In Urvashi Butalia (Ed.), Partition: The Long Shadow (pp. 78-101). Viking Penguin.

Bhatnagar, Gaurav Vivek. (2021). Over 6 lakh Indians Gave Up Citizenship Since 2017: Union Home Ministry. The Wire. thewire.in/government/india-citizenship-relinquished-granted-home-ministry-data-parliament.

Biswas, Ranjita. (2015). “In Search of Peace” in Arupa Patangia Kalita,Written in Tears (Ranjita Biswas, Trans.). Harper Perennial.

Chambers, Iain. (1994). Migrancy, Culture, Identity. Routledge.

Chatterji, Angana P. (In collaboration with Mihir Desai, Harsh Mander, Abdul Kalam Azad). (2021). Breaking   Worlds: Religion, Law and Citizenship in Majoritarian India – The Story of Assam. University of California, Berkeley: Political Conflict, Gender and People’s Rights Initiative, Center for Race and Gender.

Choudhury, Amitabha Dev. (2012). Wake Up Call (Subha Prasad Nandi Majumdar, Trans.). In Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee and Dipendu Das (Eds.), Barbed Wire Fence: Stories of Displacement from the Barak Valley of Assam. Niyogi Books.

Choudhury, Arijit. (2012). Fire (Rumi Rani Laskar, Trans.). In Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee and Dipendu Das (Eds.), Barbed Wire Fence: Stories of Displacement from the Barak Valley of Assam. Niyogi Books.

Deb, Siddhartha. (2004). The Point of Return. Picador.

Dey, Moloy Kanti. (2012). Ashraf Ali’s Homeland (Dipendu Das, Trans.). In Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee and Dipendu Das (Eds.), Barbed Wire Fence: Stories of Displacement from the Barak Valley of Assam. Niyogi   Books.

Dutta, Nandana. (2012). Questions of Identity in Assam: Location, Migration, Hybridity. Sage.

Ghosh, Partha S. (2016). Migrants, Refugees and the Stateless in South Asia. Sage.

Ghoshal, Anindita. (2021). Refugees, Borders and Identities: Rights and Habitat in East and Northeast India. Routledge.

Goswami, Uddipana, and Dutta, Abantee(Eds.). (2021). Making Peace Mutually: Perspectives from Assam. Bhabani Books.

Kalita, Arupa Patangia. (2015). Written in Tears (Ranjita Biswas. Trans.). Harper Perennial.

Kar, Bodhisattva. (2011). Can the Postcolonial Begin? Deprovincializing Assam. In Saurabh Dube (Ed.), Oxford Handbook of Modernity in South Asia. Oxford University Press.

Kymlicka, Will. (2001). Politics in the Vernacular: Nationalism, Multiculturalism, and Citizenship. Oxford   University Press.

Minow, Martha. (1998). Between Vengeance and Forgiveness: Facing History After Genocide and Mass Violence. Beacon Press.

Samrat. (2018a). How We Got Here: A Brief history of Being Dkhar in Shillong. In Preeti Gill and Samrat (Eds.), Insider Outsider: Belonging and Unbelonging in North-East India. Amaryllis.

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Shamshad, Rizwana. (2017).Bangladeshi Migrants in India: Foreigners, Refugees, or Infiltrators? Oxford   University Press.

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Dr Rimi Nath is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, North-Eastern Hill University (NEHU), Shillong, Meghalaya, India. Her research interests include Indian Writing in English, South Asian Literature, Partition Studies and Diaspora/ Migration Studies. Her research papers have appeared in various journals and also as book chapters – the recent one is from Routledge, in the book Religion in South Asian Anglophone Literature: Traversing Resistance, Margins and Extremism (2022). She has been a member of various review boards of books/ journals. She is also engaged in creative writing and writes poems, haiku and short fiction. Her collection of poetry, Kushiara and Other Poems, was published in June, 2021 (Dhauli Books).

Transgressive Spatialities: Mapping Identity and Liminality in Contemporary Queer Narratives from Assam

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Nizara Hazarika

Department of English, Sonapur College, (Gauhati University) Sonapur, Assam. ORCID id:0000-0002-5152-7553. Email id: nhazarika04@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages: 1-11. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne24

First published: June 24, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

From Descartes’ cogito to the postmodern fluidity, the notion of identity has acquired newer dimensions. Identity remains an important rhetorical resource for non-heterosexual people. Butler’s notion of gender as performative has been fundamental in this discourse on the queer people who debunk compulsory heterosexuality as a given. An exploration of the spaces that the non-heteronormative people occupy is pertinent to understanding the lived realities of these people. Using the Foucauldian notion of heterotopia, this study tries to understand the liminal and all kinds of alternative spaces that they inhabit which is intense and disruptive. They are also sites of resistance and transgression. In Assamese literature, the heterosexual ideology dominates the hegemonic knowledge production spaces. The non-heteronormative people occupy the spaces in crevices, and peripheries and cannot claim a distinct positionality. Queer narratives from Assam reflect a new direction in this regard. The Narratives under study by Moushumi Kandali, Aruni Kashyap and Panchanan Hazarika present how these narratives from Assam present the lived realities of the queer population and how they explicate the spatial dimension of the same-sex desire, and in the process how they negotiate the ontological authenticity of the non-heteronormative people to form their identity.

Key words: Spatiality, identity, queer, gender fluidity, narrative

With the proliferation of the discourses on identity, the postmodern stance on it as something ‘in flux’, and the Butlerian notion of gendered fluidity and performativity, the queers have emerged with a malleable identity that exists beyond the gendered binary. The term ‘Queer’ has been used as an umbrella term to denote a range of sexual and gender identities that are not “straight” and do not conform to the dominant heterosexual practices. Queer studies emerged as an academic discourse in the late 1980s and early 1990s. It brought in a political stand of both solidarity and defiance that challenged the mainstream heterosexual discourses and denied subjugation of the sexual minorities. In the initial years, the term ‘queer’ was used for the lesbian and gay populace; but over the years it has encompassed all the non-heterosexual people who expose and challenge normativity. The term ‘identity’ has been a rhetorical resource for these non-heterosexual people. Through these resources, they evoke some kind of discourse that questions the politics of power and dominance. As ‘queer’, each individual goes through different lived realities. However, recognition of one’s sexuality, coming out and making that sexual identity public, creating a bond with members of a similar community and facing societal pressure are some of the common experiences of the queer people. The queer identity is shaped by histories of rejection, abjection and subjugation by the dominant patriarchal power structure. Being pushed to the periphery, the queers prefer fluid possibilities of gender and sexuality by debunking the false notion of compulsory heterosexuality. They celebrate the fluidity of body and sexuality and challenge the hetero-patriarchal repression. However, the body of the queers becomes a potential site of negation of identity as per the norms imposed by the heterosexist society. Heteronormativity, with its repressive measures, forces the queer people to go through subjugation and exclusion. This in turn traumatises these marginalised people while negotiating their space within a homophobic society. Thus, for the queers, who inhabit outside the binary structure, their identity lies in the liminal space.

The liminal space provides its subjects opportunities to redefine their identity and also to subvert the dominant notions upheld by society. As the identity of the queers is not permeated with socially constructed norms, the liminal space provides them the necessary power to restructure and negotiate their identities. This brings forth the fluidity of the queer identity. Anzaldua (2002) posits, “This liminal space of identity can be ‘unstable, unpredictable, precarious, always-in-transition . . . lacking clear boundaries —the person is in a constant state of displacement” (p.1) Thus, the queer people feel a sense of estrangement when they enter the structured spaces of gendered binary. They navigate their identities and due to this perpetual navigation, a permanent space cannot be realised. However, this movement into new spaces opens up a new epistemological horizon before them that empowers the queers and this new knowledge and power are distinctly their own. But the pertinent question here is, how is a queer space defined? In the words of Ebmeier and Bovermann (2018),

A queer space is any space that enables its occupants to perform queerness. Such a space allows for the visibility of queerness. . . Instead of inverting hierarchies and enacting a reversal of the normative order, these places attempt to negotiate and perform alternatives. (2018, p.288)

 Thus, the queer space is engraved by the sexual minorities and it “purportedly enables the visibility of sexual subcultures that resist and rupture the hegemonic heterosexuality that is the source of their marginality and exclusion” (Oswin, 2008, p.90). Giving a new dimension to the spatial discourse on the use of space in society, Foucault introduced his concept of heterotopias. In his 1967 lecture “Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias”, Foucault described heterotopias as a space both ‘existing’ and ‘non-existing’ that fall between real and utopian spaces. These are spaces that are “othered”, places that are outside and yet connected to all other places. In his The Order of Things (1966), Foucault described heterotopias as discursive, a space thinkable only in language; but in “Of Other Spaces”, heterotopia has been presented as a physical space for bodies to dwell, as “counter sites” such as asylums, prisons, gardens, colonies, cemeteries, brothels and boats. Heterotopias encourage a reordering of the social structure which is an essential counter-hegemonic locus of resistance. Angela Jones (2009), in her essay titled “Queer Heterotopias: Homonormativity and the Future of Queerness” describes,

Queer heterotopias are material spaces where radical practices go unregulated. They are sites where actors, whether academics or activists, engage in what we might call a radical politics of subversion, where individuals attempt to dislocate the normative configurations of sex, gender, and sexuality through daily exploration and experimentation with crafting a queer identity. (p.2)

Thus, the queer heterotopias provide a space for the non-heteronormative individuals to create their own space where they can live, and walk about in an empowered state by being free from all kinds of marginalisation and dominance.

With the emergence of spatial literary studies, scholars have delved into the representation of spaces in the varied zones where fiction meets reality. Queer people have been denied representation and kept out of all kinds of documented space in history and literature. In most mainstream literature and other spaces like films, theatres etc, the queers are deliberately marginalised, made fun of, ridiculed and so on. Thus, these images of the queers dominate the mindset of the people of the heterosexist society. Through her notion of gender performativity, Butler subverts the ontological status of the heteronormative gendered regime and posits that such disciplinary power produces queerness as abnormal. But the pertinent question is what is normal or natural? Who decides what is normal or natural? This kind of idea needs to be addressed when we talk of queer people. And here comes the importance of the queer narratives, where issues on identity, spaces, and lived experiences are addressed. Therefore, an exploration of the spaces that the non-heteronormative people occupy and their literary representation is pertinent to understanding the lived realities of these people. Literature is nuanced and it can explore the complex experiential realities of queers and present the politics behind such experiences. But the point to ponder here is how are the queer spaces projected and reclaimed in the literary texts? Has there been any effort to construct alternative spaces for the queers as they are kept out of the ambit of the binary gendered spaces? To challenge the heteronormative construction of space, literary representation and reclamation of queer spaces are the need of the hour. In mainstream literature, the queer figure in the periphery, in the crevices. The naturalness of the dominant heteronormative discourses could be challenged by queer narratives by making spaces for a newer understanding of gender and sexuality. Queer narratives can bring these intangibilities into the social fabric and spread awareness for a positive change.

In Assamese literature, heterosexual ideology dominates the hegemonic knowledge production of spaces. The nonheteronormative people occupy the spaces in fissures and cannot claim a distinct positionality. Queer narratives from Assam are a timely intervention in this regard. They portray the lived realities of queer people. These narratives reflect a new direction in the process of an all-inclusive society. Thus, a proper study of these narratives is highly warranted. The queer narratives can challenge the heterosexual spatial deployment that is found in the mainstream narratives and prevalent dominant socio-cultural practices of a society. Instead of inverting hierarchies and enacting a reversal of the normative order, these places attempt to negotiate and perform alternatives. These narratives present how some kind of queer space and identity emerges as a site of contestation and resistance with an underlying awareness of divergence. The texts under study are the fictional narratives by Moushumi Kandali, Aruni Kashyap, and Panchanan Hazarika. In these narratives, the narrators project a queer dimension to one’s identity and the spaces that they occupy in society while presenting their experiential realities. The strife for visibility and societal acceptance is a perennial issue for these people living in the interstices of the social structure.

Moushumi Kandali’s story “Tritiyattar Golpo” (A Tale of Thirdness) published in 2007 is one of the finest narratives written with a queer theme. The story has a queer Professor as its protagonist and it narrates the trauma, the societal non-acceptance, the suffering, the loneliness that the protagonist goes through and the struggle he makes to challenge the societal norms and also his embarking on a journey to break the gender stereotype. All these issues are portrayed in a poignant tale where the professor is always attracted to the thirdness. This narrative presents how the queer persona is not accepted by society and is ridiculed, tortured, targeted, sidelined, marginalised and his very private space of a home is invaded. The narrator, narrating the living story, talks of the change in the Professor’s appearance when he internalises homophobia and behaves in a specific way desired by society and his face transforms:

. . . his face would look like the digital conversion of Tutankhamen’s death mask. Was it a face or death-in-wings? Faces change according to variations in context. And we have to wait for life to teach us this simple, common truth, practically known to everybody. (Phukan, 2021, p.284)

Through this facial transformation, the professor exposes the pain and humiliation that the queer folks undergo, and at the same time, it is also a kind of dissent at the overarching patriarchal metanarrative. It reflects how the non-heteronormative people are forced to follow the dictums of society. Butler’s notion of gender performativity, the “stylized repetition of acts”, that must be performed to achieve a particular gender is explored here. Specific socially constructed corporeal acts are to be performed continuously which create a certain gendered identity as per the socio-cultural norms. The Professor’s non-conformity has led to his wearing the metaphorical mask of Tutankhamen. This metaphorical mask of Tutankhamen that the Professor wears is a kind of resistance, a rigid blockage towards the multifarious norms prescribed by the heterosexual society. However, his inner being transformed him into his own self where he prefers to be a woman, a dancer, and a mother. His fluid identity gets reflected when the narrator finds him transformed into a seductress on stage and the narrator exclaims,

I saw a braid flow out of your head, two breasts bloom on your masculine chest, breasts firming in eager anticipation of touch. . . you had generated such an incredible phenomenon- three doors on three sides— on the right, door of the known, on the left, the door of the unknown, and in between, there was another door —  the door of perception- you had advanced, slowly, to the third door in the middle- on you walked—oh, that was the first time I had seen you — and on the same day, I had seen two of your faces….. (Phukan, 2021, p.285)

To this, the Professor replied, “One day you will see my third face”. This makes the narrator question his obsession with “thirdness”:

Third! Third again! Third —third— third— why was he so obsessed with the third number — the number three? He preferred a hotel room with the number 3. He was fond of cubism. His favourite story was “The Third Bank of the River”. Shivas’s third eye. The three dimensional representation — the reality of the third world. . .  (Phukan, 2021, p. 285)

Thus, the professor’s fluid self, transcending the societal space to a third space, is an act of transgression where he could perform his fluid gender. Chris Jenks has defined transgression as  “ to go beyond the bounds or limits set by commandment or law or convention, it is to violate or infringe…[a] reflexive act of denial and affirmation” (2003, p.2). Transgression, for the queers, is an act of challenging the heterosexual power structure and at the same time, reclaiming their own space. It is also a liminal space that encourages fundamental reordering.

Professing gender fluidity, the text critiques the stereotypical notions of gendered identity as per the patriarchal norms. The very notion of motherhood has been questioned. To be a mother, one does not need to be a woman. As the narrator opines,

Oh, how uselessly are we trapped in our stereotyped definitions— we think motherhood is only for women. But motherhood is only a concept— who says it is defined by gender, physicality? One does not require a womb to be a mother—all one needs is a womb of sensitivity and emotion. That is why that scrap of life sleeps in his lap—born to him—Mahadevi grows in his womb of emotion. (Phukan, 2021, p.289)

Here, the narrator projects mothering as an alternative to the oppressive institution of patriarchy. An intervention into the institution of motherhood needs to begin by questioning the very categories of experience and power (Kawash, 2011, p 979). Thus, the professor’s desire to conceive Akka Mahadevi and to have her as his child is fulfilled, albeit metaphorically.  And the last lines give the story its ultimate thrust,

One day, one day Mahadevi will tell the people around her–pour her heart out to the trees and earth and wind– “You see that man–sailing away in the boat in solitude on those deep water–he is my mother…. (Phukan, 2021, p.290)

The story tries to bring forth the very notion of gender fluidity and that through their performativity they can claim their own identity. Following Enders, Angella Okawa (2015) opines:

In a world that prefers binary identity, those whose identity lives in this in between space feel pressure to claim one end of polarity and reject the other. Rather than being a transitional space, the liminal is, for these individuals, a permanent home. (p.3)

Thus, the metaphor of sailing through the river towards the third bank is the protagonist’s journey to the queer space that is an emancipated, alternative space where the hegemonic heterosexist discourses cease to regulate bodies and identities. This is a queer heterotopia where individuals can explore and experiment with their desires. The boat, for Foucault, is the quintessential heterotopia as it is in a mobile state, it is real yet ephemeral and beyond surveillance. As Foucault (1986) postulates,

Boat is a floating piece of space, a place without a place, that exists by itself, that is closed in on itself and at the same time is given over to the infinity of the sea. . . The boat has been for our civilization the greatest reserve of the imagination. (p. 27)

Thus, Foucault indicates that heterotopia has the potential to generate alternatives to the existing spaces that regulate the societal structure. Only within the heterotopic space of the boat, the Professor can experience the imagined departure and the thrill of sailing away. Here, solitude is overlapped with a sense of companionship and the present becomes heterochronous with a projected future.      

Aruni Kashyap’s story “His Father’s Disease” (2019) narrates the tale of Anil, a gay persona who lives with his mother when the insurgency problems were at its height in Assam. At the beginning of the story, Anil is shown as indulging in a sexual union with his partner and when his mother Neerumoni comes to know about his gay identity, she could not accept it. She wept and thought that ‘he has acquired his father’s disease’. (p.118) She was a witness to this kind of gay sexual encounter of her bisexual husband Horokanto with her own brother Nilambor. Thus, she relates Anil’s gay sexual orientation to her husband’s bisexuality and opines that it is a disease. This is a common negative belief against the people of the queer community that affects their mental health to the extent that they isolate themselves and live within the closeted space. Anil’s construction of an outhouse for himself is some kind of architectural space, a heterotopia, that the queer people inhabit which is an intimate, comfortable space. Any kind of discrimination like homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, etc. is prohibited there. This is what Foucault talks of when he postulates that there is a transition from ‘heterotopia of crisis’ to ‘heterotopia of deviation’. (1986, p.25) Anil goes through a crisis situation within his home space where his mother nags him continuously and he finds the home space constricted and traumatised. Thus, he moves to the outhouse which stands for the heterotopia of deviation. The closeted space of the outhouse is an emancipated space for Anil. Home could be a place where they experience homophobia and this is evident when his mother does not accept his gay identity. Thus, this kind of narrative exposes the myth of a safe home. The queers experience the home space as a place of surveillance and discipline. Anil faces a dual paradigm, where he is familiar and close to the centre of power when he is politically involved and is going to be the future village headman. On the other hand, he is made to feel that he does not belong to the mainstream because of his sexual orientation. His gay identity has been exposed and made a weapon to force his absence within the public space. In the depiction of this queer space, the story explores the erotic dynamics, its potential for grappling with the mainstream spaces and the consequent liminality. Anil’s sexual relation with Promod, the effeminate young man and Anil’s sex partner, exhibits this erotic dynamics within the space of the outhouse. Again, Anil’s sexual experiences with Gurmail project his encounter with the mainstream space. The final burning of the outhouse and Anil’s suicide delineate the outhouse as a liminal space that is not fixed and a temporary abode. Anil carves a space for transaction in the context of his homoerotic desire played out within the enclosed locus of the outhouse. The outhouse becomes a metaphoric representation of the sexually hierarchized home space.

Anil’s straddling within these spaces makes his identity contingent, unfixed, and yet “there”. This societal non-acceptance comes in the way of the queer populace while they claim their queer identity. They feel alienated and strive for a positionality as they inhabit in the interstices. In the words of Shinsuke Eguchi (2011):

Prior to coming out, individuals must have access to information about homosexuality and gay identity. The social stigmatization of homosexuality is a barrier for individuals in the process of adopting homosexuality as a way of life.  (p. 40)

This social stigmatisation makes Anil hide his gay identity and he builds the outhouse as a space for liberation. This could be a strategy of resilience too at his disposal to cope with the challenge of heteronormativity and the social stigma attached to his gay identity. Though Anil never told his mother about his physical needs, towards the end he told her about it:

He had built that house to carve a space of his own. It had implicitly told his mother what his ‘male needs’ were. And now, in front of the burning house, he was telling her that he loved Gurmail. (2019, p.131)

Anil saw his mother howling and mumbling something he did not understand and at that spur of the moment he went inside the burning house and neighbours woke up to an unusual smell of burnt human flesh. This suicide or annihilation of the self under societal pressure is a sad yet harsh reality among the queers. Rod Cover (2012), citing the research carried out by various agencies like, Queer activist and medical professionals, opines that they

effectively re-figured sexuality-related suicide as a social fact in Durkheim’s terms by suggesting that social intolerance and homophobia were internalised, thereby leading to self-hatred and self-destructiveness . . . It brought an epistemic shift of opinion from the idea that homosexuality was essentially abnormal, instead introducing the ways in which a number of factors were causal in the suicides of gay men, including shame resulting from blackmail and exposure, pressures around coming out and closetedness, isolation and ostracism” (p. 38)

Thus, Anil’s suicide is a result of the social stigma associated with his gay identity. His revelation to his mother, who, as a representative of the heterosexual social structure, is never ready to accept his gay identity, and finally the burning down of the outhouse, an alternate space of all kinds of possibilities and experimentations. The outhouse is not a discursive site. Rather it is a physical one, a space both integral to and removed from the social order. And its demolition has crushed all his wishes to have his own space and his identity.

Anil’s disinterest in the election process and his constant fear of being killed made him stay within the house. Through this rejection of his entering into the pubic space, Anil addresses his liminality and challenges the propriety of the dominant social order. All the traumatising experiences like Anil’s imprisonment, and the attack on his life, have a deep impact on his interior landscape. And he enters into a heterotopia of crisis. His suicide might be termed as a heterotopia of deviation where he embarks on a journey beyond life and all kinds of bindings. Thus, in a way, his death is a way of resistance too. Anil chooses to resort to a radical way of subversion of the dominant and in the process, he kills himself.

Panchanan Hazarika’s short story collection Andharotkoi Udaax Botahotkoi Swadhin (Depressed than darkness, liberated than the wind) has several stories that portray the experiential realities of queer people. He tries to expose the societal pressure, stigma, violence inflicted on the queers, the politics of exclusion, loneliness, rejection that the queer people experience. In “Sironton”, he shows how Violina, a Lesbian girl is not accepted by her peers. Being students of Gender Studies, researching 3rd Wave Feminism, these friends yet cannot accept her. This exposes the hypocrisy of heterosexual society. Queer people have to face the politics of exclusion and cannot claim an equal space in the mainstream discourses. Their visibility is ridiculed and thus critics have vouched for a shift of the politics of visibility to the politics of recognition which acknowledges identity on the basis of gender, sexuality, and other markers.

 Hazarika’s story “Joloj Jibon” (Fluid Life) presents the fluidity of one’s identity. The narrator speaks about his fluid existence, the multiple selves that we carry within us, the body’s needs and desires, and his search for the truth of life. He feels he floats in these nuanced paradigms. When his friend says that not being able to publicly express one’s sexuality could also be a reason for committing suicide, he protests. And then he longs for a living river where his fluid life could clasp him. The water body is represented as an alternative space that both forms and challenges the protagonist’s sense of identity and belongingness. Thus, the space that he longs for is a queer space that would provide him solace as it might be a safe refuge to explore his sexuality and fluid identity. This space is an indefinable space, a temporary and yet fluctuating zone governed by lawless forces, where the protagonist can be in his elements.  This kind of performance reveals a kind of convergence of spatial and fluid identity formation.

