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From Anonymity to Identity: Orality in Three Women Poets from North-East India

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Gourab Chatterjee, Debanjali Roy & Tanmoy Putatunda

Kalinga Institute of Industrial Technology, (KIIT) Bhubaneswar, Odisha, India. Email: gou86rab@gmail.com.

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages 1-13. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne34

First published: June 30, 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 expression ‘North-East India’ invokes an ethnographic monolith in popular imagination without looking into its multilingual set-up, heterogeneous cultural locations and diverse literary traditions, most of which are unscripted, orally composed and community-specific. Orality, which appears to be a crucial tool to understand the nuances of the literary landscape of this region, assumes a dual role. On the one hand, it is stratified, textualised, homogenised and commodified by the global market. On the other hand, it becomes a tool to challenge anonymity and reclaim the roots of the people, who had been suffering from a rupture in identity since the advent of the colonial education system and the ever-growing dependence on written communication in the modern socio-economic structure. This paper, through a close reading of three women poets of North-East India – namely, Temsula Ao, Mamang Dai and Esther Syiem, explores the reclamation of identity through the use of traditional tales, formulaic composition and indigenised vocabulary in their poetry. It also argues how orality is constructed within the ambit of the written text using coloniser’s language thereby creating a space for cultural hybridity thus subverting the hierarchy between orality and writing.

Keywords: Orality, Writing, Identity, Culture, Cultural Hybridity.

Grandfather constantly warned
That forgetting the stories
Would be catastrophic:
We would lose our history,
Territory, and most certainly
Our intrinsic identity.
So I told stories…

(Temsula Ao; “The Old Story Teller”, 2017)

The stories, the poet is so desperate to tell, are not merely stories. Rather, these are integral parts of the “intrinsic identity” of the diverse communities living in Northeastern India, who have been categorically homogenised, objectified and marginalised by the national imagination since India was perceived as a Nation-State in the colonial period. In the Indian context, whenever the expression ‘North-East’ is used, apart from signifying a particular geo-political place, connected with the rest of the country only through the narrow Siliguri corridor, it calls forth a monolithic ethnographic identity, referred to either as the “hilly country inhabited by independent tribes” (Allen et al. p. 2), as mentioned by the Gazetteer of Bengal and North East India, published before 1947 or as “(t)he distant north-eastern part of the subcontinent” (my italics) (National Council of Educational Research and Training 93) as described by NCERT history textbook in Independent India. Samir Das opined that though “from within[,] it represents one of India’s most diverse and heterogeneous of all regions”, Northeastern India “viewed from outside, looks both homogeneous and distinct from the mainland” (Das, p. 2). This statement reaffirms the imposed outsiderness of this region and the homogenisation of its cultural diversity.

It is needless to say that this piece of land, as it is quite rightly pointed out by Das, houses more than a hundred nationalities of diverse literary and cultural heritage and more than two hundred languages, belonging to different linguistic groups and language families (North East India, n.d.). However, many of these languages did not have scripts and all verbal expressions, including art and information, were composed and transmitted orally. Orality had a significant role in the society to sustain social order, legal conventions and communal identities. It was, of course, difficult for the Europeans, for whom writing was regarded “as a vehicle of syllogistic reasoning and as an instrument for consolidation of state power” (Misra, “Speaking, Writing and Coming”, 2013, p. 14), to understand the importance of oral traditions among these “independent tribes”. Hence the diverse population of the Northeastern region became easy ‘subjects’ of their ethnographic ‘discoveries’ and was described without given any distinct identity. Unfortunately, things did not change much after independence. With the borders being drawn for the Independent nation, Northeast became the perennial frontier of the country, secluded from the rest of India, geographically as well as culturally. After globalisation, things took a completely new turn and brought even newer challenges. The orally composed verbal arts became the new signifier of the commodification of “(t)he distant north-eastern part of the subcontinent.” Temsula Ao wrote:

The cultures of North East India are already facing tremendous challenges from education and modernization. In the evolution of such cultures and the identities that they embody, the loss of distinctive identity markers does not bode well for the tribes of the region. If the trend is allowed to continue in an indiscriminate and mindless manner, globalization will create a market in which Naga, Khasi or Mizo communities will become mere brand names and commodity markers stripped of all human significance and which will definitely mutate the ethnic and symbolic identities of a proud people. Globalization in this sense will eventually reduce identity to anonymity. (Cited in Sarkar, 11-12)

But this process did not go unchecked without any resistance as is evident in contemporary artistic and literary expressions. In this context, the poem cited at the beginning of this article, maybe read as evidently invoking the ‘pre-modern’ storytellers and their art of creating distinct cultural repertoires for individual communities. It emphasises the instrumental role stories play to build identities and to reinstate the same. The cultural traditions, which were turned into mere “commodity markers” by the globalised market, are reclaimed not only by TemsulaAo, but also by other contemporary poets from the Northeast and are reused as powerful tools to assert their individual uniqueness and cultural and political agency. In this article, therefore, there has been an attempt to scrutinise how orality is used to reverse the process of “identity to anonymity” in the works of poets from the Northeast, specifically, TemsulaAo, Mamang Dai and Esther Syiem, respectively from Ao, Adi and Khasi community, who, even after having a ‘non-script’ mother tongue, are writing their poems in English which can be identified as a “grapholect” or  a “transdialectal language formed by deep commitment to writing” (Ong, 2002, p. 7). This paper studies the poems of Ao, Dai and Syiem as these three poets belong to three different cultural locations that signify the diversities of Northeastern region and at the same time, build a polysystemic network through the use of myths and oral tales and create a platform of shared experiences by assuming the role of traditional storytellers.

This paper will first look into the homogenization of Northeastern culture and how its specific and distinct identity is stripped off by the global market by making it an “anonymous”[i] (as it has been identified by TemsulaAo), standardized commodified product and then it will show, how this process is resisted by the three women poets from three distinct Northeastern states and community by creating a heterogeneous, hybrid and dynamic space through the use of “written oral poems.” (see Foley, 2004)

Orality and Commodity

As Temsula Ao observed, globalisation-induced modern media and digital space gave orality a new exposure. While talking about the growing market of tourism in the Northeastern part of the country, Erik de Maaker (2020) noticed a common trend among the travellers, photographers and filmmakers, both from inside and outside India, to visit “real”, “traditional” and “animist” culture of the people of the hills, without looking into the ethnic differences and varied literary expressions. To him, the stereotypical portrayal and the imposed homogeneity “fulfil a demand in a national and global market, where audiences want to locate ‘tribal’ or ‘indigenous’ people in nature, and in a timeless past” (Maaker, p. 16-17). This trend magnified after the emergence of new media and cyberculture and the young generation of this region, which “is quickly becoming one of the fastest-growing markets for online retailers” (Hasan, p. 135), contributed to this process in a significant manner. Urban musical bands of the Northeast, like Shillong Chamber Choir, who “performed at the Rashtrapati Bhavan for visiting US President Barak [sic] Obama and Michelle Obama during their state visit to India” (Shillong Chamber Choir), and was commissioned for a video to promote electoral participation among the people of Meghalaya during 2014 Parliamentary Election, used oral narratives and indigenous lyrical forms as one of the components of their musical creation. Founded in 2001, Shillong Chamber Choir, with its music videos often set in the Northeast, propagate certain markers of the culture that hardly represent the immense diversity of the region. The visuals they use to depict the culture of Northeast, are overtly aestheticised and picturesque, and eventually fall into the same trap of simplifying and objectifying the cultural nuances.[ii] These videos, Hasan wrote, “blur(s) the distinction between different tribes and ethnicities, and presents young people from various parts of the Northeast region as a homogeneous, happy, purposeful, and trendy group” (Hasan 146) and by doing this turning the traditional oral verbal arts into a standardized consumerist product. This “systematic manipulation of signs” as Baudrillard would say, aims at “simulating a consumer totality” where diverse socio-cultural and linguistic identities could be contained within a grand narrative and be presented for collective cultural consumption (Baudrillard, p. 35).

The poets in discussion here are trying to create a counter-discourse to this homogenisation and commodification of oral narratives by the global market and media. The form of orality, represented by the urban bands or the contemporary photographers and film-makers, is essentially different from how orality is conceived by TemsulaAo, Mamang Dai or Esther Syiem, all of whom, as a part of their project, compiled, translated, transcreated and adapted Ao, Adi and Khasi oral tales, myths and legends.

Contesting Commodification

It has already been discussed how Ao wanted to resist the “mindless” use of oral tales, expropriated from their cultural roots, becoming a saleable product in the consumerist market. Her insistence on telling the stories, and reviving the oral tradition is completely an opposite and conscious endeavour. In her words:

But now a new era has dawned.
Insidiously displacing the old.
My own grandsons dismiss
Our stories as ancient gibberish
From the dark ages, outmoded
In the present times and ask
Who needs rambling stories
When books will do just fine?
The rejection from my own
Has stemmed the flow
And the stories seem to regress
Into un-reachable recesses
Of a mind once vibrant with stories
Now reduced to un-imaginable stillness.

       (Ao, “The Old Story Teller”, 2021)

This ‘new era’ undoubtedly refers to the era of “education and modernization” which marks the commodification of Northeastern cultural identities and the way it is turning them into “mere brand names”. However, the mention of books in the above-quoted stanza, implies the dual purpose of resuscitating orality. Orality is facing threats from two apparently opposite forces. On the one hand, its existence has been endangered (“un-reachable recesses”) owing to the advent of writing and print culture, and on the other hand, it is appropriated, commercialised and converted into an exotic, monolithic tourist attraction by the dominant culture. Theodore Adorno, while theorising Culture Industry, argued that “[c]ulture today is infecting everything with sameness” (Adorno and Horkheimer 94) and this standardised modes of production gives rise to “pseudoindividuality” where “[t]he peculiarity of the self is a socially conditioned monopoly commodity misrepresented as natural” (Adorno & Horkheimer 125). Hence any cultural element can easily be turned into a homogenised commodity, having an exchange value determined by the fetishism regulated by the dominant economy. According to him, any resistance to this mass culture is “radically individual” which has “residues not fully encompassed by the prevailing system and still happily surviving, and marks of the mutilation inflicted on its members by that system.” (Adorno and Horkheimer 200) It is interesting to note in this regard that Ao, Syiem and Dai chose the same tool of orality to subvert and resist the process of commodification of Naga, Khasi and Adi culture respectively.

