The Rose and the Lotus. Partnership Studies in the Works of Raja Rao 9789042028333, 9789042028340

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The Rose and the Lotus

C

ross ultures

Readings in the Post / Colonial Literatures in English

122 Series Editors

Gordon Collier (Giessen)

†Hena Maes–Jelinek (Liège)

Geoffrey Davis (Aachen)

The Rose and the Lotus Partnership Studies in the Works of Raja Rao

Stefano Mercanti

Amsterdam - New York, NY 2009

Cover image: Vachel Lindsay, “The Wedding of the Rose and the Lotus” (pen and ink drawing, 1912; 27.9 cm x 19.1 cm) Courtesy of Archives/Special Collections, Norris L Brookens Library, University of Illinois at Springfield Cover design: Pier Post The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ISO 9706:1994, Information and documentation - Paper for documents - Requirements for permanence”. ISBN: 978-90-420-2833-3 E-Book ISBN: 978-90-420-2834-0 © Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam – New York, NY 2009 Printed in The Netherlands

To Russell & Antonella

Table of Contents ——————————

Acknowledgments A Note on the Text

ix

xi

Introduction

The Burden of Indianness

The Politics of Truth

In Other Words

Partnership and Multiculturalism

C H A P T E R O N E: O

The Short Stories

The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories The Policeman and the Rose On the Ganga Ghat C H A P T E R T W O : The Painful Search Kanthapura Comrade Kirillov The Serpent and the Rope C H A P T E R T H R E E : Reconciling the Self The Cat and Shakespeare The Chessmaster and His Moves Conclusion Glossary Chronology Select Bibliography Index

xiii xix xxxiv xliv li 1 4 32 50 61 68 87 98 115 119 127 139 143 183 187 209

Acknowledgments ———————————

A

I was pursuing my research in Mysore, C.D. Narasimhaiah was already known as an internationally established Commonwealth scholar and a staunch pioneering critic of Indian English literature. But what I remember most clearly from our meetings was not so much the quintessentially Indian juxtaposition of competing allegiances he embodied – teaching canonical English literature without ever forgetting his Indian identity – but the way he boldly applied the logic of self-determination appealed to by Commonwealth scholars (nowadays ‘postcolonial’) to the situation of Indian English literature. He maintained that Indian English writers would derive strength and artistic distinction by altering the Western narrative models in order to accommodate an essentially Indian sensibility rooted in its glorious Hindu philosophical and religious past. This had a profound and totally contrary effect on me, as his view led me to see India instead as a set of complex religious, political, and social arguments and dynamic concepts competing and changing across time and space (most of which I barely understood at the time). And later, after further consideration, I became even more perplexed, because the problem of reconciling not just a few tesserae but now the whole mosaic of India’s pluralistic culture seemed almost insurmountable. If Indian nationalism could be accommodated only with great difficulty within a revamped idea of a unified state, what would it take to assess the distinctive claims shared by all Indian English writers? I would like to think that the origins of this work lie in Dhvanyaloka, the Literary Criterion Centre for English Studies and Indigenous Arts, and perhaps they do. I was very fortunate to have had the opportunity to investigate these problems further with the scholarship provided by the Indian T THE TIME

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Council for Cultural Relations that enabled me to complete this work. I am particularly grateful to Vimala Rama Rao and Antonella Riem Natale, who have been a constant and remarkable source of support and inspiration to me, and to C.D. Narasimhaiah, G.N. Devy, Sachidananda Mohanty, and Riane Eisler, for stirring my mind with their critical insights. Thanks are also due to the Udine University publisher Forum, the Sahitya Akademy, and to the editors of Wasafiri, the Atlantic Literary Review, Quaderni del 900, and Orient Blackswan for publishing sections of this book in previous versions, here revised. I am also grateful to Geoffrey Davis for his support and to Gordon Collier for his invaluable technical assistance.

A Note on the Text ———————————

E

transliterated from Sanskrit and other Indian languages is italicized in the text and has its own entry in the glossary at the end of the book. I have tried to present terms in ways that make them pronounceable as accurately as possible by speakers of English. Hence my omission of all macrons and diacritics. The standard form is given in an orthography as close as possible to the word pronunciation, to the extent allowed by the Latin alphabet, in order to facilitate the comprehension of those words related to India’s way of life, customs, and religions which may appear unfamiliar to the reader. Accordingly, the viable ‘options’ or ‘variants’ of the same term correspond to those represented by different linguistic sources, as we have to take into account the different spellings and pronunciations that occur in all Indian languages and vernaculars. The bibliographical citations of Raja Rao’s works are given according to those editions listed in the Select Bibliography and are quoted in the text with the following abbreviations: ACH TERM

The Cow of the Barricades The Policeman and the Rose On the Ganga Ghat Kanthapura Comrade Kirillov The Serpent and the Rope The Cat and Shakespeare The Meaning of India The Chessmaster and His Moves The Great Indian Way

(C B ) (P R ) (G G ) (K ) (C K ) (S R ) (C S ) (M I ) (C M ) (G I W )

Introduction ———————

D

connected with the creation of a ‘new’ literary genre, Raja Rao is known to have given birth to the Indian English novel as an expression of a precise ideological reconstruction of the racial, philosophical, cultural, and linguistic specificity of a complex country, the Indian subcontinent. His work asserted itself on the international scene, particularly in a transnational way, owing to the originality of India’s mythological and religious narrative, which opened the vast repository of a millennia-long culture capable of dialoguing with the West even through images and life-styles that were distinctively indigenous. His five novels and three short-story collections have conferred upon him a high status, now canonized in the history of Indian English literature, as a witness to an historical period which was understood and rendered intelligible according to the rituals, symbols, and beliefs of a specific domain, that of the Brahmins. Raja Rao thus integrated at the same time a vision of a Western world authentically described from his long journeys abroad. A long-time admirer of classic texts of both the Indian and the European literary traditions, Rao has been able to shine in the art of honouring not only his motherland but also, as Denis de Rougemont and Lawrence Durrell maintained, English literature at large by combining East and West with deep tenderness and poetic rigour. He was an artist who collected an impressive amount of material which became even more valuable through his direct experience of both the Western and the Eastern worlds, without ever compromising the specificity of different ways of life and customs that were apparently contradictory yet were intimately connected in his work as the common heritage of all human beings. ESPITE THE INEVITABLE GESTATION

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The political and cultural terrain from which Rao came coincided with a dramatic, hegemonic obscuring of the ancient religious and rural customs of Indian civilization, with the memory of myths and traditional lore fading in the face of the tyrannical machinery and machinations of British imperialism. Rao, keenly aware of this remarkable historical change, untiringly rediscovered and reaffirmed in his work the religious and philosophical roots of Brahmanism; it was for him an existential pilgrimage, sacred and politically subversive. The narrative structure of his work is itself a vast compendium embracing legends, myths, popular folklore, ancient customs and beliefs, all of which, and despite his own religious inclination, caste orthodoxy, and refined literary taste, he resolved to hand down to posterity, as this ancient heritage was about to be displaced by ‘other’ rituals and conventions. For instance, during the years of Victorian imperialism, Rao saw in the Indian subcontinent the consolidation of a racial consciousness created by colonial hierarchies in which the Indian population could not behave and culturally express themselves as much as their rulers.1 British colonialism had economic and ideological imperatives to carry out, even though it did not entirely succeed in repressing the Indian peoples it was exploiting. The overthrow of power relations between the British and the Indian people was so sudden that it inevitably bewildered both sides. This colonial change has to be kept in mind in order to recall the fact that Indian history, as Ania Loomba observed, developed differently from that of other colonial subjects, as it started with a commercial venture and ended with the colonization of the whole country.2 The germ of this dramatic encounter/clash between the two cultures was already being recorded in Rao’s early narratives such as The Cow of the Barricades and Kanthapura, in which the author stands out as an authoritative expert on native legends and traditions, and as a witness to a ‘double’, both cultural and linguistic, belonging, one that was also shared by many other Indian English writers. 1

The term ‘nigger’ was often employed to define Indian people according to the Anglo-Saxon ideology of racial superiority in order to draw a binary distinction between ‘civilized’ and ‘primitive’ and achieve a hierarchization of human types. See, for instance, E.M. Forster, A Passage to India (1924; New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1952): 50–51. 2 Ania Loomba, Colonialism / Postcolonialism (London: Routledge, 2005): 98.

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Raja Rao was born in 19083 into a South Indian Brahman family in Hassan, a small town which, during the British Empire, was part of the several districts of the Madras Presidency, today the modern state of Karnataka. In his essay entitled “Entering the Literary World,” Rao gives us an interesting anecdote about how his family chose his name: Some Kings of Mysore had given us privileges (for carrying the Royal Post, and also collect the fee when a concubine first “tied on her bells”) and thus the lands we had, while the Maharaja of Mysore, when he came to Hassan, had perforce to stop first in front of the Post Office House, which now explains why my mother, not finding enough room in our ancestral home for lying-in, had to be transported to the dharmashala, room number 1, and hence when my father was offering the prescribed “half-cut lemon on the knife” to His Highness (and this was Krishna Raja Wodeyar, the Vedantin-king), my mother was so vitally shaken she threw me into the world, hence instead of being named Ramakrishna, like my grandfather was, I was simply called Raja.4

Among his eminent family ancestors we find the sage Vidyaranya Swami, one of the most celebrated spiritual Masters after Shankara, of the monistic Vedanta (advaita), and the sage Yagnyavalkya, to whom, in Hinduism, is attributed the compilation of several sacred texts, such as the Yajur-veda. His grandfather was an exceptionally religious man, with whom Rao spent his early childhood and whose spiritual presence is affectionately remembered by the author in his novels as Grandfather Kittanna in The Serpent and the Rope and as the saint Ramakrishnaiah in Kanthapura. Rao studied at Nizam College in Hyderabad, where he stood out not only for being the only Hindu student in the Muslim institution but also for the passion he displayed in learning philosophy and Muslim theology in the Urdu language. Owing to poor health, he was often sent to spend his 3

1909 is the year that appears in the official documents. Yet, in a letter addressed to M.K. Naik, the author maintains that he was born in 1908 (Naik, M.K. Raja Rao [New York: Twayne, 1972]: 16). However, these are very important years of Indian history as Lord Morley begins to gradually admit Indian politicians into the British government with the Indian Council Act (1909), subsequently reinforced by the Government of Indian Act (1919). 4 Raja Rao, “Entering the Literary World,” World Literature Today 62.4 (1988): 536.

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holidays with his cousins in Aligarth (Northern India), a temporary break that he appreciated above all for the intellectual stimulus that he received from his meeting with Erick Dickinson; “a minor poet, and from Oxford, who taught English at Aligarth, and had come to India because he was a good friend of my cousin […]. And here it was from Dickinson I first heard of Arles and Avignon, of Michelangelo and Santayana.”5 Rao loved to immerse himself in European literature and soon learnt French; which would eventually bring him closer to a new world that he would soon inhabit through the Asiatic Scholarship awarded to him by the Hyderabad government, thus enabling him to experience France in its totality: I wanted to become a monk in France. I came under the influence of a character, Alceste, in Molière’s play, Le Misanthrope. I thought France was the place where people only spoke the truth. So I went there. But it took me about a week to find out that it was not so; I became Indian afterwards. I was such an orthodox Brahmin, though I went to a Muslim public school […]. I was also interested in spiritual matters. I wanted to become a sanyasi. So I went to France.6

He studied at the University of Montpellier with a project on ‘Western Mysticism’ and subsequently began another one on ‘The Influence of India on Irish Literature’ at the Sorbonne. These were also the years during which India was struggling for its independence, and his political interests thus began to overtake his purely academic ones. It is also during this period in Montpellier that he met Camille Mouly, a professor of French language and literature and a great admirer of Indian civilization, whom Rao married as soon he was twenty-one. Camille was also his most important guide during his early literary experiments: “she and her ardour for precision and for structure (la méthode, after all) brought me many tears – she did not think my Tagore–Yeats English (with some Macaulay added to it) was at all literary.”7 Unfortunately, by 1949 their marriage was over, leaving indelibly sad traces, easily discernible in the plot of The Serpent and the Rope.

5

Rao, “Entering the Literary World,” 537. M.K. Naik, Raja Rao (New York: Twayne, 1972): 16. 7 Rao, “Entering the Literary World,” 537. 6

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Although Rao decided to live in France for some time, he never failed to keep in touch with his motherland, and the mere thought of India was enough to remind him that his very existence was a spiritual pilgrimage, as it was also for Ramaswamy, the protagonist of The Serpent and the Rope: “My India I carried wheresoever I went” (S R , 376). This is seen in his frequent journeys to India, which were aimed at nourishing his metaphysical speculations and enabling him to absorb the Hindu philosophical and cultural heritage so fundamental to his writing. In addition to his strong devotion to his country, we see Rao appreciating and rediscovering India even further after having lived abroad, thus avoiding at the same time the homologating label of ‘expatriate’,8 usually given to migrant or diasporic writers. Interestingly, his spiritual rediscovery of India gives him instead a revitalized civilization, still fecund and rich with that same ancestral humus from which sprang the ancient classical literature, the myths and legends of a history more than five thousand years old – an experience that for Rao becomes a renewed and original metaphysical space in which he chooses to experiment and evolve the multiple voices within. This period in Rao’s life coincided, in fact, with his tormented political and metaphysical preoccupations, which lead him periodically to visit different Indian ashrams9 and to take part in such cultural organizations as Chetana, founded by a group of Bombay intellectuals, and other socialist underground groups connected with the Quit India political events of the 1940s. During these years, Rao established a dialogue with his conscience which enabled him to resolve human complexities and to meditate upon the dissonance and the spiritual bonds which both imprisoned and transcended him. It was a spiritual quest which not only made him question several political, aesthetic, and ethical implications but also significantly spurred his literary creativity, thus enriching his work with increasingly sophisticated cultural, symbolic, and linguistic processes. His anxious quest for the Absolute was facilitated further in 1943 by his encounter 8

Yet Rao’s life-style has led K.K. Sharma to condemn him as an “expatriate fraud” and a “wayward intellectual–sensualist.” See Sharma, “Introduction” to Perspectives on Raja Rao, ed. Sharma (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1980): xl–xli. 9 Sri Aurobindo ashram at Pondicherry, Premayatana ashram of Ramana Maharshi at Tiruvannamalai, Narayana Maharaj ashram at Kedgaon, Pandit Taranath and Mahatma Gandhi ashram at Sevagram.

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with his guru Atmananda in Kerala, with whose aid he found a resolution of his metaphysical crisis. After five years with Atmananda, he decided to return to France to proceed along his existential path, always bearing in mind the ‘wisdom’ embedded in his most remote Vedic roots, and to follow the natural flow of life. This unsettling period is particularly relevant to the present analysis of Rao’s work, as his spiritual experience reveals itself, in space as well as in time, as a strong thirst for knowledge for the ultimate truth fully emerging in his innovative novel The Serpent and the Rope (1960). Although his literary work has too often been viewed through the narrow lens of rationalism, Rao welcomes the challenge of a mode of writing as an expression of a sacred reality which shows the results of both his spiritual quest and his intercultural fate, going beyond the contours of his own subjectivity and revealing the underlying interconnectedness of human beings. With the death of his guru Atmananda in 1959, his French sojourn comes to an end, and a new phase of life begins, with renewed vigour. He moves to the U S A , where, in 1966, he begins regularly teaching Indian philosophy (both Buddhist and Vedantic) at the University of Texas at Austin, having the previous year married the stage actress Katherine Jones. Until his recent demise, the U S A was his chosen place for a spiritual quest diligently pursued by following a very traditional life-style in which daily meditation, Jodhpur jackets, vegetarian food, and abstinence from alcohol all had their place along with his writing, for him a sacred discipline: For me literature is sadhana – not a profession but a vocation. That’s why I’ve published few works. Also this explains why since 15 years ago – except for The Cow of the Barricades – my writing is mainly the consequence of a metaphysical life, what I mean by sadhana. I had this conflict in me – should a man be a writer first and then a man, secondarily, or a man first and a writer afterwards? And by man I mean the metaphysical entity. So the idea of literature as anything but a spiritual experience… is outside my perspective. I really think that only through dedication to the absolute or metaphysical principle can one be fully creative […] literature as sadhana is the best life for a writer. The Indian tradition which links the word with the Absolute (sabdabrahman) has clearly shown the various ways by which one can approach literature, without the confusion that arise in the mind of the

Introduction

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Western writer viewing life as an intellectual adventure. Basically, the Indian outlook follows a deeply satisfying, richly rewarding and profoundly metaphysical path. All this may sound terribly Indian, but it is not so really. Valéry, Rilke and Kafka, for instance, are as close to this view as Tagore in looking upon literature as sadhana.10

Raja Rao is considered both by Indian and international critics as one of the founding fathers of Indian English literature and continues to receive wide recognition as one of the most gifted writers of our time. In 1964, he won the Sahitya Academy Award (National Academy of Letters, New Delhi) with his novel The Serpent and the Rope. In 1969, the Indian government conferred on him the prestigious Padma Bhushan (Order of Lotus), and in 1972 he became an honorary member of the Woodrow Wilson International Center (Washington D C ) and, in 1984, of the Modern Language Association of America. He also received the Neustadt International Prize for Literature (University of Oklahoma) in 1988, followed by the publication of a special issue of World Literature Today dedicated to his work.

The Burden of Indianness Indianness is a topic that has become almost unavoidable in the multifaceted literary traditions of India, whose development has been considerably influenced by the gradual celebration of its native cultural, philosophical, and multilingual distinctiveness. This is even more the case with Raja Rao’s fiction, which shows the broad possibilities of indigenizing the British novel and the English language. However, the study of Indian English literature(s)11 appears to be haunted by the residual effects of imperialist scholarship, an over-dependence on Western recognition, and the anxieties of defining an essentialist ‘Indianness’ disturbingly unleashed by colonial trauma. The pull of the indigenous involved in defining India’s distinctive cultural identity outside the eurocentric and authoritarian perspective of the world has engendered aggressive responses to both Indian 10

V[asu] S.V., “Raja Rao: Face to Face,” Illustrated Weekly of India (1964): 44. By stressing the plurality of Indian English literature(s), we can also be aware of the literatures written in Indian languages and translated – for the global, national, and regional market – into English. 11

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indigenous (Bhasha) and English literatures, responses that often border a counter-hegemony of an homogenizing pan-Indian identity. This tendency to emphasize ‘Indianness’ in rigid counterpoint to an assumed ‘Westernness’ becomes dangerously self-defeating, as it implies, once again, a monolithic and hegemonic discourse. If, in the colonial past, imperial binarism was hidden behind the ‘civilizing’ mission of the white man’s burden, today it often echoes through ‘Indianness’ as the brown man’s burden, merely to prove ‘Otherness’. The claim of cultural separateness resulting from this kind of revivalist ethnocentrism is traceable in, for instance, some Nativist (Deshivad) scholars such as Bhalchandra Nemade, who repeatedly assert that “Indians are not native speakers of English and therefore all they can succeed in writing in English is a kind of ‘pseudo prose or pseudo poetry’.”12 Again, whereas Anil Patil feels free to summarily point out that Indian fabulators, “especially the English educated and the upper caste ones, exhibit a very weak competence in enriching the texture of novel by employing native lore effectively and creatively,”13 Shantinath Desai similarly links nativism to négritude,14 which in India has dangerous parallels in the political conservatism of Hindu nationalism with its nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party and such regional parties as the Shiv Sena. The same militant nativism also emerges in the cultural struggle between Indian English and Bhasha literatures in which regional linguistic chauvinism – fuelled by the rigid political patronage of the linguistic states – stubbornly puts them in constant separateness and hostility. Here, India appears as a multiplicity of nations, “an assemblage of ‘peripheries’ constantly at war with the centre attempting to legitimise the ‘local’ over 12

Nativism: Essays in Criticism, ed. Makarand R. Paranjape (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1997): 166. 13 Nativism: Essays in Criticism, ed. Paranjape, 181. 14 The concept of negritude, again, implies that all black people share certain essential(ist) characteristics which are themselves defined by the binary categories of the colonizing culture itself. As Wole Soyinka observed, “in attempting to refute the evaluation to which black reality had been subjected, Négritude adopted the Manichean tradition of European thought and inflicted it on a culture which is most radically antiManichean. It not only accepted the dialectical structure of European ideological confrontations but borrowed from the very components of its racist syllogism.” Soyinka, Myth, Literature and the African World (Cambridge: Cambridge U P , 1990): 127.