The title story from the collection Andharotkoi Udaax Botahotkoi Swadhin(2020) narrates the story of Chandrabala, the educated, progressive mother and her three children, Uddipta, Lopa, and Ujjiban. The mother is very much involved in her children’s lives and she tries to help them solve their problems, and takes their side when they face any problem from their father or society at large. But when she comes to know about her son Ujjiban’s sexuality, who declares that he is gay, it was like a storm for her. She had to go through many phases of tests and tribulations. The mother introspects:

Ujjibon is attracted only towards men— she possesses the required sensitivity and awareness to accept this truth. But Ujjiban is not a character from a story or a film. He is her son, the son of her own flesh and blood. He is the son of her and Uttam’s. (2020, p. 90)

Ujjiban’s gay identity is evident in his gait and his behaviour. He is ridiculed by his friends and teachers at school. The public space of school does not provide him with a sense of belongingness. Even, the home space is not conducive for him. Uttam, his father curses him and commands him, “to behave like a boy as he is born a boy”. Thus, Uddipan was bereft of any comforting space where he could perform his sexuality. He always lives within the restrictive, disciplinary space. But his association with the Art teacher provides him with a liberated space, where he can come out of his shell and become his own self. As his mother states,

Uddipan became very close to this man who is double his age. She found it surprising. Yet, Debaparasad, the Art teacher could bring him out of the cocoon of loneliness-depression-self-absorption. And she is ever grateful to him. (2020, p. 92)

Thus, Uddipan’s experience in the metro city of Delhi gives him the much-required space of freedom and his whole personality undergoes a transformation. From a naive individual, he becomes self-reliant and courageous. He has understood the heterosexual power politics and he realises that his gay identity is as natural as any other gendered identity. This socially constructed notion of heterosexuality is critiqued by Binnie (1997) and she postulates: “Space is not naturally authentically “straight”, but rather actively produced and (hetero) sexualised.” (p.223)

The very notion of inclusion and acceptance is something that queer people are denied by society. As they do not conform to heteropatriarchal norms, they are singled out and positioned in the margins. These liminal spaces could be re-appropriated and restructured by creating a space where the queers can perform their sexuality and gender. The experiences of Urban Delhi provide Ujjiban with the required acceptance and space and he comes out of his closeted space and declares his sexuality even to his mother. This creation of a heterotopia helps the queers force the heteronormative society to recognise the queer bodies and sexualities as viable on their own terms. And Ujjiban’s mother accepts his sexuality with élan. She tells him:

Ujjiban! I belong to a different era. You belong to a new era. But who will understand you if not me? I am your mother…. Is there anything that a mother does not understand? However free, rebellious emancipated a time could be, is not the time born out of a womb of old time? Doesn’t the hand holding the progressive light that herald the new time born from the darkness of the womb? (2020, p. 94)

And Chandrabala shivers with a yearning to be free from the clutch of the age-old conventions and a love for the future where there will be equality of sexes. In this kind of social change, a change of mindset of people is needed. Social change occurs slowly. Literature can play a pivotal role by bringing awareness and arousing empathy and sensitivity among people.  These existential realities bring forth the nuances of the lives of the queer people and we can envision that a day will come which will open up a new vista where people belonging to all sexualities bask under the same sky.

The spatial deployment of the queer people within the framework of mainstream society has changed its trajectory in the contemporary discourses on queer studies. Scholars have come up with new perspectives on the notions of queer identity and space. Kath Browne (2006) argues that queer is more than the LGBT population and it ought to consider how queer can be something other than “an overarching term that describes sexual ‘dissidents’” (p. 886). Brown postulates that the ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian’ spaces normally do not transgress the normative sexual identity politics. It should extend the norm and not transgress or challenge it. Thus, by queer Brown means “operating beyond powers and controls that enforce normativity”. (p. 889). She goes on to state that queer inquiries should question the ideals of inclusion and “entail radical (re)thinkings, (re)drawings, (re)conceptualisations, (re)mappings that could (re)make bodies, spaces, and geographies” (p. 888). Thus, Brown opines that queer geographies should transgress boundaries such as hetero/homo, man/woman in order to go beyond normativity that will render space fluid. This fluid notion of space would surely be a harbinger of a new world order where the dominant power structure would cease to operate and a new dawn will usher in where the queers will have their own subjectivities. The spaces that they occupy will transgress all prevalent spatial boundaries and provide them with the identities that they envision in the days to come.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

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Nizara Hazarika is an Associate Professor at the Post Graduate Department of English in  Sonapur College, (Gauhati University) Assam. She did her PhD on Colonial Assam and Women’s Writing’from English and Foreign Languages University, (EFLU) Hyderabad. She is the author of the book Colonial Assam and Women’s Writing. She has also edited several books on women writing and English language teaching. She was a recipient of a Fellowship by the US Department of State in 2013, UGC travel grants to participate in IAFOR International Conference at Osaka, Japan in 2013, and in the Fifteenth International Conference on New Directions in the Humanities for a Knowledge Society” at Imperial College, London in 2017.

Navakanta Barua’s Posthuman Wonderland in Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur

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Himaxee Bordoloi1 & Rohini Mokashi2
1Assistant Professor in Darrang College, under Gauhati University, India. ORCID id: 0000-0001-6962-205. Email: sarmahdaisy04@gmail.com
2IIT Guwahati, Assam, India. ORCID id: 000-0001-8381-3469. Email id: rohini@iitg.ac.in

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages: 1-10. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne23

First published: June 24, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

In the wake of the emerging body of scholarship on Posthumanism and Animality studies, the borderline between the human and the ‘non-human’ has been ‘thoroughly breached’. Interestingly, one of the key areas where the boundaries between the human and the animal are problematized is the field of children’s literature. Children’s literature has the potential to radically challenge the anthropocentric worldview of Man as an ‘exceptional’ being by deploying a playful, but subversive logic. The paper attempts to examine how Navakanta Barua deploys nonsense and fantasy in his novella, Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur to challenge this very prospect of human supremacy as opposed to the non-human ‘other’. The paper also seeks to examine how the fantastic encounters between Barua’s child-protagonist and the mysterious non-human entities challenge the centrality and superiority of the ‘human’, and, in doing so, how the text draws attention to the complexities of our lived relations with non-human others.

Key Words: Posthumanism, Non-human, Animality, Children’s Literature.

Introduction: The Posthumanist Turn.

One of the crucial ‘boundary breakdowns’, which Donna Haraway (1985) mentions in her significant manifesto, A Cyborg Manifesto, is the borderline between humans and animals. As Haraway (1985) proposes, “by the late twentieth century in United States scientific culture, the boundary between human and animal is thoroughly breached (p. 68). Haraway’s path-breaking Manifesto opens up new avenues to revisit humanity’s relationships with non-human ‘other’ as it undercuts the long-established, ‘absolutist’ discourse of humanism. For a long time, the Biblical discourse of the ‘origin myths’ has legitimatized the human-animal divide. Citing William Henderson, Tom Tyler (2020), in The Palgrave Handbook of Animals and Literature emphasizes how human exceptionalism had its roots in the Biblical teachings. To put in Henderson’s words,

“Biblical teaching is […] anthropocentric, so far as the world is concerned, the true centre of it being, not earth so much as man. The sun, physical centre of the system as he may be, shines for our sakes: the moon walks the night in our interest: the stars are there for our use. From the Biblical point of view, everything turns round the earth as the habitation of human spirit” (Tyler, 2020, p. 17).

This anthropocentric world-view was further aggravated by the “enlightenment trajectory of humanist essentialism” (Huggan, Tiffin, 2010, p. 151) which naturalizes man as the measure of all things. However, in the wake of the emerging body of scholarships on posthumanism and animal studies, the central position of man as an ‘exceptional’ being is often questioned. Posthumanism, as a philosophical stance, therefore, attempts to unseat the supreme position of man. This view of Posthumanism is highlighted by Neil Badmington (2012) in his entry on “posthumanism” in The Routledge Companion to Literature and Science:

Posthumanism, by way of contrast, emerges from a recognition that “Man” is not the privileged and protected center, because humans are no longer – and perhaps never were – utterly distinct from animals, machines, and other forms of the “inhuman”; are the products of historical and cultural differences that invalidate any appeal to a universal, transhistorical human essence; are constituted as subjects by a linguistic system that pre-exists and transcends them; and are unable to direct the course of world history towards a uniquely human goal. In short, posthumanism arises from the theoretical and practical inadequacy – or even impossibility – of humanism (p. 374).

Posthumanism, as a philosophical inquiry, thus, to put in the words of Hayles (1999) “evokes the exhilarating prospect of getting out of some of the old boxes and opening up new ways of thinking about what being human means” (p. 285). However, Hayles also warns that the radical ways of thinking about humanity can be as much ‘frightening as liberating’ (p.285). Posthumanist discourse in this regard can be broadly classified into two parts: transhumanism or ‘an intensification of humanism’ (Wolfe, 2009, p. xv) and critical posthumanism. While the above strand of posthumanism is concerned with the ‘techno-modifications’ of the human, critical posthumanism attempts to examine humans “as an instantiation of a network of connections, exchanges, linkages and crossings with all forms of life” (Nayar, 2013, p. 5). One of the key formulations of critical posthumanism is destabilizing speciesist humanism or what Haraway (1985) points to as the ‘human/animal divide’. The need to examine posthumanism from a ‘companion species’ (Haraway, 2008) framework instead of a technological approach is urged by critics like Zoe Jacques (2015) who states that “posthumanism requires neither the robots nor machines of recent history, but philosophers, writers, and thinkers who are willing to question what it means to be humans and how humans should relate to the wider world” (p. 6).

 Children’s Literature and the animal-human boundary. 

One of the key spaces where the boundaries between the human and the animal are often problematized is the realm of children’s fantasy. Mice being adopted as a little brother (Stuart Little), animals seeking advice from human doctors (Doctor Dolittle), cats wearing hats (The Cat in the Hat), monsters trying to graduate from university (Monsters University), all of these seemingly impossible tasks, however, operate “beyond the limitations of ontology” (Jacques, 2015, p. 3). In other words, children’s fantasy has the potential to radically destabilize hierarchies of being, which might seem unfeasible in a realistic setting. Zoe Jacques, in this regard, offers interesting insights into children’s fiction by examining the genre from a Posthumanist lens. As Jacques (2018) maintains, “by imagining ‘being’ as operating beyond bodily or environmental constraint, children’s fiction, in its attempt to address young readers, can offer sophisticated interventions into debates about what it means to be human or non-human and offer ethical imaginings of a ‘posthuman; world” (p. 5). A similar view is echoed by Amy Ratelle (2015) as she argues that “literature geared toward a child audience reflects and contributes to the cultural tensions created by the oscillation between upholding and undermining the divisions between the human and the animals” (p. 4). Ratelle’s book thus takes a posthumanist stand to examining animals as subjects, and the ways in which children’s literature and culture “present the boundary between humans and animals, as, at best permeable and in a state of continual flux” (Ratelle, 2015, p. 4). The blurring of boundaries between humans and animals is, however, more permissible in children’s fantasy as opposed to realistic fiction about animals. Realistic fiction about animals often highlights the heroic sacrifices, sufferings, and pain of animals, thereby relegating animals as mere objects of human sympathy. Realistic fiction in this regard generates what Sumana Roy (2020) terms ‘public guilt’. As Roy notes in her article “Guilt Lit”, “we are living in the age of public guilt. So, the literature we consume bears its own ‘privilege footprints’. We now approach literature with the expectation that we will feel guilty, will be reminded of our privilege (Roy, 2020). Fantasy works about animals, on the other hand, give voice to animals. Fantasy books about animals provide space for imagining the inner lives of animals and, it endows animals “with language capabilities to express their thoughts and feelings” (Elick, 2015, p. 6). Instead of focusing on the utilitarian or tokenistic approach, modern children’s fantasy novels, in the words of Catherine Elick, “run counter to works of animal realism by overwriting animals’ vulnerabilities and instead showing them capable of unbalancing human hierarchies and enjoying equitable relationships with people” (2015, p. 6). However, this ‘equitable relationship’ is further enhanced through the use of anthropomorphism in children’s literature. Having said that, it cannot be denied that anthropomorphism for a long time has been instrumental in disseminating ‘human values’ to children. As Catherine Elick (2015) opines, “modern fantasy espouses anthropomorphism for the very purpose of combating the anthropocentrism that subscribes to a utilitarian scale of value for animals and sees them merely as signifiers of humanity’s maturity or tests of human morality, not agents in their own right” (p. 6) Thus, keeping Elick’s statement in view, it can be possibly argued that anthropomorphism may not necessarily be anthropocentric. On the other hand, it can be a liberating aspect when viewed from the perspective of animal studies.

Drawing on the insightful concepts of ‘posthumanism’ and ‘animality studies’ the present paper attempts to examine how anthropomorphism in select Assamese children’s fantasy combats what Cary Wolf (2003) terms “the institution of speciesism”. (p. 7).

‘Animality’ in Assamese fantasy literature for children.

As in most cultures across the world, talking animals have always been a part of Assamese literature and culture. The Omolageet, (lullabies) which enriched the treasure house of Assamese children’s literature features animal characters with extraordinary facilities. For instance, ‘moruwa phool’ (imaginary flower) blooms on the head of the fox, cranes offer ‘white dots’ to children on their way to the assembly, the moon provides a needle to the child to stitch bags, the sparrow cuts betelnut in the wedding ceremony of the tail-less vixen, etc. All these fantastic tasks, obviously unreal to the adult mind, enliven the child’s mind with curiosity and imagination. The fantastic elements, however, pervade not only oral tales and stories but are very much a part of the works of later writers of children’s literature. Apart from Lakshminath Bezbaroa, various writers such as Navakanta Barua, Atul Chandra Hazarika, Nirmal Prabha Bordoloi, Toshoprabha Kalita, and Gagan Chandra Adhikary have used mysterious animals in their works to intrigue the imagination of the readers. Strikingly, the animal characters of the afore-mentioned writers do not act as mediators or substitutes for/of human beings; they are subjects in their own rights. Their works highlight the significance of the inter-species bond, which is particularly relevant in the present times of massive, ecologically disruptive, change. In this regard, it is imperative to mention Navakanta Barua whose eco-centric vision is discernible not only in his poems but also in other writings meant for children. The present paper attempts to analyse Barua’s novella Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur through a posthumanist lens, in order to see how he challenges a humanist framework and draws attention to the need for a ‘companion species’ framework.

Navakanta Barua’s Eco-centric vision

In the Preface to his novella, Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur, Navakanta Barua acknowledges how he was inspired by Lewis Carroll and Sukumar Rai to produce a similar ‘moral free’ book for children. As Barua notes, “as you grow up and read the stories of Lewis Carroll and Sukumar Rai, you will find certain similarities between their works and mine. Perhaps, those are the best works anyone could ever read… On the one side are those writers, and, you (children) are on the other side. What lies between the two extremes are my ‘creations’” (Adhikari, p. 118). Redressing the problems of didactics, Barua further asserts that, “the stories of Brother Grimm are wonderful – just like Grandma’s tales; the moral values of Panchatantra and Aesop are also invaluable, but somehow you (children) do not appear to be there. In fact, we (adults) do not have the right to impose our inflexible judgments on children” (Adhikari, 2003, 118). The Preface clarifies the point that Navakanta Barua was influenced by the nonsense genre of literary tradition, and particularly by the works of Carroll for its subversive potential.  As Linda M Shires (1988) suggests, “fantasy, nonsense and parody each question the status of the real in a different, and differently disturbing way, pushing language and meaning toward dangerous limits of dissolution… however, what is at stake- whether in the unreal of fantasy, or the non-real of nonsense – is ourselves” (p. 267-268). Extending Shires’ remark a little further, from ‘ourselves’ to ‘ourselves’ – as superior human beings, it can be argued that Navakanta Barua deploys nonsense and fantasy in his novella, Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur to challenge this very prospect of human supremacy as opposed to animal inferiority. Barua’s interest in animal rights and animal welfare is evident in his poems, articles, and other works, where he talks about the estranged relationship between humans and animals. One such poem is “Dekhiyapotia Baghor Gaan” (The Leopard’s song) where the Leopard questions the unjust killings of animals by humans, and requests human beings to restore their rightful home — the forest to it:

Haw maw khau

Moitu manuh nakhau

Prokritiye dise muk poxu aaronyir

Taakey khai jibon kotau (Adhikar, p. 245).

Haw mau khau

I don’t need to eat humans

Nature provides me with beasts from the forest,

Whom I relish and cling to life (End note).

In another poem, Goror Gaan (The Rhinoceros’s Song), the Rhino poses a similar question to humanity through its song:

Mur kopalot edale xing

Tumaluke bula sorgo!

Seiyai je mathun prokritiye diya

Aatmoroikhar astro !

Tat jadu ni oouxod ni

Nai bhut kheda montra

Anebur misa kothat kiyonu

Nakhisa jivan mur! (Adhikari, p. 250)

Navakanta Barua, through the voice of the Rhinoceros, poignantly tells human beings how they are poached for the single horn they possess. The Rhino explains through its song that its horn does not have any medicinal value, nor does it possess any supernatural power. It is merely an instrument of self-defence, bestowed by nature to the animal. Human beings, therefore should not kill it for their selfish motives. Barua’s deep concern for animals and the environment finds expression in his works such as Hey Aranya hey Mahanagar, Kramasha Eti Xadhukatha, Eyat Nodi Asil, etc. apart from the children’s poems discussed above. However, in his nonsense fiction, Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur, Barua seeks to erase the boundaries between humans and animals by deploying a playful but subversive logic.

The discussion on the theoretical aspects of posthumanism and animality studies makes it understandable that the ‘animal’, for a long time, has occupied a peripheral position as opposed to its counterpart – the human. As Derrida (2008) notes in his essay “The Animal That Therefore I am”, “the animal is a word, it is an appellation that men have instituted, a name they have given themselves the right an[i]d the authority to give to another living creature” (p. 392). However, despite the linguistic complexities involved, the word ‘animal’, according to Erica Fudge (2002) has some transformative power, insofar as it draws attention to the complexities of our lived relations with non-human others. In the light of Fudge’s remark, this paper seeks to explore how the fantastic encounters between the child-protagonist Joon and the mysterious animals challenge the centrality and superiority of the ‘human’.

Powerful or Vulnerable?

One of the prime reasons for human beings to justify their domination over ‘animals’ is ‘rationality’, ‘intellectual power’, and/or physical strength. In Navakanta Barua’s Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur, however, the child protagonist in his fantastic journey, encounters ‘strange creatures’ – beasts, birds, talking-roads, moon, etc, who challenge those very notions of human authority/power. As the story begins the child protagonist embarks on his journey to Ratanpur, the fictional place he comes across in his grandmother’s tales. The very fact that Joon wants to visit a fictional place sets the fantastic tone of the story.  At the very outset, Joon encounters a crossroad where ten intersecting roads beckon him. Strangely enough, all the roads can talk multiple languages, and they all lure Joon, each outdoing the other in enticing him. By giving voice to inanimate objects as roads, Navakanta Barua does something more than an anthropomorphic appropriation: he challenges the very premise based upon which humanity has always denied subjecthood to ‘animals’- the ability to speak (Derrida, 2008, p. 379). The superior position of humans is further challenged as the story progresses. Upon taking a least travelled road, Joon encounters a kite, which was carrying a bamboo net (saloni), with two wrestlers on it. As there was no audience to watch their game, the wrestlers come across a fisher-woman, who promises a chonda fish to the one who loses the game. Soon after the wrestlers were carried off by the kite, Joon was also taken off by the same kite, and he could see that the wrestlers were not wrestling, as the game was designed to have no winners. In the hope of getting a chonda fish, each of the wrestlers gets up, pretends to fight, and falls. Finding the whole situation very absurd, Joon reminds them that they were far away from getting any reward since they were already being carried off by a kite. The wrestlers, then, tell Joon that it is not any ordinary kite, but must be a Brahminy Kite (Ganga Siloni), and, terrified, both of them jump off the bamboo.  Generally, wrestlers are known for their physical strength and agility. However, the fact that these two wrestlers were carried off by a bird undermines the superiority of human beings as physically powerful over vulnerable beings. Furthermore, upon realizing that they were in the grasp of a bird, the wrestlers assumed the bird to be an extraordinary one, and, terrified, they jumped off the flying saloni in the sky. What is interesting in the above episode is the fact that more than Joon, it is the wrestlers who were terrified of the bird. It was only after the wrestlers jumped off the net, that Joon was actually scared of the bird. The kite, though a bird, is projected as much more powerful than the strongest human beings. It is not just Joon – a child, who was scared of a ‘tiny’ bird. But, in Navakanta Barua’s wonderland, even the strongest humans, such as the wrestlers are rendered powerless against vulnerable animals.

Erudite ‘animals, dumb-headed humans

So far as rationality or ‘intellectual power’ is concerned, the novella presents events that challenge this assumption. The right of animals to knowledge and erudition becomes key to unsettling the human-animal divide. In one instance, Joon encounters an ant with a waistcoat, like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. Interestingly enough, the ant has knowledge of geography, and its rather obscure questions frustrate Joon:

Do you know that the earth is round?

Yes, it moves around the sun.

And?

And it moves on its axis?

What is the axis?

As if I don’t know, it means the spinal cord.

Does the earth have a vertebral cord?

It is visible on the map, not in reality.

Very good! Ten out of ten (Adhikari, 2003, p.127).

The above conversation highlights how Joon was being tested and evaluated by the ant. Joon’s position as a superior human being with regard to knowledge is constantly undermined through his conversations with the ant. At times, Joon finds it so annoying that he vents his anger by saying that: “you don’t act too smart like my teacher Nityananda sir. You are being too arrogant” (Adhikari, 2003, p. 126). Joon’s act of comparing the ant with authoritarian figures like elders equates the child/adult binary with the animal/human binary. Joon is wary of authoritarian figures like his teacher who always questions the children and imposes his authority upon them. The ant’s rather intelligent questions pose a similar threat to Joon’s sense of stability as a human. The fact that an insect of the smallest kind could know so much more is very disturbing to him. However, as the story unfolds, Joon’s attempt to re-instate his superior position is further undermined through his conversation with other animals. His exchange with the stork is one such instance where Joon’s presumed rationality is challenged through the bird’s rather ‘absurd’ statements. The fact that Barua imbues nonhuman creatures with more rationality is evident, as Joon assumes that the bird is familiar with all locations and places. Joon’s conversation with the stork leaves him in a state of utter perplexity as he couldn’t make sense of the bird’s ‘irrational’ statements:

          Let’s sleep, okay! Sleep off! The fox has to catch its prey.

          No… I am not at all sleepy, I won’t sleep.

          Ai o dehi! Don’t worry! Everything will be alright! Let us share the sleep.

          Can anyone share sleep? …

          Who says no? You don’t know anything (Adhikari, 2003, p. 131).