Orality and Identity, Orality as Identity

EasterineIralu pointed out the challenges that authors of Northeast often face due to the dearth of major publishing houses in the region as a result of which they are often compelled to approach the big publishing houses of Delhi, and encounter “a stereotyped expectation that Naga writers are capable only of producing politically charged writing or exotic folk literature in mediocre language” (Iralu 2004). The poems of Ao, Dai and Syiem can be placed in opposition to this discourse. They are not simply imitating the oral tales as these were told in their distinct cultures, rather they are trying to assume the role of the traditional storyteller, who reminds people of their roots and customs, of their history and identity, which have been flattened and homogenised by the standardised format of printed texts. Syiem wrote:

The conceptual notion of what the oral is has received a severe beating at the hands of the practitioners of the written. This is but a natural consequence of the evolution of the written medium in which priorities change and societies are no longer the homogeneous entities that they once were. In such a situation, then, what is clearly needed is retrieval of a kind. Before any attempts are made to do this, however, it has to be understood that lest the exercise itself prove self-defeating, the oral has, to use a Khasi term, its own rngiew, the imperceptible aura that in Khasi thought permeates all things living, and which gives them being and identity. (Syiem, “Negotiating the Loss” 81)

Syiem’s attempt to “retrieve” orality neither refers to going back to the nostalgic past, nor is she trying to romanticise the oral tradition as an escapade from contemporary reality. Rather, to her, orality is an existing and living tradition [as she named her essay “Orality Alive” (Syiem, “Orality Alive” 38)], an organic part of the Khasi culture, constantly changing its form and has the potential to capture all the modern complexities. Her poems bring up the legends of Khasi creation stories and make them speak of the political, social and cultural reality of her time. She wrote:

Forlorn ancestress.
As a child I believed in you.
As a young woman
I wished to uphold you
 as my personal myth.
As of now,
I wish to preserve you
as a source of inspiration.

Shrewd historians
float theories about you;
and though you have been weighed
and found wanting,
I still chose to look upon you
as the source of my identity
from a distant time.

(Syiem, “Pahsyntiew”, 2006, p.  26)

The “ancestress” in this poem refers to the myth of Ka Pahsyntiew, the daughter of U-lei Shillong, who was tricked into marrying a human being and from whom the clan of Syiem sprang. It is said that she, after giving birth to her warrior sons, went back to the cave she came from and did not return. The myth does not only talk about the origin of Khasi people, but also, in Syiem’sutilisation,  locates the oral tale within the ambit of the politico-cultural environment of Meghalaya and connects the myth to her “identity” (“the source of my identity”).  It is worthwhile to note that in this poem, the word “jalyngkteng”, the yellow flower, with which Ka Pahsyntiew was tricked, which Syiem turned into a metaphor for political deception and exploitation happening with the people of her community, was not translated into English. In other poems too by the poet (“To Bemsynda”, “Ka Sohlyngngem’s Dirge”, “U Lymboit U Lymbiang”) similar Khasi words, laden with a multitude of cultural and historical significances and kept in the original language, are found. In the words of Ng?g? waThiong’o, language is the carrier of culture, consisting of cultural images that come down to us through the long passage of time. He wrote:

Our whole conception of ourselves as a people, individually and collectively, is based on those pictures and images which may or may not correctly correspond to the actual reality of the struggles with nature and nurture which produced them in the first place… Language as culture is thus mediating between me and my own self; between my own self and other selves; between me and nature. Language is mediating in my very being. (Thiong?o 15)

The use of Khasi words by Esther Syiem can therefore, be seen as a deliberate attempt on her part to indigenise the English she is using and make the language prepared to adapt the language of orality, which not only gives her an identity to reclaim but also connects her to her community.

Social identity theories contend that “the self is reflexive” and identities are formed through the individual’s conscious relation to “social categories or classifications” (Stets & Burke 224-225). Henri Tajfel, prominent social psychologist of the 1970s, noted that an individual’s social identity is conditioned by her/his association with a ‘group’ where the group serves two purposes. Firstly, it becomes the crucible where diversities in individual identities are subsumed to a noticeable, uniform pattern. Secondly, this sense of uniformity distinguishes the group (and the individual) from other categories and groups consequently creating a homogeneous idea about the group and resulting in the binaries of ‘us’ and ‘them’. Analysing the writings on and about Northeast in this light, it becomes clear how the narratives as well as the choice of the medium in which these narratives reach the consumers, underline conscious/unconscious attempts to carve out a group identity by virtue of deliberate “depersonalisation”. Considered as “[t]he central cognitive process in social identity formation”, depersonalisation regards the notion of the self as one that is blended with group characteristics “rather than as a unique individual” (Turner et al. 1987 cited in Stets & Burke, 231). This sense of depersonalisation, perpetuated by contemporary writings on Northeast, is contested by the counter-discourse of oral narratives that debunk easy categorisation and stereotypification.

Oral tradition, as seen by Sen and Kharmawphlang, does not only function as “a wealthy repository of mythical, legendary and historical past,” but also “articulates protest and dissent and simultaneously voices concerns of reform and redress.” (Sen &Kharmawphlangi) Mamang Dai said, apart from being “a simple recounting of tales for a young audience”, orality gives her “a sense of identity” (Singh, 2017). It is the knowledge of the oral tales, which are nothing but the “beliefs, determining way of life”, that “links the individual to a group” (Dai, “On Creation Myths” 4). While recounting the Khasi tale of the origin of U HynniewTrep, Esther Syiem echoed the same idea by saying that the tale gives a Khasi person an identity more complete “than the one that history has bestowed upon him” (Syiem, “Orality Alive” 44).

Reclaiming identity alludes to claiming back history. The contrast between legends and history, oral and written, indigenous perspective from within and the perspective of the “shrewd historians” from the outside, which becomes a recurring theme in the poems by Ao, Syiem and Dai, implies the proclamation of identity against the imposed generalization by the popular discourse. Ao wrote:

Then came a tribe of strangers
Into our primordial territories
Armed with only a Book and
Promises of a land called Heaven

Declaring that our Trees and Mountains
Rocks and Rivers were no Gods

And that our songs and stories
Nothing but tedious primitive nonsense.

(Ao, Book of Songs,  2013, p. 297)

Similarly, in Mamang Dai:

The history of our race
begins with the place of stories.
We do not know if the language we speak
belongs to a written past.
Nothing is certain.

(Dai, “An Obscure Place” 2021, p. 85)

The juxtaposition between “a Book” and “songs and stories” in Ao’s poem or the contradistinction between “history” and “stories” in Dai’s poem indicate the poets’ intention of replacing one with the other, and thus reverse and subvert the process of the official historiography.

Nevertheless, orality in the poems by these three poets were not only mere references. The poets imbibe Ao, Khasi and Adi tales, myths, legends, shamanic chants and other oral expressions into the poetic form as well as the content. Dai wrote:

Remember
the river’s voice,
Where else could we
be born, where else
could we belong,
if not of memory
divining life and form
out of silence,
Water and mist,
the twin gods
water and mist
And the cloud woman
always calling
from the sanctuary
of the gorge…

(Dai, “Missing Link” 2011, p. 65)

Apart from recalling the Adi myth of twin gods, the poem imitates the short-paced free flowing speech of an invocation chant. The first line of each stanza of this poem repeats the word “remember”, which refers to the significance of memory in oral traditions. Mary Carruthers observed that “valorisation” of memory is a “hallmark of orality” (Carruthers, 1990, p. 12). The dynamics between memory and the act of remembering in oral societies has a compelling connection with knowledge and experience and often manifests itself through the repetitive use of composite formulas. The word “remember” does not only act as a mnemonic call to the self and the readers to be aware of one’s identity, but also resembles the formulaic structure of an oral composition. The use of formulaic structure can be seen in Ao’s “Stone-people from Lungterok” (Ngangom&Nongkynrih, 2009, 1), which follows the structure of an oral praise poem, where each stanza starts with the word “stone-people.” Similarly, Syiem also refers to bird-chant in her “Ka Sohlyngngem’s Dirge” and reproduce the effect of an oral repetition in the following lines: “woman without means/ has no right to love,/ no right to love/ woman without means,/ has no right to love,…” (Syiem, “Ka Sohlyngngem’s “Dirge”, 2021, p. 44).

Even in the content Dai, Ao and Syiem recall the mythical and animistic past of pre-Christian Northeast, the legendary tales, the pastoral romances. “Ka Sohlyngngem’s Dirge” talks about a popular Khasi tale of lovers turning into birds, “Stone-people from Lungterok” refers to the myth of Ao Naga origin, Dai’s poems have numerous references to different Adi myths and popular tales. Wong observed that “Mamang Dai’s nature poetry is recognisably animistic in its messages” (Wong 74). She also noted that “[t]he incantatory rhythms of Dai’s poetry suggest hybridization with the vernacular chants of the peoples of the eastern Himalayas” (Wong, 2013, 74). Myths in the poems of Dai, Ao or Syiem, are not invoked to make their poetry more exotic and thus add materials to the process of commercialization of Northeastern culture, rather myth functions in a more personal and communal level, it revises the communal ties and calls for a collective identity.

However, though all three poets are using orality as a tool to reclaim identity and resist the process of standardisation and commodification of Northeastern culture, the uniqueness and distinct nature of choosing their literary forms are very evident in their poems. They are very cautious about not echoing each other and falling into the same trap of subscribing to the process of homogenisation.

Scripting Orality

Can oral poems be written? Temsula Ao asked, “how have the literate, educated inheritors of such traditions dealt with their inheritance?” (Ao, “Writing Orality”, 2007, p. 100). To answer this question, we may cite the example of the Nigerian poet Niyi Osundare, one of the pioneers of the AlterNative Poetry Movement, who wanted to capture orality in its truest form and published poems along with audio CDs. To him “the word as print can no longer carry the full burden of my voice” (cited in Newell, 130). The Canadian author Thomas King can also be referred to in this context. King wrote short stories mimicking the sentence structure of recorded interview clips of the aboriginal people of Canada published by the ethnographers (see King, 2013). Both of the authors wrote in English, and tried to capture the essence of orality in a scripted language. These attempts, nevertheless, do not take the readers to the oral sources, rather it create a hybrid space, or “fusion of elements” as suggested by Ao (Ao, “Writing Orality”, 2007, p. 103), where the oral and the written interact. This interaction, she observed, “has helped such writers to move away from western, euro-centric models and has enabled them to create a totally new literature deeply immersed in traditional sensibilities but at the same time imbued with contemporary perceptions” (Ao, “Writing Orality”, 2007, p. 103). The poets are well aware of the fact that oral tradition, a tradition so deeply rooted in the culture it originated from, can hardly be taken into another language, without risking its social, political and cultural values it embodies. Whenever orality is scripted, it immediately loses its performatory aspects, collaborative and interpolative nature, improvisation, audience participation, impact on auditory perceptions and so on. Writing orality calls for an aporia.