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the ‘central’.”15 In this multicultural context, the supposed authentic ‘Indian literature’, according to such eminent native writers as U.R. Anantha Murthy, can be ‘only’ in one’s mother tongue, thus confirming the exclusivity of Indian languages and literatures within a kind of caste-ridden system in which the English language, along with its writers, remains caste-less, rootless, and alienated. Thus, if Meenakshi Mukherjee designates Indian English literature as ‘twice-born’ (the product of two parent traditions),16 the ongoing nativist movement seems more inclined to confine Indian English writers to being ‘twice removed’ from the Indian regional languages and literatures.17 These positions are found to be particularly connected to the general preference in Indian and Western criticism for dealing with a unifying pan-nationalist voice that unreasonably projects an ‘essential Indianness’ in which more than 930 million people, eighteen major languages, and all of the world’s great religions coexist. In this thrust towards universalization, where generalizations prevail and differences are submerged, it is pertinent to examine closely how the idea of ‘Indianness’ was conveyed by both Western and Eastern scholarship since its inception in order to show its failure, on either side, to positively acknowledge and value India’s multicultural diversity. In his book Orientalism, Edward Said demonstrates that what was designated as the ‘East’ was, and continues to be, a Western construct rather than a geographical and cultural reality. This implied a Western discourse aimed at dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the ‘Orient’, backed up by a wide range of Orientalist assumptions and stereotypes which manufactured India as an uncivilized, ‘female’ land dominated by imagination rather than reason.18 This ontological and epistemological 15

U.M. Nanavati & Prafulla C. Kar, Rethinking Indian English Literature, ed. Nanavati & Kar (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 72. 16 The allusion underlying the Sanskrit term dvija (twice-born) seems, however, to suggest that Indian English literature, after the colonial ‘encounter’, had to undergo to a kind of ritual initiation (samskara) in which the English language was assimilated and indigenized, hence born again within India’s polyglossic and multicultural tradition. 17 Significantly, in an essay aptly entitled “The Caste of English” (1978), Raja Rao’s deep awareness of the potential oppressive nature of traditional Indian society in suppressing linguistic polyphony and polysemy led him to attribute a caste (varna) to the English language by placing it on the same elevated pedestal of Truth traditionally accorded by Brahmins only to Sanskrit. 18 See also Ronald Inden, Imagining India (London: Blackwell, 1990): 1–48.

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distinction between the superior Occident and the inferior Orient served to polarize the East–West distinction within Orientalist discourse.19 Similarly, whereas other postcolonial studies20 discover India in the language of colonialism, Said shows in Culture and Imperialism how the same hegemonic discourse ‘implicitly’ persisted in the English literature of Kipling, Conrad, Austen, Thackeray, and Dickens, legitimizing the authority and supremacy of the British imperialist project. The value of Said’s work finds further validation when Aleid Fokkema appropriately points out that although colonial rule authorized and diffused most of these fictions, India continued, even after Independence, to represent a favourite exotic subject for such writers as Paul Scott, M.M. Kaye, and John Masters: most of their fictions are based primarily on the preconception of ‘otherness’: India is a different country from England, and Indians therefore are a different people. As each opposition entails a hierarchy, otherness then becomes the structural difference by which Englishness is both defined and safeguarded.21

It is precisely this ‘metropolitan vision’ of projecting a ‘real’ India as a rural and exotic land that British fiction manufactured – again a monolithic Indianness, as Fokkema argues, selectively constructed on a set of generalized Oriental(ist) local colours and values: “it is peripheral, rural, and young, searching for an identity; it is mysterious, timeless, and femin19

In examining the processes by which the Orient was manufactured in European thinking, the Western hegemonic practice mainly included British, French, and German Indologists in various disciplines such as language (William Jones, Henry Thomas Cole–Brooke, H.H. Wilson), history (Warren Hastings, Charles Wilkins, Edmund Burke, James Mill, Vincent Smith, John Stuart Mill), and philosophy and philology (G.W.F. Hegel, Max Müller, Friedrich Schlegel, Arthur Schopenhauer, Ernest Renan). See, for instance, Ronald Inden, “Knowledge of India and Human Agency,” in Imagining India, 7–48, and Edward Said, “Orientalist Structures and Restructures,” in Orientalism, 111–97. 20 See, for instance, John Drew, India and the Romantic Imagination (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1987), Jyotsna Singh, Colonial Narratives / Cultural Dialogues (London: Routledge, 1996), and Balachandra Rajan, Under Western Eyes: India from Milton to Macaulay (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1999). 21 Aleid Fokkema, “English Ideas of Indianness,” in Crisis and Creativity in the New Literatures in English, ed. Geoffrey V. Davis & Hena Maes–Jelinek (Cross / Cultures 1; Amsterdam & Atlanta G A : Rodopi, 1990): 357.

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ine.”22 Such ideas of ‘Otherness’ have been also frequently reiterated by many Western scholars such as William Walsh, who clearly addresses the founding fathers (Mulk Raj Anand, Raja Rao, and R.K. Narayan) of Indian English literature (a ‘Third World’ literature) as genuine novelists, that is, for whom the art of fiction was an end in itself and not just a means for communicating other kinds of truth […]. Each used his own version of an English freed from the foggy taste of Britain and transferred to a wholly new setting of brilliant light and brutal heat.23

By pointing up foggy Englishness against sunny Indianness, the three writers – most notably Narayan, yet another generalization – are here reduced to simply expressing themselves beyond any political or social concern about their land of heat and dust.24 Still earlier, T.D. Brurton referred to Rao’s novels as characterized by a “trivial narrative model,”25 whereas David McCutchion argues, in his essay “The Indianness of Indian Criticism,” that Srinivasa Iyengar’s pioneering literary history Indian Writing in English is “more concerned with spiritual than literary values, more with aura than with words”; it is a book in which Sri Aurobindo appears as the ‘patron saint’.26 The objection raised in McCutchion’s review of The Serpent and the Rope, that “all central concerns of the western novel are absent,”27 goes hand in hand with both T.D. Brurton’s eurocentric response to Rao’s writing and H. Moore Williams’s lament about the depic22

Fokkema, “English Ideas of Indianness,” 357. William Walsh, Indian Literature in English (London: Longman, 1990): 62. 24 This Orientalist view of an inferior, primitive, and uncivilized India is also evident in a westernized Indian intellectual like Nirad Chaudhuri, who, in his notorious essay on the peoples of ‘Circe-land’, has no difficulty in making essentialist generalizations about the degraded nature of Indians. See Chaudhuri, The Continent of Circe (Bombay: Jaico Publishing House, 1965). 25 T.D. Brurton, “India in Fiction: The Heritage of Indianness,” in Critical Essays on Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik, S.K. Desai & G.S. Amur (Dharwar: Karnatak University, 1968): 57. 26 David McCutchion, Indian Writing in English (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1969): 71–72. For a detailed assessment of the Indian novel in English, see Dieter Riemenschneider, The Indian Novel in English: Its Critical Discourse, 1934–2004 (Jaipur: Rawat, 2005): 1–72. 27 McCutchion, Indian Writing in English, 92. 23

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tion of the English characters in Kanthapura as “cardboard cut-out figures,”28 surprisingly not round enough in a novel that consciously chooses to dramatize the freedom struggle for Independence from an indigenous Indian point of view. Critics like H.M. Williams, T.D. Brurton, and M.E. Derrett have also repeatedly asserted the ‘benevolently stimulating’ influence of the West in the making of the Indian English novel,29 which coincided with India’s “growing awareness, through Western education, of the world around her.”30 Certain accounts among studies of Indian English literature(s) can be considered to express universalist views about an ‘Indianness’ that is essentially dreamlike, inherently spiritual, and irrational. As a counterpart to these quintessential formulations, some Indian scholars and writers have directed their efforts at recognizing – and rarely dismantling – a kind of essentialist Indian sensibility which would insist upon their own perspective of the world, thus legitimating an ‘Otherness’ constructed on an alternative range of stereotyped indigenous values, themes, and issues. At first glance, Indian literatures are assumed to bear the burden of asserting Hinduism as the only pan-Indian source of sacred texts, myths, and legends, a sure sign of Indianness not only for Indians but, most importantly, also for Europeans and Americans. ‘Hindu-ness’: i.e. a single package identifying ‘a part with the whole’, is another centralizing metaphor in which Hindu spiritual and metaphysical lore is posited as the only form of cultural self-assertion through which any serious writer is legitimately expected to manifest himself/herself. This has been the case, for instance, in the overall assessments of R.K. Narayan’s Malgudi, usually depicted as an upper-caste Hindu pan-India in which Indianness emanates “a good28

Haydn Moore Williams, Studies in Modern Indian Fiction in English (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1973): 105. 29 The novel, as Jasbir Jain points out, “has roots in the native tradition, even if the encounter with the West provided an impetus to it”; Jain, Feminizing Political Discourse: Women and the Novel in India, 1857–1905 (Jaipur: Rawat, 1997): 33. See also The Rise of the Indian Novel, ed. C.D. Narasimhaiah & C.N. Srinath (Mysore: Dhvanyaloka Publications, 1986), Interrogating Post-Colonialism: Theory, Text and Context, ed. Harish Trivedi & Meenakshi Mukherjee (Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1996), and Makarand Paranjape, Towards a Poetics of the Indian English Novel (Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 2000). 30 M.E. Derrett, The Modern Indian Novel in English: A Comparative Approach (Brussels: Éditions de l’Institut de Sociologie, 1966): 14.

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humoured inertia and a casual tolerance which almost any reader in the country is expected to recognize as familiar.”31 In addition, the common view of Malgudi as eternally and immutably Hindu adheres to a view of Narayan which has done a disservice to his contemporary reputation, by under-estimating the importance of both the ‘secular’ nature of his Hinduism and the extent to which his comic novels engage with the everyday problems of twentieth-century India. In fact, the comic mode of his fiction is consciously applied to eliciting an ambivalent response to the reworking of mythic Hindu patterns.32 This timeless Hindu-ness commonly associated with Sanskrit literature is constantly found among the older generation of Indian scholars such as K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, who unequivocally identifies in the ‘classical (Sanskrit) tradition’ the bond of unity within India: the soul of our culture, what is perennial in our culture, what is ambrosial to our culture, is in our own great classical literature, Sanskrit, which is both a literature of knowledge and a literature of power, a spring of living waters that has sustained our many regional literatures.33

Even P. Lal’s declamatory “The Concept of an Indian Literature” does not depart from this view when he forcefully hones myth-awareness in order to carve out Indian identity.34 Similarly, C.D. Narasimhaiah’s pioneering scholarship of great rigour and vast reach notably refers to Indian(Hindu)ness as one of the criteria for evaluating genuine writers.35 Surprisingly, in

31

Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Perishable Empire (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2000): 170–71. 32 See, for instance, John Thieme, “The Cultural Geography of Malgudi,” Journal of Commonwealth Literature 42 (2007): 113–26. 33 K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, The Adventure of Criticism (1962; New Delhi: Sterling, 1985): 267. 34 Indian Literary Criticism in English: Critics, Texts, Issues, ed. P.K. Rajan (Jaipur: Rawat, 2004): 119. 35 Narasimhaiah’s assumption of “the operative sensibility of the writer being essentially Indian” recurs particularly in such works of his as The Swan and the Eagle (1968; New Delhi: Vision, 1999): 13–36, and in The Function of Criticism in India (Mysore: Central Institute of Indian Languages, 1986): 197–218. For a detailed assessment of Narasimhaiah’s Indianness, see K.C. Belliappa, “C.D. Narasimhaiah: Towards

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his untiring assessment of Indian English literature we come across some disturbing assumptions, as in the case of Nissim Ezekiel, a Jewish – not a Hindu – poet who lived in Bombay, whose kind of Indianness is found by Narasimhaiah to be rather problematic, as “one is not sure that the poet shows any profound awareness of the entire tradition from the Vedas and Upanishads to the present day in all its complexity.”36 Even when he is concerned with defining a viable concept of a national Indian literature, Indianness becomes a sort of neo-Leavisian prerequisite37 for keeping the great ‘Indian (Hindu) tradition’ alive, thus discounting, for instance, all legends and myths of Arabic and Persian origin, along with the rich heterogeneity of ‘other’ sacred texts belonging to the multicultural communities of India.38 As Shormishtha Panja aptly maintains, where then should one place the work of the Progressive in Hindi and Urdu literature and the Uttar Adhuniks in contemporary Bengali literature? Or those Indian English novelists who insist on the sheer materiality of the existence? Or those Dalit writers who refuse to swallow the spirituality bait offered as compensation for the sheer horror of their parents’ and sometimes even their own existence?39

We could profitably extend the range of these doubts by also adducing, as Tabish Khair observes, “the evidence of materialist philosophers in ancient and medieval India (the Charvakas, for instance) […] marginalized and obscured within hegemonic Brahminical (Hindu) traditions.”40 a Common Poetic for Modern India,” in Indian Literary Criticism in English: Critics, Texts, Issues, ed. Rajan, 123–32. 36 C.D. Narasimhaiah, The Swan and the Eagle, 56. 37 Apart from C.D. Narasimhaiah, many early scholars of Indian English criticism such as K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, V.K. Gokak, and M.K. Naik were strong adherents of F.R. Leavis. 38 Significantly, Raja Rao, one of Narasimhaiah’s favourites, eminently praised also by other Indian scholars for his Brahminical Hindu-ness, declared in an interview that he had gladly woven Sufi philosophy (learned in Urdu at Hyderabad) into the narrative texture of his short stories The Cow of the Barricades. See P. Bayapa Reddy, “A Conversation with Raja Rao,” in Studies in Indian Writing in English, ed. Reddy (New Delhi: Prestige, 1990): 88. 39 Shormishtha Panja, Many Indias, Many Literatures: New Critical Essays, ed. Panja (New Delhi: World View, 2001): 5. 40 Tabish Khair, Babu Fictions: Alienation in Contemporary Indian Novels (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001): 223–24.

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Another curious aspect of this undifferentiated pan-Indian sensibility which unquestionably provides the clue to its inherent Indianness is a famous definition by V.K. Gokak. Highly praised in Indra Nath Choudhuri’s essay “The Idea of Indian Literature,” he indicates that uniformity in the matter of choice and treatment of themes, or the writer’s intense awareness of his entire culture, constitutes what is known as Indianness in Indian literature.41 According to Gokak and Choudhuri, but also to S.K. Das and K.M. George, this supposed Indianness manifests itself clearly in ‘common patterns’ which provide ‘an unbroken continuity’. Yet, as Ganesh Devy maintains, a more reliable literary history, a more accurate description of the bhasha traditions, and a re-organized historical perspective will have to be offered. As such, literary theory, practical criticism, and theoretical formulations are still under-developed in modern India.42 Meenakshi Mukherjee also confirms that “the tradition of Indian writing in English is discontinuous; there is no genealogy that can be traced satisfactorily.”43 This would require a serious comparative study of Indian regional languages and literatures, seen both in their constant overlapping interactions and in their divergent attitudes, in order to single out the common patterns and basic unity of a one-headed corpus called Indian Literature. The stubborn attempt by many scholars to create a single canon seems to reveal the interpreters’ intentions rather than what is interpreted through their militant insistence on considering Indian literature as one entity, despite a cultural reality so strongly divided between caste, class, gender, religion, and ethnicity. The fact that India exhibited a kind of pan-Indian awareness even before the British period44 should suggest an Indianness seen more as a collective consciousness 41

Indra Nath Choudhuri, “The Idea of Indian Literature,” in The Divine Peacock. Understanding Contemporary India, ed. Satchidananda K Murty (New Delhi: I C C R & New Age International, 1998): 137–53. 42 See Ganesh N. Devy, After Amnesia (1992; Mumbai: Orient Longman, 1995), and Indian Literary Criticism, ed. Devy (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2002). 43 Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Perishable Empire: Essays on Indian Writing in English (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2000): 175. 44 Here I refer to that Indianness invoked by Gandhi in the creation of the Freedom movement, in which diverse political and ideological currents might coexist and work together toward the achievement of a common goal, that of overthrowing British Imperial rule.

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reflecting the many lives of the subcontinent in all its diversity rather than an individual, rigidly idealized, and self-congratulatory consciousness,45 for, as R.K. Narayan aptly observed, “do you visualize six hundred million to look skyward on a given day and shout their aspiration in a single voice?”46 The same note is struck by India’s national academy of letters (Sahitya Akademi), which is ideally positioned to take the same pan-Indian view – though originally re-fashioned in evocative metaphors – by publishing works ‘fitting’ in with the slogan “Indian literature is one, though written in many languages.”47 Whereas Narasimhaiah wonders, in his Sahitya Akademi Samvatsar Lecture: “can anything be more Indian, fitting, as it does, so well into the framework of our Purusharthas?”48 M.K. Naik aligns himself enthusiastically with the recent appellation ‘Indian English literature’ accepted by the Sahitya Akademi in order to emphasize ‘an unmistakable unity’ and an ‘Indian sensibility’ effectively expressed through the English language.49 The importance of this essentializing unity is equally addressed by K. Satchidanandan, the eminent Malayalam poet, bilingual critic, and former Secretary of the Akademi, who does not hesitate to indicate the marvellous plurality of Indian literatures by availing himself of a traditionally privileged (Advaita Vedantic) religious perspective: “Mayurapinchacchaviriva gahano […] deep and impenetrable as the 45

Besides, as Ganesh Devy points out, “there is ample evidence that literary scholars in the past were not oblivious of the pan-Indian nature of Indian literary practices. The linguists always thought of multilingual data; the theorists of literature always thought of several literary traditions, both the main-stream and the marginal; the writers used multilingual situations in their writing, and spoke themselves many languages; the audiences understood literature in more than one language.” Devy, “Comparatism in India and the West,” in Critical Theory – Western and Indian, ed. Prafulla C. Kar (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 1997): 13. 46 R.K. Narayan, The Writerly Life, ed. S. Krishnan (New Delhi: Penguin India, 2001): 508. 47 See Sisir Kumar Das, A History of Indian Literature, 1800–1910 (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1991), and K.M. George, Modern Indian Literature: An Anthology (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1992). 48 C.D. Narasimhaiah, An Inquiry into Indianness of Indian English Literature (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi Samvatsar Lectures 17, 2003): 8. 49 M.K. Naik, A History of Indian English Literature (1982; New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1999): 5.

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multicoloured splendour of a peacock’s tail-feather.”50 Fortunately, the same metaphor of ‘unity in diversity’ par excellence, notably envisaged in Jawaharlal Nehru’s ‘tryst with destiny’ more than fifty years ago,51 likewise captures the notion of a polychrome heterogeneity of ‘feathers’, in which a lively peacock is supposed to strut about, displaying the hues of many linguistic, religious, literary, and cultural constituents and potentialities. In this light, words like ‘essentially/truly/distinctively Indian’, instead of representing an infinity of alternative realities, suddenly seem eager to obscure the multiplicity of cultural experiences on the subcontinent. But why, asks Naik, must Indian poetry in English always be ‘Indian’, whatever the term might mean? Why insist that the Indian poet must produce his passport and establish his nationality before he can be declared through critical customs?52

Shashi Deshpande asks the same questions about Indian English literature and firmly replies that the writing had to prove its credentials by making clear it was Indian […] The blurring of complexities and the exoticizing of our surroundings and culture […] Even more important, possibly from the point of view of the publishers, the book had to conform to a certain image of India that is prevalent abroad.”53

By now it should be evident to the reader, after having considered both the Western and Indian canonical formulations of Indianness, that the central idea of ‘unity in diversity’ seems more to imply a logocentrism determined a priori by a dominant class to which every difference has to conform and submit itself. However, if we really need to subscribe to a 50

Satchidananda K. Murty, “Introduction” to The Divine Peacock: Understanding Contemporary India, ed. Murty (New Delhi: I C C R / New Age International, 1998): xiv. 51 “When Nehru was talking about a single India the impulse was one of unification and nation building”; Shormishtha Panja, Many Indias, Many Literatures: New Critical Essays, ed. Panja (New Delhi: World View, 2001): 11. 52 R.S. Pathak, Modern Indian Novel in English (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1999): 136. 53 Shashi Deshpande, Writing from the Margin (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2003): 42.