The Stork’s remark utterly frustrates and annoys Joon as he feels dumb-headed. Interestingly, the stork doesn’t just make some blind statements but goes further to elucidate how sleep can be shared with proper examples from mathematics (bhognasor anko). Although the stork does not produce any ‘reasoned argument’ from Joon’s perspective, it seems perfectly rational when seen in terms of the logic which Navakanta Barua sets up in the story. What appears absurd to Joon, is ‘rationality’ as and when it is expressed through the voice of the stork. In another instance, when Joon meets an old man and his dog from an old tale, the anthropocentric distinction of man as the sole possessor of language is subverted. It becomes evident as the dog assumes Joon to be a gorilla and asks him, “Gorilla, Gorilla, where is your tail?” (Adhikari, 2003, p. 138). Joon’s angry and fearful response to the dog that “I am not a Gorilla, and I do not have a tail either” (138) shows his anxiety and frustration for being ridiculed by a ‘nonhuman other’. The dog, then, offers a handkerchief to Joon with the picture of a Gorilla and asks him if Joon is not a gorilla. To this Joon replies rather bluntly, “this is not a mirror, but a handkerchief, and, I am not a Gorilla” (Adhikari, 2003, p.139). The dog’s assumption seems incorrect to Joon from an anthropocentric viewpoint, which considers human language as one of the necessary means to access ‘reality.’ However, by giving room to a multiplicity of voices (languages) such as that of the ant, the stork, the dog, and other ‘fantastical creatures’ in the story, Barua attempts to upset the presumed rationality of human beings in the text.

The value of reason is continuously subverted as the story unfolds. Joon’s act of seeking meaning in rationality is constantly undermined through the deployment of nonsense in the text. Upon reaching Ratanpur, Joon meets the erudite fox who challenges him through a series of nonsensical word games. Joon, however, fails repeatedly and is embarrassed by these failures. The fox, by repeatedly testing Joon on the basis of nonsense prosody, not only provides an insight into how things work in the wonderland, but also challenges the humanist notion of language as a marker of ‘rationality’. Joon’s encounters with these intelligent animals, therefore, challenge humanity’s belief in ‘rational superiority’ and subvert the naturalized assumption of human domination over other animals.

Bridging the species divide

One of the interesting facts about Barua’s novella Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur is that the child-protagonist, Joon, is accompanied either by some non-human animals or inanimate objects throughout his journey. Joon’s fantastic encounters with different creatures, therefore, offer provocative ways to think of Haraway’s idea of “companion species” in more compelling ways. There are many instances where the human-animal “intra-action” (Haraway, 2003) finds expression in the novella. Joon’s first thought upon seeing the ten talking-cross-roads was to meet the vixen:

Shall I reach Aaita’s story’s Ratanpur?

Sigh! Had I met the vixen, I would have asked her.

One is scared of the vixen only at night, not during days (Adhikari, 2003, p.120).

Joon’s statements ostensibly show how the narrative seeks to erase the incommensurable difference between humans and animals by delineating an inter-species relationship. The fact that Joon is not ‘scared’ and ‘apprehensive’ of the animals and instead, he seeks guidance and assistance from talking animals, birds, beasts, and inanimate objects highlights the inter-species companionship in the story. When Joon met the ant for the first time, he was responsive to the ant’s request to keep his magnifying glass aside:

Please keep that mirror aside, I shall turn deaf.

Why?

When I see you through the glass, your voice also gets magnified along with your body (Adhikari, 2003, p.127).

Joon hurriedly kept his glass apart and responded, “ok! Now, tell me, what were you saying” (p.127)? Joon, by responding to the ant engages in what Donna Haraway terms as respecere in a companion species framework. Respecere, according to Haraway involves respect. It doesn’t simply mean to “look at”, but rather “to hold in regard, to respond, to look back reciprocally, to notice, to pay attention, to have courteous regard for, to esteem” (Haraway, 2008, 19). Although Joon projects his human exceptionalism and feels challenged at times, he holds respecere for the ‘nonhuman other’ and, ultimately, he learns to coexist with them. Joon learns a very important lesson from his journey: he is not rationally superior to or exceptional to the ‘non-human’ animals and objects. By the time he reaches Ratanpur, Joon accepts the fact that the fox, the dog, and other fantastic creatures are far more knowing than him. His communication with the fantastic creatures bridges the species divide as Joon learns to respect other beings as ‘fellow creatures’. The portrayal of animal-human relationships not only dismantles the essentialist notion of a superior human ontology, but the narrative of Siyali Palegoi Ratanpur also offers fertile terrain for ‘companion-species’ framework.

Conclusion

According to Zoe Jacques (2018), “children’s fantasy, in all of its genres, modes, and indeed, historical periods, can be deeply complex in negotiating alternate modes of authority or in destabilizing authority itself” (Children’s Literature and the Posthuman 239). In view of Jacques’ remark, it can be said that Assamese children’s literature offers illuminating ways to re-conceptualize humanity’s relationship with the non-human world. Navakanta Barua’s Siyali Palegoi Ratunpur, in this regard, destabilizes human exceptionality through a posthumanist play of rationality and power. The child protagonist, Joon’s encounter with fantastical creatures, offers new insights into human-animal studies, and in doing so, the text draws attention to the complexities of our lived relations with non-human others.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Note

[i] All translations, unless cited are by the first author.

References:

Adhikari, Gaganchandra, (2003). Navakanta Baruar Sishu Sahitya Samagra. Anwesha.

Derrida, Jacques, (2008). The Animal That Therefore I am. Fordham University Press.

Elick, Catherine, (2015). Talking Animals in Children’s Fiction. McFarland and Company.

Hayles, N. Katherine, (1999). How we Became Posthuman. University of Chicago Press.

Haraway, Donna, (1985). A Cyborg Manifesto. Socialist Review.

Haraway, Donna, (2003). The Companion Species Manifesto- Dogs, People and Significant Otherness. Prickly Paradigm Press.

Haraway, Donna, (2008). When Species Meet. University of Minnesota Press.

Huggan, G., & Tiffin, H. (2010). Postcolonial ecocriticism: Literature, animals, environment. Routledge.

Jacques, Zoe, (2015). Machines, Monsters, and Animals. Bookbird, 53 (1), 4-9. doi10.1353/bkb.2015.0006

Jacques, Zoe, (2018). Children’s Literature and the Posthuman: Animal, Environment, Cyborg. Routledge.

Nayar, Pramod. K, (2000). Posthumanism. Polity.

Ratelle, Amy, (2015). Animality and Children’s Literature. Palgrave Macmillan.

Roy, Sumana, (2020). Guilt Lit. Los Angeles Review of Books. doi lareviewofbooks.org/short-takes/guilt-lit

Shires, Linda. M, (1988). Fantasy, Nonsense and Parody, and the Status of the Real: The Example of Carroll. Victorian Poetry, 26 (3), 267-283. Doi https://www.jstor.org/stable/40001965.

Tyler, Tom, (2020). The Exception and the Norm: Dimensions of Anthropocentrism. In S. McHugh, S. McKay, R. & Miller, J. (Eds). (2020). The Palgrave Handbook of Animals and Literature. Palgrave Macmillan. 

Wolfe, Cary, (2003). Animal Rites. University of Chicago Press.

Wolfe, Cary, (2009). What is Posthumanism?. University of Minnesota Press.

Himaxee Bordoloi is currently working as an Assistant Professor in Darrang College, under Gauhati University, India. She has completed her M.A from the University of Hyderabad, and, presently, she is pursuing PhD from the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Guwahati as a part-time scholar. Her research areas are Children’s Literature, Postcolonial Literature, Disability Studies, and Animality Studies.

Dr. Rohini MokashiPunekar is a Professor of English and former Chair at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology Guwahati. She is a translator and works on the interstices between literary history, political change, and social interrogation.

Penology in Colonial Times: A Reading of Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha

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Sib Sankar Majumder
Dept. of English, Assam University, Silchar, India. ORCID: 0000-0003-1389-8289. Email: ssmaus1980@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages: 1-10. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne22

First published: June 24, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

Prison system in Assam owes its origin and structure to the British colonizers. Colonial administrator John M’Cosh mentions in Topography of Assam (1837) that by the year 1833 the East India Company had already established jails in prominent administrative sites like Guwahati and Goalpara. From the mid-twentieth century, one can witness an increasing concern in academic disciplines like psychiatry, psychology, sociology, criminology and philosophy with the notion and the praxis of incarceration in the colonies. This paper will attempt to foreground the unexplored dimensions of incarceration in colonial jails with a special focus on the frontier province of Assam through an analysis of Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha (2011), the autobiography of Robin Kakati, an eminent freedom fighter, Gandhian who courted multiple arrests as a satyagrahi. His autobiography unravels some of the most intricate details of prison life in colonial Assam, especially in Jorhat Central Prison where he was confined with some of the most prominent freedom fighters of the time like Nilamoni Phukan, Bimala Prasad Chaliha, Kamala Miri, Gopinath Bardoloi and others. The primary objective of this paper is to study the evolution of the system of incarceration in Assam during the colonial period by highlighting critical perspectives on forms of punishment, humiliation, subjection, classification and reform within the gaol through testimonies of freedom fighters.

Keywords: incarceration, penology, resistance, autobiography, prison manual 

In the wee hours of 10th of October 1942, a railway train carrying soldiers of the Allied Forces towards the Burmese frontier was derailed near Sarupathar Railway Station in Upper Assam. It resulted in the death of hundreds of British-American soldiers (Hazorika, 2014, p.233). The derailment was orchestrated by Mrityu-Vahini [suicide squad], an extremist outfit inspired by Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and his Azad Hind Fauj, which had already executed a series of disruptive activities in Central and Upper Assam. Immediately after this incident, C.A. Humphrey, the District Magistrate of Jorhat, ordered a combined civilian-military operation to nab the perpetrators. He also ordered a simultaneous crackdown on the Congress volunteers and their sympathizers in the region. Robin Kakati, a Gandhian satyagrahi was arrested from the Congress Party office in Sibsagar on the same day. Months later, Kakati noted in his diary inside Ward no. 14 of Jorhat jail:

As security prisoners, we were lodged in a cell within a huge concrete building [i.e. ward no. 14]. In the meantime, a good number of leaders from Jorhat and Guwahati were placed in the female ward of the jail. Some others were kept among the non-political prisoners (Chutia,2011, p.109; my translation).

‘Security prisoner’ was a popular nomenclature to identify those prisoners who were “confined under Regulation III of 1818 or corresponding rules under Preventive Detention Act” for involvement in “terrorist crime” whereas ‘political prisoner/s’ belonged to another distinct category of convicts penalized under Section 153-A of the Indian Penal Code, 1862, who disobeyed colonial laws “on conscientious and political grounds” (Mohanty et al., 1990, p. 84). However, in colonial jurisprudence, particularly in matters of prison administration, in numerous instances, these nomenclatures overlapped with each other. Under the provisions of Section 153-A of the Indian Penal Code, political prisoners could not be subjected to more restraint than was necessary for their safe custody (85). Ironically, from Kakati’s account [serialized in seven neat diaries and later published as Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha, 2011, his autobiography], it is evident that the Jorhat jail administration was violating the law by putting male ‘political’ prisoners in female wards.

During the last few decades, Anglophone academia has witnessed considerable interest in prison studies, especially complemented by critical concerns with prison life writings. The significance of Robin Kakati’s autobiography Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha lies in its portrayal of British carceral and penological praxis during the late colonial period in Assam. It highlights abuses, tortures, and denial of rights to the ‘security/political prisoners’ by the colonial administration. The eminent freedom fighter, Robin Kakati was born on 3rd September 1910 in Boliaghat village of Sibsagar district. He joined the freedom movement during his early student life under the inspiration of Mahatma Gandhi. The last few chapters of Robin Kakati’s autobiography, Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha, abound in recollections of events, anecdotes and conditions from Jorhat jail. It foregrounds the hopes, fears and apprehensions of prisoners jailed in a remote but strategically significant frontier region of the British Empire – an area that had recently become a theatre of War because of the Japanese invasion. British authority in the region was further challenged by a political mobilization called the Quit India Movement (1942). Kakati recollects an atmosphere of utter confusion among his compatriots in jail perpetuated by speculations about the possible defeat of Allied forces. Whereas the news of Subhas Chandra Bose’s appearance on the Burmese frontier with an audacious battle plan invigorated patriotic feelings of the prisoners, there were also genuine concerns about the future if the Britishers were to face defeat:

We were excitedly postulating the everyday events and we were convinced of the defeat of British Allied power. But what will happen to India after the defeat? Some opined that Japan and Germany will divide and share India. They will rule India more stringently with military power. We developed sympathy for the Britishers. Because we thought that irrespective of all its deficiencies, British were believers in democracy (Chutia, 2011, pp. 116-17; my translation).   

Among the most notable compatriots of Robin Kakati inside Jorhat jail was Kushal Konwar, an alleged activist of Mrityu-Vahini, in his mid-thirties, who was arrested on the suspicion of involvement in Sarupathar train derailment. Konwar was among the most active members of the Golaghat District Congress Committee. Soon after his arrest, Konwar was brought to Jorhat jail along with forty-two other accused. He spent the next seven months of his life in prison, which included four months of solitary confinement as an under-trial (Hazorika 234). In his autobiography, Robin Kakati has provided a vivid account of the last few days in the life of Kushal Konwar:

The news of the death sentence awarded to Kushal Konwar cast a pallor of gloom among the political prisoners (in Jorhat jail). Konwar maintained stoic behavior throughout his final few days in prison. Most of his time was spent reading passages from the Gita. As the date of hanging approached, there was no visible difference in his behavior. One could rather witness an illuminated expression in his eyes. The day before his hanging, the political prisoners were allowed to meet him and bid farewell with tearful eyes to the fearless soul. His sons were brought inside the jail for a final meeting with their father. On the evening before the hanging of Konwar, all the political prisoners in Jorhat jail observed a fast which continued till the afternoon of the next day. This fast was a homage to a brave son of Asomi Ai (Mother Assam), not merely a political gesture of anti-colonial resistance (Chutia, 2011, pp. 109-10; my translation).

Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha, belongs to the genre of ‘prison literature’, ‘prison autobiography’ to be precise. This genre is characterized by writings which are primarily realist or confessional in nature since the author is either a convict in imprisonment or someone who has completed his term. As a literary genre, prison autobiography is neither new nor unique. It has been defined as “[P]ersonal accounts written while in prison or about one’s time of imprisonment” (Winslow, 1995, p. 52). One may cite examples as widely different from each other as Bunyan’s Grace Abounding to Hitler’s Mein Kampf as literary specimens of this genre. It may be about prison, the experience of imprisonment, or prison life where a part of the narrative might have been written within confinement (52). Kakati’s autobiography, parts of which were written during his imprisonment, provides a rare glimpse into the colonial carceral and phonological praxes during the late colonial. The struggles of Assamese political prisoners inside colonial jails of Assam have been recorded in various autobiographical writings like Prabhat Sarma’s Bilator Galpa Aru Jailor Jibon, SrimantaTalukdar’s Agor Din Aru Mor Kotha, Krishnanath Sarma’s Krishna Sarmar Diary, Amiya Kumar Das’ Jivan Smritietc.Prashanta Kumar Chutia, the editor of Sangrami Jibonor Atmakathasuggests that though the author finished his manuscript by late 1940’s,it was published as late as in 2011 due to certain unspecified reasons (4).

The objective of this paper is to concentrate on the experience of ‘security/political prisoners’ through an analysis of Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha, a remarkable specimen of the genre of ‘prison autobiography’. While remaining conscious of the limitations of ‘recovery’ intent of the project, an attempt has been undertaken, nevertheless, to fill up the void of critical introspection into prison narratives pertaining to the freedom movement.  The following segment of this article is devoted towards unearthing different forms of punishment, humiliation, subjugation exercised by colonial prison administration and its impact on political prisoners through the analysis of an autobiography.

The modern penological system was introduced in the Indian subcontinent by the British East India Company during early eighteenth century. It was first introduced in India in 1773 and by 1860 it was practiced all over the subcontinent (Mohanty et al., 1990, p. 24). Up to 1857 the colonial rule continued to rest upon a patchwork of legal jurisdiction – an admixture of Mughal legal system and British ‘rule of law’. Till the third quarter of the eighteenth century, in British-India, jail was primarily conceived as a “holding place” where an accused could be confined before trial and subsequently, if s/he were sentenced with a jail term. That some of the East India Company executives were deeply perturbed by the state of affairs that prevailed within most Indian jails could be realized from a letter of T.B. Macaulay:

Whatever I hear about the Indian prisons satisfies me that their discipline is very defective…I do not imagine that in this country we can possibly establish a system of prison discipline so good as that which exists…[in the West]. We have not an unlimited command of European agency, and it is difficult to find good agents for such a purpose among our native subjects (Waits, 2014, p.1).

The following year i.e., in 1836 Macaulay appointed a Prison Discipline Committee to assess the condition of colonial prisons in India. In its report (submitted in 1838) the committee recommended a series of punitive mechanisms to be installed inside jails with the underlying presumption that “the best criminal code can be of little use to a community unless there is good machinery for the infliction of punishments” (Waits, 2014, p.113). Macaulay’s Prison Discipline Committee was followed by three more similar reformative committees which were subsequently formed in 1846, 1877 and 1888. From the recommendations of these committees, it appeared that the colonial administration was viewing the process of penology and incarceration as inseparable instruments of statecraft which could not be ignored any longer. However, with a rapid transformation in the functioning of penological institutions in the West during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century there were visible changes in prison administration in the colonies as well. Further enactments like Prisons Act, 1894 and the Prisoners Act 1900 facilitated the way for the formation of the Indian Jails Committee, 1919-20under the chairmanship of Sir Alexander G Cadrew. This committee effectively laid down the foundation for penological and carceral policies in the subcontinent through a series of recommendations on various aspects of prison administration. Certain prison historians, however, maintain that in spite of the best intention of Sir Cadrew and his committee, colonial prison system faltered in applying these recommendations because of its inability “to regard the prisoner as an individual” (Mohanty, 1990, p.26).

In the prison manuals the term ‘political prisoner’ remained ambiguous as a result of which it lacked uniformity in terms of application. Ujjwal Kumar Singh maintains that the entry of middle-class nationalists in colonial prisons accentuated a process of negotiation between the prisoners and prison governors which ultimately resulted in the construction of a new class of convicts called; political prisoners’ [or simply ‘politicals’] (81). The colonial government used different terms and nomenclatures to identify political prisoners. Having experimented with a plethora of terms like ‘seditionist’, ‘conspiracy case prisoners’, ‘raj kaidi/bandi’, ‘state prisoner’ and ‘political prisoner’ between late nineteenth to early twentieth century, apparently neutral termslike ‘detenue’ ‘security prisoner’, ‘superior class’ came into fashion towards the end of the colonial rule. Since the 1920s the popular practice was to classify prisoners into three grades – A, B and C. According to this classification ‘C’ class prisoners were to be treated like ordinary criminals, ‘A’ and ‘B’ class prisoners were to be given a little better treatment in terms of food, reading and writing facilities and a few other privileges. In Assam the usual practice was to classify prisoners into A, B and C category according to the state of their health, education and occupation before arrest but from the 1920s a new system was adopted whereby prisoners were categorized into these groups according to the nature of their offence (Das, 2016, p.126).  According to Assam Restriction and Detention Ordinance, 1920 any convict who was deemed to be a ‘political prisoner’ could be sentenced to a jail term or detention by the order of the central government or by any provincial government. These prisoners were subjected to a distinct routine from the non-political prisoners based on the nature of their ‘offence’ (Saraf, 1987, p.594). However, jail authorities applied dissimilar standards of treatment to prisoners for similar ‘offence’.

The authority of the colonial prison system, especially in remote frontier regions, operated on a complicated hierarchy, the nature of which was rather casually defined. Such a system could enforce a series of checks and obstructions at different levels of jail administration without having the onus to clearly define the rules for the convicts. From the first few decades of the twentieth century a palpable transformation could be discerned in the treatment of political prisoners. This transformation was partly affected by the rise of extremist activities in British-India around the time of World War I when political prisoners were increasingly deemed to be ‘dangerous’. Jail superintendents were instructed to keep a vigilant eye on the activities of political prisoners who “were not to be allowed to work together or given clerical work” (Purandare, 2019, p.130). Another instruction was that these prisoners should be compelled to do hard or “gang labour” (130). Most importantly political prisoners lost the “right of remission”, i.e. their sentences could no longer be “reduced on the grounds of good conduct in prison” (Das, 2016, p.130).

In the colonial jails of Assam Bengali Diet Scale was followed with two standards – one for the labouring prisoners and the other for non-labouring prisoners (which mostly included the political) (Das, 2020, p.106). The prisoners received jail diet as laid down under the provision of rule 369 of Assam Jail Manual Vol. I. Food given to the prisoners included sorghum (which had fewer amounts of protein than wheat), rice and lentils. High caste political prisoners were allowed to cook their own food at designated places within the jail compound. Rather surprisingly, on being transferred from one jail to another they could carry their feeding utensils and bedding with them to the receiving jail. Jail authorities supported such a system of separate cooking since it induced caste hierarchy among the prisoners. At the time of Quit India Movement most political detainees in Upper Assam belonging to ‘A’ and ‘B’ class, including Gopinath Bardoloi and Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed, were consigned to Jorhat jail. Each of these prisoners was supplied with pieces of bread and butter but ‘C’ class politicals were deprived of this facility. Some of the ‘A’ class prisoners like Robin Kakati and others decided to compensate their ‘C’ class brethren by sharing the bread and butter supplied to them, thereby forging a sense of unity among the inmates (Chutia, 2011, p.110).

With the introduction of a series of prohibitory regulations like the Indian Press Act of 1910 and the Indian Press Emergency Powers Act of 1931, the British colonial administration supplied a substantially comprehensive list of banned books to the jail authorities which could not be allowed inside the jail premises. Through the Assam Jail Manual (1934) prison officials had the prerogative to decide the nature and content of reading materials to be allowed to the prisoners. Prison administrators often formulated their own rationale for restricting the entry of books on arbitrary ‘security concerns’ (Chutia, 2011, p.109). Ironically, Bhagwad Gita [usually found in the possession of extremists] was among books deemed to be ‘dangerous’ by prison administrators since it could “provoke unruly behavior” or encourage “disruption of law and order” (Kar, 2009, p.29). Detachment from public gaze and immunity from scrutiny of civil society enhance the opportunity for adoption of a stricter censorship policy inside jail than in the rest of the society. Political prisoners were provided loose papers for writing two personal letters a month (Chutia, 2011, p.116; Das, 2016, p.126). However, one or two extra letters could be smuggled by bribing the warders (Chutia, 2011, p.116). From Kakati’s autobiography it is evident that during the War years prisoners had better access to books and other reading materials than before in Assam as he observes

During 1930/32 newspapers were not allowed in jails. At times Jail warders and compounders smuggled in a few newspapers and letters from which the latest occurrences in the country could be fathomed. By 1942 newspapers were available in jail and we had no problem in getting information (Chutia 116).

For political prisoners, however, there were certain distinct arrangements in most colonial jails. There were certain “special instructions” for the treatment of political prisoners in the Assam Jail Manual, 1934 whereby they were allowed to communicate freely with each other (Saraf, 1987, p.7). They were entitled to get medical treatment in case of serious illness but only under specific instruction of the jail superintendent. At times jail authorities compromised on the health condition of the prisoners on grounds of security. In October 1942 Swami Satyananda was transported to Jorhat jail in critically injured condition but Tarak Das, the jail superintendent, denied permission for the treatment of the prisoner outside the jail premises. When Satyanand’s condition further deteriorated, he was shifted to Tezpur jail. Unfortunately, he succumbed to his injuries within a few days (Das, 2020, p.113). According to David Arnold,

Mortality tended to be highest among the newly-arrived prisoners who entered jail in a debilitated and demoralized state…from unfamiliarity with a confined and sedentary life, from abrupt changes of climate and diet, from neglect at the hands of their jailors, or from the ‘nostalgia’ and ‘peculiar despondency’ that overcame them (1994, pp.167-8). 