John Miles Foley, while discussing oral poems, proposed a “less centralized, more openended” (Foley, 2004, p. 12) model which included “written oral poems.” Written oral poems, Foley argued, may seem “a contradiction in terms” but as important as other forms of orality. Being “topical and locally situated” these poems have “their language and style came from one world and their subjects from another” (Foley 26-27). This idea echoes with the notion of “secondary orality” as theorised by Walter J. Ong  (Ong, 2002, pp. 10-11). Though the northeastern poets are writing in English, their way of indigenising the language by incorporating Naga, Khasi and Adi words, the use and reinterpretation of myths and legends, the inclusion of oral formulaic structure in their poems, the influence of indigenous cultural and religious expressions locate them in the canon of “written oral poems.” Earlier it has been stated that Dai, Syiem and Ao actively participated in translations of different Adi, Khasi and Ao oral tales. These engagements with orality influence their writing to a great extent.  Misra wrote:

When Mamang Dai records the ancient legends of the Adis preserved in the collective memory of the people, she uses the English language with the lyrical softness of an Adi rhapsodist chanting his songs amidst the hidden mountains. Her rich and vibrant language may not be her mother tongue, but she has made it her own in the most convincing manner. (Misra, “Crossing Linguistics Boundaries”, 2021, p. 3653)

Mamang Dai’s attempt to make the language “her own”, indicates the reclamation of identity, which has become a negotiated space of cultural hybridity due to colonisation and the cultural imperialism propagated by the globalised market. Bhabha argued:

Terms of cultural engagement, whether antagonistic or affiliative, are produced performatively. The representation of difference must not be hastily read as the reflection of pre-given ethnic or cultural traits set in the fixed tablet of tradition. The social articulation of difference, from the minority perspective, is a complex, on-going negotiation that seeks to authorize cultural hybridities that emerge in moments of historical transformation. (Bhabha, 1994, p. 2)

In the context of cultural expressions of the Northeast, orality thus serves the dual purpose of commodifying the culture in a homogenous “fixed tablet of tradition”, while simultaneously engendering a non-stratified, dynamic, heterogeneous hybrid space. This ‘space’, as appropriated in the poems by Ao, Dai and Syiem, not only resists and problematises this process of turning the diversified oral traditions into a singular, monolithic and anonymous estimation but also reinstates the individual agencies of Northeastern communities and celebrates their cultural identity.

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.

Notes

[i] In this discussion, the notion of anonymity is not synonymous with non-identity. Rather, it is treated as a distinct ontological category which makes identity lose its specificity and definiteness and thus turns it into an obscure existence.

[ii] Moral described the achievements of Shillong Chamber Choir as a marriage between “the folk from the northeast” and “the classical traditions of pan Indian songs and lyrics from its national anthem.” She wrote: “As the crystal clear notes of the Khasi folksong spill into the silence of the country’s impressive halls and theatres, members of the SCC’s band in traditional clothing and jewellery, in their native kynjri ksiar and the regal dhara stand before a mesmerised metropolitan audience donning the material objects of the land they belong to while their music evokes the deep gorges and pristine valleys of the distant Khasi Hills in the country’s borderlands.” (Moral, 2021, 194-195) It is the showcasing of “deep gorges and pristine valleys” which led Hasan to opine that “(i)t… ultimately lapses into a clichéd representation of Khasi youth as Westernised and presents a highly simplistic depiction of political choice and empowerment.” (Hasan 146)

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Sarkar, Surajit. (2021). Introduction; Oral Traditions in Highland Asia: A View from Northeast India. In Surajit Sarkar and Nerupama Y. Modwel (Eds). Oral Traditions, Continuities and Transformations in Northeast India and Beyond. Routledge, pp. 1-12.

Sen, Soumen, and Desmond L. Kharmawphlang. (Eds). (2007). Introduction. In Orality and Beyond: A North-East Indian Perspective, Sahitya Akademi, pp. i-iv.

Shillong Chamber Choir. (2021). About Shillong Chamber Choir | Official Website, 2020, https://www.shillongchamberchoir.com/. Accessed 30 December.

Singh, Robin. (2017). Writers in Conversation. In Conversation with Mamang Dai Jaydeep Sarangi, Flinders University, August 2017, https://www.arsdcollege.ac.in/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/In_Conversation_with_Mamang_Dai.pdf. Accessed 30 December 2021.

Stets, Jan E., and Peter J. Burke. (2000). Identity Theory and Social Identity Theory. Social Psychology Quarterly, vol. 63, no. 3, pp. 224-237. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2695870. Accessed 16 December 2021.

Syiem, Esther. (2021). Ka Sohlyngngem’s “Dirge”. Indian Literature, vol. 54, no. 3 (257), 2010, pp. 43-44. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23349452. Accessed 15 December.

Syiem, Esther. (2016). Negotiating the Loss: Orality in the Indigenous Communities of North East India. India International Centre Quarterly, vol. 4, no. 1, pp. 80-89. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/26317400. Accessed 15 December 2021.

Syiem, Esther. (2007). Orality Alive: Recapturing the Tale. Orality and Beyond: A North-East Indian Perspective, edited by Soumen Sen and Desmond L. Kharmawphlang, Sahitya Akademi, pp. 38-50.

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1Gourab Chatterjee is an assistant professor in School of Languages, KIIT, Deemed to be University who did his PhD in Arts from the Department of Comparative Literature, Jadavpur University. His research interests include Comparative Literature, African Literature, Orality, Reception Theory and so on.

2Debanjali Roy is working as an Assistant Professor in the School of Languages, KIIT Deemed to be University. She is pursuing her Ph.D. in the Department of English, University of Calcutta. Her research interests include Sociolinguistics and English Language Teaching, Gender Studies, Modern Art and Literature and Popular Literature

3Tanmoy Putatunda is working as an Assistant Professor in the School of Languages, KIIT Deemed to be University. He is also pursuing his Ph.D. in the Department of English, Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan. His research interests include Urban Studies, Representation of City in Literature, Indian Literature in English, Popular Literature, Culture Studies, Postmodern and Postcolonial Literature.

“Transgenerational Transmission of Chosen Trauma”: Locating Micro-Experiences in Macro-Historical Eventsand the Quest for Cultural and National Identity in Temsula Ao’s These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone

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Suganya V.1 & Dr Padmanabhan B.2

1Phd Research Scholar, Department of English & Foreign Languages, Bharathiar University, Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, India. E-mail: suganya.efl@buc.edu.in, Orcid Id: https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0989-2653

2Assistant Professor, Department of English & Foreign Languages, Bharathiar University, Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, India. E-mail: padmanabhan@buc.edu.in, Orcid Id: https://orcid.org/0000-0001-7395-126X

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022. Pages 1-11. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne28

First published: June 26, 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

Micro experiences of people immensely influence their personal narratives and play an undeniable role in reflecting the effects of macro-historical events. The narration of individual experiences contributes to the transgenerational transmission of historical memory and its collective experiences to posterity. Interweaving the micro experiences with macro-historical events promotes the construction of ethnic, national and cultural identities. Such individualistic narratives help in the construction of both the personal and cultural self for the macro-historical formation. This paper aims to interpret the select short stories from Temsula Ao’s These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone for manifesting transgenerational transmission of the memories of Naga insurgency incidents and the collective traumatic experiences through the micro experiences of the characters. The storytellers in the select stories such as “The Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” situate themselves as historical subjects to relay the stories of protracted armed conflicts, political instability, and civilian causalities that occurred in the Indian state Nagaland during the years of insurgency. Hence, through careful analysis, this paper provides the relevance of transgenerational transmission of chosen trauma and the role of storytelling technique to preserve and transfer the endurance of the past through narratives.

Keywords: transgenerational memory, chosen trauma, Naga identity, oral narratives, Nagaland

I hear the land cry,

Over and over again

‘Let all the dead awaken

And teach the living

How not to die’

Temsula Ao

  1. Introduction

This paper aims to demonstrate the significance of storytelling for the transgenerational transmission of Naga insurgency memories as chosen trauma for establishing Naga identity as rendered in “Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” from These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone. It also highlights the necessity of transferring the Naga cultural history to young generations and the role of personal experiences in reflecting the collective sufferings. Previous studies focused more on sexual violence against women during times of conflict, patriarchal biases and how the traditionally established patriarchal structure silences the agony of women in the Naga community, as expressed in These Hills Called Home (Arora 2019; Pou 2020a; Maut 2020). Besides, few studies have concentrated on the portrayal of ethnic and broken identities, postcolonial identity, revival of lost identity, the theme of insurgency and the role of literature in carrying the Naga history in These Hills Called Home (Longkumer 2014; Kamal 2019; Gogoi 2019; Borkotoki 2014). Therefore, this study critically analyses the characters as historical subjects and the individual’s role in transmitting the historical truth to posterity through the storytelling tradition of Naga culture.

The Naga people in north-eastern India encountered multiple perilous circumstances and precarious living conditions during the ruthless implementation of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act in 1958. Since their protest for Naga national identity, they experienced diverse security threats, including sexual harassment, civil causalities, kidnapping, violence, and demolition of public and private assets. The contribution of North-eastern literature is significantly influential in communicating collective, cultural and individual tribulation and representing tribal cultural values, history, beliefs and tradition. Temsula Ao, in her narratives in These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone, instils the micro-experiences of Naga people in the characters to reverberate the macro-historical realities of Nagaland. She highlights the wrath and inefficiency of the armed forces in distinguishing the insurgents from the common people and their punitive expedition to punish innocent people for helping underground leaders. As a result, Ao (2006) once stated that the Naga people are “restricted from their routine activities, demonstrating to them that the ‘freedom’ they enjoyed could so easily be robbed at gun point by the ‘invading’ army” (p. 11). She continues to situate her characters as historical subjects and invests the themes of violence, memory, trauma, vehemence, vulnerability, homeland, and history in the narrative to promote the transgenerational transmission of Naga culture and the traumatic experiences of insurgency to the posterity. The stories in the book are intertwined with history, ethnic elements and fiction in order to reflect cultural authenticity and retain and render the richness of storytelling technique. By implementing oral aspects in the narrative structure, Ao engenders cultural rebirth and imparts new status to her community and the woman folklore. She also explains that during troubled times, “there are no winners, only victims and the result can be measured only in human terms” (2006, p. x). “The Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” are the two redolent stories, like other stories in These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone, entrenched with the facets of orature which stir cultural consciousness and further exude civil unrest, indignation, exploitation of power, human rights violations, cultural and historical ignorance of younger generations in the community.