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definition of Indianness, we could – by going against the fashionable trend of deconstructing words – more convincingly reconstruct the rigid rankings of domination by positioning the same assumption in a mode of partnership: diversity in unity. Now, surprisingly, we are valuing a wholly different perspective of a pluralistic culture working proactively towards common democratic ideals which support rather than inhibit the realization of the highest human potential. By focusing primarily on diversity, we also have the chance to constantly interrogate its ever-growing ‘unity’, thus retaining both its fluidity and its dynamism. ‘Unity’ here indicates both common humanist values shared by all and India’s ever-increasing heterodoxy and assertive multiculturalism – cross-cultural and cross-linguistic contexts capable of coexisting with the old and the new, the indigenous and the ‘imported’, in a creative fusion of different cultures that gives rise to singular results and new permutations. This Indianness is more concerned with an attitude of mind which celebrates a cohesiveness of multiple negotiations – “the characteristic of loose and diverse unities,” as Aijaz Ahmad aptly calls it54 – rather than a total coherence based on one prevailing Indian mind-set or one correct method of interpretation.55 My enquiry into Raja Rao’s fiction will thus move from the above theoretical premise in order to accommodate the dialogic ‘partnership’ between the East and the West and to better understand the philosophical, linguistic, and multicultural complexity out of which Indian identity is woven. It is this indigenous cultural diversity, not seen as an aberrant, static system of exotic behaviour, attitudes, and values, but as a dynamic process of how it is ‘known’ by Raja Rao and how it comes into ‘being’ in his works, that I intend to address. It is about his ‘human agency’ capable of understanding and reconstructing his own world through the English language, an agency that gave Indians “a new sensibility, to feel with and to know with.”56 This is precisely what we need to acknowledge 54

Aijaz Ahmad, In Theory: Classes, Nations, Literatures (1992; New Delhi, Oxford

U P , 2002): 256. 55

See “The Indian Literature: Notes towards the Definition of a Category,” in Aijaz, In Theory, 243–85, and Paul Sharrad’s interpretation of an “Indianness that contains goes beyond the model provided by Indianist criticism,” in Raja Rao and the Cultural Tradition (New Delhi: Sterling, 1987): 36. 56 Raja Rao, “The Caste of English,” in Awakened Conscience: Studies in Commonwealth Literature, ed. C.D. Narasimhaiah (New Delhi: Sterling, 1978): 420.

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beyond the various prescriptive universal cultural definitions ‘implicit’ in homogenizing extremisms and canonical assumptions which, in the usual patriarchal fashion, are not shown but implied. The discourse of aggressive masculine rationality, imperial supremacy, and conquest can be effectively overcome by establishing a partnership model within postcolonialism(s), an approach pursuable by transcending imperialistic binaries and focusing instead on the interactive and ‘dialogic’ process of the ‘ex-’ and ‘neo-’colonial encounter, rather than the ‘post’.57 As the ground-breaking work of the anthropologist Riane Eisler shows, the cognitive gylanic58 universe, based on the symbolic system of the Great Goddess, places itself outside the contrapositions and hierarchical distinctions of inferiority/superiority. Supported by the archaeological discoveries of Marija Gimbutas,59 she gives evidence of ‘another history’, that of the Neolithic before the violent invasion of the Indo-European nomads, in which an ‘equalitarian’ mode of living was far more central than the patriarchal ‘dominator’ configuration, resulting in relations of reciprocity or ‘linking’ rather than relations of control and ‘ranking’.60 57

For a discussion of the partnership model as a literary critical model in ‘postcolonial’ literatures, see also The Art of Partnership: Essays on Literature, Culture, Language and Education Towards a Cooperative Paradigm, ed. Antonella Natale Riem & Roberto Albarea (Udine: Forum, 2003), and The Goddess Awakened: Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education, ed. Antonella Natale Riem, Luisa Conti Camaiora & Maria Renata Dolce (Udine: Forum, 2007). 58 The term is composed of the prefix g- (gyne, woman) and an- (andros, man) linked by the letter l for lyen (to resolve) or lyo (to set free), to indicate that the female and male halves of humanity are linked rather than ranked. See Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1988), The Power of Partnership (Novato C A : New World Library, 2002), The Real Wealth of Nations (San Francisco: Berrett–Koehler, 2007), and Sacred Pleasure. Sex, Myth, and the Politics of the Body: New Paths to Power and Love (Shaftesbury, Dorset: Element, 1996). 59 See Marija Gimbutas, The Goddess and the Gods of Old Europe, 7000–3500 B C : Myths and Cult Images (London: Thames & Hudson, 1974), The Language of the Goddess (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982), and The Civilization of the Goddess (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1991). 60 “‘Equalitarian’ is used instead of the more conventional ‘egalitarian’. The reason is that ‘egalitarian’ has traditionally only described equality between men and men (as the works of Locke, Rousseau, and other ‘rights of man’ philosophers, as well as modern history, evidence). ‘Equalitarian’ denotes social relations in a partnership

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This ancient pattern of thought, defined by Eisler as ‘gylany’, took place in a space outside the violent hierarchy of the current patriarchal system – a space in which both women and the cult of the Great Mother Goddess projected a peaceful and multicultural world, based on mutual care and support without upholding any dominating or monocultural viewpoints. The example of ancient Neolithic societies oriented on partnership values, such as Minoan Crete, illustrates the fact that ‘open cultures’ – receptive to all influences without prejudice – were a potent factor even in apparently homogeneous contexts and represented a viable mode of existence, more equitable and fulfilling, without necessarily beinging ‘opposed’ to alternative cultures and life-forms. Significantly, Eisler’s project aims at building new cohesive contexts in which ‘dimensions of diversity’61 – and not the absence of synergic relationships – is fundamental to the creation of a harmonious, interwoven evolution among different cultures. Her working hypothesis resides in the concept of ‘partnership’ as opposed to what she calls the ‘dominator’ model (patriarchal and/or matriarchal, yet hierarchical)62 still predominant in Western systems of living. “Basically we’re talking about a system of beliefs and a way of structuring institutions,” she argued in a 2005 interview: […] family, education, religion, politics, and economics – in a way that imposes and maintains top-down rankings of domination. I call this a ‘Hierarchy of Domination,’ be it in the family, the state or tribe. And of course, we see it in economics, religion, and education. The partnership and dominator models are just that – models – so we’re society where women and men (and ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’) are accorded equal value”; Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade, 216. 61 “It indicates that every aspect of difference is important and needs to be recognized (heritage, learning styles, economic class, and spiritual and religious beliefs, are some examples of the more than fifty different dimensions that could be identified”; Dierdre Bucciarelli & Sarah Pirtle, Partnership Education in Action (Tucson A Z : Center for Partnership Studies, 2001): 393. 62 The opposite of patriarchy is not matriarchy – another side of the dominator coin – but ‘partnership’, emphasizing mutually respectful and caring relationships and supporting different ways of relating as an alternative to the usual patterns of domination such as rigid hierarchies, authoritarianism, and cultural hegemony. See also David Loye’s reconstruction of Darwin’s long-ignored “fully human, love and moral-actionoriented” completion of his theory of evolution: Darwin’s Lost Theory (Carmel C A : Benjamin Franklin Press, 2007).

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always talking about the degree to which a particular culture, economic system, business or family orients to one or the other […]. It is so very important that we know that there is an alternative. Just for starters, I would like to say that this alternative is about a configuration. When I use the term partnership, this is not about just strategic alliances or cooperation. People collaborate and cooperate in the domination model. The 9 / 11 terrorists did; invading armies and monopolies do, etc. So the difference between competition and cooperation isn’t the difference between these two models. The difference is that each has a very different cultural configuration.63

The idea of a social system no longer androcratic but mutual among sexes – and, by extension, among different cultures – is the potential for expressing respect and cooperation and overcoming the rigid discourses imposed by dominant and hegemonic hierarchies. In this light, cultural diversity is seen as a power engine working toward a respectful acknowledgment of the variety of cultures in which any ‘other’, ‘different’, and ‘external’ sign to the West becomes the distinctive expression of the many languages and world literatures’ symphonic togetherness, thus preserving the individuality of each work without losing sight of the whole.64 It is through multidisciplinary and intercultural perspectives that different cultures and languages can meet, cooperate, and cross-fertilize, thus linking and widening human horizons through hierarchies of actualization rather than hierarchies of domination.65 Similarly, Said’s postcolonial critique is eloquently aimed at delineating a proactive humanistic paradigm that counteracts the negative binarism between Western globalizing (neo)colonial forces (conformity/standardization) and the militant insularity of traditionalist nativism: 63

Riane Eisler, “Partnership: An Interview with Riane Eisler” (2005), http://www .leadcoach.com/ archives/interview/riane_eisler.html 64 Here, I particularly refer to Goethe’s noble concept of a single world literature (Weltliteratur), as anthologized in Fritz Strich’s Goethe und die Weltliteratur (Bern: Franke, 1946): 397–400 (Goethe and World Literature, tr. C.A.M. Sym [New York: Hafner, 1949]). 65 “A structure based on ‘power to (creative power, the power to help, and to nurture others) as well as power with (the collective power to accomplish things together)’ rather than power over. Such a structure is characterized by accountability flowing in both directions”; Bucciarelli & Pirtle, Partnership Education in Action, 394.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS My idea in Orientalism was to use humanistic critique to open up the fields of struggle, to introduce a longer sequence of thought and analysis to replace the short bursts of polemical, thought-stopping fury that so imprison us. I have called what I try to do ‘humanism’, a word I continue to use stubbornly despite the scornful dismissal of the term by sophisticated post-modern critics. By humanism I mean first of all attempting to dissolve Blake’s “mind-forg’d manacles” so as to be able to use one’s mind historically and rationally for the purposes of reflective understanding. Moreover, humanism is sustained by a sense of community with other interpreters and other societies and periods: strictly speaking therefore, there is no such thing as an isolated humanist.66

This call to re-orientate the monolithic concepts of both imperialistic and nationalistic cultures towards a new humanisitic and partnership paradigm moves beyond narrow definitions of alterity and civilizational difference and deploys a series of analytical categories aimed at creating a way out of the epistemological violence of the colonial encounter. In this sense, such literary criticism, seen as life-enhancing and constitutively opposed to major and dominant knowledge-systems, enables this enquiry into Raja Rao’s fiction to proceed beyond the heavy burden of Indian (Hindu) nationalism and preserve the plural character of his oeuvre. The significance of Rao’s remarkable ability to weave together West and East harmoniously is synthesized in the symbols of the rose and the lotus which I have chosen as the title of this book, as allegorical evocations of the millennia-long cultural traditions of both India and the West, without mistaking, as Rao would say, the lotus for the rose. My perspective is thus directed at both analyzing and emphasizing the complexity and plurality of the dialogic negotiation between East and West made by Raja Rao in his spiritual quest for the ultimate Truth, which operates simultaneously on both political and metaphysical levels.

The Politics of Truth As we saw briefly above, instances of a marshalling nationalism which ossified the cultural construct of a universalistic Indian identity for the 66

Edward Said, “A Window on the World” (2003), http://www.books.guardian.co .uk/ review/story/0,12084,1010417,00.html

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sake of Indian English literature canon-making are clearly traceable in the early generation of scholars who systematically represented, for instance, the ‘big three’ novelists, Mulk Raj Anand, R.K. Narayan, and Raja Rao, as the founding fathers of an India that was unambiguously timeless, rigid, monochromatic, most ancient, and thus unassailable and unchangeable. This dominant critical trend emerged in the historical period spanning the 67 1950s and the 1960s when the ongoing consolidation of a national ideology of independent India continued to be seen as a powerful means of cultural recovery from the colonial trauma of British imperialism. It was an anticolonial nationalism which invariably also invested most Indian critics and their triumphal praise of the Indian novel in English with various degrees of ‘cultural-insider’ radicalism. Thus, caught between tradition and modernity, the imaginary nation-state called India was found by most Indian critics to be projected as a prototypical microcosm in Anand’s Untouchable and as its macrocosm in Coolie.68 Similarly, the universalistic reading of Narayan’s Malgudi as “the microcosm of traditional Indian society”69 – readily reproduced by Western scholars such as William Walsh and Silvia Albertazzi – contributed to the creation of both a quintessential pan-Indian identity and a unified Hindu traditional orthodoxy of middle-class Indian society as governed by normative values fuelled by “the remarkable fact of a static traditional Indian life which the West touches at all points but without real penetration anywhere.”70 Accordingly, whatever differences were found in Narayan’s novels were entirely absorbed into the “Malgudi=India=Everywhere”71 equation frozen by the cyclical order–disorder–order pattern which was found to operate unconsciously as part of his world-view.72 Such a universalistic microcosm–macrocosm metaphor drawn from the nation-centred ideology 67

In India, nationalism precisely began in 1885 with the formation of the Indian National Congress. 68 K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, Indian Writing in English, 340. 69 C.D. Narasimhaiah, The Swan and the Eagle, ed. Narasimhaiah (New Delhi: Vision, 1999): 177. 70 A.N. Kaul, “R.K. Narayan and the East–West Theme,” in Considerations, ed. Meenakshi Mukherjee (New Delhi: Allied, 1977): 50. 71 Silvia Albertazzi, Il tempio e il villaggio (Bologna: Patron, 1978): 54. 72 Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction: Themes and Techniques of the Indian Novel in English (1971; New Delhi: Heinemann, 1974): 150.

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of both the pre- and the post-Independence periods is even more pressing in Raja Rao’s fiction, as he visibly meets and continues to satisfy the expectations of a traditional Indian view. In fact, whereas M.K. Naik observes that Raja Rao himself remains virtually untouched by his long sojourn in France and America,73 C.D. Narasimhaiah finds Kanthapura “India in microcosm: what happened there is what happened everywhere in India during those terrible years of our fight for freedom.”74 The founding fathers of Indian writing in English were thus categorized as “Anand the Marxist, progressive and committed writer; Narayan the comic genius or writer pure and simple; and Raja Rao the religious and philosophical novelist,”75 readily assessed also in the West as “Anand the novelist as reformer, Raja Rao the novelist as metaphysical poet, and Narayan simply the novelist as novelist.”76 If, in the past, this regimented nationalistic trend in early Indian English literary criticism predictably emerged in reaction to the long cultural hegemony of the British Empire – and for the sake of Indian English literary canon-formation – today we are witnessing a re-assessment of Indian English literatures articulated in a more problematic construct of Indian nationalism and identity which represents the subcontinent along with its writers through a set of political, historical, and social currents flowing in dynamic and ambivalent cultural spaces.77 In these new critical multidisciplinary re-appraisals, a distinct blend of Indian and Western influences is more clearly unravelled, instead of a 73

M.K. Naik, Raja Rao (New York: Twayne, 1972): 22. C.D. Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao (1973; Delhi: Doaba House, 2000): 45. 75 C.D. Narasimhaiah, “Raja Rao: The Metaphysical Novel (The Serpent and the Rope) and Its Significance for Our Age,” in The Swan and the Eagle, 148. 76 William Walsh, R.K. Narayan: A Critical Appreciation (London: Heinemann, 1982): 6. 77 C. Vijayasree, Meenakshi Mukherjee, Harish Trivedi & T. Vijay Kumar, ed. Nation in Imagination: Essays on Nationalism, Sub-Nationalisms and Narration (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2007), have made this argument cogently. However, contemporary critics boldly maintain that Rao’s fiction presents a homogenized and essentialized idea of India. See, for instance, Akshaya Kumar, “Essentializing India: Nations, Culture and the Meaning of India,” Haritam 10 (1988): 63–73, Rumina Sethi, Myths of the Nation: National Identity and Literary Representation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1999), and Tabish Khair, “The Indian and the Universal in Raja Rao Making the World,” in Babu Fictions: Alienation in Contemporary Indian Novels, ed. Khair (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001): 203–25. 74

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static and monochromatic India, such as those operating in M.R. Anand’s experiments with social realism, in R.K. Narayan’s ironical portrayal of a dynamic Indian life enriched by new Western tensions, and in Raja Rao’s pluralistic East–West dialogue, thus signalling the complex transformations and multiple ambivalences of an India caught between the cultural twilight of the modern and the traditional. Since his first collection of short stories, The Cow of the Barricades, composed between 1933 and 1946, Raja Rao appears painfully conscious of the collapse of the traditional caste-system of the Indian (Hindu-Brahminical) community, resulting in the violent alienation of certain subaltern individuals from family life and society. The fact that he gave expression, from the very beginning of his literary career, to a series of Indian realities – largely silenced during the colonial period – such as Hindu–Muslim connivance, patriarchal domestic violence, and the degradation of women (particularly in sati and widowhood) and low-caste peasants, strongly suggest the more complex nature of his brahminical conservatism. As he once admitted, I went to Europe thinking that I would never come back, because my country was corrupt and I was disgusted. I thought I would never come back to fall at the feet of potbellied Brahmins. At the time of a sraddha [religious ceremony performed in honour of dead relatives] they are very greedy. To think that my ancestors would give food to these! Whenever I had to perform the sraddha I used to make fun of the Brahmins.78

In a way that is perhaps more authentically Indian, in the sense of cultural heterogeneity, Raja Rao’s idea of India does not find expression merely in the closed circle of metaphysical detachment and unworldly ethos, but in an open one in which penetrating socio-political insight into India is continuously interwoven with the complexities of human nature in order to extend the horizons of the spiritual potential of all humanity. Equally, his originality resides in the way he fuses the political and the spiritual by creating a firm bridge between earthly sense-experience and the continual rediscovery of the purpose of living, the ‘time-bound’ seeking after the

78

M.K. Naik, Raja Rao, 19–20.

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“‘timeless’ […] The Ego seeking its own dissolution.”79 The two strands of politics and spirituality are so inextricably blended in the texture of Raja Rao’s work that it would be a mistake to see them as separate: “for the universe grows with one’s growth and dissolves with the ego’s dissolution. The inner and the outer pilgrimages thus are one” (G I W , 121). In fact, whereas the yogi endeavours to bring happiness by effecting change from within ‘outside history’, the historically bound revolutionary and the politician try to bring about change from without, by confronting mundane injustice and the shortcomings of social welfare. The fusion of these two aspects of life, spiritual ethics and the actual social pathway, is embodied in the figure of the sage, the karma yogin, who is neither ‘a saint nor a politician’ but the synthesis of both, conscientiously translating his spiritual knowledge into the concrete discipline of moral and ethical conduct: the saint is a man who would be perfect. The politician one who would make the world wholesome, whole […]. With the politician, he would image the good citizen, le bon citoyen […]. The sage is the liberated one, a being who has transcended both, the ego and the world. (M I : 60–61)

In this broad perspective, the political becomes spiritual, directed as it is towards resolving the pain of human beings by leading them to the Ultimate Truth, thus refusing “to view politics only as a secularized arena of human initiative.”80 By considering politics within the partnership/domination continuum, it becomes clear how it works in two main directions: to hold to the old view of power such as the dominator configurations of giving orders, controlling, and disempowering others, or, more rarely, to empower the whole of humanity – both its female and male halves – and promote a partnership-oriented democracy by pacifically challenging traditions of domination.81 Significantly, during the 1930s, many politically conscious novelists displayed the same spiritualizing approach to politics, 79

Asha Kauskik, “Meeting Raja Rao,” Literary Criterion 18.3 (1983): 33. Ashis Nandy, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism (1983; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004): 229. 81 I particularly refer to slavery, marginalized groups and communities, (neo)colonialisms, repressive regimes, and many other brutally authoritarian configurations which use violence to maintain the domination / control model and work against a more democratic, equalitarian, peaceful, caring, and environmentally sustainable world. 80

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such as Graham Greene, a Catholic convert, Aldous Huxley, a wellknown Vedantist, and Rex Warner, who could not conceive of politics without mysticism in order to promote more democratic and equalitarian social structures. Not to be forgotten, too, are André Malraux and Ignazio Silone, closely with Raja Rao for exerting both a particular aesthetic influence on his literary universe and for their politico-spiritual resistance to any form of colonialism and dictatorship.82 Thus, just as the force of spiritual light dispels violence and becomes the stimulus for social reform, in literature the very act of marrying political events to spiritual ideas not only embellishes and structures the setting, action, and characters of the story, but also succeeds in “transforming the ‘loud and vulgar’ din of political life into an organic element in the symphony of fiction.”83 In this light, the spiritual and the political are so perfectly fused that even a highly sacred text like the Bhagavad Gita becomes, as André Malraux told Nehru, “a bible for the Real Revolution” (M I : 53). This synthesis – not to be misunderstood as a Hegelian reconciliation of opposites but, rather, as a creative synergic process – has its foremost predecessor in Mahatma Gandhi’s politico-spiritual legacy,84 Satyagraha (‘the force of Truth’),85 used, as Raja Rao points out, “not for a political but a metaphysical change” (M I : 68) for the sake of all (sarvodaya):

82

As C.D. Narasimhaiah pointed out, Ignazio Silone’s Fontamara is one of the main sources of Kanthapura (Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 42–68). In 1958, Raja Rao travelled in India with André Malraux, De Gaulle’s emissary to Nehru. 83 Yogendra K. Malik, Politics and the Novel in India, ed. Malik (New Delhi: Orient Longman, 1975): 15. Asha Kaushik also maintains that from its very beginning the Indian English novel was “intimately related to the evolution of the national history in India [and] as such the political motif was not only prominent but inherent in its very genesis”; Kaushik, Politics, Aesthetics and Culture (New Delhi: Manohar, 1988): 49. 84 “Gandhi […] posited an ‘alternative’, not a ‘counter’, modernity, a belief system which was not dismissive of the emotion / mind combine, and demonstrated his modernity through flexibility of approach, openness of mind, willingness to step into other positions and foregrounding of the human”; Jasbir Jain, Beyond Postcolonialism: Dreams and Realities of a Nation (Jaipur: Rawat, 2006): 37–38. 85 Satyagraha is also translated as ‘grasping onto principles’, for Gandhi assumed that behind any struggle lies the fundamental clash of differing ‘angles of visions’ illuminating the same truth. Thus, Satyagraha becomes an enriching search for a broad solution which should satisfy both parties, a resolution that enhances both sides (partnership) instead of defending a narrow solution (domination).