By the end of the nineteenth century, the prison population in Assam was in a deplorable state, and prisoners were regularly infected by infectious diseases (Das, 2020, p.110). Health facilities and medical facilities were woefully inadequate (Chutia, 2011, p.110). During the early 1930s, there was an outbreak of pneumonia in Tezpur jail as a result of which twenty-eight deaths were reported by the jail authorities (Chutia, p.110). Similar outbreaks of contagious diseases were reported from other jails of the province including Guwahati. There were times when the provincial government had to intervene and instruct “the jail authorities to improve the sanitary and hygienic conditions” in the prison wards (Das, 2016, p.129). The colonial government’s Home Department, Provincial Governors, and Chief Commissioners issued periodical assessment reports about security threats in jail and about the sympathizers of revolutionary activities among prison inmates. The response of the British Empire to such perceived ‘threats’ can be witnessed in a secret report dispatched to the jail superintendents in 1933:

Regarding security, prisoners who hunger strike [sic], every effort should be made to prevent the incidents being reported [in newspapers], no concessions to be given to the prisoners who must be kept alive. Manual methods of restraint are best, then the mechanical when the patient resists (Kar, 2009, p.67).

In Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha, Robin Kakati provides a vivid description of the inhuman treatment accorded by the colonial administration to Kamala Miri, a Congress volunteer and satyagrahi who was brought to Jorhat jail on 13th October 1942. From mid-December 1942 Miri’s health started declining steadily because of his participation in an indefinite hunger strike. When he was admitted to the jail hospital for treatment the jail superintendent Tarak Das asked him to sign a letter that stated that he had agreed to refrain from political fasting and agitation in exchange for his treatment. Miri declined to sign the letter and consequently he was not allowed permission for treatment outside the jail. Gopinath Bardoloi and a few others tried to intervene on behalf of Miri. Bardoloi wrote a long letter to the provincial authority trying to draw its attention to the deplorable state of affairs in Jorhat jail (Das, 2020, p.112). He also reiterated the demand of political prisoners in detention for unconditional release of Miri from jail on grounds of poor health but the provincial government ignored the request. Finally, on the morning of April 23,1943 Kamala Miri breathed his last in the jail hospital. Miri’s sacrifice strengthened the resolve of political prisoners of Jorhat jail to continue their resistance through hunger strike. Even those prisoners who were favouring a moderate approach gave up all efforts of negotiation with the jail administration after the tragic death of Kamala Miri (Chutia, p.110).

In spite of such bleak episodes, there is an unmistakable sense of humour that characterizes Kakati’s autobiography. One may consider the following example which is rather typical of his narrative skill:

The Roroia Military Airport, strategically very important for the Allied Forces, was situated only a few kilometers away from the [Jorhat] jail. It maintained a very busy schedule during the War. The sound of constant descent and ascent of military aircraft was a source of annoyance for the prisoners. The news of Japanese advancement on the Burmese front convinced the prisoners about an imminent attack on Raroia Military Airport and the adjacent areas including the jail. On a certain evening, there was a huge sound, accompanied by news of the collapse of concrete structure which unleashed an atmosphere of panic in the prison wards. After ten minutes of great anxiety and fear, the warder finally informed that it was not an invasion but an earthquake (Chutia, 2011, p.111; my translation).

Prabhat Chandra Sarma, a political prisoner, narrates another similar incident. In 1944 a British airplane, flying from Roroia Airbase to China, faced trouble with its engine. Almost immediately the pilot started dropping bombs from the plane carelessly in order to save it from an accident. Incidentally, one of the bombs was dropped very close to the jail campus. The jail authorities instantly decided to run away putting the lives of all the prisoners at risk. A few prisoners were severely injured in the ensuing commotion (Das, 2020, p.119). Such incidents, although very rare, expose the indiscipline in colonial prison administration. Unlike the jails situated in centrally located regions, prison administration in far-off and frontier regions was very harsh. In such locations political captives could be flogged or subjected to other forms of punishments (if they did not complete their quota of work) or denied the facilities to which they were entitled.

During India’s more than a half-a-century long struggle for freedom against British rule, thousands of freedom fighters were imprisoned by the British colonial authorities; many also voluntarily courted imprisonments. Some of these freedom fighters recorded their impression of British carceral system through letters, memories, and diaries, however, only a few of them were fortunate enough to see these memoirs and autobiographies in published form. One common thread which characterizes these writings is the representation of colonial jails as an archetypal symbol of repression. According to historian Clare Anderson ‘jails’ and ‘penal colonies’ became central tropes of the political struggle for independence (2007, pp.19-20). It became customary among the nationalists to refer to India under colonial rule as “one vast prison” (Arnold, 2004, p.39). Since the jail chains symbolized colonial subjection, imprisonment itself became a metaphor for resistance. Voluntary imprisonment and peaceful fasting became the most favoured techniques of anti-colonial resistance (Arnold, 1994, pp.178-9). These techniques assumed immense significance because of the physical and emotional tortures sustained by political prisoners during protest fasts. Jail spaces became a kind of “mukti-tirth”, a site for pilgrimage for freedom fighters where the sons of Bharat Mata [Mother India] sacrificed their lives in the service of the nation. It is in this context that prison narratives, letters, memories, and autobiographies written within colonial jails occupy a significant space in the nationalist historiography of freedom struggle. It became as much a “nationalist convention” argues David Arnold, for political prisoners “to write their prison memories as it was a patriotic duty for newspaper editors and book publishers to put them in to print” (2004, p.30). While the autobiographical narratives of political prisoners may be viewed as a legitimate opportunity to register an intellectual response totorture in incarceration, it also provides a window to posterity to assess the nature of their anti-colonial resistance. Some of these writings like Gandhi’s My Experiments with Truth, Nehru’s An Autobiography, Savarkar’s My Transportation for Life, Bhai Paramanand’s The Story of My Life attained cult status with the passage of time. While, the desire to record experiences of suffering in writing might have been triggered by an effort to “seek empowerment” against the “official text of imprisonment” what distinguishes these autobiographies from numerous other specimens of this genre, is the transformation of individual experiences of suffering and resistance into accounts of broad social, historical and philosophical significance as Paul Gready suggests that “autobiographical prison writing” could be “the most comprehensive articulation” of the “oppositional” power of writing (1993, p.489). Gready also adds that prisoners wrote inside prison spaces to “restore a sense of self and world”, in order to “reclaim the ‘truth’” – a fact which has also been corroborated by Nehru in Glimpses of World History:

Long and lonely terms of exile and prison are hard to bear, and the mind of many brave person has given way and the body broken down under strain…one must have strength of mind, and inner depths which are calm and steady, and the courage to endure (2004, p.139).

However, we need to be on our guard about the nature of autobiographical prison writings as these texts can be ambiguous, subject to approximation, manipulation and appropriation because of their ‘oppositional’ character. Political prisoners of the colonial period were certainly not the kind of “docile bodies” which Foucault imagined in Discipline and Punish (1995). David Arnold cites “abundant evidence” of “resistance and evasion” in the Indian prison system and insists that political prisoners in colonial jails actively resisted and defied warders and orders. (1994, p.150)

While there has been a tendency in the past to see prison protests as essentially a mark of the period of nationalist incarceration, particularly from 1920 onwards, the more one explores the history of nineteenth-century prison in India the more frequent such episodes of resistance appear and the more significant they seem in the evolution of colonial penology (1994, p.150).  

The demand for ‘recognition’ as “special class of prisoners” by Kakati and his compatriots was rejected by jail authorities as per the recommendation of the Indian Jails Committee, 1920 (Chutia, 2011, p.110). However, they continued to claim immunity from jail rules and demanded privileges in terms of food and other facilities (2011, p.110). Unlike most prison autobiographies which originated in colonial jails and earned notoriety for inflicting torture and hardship on political prisoners, life in Jorhat jail, as narrated by Kakati, seemed to have been relatively easier. When Kakati was brought to that jail during the winter of 1942 [eventually it turned out to be his longest tenure in British prison] he witnessed certain systemic transformations in its administration compared to the previous decade (between 1930 and 1932 he spent more than two years in that jail). Unlike the autobiographies of political prisoners, who were jailed in the Andaman Islands, Robin Kakati’s Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha provides few surprises. Nevertheless, it is a rich testimony to the turbulent times of freedom struggle in Assam. By placing the history of incarnation and torture to which the Assamese political prisoners were subjected at the heart of his narrative, Kakati’s autobiography showcases the distinctiveness of the freedom movement in the region. By conflating the case of Assam, a frontier region, with the activities of Congress throughout the subcontinent he engenders a nationalist spirit. Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha challenges “the colonial assumption” that Indians were “unwarlike’ and a people without the capability of writing history in a rational manner (Durba Ghosh 61). As an eminent Gandhian Kakati’s autobiography is a metaphor for non-violent resistance to the colonial rule.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

References:

Anderson, C. (2007). The Indian Uprising of 1857-58: Prisons, Prisoners and Rebellion. Anthem Press.

Arnold, D. (1994). “The Colonial Prison: Power, Knowledge and Penology in Nineteenth-Century India”. David Arnold and David Hardiman (Eds.), Subaltern Studies (Vol. VIII): Essays in Honour of Ranajit Guha (pp.148-87). OUP.

___. (2004). “The Self and the Cell – Indian Prison Narratives as Life Histories”. David Arnold& S. Blackburn (Eds.), Telling Lives in India – Biography, Autobiography
and Life History
(pp. 29-53) Permanent Black. 

Chutia, Prashanta Kumar Ed. (2011). Sangrami Jibonor Atmakatha by Robin Kakati. Muktijoddha Robin Kakati Janma Shatabarsha Udjapan Samiti.

Das, Dimpy. (2016). “Political Prisoners of Assam with Special Reference to Civil Disobedience Movement”. International Journal of Interdisciplinary Research in Science Society and Culture 2(1), 124-31. http://ijirssc.in/pdf/1464788846.pdf

___. (2020).Prisons in Colonial Assam (1826-1947). [Doctoral Dissertation, University of Gauhati] Shodh Ganga (INFLIBNET). http://hdl.handle.net/10603/325456

Foucault, Michel. (1995). Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books.

Ghosh, D. (2017). Gentlemanly Terrorists: Political Violence and the Colonial State in India, 1919-1947. CUP.  

Gready, P. (1993). “Autobiography and the ‘Power of Writing’: Political Prison Wring in the Apartheid Era”. Journal of South African Studies 19(3), 489-523. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2636913

Hazorika, R. D. (2014). “Train Derailment Activities of Assam in 1942”. Pratidhhwani: The Echo: A Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences 2(3), 230-39. https://www.academia.edu/6742233/Train_Derailment_Activities_of_Assam_In_1942

Kar, Sisir. 2009. British Shashane Bajeyapta Bangla Boi. Ananda Publishers.

Mohanty, A., & Hazary, N. (1990). Indian Prison System. Ashish Publishing House.

Nehru, J. (2004). The Glimpses of World History. Penguin.

Norman, D. (1965). Nehru, The First Sixty Years. John Day Company. 

Purandare, V. (2019). Savarkar: The True Story of the Father of Hindutva. Juggernaut Books.

Saraf. B.P. & Saraf, A. K. (1987). Assam Jail Manual: Complete Law Relating to Jail Administration in Assam. GLR Publishing House. 

Singh, U. K. (1996). Political Prisoners in India 1920-77. [Doctoral Dissertation, University of London]. ProQuest Dissertations. https://eprints.soas.ac.uk/29435/1/10731591.pdf

Waits, Mira Rai. (2014). The Spatial Economy of British Colonial Penology in India, 1858-1911. [Doctoral Dissertation, University of California]. ProQuest Dissertations.https://www.proquest.com/docview/1615847577

Winslow, D. J. (1995). A Glossary of Terms in Biography, Autobiography and Related Forms (2nd Ed.). University of Hawaii Press.

Dr. Sib Sankar Majumder is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, Assam University, Silchar. He did his PhD from Gauhati University in 2016 on Political Theatre in Kolkata: Bertolt Brecht in Context. He has edited Anthology of American Poetry (2009) published by Eastern Book House, Guwahati.

Understanding Cultural Nationalism in Assam: Perspectives from the Plays of Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava

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Parismita Hazarika1 & Debarshi Prasad Nath2
1Department of Cultural Studies, Assam Women’s University, Jorhat Assam. ORCID id: 0000-0002-4717-6690.
2Department of Cultural Studies, Tezpur University, Assam. ORCID id: 0000-0002-6028-6341

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages: 1-17. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne21

First published: June 24, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

In a contemporary phase of competing ethnonationalism, Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava continue to remain relevant to Assamese society. This is proven by the simple fact that every artist from Assam never let go of   the opportunity to establish their allegiance to Rava and Agarwala. Unquestionably, the two most revered cultural heroes of Assam provided a way forward for a more inclusive Assamese society. The fertile contexts provided by the Indian Freedom Movement, the world wars, the Russian Revolution, and the Chinese Revolution and the cultural heritage of Assam shaped their vision and understanding of nationalism and their eclecticism. Music and theatre were two of the most powerful mediums through which they chose to communicate with the masses. This paper aims at critically assessing the concept of nationalism in select plays of Agarwala and Rava. The plays Khanikar, Lobhita and Kanaklata by Jyotiprasad Agarwala and, Krishak and Sapon Kuwali by Bishnuprasad Rava have been selected to understand the context of the then Assamese society and the rise of Assamese cultural nationalism. The plays of Agarwala gave a new impetus to Assamese nationalism by celebrating the cultural heritage of the Assamese. This was done more or less in the manner and tradition of Lakshminath Bezbaroa. On the other hand, in Rava’s ideology, the unique heritages of each of the ethnic communities of Assam should find a reflection in the greater collective of the Assamese society, where all the communities would have the same sense of dignity. Though the names of these two artists are very often rightly uttered in the same breath, there is a need to separate and understand the important differences that mark their viewpoints. These cultural icons were not the proponents of chauvinism and ultra-nationalism, rather their cultural nationalism celebrated inclusivity and secularism. The paper concludes by contextualizing Rava and Agarwala’s views in the backdrop of the rising tide of cultural nationalism in different parts of the country at that time.

Keywords: Nationalism, ethnonationalism, cultural nationalism, nationality.

  1. Introduction

Assamese nationalism is a contentious issue in the contemporary socio-cultural life of Assam. Two of the most popular cultural icons who are often used to evoke an inclusive sense of Assamese nationalism are Bishnuprasad Rava and Jyotiprasad Agarwala. The fertile contexts provided by the Indian Freedom Movement, the world wars, the Russian Revolution, and the Chinese Revolution and the cultural heritage of Assam shaped their vision and understanding of nationalism and their eclecticism.

Jyotiprasad Agarwala (1903-1951), born to a wealthy and illustrious Marwari family in Tezpur and Bishnuprasad Rava (1909-1969), born in Dhaka when his father, Raibahadur Gopal Chandra Rava was posted there in the British Police, are considered two of the greatest icons of Assamese nationalism. The form of nationalism encouraged by Agarwala focused on highlighting the past glory of Assam. Therefore, Sankaradeva, the reformer of Assamese society and the propagator of the 16th– Neo-Vaisnavism in Assam and his indelible mark on the land, inspired Agarwala to propose a sort of inclusive nationalism based on Assam’s history. Bishnuprasad Rava too was inspired by the cultural and ideological zeal of Sankaradeva. Rava experienced the real condition of his native society and this inspired him to be dedicated to Indian culture as he saw the strong linkages that connected different cultures and societies of the country. Readers and critics belonging to different ideological leanings have all attempted to appropriate Rava and Agarwala in their own discourses of nationalism. The creations of Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava lend themselves quite easily to a reading of nationalism at two levels – nationalism inspired through the Indian Freedom Movement and a brand of cultural nationalism that was unique to Assam. This paper aims to critically assess the concept of nationalism in select plays of Agarwala and Rava. The plays Khanikar, Lobhita and Kanaklata by Jyotiprasad Agarwala, and Krishak and Sapon Kuwali by Bishnuprasad Rava have been selected to understand the context of the then Assamese society and the rise of Assamese cultural nationalism. Though the names of these two artists are very often rightly uttered in the same breath, there is a need to separate and understand the important differences that mark their viewpoints. We will attempt to historicize Rava and Agarwala’s views in the backdrop of the rising tide of cultural nationalism in different parts of the country at that time.

  1. Nationalism in Assam: the historical context

Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava were born at a critical time in the beginning of the twentieth century and experienced the political instability of their times which shaped their ideologies in exceptional ways as reflected in their creations and activities.

The political instability of Assam intensified after the establishment of British rule in 1826 through the Yandaboo Treaty, following the Anglo-Burman War. The independent status of Assam has often been claimed since pre-historic ages; in fact, this had always been a matter of pride. But British colonialism subjected the Assamese to humiliation. In fact, “Assam was largely unknown to the outside world until the British arrived in 1826” (Saikia, 2006, p. 38). Consequently, the Assamese society underwent several important political, economic and cultural changes under the rule of the British which eventually and indirectly led to the emergence of Assamese nationalism.

British colonialism was responsible for introducing the system of monetization in Assam and this widened social and economic inequity by creating two sections – the privileged and the under-privileged. “Those who had money became the owners of means of production. Whoever possessed more money acquired more wealth and thereby occupied a higher position in society” (Nessa, 1985, p. 62). Therefore, the educational and other facilities provided by the British entertained the privileged section in Assam and this privileged section emerged as the new middle class of Assamese society. The class of Assam consisted of tea garden owners, lawyers, teachers, owners of business establishments and service holders. However, until 1850s they stayed away from being involved in the contemporary issues of colonial Assam. It was only in the later part of the nineteenth century that they entered the socio-political scene of Assam (ibid, pp. 59-76).

Initially the newly emerged middle-class was either ignorant or chose to remain blind to the impact of colonial domination in Assam and the hardship faced by the farmers due to the taxation system, monopoly over business establishments, and extraction of land for setting up tea gardens. Rather, they played it safe by appealing to the British for necessary changes. At the same time, the farmers of Assam rebelled against the British because of their hardships. The native elites were quite disappointed about the fact that their social and economic supremacy was now in decline.  However, as in other parts of India, a sense of distrust gradually seeped into the middle-class of Assam, forcing them to reconsider their uncritical belief in colonial rulers subsequently to spur them to rebel against the British and this forced the middle class enter the socio-political scene of Assam.

In the nineteenth century the British rulers showed great dependence on the Bengali and middle-class people for government service and collection of tax respectively. The migrant Bengali middle class was seen as an appendix of the colonial administrator and emerged as a competitor to the Assamese middle class for jobs and professions. Eminent author Hiren Gohain writes:

From the 1840s onwards the middle-class had led a revolt against the Bengali domination of the administration and culture of Assam. They had looked forward to an assured, gradual transformation of Assam into an Assamese-speaking state under their leadership, and to the enjoyment of the fruits of their hegemony. (Gohain, 1983, p. 633)

Though the domination of the Bengali middle class posed a threat for the Assamese, it is at the same time mainly because of the Bengalis that the Assamese were introduced to a sense of nationalism. The Assamese youths who went to Kolkata for higher studies were influenced by the Bengal Renaissance of the nineteenth century. In the mid-nineteenth century, the Bengali educated elites raised a voice against the conservativeness of the Bengali Hindu society. At the same time, a part of the Bengali elites in Kolkata reinforced a form of conservative Hinduism and a reaffirmation of some orthodox traditional practices who were mainly mobilized under the leadership of Raja Radhakanta Dev. The modern worldview and English education were appreciated by them, but they could not think of any change in their orthodox religious faith (Gohain, 2014, p. 657). This same conservativeness was reflected in the writings of Ratneswar Mahanta and Bolinarayan Bora of Assam. In the writings of Ratneswar Mahanta, one can notice for instance that he would encourage women for education within the family while at the same time, compelling them to keep on with their household responsibilities (ibid).

Cultural nationalism is often marked by the vision of a national identity based on the history and cultural heritage of a particular community or a group of people. Jelena Petkovic (2011) opines these cultural theories understand the formation of a nation based on cultural continuity and thus they perceive national identity as almost inseparable from the issue of cultural identity of a people. About the role of intellectuals in cultural nationalism, E.T. Woods points out:

The key agents of cultural nationalism are intellectuals and artists, who seek to convey their vision of the nation to the wider community. The need to articulate and express this vision tends to be felt most acutely during times of social, cultural and political upheaval resulting from encounter with modernity (Woods, 2016, p. 1).

 In the nineteenth century, Assamese cultural nationalism was distinct and different from other variants of cultural nationalism that were in vogue in other parts of the country. Through his comparative study of Bengali cultural nationalism and Assamese nationalism, Debarshi Prasad Nath (2014) argues that Assamese cultural nationalism was not exclusivist. Referring to Sajal Nag’s identification of the three trends of Bengal Renaissance in 19th century as the Rammohan, the Hindu College and the Ramakrishna tradition, Nath said that though the Rammohan tradition was reformative one, “the cultural renaissance of this group remained confined within the framework of Hindu upper class and the agenda of change permitted by colonialism” (2014, p.155). Noted intellectuals, Hiren Gohain and Amalendu Guha, were critical about the cultural nationalism of Assam under the influence of the Bengal Renaissance. Amalendu Guha (2006) makes the colonial state responsible for the growth of a sense of deprivation among the Assamese by encouraging the dominance of Bengali immigrants whereby the Bengali language became the official language of Assam.  Like Guha, Hiren Gohain (2014) also holds the colonial masters responsible for Assamese nationalism, but slightly differently. He argues that newly educated Assamese youths realized the need to value their mother tongue through the assertion of the Bengalis for their own language. In the first part of the nineteenth century, there was a crisis faced by the Bengali language because of the dominance of English and this had scared the Bengali elites. The European nation was determined to eliminate all traditional knowledge and values from India. The Bengali intelligentsia feared that the English language would soon be imposed on the Bengalis as their national language. This kind of fear was expressed in the speeches delivered by Akshay Kumar Datta in 1834, Ramnarayan Tarkaratna in 1853, Kaliprasanna Singha in 1860 and so on. Akshay Kumar Datta expressed his fear in the speech delivered at a meeting of Basberiya village on 30 April in 1834. He said:

Amra porer sasoner adhin rohitesi, porer bhasai sikhita hoitesi, porer atyachar sajya kortesi…tahardiger bhasai edesher jatiyo bhasa hoibek…(qtd. in Gohain, 2014, p. 660).

(We are ruled by other nations, we are educated by other language, we are tolerating the dominance of others…. the language of the dominant country will be our national language.)

Their concerns inspired the newly educated Assamese youths of Kolkata to articulate and assert a similar sense of nationalistic feeling in nineteenth century Assam (ibid). At the crucial time of the dominance of Bengali as the official language, the American Baptist Missionaries came to Assam as a savior of the Assamese language. Tilottoma Misra perceptively observes on the contribution of the American Baptist Missionaries:

The efforts of the American Baptist Missionaries in the spread of education among the masses and in establishment of a vernacular press cleared the way for the development of a revitalized Assamese literature which, despite its five-hundred-year-old heritage, lay in a state of stupor during the days of the Burmese invasion (1816-24) and in the early years of British rule in Assam (Misra, 1987, p. 3).