  1. The Story of Pain

“An Old Man Remembers” is a poignant story about the jungle life of Sashi and his friend Imli. Sashi recounts the violations of human rights that happened during the Naga insurgency to his grandson Mao. Sashi debilitates through time, and his memory is fraught with the experiences of his early years. He prefers to live alone after his wife’s death and conceals his darkest life history in the jungle with his friend Imli from his family members. Therefore Sashi’s remembrance of the past is a solitary activity.  As a result of withholding the past and resistance to sharing the truth behind the history, Sashi’s grandson Mao unknowingly questions him like a murderer:

“…‘Grandfather, is it true that you and grandfather Imli killed many people when you were in the jungle? Old man Sashi was completely taken aback by the question”. (Ao, 2006, p. 92)

Sashi and Imli were the Naga freedom fighters who fought to preserve their people’s lives during the troubled times of ethnic violence. Through his question, Mao marks them as killers instead of freedom fighters because Sashi has never attempted to share his past life. Thus, Sashi understands the validity of Imli’s words that the inevitable responsibility of older generations is to transfer the history and their experiences to the younger generations through his grandson’s question. Ao posits through her narrative that the memories of younger people will be the next historical and cultural agents obliging to preserve and transfer the cruelty endured by their ancestors to attain cultural individuality and political freedom in the homeland: “Imli had often told him that the young had the right to know about the people’s history and that they should not grown up ignorant about the unspeakable atrocities that they, the older generation had witnessed”. (Ao, 2006, p. 93)

Sashi believes that the past would always be pointless to the youngsters of his community, and it is already dead. Now, he regrets it because “…his grandson was hurling a question at him from the other side of history” (Ao 2006, p. 93). He, thereby, recognises the responsibility of telling and imparting the past experiences and endurance to Mao. Eventually, he musters up his courage and energy to relay the historical truth to his grandson Mao who had misunderstood his own community’s history. The act of Sashi implies that if people fail to pass on history, the future may misrepresent or alter the truth of a historical event. So, history is created not to die but to traverse through generations and to reverberate its role in their collective identity because “When one’s history is abolished, one’s identity ceases to exist as well” (Laub 67). Thus, Sashi gives re-birth to his dead past experiences. The question of Mao acts as a motivation for Sashi to unload his traumatic experiences that happened during the struggle for Naga sovereignty with underground groups through remembering: “I should tell you these stories because only then will young people like you understand what has wounded our souls” (Ao 98).

Sashi realizes the necessity of sharing the historical moments with young people like Mao and prepares himself to relive the intense pain of physical and emotional suffering experienced during the insurgency. Temsula Ao implies through her narrative that Naga history does not reflect the regular day-to-day life incidents; it unfolds the incidents containing solid emotions, feelings and struggles, and it is the crucial source for who they are as a group. Therefore, history should not be a static memory; it should be an active element to impart cultural and human values to own people. Sashi conveys to his grandson that Imli, and he witnessed the chaotic condition of people in their village at their young age. They have witnessed the cruel incident of Imli’s father being caught up by the army and beaten to death. At that time, they were children and defenceless; hence they had to leave Imli’s father to the mercy of God in order to protect themselves from the soldiers. Sashi relays the incident to Mao with great agony and feels guilty.

“It was the sentry and some soldiers wearing heavy boots and helmets were beating him up…I realized why Imli was behaving in this manner: the inert man on the ground was his father … Imli began to whimper like a hurt animal” (Ao 99).

Sashi and Imli were held as hostages by the insurgent groups for several months while attempting to escape from the Armed Forces. And then the groups recruited them to revolt against the Indian army. The violent intervention of the Armed Forces forced Sashi and Imli to enroll themselves in underground activities such as spying, collecting food and other essentials from the village people. They are also involved in combats to protect the village people, “And do you know? We were not yet sixteen when we became such ruthless killers” (Ao, 2006, p. 108).

The protracted conflict between armed personnel and underground Naga soldiers resulted in severe economic consequences and civil casualties. The Naga people were subjected to terrible experiences and forced to find shelter in the jungle in order to save the lives of their families. The army exploited their special powers by committing physical violence, plundering the villages, uninformed raids and rape (Arora 2019; Srikanth and Thomas 2005). Therefore, young people like Imli and Sashi began to revolt against the army. They were the victims-turned insurgents who worked for the underground Naga groups to protect their people. American Psychiatric Association in a report state that “a traumatic event is one in which an individual experiences, witnesses, or learns that a close associate has experienced an event that involves actual or threatened death or serious injury or other threat to one’s physical integrity” (2000, p. 463).

Witnessing the distressing event of Imli’s father being brutally attacked evoked feelings of fear and helplessness, marking it as a traumatic experience for them and aroused hostility towards the Indian army. Moreover, the inability to protect Imli’s father from the violators created a deep feeling of guilt. Herman (2015) explains that “feelings of guilt are especially severe when the survivor has been a witness to the suffering or death of other people. To be spared oneself, in the knowledge that others have meta worse fate, creates a severe burden of conscience” (54). Similarly, Sashi has been living with immense guilt for his inability to protect the older adult, Imli’s father. Yoder (2015) elucidates that trauma cannot be limited to the individual; it can be exposed at the collective and cultural levels. Sashi’s encounter with devastating incidents during his young age is not only the representative of the individual psyche but also the representative of collective Naga psyche and Naga historical moments. K B Veio Pou (2018) claims,

“Those were the days when villages in remote parts pof Naga areas bre the burnt of the onslaught of the Indian soldiers who would mercilessly lash out at the innocent Naga villagers to avenge the humiliation suffered at the hands of the Naga underground”. (“Charting a Space of Their Own”, para. 38)

The eruption of conflict between the Indian army and the insurgents forced people to live in fear and led to protracted internal displacement. The unanticipated spate of random bombing, gunshots, rapes and killings forced them to move from their villages and live in dark jungles. Sashi remembers that after the entry of the Indian army into his village, people left the place and shifted to the safe places in the wilderness. The village has been demolished and stands as a symbol of the death and suffering of the Naga people.  Ao narrates the cruel sufferings of the people as,

…youth was a seemingly endless cycle of beatings, rapes, burning of villages and grain-filled barns. The forced labour, the grouping of villages and running form one hideout to another in the deep jungles to escape the pursuing soldiers, turned young boys into men who survived to fight these forces, many losing lives in the process and many becoming ruthless killers themselves. (Ao, 2006, p. 93)

In the Guideline Principles on Internal displacement, the Office of the High Commissioner for the Human Rights (OHCHR) explains the factors causing displacement as,

People forced to flee or leave their homes – particularly in situations of armed conflict – are generally subject to heightened vulnerability in a number of areas… They also remain at high risk of physical attack, sexual assault and abduction, and frequently are deprived of adequate shelter, food and health services.

The people of Sashi’s village abandoned the place due to the high risk of physical violence, abduction, uninformed raids, forced labour and humiliation. Many young people sacrificed their lives for the well-being of their community and involved in underground activities against the armed forces. It takes years to restore normalcy in their homeland. In the present day, Mao, Sashi’s grandson, lives a comfortable life with adequate essentials owing to the sacrifice of many people like Imli and Sashi.

Human memory is very much vulnerable and can corrupt an individual’s past experiences with time. Instead of restoring accurate information, it may reconstruct and provide a summary of the events. Several studies have discovered that human memory involves constructive processes and relays the interpretation of the past (Bartlett 1932; Conway and Pleydell 2005; Nelson 1993). However, Kolk and Hart state that: “some memories are fixed in the mind and are not altered by the passage of time, or the intervention of subsequent experience”.  (1995, p. 172)

Thus, Sashi remembers the past vividly even in his old age, and he can still recollect and reflect on the social condition of people during the period of insurgency. Manzanero and Recio (2012) state that remembering traumatic experiences may differ from person to person. Some can vividly recall past traumatic situations, and some remember their past in a fragmented manner. Therefore, Sashi’s remembrance of the past indicates that the emotionally charged events are retrievable because he continuously recalls through nightmares and remembers the people associated with the event. However, his memories of the past negatively influence and make a high emotional impact on Sashi’s cognitive processes.

After all these years, he can remember and narrate the incidents in elaborative and evocative ways, though he tries to forget them. Remembering and re-telling the past are highly effective methods for alleviating the agony of the past (Ringel and Brandell, 2011). But Sashi, in “An Old Man Remembers,” believed that “…the bad things will go away if one does not talk about them” (Ao, 2006, p. 93), and thereby his pain is excruciating and immutable. If the victims of war, violence, and abuse cannot cope with traumatic situations, they may undergo severe cognitive effects that affect their day-to-day lives. The inability to handle the trauma engenders relentless post-traumatic reactions, thereby the memories of them continue to be active and perturb the individuals’ consciousness in various forms, including flashbacks, hallucination, avoidance, insomnia and nightmares (Horawitz 1993; Erikson 1995; Manzanero and Recio 2012). In “An Old Man Remembers,” Sashi could not recover from the physical and psychological wounds inflicted on him and his people. The long-term remembrance of traumatic experiences and his failure to handle the trauma submerged for years disturbed his psychosocial well being. Ao portrays the condition as,

Though he was making a valiant effort to lead a normal life as a common villager, he could not hide the inner turmoil from his wife who would often shake him awake when he groaned and moaned and sometimes even shrieked in his sleep. Many times he would wake up crying and screaming because of his bad dreams… (Ao, 2006, p. 94)

Even after the declaration of the ceasefire, Sashi struggles to return to normality like other people. Unconsciously, he cries and mourns by thinking about the past, which results in nightmares. Throughout his life, Sashi suffers from psychological trauma and has been mourning the past privately. Herman (2015) states “Remembering and telling the truth of terrible events are prerequisites both for the restoration of the social order and for the healing of individual victims”. (1) Sashi’s attempts to narrate his past involve a robust meaning-making process and mitigate the prolonged grief. By recounting his life history to Mao, Sashi looks back and relives past experiences to locate his micro life history in the macro Naga cultural history. His life history is not an individual’s experience; it is the experience of the whole of Nagaland.

  1. Women – The Least Weapon

During times of conflict, women remain the most vulnerable and defenceless. The conflicting groups target women as their least weapon to defile the nobility of a community because women are considered innocent, unarmed and fragile. Physical abuses and exploitations affect them psychologically. Naga women are also not exempted from the experiences of the cruelty of conflicts and war.  Arora (2019) mentions,

Physical violence, forced arrest, custodial rape, torture and sexual assault become a way of official functioning in states under AFSPA. In such a situation, women become vulnerable targets of state sponsored violence. Their bodies are sexually assaulted and marked by the terminology of violence, shame and honor. (p. 4)

“The Last Song” is the heart-wrenching story of Abenyo and her mother Libeni, who are physically maimed during turbulent years. The story renders the predicament of women in the hands of marauding soldiers who have sexually assaulted the mother and daughter as a punishment for paying taxes to the insurgents. Ao brings life to the unheard voices through her narrative.