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS To see the universal all-pervading Spirit of Truth face to face one must be able to love the meanest of creation as oneself. And a man who aspires after that cannot afford to keep out of any field of life. That is why my devotion to Truth has drawn me into the field of politics; and I can say without the slightest hesitation, and yet with all humility, that those who say that religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion means.86

In “Spiritualising Political Life,” Gandhi denied being a politician in the traditional sense of the word. He was, he said, a politician trying to introduce religion to politics as Gokhale, another ‘saintly politician’, taught him in order to find no ego.87 Gandhi was deeply convinced that political power had to be understood as a ‘means’ for universal welfare (lokasangraha), which implied both a radical refusal of the idea that the end justifies the means and an inviolable faith in the spiritual and ethical potential of all humanity. Interestingly, his theology of non-violence and his search for Truth have too many significant similarities with Raja Rao’s politicospiritual penchant to be dismissed. They not only share a humanistic politico-spiritual vocabulary and a subversive ‘passive’ resistance88 to British colonialism, but they are also motivated by a staunch commitment, on the one hand, to attaining self-realization (moksha) and, on the other, to scratching off the veneer of ‘modern civilization’, accompanied by a nostalgic return to the ancient roots of India’s heterogeneous civilization.89 Their struggle between tradition and modernity is not one endorsed with 86

Mahatma Gandhi, An Autobiography or the Story of my Experiments with Truth (1927; Ahmedabad: Navajivan, 2002): 420. 87 The Essential Writings of Mahatma Gandhi, ed. Raghavan Iyer (1990; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004): 108–10. 88 As P.T. Raju maintains, Satyagraha (satya – truth, agraha – attachment, adherence, sticking to) is the philosophy of truth in action which is misleadingly translated as passive resistance: “the original basic word has neither the meaning of ‘passive’ or ‘non-violent’ nor that of ‘resistance’. Indeed, resistance and non-violence are important for Gandhi, but they are derivatives from the original idea in its application to action.” P.T. Raju, The Philosophical Traditions of India (1992; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1998): 222–23. 89 In 1946, Raja Rao was also an active member of a cultural organization called Chetana, located in Bombay, which promoted, among many other indigenous traditions, vegetarianism, discovered and religiously adopted by Gandhi through the London Vegetarian Society.

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an unflinching confidence joyfully directed towards the Ultimate Truth, but a troubled and sacrificial one, “a path straight and narrow and sharp as the razor’s edge,”90 heavily burdened by social and moral tribulations. Nonetheless, both Gandhi and Raja Rao’s quest for Truth emerge primarily from this constant tension between alternating conflicts and reconciliations which ultimately culminate in a dialogic synthesis transmuting aspects of both tradition and modernity, and oscillating between religious conservatism and a pluralistic cultural identity. In The Great Indian Way, Raja Rao’s biography of Gandhi, his striving for spiritual liberation reveals his strict adherence to the same luminous principle of Truth (sat) diligently pursued by the Mahatma: A fact may be confusing, never a principle. A principle is only the law behind events – it makes the concrete abstract, and thus intelligible. And from law to law is a leap that takes us straight to the truth. (G I W , 46)

The implications of this statement are far-reaching. Truth, the highest ontological reality, permeates the cosmos and each individual has the opportunity to view his/her world as he/she chooses. This quest for truth is the quest for the inner essence of the human being: it is not so much to defend the truth as to incessantly discover it. It is essentially within and hardly elsewhere, an inner experience of the self – ‘the inner voice within’ – which ultimately merges in the Absolute: “thus you can get out of your pen your own way. There is no other way. Your way is the all – for you” (G I W , 139). In fact, it is only when we attempt to organize a truth for others that it becomes a lie, as the ultimate Truth can be perceived only as a result of a human being’s continuous effort to live and constantly to come to terms with his/her own nature. Truth has infinite possibilities and openings. As Gandhi explains, Truth is not only truthfulness in word, but truthfulness in thought also, and not only the relative truth of our conception, but the Absolute Truth, the Eternal Principle.91

90 91

Gandhi, An Autobiography or the Story of my Experiments with Truth, xi. Gandhi, An Autobiography or the Story of My Experiments with Truth, xi.

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Metaphysically, he is very close to Raja Rao’s Vedantic orientation, which reject the dualistic theory of knowledge (Jnana), according to which truth is regarded as conformity of knowledge to reality. For both Gandhi and Raja Rao, existence and truth are one, as is implied in the Sanskrit term for truth, satya, derived from sat ‘existence’, which also coincides with reality and refers to the first principle of being (sat) in all things. Thus, the distinction between knower and known disappears and Truth is obtained when the ego (ahamkara) is reduced to zero and commits salleka, religious suicide, the Self freed from the ‘I’ and ‘mine’ in its true nature (Svabhava). This open-ended quality of Gandhi’s Satyagraha is precisely what saves it from the rigidity of moralism: it offers not certainty but, rather, a means of grasping both the meaning of existence and our own truth. While both Gandhi’s and Raja Rao’s monistic belief in the centripetal and cohesive force of Truth may appear to be articulated exclusively within the Hindu religious tradition, it would be misleading to regard their politico-spiritual bent as an orthodox revivalism of Vedic religiosity. In fact, the hiatus between their spiritual and socio-political visions encompasses the world’s major religious traditions, in which Truth is constantly perceived and articulated within a synergic system of life-processes, rituals, ethics, and thoughts, whose focus is the human being: Stripped of the eloquence, this religion of Truth again resolves itself into its component parts – Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, etc. For Truth will appear to most sincere and conscientious Hindus, Mussalmans and Christians as Hinduism, Islam and Christianity, respectively, as they believe them. The golden rule of conduct, therefore, is mutual toleration, seeing that we will never all think alike and that we shall see Truth in fragment and from different angles of vision.92

Even Gandhi’s open relationship with East and West contributed to a mystic awareness nourished by listening attentively to his father’s frequent discussions with Moslem and Parsi friends […]. A great absorber. Jainism, as well as Buddhism, perceptibly coloured Gandhi’s thoughts and shaped his works.93 92

Iyer, The Essential Writings of Mahatma Gandhi, 211. Louis Fischer, The Life of Mahatma Gandhi (1953; Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 2003): 25. 93

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Similarly, Raja Rao, despite his proud insistence on Vedanta, consciously synthesized in his world-view many philosophical traditions, such as Sufism, Buddhism, Christianity, and Tantra, with almost equal spiritual conviction, as ‘authenticity’ never fails in creating mutual tolerance and understanding: One should be authentic. It does not matter what you are, but you must be authentic. For example, I have seen Gandhiji and Maulana Azad face to face with each other at Sevagram. I have spent quite some time at Sevagram with Gandhiji. Gandhi was a good Hindu. Azad was a good Muslim. They could talk to each other with authenticity. They had respect for each other, each was authentic. It is to those who are not authentic that misery comes.94

Contrary to what is usually perceived, in Raja Rao’s spiritual metaphysics, as an antiquarian, reticent, and backward-looking aesthetic or as Advaitic bigotry,95 an androcentric, chauvinistic pomposity – views shared passionately by many other critics and readers – his personal world-view needs to be legitimately conceived within a more dialectical philosophical framework in order to appreciate properly his peculiar never-ending quest for the Ultimate Truth. What Raja Rao does is precisely to get away from a unique racial (nationalist) frame by developing an all-encompassing frame of humanism, as Gandhi did, capable of accommodating a dynamic tapestry of cultural traditions. The binary tendency often adopted by scholars – to see East/West, male/female, tradition/modernity, Sanskrit/vernacular in monolithic and stereotypical terms, the better to accommodate

94

Shiva Niranjan, “An Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. Krishna Nandan Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 24. 95 See Kaushik, Politics, Aesthetics and Culture, 159, Uma Parameswaran, “Siva and Shakti in Raja Rao’s Novels,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 575, Nivedita Nanda, Raja Rao and the Religious Tradition (New Delhi: Anmol, 1992): 102, and Paul Brians, “Raja Rao: Kanthapura (1938),” in Modern South Asian Literature in English, ed. Brians (Westport C T : Greenwood, 2003): 34. Paradoxically, although Nivedita Nanda’s study of The Serpent and the Rope is aimed at pointing out Raja Rao’s major misconceptions of the Indian religious tradition, she herself confines it strictly to a monochromatic Hindu (Vedic) India.

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universal norms and generalizations – should give us pause.96 If not the perplexed reader, at least the critic must engage with Raja Rao’s own terms, even if he/she disagrees with his ideology, for, as he repeatedly stated in many interviews, he writes just for himself and makes no concessions to the West.”97 Thus, the development of Raja Rao’s fiction cannot be fully understood except in terms of its interdependence with the socio-political and spiritual dimensions which he personally experienced through a series of cultural traditions and values, both Western and Indian, exemplarily woven at the heart of his literary universe.

In Other Words In examining the work of any Indian English writer, it is necessary to focus on the linguistic choices made among the many possible options available in a polyglot India, a linguistic galaxy of unparalleled richness; the author creates his/her own linguistic synthesis from a vast indigenous cultural and linguistic repertoire made up of both the oral traditions of India – mainly ‘conventionally’ traced back to Sanskrit texts – and the modernizing influence of the many Indian languages and literatures. More precisely, analysis of the nativized variety of English created by Raja Rao throws light on the many possibilities of linguistic invention and transformation, constantly and contextually reformulated, on the basis of the rich linguistic and cultural heritage of India (parampara). It is a linguistic project that we can legitimately define as one of ‘reconstruction’ and which we find summed up notoriously in his preface to Kanthapura: One has to convey in a language that is not one’s own the spirit that is one’s own. One has to convey the various shades and omissions of a

96

A fitting example is Anantha Murthy’s article in which, surprisingly, he upholds Indian tradition against the Western world, as epitomized by Anglo-Saxon culture, which is not only depicted as “anti-metaphysical and pragmatic in their outlook” but also characterized by the narrow confines of Western rationality, which “has driven the world into a mess of pollution and ecological imbalance.” Murthy, “Search for an Identity: A View Point of a Kannada Writer,” in Identity and Adulthood, ed. Sudhir Kakar (1979; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002): 105–17. 97 Word as Mantra: The Art of Raja Rao, ed. Robert L. Hardgrave, Jr. (New Delhi: Katha, 1998): 194.

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certain thought-movement that looks maltreated in an alien language. I use the word ‘alien’, yet English is not really an alien language to us. It is the language of our intellectual make-up – like Sanskrit or Persian was before – but not of our emotional make-up. We are all instinctively bilingual, many of us writing in our language and in English. We cannot write like the English. We should not. We cannot write only as Indians. We have grown to look at the large world as part of us. Our method of expression therefore has to be a dialect which will some day prove to be as distinctive and colourful as the Irish or the American. Time alone will justify it. After language the next problem is that of style. The tempo of Indian life must be infused into our English expression, even as the tempo of American or Irish life has gone into the making of theirs. We, in India, think quickly, we talk quickly, and when we move we move quickly. There must be something in the sun of India that makes us rush and tumble and run on. And our paths are paths interminable. The Mahabharata has 214,778 verses and the Ramayana 48,000. Puranas there are endless and innumerable. We have neither punctuation nor the treacherous ‘ats’ and ‘ons’ to bother us — we tell one interminable tale. Episode follows episode, and when our thoughts stop, our breath stops, and we move on to another thought. This was and still is the ordinary style of our story-telling. (K : v–vi)

Not only does Raja Rao, as many other writers do, reject ‘Standard English’ – the language used by the colonizer to accomplish cultural assimilation – but also discards his mother-tongue,98 Kannada, as unsuitable for representing the complexities of a native space and consciousness which cannot be returned either to a pre-Imperial period or accommodated to a hypothetical ‘postcolonial’ phase, presumably still affected by painful memories of colonial trauma. Yet he brings the English language to the centre of his transcultural and multilingual creativity and succeeds in finding in it a suitable medium capable of infinite experiments: 98

During the 1930s, Raja Rao decided to abandon the idea of writing in Kannada after publishing four articles in the regional newspaper Jaya Karnataka: “A Pilgrimage to Europe,” “Europe and Ourselves,” “Expiation,” and “Romain Rolland: The Great Sage.” Both M.K. Naik and G.S Amur agree on the modest artistic value of these early writings. See Naik, Raja Rao, and G.S. Amur, “Raja Rao: the Kannada Phase,” Journal of Karnatak University 10 (Dharwar, 1966): 40–52.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS In English, it seems as if one can do what one wants with the language. There are fewer rules, it’s a newer language, and therefore has more freedom for invention […]. I lived in France for a long time and know French almost as well as I do English, but this freedom is not available in French at all. French is so strict a language that there is hardly any freedom there.99

Even more important is the capturing of the Indianness of Raja Rao’s linguistic processes and devices and the avoidance of the widespread settlercolony bias in considering Indian English – ‘Babu English’ – as an unEnglish by-product.100 We thus need to insist on recognizing this linguistic hybridized path – indeed, both consciously and unconsciously subversive – as an authentic matrix developing from a distinct native sensibility, and culturally and linguistically bound. This third language, a spoken language still in fieri yet already conventionally identified as Indian English, belongs to a variety of Standard English and is acquired mainly as a second language from a restricted sector of the Indian population. More accurately, it would be correct to speak of Indian English ‘languages’ in order to avoid conceiving of Indian English as a homogeneous linguistic whole, as it reflects the influence of several vernacular languages both local (pidgin/bazaar English) and regional (Bengali–English, Punjabi–English, Tamil–English, etc.). In this regard, the theories proffered by the Indian sociolinguist Braj Kachru and other scholars101 have been extremely useful in clarifying the complex web of 99

Hardgrave, Word as Mantra: The Art of Raja Rao, 79. In linguistics, the general contemptible attitude of many critics in disdaining the linguistic modifications of Indian Englishes is usually noticeable in the emphatic overstressing of ‘barbarisms’ instead of a more rigorous evaluation of ‘linguistic deviations’ from normative Standard English. With regard to this issue, Braj B. Kachru makes a clear distinction between ‘deviation’ and ‘mistake’: “the term ‘deviation’ serves a useful purpose when it refers to the linguistic and cultural nativization of a variety of English”; Kachru, The Indianization of English: The English Language in India (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1983): 2. 101 See also, for instance, Rethinking English: Essays in Literature, Language, History, ed. Joshi Svati (New Delhi: Trianka, 1991), English in India: Issues and Problems, ed. R.S. Gupta & Kapil Kapoor (New Delhi: Academic Foundation, 1991), Kapil Kapoor, Language, Linguistics and Literature (New Delhi: Academic Foundation, 1994), and Raja Ram Mehotra, Indian English: Texts and Interpretation (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1998). 100

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‘interferences’ (or loan transfers) which take place once Standard English is nativized to serve typically heterogeneous Indian needs in distinct polyglot and multicultural contexts.102 Equally, Raja Rao’s experiments with the English language show how an ‘alien’ language is made to reproduce the Indian characteristics of oral narrative along with the typical syntactic structure of Kannada and Sanskrit, thus becoming an integral part of Indian literatures: as long as we are Indian – that is not nationalists, but truly Indians of the Indian psyche – we shall have the English language with us and amongst us, and not as guest or friend, but as one of our traditions, of our caste, our creed, our sect and our tradition.103

However, according to Kachru104 we should remember that only a few ‘Indianisms’ are commonly shared by the whole variety of Indian languages, whereas the rest of these ‘deviations’ pertain to other linguistic areas (micro/macro settings) such as the ‘text-specific’, in which the author re-creates a specific language through stylistic mediation and highly personalized lexical transfers of native idioms such as the expression “Narasamma was growing thin as a bamboo and shrivelled like banana trunk” (K , 45). The linguistic decision to nativize another language (Standard English) taken by Indian English writers confers on their literary work an exceptional complexity – it becomes culture/language-bound: i.e. enriched by a series of native customs, behaviours, narrative strategies, and linguistic models usually unknown to the Western reader. It thus becomes necessary to examine these unique linguistic characteristics which posit Indian English literatures as dwelling in a kind of twilight space, a third dimension ‘in-between’ a literary and linguistic model that is ‘primarily’ English and another that is indigenously Indian, a contactzone in which the creative use of English takes place and the multicoloured life of India finds expression.

102

We should keep in mind that Indian civilization is the result of many disjointed cultural realities which are not all indigenous – such as Persian, introduced to India through Muslim invasions. 103 Rao, “The Caste of English,” 420. 104 Kachru, The Indianization of English, 11.

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In examining Rao’s use of English, we also need to consider his philosophical orientation, notably Advaita Vedanta, from which his writing as a spiritual discipline emerges to illuminate the ultimate concerns of existence. Explicitly drawing from the philosophical tenets of Vedanta, Raja Rao develops his own poetic style of writing in which the word (Vac) is conceived as the fundamental means of knowledge and quest for Truth: T H E W O R D I S A L I V E . It is alive in the sense in which a cater-

pillar, a starling, a hippopotamus is, or like vriksha (tree), spanda (pulsation), ishvara (god) are. The word has membranes. It is palpitant, breathful. The world has self-existence. For, each word has, first, a noumenal, then a cosmological, and finally, a phonemological reality […] The writer is one who lives with these live creatures, like a shepherd with his sheep […] when you are engulfed within yourself […] a word, a sentence will upsurge. These words become mantras. Hence the word kavi in Sanskrit means a rishi, sage. The poet is then a sage. The emergent word thus having come in, the quiet helper, then, the noble mistress, finally, becomes his wife. She becomes He, and is impregnated. The poem becomes the poet. The meaning becomes the word. (M I : 149–50)

In classical Indian cultural traditions, literature (Sahitya) has always represented one of the many paths (marga) to obtaining spiritual realization by meditating on the empowerment of the word, notably formulated by Patanjali (second century B C E )105 and Bhartrihari (fourth century C E ). As Parthasarathy pointed out, it is this metaphysical vision of the word as a way of realizing the Absolute (Brahman) that distinguishes Indian literature from every other: This is what Patanjali says in his classic formulation of the view in his great commentary on the Grammar [Vyakarana Mahabhasya] of Panini: “A single word, well used and perfectly understood and conforming to the sacred texts, is in heaven and in the world the sacred cow to fulfil every wish” […]. “Therefore, the attainment of faultless speech”, states Bhartrihari in the Vakyapadiya [Of the Sentence and the Word] 105

In order to promote partnership values, ‘B C E ’, ‘Before Common Era’, is used instead of the patronizing ‘B C ’ in respect of all the world’s spiritual and religious beliefs. The same is true for ‘C E ,’ ‘Common Era’, instead of ‘A D ’.