With the interest of the propagation of Christianity, the Missionaries epitomised a revolution of literary formation of the Assamese language and that played a significant role in influencing a number of enthusiastic western educated young intellectuals of Assam. These young intellectuals contributed to the foundation of modern Assamese literature starting with the publication of Arunodoi[1] (in 1846 by the Christian Missionaries) to the publication of Jonaki[2] in 1889. “One young Assamese youth Anandaram Dhekial Phukan who claimed to be the harbinger of the Modern Age, in his polemical work ‘A Few Remarks on the Assamese Language’ had fervently opposed the imposition of the Bengali language in place of Assamese” (Saikia, 2007, p. 5). Despite his loyalty to the colonial administration, Anandaram Dhekial Phukan made relentless efforts with the constant support of the American Baptist Missionaries for reinstatement of the official position of the Assamese language in 1873. The formation of Asomiya Bhasha Unnati Sadhini Sabha in 1888 further promoted a sense of cultural nationalism in Assam.

People respond to an adverse cultural situation in two different ways. By an adverse situation we refer to a state of affairs when one feels that one’s identity as a cultural group is under serious threat. Either one may choose to rigidify one’s views and become fastidious about maintaining differences and uniqueness. On the other hand, one may choose to respond to the same situation by practicing greater inclusivity in thought and practice. It is remarkable that Agarwala and Rava responded to this crisis in Assam’s cultural life by positing the idea of a more comprehensive and inclusive Assamese society. As against a parochial sense of caste and religion specific nationalism of some contemporary thinkers of their times, Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava posited a secular and progressive view of Assamese nationalism.

The advent of the British, the onset of colonial modernity, the language crisis and the incessant flow of people from outside the region meant that the Assamese felt that they were faced with two kinds of problems. Firstly, there was a fear and dread of the ‘outsider’, the quintessential other who was going to take over the lands and resources of the indigenous populace. The other being the fear and anxiety faced by the communities of Assam, particularly the tribal communities of Assam, was the feeling of being deprived of their rights and entitlements.

Assam’s history has been about a series of migrations of one community after the other. The Ahoms, because of whom Assam has been projected to have a glorious past, is a migrant group. Edward Gait states that the Ahoms belonged to the great Tai or Shan race who entered the land of Assam in the thirteenth century (2005, p.66). As Lusome and Bhagat (2020) say, “… Northeast has been known for in-migration and the conflicts arising from the influx of migrants”. However, the speed of migration induced by the British was scary for the middle class, to say the least. At a point in time, when the Assamese would have had justifiable reason to turn hostile to the foreign ‘other’, Jyotiprasad Agarwala reminded the Assamese of the strong cultural connection between Assam and the rest of the country that had existed from ancient times. This was a remarkable feat without doubt. Agarwala reminded the Assamese about their great cultural heritage and dreamt of taking it to the world stage. His approach was to assimilate the best of elements from around the world with select elements from Assamese society to ensure that there was a healthy and creative exchange, leading to the enrichment of Assamese culture. This is reflected powerfully in Agarwala’s Joymoti, (1935) the first Assamese film ever made. On the other hand, Bishnuprasad Rava emphasized the need to allay the fears and anxieties of the tribal communities. In Rava’s ideology, the unique heritage of each of the myriad communities of Assam should find a reflection in the greater collective of the Assamese society, where all the communities would have the same dignity. One can notice this aspect in his poem ‘Tribal! Jag Tribal!’ (Tribal! Wake up Tribal!)-

Tribal! Jag tribal! 

Tiyagi ghumoti tor koutikoliya…

Jagibo lagibo toi Kachari Mikir,

Khasi, Rava, Garo, Miri, Kuki, Naga, Bir…

Jagibo lagibo, toi jag

Lo-so ag vag;

Patibo lagibo nawa-mel

            Jag tribal…(2008, 161).

(Tribal! Wake up tribal! You have to compromise your old sleep. The Kachari, Mikir, Khasi, Rava, Garo, Miri, Kuki, Naga and others have to wake up. You have to be there in the forefront and create a new horizon.)

 Unified, they would have their unique heritage come to life in the greater collective. This greater collective would not bulldoze over the cultures of the ethnic minorities but make them feel wanted. The prerogative for accommodating the numerically smaller ethnic minorities in the greater collective would be that of the ethnic majority. And this should be done without effacing the identity of the minorities.

Imperialism and capitalism helped to widen the already existing fissures in society. Thus, Rava felt that there was a need to explain to the people the reason behind their pitiable state and to make them understand the exploitative machinations of capitalism. Unless they were made to understand these, it was possible that they would turn their anger towards other communities in the region, seeing them as potential competitors for limited resources. Assamese nationalism could only survive by including the concerns of all sections of people living in Assam. This exploitation that was so widely rampant in Assamese society needed to be talked about in a simple language that the common man could appreciate. For Rava, literature and the arts were mainly meant to serve to spread this message amongst the common masses. Agarwala, in contrast, emphasized the importance of the ideal of beauty as a precondition for a healthy society. However, we would do well to remember that for Agarwala, the ideals of beauty and aesthetics could never be divorced from the real challenges facing society. It should be pointed out that all of these ideas associated with the two icons’ concerns were not mutually exclusive. Without fail, both of them alternately highlighted all these aspects at different stages and through different art forms. But our contention is that they were predominantly concerned with these issues that we have mentioned.

Jyotiprasad Agarwala’s creative writing turned consciously political from the time of the Non-Cooperation Movement. He states in the preface of Sonit Kuwari (1925) about the inspiration he derived from the Non-Cooperation Movement which motivated him to express distinctive features of Assamese culture in Assamese literature, art, and music (2013, p. 3). Regarding the politics and ideology of Jyotiprasad Agarwala, Dhiren Bhagawati has said, “Like Orpheus, Jyotiprasad Agarwala with his musical and poetic skills ignited the fire of patriotism among the masses and enchanted them to throng the freedom movement” (2012, pp. 40-41). Sonit Kuwari, of course, was not about the representation of fiery patriotism. It definitely introduced the idea of national identity glorified by a uniquely Assamese tune in the music. Though Bishnu Rava experienced the Non-Corporation Movement at the young age of eleven, the impact of the movement is discernible in his social play, Krishak, where Rava highlighted the emerging national consciousness among the youths of Assam.

The Civil-Disobedience movement inspired both Agarwala and Rava. During this phase, Rava warned the exploited masses against the exploiters through his poetic and lyrical compositions. Jyotiprasad Agarwala actively took part in the freedom movement of Assam since the time of the Civil-Disobedience movement. At the time of the Quit India Movement (1942), Agarwala was at the forefront of the movement. In this period, Jyotiprasad Agarwala emerged as a mass leader who could enthuse the people with fiery speeches for absolute sacrifice for the cause of freedom (Dutta, 2012, p. 3).

  1. Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava on Cultural Nationalism

The socio-cultural and political context shaped by the dominance of the Bengali middle class in Assam helped Jyotiprasad Agarwala to understand the growing tensions in his motherland. On the other hand, the migration and gradual assimilation of Agarwala’s forefathers to Assam itself was a great example of harmony and integration. That was also a time when there was rising enthusiasm among the masses of Assam towards liberation from colonial power. All these provided a fertile space for Agarwala to form his perspective on Assamese nationalism. The inspiration that was responsible for arousing Bishnu Rava’s sense of nationalism is somewhat different from Agarwala’s. Of course, the same instability afflicting the socio-political life of Assam motivated Rava also to be dedicated to the nation, but the consciousness of the Assamese middle class and the rise and gradual growth of the communist movement in India inspired Rava to form his ideological foundations. In spite of his birth in a rich family, Rava preferred to live a life among the common masses. One malady that he saw that afflicted the Assamese society was the ever-widening gap between the tribal and non-tribal ethnic communities of Assam. He was devoted to bridging this gap, teaching both groups to be self-critical. The essence of Assamese nationalism for Rava was based on the assimilation of elements from both tribal and non-tribal cultures. The progress of both these groups was dependent on the progress of the other. As long as both these groups understood that their destinies were intertwined, there was hope for the Assamese society.  Agarwala went abroad for higher education and his sojourn in the West helped him to visualize a new shape for Assamese culture. On the other hand, Bishnu Rava’s deep understanding of rural life in Assam helped him to visualize Assamese culture in a new light of intercultural harmony. Therefore, their unique experiences of life influenced their respective visions of nationalism.

Rava’s involvement in communism changed his nationalist consciousness. The revolutionary philosophy, views and thoughts of Marxism revolutionized his nationalist consciousness. He made an unwavering attempt to arouse the marginalized and the oppressed Assamese masses with the ideology of class revolution through his passionate speeches and literary creations. He saw that modern Assamese literature did not have references to the lived experiences of the working class. The aristocratic life of the elite classes and their conflict in day-to-day life was what mostly occupied the space of literature. Rava’s interest was in the emancipatory dimensions of literature and cultural texts. He considered Sankaradeva’s literary creations as reflecting a deep concern for the common masses. This inspired him to propose a cultural nationalism based on Sankaradeva. The philosophy of non-violence and equality proposed by Gandhi and the ideology of communism, Rava found to have been already introduced to the Assamese masses by Sankaradeva back in the 16th century.

Jyotiprasad Agarwala too envisaged a bridge between the culture promoted by Sankaradeva (Mahapurusiya Sanskriti) and the larger identity of the Assamese. The new vision to appropriate Sankaradeva as an icon of Assam was led by Lakshminath Bezbaroa who underlined the immense contributions of Sankaradeva towards social, spiritual and cultural reforms. The foundation of Sankaradeva’s Neo-Vaishnavism was essentially the Ek Sarana Nam Dharma (a monotheistic spiritual order), but Agarwala emphasized the consciousness of Indianness in Sankaradeva’s thought without its religious dimensions. He understood the necessity of the integration of the non-Assamese Indian migrants in Assamese culture by attracting them to Assamese art, literature, music and culture.

  1. Nationalism in Jyotiprasad Agarwala’s Plays

Jyotiprasad Agrwala’s plays are a distinctive reflection of his views of nationalism. In this regard, his plays like Lobhita, Kanaklata and Khanikar can be referred to. Jyotiprasad Agarwala’s realistic play, Lobhita, was written in the latter part of his life. Hiren Gohain is critical of the context of the play where the playwright has depicted Lobhita and her villagers as being aware of the communist activities. But during 1941-42 communism had yet to find its way into the remote villages of Assam (Gohain, 2013, p.  .32). Regardless of Gohain’s observations, it can still be stated that the play does well to expose the role of imperialism in the exploitation of the masses.  Significantly, one unique feature of the play was the absence of a definite story as the playwright had turned the Assamese nation and society as the central characters of the play in the context of colonial India as well as World War II.

Indian national sentiment was fostered with the transformation of agriculture with land ownership systems of Zamindari, Ryotwari and Mahalwari systems. This material transformation of Indian society had profound social, political, cultural, and psychological consequences for Indian society. The dominant section of the society was not concerned about the problems of the common masses as they were working on behalf of the interests of the colonial masters. During this period the life of the common people became difficult and turned worse in the wake of World War II and imperialism. To save their lives, the helpless poor took shelter in the houses of Mauzadars. The play Lobhita depicts the plight of the poor people from the Phulaguri village of Golaghat district. Lobhita, a common village girl, young and sympathetic, took shelter in the house of the Mauzadar who was subjected to ill-treatment meted out to her by the Mauzadarni, the wife of the Mauzadar. The cruelty of the Mauzadarani forced Lobhita to leave the Mauzadar’s house and the experience made her aware of her social condition and the nationalist consciousness as means for social emancipation.

Being inspired by Gandhi’s ideology of secularism, Agarwala did not encourage conservativeness and opposed religious chauvinism. This is reflected in the character of Golap Baruah, the Congress volunteer and Elahi Bakhsh, a common Muslim man who offered shelter to Lobhita after she was brutalised by the military men whereas Gopal denied doing the same for fear of societal rules.

During the World War II, Lobhita served the injured soldiers as a nurse. She also became a member of the Azad Hind Fauj led by Lieutenant Baruah in Assam and stood against the British who finally sacrificed her life for the nation. Jyotiprasad was inspired by the real-life incidents of martyrdom of Kanaklata Barua and Bhogeswari Phukanani while developing the character of Lobhita. Lobhita is depicted as a character with modern temperaments but she is equally respectful to her traditional values, yet not orthodox. She has been presented as a singer of Bangeet who would aspire to leave this world by hearing a song glorifying Assam on her death bed. In the character of Lobhita the ethos of Indian and Assamese nationalism was never in conflict.

Agarwala’s incomplete play, Kanaklata, based on the historic event of Kanaklata’s supreme sacrifice for India’s freedom could have been a milestone for the modern Assamese drama (Baruah, 2015, p. 145). The play begins with a detailed description of the stage set at Kalangpur in Tezpur where the Assamese youths are getting ready to perform Huchari on the occasion of Bohag Bihu[3]. The gloom of colonial rule has not been able to ruin the enthusiasm of the youths. Their preparation gains momentum with the active collaboration of a group of Mishing youths which highlights the multi-ethnic ethos of Assam. The protagonist of the play, Kanaklata, who had already been a part of the Association of Peace (Santi Bahini), was equally enthusiastic about the celebration of Bihu and was offended by the Congress volunteers’ decision not to celebrate Bihu showing her deeply rooted cultural associations. The whole narrative of the play depicts that nationalism evolved in the context of the Indian Freedom Movement took the turn of cultural nationalism.

Khanikar by Agarwala is a play set against the critical times of 1929 to 1940. The play depicts the conflict among the Assamese middle-class over traditional Assamese values and the Western mode of life and exposure. The Eurocentric attitude hindered the middle-class from understanding and appreciating their own art, culture and tradition objectively. In such circumstances, Nabin, a character from Khanikar, is discouraged by his family to go abroad to learn art and architecture. But he managed to make it after a lot of struggles and achieved international recognition. Nabin was equally dedicated to Indian art who would complete the statue of Sita of the Ramayana which drew great appreciation and praise in Europe. Nabin’s nationalism is based on a convergence of Western and Indian artistic inheritances. His cultural nationalism sees Assam’s past as being intimately and intricately connected to India’s cultural past where his exposure to the West enriched his artistic self.

Jyotiprasad presents another set of characters who had a fallacious understanding of Indian art and philosophy such as Kalpana Kumar Baruah who is a pretentious and vain artistic philosopher and Mr. Bhayin (Mr. Bhuyan) who is a blind follower of Western life to the extent of changing his Assamese surname from Bhuyan to Bhayin. He is so much impressed by anything Western that he would dismiss the value of Indian art and culture causing a conflict with Nabin. Bhayin, however, is not a flat character in the play. As stated by Satyendranath Sarmah, Jyotiprasad Agarwala leaves a space of sympathy for the character of Mr. Bhayin as well (Sarmah, 2013, p. 69). Mr. Bhayin stands by Nabin till the end despite his strong disagreement with Nabin’s decision of pursuing art instead of other subjects. It is important to note that Jyotiprasad has created a character like Bhayin to show how it was never too late to instil a sense of cultural pride in oneself. The play has has the objective to promote cultural nationalism through the Assamese language, literature, art, and heritage of the native land.

  1. Bishnuprasad Rava on Nationalism

Bishnuprasad Rava’s contributions to Assamese nationalism have been legendary. H come was deeply influenced by the Communist ideology which had its impact on his writings. His aspiration to form a classless and inclusive society with all the ethnic communities as a unified force provoked many critics like Arun Sarmah to term Bishnuprasad Rava a “revolutionary artist” (Sarmah, 2007, p. 22). The period of political exile[4] provided a great opportunity for him to understand the lives of the common masses and thus he shaped the artist in him with lived experiences.

Being associated with the political movements, it was natural to reflect his nationalist thought through the plays (Das, 2008, p. ?). Rava’s plays have depicted the Indian Freedom Movement as well as the rural realities of Assam (Sarmah, 2007, p. 23). Krishak and Sapon Kuwali are two of his significant plays.

Set against the backdrop of 1942 and the post-independent period of Assam, the play Krishak depicts the life of Madhab Chandra Choudhury who takes active part in the Freedom Movement from his student days and tries to unite people from his village against the colonial rulers once he was suspended from the college for taking part in the Quit India Movement. His activities were declared unlawful by the British which forced him to flee. He continued his anti-British activities secretly and got caught and imprisoned. Getting released, he resumed his studies and completed his I.Sc and then M.B.B.S. The play depicts the suffering of the villagers who were encouraged to think critically through the interventions of Madhab. However, the play ends not with melodramatic triumph but with the compulsions of ideological compromises on the part of the protagonist.

One can find an ideological resemblance of Madhab with that of Bishnuprasad Rava himself, though Rava never compromised with his ideological stand. This apart, Rava’s vision for an independent Assam after India gets her freedom is directly reflected through the character of Madhab. At the same time, Rava depicts the social and economic pressure on the individual in post-independent Assam which can compel one to give up one’s ideology.

The play Sapon Kuwali is devoted to the freedom movement of India. Here an urban aristocratic family’s determination to maintain the ideology of their family-head shapes the story of the play who had died following police torture as he had participated in the procession of the Quit India Movement. Sewali, a budding singer whose songs reflect the vision for independence who depicts the miseries of the poor people in society. Deuti, a thirteen-year-old boy, along with his friends are also inspired by the ideals of nationalism and freedom. Deuti even leads a procession chanting “Vande Mataram”, “Mahatma Gandhiji ki Jay” (Victory to Mahatma Gandhi), “Congress Zindabad” etc., because they believed that freedom would bring “Rama Rajya” (rule of justice and happiness) to the country.

Portrayal of Deuti’s dream in the play is significant in many ways. Deuti dreams that several women labourers in the paddy fields would mobilise themselves to take revenge against the British for killing Kanaklata, Bhogeswari Aideu and Phehuli Kuwari. The women who would dance with Deuti belong to various ethnic tribe Miri, Rava, Bodo, Deuri, Mikir, Kamrupi, and the ethic Assamese from upper Assam.

Bishnuprasad Rava’s cultural nationalism is about the joyous celebration of ethnic diversity; which is adequately reflected through Deuti’s dream. Therefore, the critic Arun Sarmah opines that the scene of Deuti’s dream expresses Rava’s urge of imprinting an image of a vibrant multi-ethnic Assam that formed the greater identity of Assamese society.  (Sarmah, 2007, pp. 23-24).

Though Assam apparently presented a rosy picture of multiculturalism, objective analysis enables us to see the domination of one community over the rest. The Assamese middle class became a hegemonic class in the nineteenth century and the entire phenomenon of Assamese nationalism started to be dominated by this group of people. On the other hand, there was the emergence of new middle classes among the ethnic communities of Assam. The Assamese middle class was relatively an “advanced” middle class of the region; therefore, they played the role of a dominant nationality in the region. The tribal communities of the region obviously wanted to be a part of the Assamese nation while maintaining and preserving their cultural uniqueness. But the unsympathetic exercise of power and imposition of ideas, values, and culture over ethnic minorities by the Assamese nationality came in the way of realizing Rava’s dream of a unified Assam. The ethnic elite minorities protested against this, yet at the same time, they did not demand separation. But it was overlooked by the Assamese nationality. Bishnuprasad Rava’s contextual understanding of such issues motivated him to propagate multicultural ethos, rather than absorption or dominance. He emphasized the interdependence of the communities to ensure a stronger foundation for Assamese nationalism. He believed, rather, together all the communities should direct their anger against imperialism and capitalism. This is the innate message conveyed through the dream of Deuti in Sapun Kuwali.

Both Agarwala and Rava introduced a sense of cultural nationalism emerging in the wake of the Indian Freedom Movement. Highlighting the pride of Indian culture and tradition in general and of the Assamese in particular, both of them used these plays as means to enthuse nationalist feelings among the Assamese.

As in the plays, Agarwala and Rava’s notion of cultural nationalism found similar expressions in their songs and poems as well. Their songs and poems, some of which were used in his plays became popular among the masses as protest songs and songs of resolve to fight for freedom. The songs of the play Lobhita by Jyotiprasad Agarwala powerfully reflected nationalistic passions-

Biswabijoyi nawa jowan

                                    Biswabijoyi nawa jowan

Saktisalini Bharatar

                                    Olai aha, olai aha

                                                Santan tumi biplabar .

Samukh samar samukhate

                                    Mukti junjaru husiar

Mrityu bijoy karibo lagibo

                                    Swadhinatar khuli duwar… (2013, p. 196)

(O world conquering youths! You are the sons of the revolution of powerful Mother India. Be prepared, for the war is close! Freedom fighters, you have to overcome death to open the doors of freedom!)

Another song ‘Luitar akasat torar torawoli’ motivates one with the same spirit –

Luitar akasat torar torawoli

                        Parat deepawalee tejere mor-

Ai nakandibi,

                        Thapana tejere banti dilehi

                        Lora-sowalie tor.

Lachitar dinare jola juyekora

                        Ai o’ numuwa nai…(ibid, p. 209)

(The stars twinkle in the sky of the river Luit. The bank of the river is soaked in my blood. O’ Mother, stop crying! Your children have lit the lamp in your altar with their blood. The fire ignited in the days of Lachit Borphukan[5] is yet to be extinguished.)

He tried to ignite patriotic zeal among the youths by citing the examples of Lachit Borphukan, the great Ahom warrior who had defeated the Mughals. Jyotiprasad felt that the Assamese youths inherited a great legacy of heroism to fight against colonialism. His inspiring song would soon become part of the revolutionary anthem:

Saju ho, saju ho, nawa jowan!

Saju ho, saju ho, nawa jowan!

Toi koribo lagibo agnisnan!

                        Jiwan jouwan

                        Kori pranpon

                        Rangoli kori de ronangan…(ibid, p. 175)

(Be ready, youths of the day! The time is nigh when you must take a fire bath. Lay down your life and redden the battlefield with your blood.)

Bishnuprasad Rava also composed powerful songs of patriotism to revolt against the oppression by colonialism. One such poem is recited by Arun in the play Krishak.

Utha bir kotodin thaka

Aru kola ghumotit

Utha bir kotodin enedore

Thaka aru

Kola ghumotit.

Hoise samay mohariboloi

Poradhinatar gos ubhaliboloi. (2008, p. 305)

(Wake up, o brave! How long will you continue to sleep? Wake up, o brave! How many days will you sleep in this way? The time has come to uproot and destroy the tree of domination.)

Like Agarwala, Bishnuprasad Rava, considered the youth power in the villages of Assam as the source of the greatest strength and therefore, he would try to inspire them through his songs. The marching song used by Rava in the play Krishak is one such example:

Mukti junjar soinik ami

            Moriboloi bhoy nai-

Morim morim pran boli dim

            Bola sawe aguwai

                        Mukti junjar soinik ami (2008, p. 307)

(We are the soldiers of freedom. We do not fear death. We will sacrifice our life. Let us move together. We are the soldiers of freedom.)

As against Rava’s dream of a complete political overhaul of the system, Agarwala supported the idea of a cultural revolution emerging from the villages of Assam. His songs represent this sense-

O’ amar gaon.

Amar gaonr man rakhi

Moriboloi jao ami

Moriboloi jao.

Bharpur tamolere

Seujiya patharere

Durate jiliki thaka

O’ amar gaon.

Deshar hoke moribo para

Amar gaonr deka lora

Dekeri nahay pas para

                        O’ amar gao… (2013, p. 194)

(O’ our village, we are ready to die protecting the prestige of our village. The abundance of betel nut and the greenery of the paddy fields enhance the beauty of our village. The youths of our village can sacrifice their lives for the nation.) 