“….even though by the time of the fourth one mounted, the woman was already dead. Apenyo, though terribly bruised and dazed by what was happening to her was still alive…there were witnesses to their despicable act, turned to his soldiers and ordered them to open fire on the people who were now lifting up the bodies of the two women. (A0, 2006, p. 28,29)

The abrupt intrusion of soldiers collapses the villagers during the ceremony of opening a new church building. Men are kicked out and physically assaulted by the soldiers. Apenyo and her mother Libeni have become prey to the cold-hearted soldiers. “During those days, the villages were often burned down, their people tortured and women sexually harassed” (Pou, 2018b). Another significant event that manifests the superficial beliefs of the community is that their own people disavow burying the inert bodies of Apenyo and Libeni in their graveyard. Because the people believe that, “the deaths of these unfortunate people were considered to be from unnatural causes and according to tradition they could not be buried in the village graveyard”. (Ao, 2006, p. 30) Apenyo was praised as the nightingale of their village, and she brought tranquillity to their soul through her melodious singing. However, because of the intense fear about the armed personnel, the villagers could not protect the victims. Their profound suffering, during the darkest history of the village, was not acknowledged faithfully; instead, the villagers buried their maimed bodies outside the graveyard and “no headstones would be erected for any of them” (Ao, 2006, p. 31). Ao represents that the old beliefs and traditions are still active, even though they follow Christianity. People believed that what happened to Apenyo and her mother was a humiliation to the entire Naga community. The villagers wanted to remove the incidents from the history of their village to preserve their community and cultural dignity. Pou (2018) states,

“Sexual violence against women in war and conflict has been seen as one of the biggest crimes against humanity. It is not just a humiliation of the community but violates an individual’s rights to live with dignity. Yet, time and again, “rape” has been used a weapon in war”.

Therefore, Apenyo and Lebini are dishonoured by their own people. Herman (2015) states,

“When the cry is not answered, the sense of basic trust is shattered. Traumatized people feel utterly abandoned, utterly alone, cast out of the human and divine systems of care and protection that sustain life”. (p. 52)

The real recognition for their sufferings and pain lies in acknowledging their agony as collective suffering and not as individual victims of an unfortunate event. The anguish of the two women was not treated as collective trauma because the villagers failed to acknowledge their pain as part of the Naga history. The experiences of men, such as physical attacks and forced labour, were portrayed in history as heroic deeds, but women’s experiences were not properly registered in history because they believed that such incidents bring humiliation to their community. Ao brings to light the patriarchal structure of Naga society which treats women with much discrimination and inequality. She voices to the voiceless

An old woman narrates the story of Apenyo and Lebini to the younger generation calls the day the Black Sunday of the village: “She tells them that youngsters of today have forgotten how to listen to the voice of the earth and wind” (Ao, 2006, p. 32). The author implies that the new younger generation is oblivious to their own historical incidents. They do not lend their ears to recognise and experience past incidents and historical truth. The older woman influences young people through the storytelling technique by creating awareness about the past. The older woman and her interest in telling and retelling the experiences of Apenyo and Lebini acknowledge the struggles of women during the armed conflict.

  1. Storytelling and Transgenerational Memory

“The history of the Nagas has turned into folklore, passed down from generation to generation through the oral tradition of storytelling.” (Gupta 2020)

The storytellers in “Last Song” and “An Old Man Remember” situate their memory in historical and cultural contexts to understand the past, experienced and witnessed by the older generations. During storytelling, “Individuals are active agents taking actions and engaging in interactions with others in their cultural environment”. (Alea & Wang, 2015, p. 5)

They intend to impart unfortunate incidents and cultural significance that persuade the listener to establish a bond with their history and cultural values. They instil the historical and cultural meaning of their past experiences and the salient elements of remembering and preserving cultural continuity. Through her narrative structure, Ao insists that storytelling is an authentic prerequisite and an inevitable medium; thereby, the younger generation does not rely on outside sources that may misrepresent their history. Temsula Ao describes,

“The inheritors of such a history have a tremendous responsibility to sift through the collective experience and make sense of the impact left the by the struggle on their lives” (2006, p. x).

“All human cultures have narratives…that encode shared beliefs from which they derive coherence and group cohesiveness that has been both the glory and the bane of human existence throughout its history.” (Nelson, 2003, p.127)

The narratives of “Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” encode and decode the shared experiences of people “whose pain has so far gone unmentioned and unacknowledged” (A0, 2006). Through storytelling, the Naga historical truth and cultural individuality traverse transgenerational people and establish the necessity to preserve the past for determining the cultural and political identity. Hence, by the act of storytelling, the individual memory turns into transgenerational memory for the travel of past to future generations.

  1. Chosen Trauma and Group Identity

Volkan’s (2001) proposal of ‘chosen trauma’ helps readers to understand the insurgency trauma as the crucial component of Naga identity.

“… the large group suffered loss and/or experienced helplessness, shame and humiliation in a conflict with another large group. The transgenerational transmission of such a shared traumatic event is linked to the past generation’s inability to mourn losses of people, land or prestige, and indicates the large group’s failure to reverse narcisstic injury and humiliation inflicted by another large group, usually a neighbor, but in some cases, between ethnic or religious groups within the same country.” (Volkan 2001, p. 87)

The subjective experiences of thousands of people in Nagaland are interconnected by the protracted armed conflict and human rights violations. The members of the Naga group have begun to share their memory “to maintain, protect and repair their group identity” (Volkan, 2001, p. 79). By representing Naga insurgency incidents as chosen trauma, they reflect the collective suffering of ancestors during the armed conflict. The oral tradition of storytelling helps significantly to represent the chosen trauma of Naga community “in order to support the group’s threatened identity” (Volkan, 2001, p. 79)

  1. Conclusion

 The paper has identified the elements of oral narratives and the lived experiences of Naga people in the short stories “Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” of These Hills Called Home: Stories from a War Zone by Temsula Ao, that contribute to the transgenerational transmission of chosen trauma for the construction of collective identity of Naga people. The select stories unveil the tropes such as protracted armed conflict, violations of human rights, trauma, memory, internal displacement, feelings of guilt, sexual assault and superficial belief system prevailed in the Naga society. The story of Sashi in “An Old Man Remembers” asserts the faith that sharing traumatic experiences with others can alleviate the intensity of pain. The interpretation of select stories in this paper reveals that narrating the ethno-cultural experiences to young people is significant to preserve and pass on the historical truths in order to avoid the misrepresentation of the past. Accordingly, Temsula Ao states that through the storytelling tradition, Naga people communicate the troubled times of ethnic violence and endurance among the community and beyond in order to define their individuality. Therefore, storytelling functions as cultural memory to keep the past as present and creates a bridge to link the past with the future. Ao locates the characters Sashi, Apenyo and Libeni as historical figures in the narrative structure to represent the collective sufferings of the Naga people during the insurgency through personal narration. Thus, an individual’s memory turns into transgenerational memory through the commencement of sharing. The portrayal of the troubled years of Nagaland manifests the disruption of the cultural patterns of Naga people and its significance in forging the Naga identity. In this regard, Temsula Ao, through her writing, offers a cultural and historical recreation to the events which are unacknowledged and never mentioned in mainstream literature and history for a prolonged period of time. To conclude, the micro experiences of the characters in the stories “Last Song” and “An Old Man Remembers” reverberate the macro-historical realities of Naga people.

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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Suganya V. is a PhD Scholar in the Department of English & Foreign Languages, Bharathiar University, Coimbatore. She currently works on her thesis entitled “Narratives of Memory, Trauma, and Resilience: Contextualising the Facets of Historical Revisionism and Identity Reconstruction in the Select Contemporary Irish Novels”.

Dr. Padmanabhan B. is working as Assistant Professor in the Department of English and Foreign Languages, Bharathiar University, Coimbatore. He is teaching post graduate students and guiding research scholars.  He is pursuing research in the fields of cognitive approaches to literature, memory studies and digital humanities.

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

Anderson, B. (1986). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso

Ahanthem, C. (2019). Review of The Many That I Am. Books and Conversations. Retrieved December 1, 2021, from booksandconversations.wordpress.com.

Bhabha, H.K. (1990). Dissemination: Time, Narrative and the Margins of the Modern Nation. H.K. Bhabha (Ed.). Nation and Narration. (pp. 291-322). London: Routledge

Chatterjee, P. (1986). The Nationalist Resolution of the Women’s Question. K. Sangari and S. Vaid. (Eds.). Recasting Women: Essays in Colonial History. (pp 233-53). New Delhi, India: Kali for Women.

Deb, S. (2003). The Point of Return. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers.

Fludernik, M. (2007). Identity/alterity. D. Herman (Ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Narrative. (pp. 260-73). Cambridge: Cambridge UP.

Hasan, A. (2007). Lunatic in My Head. New Delhi, India: Penguin Books.

Huddart, D. (2007). Homi K. Bhabha. Routledge Critical Thinkers Series. London: Routledge.

Jayaram, N. (2012). Identity, Community, and Conflict: A Survey of Issues and Analyses. Economic and Political Weekly, 47(38), 44–61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41720163

Kalita, N. (2011). Resolving Ethnic Conflict in Northeast India. Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 72, 1354–1367. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44145746

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.

Mishra, K.N. (2021). Review of The Point of Return. India Education Diary. Retrieved December 21, 2021, from indiaeducationdiary.in.

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

Mukherjee, M. (1992). Narrating a Nation. Indian Literature, 35(4 (150)), 138–149. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23337240

Munasinghe, V. (2005). Narrating a Nation through Mixed Bloods. Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice, 49(2), 155–163. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23178877

Oinam, B. (2008). State of the States: Mapping India’s Northeast. East-West Center. http://www.jstor.org/stable/resrep06484

Rahman, A. (2008). Review of Lunatic in My Head. Hindustan Times. Retrieved November 27, 2021, from hindustantimes.com.

Roychowdhury, A. (2021). How the many imaginary lines drawn by the British continue to generate and impact conflicts in the Northeast. The Indian Express. Retrieved January 21, 2022, from indianexpress.com.

Silva, N. (2004). The Gendered Nation: Contemporary Writings from South Asia. New Delhi, India: Sage Publications.

Singh, A. (2019). Review of Lunatic in My Head. The Seer. Retrieved November 28, 2021, from theseer.in.

Walby, S. (1996). Woman and Nation. G. Balakrishnan (Ed.). Mapping the Nation. (pp. 235-54). London, UK: Verso.

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.

References

Barman, Prsaun,( Ed).( 2013) Deshbhag, Deshtyag: PrasangaUttarpurboBharat.Vicky    Publishers.

Baruah, Sanjib. (2015).Partition and the politics of citizenship in Assam. In Urvashi Butali  (Ed.)    Partition: The Long Shadow. Penguin Publications.

Bonnett, Alastair. (2015 ).The Geography of Nostalgia: Global and Local Perspectives on        Modernity and Loss. Routledge.

Boym, Svetlana. (2001). The Future of Nostalgia. Basic Books.

Chaudhuri,Amit. (1997). Partition as exile. Index on Censorship, 26(6),92-96.

Daiya Kavita. (2008). Violent Belongings: Partition, Gender and National Culture in Postcolonial India. Temple University Press.

Dasgupta Anindita. (2014). Remembering Sylhet: Hindu Muslim voices from a nearly forgotten story of India’s Partition. Manohar

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

Dutta Binayak. (2019). Lest We Forget: The Many Partitions and its Legacies in Northeast India Partition Studies Quarterly.