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“is the attainment of Brahman. He who knows the secret of its functioning enjoys the immortal Brahman.”106

Ancient Indian thought constantly exerted this stimulating influence on language and literature (an influence that is felt even today), thus establishing a direct relationship between the word and the Absolute (Brahman) which invests it with the power of discovering the truth of existence. The word, having both phenomenal and metaphysical dimensions, becomes sacred (mantra) and acts as a medium for resounding with the One as the primordial sound (sabda), capable of producing mutual influences between all things and uncovering fundamental universal principles. Hence the word is not merely considered a concatenation of different sound units, but is mainly seen as a single meaningful symbol, sphota, a term which derives from the Sanskrit root spht, ‘to burst’ and defined as ‘that from which the meaning bursts forth’. To Bhartrihari, the linguistic theory of the sphota is part of his metaphysical view, according to which the transcendental speech-essence (sabda-tattva) is the First Principle of the universe: the sphota, the meaning-whole, is something over and above the uttered or written letters […] it exists within the speaker and is potentially present within the consciousness of every hearer.107

Similarly, Raja Rao conceives of the act of writing as a meditative form (sadhana) expressing the omnipresent glory of the Ultimate Being, the Supreme Reality (sabdabrahman) through which the ego (ahamkara) is transcended; by its sacrifice, knowledge of the self’s true identity merges not with the void but with the Absolute: Who am I then? Who indeed? That’s the stuff of poetry. Aham is kavya. I am is poetry. Aham is gnyana, I am is wisdom. Aham is paramamantra, I the supreme incantation. The poet is the sage. I am, like my legendary ancestor Angirasa was, a kavi […]. In the beginning there was only the self. Looking around he saw nothing else than the

106

Hardgrave, Word as Mantra, 10–11. Harold G. Coward, The Sphota Theory of Language: A Philosophical Analysis (1980; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1997): 11. 107

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS self. He first said “I am”. Therefore arose the name I. (Brihadaranyak Upanishad 1.4.1) So there is only one poet: The “I” of the I. The atman beyond jiva. He is no one. He is. Is is. And so it. Call it Brahman, if you like. “The Brahman” says the Vakyapadiya, “the Brahman who is without beginning or end, whose very essence is the Word (sabda), who is the cause of the manifested phonemes, who appears as the object, from whom the creation of the world (seems to) proceed. Brahman is called Phoneme (akshara) because It is the cause of the phoneme. (M I , 162–63)

In this orthodox Vedic-brahminical interpretation, the Absolute is eternally present in its perfection, both transcendent and immanent, a whole prior to its parts. Therefore, in Bhartrihari’s philosophy of language, this results in an ascending hierarchy of speech levels. The word is subsumed by the sentence, the sentence by the paragraph, the paragraph by the chapter, the chapter by the book, and so on, until all speech is identified with Brahman.108

This Vedic epistemology and the contributions of ancient grammarians, the sabda, or ultimate word, become for Raja Rao the basis of his creativity109 and the very essence of reality. The originality of his fiction lies in his attempt to stimulate thought in order to acknowledge its relativity – or falsity; by making it pause in its perpetual activity, Raja Rao endeavours to make it experience eternal emptiness, where the word, any word, from any language, dissolves into knowledge […]. And here there’s neither you or I. That is what I have been trying to achieve. That I become no one, that no one shine but It. (M I : 158)

Raja Rao’s Vedantic imagination, capable of envisioning both the word and one’s worldly experience as a long social and spiritual journey towards the ultimate Truth, is also shaped by Sri Aurobindo’s literary poetic 108

Coward, The Sphota Theory of Language: A Philosophical Analysis, 15. Like the creative effort of the rishi (seer) ‘creativity’ needs to be understood as a retracing of forgotten eternal truth rather than the making of a new path. 109

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as propounded in The Future Poetry,110 in which the spiritual discipline of writing (sadhana) and the word as mantra are fully enunciated: Sadhana means the purification of the nature, the consecration of the being, the opening of the psychic and the inner mind and vital, the contact and presence of the Divine, the realisation of the Divine in all things, surrender, devotion, the widening of the consciousness into the cosmic Consciousness, the Self one in all, the psychic and the spiritual transformation of the nature […]. The Word has power […]. The Vedic poets regarded their poetry as Mantras, they were the vehicles of their own realisations and could become vehicles of realisations for others […]. Anything that carries the Word, the Light in it, spoken or written, can light this fire within, open a sky, as it were, bring the effective vision of which the Word is the body.111

Epistemologically, the word as mantra is the expression of the highest state of consciousness of the writer whose prophetic vision has ascended to ‘the fountain of eternal truth’. In this state of consciousness, universal bliss (ananda) becomes the creative principle that unifies any form of truth – philosophical, political, moral, aesthetic, and scientific – into a vision of universal truth, thus inseparably cultivating an illuminated consciousness in its readers and fulfilling a larger and more comprehensive perspective of human freedom. Such is the profound vision conveyed in Raja Rao’s ‘political Vedantism’, the freedom of one’s inner spirit as the true source of human liberty in which politics, spirituality, and the Word become means to evolutionary human progress towards Truth.

110

Sri Aurobindo, The Future Poetry and Letters on Poetry, Literature and Art (Pondicherry: Sri Aurobindo Ashram, 1972). As Ganesh Devy points out, “the essays were written when the First World War was just about coming to an end, and Gandhi’s influence in Indian politics was to replace Aurobindo’s Bangla nationalism of extreme intensity”; Devy, Of Many Heroes: An Indian Essay in Literary Historiography (Mumbai: Orient Longman, 1998): 110. See also Jyotirmaya Sharma’s studies on the idea of Hindu nationalism, Hindutva: Exploring the Idea of Nationalism (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2003), and Terrifying Vision: M.S. Golwalkar, The R S S and India (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2007). 111 Sri Aurobindo, The Future Poetry, 504–11.

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Partnership and Multiculturalism After the cultural challenge thrown down by the British colonizers, ‘postcolonial’ writers have gradually developed and reconstructed a new identity through an inextricable dialogue with alterity, the inevitable dialectic between ‘native’ and ‘alien’ that is the wind of colonization and the roots of native culture and sensibility. In addition to the cultural and psychological pressures exerted by the Imperial project, the increasing overlapping of ideological, linguistic, and ethnic differences of the former colonies, both into each other and into the West, continues today to contribute to the formation of more textured multicultural contexts in which several different logics of conduct and cultural norms coexist at the very heart of the world’s metropolitan contemporaneity.112 I have in mind both Ashis Nandy’s statement that “the West is now everywhere, within the West and outside; in structures and in minds,”113 and the views of Salman Rushdie, who aptly affirms in The Satanic Verses that ‘the conglomerate nature’ of London now mirrors the diversity of the former Empire. This is even more so in a country like India with a society that speaks nearly a hundred languages, writes its literature in nearly twenty languages, and has had a three-thousand-year history of large-scale social migration. An Indian is inevitably bi-cultural114 and lives within a multilingual/cultural/religious context, thus allowing us to consider multiculturalism as a dynamic process rather than a state, one that involves the continuous reforming and constructing of social groups with open boundaries. The world has always been multicultural, and the insistence nowadays on mainstream discourse and debates on this new ‘-ism’ is because it is increasingly undermining Western ‘democracies’, a serious threat to the dominance of Euro-American culture. To speak of multiculturalism, then, is not to speak of an historical reality, of a country composed of people 112

With regard to the U S A and Europe, we participate in a variety of ethnic and immigrant life-worlds composed mainly of an African, Asian, Islamic, and IndoPakistani-Bangladeshi presence whose identity mingles with the dynamic continuum of alterities so typical of our contemporary global society. 113 Nandy, The Intimate Enemy, xi. 114 Here the term ‘bi-cultural’ conveniently also covers multicultural contexts; it is increasingly difficult nowadays to speak strictly of only two coexisting cultures within a nation. Originally, the concept of multiculturalism was articulated in Furnivall’s social anthropological studies (1939), which focused on plurality within a society.

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who belong to different cultures, but, rather, of a discursive event, a matter of preeminent ideological significance along with its developing epistemologization. In this sense, multiculturalism, as Rukmini Nair maintains, “becomes a means of problematizing the rational, the taken-for-granted practices and modes of behaviour that cultures internally sanction.”115 Multiculturalism, when framed outside of its dangerous assimilationist ideology,116 can place great emphasis on the illusory notion of a cultural purity originating in the imperialistic impetus of dominant cultures, and could offer a more viable unity within the reality of heterogeneity by accommodating the multiplicities of discourses within cultures. On the plane of literary reflection, multiculturalism obliges reconsideration of many issues that were settled and fabricated during the hegemonic relations of ‘the civilizing mission’ of the West. If one explores the ideological formation of ‘India’ during the Orientalizing trend of British, French, and German colonial scholars, one comes across a number of curious metaphors which depict the country and its population as dark, wild, ‘female’ – as an inferior substitute for the West’s masculinity – and ‘imaginative’, as opposed to the world-ordering rationality of Europe. Yet, as Ronald Inden aptly points out, “without the dark rock of Indian tradition under its feet, European rationality would not have seemed so bright and light.”117 Correspondingly, the same eurocentric ethico-political and cognitive underpinnings continue to operate today in mainstream dominant discourse on multiculturalism. In “The Use and Abuse of Multiculturalism,” R. Radhakrishnan clearly warns us of the benevolent Western incorporation of di-

115

Rukmini Bhaya Nair, Lying on the Postcolonial Couch (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002): 144. 116 This is a tendency to reify and essentialize non-Western cultures by depicting them in terms already axiomatized within a Euro-American normative mould. As R. Radhakrishnan aptly notes, “the purpose here is to render differences intelligible to the mainstream and in the process maintaining ‘our’ anthropological relationship with the other. In other words, differences are not meaningful in themselves except as raw material to be made sense of in our laboratories of significance (they need our coding); and furthermore, we don’t need to explain to them who we are or why we are who we are. The onus of intelligibility is on them as immigrants, diasporans, ethnics, and thank God we are here to effect that translation into mainstream sovereignty.” R. Radhakrishnan, Theory in an Uneven World (London: Blackwell, 2003): 32. 117 Ronald Inden, Imagining India (London: Blackwell, 1990): 32.

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versity within the ‘unity’ of the nation, usually a refashioning of the old manichaeanism of the Identity–Difference game: For lack of a radical decentring and for lack of a critical transcendence of the binary politics of Us–Them and Self–Other, the mainstream discourse on multiculturalism remains captive to the regime of the dominant One. The highly overdetermined opposition between the One and the “many” remains unproblematized, undeconstructed […]. Rather than pose the issue in dialogic and relational terms, the unilateral dominant mandate on behalf of multiculturalism fixes the many as the object of a paternalistic benevolent representation. The “multi-” continues to carry the mark of alterity within a dominant model that refuses possibilities of reciprocity and mutual narrativization. In other words, nothing has changed in the house of Euro-America.118

This means, however, that there is an urgent need to step beyond imperial binarisms which always force their asymmetrical one-direction movement (from colonizer to colonized), rigidly based on their hierarchies of domination. As Riane Eisler has so ably argued, the partnership model moves toward a new paradigm “where the life-sustaining work of caring and care-giving is no longer operationally devalued.”119 Once we situate the practice of multiculturalism within the partnership values of caring, empathy and creativity, we are in the position to both welcome new possibilities for an intelligent meeting of East and West and to promote a more open readiness to engage in cross-cultural studies, thus coping with the “unevenness between the West and the Rest,” to use Radhakrishnan’s phrase. In response to a world structured on dominance, such a cohesive theory of cooperation and mutuality effectively inaugurates an equalitarian multilateral relationship with ‘Other’ world perspectives without perpetuating the usual divide between the dominant and the subaltern. Especially within World Literatures written in English, more than in any other ‘canonical texts’, multiculturalism reveals a series of possible responses by postcolonial writers to the chance or threat of coexisting cultural logics. It is within the tension between the distinctiveness of each 118

Radhakrishnan, Theory in an Uneven World , 32–33. Eisler, in The Art of Partnership. Essays on Literature, Culture, Language and Education Towards a Cooperative Paradigm, ed. Antonella Riem Natale & Roberto Albarea (Udine: Forum, 2003): 46. 119

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culture and the lack of any substantive boundary among them that the Malaysian poet and critic Lloyd Fernando distinguishes three principal kinds of reaction experienced by writers: that which insists on the primacy of one logic over the others (the colonial mentality); that which insists that logics of cultures are irreconcilable (the apartheid mentality); and that which explores the confusing ways in which cultures merge or interweave or seek to reconcile themselves to one another in the blind hope that we may, one day, be able to call all men one man.120

The colonial mentality, by seeking control over a territory and exercising its imaginative command, aims at the main tenance of a monocultural society; at the extreme, this leads tragically to ethnic cleansing and genocide or, in a more benign form, to what is known as ‘coercive assimilation’ in which non-Western cultures are repressed or persuaded to fit into the existing dominant culture. In India, colonialism gave rise to two main consequences: sanskritization, the revivalist tendency of the ancient Indian culture which upholds the manichaean intolerance implicit in the Hindu–Indian equation; and westernization, a desire to imitate British cultural models and, concomitantly, blind dismissal of Indian cultural modes. The ‘apartheid’ mentality aims at preserving differences in an irreconcilable way; ethnic minorities are encouraged to remain separate and to cultivate an identity distinct from that of the dominant majority population. Thus, promoting a form of cultural apartheid usually gives birth to residential ghettoes such as the violently alienated ‘minority’ communities of the Sikhs in Punjab or the Muslims in Gujarat, not to mention the brutal partition of Pakistan and India with its resulting communal holocaust. Whereas many reject the idea of multiculturalism in the hope that homogeneity may be restored, and others remain trapped in the atavistic fear of losing their national culture – dangerously ‘eroded’ by immigrant populations and racial intermixing – a small group of writers sees it as a chance to increase their intellectual and emotional energy and willingly face the complexities arising from multicultural contexts as a source of human 120

Lloyd Fernando, Cultures in Conflict: Essays on Literature and the English Language in South East Asia (Singapore: Graham Brash, 1986): 10. Precisely because this is a critical literary study based on Riane Eisler’s partnership values, we should recognize Fernando’s use of the word ‘man’ as ‘human beings’.

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richness.121 Examined from this multicultural topography as sketched by Fernando, Raja Rao’s writings appear to triumph, as we shall see, in the inter-human East–West encounter, in which the coexistence of a plurality of voices successfully generates dialogic dynamism. In the choice of themes, the presentation of situations, portrayal of character, imagery and symbolism, in the very turns of expression, Rao’s creative and linguistic abilities bend and modulate English to the nuances of his imaginative India, animated by an unquenchable thirst to reach identification with the Absolute. This is already traceable in his collections of short stories, especially in the trilogy of The Policeman and the Rose, but we can also appreciate it in his other works such as The Serpent and the Rope, The Cat and Shakespeare, Comrade Kirillov, and The Chessmaster and His Moves. In these works, his politico-spiritual quest reaches its ripest expression by encompassing, on the one hand, many worlds – Indian, Russian, European, African, and Jewish – and, on the other, the exposition of India’s multilayered religious-philosophical lore. In this interplay between internationalism and nationalism, as Ganesh Devy has pointed out, the alien cultural features work together with the marga cultural features: “in fiction, the ideal example of this trend is Raja Rao, who combines an international sort of existentialism with a national sort of sentimentality.”122 Moreover, in choosing to converse with the West, Rao not only succeeds in accommodating a wider range of human responses in a cross-cultural context – whose combination shows a more life-enhancing world – but also reveals the vast potentialities of an artist who realizes his ability to create for the reader a momentary vision of the world in equilibrium, beyond Euro-American binaries structured on dominance and violence. By focusing on the multicultural aspects of Raja Rao’s works, we see the author frequently offering a continuous redefinition of self and Other within an imaginatively distinctive dimension. In this dialogic space, East and West appear interwoven in a dialogue of values, customs, and beliefs 121

In the specific case of Indian English literatures, the creative writer’s consciousness moves along a series of “various patterns of conflict and collaboration between Western, the marga and the deshi cultural traditions”; Ganesh Devy, “The Multicultural Context of Indian Literature in English,” in Crisis and Creativity in the New Literatures in English, ed. Geoffrey V. Davis & Hena Maes–Jelinek (Cross / Cultures 1; Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1990): 349. 122 Devy, “The Multicultural Context of Indian Literature in English,” 350.

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in which the characters, and probably readers as well, are moved to embrace higher planes of reality and accept their relationships with each other and all the objects around them. Interestingly, the inner harmony conveyed in Rao’s work originates in both the politico-spiritual theology of non-violence envisaged by Mahatma Gandhi and those ancient indigenous “partnership” elements of Buddhism, Vedantism, Sufism, and Christianity in which India’s pluralistic culture emerges in all its pacifist philosophical heritage. Here, social diversity is celebrated as a value and each individual part is essential and intrinsically contained in the whole, a perspective of mutual exchange that is recognized as a pluralistic source of socio-cultural wealth.

C HAPTER O NE ————————

The Short Stories

C

that both the novel and the short story are merely Western colonial imports, Indian short-story writing goes back to the vast native traditions of short fiction and to fictional and fabulatory narrative of the subcontinent. Among these are the innumerable tales and stories belonging to the orality of the old tradition (i.e. katha and upanyasa discourses), the fabulatory tradition of storytelling (such as the Upanishadic stories in the form of dialogues and discussions), folktales and legends, and the stories in such ancient collections as the Kathasaritsagara, the Panchatantra, and the Jataka tales.1 However, by acknowledging the literary impact of the West – not only British but also that exerted by many other European and Russian writers available in English translation – the modern Indian short story cannot be uniquely traced back to its precolonial form. Inevitably, at the end of nineteenth century, the Indian short story re-emerged as deeply enriched by the influence of British colonial rule along with its cultural and literary 1

ONTRARY TO THE USUAL ASSUMPTION

Among the narrative Indian traditions of the Indian short story we also find such ancient collections as Gunadya’s Brihatkatha (1st century B C E ), Narayana’s Hitopadesa (11th century), and Dandin’s Dashakumaracharita (6th century). In addition, A.K. Ramanujan’s recent collection Folk Tales from India (New York: Pantheon Books, 1991), Arjun Dangle’s edition of Dalit short stories Homeless In My Land (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1992), and the increasing number of publications of shortstory anthologies such as Lakshmi Holmström’s The Inner Courtyard (London: Virago, 1990) are significant contributions to the indigenous richness of both the ageold and the contemporary literary traditions of India.

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models, and thus modified in both its form (structure and language) and, rather marginally, in its content (themes and concepts). Although influenced by the colonial ‘encounter’, Indian short-story writers considerably indigenized both the English language and Western cultural and literary models for Indian use in order to express their country in all its specificity.2 A close linguistic analysis of the language – Indian Englishes with its many sub-varieties – would prove to show the many culture-specific complexities that accommodate different indigenous usages and dialects. Similarly, on the level of structure, it is possible to observe the use of techniques, modes, and tonalities of the old oral tradition such as the apologue, which is characterized by meditative discourse and discussion of ideas, so common in Rao’s works, or patterns and motifs of folk narrative like the shtala purana, the legendary village story employed in Rao’s Kanthapura and in some of his short stories: There is no village in India, however mean, that has not a rich sthalapurana, or legendary story, of its own. Some god or godlike hero has passed by the village – Rama might have rested under this pipal-tree, Sita might have dried her clothes, after her bath, on this yellow stone, or the Mahatma himself, on one of his many pilgrimages through the country, might have slept in this hut, the low one, by the village gate. In this way the past mingles with the present, and the gods mingle with men to make the repertory of your grand-mother always bright. (K , v)

If it is thus clear that the Indian short story descends from the old repository of native Indian traditions of short fiction, it should be also noted that it cannot be dissociated from the literary impact exerted by the West, which added a modern sensibility, new vigour, and a style characterized by strong nationalist sentiment. India’s movement for independence not only provided many writers with rich material for their fiction but also shaped the essential human conditions of Indian consciousness during the emergence of a national identity. Many were the ‘Gandhian’ novels written in both English and Indian languages around the social and political upheavals of the 1930s and 1940s with varying degrees of success and com2

Indigenization should be viewed beyond the mere polarization between centre and periphery, as there is an escape from global power-structures, from writing, discourse or language. It is not a purely textual phenomenon of ‘writing-back’ framed again within the ‘dominated–dominating model’.