Being well-acclaimed music composers and lyricists, both Jyotiprasad Aagrwala and Bishnuprasad Rava intended to give an indigenous flavour to the Assamese modern music. The old, traditional folk tunes of Assam got a facelift through the modern songs of Agarwala and Rava without losing their spirit and essence. Sankaradeva’s borgeet ‘Suno suno re suro’ was transformed into the marching rhythm of ‘Luitor Parare Ami Deka Lora’ by Jyotiprasad Agarwala. Moreover, the music of the cultural icons reflected their sense of pride in the musical heritage of Assam.

Conclusion

The medium and idioms in which Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava tried to articulate their perspectives on Assamese nationalism were very close to the common masses. Their experiments in the field of theatre and music were genuine attempts to make every resource of the nation available for the Assamese in a manner that could help the common masses identify with the nation. They highlighted almost all the themes of their philosophy- love for the motherland, the need for cultural assimilation, unity and brotherhood among the people through these cultural tools.

The absence of a common language, culture, and identity was felt by the Indians when faced with colonialism. This awareness has caused the emergence of many forms of cultural nationalism. There was Hindu nationalism as part of the revivalist movements of the colonial period that saw the formation of Arya Samaj, and the Brahmo Samaj, and their refashioning and redefining of Hinduism as a religious tradition, is an example of a form of nationalism at that time (Athreya, 2016, p. 4). Hindu nationalism thought of the diversity of India as a great hindrance to creating a unified nation. Therefore, Appadurai (1996) has opined that Hindu Nationalism is a middle-class, high caste project of cultural homogenisation. As against this form of cultural nationalism, Agarwala and Rava’s advocating of cultural nationalism is quite unique. The exceptional experiences of Jyotiprasad Agarwala in the west and the experiences of Bishnuprasad Rava in the villages of Assam are responsible for forming their understanding of a unique model of cultural nationalism, with subtle differences from each other. They are on the same ground regarding the ideology of harmony and assimilation. Rava wholeheartedly urged for inter-regional integrity. Agarwala aspired for inter-regional integration as the outcome of extensive cultural, intellectual, and national progress that would inspire people to accept the larger identity of India as a nation. They were not the proponents of chauvinism and ultra-nationalism, rather their cultural nationalism celebrates inclusivity and secularism. These are the unique perspectives of Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava that have provided key foundations for the formation of Assamese nationalism.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Notes

[1]Arunodoi is an Assamese periodical published in 1846. The journal signalled the advent of an era. In fact, the era marked by this magazine paved the way of Assamese literature towards modernity.

[2]Jonaki era is the age of romanticism in Assamese literature, coinciding with the publication of the Assamese magazine Jonaki in 1889.

[3]Bihu is the national festival of Assam. Among the three Bihus of Assam Bohag Bihu is observed in mid-April. It is the celebration of the Assamese New Year. Huchari is performed in this festival. Huchari is a kind of group performance which is performed in the courtyards of the villagers.

[4] Bishnuprasad Rava disguised himself from 1948 to 1952. He coined this phase of life as ‘agyatobash’ (exile) in his essay ‘Agyatobashar Katha’ (The Experiences of Exile). He went to exile in order to experience the lives of the common masses. This was probably inspired by the Long March of Mao.

[5] Lachit Borphukan was one of the chiefs of the Ahom military in the days of the Ahom king Udayaditya Singha. Lachit Borphukan is known as a great patriot of Assam because he thwarted the attempts of the Mughals to invade Assam even though he had to make huge sacrifices in the process.

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Dr. Parismita Hazarika is an Assistant Professor, Department of Cultural Studies at Assam Women’s University. Her research areas include, Saurabh Kumar Chaliha, Jyotiprasad Agarwala and Bishnuprasad Rava, Cultural Icon, Fandom Studies and North-East India.

Prof. Debarshi Prasad Nath is a Professor in the Department of Cultural Studies at Tezpur University. His research interests are spread over Translation, Culture, Films, Media, Literature, and Cultural Theory. He is presently working on the documentation, preservation and archiving of rare cultural resources of North East India and has set up a museum of cultural memory and an archival centre in the department as the Chief Coordinator of UGC’s ‘Centre with Potential for Excellence in Particular Areas’ at Tezpur University apart from a museum of modern art. He was granted a Faculty Enrichment Fellowship to the Department of English, University of Toronto in 2009. He has published eight books so far (edited 4, translated 3, and authored 1). He was one of the Editors/Translators of the volume titled The Call of the Pherengadao: Translation of Select Writings of Bishnuprasad Rava.

Adaptation of Shakespeare’s Plays into Assamese Farce: A Study on Historical Perspective

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Mohammad Rezaul Karim
Department of English, College of Science & Humanities, Prince Sattam bin Abdulaziz University, Al Kharj, Saudi Arabia. ORCID: 0000-0002-8178-8260. Email: karimrezaul318@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–14. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne13

First published: June 20, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

William Shakespeare has always been unanimously the most accepted model to follow for the writers of tragedy, comedy and other types of dramas. He enjoyed a great fascination in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first few decades of the twentieth in India and almost all his works were translated to or adapted into different languages. As the Assamese writers did not lag behind in this respect too, they were inspired to translate and adapt Shakespeare in 1887 starting with The Comedy of Errors as Bhramaranga in Assamese. In this article, the researcher aims to examine the available Assamese translations and adaptations of Shakespearean comic plays and studied how far they contributed to the growth and development of Assamese comedy in particular and modern Assamese drama in general. With the help of the comparative method of analysis, the researcher found that Assamese comedy specially farces and the complete pre-independent Assamese dramatic literature have been impacted by the dramas of Shakespeare.

Keywords: Assamese drama, comedy, farce, Shakespeare, translation, adaptation

Introduction

Farce or Prahasana was a popular dramatic type in ancient Indian literature. It was a “one-act drama intended to excite laughter” (Wilson, 1971, p. 18). The subject was the playwright’s invention and dealt basically with the pranks and the tumults of the shallow dramatis personae of every kind. Thus, the Sanskrit Prahasana is much like the European farce, but it cannot be said that the former had any influence on our modern farce writers. We have no records of any farce being written in pre-British Assam, either in Sanskrit or in Assamese. Medieval Assamese drama was intended to please and edify, but it does not present a single instance of farce. In other words, Assamese literature does not have any tradition of writing farce. The writing of farces, like other types of drama, was undoubtedly a product of western influence, which came directly through English and also indirectly through Bengali. “During the early years of the growth of modern Bengali stage farces were more powerful and lively than serious drama: the heat and excitement that arose from the conflict between the old and the new in the society are nowhere more in evidence than in these plays” (Ghosh, 1968, p. 471). The Assamese students studying at Calcutta during the latter half of the nineteenth century, who read Bengali plays and also saw many of them performed, and who later became playwrights themselves, undoubtedly imbibed much of the art of farce writing from Bengali. Since the Assamese society of the time presented almost similar phenomena, it was not difficult for them to write farcical pieces like those in Bengali. It is also noteworthy that even in Shakespearean drama it was the lighter comedies almost verging on the farce that first attracted our earlier playwrights. All this shows that the nineteenth century and the earlier decades of the twentieth were congenial for farces and light satirical comedies rather than serious social drama – the audience wanted them, and the writers not only found the material for such plays but also models to follow.

Shakespeare enjoyed a great vogue in India in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first few decades of the twentieth, and almost all his works were translated to or adapted into different Indian languages during the period. The Indian student of Shakespeare knew quite well that the people, who were experiencing a renaissance in every walk of life, would appreciate the works of Shakespeare with their emphasis on such ideals as belief in the greatness of man, patriotism, nationalism, and the Renaissance craving for a greater and fuller life. So, they undertook the great task of translating Shakespeare into their own languages, and as a result of this, the languages of India abound in translations and adaptations of Shakespeare.

The Assamese writer, too, did not lag behind in this respect, and since 1887 the year the first adaptation of The Comedy of Errors was brought out, there has been quite a good number of translations and adaptations of Shakespeare, some of which, unfortunately, have not encountered with the audience till today. The Assamese literature seems to be deficient in the main types of comic dramas. In the period we are dealing with, the type which is predominant is farce. Satyendranath Sarma stated that “the moral decay in the social life of the Assamese during the nineteenth century provided sufficient materials for writing farce and light comedy” (2015, p. 302). There are exceptions no doubt but seem to approximate in tone to farce when we examine its features closely. In this study, an attempt is being made to examine the available translations and adaptations of Shakespearean comic plays and to see how far, if at all, they have contributed to the growth and development of modern Assamese drama. The researcher has endeavoured to find out how much the Assamese dramatists have received from Shakespeare and what the responses of the Assamese dramatists to Shakespeare are.

A systematic and critical study of the subject appeared when Priyaranjan Sen brought out his work, Western Influence in Bengali Literature, where the writer has examined the Western impact on different branches of Bengali literature as well as the various channels through which this influence penetrated Bengal. Another work on the subject is Harendra Mohan Das Gupta’s Studies in Western Influence on 19th Century Bengali Poetry (1859 – 1887), in which the author examines in detail the historical background of the new influence. Outside Bengali literature, Syyad Abdul Latif’s work, Influence of English on Urdu Literature, deserves special mention. Another important work on the subject is The History and Culture of the Indian People, Vol. X, Part II, by R.C. Majumdar deals with the subject of Western influence on Indian thought and culture as well as the Indian people’s reaction to it. Dr Satyabrata Rout in his article Indianizing Shakespeare: Adaptations and Performances studied that “the socio-cultural milieu of India fusing with the tradition of West, often creates an ‘Indianized Shakespeare’” (2016, p. 1). Parvin Sultana in her research article Indigenising Shakespeare: A Study of Maqbool and Omkara observed that the literary world of Shakespeare has gone beyond the limits of the time and space and has been predominating the Indian literary sphere for about two centuries now (2014, p. 52). In fact, this subject has attracted diverse critics and historians in recent years, and it is neither possible nor necessary to mention all the works done so far, nor to speak of such publications in the vernacular languages.

Modern Assamese literature, like Bengali or any other literature of modern India, is largely a product of Western influence. This influence has permeated all the branches of this literature, including drama, on which the influence of Shakespeare has been so profound that the new drama that came into being in 1857 with Gunabhiram Barua’s Ram Navami has hardly any direct link with pre-British Assamese drama which has a four-century old history. Pona Mahanta has undergone his research, Western Influence on Modern Assamese Drama (1985) and studied the western influences on Assamese drama, however, he has not centrally focused on William Shakespeare. Maheswar Neog and Satyendranath Sarma have touched on the subject in a general sort of way in their books, Asamiya Sahityar Ruprekha (1970) and Asamiya Natya Sahitya (1973) respectively, but as the titles indicate, these books are concerned more with the growth and development of Assamese drama than with Shakespearean influence. Karim and Mondal (2019) studied the influence of William Shakespeare over pre-independent Assamese tragedy and the style and technique of Assamese drama. A few articles have also been written on the influence of Western dramaturgy especially Shakespearean over the Assamese dramatic atmosphere by Dr Dayananda Pathak, Dr Rajbongshi, Rajbongshi and Boro, Dr Paramananda Rajbongshi, Smriti Rekha Handique, Sailen Bharali, Basanta Kumar Bhattacharjee, etc. limiting their area of the subject in one or two dramas only. Thus, the question of Shakespearean influence on modern Assamese comedy since 1887 can be a subject of very close and careful study.

As the subject of the study is comparative, usually the method of comparative analysis is observed throughout the investigation. The study is based on both the primary and secondary sources and chiefly the technical devices of pre-independent Assamese dramatists are examined.  The importance of the stories and events of the Assamese dramas have been emphasized sometimes and citations to the text of the dramas are drawn up in some cases. The researcher endeavoured to furnish other references to the works of other authors to rationalize the statements and sometimes examples are provided to augment the hypothesis to establish the study more logical and reasonable.

Ratnadhar Barua, Gunjanan Barua, Ghanshyam Barua and Ramakanta Barkakati

The first Shakespearean play to be done in Assamese was The Comedy of Errors. Bhramaranga (1887). The Assamese version of the play is rather an adaptation than a translation as the story is wholly recast to an Indianized background. The four students studying at Calcutta, Ratnadhar Barua, Gunjanan Barua, Ghanshyam Barua and Ramakanta Barkakati who did this pioneering work, wrote in their preface:

There are many difficulties in translating Shakespeare into Assamese. In the first place, Shakespeare’s language and thought are so difficult that let alone a foreigner even British scholars have not been able to determine their precise meaning. Besides, it is not easy to transfer the thoughts, customs and behavior of an alien people to an adapted version, and so something of these has to be left out. While we have tried all our best to maintain the poet’s thoughts and ideas without loss, we have sometimes been constrained to change even some ideas of the great poet in order to fit them into the changed background. We have been very careful to see that the poetic quality of the piece is not destroyed, yet we do not dare to say that it is not strained since we have undertaken to translate it. (1887, p. 1)

We have seen that farces and light comedies were very popular during the initial years of the Western impact, and it was in keeping with the literary temperament of the time that the first Shakespearean play to be rendered into Assamese was The Comedy of Errors. In The Comedy of Errors, Shakespeare does not seem to have any philosophy to propound, nor is he serious in tone or intention. An atmosphere of fun and gaiety pervades the whole play, which does not seem to belong to any particular place or time. What matters most here are the different situations in which confusions are created leading to the hilarious fun, and once the translator is able to create similar situations in the new background that he adopts, the rest of his work becomes easy. This is what our translators have done, or at least tried to do. They have discarded the blank verse in favour of prose in order to make it down-to-earth and appealing to their audience. The names of the dramatis personae are aptly chosen: Solinus, Duke of Ephesus, becomes Ajitsimha, king of Mayapur; Aegeon, merchant of Syracuse, becomes Dhanbar, a merchant of Kamrup, while the two pairs of twins are the two Niranjans (one is Mayapuriya, the other is Kampuriya, meaning from Mayapur and from Kampur respectively). Ephesus, the scene of the original story, becomes Mayapur in the Assamese version, which is certainly an apt name for a place where such incidents happen.  (The word ‘Mayapur’ literally means ‘a city of magic’). Pinch, the school, is transformed into a village quack so that he fits well into the local situation. All the female characters except Luce have been retained, and their names are appropriately chosen: Sumanthira, Malati, Tara, Sonpahi, and all these names sound very Assamese indeed.

The use of colloquial prose in the dialogue throughout the play, except in the incantation blabbed out by the quack, Takaru Bej, lends more local colour to the story. The language is so nicely colloquilized and the sentiments localized that the translated piece reads almost like an original work. One example alone will prove this point. Pinch, thinking that Antipholus of Ephesus, is possessed by the devil, takes hold of his hand utters:

I charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man.
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness hie thee staright
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.
             (The Comedy of Errors, Act IV, Scene iv)

In the Assamese version, Pinch becomes a village quack who tries to dispel the evil spirit thus:

namo chakravak utapati bhaila,
tridarsha daityara maya samharibe laila
chausasti joginir ban kati khanda khanda karila
hum hum gir gir sagarar mala
      (Bhramaranga, Act IV, Scene iv)

Such a quack and a ‘mantra’ or incantation must have been very appealing to the Assamese audience in the 1890s, many of whom actually believed in evil spirits as well as in the ability of a quack to drive them off from a human being. Commenting on Bhramaranga (1887), Satyendranath Sarma says that “as the first attempt at translating Shakespeare it is undoubtedly a successful work. Sarma further opines that “anybody unfamiliar with the Shakespeare play cannot say that it is a translation, so skillfully is the rendering done” (2015, p. 7). Satyanath Bora, who was extremely delighted to witness the performance, made a very significant comment upon it. Bora wrote in Jonaki:

I have read the book thoroughly, and I have also witnessed its performance. The book is small in size, but of unique qualities…. The writers have adapted the English thoughts to the needs of the Assamese speech; therefore, while the thoughts are intact, the book is Assamese in spirit. (1890, p. 85)  

Bora evidently felt that the Assamese literature was generally deficient in the humour of the type displayed in the Shakespeare’s drama, however, exceptions can be made in the case of Kaniyar Kirtan (1861) and Kovabhaturi, written by Hem Chandra Barua; as in them the laughter is caused through manipulation of ideas, and Bhramaranga (1887) introduces a new consciousness in literary circles about the possibility of development of comic literature that is mainly expressed through the manner of speech or style. Evidently, he hinted at the appearance of a new consciousness of comic literature in Assamese in the Jonaki period. He particularly drew the attention of the writers and the audience to the role style plays in comedy. One has however to note that he makes no difference between farce or hasya rasa.

Hemchandra Barua

Hemchandra Barua’s Kaniyar Kirtan (1861), which the author subtitles in English as a “Play in Assamese on the Evils of Opium-eating”, was, of course, “put on the board quite a number of times at Sibsagar and elsewhere. And this was the first modern Assamese play to be performed on a modern stage at Sibsagar” (Hazarika, 1967, p. 92). The story of the play, briefly, is as follows: Bhadreswar Barua, a revenue-collecting officer (mouzadar), had a son, Kirtikanta. One day an Assamese preceptor, Padmapani, paid a visit to Bhdreswar’s house. Padmapani, who was an opium addict, would not be satisfied unless he was treated with a bit of the drug. Kirtikanta saw him eat the opium and could not help tasting it. This turned him into a regular opium-eater, and the result was that he was soon reduced to a skeleton. In due course, his wife, Chandraprabha, too, became a victim to the evil. Kirtikanta was unable to run the office of his father when it fell to him and took to unfair means even for mere existence. At last, he was arrested and sent to jail. Meanwhile, his wife died. After a few days in prison Kirtikanta also died in utter repentance.

Kaniyar Kirtan thus, is purely a social play, dealing as it does with a very serious contemporary problem. The play was written with a view to revealing the wicked influence of opium-eating that had long been preying upon the very vitals of Assam. Technically as well as stylistically, it is decidedly an improvement upon Gunabhiram Barua’s Ram-Navami (1857). It has nothing to do with prastavana nandi (introductory verse) or Sutradhara (anchor), which are integral parts of Ankiya Nat (one-act play in Assamese). The technique as well as the style is largely modeled on Shakespearean dramaturgy with no influence at all of Sanskrit drama. No doubt, the playwright has a moral to convey, but it is not delivered through a Sutradhara but through the hero himself, who admits repentantly:

Opium is the worst of poisons.
The opium-eater hasn’t the least wisdom.
Alas! Alas! What a terrible misery!
Opium is at the root of the destruction of Assam.
(Kaniyar-Kirtan, Act VI, Scene iii)

The play is in four acts with three to four scenes in each act. The playwright shows some skill in dramatic construction. The plot is developed well, and the degradation of the hero as a result of a deep-rooted evil is tellingly shown. The play, despite its serious theme, bristles with bitter satire and biting sarcasm. But the satire and the sarcasm are only on the surface: They should not be allowed to mislead us into believing that Kaniyar Kirtan is a farcical piece.

Modern Assamese dramas, as discussed above, are divided into acts and scenes exactly like a Shakespearean drama. This is undoubtedly a result of the Shakespearean influence, for during the latter half of the nineteenth century no dramatist was read and imitated as much as was Shakespeare. Kaniyar Kirtan is divided into four acts, though not five, each having separate scenes. Pona Mahanta observes:

Like Gunabhiram Barua, Hemchandra Barua was also from an aristocratic family of Assam, educated in Calcutta, and as such, it was but natural that in technique as well as in theme they were influenced by European, particularly Shakespearean drama, although it has to be admitted that much of this influence came through Bengali. (1985, p. 65)

Padmanath Gohain Barua

Padmanath Gohain Barua has given us three farcical pieces: Gaobura (The Village Headman, 1890), Teton Tamuli (1908) and Bhut ne Bhram (Is it Ghost or Illusion, 1924). Gaobura, the earliest yet the best of the three, is rather a light comedy than a farce (Barua, 1964, p. 153). It gives a near realistic picture of the British administration of the time. The contemporary Assamese life and society in the countryside are also nearly truthfully depicted. Its story is as follows: Bhogman, a well-to-do and respectable peasant, is forcibly recruited as a porter by a team consisting of the village headman, the mandal (surveyor) and police. These petty government servants are corrupt and accustomed to taking bribes. Bhogman considers this to be an insult and to amend it, he himself decides to become a headman. He believes that this will bring him power and prestige. Through the good offices of the mouzadar (Settlement Officer), he gets the honorary job of a headman and is now entitled to prestige and some dues. However, the job being honorary and time-consuming affects his normal domestic and farm work, and he soon finds himself in straitened circumstances. His poverty becomes pronounced and he is even unable to pay his revenue dues. We then find Bhogman collecting rations for the District Magistrate (who is on a tour) forcibly from some villagers gratis, but this does not bring him credit but only maltreatment by the officer’s retinue. Misfortunes come to him in quick succession. The mouzadar orders attachment of his property for collecting arrears of revenue due in his name. In the fifth Act, attachment of property takes place under humiliating and pitiable circumstances. Then the Magistrate tries him on the charge of the forcible lifting of some hens from a Muslim house. This he had to do in spite of himself, as he was asked to collect rations for the District Magistrate gratis. It is during the trial that the Magistrate comes to know about the actual circumstances under which an honorary gaobura (village headman) has to discharge his duties. He takes to remedy the situation, but by then Bhogman is already tired of his job and relinquishes it, heaving a sigh of relief.

In this light comedy, the character of Bhogman is the main object of pity and laughter. There are, however, satirical elements that are directed against the practice of bribery, the inferiority complex of Indians before the Sahibs, greed for money among rural jurors, forcible collection of rations, the peculiar Hindi jargon used by sahibs and administrative ignorance of the part of high officials. But these are secondary elements. In Bhogman’s character, we find several situations of laughter. Firstly, Bhogman’s false sense of prestige is not becoming a porter and his equally unreal solution is accepting the job of a village headman to save his eroded prestige. This feudal sense of prestige is already anachronistic in the new milieu ushered in by British rule. Secondly, the contradiction between his behaviour and the real social situation is carried in the drama to a comic magnitude in two ways. At home, he faces an economic crisis which ruins his peace of mind and drives him to a state of acute misery. Outside, he is insulted in the most cynical manner by the sahib’s menials on the flimsy ground of insufficient supply of ration. His misery reaches an acute tragic proportion from his point of view, but strangely this only evokes mere laughter, though not unmixed with pity. This is so because his moral views are feudal; he does not realize that an honorary job in a capitalist society is useless and only a source of misery.

His eccentricity is highlighted by the fact that he remains unaware and unrepentant till the end. This leads to the development of the comic situation which we all enjoy, but not without some compassion for him in his misery. In many ways, Bhogman is an authentic comic character. He is comic without appearing to be so. But it is the humour of a different kind. There is sadness in it. Bhogman makes himself a butt of ridicule because he knows no English and also because he is ignorant of the ways of a British officer. Allardyce Nicoll observes, “Humour, we shall find, is often related to the melancholy of a peculiar kind, not o fierce melancholy, but a melancholy that arises out of pensive thoughts and broodings on the ways of mankind” (1998, p. 199). The humour of Gaobura is certainly of such nature because, despite the fact that much of it appears in words, manners and situations which are apparently ludicrous, it is as a whole tinged with thoughtful broodings over the ways of the world. This is clear in the conversations between Bhogram and his wife as well as between him and another village headman. These are full of concern about their own lot. It is only the way they talk and their mannerisms that often make us laugh.