Farrar, Margaret. (2011). Amnesia, Nostalgia, and the Politics of Place Memory. Political Research Quarterly,64 ( 4),723-735.

Feldman, Shelley. (2003). Bengali State and Nation Making: Partition and Displacement Revisited. International Social Science Journal, 55(175) 111-121.https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/1468-2451.5501019_10

Gera Roy, Anjali. (2020). Memories and Postmemories of the Partition of India. Routledge.

Gilmartin, David. (1998). Partition, Pakistan and South Asian History: In Search of a Narrative. The Journal of Asian Studies, 57 ( 4),1068-1095.

Hossain, Ashfaque. (2013). The Making and Unmaking of Assam-Bengal Borders and the Sylhet Referendum. Modern Asian Studies,47(1),250-287.1017/S0026749X1200056X.

Jalil Rakshinda, Saint Tarun K, Sengupta Desbjani (Eds.). (2019). Looking Back : The 1947 Partition of India, 70 Years On. Orient Blackswan.

Kabir, Ananya Jahanara. (2013). Partitions’s Post-Amnesias. Women Unlimited.

Larsen Svend Erik. (2016).Memory,Migration and Literature. European Review, 24(4), 509-22. https://doi-org.ezproxy.library.qmul.ac.uk/10.1017/S1062798716000053.

Misra, Udayon. (2000). The Periphery Strikes Back. Indian Institute of Advanced Studies

Pandey, Gyanendra. (2004). Remembering Partition. Cambridge University Press.

Ricoeur,Paul. 2006. Memory History Forgetting Translated by Kathleen Blamey and David Pellauer. University of Chicago Press

Said, Edward. (2000). Invention, Memory, and Place. Critical Inquiry 26(2), 175-192.

Saint,Tarun K. (2010). Witnessing Partition: Memory, History, Fiction. Routledge.

Segal, Lore. (1998). Problems of Imagining the Past. In BerelLang(Ed.) Writing and the Holocaust. Holmes &Meier,58-65.

Sengupta, Debjani. (2016).ThePartition of Bengal: Fragile Borders and New Identities. Cambridge University Press.

Sontag, Susan. (2003). Regarding the Pain of Others. Picador.

Turner, Bryan S. (1987). A Note on Nostalgia. Theory Culture and Society 4(1), 147-156.

Williams, Raymond. (1985). The Country and the City. Hogarth Press

Wilson Elizabeth. (1997). Looking Backward, Nostalgia and the City. In Sallie Westwood & John Williams (Eds.) Imagining Cities: Scripts, Signs, Memory. Routledge

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Ecofeminist Consciousness in Select Folktales from Northeast India

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Pronami Bhattacharyya
Royal Global University, Guwahati, Assam. ORCID: 0000-0002-2249-8212. Email: pronami.bhattacharyya@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages: 1-12. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne20

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

Radical green theory proclaims that the origins of environmental catastrophe lie in the anthropocentrism of modern capitalism. This necessitates the formation of healthier societies wherein humans perceive their selves ‘in relation’ to nature. The theory of deep ecology (Naess, 1972) calls for reinforcing our sense of empathy with all life forms and brings about the philosophy of “Gaia” (James Lovelock, 1979). This idea of Earth as a living entity can also be found in The Atharva Veda, ancient Indian Vedic text (10th c. BCE) that perceives nature as ‘earth-spirit’ or a living organism. The theory of ecofeminism advocates the cessation of all kinds of coercion. In this Karen Warren (Ecofeminist Philosophy 2000), Mary Vidya Porselvi (Nature, Culture and Gender, 2016) are among the key figures to have given a new direction to the tenets of ecofeminism. Notably, folk ontology provides templates for living well based on reverence, reciprocity and responsibility which are close to ecofeminist ideologies. Through select folktales from Chandrica Barua’s Stories by the Fire on a Winter Evening (2020), Pallabi Baruas Grandmas Tales. (in translation (2011), Fresh Fictions: Folk Tales, Plays, Novellas From the Northeast by Katha(2005) and Fungari Singbul (in translation) (2012), and Funga Wari, Vol. 3 (in translation) (1999), K.U. Rafy’s Folk-Tales of the Khasis (2011), and D.K. Tyagi’s Tribal Folktales of Tripura (2020) this paper attempts to examine the legends of the (silenced) women and their relationship with nature that might offer possible solutions to a sustainable and peaceful life while propagating ecological spiritualism.

Keywords: Ecofeminism, Gaia, Folktales, Northeast Literature

Introduction

…the type of interspecies and ecological awareness that is evident within traditional and indigenous life-ways was normal before the rise of the west, and a functional and reverent way of living respectfully in place. (Sepie, 2017, p. 12)

In 2000, Paul Crutzen affirmed that currently we are in the age of the ‘Anthropocene’, an age of unprecedented human impact on earth’s ecosystem. In the race to ‘progress’, humans have almost obliterated the connection and semblance with the non-human world. This paper attempts to trace the roots of ecofeminism in the folk ontology of select folktales from Northeast India that could pose a viable solution to the current quandary that mankind is in. To this end, the chapter analyzes the folktales from the lens of ecofeminist theory/ideas as postulated by Goethe (1797), Paulo Freire’s (1972), Lovelock, James. (1979), Greta Garrd (1993), M. Mellor (1996), A.K. Ramanujan (1997), Karren J Warren (2000), Arnaes Ness (2005) and Mary Vidya Porselvi (2011).

In Facing Gaia (2013) Bruno Latour contends that cognizance of the Anthropocene writes off the modern theory of the infinite universe, pulling us back to the idea of a provincial, restricted, and fatigued earth. Around 10,000 years ago humans began tilling the land and set on the journey of ‘civilization and progress’. Post Industrial Revolution (the 1800s) there has been a manifold intensification of the negative human imprint on the earth. Hence, ‘mankind’ with its power-based association with the pastoral landscape, identifies the latter as ‘out there, to be used/exploited to satiate its own inexhaustible capitalist agenda.

This threat of the swelling ‘ecological imperialism’ was addressed by Goethe (1797) way back in the 18th century, where he deliberated on how the plenteous materiality of the ideal pastoral hid the threat of the imminent modernity of capitalism. The existing global crisis is not resultant of the ways in which ecosystems function, but because of the ways of conduct of our ethical systems. As C. Tan (2020) opines:

Salvation from this order of oppression will and must come through the resistance of women. Women are the ones who must organize and engage in action so as to make a difference and gradually alter the system which has been imposed on people and often claimed to be pertaining to the natural order. (p. 633)

The assertion of the Green theorists that anthropocentrism is the crux of the degradation of environment and human-nature cohesiveness, compels us to look for prototypes of healthier societies that existed prior to the commencement of humankind’s “progress”. In the Indian context, the idea of the earth as a single-organic-living-spirit can be traced back to The Atharva Veda (10th c. BCE). It promotes the sense of human identification with all life forms, thereby almost bringing about the philosophy of “Gaia” (Lovelock, 1979). Drawing on indigenous sources of knowledge, and valuing people, women and the non-human world alike, it is what ecofeminist Karren J. Warren (2000) claims—all connected. Hence, exploitation of any component of the structure renders the entire system ruptured. Greta Gaard (1993) rightly opines that “ecofeminism’s basic premise is that the ideology which authorizes oppressions such as those based on race, class, gender, sexuality, physical abilities, and species is the same ideology which sanctions the oppression of nature” (p. 1). Resonating the philosophy of deep ecology, ecofeminism accentuates “principles of diversity and of symbiosis” which is vital as “diversity enhances the potentialities of survival, the chances of new modes of life, the richness of forms” (Naess, 2005, p. 2).

As early as 1854, Henry David Thoreau illustrates an ideal living condition by renouncing modern life and renewing the self by retreating into nature. Suresh Frederick (2012) calls this an exemplification of an unadulterated ecology “in which plants, animals, birds and human beings live in such harmony that none dominates or destroys the other” (p. 147). Broadening on this framework, Daniel Christian Wahl (2016) writes:

What we are actually trying to sustain is the underlying pattern of health, resilience and adaptability that maintain the planet in a condition where life as a whole can flourish. Design for sustainability is, ultimately, design for human and planetary health (p. 43).

This serves as a worthy utilitarian reason for looking into how traditional communities have lived while propagating eco-spiritual contemplation on nature, and utilitarian principles that are reciprocal. Thus, ecofeminism is instrumental in synthesizing the human with the non-human world while contending that environmental issues are intimately connected with women’s experience/s. It argues that “the battle for ecological survival is intrinsically intertwined with the struggles for women’s liberation and other forms of social justice” (Buell, 2011, p.424). Greta Gaard and Patrick D. Murphy (1998) further illustrates the interweaving of these factors as an intersection of class “exploitation, racism, colonialism, and neocolonialism” (p.3). In matters of ecofeminism in ‘Third world’ countries, Warren (2000) specifically argues that “women are more dependent than men on tree and forest products” (p.5). She alludes to the archetypal case of ‘Chipko Movement’ from India, and says that it is:

…ostensibly about saving trees, especially indigenous forests. But it is also about important women-nature connections: trees and forests are inextricably connected to rural and household economies governed by women, especially in Third World countries, so tree shortages are about women, too. (p.5)

The act of “hugging the trees” mirrors a deep association and interdependence of the human and non-human world. She also cites the case of Sierra Leone: “Women in a Sierra Leone village were able to identify thirty one products from nearby bushes and trees, whereas men could identify only eight” (p.6).

This shows not just a reciprocation of benefits, but almost akin to Paulo Freire’s (1972) idea of ‘conscientizacao’— harmonized consciousness, sense, knowledge, and feeling. Ecofeminism encompasses this standpoint as “an interconnected sense of self is more common in women” (Gaard, 1993, p.2). It is worth discerning that “before patriarchal domination of human societies, woman-centred societies existed that were more egalitarian and ecologically benign” (Mellor, 1996, p.151). Hence, the common possibilities and motifs shared by women and nature cannot remain unheeded.

Right from the days of the Vedas, Indian philosophical thought has been rich in the sense of eco-consciousness. As a land of rich biodiversity, India has looked at Ecofeminism as the philosophy of ‘Mother Earth’ (similar to Greek ‘Gaia’). Vandana Shiva (2010), elucidates, “Nature, both animate and inanimate, is thus an expression of Shakthi, the feminine and creative principle of the cosmos; in conjunction with the masculine principle (Purusha), Prakriti creates the world” (Staying Alive, p.38). Prakriti is the omnipresent, all-inclusive, and spiritually elevating natural code that binds together all living forms.

The non-human natural world— “singing pines. Undulating lands. Mighty Rivers” (Preface, Fresh Fictions, 2005) — finds an animate and equal space in folktales across cultures. Acting as windows to one’s heritage and other cultures, folktales are carriers of values and traditions while preserving and propagating the awareness of ecological spiritualism. They carry fundamental messages and morals for the primal cognizance of humankind. In an era of ecological and commercial changes, folktales disseminate legends of women and their liaison with nature and have solutions to a sustainable and peaceful life. Folktales disseminate the perspective of the womenfolk who have stories to tell of care, abundance, and concern for human and non-human world alike.