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mitment.3 Whether this great national upsurge was treated as a central theme or as the background to a personal narrative, it ultimately triggered off a vigorous resistance to the ‘benevolent Raj’ at all levels of Indian society and prompted many writers to redefine their country and identity with intense emotional and artistic vibrancy. As Meenakshi Mukherjee rightly notes, this was an experience that was national in nature. It traversed boundaries of language and community and, since Indo-Anglian novels aim at a pan-Indian readership, this unifying experience has served to establish Indo-Anglian writing as an integral part of Indian literature.4

During the 1930s, Raja Rao, along with such writers as Mulk Raj Anand and R.K. Narayan, was at the very forefront of the emergence of Indian English literature, which, despite the trauma of colonialism and its aftermath, would project an idea of India as an harmonious coexistence symbolizing a unity, a wholeness of ethnic identity and culture, also viewed through the lives of disadvantaged people reflecting the harsh social realities of the time. His short stories were written mainly in France, and at the time when Valéry and Gide dominated the literary universe. A south-Indian Brahmin, nineteen, spoon-fed on English, with just enough Sanskrit to know I knew so little, with an indiscrete education in Kannada, my mother-tongue, the French literary scene overpowered me.5 3

K.S. Venkataramani is usually considered by critics to have been the first novelist to depict the Indian struggle for independence, in his Murugan the Tiller (1927) and Kandan the Patriot (1932). However, Asha Kaushik has demonstrated that the first Indian novel written in English and anticipating the movement for independence was Kylash Chunder Dutt’s A Journal of Forty-Eight Hours of the Year 1945 (1835). The impact of Gandhian ideology and India’s struggle against colonialism are also found in the following novels: Mulk Raj Anand, Untouchable (1935), Ahmed Ali, Twilight in Delhi (1941), K.A. Abbas, Tomorrow is Ours! A Novel of the India of Today (1943), D.F. Karaka, We Never Die (1944), Aamir Ali, Conflict (1947), Venu Chitali, In Transit (1950), R.K. Narayan, Waiting for the Mahatma (1955), K.A. Abbas, Inqilab (1955), Kamala Markandaya, Some Inner Fury (1955), Nayantara Sahgal, A Time to Be Happy (1958), Attia Hosein, Sunlight on a Broken Column (1961), and K. Nagarajan, Chronicles of Kedaram (1961). 4 Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction: Themes and Techniques of the Indian Novel in English (1971; New Delhi: Heinemann, 1974): 34. 5 Rao, The Policeman and the Rose (Delhi: Oxford U P / Three Crowns, 1978): xvi.

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With his new contacts and exchange of ideas in the West, Rao paid particular attention to those formal and stylistic experiments achieved by great European poets and novelists like Kafka, Malraux, and the Surrealists, among whom he had to find his own creative mode of expression to advance in his intensive examination of Truth – the impersonal Absolute and his identification with it: Thus, both in terms of language and of structure, I had to find my way, whatever the results. And I continued the adventure in lone desperation. These stories therefore have to be taken as the fruits of such an experiment stretching over almost three decades, their main interest being the intellectual excitement it all gave me, and which, I am told, it has given a few others.6

The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories In his earliest work, The Cow of the Barricades (1947) – though published much later – Rao displays an insistence on appreciating his own ethnic roots by depicting a certain number of major characters who show a degree of alienation from traditional family life and rural society.7 Such a preoccupation is clearly pointed out by the epigraph of the Indian philosopher–poet Kabir: “On all the roads I go, they suffer / the hermit and the householder / When I tell them the truth, they are angry / And I cannot lie.” In “Javni,” the protagonist is a low-caste widow8 living in a village near Mysore who has been abandoned by her family and manages to survive as a servant in another household. Her life is heavily conditioned by the orthodoxy of Indian customs usually imposed on widows and she is thus marginalized by the whole village. As is also pointed out in the epigraph from Kanakadas,9 Rao’s social critique is here directed at the caste 6

Rao, The Policeman and the Rose, xvi. Except for “A Client,” the only story to be set in Bangalore city and translated from Kannada. 8 Within the dominator and androcratic Indian view, it is believed that widows are inauspicious, because they have lost their role as wives and thus have to have their heads shaven (moonda) and appear without jewels and forehead kumkum. 9 Poet from Southern India who lived 400 years ago in Karnataka. He is wellknown for having propagated the wisdom of the Vedas and Upanishads among the common people. 7

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system and the humiliation accorded to widowhood: “Caste and Caste and Caste, you say, what caste, pray, has he who knows God?” (P R , 82).10 Yet, although Javni is constantly abused and alienated by the community, she does not feel discouraged, as her strong faith in the village goddess Talakamma unconditionally sustains her life: “Should I live if that Goddess didn’t protect me? Would that child come to me if the Goddess did not help me? Would mother be so good to me if the Goddess did not bless me?” (P R , 94). It is in this natural way that the protagonist unconsciously becomes the external function of those symbolic qualities of the Mother Goddess, the primordial energy which brings prosperity and peace. Of all feminine types in India, the figure of the Great Goddess is preeminent; her primal female energy (Shakti) is behind all phenomena, and her direct symbolic correlation is manifested in the process of spiritual growth and transformation of the human soul. She is the “feminine active principle, the efficient and the material cause of the universe, the Maya that evolves the differentiated elements and beings.”11 Among her many names and forms, she is usually worshipped as Kali–Minakshi–Durga, the dispeller of all calamities and confusion, and as cosmic spouses of the Trimurti (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva), ranging from the beautiful Saraswati to the generous Lakshmi and the benevolent Parvathi. In comparison with them, as Nirad Chaudhuri observes, “the other gods of their polytheistic pantheon are minor. The worship of these three deities is also the most important feature of Hinduism as organized in cults.”12 In the ancient Indus Valley civilization – before the advent of Aryan culture – the Great Goddess was known as a fertility deity like Prithivi, the earth goddess, Aditi, the mother of the Adityas, Ushas, the goddess of dawn and Aranyani, the goddess of the forests. Amma, the Mother Goddess of Mohenjadaro, was also known as Minakanni, the same name of Minakshi Devi of Madurai, showing continuity with the ancient tradition. A divine, com10

In references to the stories in The Cow of the Barricades, page-numbers are to their re-published form in The Policeman and the Rose (PR), except for “Narsiga” and “A Client” (coded as “CB”), which were not included in the later edition. 11 Heinrich Zimmer, Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization, ed. Joseph Campbell (1946; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1990): 205. 12 Nirad C. Chaudhuri, Hinduism – A Religion to Live By (1979; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1997): 237.

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bined representation of the goddess Parvathi and Lord Shiva is also known as Ardhanarishawar (half male and half female), where Shiva is a lingam (phallic emblem) and Parvathi a yoni (female emblem). In Hinduism, this divine, combined form of the god and the goddess indicates the progeny and creation of the universe and represents a tangible manifestation of a partnership world-view where mutual responsibility, gender balance, empathy, and caring are highlighted and modelled. In “Javni,” and throughout Rao’s fiction, the presence of the Goddess symbolizes the force of Indian traditional values and beliefs that oppose the collapse of certain traditional structures in South Indian Hindu society. The alienated Javni takes refuge in the goddess Talakamma and becomes the luminous manifestation of a new opening towards her social degradation. The tragic conservative hierarchy of the Indian village is thus transcended by the ‘giving energy’ (vimarsa-shakti) of Javni, a loving force that allows the protagonist to smile at suffering, keeping her away from the dark recess of anger. She is “good like a cow” – compared to the sacred animal par excellence in India – and when she eats she sounds “like a cow chewing the cud” (P R , 86–88). She not only shows unbeatable patience but also goodness in giving love to everyone, thus reiterating the world of the Goddess, which stands outside the patriarchal oppositions and hierarchical configurations of subordination and dominance. Where violence and despair are experienced, Rao reaffirms Javni’s incredible faith: “Then came all the misfortunes one after the other, and yet she knew they were nothing, for, above all, she said, Goddess Talakamma moved and reigned” (P R , 91). Her faith is a force of an ancient peaceful equilibrium that becomes, at the end of the story, such a concrete reality in Javni’s frailty and uncertainty that it arises in her until she is one with nature like “a pipal [...], the river, and the vast, vast sky [...] much more at least, dear reader, than you and I” (P R , 22). In the re-edition of “Javni,” Rao will modify the conclusion of the story to highlight the greatness and the almost invisibility of the character: “A huge pipal rose behind her, and, across the blue waters of the river and the vast, vast sky above her, she seemed so small, just a spot in space, recedingly real. Who was she?” (P R , 97). A different echo on human degradation is found in “The Little Gram Shop,” where another alienated character, Motilal, is seen in “exile from

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the place of his birth, exile from home, wife, son, neighbours, and worse, exile from himself.”13 A place of subordination is here accorded to female characters like Beti and Rati at the behest of their dominating husbands, who condemn them to a grim existence. A much more tragic scenario than Javni’s, it is strongly marked by violence and destruction, in which the figure of the Goddess coalesces in her many forms as a supporting force: “he thrust his fists at Beti and swore he could damn well skin her to death. But she smiled, sent a few prayers to the helpful Gods” (P R , 67), particularly invoking the god Krishna and the goddess Mahalakshmi: [...] when the sun suddenly sank, and going in she lighted the shop lantern, and chanted her usual lighting-time prayers. Mahalakshmi, I offer you my worship, You giver of the desired boons, Rising out of the Lotus-ocean, Be garlanded with the nine precious gems, Mother, be gracious, be gracious unto me.

It is interesting to note how the benevolent power of the village goddess (grama devata) – usually associated with hope and happiness in opposition to human degradation – is here presented through her destructive qualities to underline the particular tragic situation of Motilal’s family: For some years, the ‘goddess’, as they call the epidemic of plague, used to make annual visits to Hyderpur. October or November would announce her, and processions of corpses would go every day in the streets, till the hot sun of March would fight a battle with her and dethrone her for the moment. During the time the goddess reigned, half the city would be empty […]. They said the goddess could work only at night […]. Now and again, however, a car rushed past as though in holy fear that the goddess might peep through it even for a moment, or a crowd of people would be seen following a corpse with shrieking and hell-moving cries. Only the stars hung in the sky full of purity and strength. They alone seemed to know life was eternal. There was another place where life was unchanging. It was at the little gram shop. (P R , 79–80)

13

C.D. Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao (1973; Delhi: Doaba House, 2000): 16.

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If we look behind the description of the Goddess as an epidemic manifestation, we do see the hidden faith of many South Indian villages in considering contagious diseases as the work of certain deities.14 These female goddesses (gramadevis) are usually feared for their tremendous energy (shakti); especially those that are not espoused with any god are known to be easily inclined to anger and thus need to be constantly pacified so as to avoid incurring their displeasure and making the disease more virulent. In Hinduism,15 the Goddess exerts her shakti both as a ‘warm quality’ when she manifests fertility and as a ‘cold quality’ when she displays her divine function as Mother of human beings, remaining always one entity with masculine energy (Shiva) like the fire and its power to burn. Thus, she is the dispenser of good (Shyama–Kali) but also the Great Power that resides in the cremation grounds, from whose mouth gushes a river of blood (Maha–Kali). In her originate the chains both of earthly existence and of spiritual realization. All of these aspects are unified in the dazzlingly effulgent image of the Great Goddess, a figure of incomparable beauty and majestic power which is used by Rao as a strong spiritual and symbolic system to oppose the corruption of Hindu traditions in modern, changing, secular India. In “The Little Gram Shop,” Motilal’s family is doomed to fail, as we learn from Ananda, witness to the continuous violence inflicted on Beti by her husband and of Rati’s death during the pestilence. It is unfortunate that the story, as Shyamala Narayan points out, is weakened by an imprecision which makes it less credible: would it have been possible at that time for a character like Motilal to be so lucky as to receive a dowry of thirty thousand rupees?16 Undoubtedly, Rao appears more skilled in the depiction of memorable female characters like Rati and Beti. Like Javni,

14

See P.V. Jagadisa Ayyar, South Indian Customs (New Delhi: Rupa, 1998): 36– 40, and Christopher John Fuller, The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India (1992; Princeton N J : Princeton U P , 2004): 44–56. 15 In India, the Great Goddess is also worshipped in Christianity as the Virgin Mary, in Buddhism – as in the cult of Tara, one of the ten Mahavidyas (the ten manifestations of the Maha-devi) belonging to Tibetan Buddhism – and as Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge in Jainism. 16 Shyamala A. Narayan, Raja Rao: Man and His Works (New Delhi: Sterling, 1988): 7.

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they manage to overcome through inner faith the sufferings and misadventures of their husbands, whose sole preoccupation is money. In “Akkayya,” events do not change for the better, as the intimacy of domestic life is permeated by the cruelty of the family directed towards a widowed member. Akkayya has been neither loved at any time nor comforted by religion, and only death seems an escape from her destiny of poverty, disease, and old age. Her presence is hardly acknowledged by her family and she is confined to a world where pain and misery prevail: “when I am dead and when you have burnt me, will you ever remember me? […]. When I am dead sister, be sure to write to Nanjunda, Ramanna and Mari and tell them their sister died with their names upon her lips […]. Tell them that I am their elder sister – and though they never once gave me as much as a sari, tell them I love them all.” (P R , 58)

Since her childhood, her name seems to belong to an uncertain past: Her real name (truthfully to speak) I never knew, nor indeed, I think, did any of my cousins. Everybody in the household called her Akkayya, elder sister, and we simply followed the example of our parents and aunts. I have, nevertheless, a faint remembrance that when they were talking to the brahmins about the obsequies, they called her Venkatalakshamma, or Nanjamma, one of old names which meant all that a virtuous woman ought to have, that is virtue.” (P R , 42)

At ten she is forced to marry an officer, who dies soon after the wedding. Forbidden by the rigid Hindu social customs to re-marry, Akkayya, with “her shaven head […] rough and pricky” (P R , 43), is inevitably propelled towards a childless and merciless destiny which spirals down with the passing of time. What is notable about Rao’s story is that he is acutely aware of a patriarchal system as the locus of women’s oppression, here embodied in Akkayya’s cry for love. Her freedom and dignity are cruelly suppressed under the patriarchal ideology and power of her family, in which child marriage and enforced widowhood are unquestionable signs of ‘cultural’ and ‘religious’ values. Most significantly, her pain draws attention to the oppressive practices directed against all Indian women, climaxing in widowhood – evidence of the secularization of those traditional Vedic values which have been corrupted by patriarchal degradation,

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thus resulting in stark indifference from her family when she finally dies: “‘Akkayya is dead’, said my father irritably and in utter disgust […]. We duly bathed, changed our clothing, and after dinner we went to the cinema” (P R , 59–60). In their depiction of afflicted women and caste contestation, “Javni,” “The Little Gram Shop,” and “Akkayya” show a thematic continuity through which Rao weaves his critique of ‘popular’ views of the social exclusion of women by ‘telling the truth’, as outlined by the epigraph from Kabir. Yet, amid the sufferings ensured by the pitfalls of the Hindu social system, Javni stands as a powerful figure animated by inner strength. She is “good like a cow” and she is capable of embracing her community unconditionally. Even Akkayya “had always enough children to take care of […] and when the children left her she forgot them as the cow forgets her young ones” (P R , 49–50). However, nobody ever remembered her with love and she brings the signs of her tedious life “with eyes that moved like the marbles I played with, and her face all wrinkled like a dry mango” (P R , 42). Both Akkayya and Motilal share the same miserable fate of being rejected by their community as dog, cur, donkey-whore, and pariah’s pigs (P R , 58–63) and imprisoned in an ineluctable cycle as old as the rhythm of time: “in the street the dust rose – and fell” (P R , 81). In “Narsiga,” the exuberant vitality of the young protagonist contrasts with the misery of the previous stories, despite his being orphaned, poverty-ridden, and subjected to other misfortunes: his father had died of cholera, his mother of famine, and one sultry afternoon, a thin tall woman, angry and effusive, turned up and calling herself his aunt carted him away into a distant village. (C B , 97)

To his aunt’s affection is added that of a spiritual master who offers Narsiga the chance of making a small profit by leading his sheep to pasture. Narsiga is animated by an enthusiasm which finds expression in his innocent games with animals and nature. Escaping from sunny, dusty everyday monotony, he plays with dogs and pulls the tails of tethered cows, and, by projecting his dreams even further, rides his sheep, suddenly becoming one of those powerful gods that have animals for their vehicles: now he would be Shiva, the Serpent-garlanded, and the knotted grass became the serpent and the long-horned goat the bull. And now he

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would ride on Rama’s chariot of flowers, a bael flower at the sheep’s tail, and two others behind his ears. And, my, such a rain of flowers welcomed him back to Ayodhya! (C B , 100)

The world of Narsiga is typical of that of a child with a fervid imagination populated by gods and demons as they are orally transmitted in Indian mythology and popular folklore. Even when he sings “Vande Mataram,” he understands that the hymn is about the motherland, yet he finds the concept rather difficult. Having lost his mother too early to remember, he knew only his aunt – a sort of substitute mother – and the image of a fourarmed goddess whose picture was hung at the temple entrance. The concept of the mother-figure is further complicated by the colonial conquest of the ‘red man’, which makes her appear brutally imprisoned. It is worth noticing that the religious symbolism of motherland in the Indian anthem carried the primordial appeal of Indian idolatry, something that strongly appealed to the Indian mind during the nation-building process. Accordingly, the personification of the nation as an abstract idea became a natural means of investing old archetypes of Indian culture, in a sort of “intuitive leap towards an imagined future through remembrances of the past.”17 But Narsiga’s world is a small one and the overarching concept of a motherland is too complex for him, as is the figure of Gandhi as a Mahatma (Great Soul), who is likewise imprisoned. It is his aunt who tells him about Gandhi: “an old man – bewitching man, a Saint, you know! He had come from village to village, and I have beheld him too… He looks beautiful as the morning sun… He is an incarnation of God, that is why everybody touches his feet, even Brahmins, my son.” (C B , 105)

While Narsiga senses that there is a bigger world outside his own, his limited experience confines him to the narrowness of his own imagination: it is an inner landscape from which he is finally rescued, and all the events eventually merge with the world of mythology, providing explanations for his troubled mind. He comes to terms with the mysterious figure of the Mother by closing his eyes and seeing the Master’s wife or his aunt 17

Sabyasachi Bhattacharya, Vande Mataram: The Biography of a Song (New Delhi: Penguin, 2003): 94.

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juxtaposed with the image of the Goddess when singing the national hymn: Mother who was good, Mother who was kind. Mother who grew rice. Mother, Mother, Mother […] a huge big goddess, sitting on a swan, like the one in the picture by the sanctum door, a huge light behind her head, a conch in one hand, a wheel in another, and a tamed lion at her feet. She held rice in one hand and a lotus in the other […] and when it came to the end, “Mataram, Mataram, Vandé Mataram,” Narsa’s eyes suddenly grew full of tears, and the whole earth seemed to grow soft and radiant, and he felt his head resting on the lap of a great big mother. (C B , 111)

Narsiga’s strong imagination comes to rescue him again from the difficult issue of the ‘red-man’ and the imprisonment of Gandhi, producing another mythological amalgam with the adult’s world. How to explain that Gandhi, being a saint, had no temple? Or was able to show love to everyone even when you are brutally enslaved and imprisoned by the ‘redman’?18 Narsiga wonders: if my sheep were to stray away, I have to beat them. Now, if I have not to be cruel should I beat them, or should I not?... And the snake, it is a wicked thing. It comes rushing towards you when it sees you. (C B , 114)

We also see him involved in an innocent act of rebellion against the colonizers by throwing stones at a passing train, an episode that gives him a shivering fever as a result of his guilt at breaking the Gandhian admonition to ‘Love the red man’. It is only through seeking forgiveness that Narsiga finds a solution to his mischief: “Saint Gandhi,” he said, beating his cheeks to ask forgiveness, “pardon me, O Saint. You are great. You are next only to God. You are by the Mother. Saint, I shall never hate the red man again. Take away the devil from me, Saint. Saint, I fall at thy feet and kiss them. O Saint!” (C B , 115–16)

18

During the Indian national movement led by Gandhi, ahimsa (non-violence), swadeshi (self-reliance), and satyagraha (truth force) became the three powerful practices of his heroic civil disobedience of the British Government.