Teton Tamuli (1909) and Bhut ne Bhram (1924) are two other dramas by Padmanath which are called comical. Among these two dramas, the latter cannot be called comical in the true sense. The author himself was aware of this when he said, “It is true that the drama may not be fit to be called comic; but if this can remove the illusory belief in ghosts among men even to a limit extent, the author would be gratified” (Gohain Barua, 1971, p.  313).

Gohain Barua further says, “the play is a series of scenes drawn with a view to removing the popular superstitions about ghosts” (1971, p. 313). Considering the advanced age of the author, Gohain Barua additionally observes, “the play, it is true, may not deserve to be called a farce, but he (the author) would consider his labour rewarded if only it helps in removing, at least partly, the superstitions concerning ghosts in which the society is steeped” (1971, p. 313). The way in which the educated members of a “reforms Committee” try to prove the unreality and non-existence of ghosts, their initial doubts and hesitations, the dialogue of the rustic folk concerning spirits, are sure to rouse laughter even in the most reserved among the audience.

Teton Tamuli, on the other hand like Bezbarua’s Litikai, is a farce based on a folk story. Teton, according to Dr P.D. Gosvami, is “a picaro or picaroon of Assamese oral literature. The story is still popular among Assamese villages” (1947, p. XXIII). Teton is a witty plebeian. Driven out of his home for his sharp witty tongue, he goes out into the wide world as a needy and hungry man. However, he is soon involved in deeds of crime such as theft, cow-killing and cheating a woman fruit-seller. Charges are brought against him in the King’s court. He argues his case well but cunningly and proves that he did not commit those offences. The defence is witty in nature. Later on, he makes himself eligible to marry the daughter of a court official by a clever device and this helps him in becoming an official of the court. The drama retains the absurd atmosphere of a folk story.

His paradoxical replies are as witty as his literal interpretation of a few sentences uttered by the tiller and the fruit-seller. This is what the tiller says: sou baghar bukuloi yova garuto mar eta mari rakhi diyagoi. Literally interpreted, this would mean that Teton should go and beat the bull that is fit to be devoured by a tiger to death. Teton actually goes and kills the bull. But this is not what the tiller meant. He spoke in a figurative manner and simply asked Teton to help him in stopping the running wily bull so that he could take him to the field. He used idiomatic expressions instead of plain speech. Baghar bukuloi yoa means ‘wily’ or ‘damned’ whereas, mari rakhi diyagoi means ‘to control and stop the bull’ (Gosvami, 1947, pp. 292-293).

In the King’s court, Teton argues cunningly that he acts as he has been instructed and got acquitted. This is a travesty of justice, but a concession to the incongruity of words. The paradoxical utterances that create verbal misunderstandings among two ridiculous characters here give rise to laughter. Exaggerated situations, ludicrous characters and humorous dialogue are the stuff of which this farcical piece is made.

All the three plays are in five acts divided into scenes. The matter in the plays is so thin and light that hardly any of them needs a five-act structure. This only shows how fast the tradition of the five-act play was held in Gohain Barua even in the third decade of the twentieth century.

Durgaprasad Majindar Barua

Mahari (The Tea Garden Clerk) by Durgaprasad Majindar Barua was written in 1893 though it came out in print in 1896, which was a “roaring success on the stage for several decades” (Neog, 1975, p. 22). The play in three acts with a few scenes to each act depicts how a young man, with the help of the European manager’s native mistress, succeeds in getting a clerical post in a tea garden and how his own ignorance together with the jealous head clerk’s conspiracy ultimately compels him to leave the job. There is much in the play to rouse laughter: the eccentric Mr Fox, the English manager of the garden; the fisherwoman, Makari, who is the manager’s mistress; and Bhabiram, the newly-appointed young clerk, provide most of the fun. In fact, the characters, the situations and the dialogue are all contrived in such a way as to create mirth. Bhabiram’s ignorance of English, Mr Fox’s smattering of Assamese, and Makari’s often unrefined and biting language are the sources of much of the fun which is so characteristic of the piece. Mahari, indeed, was so popular on the stage that the eccentric Mr Fox and his fisherwoman mistress, Makari, “become by-words for hilarious comedy, and several good actors of Assam became widely known by these roles” (Neog, 1975, p. 22). Of his other farces, Negro(?) which is not available now, ridicules the blindly Westernized people of Assam, while Kaliyug (1904), written in collaboration with Benudhar Rajkhowa, satirizes the hypocrisies of preceptors and priests (Mahanta, 1985, p. 208).

Benudhar Rajkhowa

Benudhar Rajkhowa gained vast admiration as a farceur with his Kurisatikar Sabhyata (The Civilization of the Twentieth Century, 1908). Tini Ghaini (Three Wives, 1928), Asikshita Ghaini (The Uneducated Wife), Chorar Shristi (The Creation of Thieves, 1931) and Topanir Parinam (The Consequence of Sleep, 1932). In the first, the playwright exposes the hypocrisy of the Westernized youths of Assam. They are contemptuous of the older and time-honoured faiths of their own land but are not prepared to accept whole-heartedly the Western faiths either. They profess to be atheists and non-believers in the caste system, whereas, in reality, they follow all the older customs for fear of society. Tini Ghaini and Asikshita Ghaini show how co-wives and uneducated wives can make a husband’s life miserable. In Topanir Parinam, laughter is created through a play on the word ‘topani’ meaning ‘sleep’. A young man, called Topani, seduces a young girl and is compelled to marry her. Chorar Sristi appears to be patterned after Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors and The Taming of the Shrew. Two husbands, Dhumuha and Mauram, lead unhappy lives with their wives because of temperamental incompatibility. Dhumuha, a quarrelsome and excitable young man, is married to a simple and amiable woman; while Mauram, a peaceable youth, is married to a termagant. One night a clever and well-meaning thief comes to know of this unhappiness, and with the help of a charm that he knows gets the wives exchanged. The shrew, who was making Mauram’s life miserable with her fiery temperament, is completely tamed by the stormy Dhumuha.

These little plays of Rajkhowa may be called light comedies of situations. The mirth is created not so much through characters and dialogue as through shrewdly contrived situations. But beneath the laughter lies the playwright’s corrective motives. In all these plays he not only exposes the hypocrisies of the educated class but also pleads for a rational approach to life.

Lakshminath Bezbarua

Lakshminath Bezbarua wrote four comic dramas, Litikai (1890), Nomal (1913), Pachani (1913) and Chikarpati Nikarpati (1913). All these pieces depend on their theatrical effects on exaggerated situations, incongruous characters, malapropisms, and other deviations from the normal. Satyendranath Sarma points out that “the dramas are deficient in dramatic action and based mostly on the laughter of situations and incongruity of words” (1973, p. 300). The author amended the elements of the stories derived from the folk stories to match his requirements.

In Litikai (1890), we found that there are seven orphaned arch fools, who work in a home of Brahmin family. These fellows have strange manners of executing things and they kill their master’s mother in one of their brainless acts.  This provokes the master to execute them in revenge. However, one of the fools managed to escape his end, and in return, out of revenge married the master’s sister-in-law by cheating. The seven orphaned arch fools as characters in the play, however, did not imprint any mark with their verbosity.  Their plebeian personalities are highlighted in the humorous way of speech and naivete. They are unlettered, mostly indolent, credulous, superstitious, and parasitic. They talk in a strange manner and do ridiculous acts frankly and one would surely get the conviction that they live in a mock world.

The seven arch fools sometimes observe the straightforward meaning of the expression and act seriously which generates laughter. The word ekatha signifies either a ‘measure of rice’ or ‘a measure of land’. In one occasion, all the fools are asked by the master to hoe a katha of land, however, each fool evades the allotted work and they hoe a piece of earth weighing a katha.

A similar act is done by the fools, which ensues in killing the master’s mother, Subhadra –

Satotai – ai ai, dangari kot thom? Kan cigi ahiche tenei, kouk begai, kot thom? Kouk, kouk.
Subhadra – (khongere) thoboloi thai pova nai yadi mor murar operate tha.
(Litikai, Scene III, Act IV)

[The seven fool brothers – o mother, where will we place these bunches of paddy?  It is hurting our shoulders, quickly tell where will put these? Tell, tell.

Subhadra – (Angrily) If you don’t find any place to put those bundles, keep those bundles on my head.]

And to our surprise, they do so in reality and as a result, the mother of the master dies.

The master now realizes that the fools are mere burdens to him, therefore, he makes up his mind to do away with them. He succeeds to kill six of them, but the seventh one manages to escape from his master’s grudge. Interestingly, the living fool abruptly acts like a very clever fellow and successfully manipulates to espouse the master’s sister-in-law by way of cheating. The end, as Satyendranath Sarma points out, is somewhat improbable and there the fifth Act appears to be rather out of tune with the spirit of the whole drama. Sarma further says, “There is plenty of horseplay in the drama and it emanates from the improbable incongruities and most trivial incidents. It is a short play with a weak plot and indifferent characterization” (1973, p. 301). It is a pure farce.

In Nomal (1913), the mirth is created through a series of situations in which a rickety old man is constantly humiliated and mortified because of his foolishness and malapropisms. The brief story of the play is as follows: Naharphutuka approaches to spiritual master in Athiyabari sattra to request him to give a suitable name for his newborn baby. The guru of the Athiyabari sattra, then, is introduced to us. He leads a life of pompous manner by earning money in a dishonest way.  He gave a name for Nahraphutuka’s son, ‘Nomal’. As he has some problems with pronunciation, he uttered the name as ‘Nemel’ (which means ‘do not sail’). As he fears forgetting the name, he starts repeating the name ‘Nemel’ on his way home. A trader who is about to start his voyage on a boat hears Naharphutuka uttering ‘Nemel’ and on hearing this the merchant becomes angry and beats him. Naharphutuka then ruefully says, ‘nohowabor hol ou’ (happened something unusual). And he utters these words as he proceeds on. A rich Ahom is passing that road in a palanquin in a ceremonial and glamourous way, misunderstanding the utterings to be really meant an inauspicious remark on his noble rank. On being angry, the merchant beats him again. Then, Naharphutuka cries out in torment and says, ‘one is more oppressive than the other’. This very uttering again offends two diseased travellers. One is suffering from elephantiasis and the other is suffering from goitre. Then, they act with him very roughly too. Being traumatized and disheartened, Naharphutuka, arrives home and he realizes that he has forgotten the name. However, he remembers the name ‘Nemel’ when his wife is almost opening his bag. (The term ‘Nemel’ also means ‘do not open). The consortium of words with the action of the unfolding of bag helped him remember the name. It is, therefore, oral and incidental misconception that creates this farcical story to progress on. The element of satire present in the play is incidental and there is much entertainment in the word ‘Nomal’. A sort of punning impact is articulated while Naharphutuka utters it in the rural fashion. The incidents of beating Naharphutuka are brief and merely ridiculous. These ridiculous fancies are hilarious and comical.

Bezbarua gives a slightly better account of himself in Pachani (1913). It is comparatively a graceful farce and there are juxtapositions of contrasting ideas and intertwist of fun and satire. The play is segregated into five scenes. As the play opens up, we see that Dharmai Pachani, a childless man, who is religiously devoted, has developed a habit of having guests every night. That night, he returns home without any guests after a vain search for them. Then we see that he is busy making a ‘dheki-thora’ (grinding stick of a ‘dekhi’ or a pounding machine), and at this moment two guests have turned up. Then, he, being overjoyed having the guests, goes shopping. His wife, on the other hand, does not like this attitude of her husband and she used to drive out the guests. She holds the grinding stick of the pounding machine and tells them that she is going to beat them up with the stick. On hearing this, the guests flee and at this very moment, Pachani arrives from shopping. He feels disappointed with the departure of the guests. His clever wife informs him that the guests are greedy and that on being refused to hand over to them the ‘dheki-thora’ (grinding stick), they took offence and left. Then, Pachani gets the grinding stick in his hand and follows the guests with the intention to give it to them. When the guests see that Pachani is following them with the dreaded piece of wood in his hand; they speed and run out of that place. The husband returns back unhappy with a small pet animal (a domestic cat) as a guest and as a substitute. It is full of zest and laughter, especially the scene in which Pachani follows the panicked guests with the piece of wood in hand.

In Chikarpati-Nikarpati (1913) also, there is full of fun. It arouses laughter through the two thieves’ display of methods used by them in larceny as well as of corruption in the court. Pona Mahanta observes, “these plays are nothing but purely farcical pieces which undoubtedly appealed to the rustic audience of the time” (1985, p.  205). Chikarpati-Nikarpati starts with a scene where a trial is going on. In the trial, Chikarpati is adjudicated for a charge of theft of a brass pot. It comes to an end in his liberation from the charges. The adjudications are convened in the modern court, however, as Chikarpati’s state is governed by a king, the adjudication scenes are old-fashioned and traditional. To see the capability of the acclaimed thief, the king employs him to steal a ring from him when he is sleeping in the bedroom. And in this mission, Chikarpati successfully steals the ring from the king. Then, the king employs him to get him a man for his daughter’s bridegroom. And in this also, he becomes successful. Later, when the bridegroom becomes the king, he announces the thief to be his minister.

B.K. Bhattacharyya (1982) opines that –

The drama is not only loose in structure, but full of improbable incongruities. A thief who steals a brass-pot is introduced as the great thief. Then the king uses his services for procuring for his daughter a bridegroom, who again promises him to make him his minister. All these are very amusing, as the identical appearances of the two thieves, Chikarpati and Nikarpati create a comic situation based on chance. (pp. 193-194)  

The atmosphere of the play is, however, farcical. The trial scenes and the scene of the conversation between the pleaders of opposite parties in the Chikarpati case are a reflection of manners of Bezbarua’s time and the former is full of plebian laughter. But the scene of a heart-to-heart talk between the pair of lovers, Rongdoi and Chikarpati is improbable, extremely light and farcical. According to Birinchi Kumar Barua (1964):

The exaggerated situation, irony of thought and words, malapropisms and humorous dialogues – these are the characteristics of these farces. There is hardly any development of plot. The humour is low because it is invariably one of situations. Exaggeration is the very breath of these farces and hence they are often unreal. (p. 150)

Of the many other farces published before the thirties, mention may be made of Chandradhar Barua’s Bhagya-Pariksha (Fate Decided, 1916). Based on the tale of Khaza Hosen in the Arabian Nights, this little play in a lighter vein dramatizes the relative merits of fate and affluence. Padmadhar Chaliha in his Nimantran (Invitation, 1915) creates laughter by exploiting the lack of common sense on the part of four ‘foolish wise men’. Mitradev Mahanta, a leading actor and playwright, has published quite a good number of farcical pieces of which Biya Biparyaya (The Marriage Debacle, 1924) and Kukurikanar Athmangala (The Reception of the Night-blind son-in-law, 1927) were at one time ‘warmly received at every theatre in Assam’. In the former piece, mirth is created through incongruous situations and behaviour. He also ridicules through dramatic exaggeration such evils of contemporary society as child marriage, dowry and superstition. The source of laughter in the latter play is mainly the incongruous behaviour of the son-in-law, who, in his vain attempts to conceal his night-blindness, only exposes himself and makes himself ridiculous. Mahanta has published a few more farces such as Eta Curat (One Cigarette), Tengar Bhengar (The Clever Rogoue), Checha Jyar (Cold Fever), Achin Kathar Thora (The Bluff Giver) and others. All these pieces are meant for mirth which the playwright creates through exaggerated situations, spicy dialogue and ludicrous characters.

Farcical pieces and low comedies continued to be written even after the thirties of the twentieth century, but gradually their place came to be taken by serious social plays. Of those who wrote such plays after 1930, mention may be made of Lakshminadhar Sarma, Surendranath Saikia, Kumudchandra Barua, Karunadhar Barua, Binandacchandra Barua, Prabin Phukan, Premnarayan Datta and a few others. In most cases, the light dramatic pieces written by these writers were like sugar-coated pills because, although their apparent aim was to arouse laughter, they also aimed at exploring the follies and hypocrisies of a society still in transition. But after the Second World War, the farce as a dramatic type almost ceased to be a living force, its place being taken by plays on serious social as well as psychological themes. The effects of the War, the disillusionment that immediately followed the attainment of Independence, the rapid spread of scientific and technological knowledge, and the popularity of such thinkers as Marx and Freud – all came to have their impact on literature including drama. Pona Mahanta (1985) stated:

The audience no longer looked for boisterous comedy created through exaggeration of all kinds; instead, they wanted to see flesh and blood human being in real human situations. The playwright was ready to give them this, and as a result drama became almost entirely social and inward in place of farcical and mythological (p. 210).

Conclusion

Although the new drama in Assamese began with plays of a social-realistic type, the latter years of the nineteenth century and the initial ones of the twentieth were largely a period of farces, as well as translations and adaptations. Shakespeare was naturally the first and the greatest favourite to be translated, adapted and imitated. But while several of the Shakespearean adaptations seem to have been successful as stage plays, their influence on the Assamese drama is not obvious. The writers of the plays draw their subject matter from indigenous sources. But, the themes apart, all these plays were modelled on Western dramatic methods, particularly those of Shakespeare. And with the plays of Bezbarua and Gohain Barua, Shakespeare, whose influence had been felt as early as 1857, became the dominant influence on pre-independent Assamese comedy and all types of Assamese dramas. Of all the fields of literature, dramatic piece of art is unquestionably responsive to societal transformation. The pre-independent Assamese dramatic literature is in debt for its progress to its exposure to the West. It is also greatly responsible for the phenomenal transformation of our society, which in every facet, has gone through in the course of the period. Thus, it can be concluded that this influence has been continuously operating in various ways and it is found that the entire pre-independent Assamese dramatic literature has been affected by the plays of Shakespeare. Though the content of the plays is native, the style and technique are purely modelled on the dramas of William Shakespeare.

Declaration of Conflict of Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding

No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

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Filming Folktales: The ‘Uncanny’ in Bhaskar Hazarika’s Kothanodi (“The River of Fables”)

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Farddina Hussain
Department of English, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam, India. ORCID: 0000-00025232-6358. Email: fardina1ster@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–10. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne12

First published: June 20, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

The affinity between Assamese literature and cinema has only grown over the years since its inception in 1935; in the history of Assamese cinema, film adaptation had begun with Jyoti Prasad Agarwala’s Joymoti and Padum Baruah’s Gonga Silonir Pakhi. It is no surprise that Bhaskar Hazarika too turned towards the well-known collection of folktales Burhi Air Sadhu by Lakshminath Bezbaroa for the subject of his debut feature film Kothanodi, The River of Fables in 2015. Bezbaroa in the book mentions his views on folktales as markers of cultural identity of Assamese community and wanted his anthology to strengthen the feelings of Assamese nationalism among the people of the land.  The paper proposes to reflect on this take of Bezbaroa on identity and culture, and go ahead to analyse the gaze of Bhaskar Hazarika as an auteur. With two successful feature films to his credit, the filmmaker is known for his depiction of the ‘uncanny’ (Freud) and horror to delve deep into the dark recesses of the mind, and society simultaneously. Whereas Bezbaroa’s folktales have been regarded as bedtime stories for children, the paper would like to argue that the viewing of these tales in the film by young children evokes horror and dismay. The dialectical simulation of images created by the auteur resonates more with the adult minds as he offers the contours of his film-philosophy with an Amazonian cosmology.

Keywords: Assamese Folktales, Multinaturalist Perspectivism, Adaptation, Uncanny

It does not come as a surprise that Bhaskar Hazarika, the noted filmmaker from Assam has adapted four folktales from Sahityarathi Lakshminath Bezbaroa’s Grandma’s Tales for his debut feature Kothanodi in 2015. Adaptations in Assamese cinema has a long history; it had begun with Jyoti Prasad Agarwala’s Joymoti (1935) and has continued ever since through the 1970s and 1980s in films like Padum Baruah’s Gonga Silonir Pakhi (1976) or in Bhabendranth Saikia’s films. Folk elements, short stories and novels have always inspired filmmakers. This paper instead of tracing such a history discusses analytically Bhaskar Hazarika’s ways of adaptation, realism, and the liberty he exercises as an auteur to foreground his film-philosophy. An auteur-filmmaker stands apart from film directors and scriptwriters as a major creative force who is responsible for fundamental cinematic grammar like “camera placements, blocking, lighting, scene length rather than [focusing on] only the plot line or the theme” (Britannica). He would oversee all audio and visual elements of the motion picture and is like the author of the film and not only a scriptwriter. He is the camera-pen, camera-stylo (Britannica). In other words, these features create a distinct personal style and philosophy of the auteur in the film. The director of Kothanodi besides being the scriptwriter is also the creative force behind the film. He is primarily concerned with his vision of the world in cinematic images and is in control of every element of a mise-en-scene. With this, in view, the paper attempts to explore the ways of filming the four Assamese folktales by the auteur and see if his film presents a simulacrum of reality.

Jean Baudrillard in his reference to postmodern culture and representation (Baudrillard, [Simulacra and Simulation], 1988) associated the third type in his list of simulacra to the postmodern age. For him there is a precession of simulacra, that is the representation precedes and determines the real. There is no longer any distinction between reality and its representation, there can only be the simulacra. We’re so bombarded by cliches—television images, fantasies, cinema, social networks—that it is difficult to avoid them and therefore there is no original copy. According to Baudrillard postmodern culture is directed by models and maps and we have forgotten the prior reality that precedes maps. Reality itself is created by following certain maps or models.

The folktales can be regarded as the givens. Bhaskar Hazarika in the film attempts like a painter to clear the givens to dive deep into the recesses of the origin/past and rubs off models, maps and cliches. He has moved away from the simulacra to establish new forms of reality and moves towards the origins, towards the primordial phase. This reiterates Deleuze’s observation in his Francis Bacon: The Logic of Sensation (Deleuze, 1981/2017) when he writes on the ways a painter works:

… the painter does not have to cover a blank surface, but rather would have to empty it out, clear it, clean it. He does not paint in order to reproduce on the canvas an object functioning as a model; he paints on images that are already there, in order to produce a canvas whose functioning will reverse the relations between model and copy. In short, what we have to define are all these “givens” [donnees] that are on the canvas before the painter’s work begins, and determine, among these givens, which are an obstacle, which are a help, or even the effects of a preparatory work (Deleuze, 1981/2017, p. 61).

The themes and models offered by the folktales can be regarded as the givens and Bhaskar Hazarika in an attempt to clear models, maps and cliches has moved away from the simulacra to establish new ways of looking at reality and its representation. He goes deep into the origins and to the pre-model, pre-modern phase. He looks into the recesses of the past and in the folktales and beliefs rooted in the Assamese society to create a visual-philosophical projection of the uncanny and highlights a world of ‘multinaturalist perspectivism’ (2013), as offered by Viveros de Castro in his anthropological study of Amazonian communities.

I

In an interview, quoted in Scroll.in, the director and scriptwriter of Kothanodi, Bhaskar Hazarika informs us of his desperate search for locales untouched by modern lifestyle which finally led him to the river island of Majuli (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending). He decided to carry on with exploring the island as it promised a suitable setting for the thematic concerns of the film. Reaching there with the crew and equipment was not easy as they needed to be ferried to the island. However, despite the logistical constraints, it was a prerequisite for the theme and purpose of the film:

We eventually shot much of the film on the Majuli island, which increased our budget by five-six per cent. We had to hire barges to take our equipment across the river. It was worth it since we could show the island’s full beauty. (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending)

It proved to be a successful move as the island provided an idyllic rural locale for the folktales that explore a cosmology of both human and non-human assemblances and disruptions.