Since ancient times, nature and women have been revered as mothers, however, this idea became degenerative and exploitative with time. This ecofeminist study aims at identifying and locating patterns of amalgamation of the human with the non-human world and nature as the ever-present life-affirming and a sustaining source to turn to at moments when the anthropocentric world fails. The select folktales can be categorised into the themes of Creation, Isis Panthea (creation motif), woody Women (women and trees) and women and animals.

Northeast India and Indigenous Epistemologies

Their stories, said the Imperial Gazette in 1908, are “superstition.” Today, the world calls this “ecological wisdom.” (Preface, Fresh Fictions– on Northeast Folktales). Folktales of Northeast India, like most folktales, “move with grace and felicity from concerns that are larger than life, encompassing the nuanced relationships between stars and fishes, humans and land spaces, to those between parents and siblings, families and strangers” (Preface, Fresh Fictions). Indigenous ways of storytelling “enables us to make meaning out of a chaotic world” (Bal, 2002, p.10). The eight states of Northeast India embody an important fragment of the Indo-Myanmar biodiversity hotspot, one of the twenty-five global biodiversity hotspots acknowledged presently (Baruah and Dey, 2005). Hence, “owing to its nearness to nature, the folk tales are entwined with nature” (Dey, 2015, p.15). Such ‘folk ontologies’ inspire our moral commitment, or lack of it, towards the non-human world, one that tends to relate “the pre-scientific” ideas (see Sepie, 2017).

The indigenous narratives from different states Northeast India showcase an intrinsic association that involves a kaleidoscope of shifting impressions of personhood as well as identity as appropriate to the ‘characters’, mostly non-human. This comprehensive sensibility of the folk ontologies run parallel to feminist concerns and are tied to a concern for a natural world that has been imperiled by similar exploitation and ambivalent conduct as have the womenfolk.

Creation

Folktales across cultures seem to have analogous plotlines when it comes to the motif of creation. Four main motifs seem to recur in these tales: one creator, the fact that humans are made from organic elements, that human beings have appeared on earth for a purpose, and that it is a prerequisite for humans to respect the laws of nature. From this outlook, such tales of creation tend to have more secular implication in modern cultures. G.N. Devy (2002) says:

The tribal imagination…is still to a large extent dreamlike and hallucinatory. It admits fusion between various planes of existence and levels of time…oceans fly in the sky as birds, mountains swim in water as fish, animals speak as humans and stars grow like plants…they admit the principle of association between emotion and the narrative motif. (pp. x-xi)

In “The Seven Clan” (Fresh Fiction, 2005), a folktale from Meghalaya, the Khasi God U-blei (master lord) first created “‘Ramew, the mother earth” (p.15) and her husband, “the patron god of villages” (p.15). They begot five children—eldest was a daughter, sun; the other three daughters being water, wind and fire. Moon, their son, was the youngest of the five. Sun, being the eldest (female) child, is replete with maternal disposition and takes care of the family as against the wilful brother, the moon:

The sun, their first born, began to flood earth with light and warmth. She would rise early every morning, go out to work without fail, and come back only after accomplishing her day’s work…the moon would go out to replace her. He was a little naughty and at time would sleep in… (pp. 15-16)

The rest of the three daughters, water, wind and fire, did their duties diligently, and kept “reshaping the world into a pleasant land, giving life to tall trees and beautiful flowers everywhere” (p.16). Ramew then called seven clans from heaven to “descend to till the earth, to populate the wilderness, to rule and govern and be the crown of all creation” (p.16). However, nature had to be respected; hence, U-Blei makes a covenant of the seven clans and instructs:

So long as man led a virtuous life, so long as he lived righteously on earth to earn merit…he would never be abandoned…. His life on earth was one long tale of happiness. (pp. 16-17)

But it is “not in man to be content with happiness alone” and hence soon he went out of the “god’s dictates” (p.17). God, vexed with man’s ways, made the tree Diengiei grow to block the sun which resulted in a “perpetual darkness” (p.17) on earth. All forms of life were threatened. But man decided to cut down the tree, and did so with the help of a little wren called Phreit. Grieved by man’s wilful ways God closed the golden gate to heaven and tore all ties with mankind. This led to a new kind of darkness to descend on earth “that bred all kinds of evil in the minds of men” (p.20). This folkloric message stands tall in today’s times when paying heed to divinity in nature is least of human’s concerns.

An Apatani (Arunachal Pradesh) folktale Reru Subansiri” (pasighat.wordpress, 2011) imagines earth as a woman, Kujum-Chant. The tribe believes that the first humans to walk the earth lived on the “surface of her belly”. One day, Kujum-Chantu thought that if she gets up and walks, humans would fall off, hence,

she herself died of her own accord. Her head became the snow-covered mountains; the bones of her back turned into smaller hills. Her chest was the valley where the Apa-Tanis live. From her neck came the north country of the Tagins. Her buttocks turned into the Assam plain. For just as the buttocks are full of fat, Assam has fat rich soil. Kujum-Chantu’s eyes became the Sun and Moon. From her mouth was born Kujum-Popi, who sent the Sun and Moon to shine in the sky… (para.1)

Evoking nature as a woman, this folktale, like others, enables humans to empathize with the non-human world. As Warren and Jim Cheney opine, “As a methodological and epistemological stance, all ecofeminists centralize, in one way or another, the ‘voices’ and experiences of women (and others) with regard to an understanding of the nonhuman world” (Gaard, 1993, p.53).

In a Hrusso or Aka (Arunachal Pradesh) folktale, “Buragaon, Kameng” (pasighat.wordpress, 2011), the Earth (wife) and Sky (husband) were formed out of two great eggs. However, the husband was smaller than the wife (earth/nature) and the latter readily adapts to his request and made herself “pliable and the mountains and valleys were formed, and she became small” (para.3). Presenting an alternative way of looking at the world, here nature, like the womenfolk, exemplifies the characteristics of adaptation and inclusion.

“The Formation of the Earth” (Rafy, 2011), a Khasi (Meghalaya) folktale, also shows the first entities as women/feminine. Ka Ding, Ka Um, and Ka Sngi were three Goddesses, and when their mother died, three elder sisters, Ka Ding undertook the responsibility:

She spread forth great flames which swept over the forests and caused the earth to burn and to crumble…Ever since then the earth has remained as the fire left it, full of mountains and valleys and gorges. It became a much more beautiful place, and in time mankind came here from heaven to dwell. (pp. 25-27)

In a Lupho (tribe of Manipur) folktale, “The Daughter of Lupho” (e-pao.net, 2011), talks about the Great Flood, and a daughter from a leading family had to be sacrificed as tradition. Lhangeineng, the daughter of Lupho, was chosen. And “Lhangaineng gave herself up to the god’s of the sea” (para.4) and saved humanity.

Folktales centering on the feminine principle have a different perception of the environment than a man’s perception. Mary Vidya Porselvi (2011) observes that women’s compassion towards environment and every being in it finds genuine representations in Indian folktales. In such tales, the non-human do not exist simply to satiate human needs; it is a world where the human and non-human entities stand as transcendent comrades. It is a horizontal society where the human and non-human are on equal grounds, rather than a vertical arrangement of mere exploitation.

Trees

Trees hold a spiritual significance in Indian history, mythology and folklife. They came to be associated with knowledge, wisdom, or even hidden secrets. In Rigveda there is a prayer for the growth of Trees:

Vanaspati mount up with a hundred branches that

We may mount with a thousand, thou whom the

Sharpened hatchet has brought for great auspiciousness.

[Lal, Singh & Mishra, (2014), Rig-Veda 3.8.11]

In ancient India, the concept of the tree as a living universe was projected unto Asvattha, an upside-down tree with its roots in heaven and branches enveloping the earth. It is seen as an actual living universe, part of Brahmand, the world spirit. In folktales, flora is ideally perceived in two forms: physical and metaphysical. In physical form, the plants or trees are seen as a providing means for humans in day-to-day use, while in metaphysical form they are respected and even prayed to. A protagonist (mostly a female) is either aided by or benefitted from trees in some way from the persecutions of the human world. Such tales validate the folk belief that death is simply a metamorphosis into an afterlife. Thus, human beings (mostly females), in their afterlives, get mutated into fruits, flowers, and trees. In most folktales across cultures, the motif of “girl becomes tree becomes girl” reflects the synchronized consciousness of conscientizacao. ‘Oikos’[1] (home), for women, is presented in two forms— anarchic or integrative. The non-human world in the form of trees allows the victimized womenfolk to travel from anarchic oikos (chaotic) to integrative oikos (peaceful).

“Sandrembi and Chaisra” (e-pao.net, 2009) is a Manipuri folktale of two stepsisters brought up by their mothers alone. Chairsa was a single child while Sadrembi had a brother. Chairsa’s mother always carried evil intentions to harm the other two children. Chairsa’s mother finally hatched her plan when she killed the mother of Sandrembi one day when both of them were fishing and Chaisra’s mother throws the body into the water. The victim turns into turtle, eventually into a sparrow and flies away.

After some time, the desolate Sandrembi captures the heart of a King and is married to him. The jealous stepmother is perturbed by Sandrembi’s sudden integrative oikos and decides to rob her of it. One day Sandrembi is invited home for lunch and is killed by the stepmother and Chairsa is sent back as the Queen instead. Sandrembi, on her part, turns into a dove and lives with the King until Chairsa kills her. The metamorphosis continues and she turns into a mango. The gardener discovers Sandrembi in her human form and takes her to the King. Angered and pained, he organizes a duel between the two sisters. Chairsa is slayed and Sandrembi regains her integrative oikos.

Endorsing an anti-class template, the folktales with this motif show a fluid mobility of a female human- self turning to various kinds of flora or even fauna. This also reflects the chronotope of harmonized consciousness in narrative time-space of folktales. Such dimensions in women-centered stories are marked by interchanges of interior (domestic) and exterior (public) planes of existence.

“Tejeemola” (Bezbaroa 1911/2020) (Assam), is a parallel to the story of “Cinderella” and also to various other folktales from India. In one of the long absences of the sailor father, Tejeemola is tormented and finally killed by her stepmother. Tejeemola then transforms herself into myriad forms— gourd, plum, lotus, dove. Each time somebody wants to pluck or catch hold her mutated forms, she exclaims the story of her murder. Finally, she is brought back into her integrative oikos by her father. As he tries to pluck a lotus, he is startled by a voice coming out of it:

Don’t extend your hand, don’t pluck a flower.

Where from have you come boat-man?