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Thus, his experience results again in a fantastic amalgam in which reality takes flight and facts are juxtaposed with a mythical symbology, as with Gandhi’s release from prison, news that overwhelms him with so much joy that he imagines the Mahatma as a mythical hero going in the air – like Rama and Sita going back to Ayodhya. Master says, the Mahatma will fly like that, with four white steeds, such as even the District Collector never had. (C B , 117)

The story of Narsiga undoubtedly shows Rao’s ability to give voice to a world seen through the eyes of a child. It is indeed an adolescent dimension insightfully rendered through a distinctive Indian peasant sensibility and folk imagination, a truly authentic response to the Independence movement as experienced in Indian villages. “A Client,” originally written in Kannada, is the story of Hasakéré Nanjundayya, a cunning marriage broker who manages to deceive his clients with the guarantee of a happy and fulfilling marital life. He ingeniously uses the little information he gets about people to project the most successful conjugal scenario. In India, it is customary to consult astrologers and marriage brokers to secure the best marital match, something that does not involve the couple alone but preminently their respective families. Therefore, in order to be a successful broker, Nanjundayya needs to display all his skills and perfectly understand the psychology of both his young clients and their parents, as in the case of Ramu, a shy student who is starting to become interested in women and is thus easily carried away by fantasies when he meets Jayalakshmi, a charming girl attending the same chemistry course. Although he is constantly worried about the forthcoming exams, somewhere, something graceful and mysterious swept up, drawing him into forbidden secrets, sweetly tender. But the Brahmin in him woke up. The caste mark was not on his face but on his soul. The sweetness sank into ashes. Away… “Goodbye, Jayalakshmi.” (C B , 120)

After this unfortunate attempt to fall in love, he is seen simply imagining the joys and sorrows of a possible married life, but there is something that disturbs him and at the same time arouses strong emotions in him:

14

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS How often had he not racked his brains with it? […] To marry an uneducated girl, and be unhappy all one’s life, then..To marry for money! Well, it would help one for a moment. But afterwards..To have one’s life ruined because of a few rupees! Oh, no! How horrible… But then, how long to live like this… cooking… washing… sweeping… counting each pie as though it contained the germ of eternal happiness. (C B , 129–30)

He continues to hide his feelings and hardly tries to persuade himself that marital life is wrong, but Nanjundayya has astutely organized a surprise date with another beautiful girl and Ramu is eventually trapped: suddenly the door opened, and a charming girl […] entered with a silver plate full of fruits and cakes and glasses of coffee, and placing it on the table by Ramu, went and sat, between her father and Nanjundayya, her hands upon her knees, shyly, awkwardly […]. Fallen into the trap, thought Ramu. Yes! He had. (C B , 140–41)

Far more original is “In Kandesh,” the story of a small South Indian village which appears animated by the excitement of its inhabitants in welcoming the visit of their maharaja, escorted by some British officials. An exception is Dattopant, who is awoken by the hammering sound of the drums – “Tom-tom… tom-tom… Tira-tira… Tira-tira” – after a long sleepless night full of nightmares which portend his death: A terrible pain in the stomach had kept him awake late into the night. And then, what with the heavy monsters that rolled over his belly, the horse that galloped without neck or tail, the noise of the grand-child near him, the breathless flight in the air, funeral processions, deathdrums, temples and rupees, and mimicking monkeys… Deep in the night he heard an owl hoot somewhere… Death, said the elders… Sleep indeed came but the owl changed into a sheep, the sheep grew long, twisted horns and became a buffalo. A black rider sat on it, a looped serpent in one hand. The buffalo put its muzzle on Dattopant, licked his flesh, sniffed – then with a dart flung into the depths of the raging clouds, and was lost. Dattopant too was lost. A noose was around his neck. The black rider was dragging him against the amassed clouds… Where? (P R , 13–14)

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The same nightmarish tension marks the unfolding of Dattopant’s troubled mind in a Kafkaesque re-awakening19 which assumes a more sinister tone through the dark description of the village: In Kandesh, the earth is black. Black and grey as the buffalo, and twisted like an endless line of loamy pythons, wriggling and stretching beneath the awful heat of the sun… Then, suddenly, there is a yawning ravine in the endless immensity of the python-world, the chief python of pythons, with his venom flowing in red and blue and white. The red venom shines in the sands. The blue one lies in the shadow. And the white is the bubbling, steaming water that crawls over the bed, as though the pus of heaven had turned liquid. The blood of the earth mingles with the pus of the skies – to bear cotton. Rows and rows of cotton. Thin, unmoving, bone-like plants, with little skulls in their hands that split and crackle with the heat of the sun. (P R , 16)

Here the eerie atmosphere, previously evoked during the night, becomes so confused and creeping that it permeates not only the village, but also the earth and the sky, now saturated with venom. Trapped within a fantastic territory, Dattopant is searching for his own self, lost in the physical and cultural spaces between his Indian native roots and the contamination of the British colonizers, the ‘red man’ – the chief python of pythons. Dattopant’s inner conflict is enhanced by Rao through the use of an idiosyncratic style – such as the sound of the beating drums – which sustains the unreal atmosphere of the village and blurs the boundaries between animals, nature, and human beings. Thus the colours of the British flag – “his venom flowing in red and blue and white” – insidiously merge with colonized India’s natural elements. In this light, Dattopant’s experience appears even more heart-rending as his confused consciousness inevitably quits the British loyalist fold of his colonized community in order to preserve his spiritual and cultural alterity. While the unceasing drumbeat frames, on the one hand, the exceptionality of the royal visit and confines the whole village to the enthusiasm of the happy event, it forebodes, on the other, the ominous death stored in Dattopant’s fate. Accordingly, the urgent rhythm of the drums and the arrival of the train merge in his con19

Raja Rao acknowledged Kafka’s literary influence in his preface to The Policeman and the Rose: “At that time there were also going on experiments with form. Kafka had broken the crust of realism and given fabled meanings to man’s fears” (P R , xv).

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fused and labyrinthine imagination, which inescapably isolates the agitated protagonist from the welcoming crowd, thus leading him to death: Clutter-clutter – clutter-clutter – “The train! The train!”… Curtains follow curtains. It is like the prisonhouse – the storm. Walls of curtain that tear with a violent breath. Curtain again. Then suddenly the trees, like policemen, hard, gory, smeared with black running blood. Clutterclutter – clutter-clutter – like a leopard the rain scratches on the back, brusque, snarling, satisfied… Clutter. Rama, Rama, there – the train! Dattopant jumped forward and the train squashed him with a thud. It was a ballast train. The Viceroy’s special followed it. Special trains like kings need heralds. Life is not bought at the market. (P R , 27)

Interestingly, if the Indian railways had an important role in the unification of India as an instrument designed by the British Empire to maintain their military hold on the subcontinent, they also became, as Pramila Garg has pointed out, a useful means of organizing political movements to overthrow the Empire.20 Yet, in “In Kandesh,” Dattopant’s individual resistance remains unnoticed and Rao’s bitter comment at the end of the story is followed by Dattopant’s cremation. Kandesh, however, is a microcosm in which everything takes place at the same time as has already happened at some other point, and “the fire burns as elsewhere” (P R , 28). The three last stories, “The True Story of Kanakapala – Protector of Gold,” “Companions,” and “The Cow of the Barricades,” evoke a much more complex syncretism of popular beliefs, Hindu and Muslim cults focusing on the many forms of the God/Goddess and their all-sustaining and life-giving qualities. “Kanakapala” and “Companions” – written between 1935 and 1940 – are usually regarded as folk-legends (shtala puranas) which share the sacred figure of the serpent as a central character. Rao’s frequent use of animals like the sacred serpent (Naga) becomes a suitable device for connecting the degrading social Hindu system to its original ancient tradition, and more specifically to the metaphysical notion of the One/Many (Shiva–Shakti). In most mythologies, especially in the symbolic language of India, the serpent is another manifestation of the primordial cosmic energy that underlies any living form. As Joseph 20

Pramila Garg, The Freedom Movement in Indian Fiction in English (New Delhi: Ashis, 1993): 24.

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Campbell also maintains, it represents “the mysterious Creative Energy of God, which is the material and formal cause of his [Shiva] own selfmanifestation in, and as, the universe with all its beings.”21 These naga stories have the structure of ancient folk-tales which belong to a world where the temporal categories of ‘before’ and ‘after’ are interchangeable, where objects, animals, and spirits can communicate with people. We are undoubtedly introduced to an ‘order’ of reality apparently different and eccentric from the mundane, yet if we pay closer attention it appears to lead us back to the essential questions of all human beings and dredges up all of life’s potentialities into the light of the day. In “Kanakapala,” the story is told by Old Venkamma (amma, mother, a suffix with several semantic nuances referring to the Great Goddess), who confers on the story an oral tone through the traditional augural opening addressed to the public: “May those who read this, be loved of Naga, King of Serpents, Destroyer of Ills” (P R , 2). She garrulously describes how the village temple dedicated to Lord Shiva and the goddess Parvathi was built a long time ago in Kashipuram and then a huge three-striped cobra appeared to protect the sacred gold buried in the priest’s home. Kanakapala protected his treasure as long as he lived and then, when the family gold was stolen by some greedy and malicious members, he entered the temple and “went round the god and goddess, once, twice, thrice, and curling himself at the foot of the Divine Couple, swallowed his tail – and died” (P R , 11) for, in the absence of the Hindu family’s moral and spiritual values, Kanakapala preferred death rather than an “undutiful life.” The narrative technique, based on a kind of ancestral ‘I’ which tells the story, is further developed within a temporal dimension outside history and reminiscent of a mythic past: Over a hundred years have now passed, and things have changed in Kashipura as well as all over the world. People have grown from boys to young men, from young men to men with children, and then to aged grandfathers, and some too have left for the wood to medidate, and others have died a common death, surrounded by wife and children, and children’s children. Others have become rich, after having begged in the streets; while some have become villains, though they were once 21

Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949; London: Fontana, 1993): 129.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS the gentlest of the meek. And some – Shiva forgive them! – are lying eaten by desease though they were strong as bulls and pious as dedicated cows (P R , 5).

As Naik observes,22 the hundred years to which Venkamma refers are those of the nineteenth century, as briefly hinted by the mention of the war between the British troops and Tipu, Sultan of Mysore (1782–99). Although it was a period of great historical change, her storytelling is entirely positioned within a mythic time alternating with the natural cycle of life and death, beyond colonial wars and deeply rooted in native collective memory of the village community: “We are living in Kali Yuga. And don’t they say, for every million virtuous there were in the first Yuga, every thousand in the second, every hundred in the third, there is but one now? Unrighteousness becomes the master, and virtue is trodden down […]. Oh, to live in this poor polluted world.” (P R , 9)

The cultural knowledge system displayed by Venkamma is the prototype of Achakka’s, the narrator of Kanthapura, especially in the way she intersperses her storytelling with quick comments and judgments: “No wonder Seetharamu was such a godlike boy […] He was always so smiling, so serene, so full of respect and affection. Why, if I had a daughter to marry, I would have given her away to him!” (P R , 7–8)

In Kanthapura, Achakka will comment likewise: “Moorthy who had gone through life like a noble cow, quiet, generous, serene, deferent and brahmanic […]. If only I had not been a daughterless widow, I should have offered him a grand-daughter, if I had one.” (K , 5)

Both the villages of Kanthapura and Kashipuran are bathed by the sacred Hemavathy waters: Three times, they say, the Goddess Hemavathy has grown so furious with the sins of her children, that she has risen in tempestuous rage, and swelling like a demon, swept away the trees, the crops and the cattle. (P R , 5)

22

M.K. Naik, Raja Rao, 48.

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The same symbolism is accorded to the river Cauvery in “Akkayya,” where the presence of the Devi is so terrifying, with her punishing force (ghora), that she appears almost like a demon or a serpent: “gurgling and swishing and rising majestically into the air like a seven-headed cobra” (P R , 48). Rao thus artistically combines local folk-knowledge handed down through the generations by oral means with brahminical Hinduism, a synergic syncretism that is also rendered on the linguistic level through a nativized English enriched by transpositions of lexical and syntactic models from Indian languages, precursors of the Puranic style further developed in Kanthapura. In “Companions,” the fine blend of Hindu and Muslim faiths constitutes an alternative mythic itinerary to the merely brahminical values. After all, as the epigraph to the story from the Muslim poet Hafiz indicates, every living being aspires to spiritual realization, hence all differences of caste, religion, and nationality are essentially one when connected to the Ultimate Truth: “Alas till now I did not know/my guide and Fate’s guide are one” (P R , 29). Before the pilgrimage of Moti Khan and his serpent companion begins, the goddess Lakshamma promises a bagful of gold and spiritual liberation, on condition that they both overcome the attachment (moha) originating from desire (kama) and greed (lobha). According to Sufism, the ultimate Truth (Haqiqat) can be understood only through devotion (Tariqat) constantly expressed by worshipping God (Zekr). Only after the transformation of all vices into virtues is spiritual realization possible. The protagonist Mothi Khan, having enjoyed with his concubine the pleasures of luxury and greed, is ready to redeem himself by accepting the role of snake-charmer and embarking on a spiritual pilgrimage. At the same time, his snake – “true companion of the Godseeker” – was in the past a brahmin pandit destined to be reborn as a serpent in order to obtain peace and spiritual liberation. Thus united by the summum bonum of both Sufi and Hindu spirituality, the two protagonists start their quest by travelling towards Northern India, entertaining people with music and dance along the way. But Moti Khan, tired of the strict vow he has taken to avoid the company of women, weakens at their sight: Round were their hips, he would think, and the eyelashes are black and blue, and the breasts are pointed like young mangoes, and their limbs so tremble and flow that he could sweetly melt into them. (P R , 32)

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However, his soul is protected by his loyal and vigilant serpent, which is ready to use its venom to maintain their vow. At the end of their pilgrimage, near Agra, Moti Khan enters into an uninterrupted twenty-nine-day period of meditation at the tomb of Shaykh (Master) Christi, from which he obtains not only “peace from the serpent – and God” (P R , 34) but a spouse who will accompany him until the end of his life. The story ends with the death of Moti Khan, his wife and the serpent being buried close to each other and their tombs becoming a sacred place for pilgrims where a neem tree and a peepal tree have grown and snake-stones (naga kal) are worshipped to overcome curses or infertility: between Agra and Fatehpur Sikri you may still find the little tomb and the pipal. Boys have written their names on the walls and dust and leaves cover the gold and blue of the pall. But someone has dug a well by the side, and if thirst takes you on the road, you can take a drink and rest under the pipal, and think deeply of God. (P R , 35)

The last story in this collection, “The Cow of the Barricades,” shifts the focus from individual spiritual liberation to Gandhi’s national ‘liberation’ of India. As in “Narsiga,” “The Cow of the Barricades” is the story of how the Gandhian struggle for Independence comes to a small village in South India; this time, however, the central figure is not a human being but a cow, the many-faceted symbol of India par excellence which here primarily conveys the idea of a country in the bondage of foreign rulers. Gauri is the symbol of the holy cow which opposes British rule by representing the Gandhian values of non-violence (ahimsa) and truth (satya). Its religious significance is directly related to the ancient myth of Kamadhenu (also known as Surabi, Savala or Nandini), the first mother of cattle, who gives prosperity whenever needed to gods and sages. According to several Puranas, she belonged to the sage Vasishtha and was produced as the ocean was churning. Among the many examples of her supernatural powers, she gave birth to a host of warriors who aided the sage Vasishtha to defeat the arrogant king Vishvamitra, thus turning him into a royal saint (Rajarsi). Added to this Puranic myth is that of the Goddess, in which Gauri is known as Parvathi. She emerges as the ultimate female principle, the Universal Life Energy itself, the original shakti inherent within creation which embodies the ability of her divine male consort to create the manifest world. It is necessary to consider this

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philosophical and religious lore in order to understand fully the symbolic meanings and inherent messages conveyed by the author. The story itself is woven together by Rao in a sort of Puranic style which unfolds in stirring, mesmerizing, and rhythmic cadences. Here the reader almost participates in the vigorous resistance of this small southern Indian village and is directly taken behind the barricades of India’s freedom movement in which Gauri heroically stands up to the British troops. Rao evokes the mythological stature of the cow-goddess by depicting her paying regular visits to a spiritual master every Tuesday, at which she only takes a handful of grain from him and then disappears into the bushes and is not seen for the rest of the week: And the Master’s disciples gathered grain and grass and rice-water to give her every Tuesday, but she refused it all and took only the handful of grain the Master gave. She munched it slowly and carefully as one articulates a string of holy words, and when she had finished eating, she knelt again, shook her head and disappeared. And the Master’s disciples said, “This is a strange creature”… And they went to the Master and said: “Master can you tell us who this cow may be?” And […] he said: “She may be my baton armed mother-in-law. Though she may be the mother of one of you. Perhaps she is the great Mother’s vehicle.” And like to a mother, they put kumkum on her forehead, and till Tuesday next they waited for Gauri. (P R , 36)

The symbolic meanings conveyed by the cow and the chance that she represents for India to achieve independence through peaceful resistance become clearer in the subsequent description of Gandhi’s freedom movement. It is indeed in this period, in which the country was forging its national and self-governed (swaraj) identity, that Rao synthetically restates the key principles of Gandhi’s non-violent resistance (satyagraha): “Don’t buy their cloth.” And people did not buy their cloth. The Mahatma said: “Don’t serve under them.” And people did not serve under them. And the Mahatma said: “Don’t pay their taxes.” And people gathered, and bonfires were lit and processions were formed, and there were many men wounded and killed and many taken to prisons, but people would not pay taxes nor would they wear foreign clothes. (P R , 37)

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With the oppressive imposition of taxes by the foreign rulers, peasant life becomes increasingly unbearable, and eventually the village is transformed into a battlefield in which barricades are erected to stop the advance of the British troops. Yet the spiritual Master of the village spurs the peasants on after the peaceful message spread by Gandhi: “No barricades in the name of the Mahatma, for much blood will be spilt,” but the workmen said, “It is not with ‘I love you, I love you,’ you can change the grinding heart of the Government.” (P R , 38)

The happiness that reigned at the beginning of the story – represented by the snake and the rat playing under the Master’s bed – now stands in contrast to the tremendous suffering created by the “grinding heart” of the colonial government. The symbol of the cow as Mother India (Bharat Mata) imprisoned by the rulers is strikingly shown through Gauri’s response to the imminent assault: she looked very sad, and somebody had even seen a tear, clear as a drop of the Ganges, run down her cheeks, for she was of compassion infinite and true. (P R , 38)

The (somewhat forced) linking of the teardrop with the Ganges elevates Gauri to the unifying figure of the nation of Hindustan, symbolically caught and imprisoned by the British government. It is in the crucial moment of confrontation between the villagers and the colonizers that Gauri appears in all her glory, like Kamadhenu, displaying her indestructible compassion and her entire motherly force beyond the boundaries of life itself: With the third move men pushed her up and she was on the top of the barricades… But their chief, the redman, saw this and fired a shot. It went through Gauri’s head, and she fell, a vehicle of God among lowly man. But they said blood did not gush out of the head but only between the forelegs, from the thickness of her breast. (P R , 40–41)

Particularly interesting is the way in which Rao introduces the reader to the Gandhian value of non-violence (ahimsa), depicted here as a means of liberation in the face of tremendous repression – undoubtedly a puzzling and inoffensive response in the face of Western policies. Yet it was capable of tapping the diverse energies and immense capacities of a large variety of people resolutely grounded on the ancient philosophical and

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religious heritage of India. If, on the one hand, Gauri becomes through her peaceful revolt a tragic metaphor of Gandhian predicaments – one of the many martyrs of Indian nationalism – on the other it shows the distinctive capacity of a millennial civilization to distinguish itself by offering to its population an experience between history and myth which eventually led the country to its legitimate liberation. If the critical appraisal given by several scholars of this story is questionable,23 Rao’s poetic imagination is undoubtedly remarkable here, as it finds expression during a period of growing discontent with Gandhi’s political strategies, a sentiment that is also echoed at the end of the story: “the Mahatma may be all wrong about politics, but he is right about the fullness of love in all creatures – the speechful and the mute” (P R , 41). During the 1930s, Rao felt certain that the Gandhian ideology would have led the country to independence, a passionate, patriotic conviction which is depicted in the story by the use of the fantastic to serve a metaphysical end, thus lending noble resonances to human depths. The story thus stands at a point at which tradition and modernity fuse and show the surfacing of the Indian anticolonial consciousness, caught between a traditional religious society and the new world-view instilled by the British Empire. It was an encounter/clash between history and popular folklore which could not fail to result in the mythic transfiguration of the Gandhian movement, thus illustrating an alternative strategy unleashed by the peasant community to counteract British colonialism. The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories collectively reveals the realistic and metaphysical strands at work in Raja Rao’s mind, in which the events enacted during the period of Indian nationalism appear to go beyond the surface of life and move closer to the innate dynamism and resilience of rural India. Less sophisticated than in his subsequent works, his rendering here of a both realistic and tragic representation of rural villages appears in its full strength by accommodating the degraded Hindu social society to the ancient force of partnership values by using powerful resonances with the folkloristic and religious philosophical lore of India.