Such specificities of a setting can be necessitated particularly for two reasons: firstly, his adaptation of four tales from Burhi Air Sadhu, the Assamese folktales collated by Lakshminath Bezbaroa and secondly, to explore the pre-modern thought and culture as different from the modern western binary culture. To begin with, as discussed in various essays and books the folktales or Grandma’s Tales represent the cultural heritage of Assam: “It presents Assam as a land where such stories have existed for centuries; where man, nature and the paranormal are in a relationship and not always of the holy kind.” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews).

Lakshminath Bezbaroa is known as the doyen of Assamese literary and cultural Renaissance and is honoured by the literati of Assam with the title of Sahityarathi, “an epithet which is [used] rather in the epic and heroic vein like the heroes of the Mahabharata and Illiad (Chatterji, 2014, p. Cover).  As noted by Bhaben Barua, “in the annual session of the Society held in 1891 over which Gunabhiram Barua presided, Bezbaroa, in his annual secretarial report, declared that it was one of the aims of the Society to discover the lines along which the Assamese mind (‘asamiya manuhor manasikota’) had evolved since the ancient times. In a later period Bezbaroa engaged himself in the pioneering task of the reconstruction of the past of Assam, that is, of an exposition of the three basic element of Assam’s cultural heritage: (1) the folk tradition, (2) the religious tradition (3) the political history” (Barua, 2014, p. 32). He contributed to the folk tradition by collecting almost 70 Assamese folktales and in 1912 and 1913 published three volumes, namely, Kaka Deuta Nati Lora, Burhi Air Sadhu and Junuka in an attempt to develop Assamese identity, language and culture. However, his quest was for a “cultural synthesis, in which the Assamese people would discover their ‘true voice of feeling’” (Barua, 2014, p. 35)

Folklores are traditional beliefs, customs and stories of a community passed on through generations orally by ‘telling’ them. It is common to all cultures and certain attributes of these tales transcend all cultures.  Folklorists often like to differentiate the notions of myths, legends and folktales. Folktales are generally understood as the stories told at leisure to entertain “fireside tales, winter nights tales, nursery tales, coffee-house tales, sailor yarns, pilgrimage and caravan tales to pass the endless nights and days” (Campbell, 2002, p. 749). However Assamese folktales are called sadhukatha which according to Bezbaroa is a “moral tale or teaching of saints or virtuous people” (Nath, 2011, p. 216) which shows that the elders were concerned about imparting values and advice to the young minds through stories. The stories were told to excite their imagination and also aim at teaching a moral lesson. For him every community has their own set of distinctive folktales which represent the identity, culture and beliefs of the people: “Language and folktales are the bones and brains of a people. The Assamese call their language as maat and their folktales sadhukatha”. He distinguishes sadhukatha as distinct from either Bengali or other tales but at the same time notes the tradition of telling tales orally in other parts of the world like Germany, Norway or France as well as in different parts of India. He shows how German scholars showed the world that “the history of an ancient tale or the history of a word was more valuable than the history of a big war” (qtd. in Nath, 2011, p. 214).

Often considered as bedtime stories for little children and young adults, these folktales serve as parables or an exemplum and a few are generally assumed to be apolitical. Bezbaroa mentions two kinds of tales: one that is didactic like Panchatantra and the other as a means to entertain “by giving full reign to the imagination” (Nath, 2011, p. 214), simultaneously acknowledging how these tales can also be used to understand the community’s knowledge systems. Nevertheless, it has to be mentioned that some Assamese folktales also attempt at exposing larger social issues of the hierarchy of class, caste and gender. This is made possible due to the close involvement of the community in ‘telling stories’. Their participation influences the themes and characterisations of the tales:

Folktales originate, grow, and are circulated among the people, and hence, the issues that affect the people get to be represented in the tales in various ways. In the old age when these tales took shape, the oppression of the kings, the tyranny of the priests and superstition among the people, for instance, were realities with which everyone was acquainted. Consequently, many of our tales voice concern over or present criticism of such issues. (Nath, 2011, p. 17)

The adaptation of these folktales, in that sense, can no longer remain innocent or only didactic in films like Kothanodi. Bhaskar Hazarika in his indebtedness to Bezbaroa has referred to four folktales entitled Champawati, Tejimola, Ou Kuwari (Elephant Apple Princess) and Tawoir Sadhu (“The Story of Tawoi”). The credit section in the film informs of his adaptation of events and characters from the tales in his film. As an auteur, he takes the liberty to re-read the tales and allow a new interpretation of the tales which he thinks may not be liked socially in Assam. His audio-visual medium presents the stories as more complex and darker than Bezbaroa’s tales. The bedtime stories of Bezbaroa’s collection mainly written for young readers no longer remained so in the films. It gets disconcertingly haunting with the filming of a chain of signifiers evoking mystery, disbelief and fear. In this, he is influenced by Japanese horror movies such as Onibaba and Kwaidan (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending). The visuals on screen are matched by eerie music and wailing sounds. Cinema which is considered a movement of images, engages in a philosophy that the director and scriptwriter use to draw on a worldview different from the western binary culture and its anthropocentrism.

II

“This is my cultural heritage and I can take liberties with it. I like stories that are dark and macabre, and I changed the endings – for instance, the original elephant apple story is about a king and his seven queens, one of whom gives birth to the fruit. I made the story about common people” (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending).

The above statement made by the director and the scriptwriter (auteur) is crucial to understanding his views on adaptation and how he brings in changes by subverting the treatment of theme and characterisation. Unlike most of the reviews which state that the film apart from everything else is bedtime stories, this paper argues that the film, Kothanodi, transforms the bedtime stories of Grandma’s Tales into horror folktales. It follows a sequence of images which are dark, macabre and (what Freud terms as) ‘uncanny’. It presents a chain of signifiers of familiar things in such a way that they appear as strange. The uncanny and the strange for the viewer at first evokes a sense of disbelief and awe as they tend to approach the tales as bedtime stories for children.

Most of the young audience and adults during their childhood have grown up listening to the tales of Champawati or Tejimola. Tejimola had been a popular tale with flat characterisation, for instance, the cruel stepmother, and young daughter in distress similar to the characterisation of the popular fairy-tale Cinderella. But instead of fairy Godmothers and witches with brooms, the folktales of Assam portray stock characters, river-crossings and transformations. Bhaskar Hazarika spoke on the responses of the audience globally to his film and mentioned this aspect:

“There is a certain universality about folk tales, in that every culture in the world has folktale [myth or fairytales]. Some elements are common throughout, for instance the wicked stepmother. In my opinion, audiences around the world, in countries as diverse as South Korea and Sweden, have connected with the film for this reason” (Prabalika, 2015, p. Assamese Film)

One of the adapted tales is Ow-Kuwori (The Elephant Apple Princess). The book, Grandma’s Tales mentions two pregnant queens. The older queen gives birth to a boy while the younger one to an outenga, elephant apple that would follow her everywhere like a child. The beautiful princess hidden inside the fruit would come out while bathing in the river, and one day a prince saw her and fell in love with her. He married her and later on the advice of a beggar woman could manage to get her out of the elephant apple. Bhaskar Hazarika adapts this story with characters from rural societies to address contemporary issues faced by ordinary women and expose social evils like witchcraft. He depicts how society judges women according to their conventional roles and norms. Instead of royalty, his protagonist is a rural woman, a kajee who gives birth to an outenga. Consequently, she is thrown out of her house by her husband as she fails to produce human babies. She walks away with her roll of clothes, crosses the river and starts living in the fringes as an outsider. Due to the outenga that follows her everywhere and also swims across the river to be with her, the villagers mock her and think of her to be a witch, a daini. This highlights the marginalisation and numerous crimes committed against her in rural Assam. The film highlights a socially relevant feminist concern in Assam even today.

The outenga follows her as she leaves her husband’s house, crosses the river and stays with her in the chang ghar. No prince turns up for its rescue. It happens to be a traveller (Adil Hussain) who sympathises with her and tries to solve the mystery of the fruit. As a traveller who had seen distant lands, he tells stories of other unusual incidents: “A woman gave birth to a kitten in Sadiya […] a bird had raised a woman; A girl was hatched out of a duck’s egg one morning.” (Kothanodi) Although he tried his best to explain and find out the truth of the outenga, he had to leave for some time as it disturbed the dyad of the mother and the child outenga. The traveller could rescue the mother only when she expresses her affection and displayed her ability to understand the other’s position. She prepares food for it and discovers one night how the baby comes out of her shell to eat. The child’s externalization is filmed in creepy images showing how the limbs begin to emerge out of the basket at night and reveal herself as a fully grown girl-child; as she begins enjoying her food, the traveller sneaks in and burns the outenga shell liberating the child. Although relieved, the woman continues to live in her house, a chang-ghar indicating a new equilibrium but the end never resolves the issues of social evil. No moral lesson is drawn out of the ending of her story as the camera freezes briefly on her and the child from the back as they keep looking at the way ahead.

Initially, she tries to avoid the rolling outenga that follows her and wanted to leave it on the shore as she quickly crossed the river on a boat. Later, the auteur through the visuals on the screen shows her growing attachment to the point when she starts to communicate and feel its thoughts. Her affinity towards the fruit grows gradually. This feeling of affinity is analogous to Viveros De Castro’s notion of “affinity” (Assy, 2021, YouTube) in which the other is both a trusted friend and also a potential enemy. In this case it is for the fruit that she had to leave her home, husband and live like a freak. The fruit is given a consciousness. The song of the outenga, “Outenga’s Lament” establishes the perspective of a fruit, a non-human object in search of love. It is able to comprehend and feel the human mother’s problems. Here speciesism seems to be in question as the story begins to challenge anthropocentric attributes. The human characters in the film find the outenga weird and see it as a mystery whereas the outenga could understand human language. The initial fear of the mother in seeing the movement of the inanimate object is replaced by a new equilibrium into the mother’s life when she would talk to the outenga, and also take care of it. A woman shunned by her fellow beings is received by the outenga. Instead of the love story of prince and princesses Bhaskar Hazarika constructs his film philosophy in his treatment of the theme. He presents a world inhabited by both human and the non-human, be it fruit, plants or animals. The child outenga is not only unbelievable but also haunting for children and young adults.

The woman walks towards her house in broad daylight and the disruption continues with the movement of an inanimate object for the viewer. It evokes the uncanny for the fruit is a common everyday fruit for the people of Assam and is part of Assamese culinary identity. This familiar fruit has been given a strange attribute that entails mockery and the loss of her home. The village boys tease her as she passes them in silence. The image of the moving outenga is introduced after the expository scene of the Tawoi tale where the father buries new-born infants in his backyard.

Considering the model offered by Todorov, each tale in the film starts at ‘disruption’ and this pattern runs parallelly for all the four folktales chosen by Bhaskar Hazarika. The non-linear plots on the surface seem to be propelled by the social conventions, beliefs, taboos or step-mother archetypes whereas it seems to be determined by the auteur’s principal focalization at disruption and exploration of the uncanniness of the familiar sites and objects. The music and sound in the film add to this intent and the music director Amarnath Hazarika has successfully woven the folk music from the collection of songs by Padma Shri Birendranath Datta and Ramen Choudhury into the fabric of Kothanodi, and the result is a horror folk narrative that grows more intense with sound effects.

Freud’s theory of the uncanny comes from the word unheimlich which is the opposite of the German word heimlich meaning familiar, native, belonging to home (Freud, 1919, p. 2). We generally tend to conclude that “uncanny” is frightening precisely because it “undoubtedly belongs to all that is terrible—to all that arouses dread and creeping horror” (ibid). Freud subverts this notion and argues how it resides in the familiar and shows how an auteur or a storyteller can trick us by shaping the narrative differently out of his realism simultaneously making us believe his social concerns:

The storyteller has this license among many others, that he can select his world of representation so that it either coincides with the realities we are familiar with or departs from them in particulars he pleases [for instance in fairy-tales]. We accept his ruling in every case. (Freud, 1919, p.18)

Hence for Freud a fairy-tale with dragons, witches, curses do not bring uncanniness since we accept its fantastical realm and locale from the very first. Uncanny experience fails in such settings and “The situation alters as soon as the writer pretends to move in the world of common reality”, takes advantage of our credulity and deceives us by “giving us sober truth. And slowly oversteps the bounds of possibility” (ibid.). Bhaskar Hazarika takes this opportunity to play with our imagination by showing us familiar settings, and not taking us to distant magic lands or worlds of prince and princess, in which he slowly moves into the eerie signifiers because horrors issue out of a signifying system and here it is through significant non-human entities, music and cinematography.

By dwelling on the rural pre-modern setting, he populates this space with common characters of the step-mother, the travelling father, the lonely woman, innocent daughters, landlords, priests, village boys, workers in the house of the landlords, secret lovers, fisherman found in every village in Assam. The familiar backyard or the bedroom turns into a site of horror and death. In the Tawoi story, a long shot follows a damp, semi-dark scene with drops of rain pouring on everything possible backed by unnerving music and the wailing of a child reveals infanticide. Here the cinematographer plays with the imaginations of the viewer by alternating long shots and close shots on the face of the father who does the digging to bury his newborn alive. The anxious look and guilt in his eyes is exposed by the camera. The repetition of this scene makes it more horrifying and by the time the mother resists we, as the audience, experience the relief needed right from the beginning as the familiar backyard of the house is used by the father (Kapil Bora) to bury his male babies on the advice of his uncle. As noted in the review by Sankhayan Ghosh “in the story about the married couple who have been sacrificing their new-borns, when it is revealed that the uncle is not an evil man after all and has been their protector all along, it affirms the shamanistic practice that had led to the sacrifice of newborns” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews). Another scene shows the slimy and muddy heads of the dead babies coming out of the ground at night to reveal their intention of patricide and deceit as they talk to the parents.  The climax is reached in conflict with this belief as the mother resists the burial of the fourth baby who happens to be a girl. The auteur here complicates the ethical question of killing the babies and hence, blurs the borders separating good from evil: the resistance is placed against the bizarre act of infanticide which turns out to be a shamanistic ritual.

Along with the everyday character, the filmmaker takes us to the world of plants and animals like the references to the python that marries Champawati or outenga and supplies them with perspectives as they display the ability to think and communicate. They take up subject positions and are given agencies to not only influence the plot but also the lives of the human characters. They think of themselves as humans in their habitat reiterating what Viveros de Castro explains about the point of view of Amazonian indigenous people:

Perspectivism is the pre-supposition that each living species is human in its own department, human for itself (humano para), or better, that everything is human for itself(todo para si e humano) or anthropogenic. This idea originates in the indegineous cosmogonies, where the primordial form of the being is human. (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica)

His writings offer the theory of ‘multinaturalist perspectivism’ as opposed to multiculturalism or anthropocentrism. It is a “vision of the world with a strong connection to “multinaturalism”, a category opposed to multiculturalism that assumes the coexistence of different ‘natures’ as in Amazonian cosmology” (ibid.). These “natures include non-human animal perception along with a human one, all of them sharing a common perspective or affinity” (qtd. in Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica). With this notion, de Castro challenges the history of Western science or anthropology which for him has only one species, the human, who produces knowledge of the rest of the sub-species. The discovery of the Multinaturalist perspective leads to the conceptual position of a “non-anthropocentric virtuality about the idea of species” (ibid.). It is a doctrine that can be explicitly elaborated in shamanism and native mythologies that has the potential to imagine “all inter-species differences as a horizontal extension, analogic or metonymic, of intra-species differences”(ibid.). This notion dismantles the vertical hierarchy of the human and man and ceases to appear separate because in this perspective all the species-specific differences appear as modalities of the human. This does not allow humans to feel special or superior. In other words, all have the same essence or culture, but the natures are different. Human has all man and other species and the “form from which all species emerge: each of the species is a finite mode of a humanity as universal substance” (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica) where every object is a subject with a point of view.

Hence the difference between species is not a difference of culture but of nature due to the experience of the type of body; it is a difference where each species is experienced by others, i.e., “as a body, as a collection of affections that are vulnerable to the senses, of capacities for modifying and being modified by agents of other species. The point of view is in the body…all human share the same culture—human culture” (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica) and the human includes in Amazonian cosmology human beings, plants and animals or even artifacts.

III

As we attune ourselves to our expectations of innocent bedtime stories and become passive receivers, the director acts upon us and seizes the situation to create horror in simple common realities of the village. He tricks our emotions in response to the images of the uncanny and horror unlike most reviews of Kothanodi in trying to see the film as bedtime stories: “The best part of Kothanodi is that in spite of its socially relevant themes, it never loses sight of its primary nature as a bedtime yarn” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews).  In the story of Champawati, the plot again follows a non-linear pattern and begins with the capturing of the python for the marriage of the second daughter from the forest unlike Champawati’s snake-husband who came to her on his own. The focalization again is not on an equilibrium but on the uncanny. The python is carried to the house and at night, it is fed with ducks by the landlady, the matriarch who in her greed for jewellery has decided to marry off her daughter to a python from the forest. The images move from the dark forest to the bedroom which is transformed into a site of horror and death on the wedding night. The silence of the matriarch at the tragedy of losing her young daughter, who eventually is swallowed by the wild python, and the image of the hand-pulled out of the reptile by dissecting its skin in an extreme close shot is bizarre and does not overtly offer moral lessons on greed and jealousy. The images that linger are of terrible shots of dissection and a gory hand wearing a bangle signifying the loss of jewellery for the matriarch.

            The depiction of terrible matriarchs is epitomised in the story of Tejimola which narrates a torture tale of a step-mother who murders her step-daughter by crushing her limbs and head. When she was alive, the stepmother would make her eat scorpions as punishment for no apparent reason. The story ends with the burial of dead Tejimola the daughter of the traveller in the front courtyard and soon a plant grows out on that spot. The film ends with this scene where the matriarch is terrified to see the growth of the plant, a communion of Tejimola and plant life. It is projected as the ability to be something else which is the idea of metamorphosis in Perspectivism where one develops mutuality and concern but differs in the body. The non-human python of Champawati, the outenga, the dead baby-heads and the plant are given conscious intentionality which gather agency to say and express a point of view echoing the Amazonian worldview as noted by Viveros de Castro in his explanation of his theory of multinaturalist perspectivism. With these images, the film ends without a peaceful balance and, questions of ethics and justice are deferred leaving its receptors unsatisfied and contemplating.

References:

Assy. Bethania. (2021). “Decolonizing Thought with Viveiros de Castro:  Amerindian Perspectivism, Multunaturalism and Shamanic.” Reading Group: Decolonization, Neocolonialism and Human Rights. ILAS Columbia. http://youtu.be/bGSVt9wYJmY

Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2017, December 27). auteur theory. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/art/auteur-theory.

Barua, Bhaben. (2014) “The Road to Lakshminath Bezbaroa”. Lakshminath   Bezbaroa: The Sahityarathi of Assam. edt. Dr. Maheswar Neog. Gauhati University. pp. 27-35.

Baudrillard, Jean. (1988). “Simulacra and Simulation”. Jean Baudrillard, Selected  Writings, ed. Mark Poster. Stanford; Stanford University Press. pp. 166-184.  https://web.stanford.edu/class/history34q/readings/Baudrillard/Baudrillard_Simulacra.html

Borah, Prabalika M. (2016). “And the River Flows to Tell the Tales: Kothanodi.” The  Hindu. 25 May. https://www.thehindu.com/features/and-the-river-flows-to-tell-the-tales-kothanodi/article8645138.ece

Bravo, Alvaro Fernandez. (2013) “Eduardo Viveiros de Cartro: Some Reflections  on   the Notion of Species in History and Anthropology”. Trans. Frederico Santos de Freitas and Zed Tortorici. Bio/Zoo. (Volume 10) (Issue 1), E-Misferica 10.1  https://hemi.nyu.edu/hemi/en/e-misferica-101/viveiros-de-castro 

Cambell, Joseph. (2002) Folklorist Commentary to the Routledge Classics  Complete  Fairy Rales. Ed. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (2002 edition)

Chatterji, Suniti Kumar. (2014) “Cover” in Lakshminath Bezbaroa: The Sahityarathi f   Assam. Ed. Dr Maheswar Neog. Gauhati University.

Ramnath, Nandini. (2022) “Assamese film Kathanodi is a set of grim tales involving infanticide, witchcraft and possession” Scroll.in 16 September 2015.    Accessed 25    January. https://scroll.in/article/755641/assamese-film-kothanodi-is-a-set-of-grim- tales-involving-infanticide-witchcraft-and-possession

Deleuze, Gilles. (2017) Francis Bacon, The Logic of Sensation, trans. by Daniel W. Smith. Bloomsbury.

Freud, Sigmund. (1919). The Uncanny. First published in Imago, BD. V., 1919. Tr. Alix Strachey. https://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/freud1.pdf

Ghosh, Sankhayan. (2020) “Kothanodi, on Mubi, Never Loses Sight of its Primary Nature as a Chilling Bedtime Yarn”. 9 July. Film Companion.    Assamese Reviews. https://www.filmcompanion.in/reviews/assamese-review/kothanodi-assamese-folkhorror-mubi-never-loses-sight-of-its-primary-nature-as-a-chilling-bedtime-yarn-bhaskar-hazarika-assamese-movie/

Nath, Sanjeev Kumar. (2011) The World of Assamese Folktales. Bhabani Print & Publications Guwahati.

Farddina Hussain, PhD, is an Associate Professor in the Department of English, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam. Her areas of interest include cultural studies, graphic fiction, gender studies and film studies. Several of her research papers on cinema and literature have been published in journals and as book chapters. She has attended workshops and conferences on film studies both in India and abroad.

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Ivy Roy Sarkar1 & Rashmi Gaur2

1Doctoral Student, Dept. of Humanities & Social Science, Indian Institute of Technology Roorkee, India. First Author & Corresponding Author. Email: Ivy.vns.2013@gmail.com, isarkar@hs.iitr.ac.in. ORCID: https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6558-3743

2Professor, Dept. of Humanities & Social Science, Indian Institute of Technology Roorkee, India. Email: rgaurfhs@iitr.ac.in

 Volume 13, Number 3, 2021 I Full-Text PDF

DOI: 10.21659/rupkatha.v13n3.25

Abstract

The place is fundamental to our existence; it conforms to the phenomenology of being in the world as we always occupy a place “if not with our minds, then always with our bodies”, to quote Moslund. The role of the senses in knowing the geographies of our existence, form a kind of structuring of space and defining of place. To understand the construction of sensorial-socio-cultural space of Assam at the time of extrajudicial killings that produces a ‘sense of fear’ jeopardizing the everyday negotiations of people inhabit the exceptional zones, this paper takes into account Aruni Kashyap’s debut novel The House with Thousand Stories (2013) that set in Hatimura village of Mayong area and deals with alternate retellings of micro-historical account of Assamese people. The paper dwells upon the artist’s creative response to the Agambenian ‘bare life’ that he associates with ‘bare’ or ‘pure senses’ to cultivate the idea of sensuousness of geography produced through the life stories of people and the interactions between human and non-human beings. Like Manipuri mother’s Naked March in front of Kangla Fort and Irom Sharmila’s sixteen years-long hunger strike that can be looked at as the metaphor for staging the ‘bare life’ against the body polity of the state, the sensual dimension of the geographic experience of Pablo, the narrator of the novel, in the village helps to understand the spaces of difference in the time of conflict.

Key Words: Peripheral Aesthetics, Sensuous Geography, Secret Killings, Embodied Experience, Assamese Literature in English