Along with silk-clothes, my step-mother pounded me,

I am only Tejeemola. (Barua, 2020, p.40)

Shocked, the father entreats her to turn into a dove and accompany him home. The evil stepmother was thrown out of the house, and Tejeemola turns back to her human form. It is noteworthy that Tejeemola never articulates her state of existence or speaks back until she is dead and transmutes into numerous plant forms. The world of flora may not have a code of language like the human world, but ironically, Tejeemola, speaks out as one. This is indicative of the fact that trees or plants may have much more agency than a (human) woman.

In a Manipuri variation of the Tejeemola story, “Mama Potkabi” (Oinam, 2018) the protagonist is killed by her stepmother, who, then takes the forms of pepper plant, a bottle gourd, and a lotus. She speaks to her father when he finds her in the lotus form: “Please do not hurt me. I have not done anything wrong” (para. 26). She comes back into her human form and together they drive the evil stepmother (wife) away. A.K. Ramanujan, in the folktale “A Flowering Tree” (1997) puts forth three distinct phases in women’s life categorized by integrated, hierarchic and anarchic oikos. The protagonists in both the Assamese and Manipuri versions go through the phases taking a full circle.

In a folktale from Tripura, “Chethuang” (Tyagi, 2020), the brother falls in love with his sister and the family finally decides to hold the marriage. Helpless, the sister has a visitation by an old man in her dream: “You poor girl, find out the seedling of Chethuang tree and plant it. Workshop it and you will be free from all the agonies” (p. 4). In sometime the tree grew and she sat on it and started singing a song: “O Chethuang tree, they want to get me married to my brother. You grow more and more” (p. 4). There were several attempts to bring her down by cutting the tree and its root off. When everything else failed, the father tried to trick the daughter by professing that the son has been killed. However, she saw through the fabrication and prayed to the South wind to take her away forever. She disappeared into the clouds; her oikos integrated.

This motif recurs in “Kelchawgni” (Fresh Fictions, 2005), a Mizo folktale. Kelchawgni, the obedient daughter, misinterpreting parent’s instructions, cooks her younger sister for dinner. To punish her, the parents leave her on the rooftop and refuse to bring her down. Finally, she “looked up to the sky and Pleaded with Pu Vana, the god of the heavens” (p.34). She went away to heavens and lived happily forever.

Indian philosophy claims that Prakriti is the power of creation as well as destruction, and that all originates from her, and melts into her. The select folktales reveal the silent yet definitive power of nature, trees in this case, to give the final refuge to all persecuted.

Animals

An Assamese folktale “The Kite’s Daughter” (Bezbaroah 1911/2020) states the abandonment of a daughter for the desire of a son. A rich potter had several daughters, so warns his wife against begetting any more daughters. As fate would have it, she begot another daughter and before the husband could find out, she covered the child in rags, put in a tumbler, and set her adrift on the river. Left to her fate, the child was found by a kite who adopted her. She grew up on the branches of a tree; the kite mother would steal from humans and provided her with all the essentials to her human daughter. She grew up into a beautiful young woman and captured the heart of a merchant. The kite mother, considering the human-daughter’s safe future, married her off to the merchant.

The merchant had seven other wives who created an anarchic oikos for her. However, the kite mother continues helping the daughter in times of need. The evil wives discover this and kill the Kite by treachery. Finally, one day, in the absence of the husband, they sold her off to a peddler who came to vend stationery items. Surprisingly, the peddler treated her well, so much so that, when one day the merchant nearly finds her, she tries not to be found by him to avoid going back to the past anarchic oikos. Meanwhile, she learns pottery from the peddler and becomes a renowned potter herself. Thus, because of the kite she is endowed with an integrative oikos from which she was thrown out by her potter father’s desire for a male child.

Such folk tales produce alternative perspectives upholding concern, abundance, and care for all living beings. Assamese folktale “Tula and Teja” (Bezbaroa 1911/2020), shows how the elaagi, or the alienated wife, is killed by the laagi, favourite wife. Elaagi turns into a turtle and feeds her children Kanai (son) and Teja (daughter). Laagi finds out from her daughter Tula about this arrangement. She gets the turtle killed and “two trees bearing fruits and flowers” (p.21) grow at her burial spot. The fruit and flower bearing tree also stands as a symbol of the maternal instincts of nature who is ‘giving’ rather than ‘receiving’. Attracted by fruits and flowers, one day a king comes to the place and spots the beautiful Teja. He eventually marries her, turning her into a queen, all by the blessings of the dead human-mother who metamorphosed into several non-human forms. However, the evil designs of Laagi don’t end. She invites Teja home and turns her into a sparrow and sends Tula in her place as the queen. However, the truth unveils and the King orders Tula to be killed and Teja is reinstated as the Queen in her human form. Tales like this are suggestive of exploitation of nature (animals and trees) vis-a-vis women. The oikos keep mutating until they are integrative which might be a suggestive of a hopeful future for the world if humans identify the concept of conscientizacao. The constant transmutation of forms also upholds an “anti-class posture” of deep ecology that thrives on “principles of ecological egalitarianism and of symbiosis” (Naess, 2005, p. 2).

Another recurring animal motif in folktales is that of snakes. In a typical male-centered tale, a snake is usually seen as a rival phallus and hence meant to be killed. Alternately, in women-centered tales, snakes are seen as husbands, lovers, helpers etc. (see Ramanujan, 1991). In “Champavati” (Bezbaroah 1911/2011), a python falls in love with Champavati, the daughter of the abandoned wife, Elaagi, and is married off to it.  The perceived terror of the mother-daughter turns into good fortune when the snake-husband treats Champavati like a princess and clads her in riches. Seeing this Laagi, the favourite wife, forces the husband to find a python-husband for her daughter as well. Their evil plan hatched out of greed results in disaster as the python devours his wife. Such tales reflect the necessity of communion with nature while focusing on raising consciousness. If humans ‘use’ nature for fulfilling their material needs alone without paying heed to the reciprocity of the relation, disasters are bound to happen.

The ability to mutate into non-human a form is also seen in “Taibang Meena Harinongnang Onba” (e-pao.net, 2012), a Manipuri folktale. The father left the family and on his return several years later, he, unknowingly, gets attracted towards his own daughter, now a beautiful young woman. Ashamed and feeling defiled by the thought, the daughter first turns into a fish and eventually into a parrot and flies away to hills far away—a symbolic and literal flight away from her life of shame.

A Tripuri folktale titled “The Hornbill” (Tyagi, 2020) relates the transmutation of a woman into a Hornbill. Sampari, the wife, worked hard to make two ends meet while Kachak, the husband, wiled always his days in alcohol. One day a bear comes out of the jungle and takes the baby away as Kachak is engrossed in playing flute. Sampari returns from the field only to realize the irresponsibility of Kachak and the resultant disaster.  She curses Kachak:

…in the next birth you will be a bird and your beak will be as long as your flute. Your voice will be coarse and harsh. Your wife will watch her eggs without moving till the young birds can fly. You will have to feed the mother bird all throughout the day. You alone will have to do all the work and there will be no one to help you. (p.14)

Mellor (1996) puts it, “before patriarchal domination of human societies, woman-centred societies existed that were more egalitarian and ecologically benign” (p.151). The folktale displays a non-human world in which the females would lead a life exemplifying that of the men’s (human) world.

A folktale from Manipur, “Sakhi Darlong” (Tyagi, 2020), presents a classic case of exploitation of Mother Nature and transmutation of living forms. A Jhumia named Shyamacharan hunted a deer and took it home only to find a human spirit coming out of it. They eventually get married on the agreement that he will never reveal her true (deer) self. One day, years later, the intoxicated Shyama reveals the secret to their children and the wife turns into a deer and goes away to the forest. She continues feeding her children nonetheless. In the meantime, the new wife of Shyama entreats him to kill the deer which then takes the form of a Simul tree to feed her children. Shyama cuts off the tree and she finally transmutes into a fish and takes away her children in search of an integrative oikos in the sea. This tale replicates the philosophy of “Gaia” which postulates a sense of transcendence between all life forms. The non-human spirit goes through an extended event of persecution even as she takes care of her human children. The tale reiterates that nature is magnanimous and ‘giving’.

The fish and water are in themselves connected to the idea of life and birth. The symbolic meaning of fish differs from culture to culture, but by and large, it represents good luck, and prosperity and is also connected to the idea of the sacred feminine (Clifford 2021). The medium in which it travels freely is water, which is itself considered to be a metaphor for higher level of awareness, thought-process, intelligence and esoteric knowledge (Clifford 2021). The mother turning into a fish and and taking her children along into her water kingdom is symbolic of a hopeful, happier and meaningful future.

Likewise, in “The Stork Girl” (Tyagi, 2020), a flock of Storks lend one feather each to the protagonist, Arti, to fly away to find her integrative oikos far from the anarchic oikos created by her aunt. Thus, the folk story-telling method could be the best way to address environmental ills while asserting on the requisite to be an involved listener.

Conclusion

That the earth has itself intervened to revise those habits of thought that are based on the Cartesian dualism that arrogates all intelligence and agency to the human while denying them to every other kind of being? (Amitav Ghosh 2016, para. 14.8).

A woman’s culturally fashioned life-forms, her perspectives, are different from a man’s and hence the meanings of elements change. The reading of the select folktales from Northeast India illustrate that “genders are genres” and that “the world of women is not the world of men” (Dharwadker, 2004, p.446). Thus, the gender of the genre becomes imperative in interpretation.

Human history has frequently romanticized interpretations of Utopia, the unspoiled world, where people live in harmony and in sync with nature. With no signs of natural calamity or crisis of human desires, such Utopias solemnize happier human experiences and designs of ‘orderliness’ for human cultures to practice. Along with respecting nature, the select folktales foreground values like cooperation, reciprocity, and nurturing. The tales also emulate woman-nature propinquity and locate and uphold women’s voices in the domain of ‘nature-culture’ as well as “counter and complement the attitudes of the male-centred tales” (Ramanujan, 1991, xxxi). This culminates in the Ecofeminist perception of (logically) challenging binaries like humans/animals, culture/nature, man/woman, self/other, etc., while decreeing that human identity is neither fixed nor predefined, rather it is sculpted by the seamless associations or differences of human-nature interface.

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

[1] The term ‘ecology’ has Greek etymology and is derived from two words ‘oikos’, meaning ‘home’ or ‘household’ or ‘habitation’ or ‘place to live’ and ‘logos’ meaning ‘study’ or ‘discourse’. (Verma, P. S. and V. K. Aganval. (1989). Principles of Ecology. p. 4.)

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Dr. Pronami Bhattacharyya is an Assistant Professor in English at Royal Global University, Guwahati, Assam. She did her PhD on African American Literature from Tezpur Central University. Apart from being an academician, she is a passionate birder and nature enthusiast who has covered more than 400 species of rare birds all over the Northeast, Rajasthan and West-Bengal till date, some of which are on the verge of extinction. She is also in the process of publishing a book on Species Extinction focusing on 17 select species on the IUCN Red list from all over the world.

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