23

See, for instance, Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 24–28, K.C. Belliappa, The Image of India in English Fiction (New Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corporation, 1991): 199–201, and Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction, 139.

24

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS

On the linguistic level, Meenakshi Mukherjee has divided the indigenous experiments with the English language into three main categories: (1) experiments with style (literaral translation of idioms); (2) syntactic experiments (modification of sentence structure); and (3) use of native rhetorical figures.24 In the case of Raja Rao’s fiction, he expresses “Indian modes of feeling and expression” (C B , vi) through the creative use of a complex range of native lexical idioms enriched by both transpositions of lexical and syntactic models from one language to another and frequent loan translations. In the linguistic group of lexical borrowings, in which words taken mainly from Sanskrit, Arabic, and Hindi are simply inserted into the flow of the English language, we find the following words: measurements: seer, pau, khanda; money: rupee, anna, pice, pies; food and drink: gram, ghee, toddy, betel, jawari, dosé, uppittu; clothes: sari, dhoti, achkan, khadi; castes, jobs, and social positions: pariah, bania, zamindar, maharaja, patel, pandit, brahmin, patwari, raja, muezzin, maulvi, mullah, sahib, babu, swami, uvaraj; religious festivals: Dassera, Shivaratri, Shankranthi; gods and goddesses: Gauri, Kali, Shiva, Parvathi, Lakshmi, Rama, Kenchamma, Hemavathy, Brahma, Lakshamma, Yashodha, Talakamma, Durga, Udbhavamurti; places: bazaar, ashram, taluk, dharmashala, serai, dargah, byre; towns and rivers: Ayodhya, Kashi, Kashi-Vishweshwara, Himalayas, Cauvery, Ganges, Jumna; flora: neem, champak, bael, pipal, tulasi; onomatopoeic expressions: grhita grhita (squawking of crows), bāye bāye (gnashing of crocodiles), tom-tom tira-tira (drum rolls), bhus-bhus (the flowing of water), gud … gud … gud (the gurgling of the hookah), ‘Ayyo … ayyo … ayyo … ooo’ (Beti’s cries); 24

Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction, 170.

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miscellaneous: hookah, naga, nay, amma, Amara, Asvin, Bhava, Vedanta, Ramayana, Atharva-veda, Mahatma, pungi, nagaswara, parsi, nazar, sitaphul, sastra, yuga, karma, kumkum, linga, kummarbund. Other examples of lexical transfer can be observed in the formation of hybridized linguistic items (or ‘mixed formation’) which are formed by the combination of two or more lexical units (compound words) belonging to two different languages: taluk collector, sitaphul wood, neem-tree, pipal-platform, betel-leaves, champak tree, kumkum water, Gandhi-cap, baswanna-bulls, sari-fringe, kumkum mark, carcass-eating pariah, Ganges-crowned, gram shop, pariah street, gram cakes, gram balls, Nawab Sahib, filigree-worked achkan, gram platform, pice-worth, fouranna tip, bael flower, bael leaves, gold-laced dothi, thirty-rupee clerks, half-seer gold. Kachru further distinguishes these hybrid units into two groups: open set and closed set.25 The first group refers to a lexical formation that is not limited by any grammatical rule – for instance, the compounds kumkum water (C B , 36) and haldi invitation (P R , 47) – whereas the second group is concerned with closed, grammatically bound hybrid sets, such as in those formations with the suffix -worth in piceworth (P R , 81). Conversely, we cannot define those compounds as hybrid that are formed by linguistic units belonging to the same language, although they still represent a serious cultural difficulty26 for a reader who is unfamiliar with the Indian socio-cultural context: milk-cup, holy pot, oil-shop, death-drums, red-man, city chatter, filigree-tails, god-dedicated-cow, rice-water, Temple-square, low-born, bath-slab, donkey-whore, washerman, flowerchariot. A fine example of another hybrid linguistic formation employed by Rao is those new lexical sets made up of adjectives, names, and adverbs associated with a proper noun in order to indicate or, even better, to ‘label’ a precise Indian rustic context to which the characters belong or to stress some major human and physical traits: Plantation Subbayya, Vision 25

Braj B. Kachru, The Indianization of English: The English Language in India (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1983): 153–54. 26 This is the reason why Kachru calls these linguistic units ‘collocations’: i.e. “those formations which are contextually Indian, and/or which are collocationally uncommon in British English”; Kachru, The Indianization of English, 109.

26

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Rangappa, Eight-verandahed-house Chowdayya, Cardamon-field Venkatesha, Big-House Subbayya, the pipal tree where-the-fisherman-Kodihanged-himself-the-other-day, Bow-legged Rangayya, Shop-keeper Ramachetty.27 This is one of Rao’s peculiar stylistic choices (within what Kachru defines as ‘style variation’), a linguistic experiment employed more extensively in Kanthapura. Hybrid formations can be also made through a long series of linguistic items (‘string formations’) which, according to their word-order, modify the meaning of the noun: betelchewed lips (P R , 33), filigree-worked achkan (P R , 74), four-anna tip (P R , 28 86). Another characteristic of Indian languages is premodification, which allows both nominal or verbal aggregations, thus enriching a noun or a verb with a series of references and limiting the use of articles and prepositions: stream-fed-field (P R , 10), betel-chewed-lips (P R , 33), batonarmed mother-in-law (P R , 36), three-hundred-ruppee Benares sari (P R , 74), a curly-haired, bright-eyed, intelligent-looking, immaculately-dressed young boy (C B , 126). From the above classifications we can now infer not only how “distinctive and colourful” Raja Rao’s thematic and linguistic Indianness can be, but also the high degree of difficulty that these linguistic experiments may represent. This is, as Kachru points out, the result of “the acculturation of a Western language in the linguistically and culturally pluralistic context of the subcontinent.”29 The same problem of intelligibility is, in fact, encountered in loan translations, in which, although the lexical units are rendered in English, such as twice-born and chosen ones (P R , 95), the reader cannot understand the meaning of the expressions without knowledge of native Indian socio-cultural lore. As these compounds are clearly culturally bound, they can be fully understood only when they are carefully ‘collocated’ and explained within their native socio-cultural context, in this case specifically connected with Hindu customs and ceremonies.

27

Interestingly, these hybrid formations were anticipated by the Indian English writer Shankar Ram in his works The Children of Kaveri (1926) and Creature All (1933), in such nicknames as Barrel-Nose Granpa or Spider-Leg. The same can be said of Ignazio Silone’s Fontamara (1933): Antonio ranocchia (‘frog Antonio’) or Don Abbacchio (‘priest young lamb’). 28 Z.N. Patil, Style in Indian English Fiction (New Delhi: Prestige, 1994): 65. 29 Kachru, The Indianization of English, 1.

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In a more intelligible linguistic sphere, we can appreciate the use of loan shifts, by which Raja Rao borrows native locutions from his own Indian mother-tongue (Kannada) without risking misunderstanding. It is in this use of native rhetorical figures that the immediacy of Indian cultural specificity comes to the fore, nourished by Rao’s impulse to rewrite the modes and forms of a truly authentic life-style: nearly every house had one or two that disappeared into the realm of Brahma (P R , 2); Shiva, Shiva, bestow unto us Thy light! (P R , 6); We are living in Kali Yuga” (P R , 9); For gold and wisdom go in life like soap and oil (P R , 29); “Oh, shut up! And don’t bother me with all your Ramayana” (P R , 45); when people hate others they always mix milk and salt […] And when the children left her, she forgot them as the cow forgets her young ones (P R , 49–50); Goddess, keep that boy strong and virtuous and give him all the eight riches of Heaven and earth (P R , 84); it is the same old story. Always the same Ramayana (P R , 85); weep till your tears flood the Cauvery (P R , 93).

In these examples, we are not overly challenged in our appreciation of colloquial native expressions peculiar to the spontaneous quotidian dimension of Indian life, as they appear quite intelligible and at the same time succeed well in reproducing the rhythm and tone of the Kannada language. Similarly, the semantic and syntactic repetition (reduplication) of one or more linguistic units is ordered in such a way as to re-create the colloquial register of certain characters, to emphasize a particular event, or to indicate precise temporal continuity and a dramatic moment: He had one servant, two servants, and three servants (C B , 113); I will build a house that will house all of them with their wives and children and children’s children (C B , 125); The serpent […] flings himself at you and if he is a quarter-of-an-hourone, you die in a quarter of an hour, a three-fourths-of-an-hour-one, you die in three-fourths of an hour, and you may know it by the number of stripes he has on his hood, for one means a quarter of an hour,

28

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS two half an hour, and three three-fourths, but beyond that you can never live (P R , 1); […] those who have become rich have children, those who have become wicked have children, and those who have become sick may have had children too, and after a hundred years, their children’s children are living to still see the Hemavathy (P R , 5); […] he fell seriously ill soon after her arrival, and vomited nothing but blood – red blood, black blood and violet blood (P R , 7).

In “Javni,” we can observe the repetition “with these very eyes, with these very eyes, I have seen the hosts of more than a hundred young men and women, all killed by magic, by magic” (P R , 84) by which Rao is able to evoke the colloquial tone of the protagonist, thus adding a further dimension to her characterization.30 In his creative linguistic experiments, Rao makes frequent use of very long sentences and paragraphs, at times almost interminable, by employing the connectives ‘and’, ‘if’, ‘or’, ‘for’, ‘with’, ‘then’, ‘but’ in order to re-create the rapidity and authenticity of the Kannada language, as in the second sentence of “The True Story of Kanakapala,” which consists of two hundred and twenty-seven words (P R , 2). This linguistic aspect confirms what the Australian scholars Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin have defined as ‘overlap of language’, where the particular structure, sound, rhythm, and lexis are transferred from the mothertongue to another literary form and nativized according to the new context.31 The extraordinary variety of indigenous world-views is powerfully conveyed in the use of rhetorical figures that allow the reader to connect to a more authentic village life in southern India: [brides] some beautiful as new-opened guavas, and others tender as April mangoes (P R , 2); They were strong as bulls and pious as dedicated cows, […] there was soil fine as powder of gold (P R , 5); a heart as pure as the morning lotus (P R , 6);

30

Braj B. Kachru, The Alchemy of English: The Spread, Functions and Models of Non-Native Englishes (1986; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1989): 40. 31 Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths & Helen Tiffin, The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (1989; London & New York: Routledge, 1994): 52.

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greedy, malicious, and clever as a jackal (P R , 7); Kanakapala knew the true from the false, as the rat knows the grain from the husk (P R , 8); They looked hale and strong as exhibition bulls (P R , 10); strong as the pipal (P R , 20); [women whose] breasts are pointed like young mangoes (P R , 32); her face all wrinkled like a dry mango (P R , 42); Akkayya was as pure a thing as the jasmine in the temple garden, […] as happy as a deer […] she forgot them as the cow forgets her young ones (P R , 49-50); she was red as the inside of a pumpkin (P R , 68); walking as if in a temple (P R , 83).

The language used by the characters of The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories is also distinguished by abusive words (aggravating or impolite language) which confer both a distinctive realism on their dialogue and a certain salaciousness to events such as breakdowns, affronts, quarrels or situations requiring urgent and immediate action: you son of my woman! (C B , 99);32 you are a wretched imp […] a monkey as you (C B , 102); you wretch, you ruin-of-a-house […] you buffaloes! (C B , 104); Oh, shut up you monkey […] you pariah, or I’ll sew up your lips (P R , 45); You dirty widow, you daughter of a prostitute, you donkey-whore […] you concubine, you wretch (P R , 56); you dog-born, you donkey’s wife (P R , 57); That swine of a bania (P R , 61); Go to hell, you dirty dragon! Go and sell yourself in a house of prostitution, you wretch, you devil! You witch, you donkey’s kid, you bloody…! (P R , 67); Dog, whore, wench, devil, you witch! (P R , 68); Oh! Come nearer, you monkey (P R , 84); 32

‘Sons of my woman’ is an English transposition of the Kannada word magane (singular), makkalu (plural). It is an insult only if a man uses it, whereas in the case of a woman it is considered a term of affection.

30

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS Why don’t you shut up, you donkey’s widow (P R , 85); you ill-boding widow (P R , 92).

Whereas the experiments with both style and syntax usually belong to a conscious appropriation of the English language,33 the use of indigenous metaphors reveals a more direct and less mediated perception of the writer in expressing its cultural origins, space, and experience. It is through this indigenous self-expression that the writer engages in a new interpretation of inherited literary conventions and discourses34 and forges its own distinctive style, such as ‘the flow of consciousness’ employed in the story “In Kandesh” through Dattopant’s interior monologue: “Important business! Important business!” Dattopant said to himself. “What could it be? After all everything is over now. Thotababa’s Tailend field was already auctioned by the government. Poor chap! One of the richest fellows in the village his father was, in my father’s time. Owned half the cotton-fields. They said gold was used to pave his floors. Thotababa! We told him, didn’t we, not to get indebted to that Parsi? But he wanted money – money. If not how could he pay for his pilgrimages, marriages, mistresses?… And now… Ha! Ha! Poor Thotababa! Ambudevi is Bhattoji’s mistress now. Where there’s money, there are women. Juicy girl too, Ambudevi. But poor Thotababa! Grind the corn, brother, grind.” (P R , 14–15)

Another interesting experiment with style is the ancient narrative voice so typical of the traditional oral tale and skilfully adopted in “The True Story of Kanakapala – Protector of Gold,” “Companions,” and “The Cow of the Barricades” through which the distinctly a-historical and flowing narration appears deeply ‘infused’ with patterned lexical and syntactic transpositions, mythic allusions, and the tempo of Indian life, as in the description of the Gandhian Freedom Movement given via the Gorakhpur villagers point of view in “The Cow of the Barricades”: And people were much affrighted, and they took the women and the children to the fields beyond and they cooked food beneath the trees and lived there – for the army of the Government was going to take the 33 34

Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction, 170. Syd C. Harrex, The Fire and the Offering (Calcutta: Writer Workshop, 1978): 149.

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town and no woman or child would be spared. And doors were closed and clothes and vessels and jewels were hidden away, and only the workmen and the men ruled the city, and the Master was the head of them all, and they called him President. (P R , 38–39)

Similarly, such lyrical cadences are fully naturalized in the description of the Gandhian resistance in Kanthapura: And this time it was from the Brahmin quarter that the shouts came, and policemen rushed towards the brahmins and beat them, and old Ramanna and Doré came forward and said, “We too are Gandhi’s men, beat us as much as you like,” and the policemen beat them till they were flat on the floor, mud in their mouths and mist in their eyes, and as the dawn was rising over the Kenchamma hill, faces could be seen, and men became silent and women became sobless, and with ropes round their arm seventeen men were marched through the streets to the Santur Police Station. (K , 89)

The reconstruction of oral narrative techniques clearly incorporates a different temporal dimension in which references to any date or calendar are absent. A fitting example is Javni’s answer to Rani’s question: “How long? How long have I been with this family? But let me see. The harvest was over and we were husking the grains when they came” (P R , 86). In the same way, she describes how many tax inspectors she worked for: “How many? Now let me see.” Here she counted upon her fingers, one by one, remembering them by how many children they had, what sort of views they had, their caste, their native place, or even how good they had been in giving her two saris, a four-anna tip or a sack of rice. (P R , 86)

Other evocative passages of rural life are the description of the slow passing of time: “The morning slowly rolled along, and the afternoon too creaked heavily away, and yet nothing had happened” (P R , 71), or of a monsoon: All of a sudden a whirlwind rose over the fields. It seemed as though the earth vomited, spurting and flooding dust to the almighty skies. Round and swift it swept, brushed over the sands, swirled over the trees, and rushed into the air – and fell with a groaning, rasping cough.

32

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS The stones on the railway lines glittered hot and bitter. Their glitter seemed the glitter of fangs. The clouds began to heap up. They roared. They grunted. And thunder shot against thunder. Then all of a sudden there was a commotion in the heavens, and lightning flew across the air, splitting a tree. The tree caught fire and burst into flame. The flame of sunshine danced with the flame of lightning… And rain pelted against the earth. (P R , 26)

Although The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories is Rao’s first literary attempt, the stories offer compelling answers to the alienation and oppression of marginalized people from traditional family life and rural society, capable of envisaging a world of deeper perceptions and aspirations. It is rather difficult to agree with critics like Meenakshi Mukherjee who maintains that the stories lack a unitary structure and exist only as instruments for symbol manipulation.35 Even in the most romanticized rendering of both traditional village life and the Gandhian Freedom Movement, the signs of the decline from the lofty civilizational values of the Vedas and the fairly sharp critique of the ideological structures of Brahminical patriarchy depicted in his stories display an unmistakable indigenous consciousness that is artistically satisfying.

The Policeman and the Rose Over a quarter of a century after his first collection of short stories, Raja Rao’s metaphysical quest reaches its most mature expression in The Policeman and The Rose (1978), his second collection, encompassing, on the one hand, India, Russia, and France and, on the other, the Advaita Vedantic thought formulated by Shankara, thereby successfully making “shorter fiction the vehicle of metaphysical statement.”36 “India: A Fable,” “Nimka,” and “The Policeman and the Rose” are the three new stories added to the re-edition of the other seven published in The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories. Both the epigraphs from Sri Atmananda 35

Meenakshi Mukherjee, “Raja Rao’s Shorter Fiction,” Indian Literature 10.3 (1967): 68. 36 M.K. Naik, “The Short Story as a Metaphysical Parable: Raja Rao’s Policeman and the Rose,” in Explorations in Modern Indian English Fiction, ed. R.K. Dhawan (New Delhi: Bahri, 1982): 112.

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Guru and the preface to this collection point to the necessity of discriminating between Illusion and Reality: If one looks through the gross organ eye, gross forms alone appear. The same relation exists between other gross organs and their objects. Leaving the physical organs if one looks through the subtle organ called mind, subtle forms appear. Looking through the attributeless pure Consciousness, one sees Consciousness only and nothing else. (P R , ix)

Examining the relationships between the Vedantic thought and Raja Rao’s short stories is an enterprise that has often discouraged critics and readers. C.D. Narasimhaiah observes that the vision of India becomes much more complex because of Rao’s personal use of symbols, which hampers an intelligible interpretation of the stories: the critic needs to do more hard work on it before justice can be done to it. For he must confess to feelings of confusion, even failure in its presence – so exacting are its demands and so striking his own inadequacies.37

It is, however, through this very creative and unpredictable fusion of different codes and cultural models that Rao’s multicultural experience succeeds in dissolving national and linguistic boundaries in order to lead human beings to their deepest essence. Whatever conclusion we may come to, the interpretation of his fiction undoubtedly requires knowledge of the Vedantic vision of existence, which Rao explores in an endless spiritual bricolage with the West. Thus equipped, the reader spares himor herself the discomfort of coping blindly with a level of abstraction that could hinder understanding of the cultural connections Rao makes. “India: A Fable” is the first story of this original metaphysical scenario in which Rao evaluates the reality or unreality of supreme principles, explicitly summed up in the opening epigraph of Shankara: Advayataiva Shiva (non-duality) alone is auspicious. We are in Paris, in the Luxembourg Gardens, on a typical spring day, sunny and freshened by the April wind. The description of the swarming urban world of the French capital is immediately compacted in the image of the Sorbonnard girls, leaving 37

Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 41.

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their blouses half-unbuttoned to enjoy the refreshing breeze. Between the ochre sky and glistening puddles, men and women walk, chat and relax while children play happily in the park. In this concrete world of daily reality, Rao imperceptibly inserts another dimension, which gradually becomes supernatural, almost magical, as the story unfolds, bestowing a higher philosophical and religious significance. The first-person author– narrator is sitting beneath the statue of Anne of Austria “(1629–1687?), grey, big-headed, big-bosomed – some old tragic royalty bulging with posthumous importance” (P R , 104). What suddenly strikes the reader is the question-mark against the year of death of the queen, clearly directed at questioning the assumed conclusion of life at death.38 But, along with this fundamental objection to death as one’s annihilation, others will follow in reiterating the same assertion of Shankara’s about the non-duality of existence (shuddadvaita). We understand that Rao wants the ancient IndoEuropean equation between microcosm and macrocosm and the eternity of the soul to re-emerge: in the Vedantic world view, what remains after the death of the physical body – the physical body that has no reality in itself because it is a product of the incantatory game of maya39 – is atman, the only reality that has ever existed. The same concept will be more clearly articulated in the novel The Serpent and The Rope, when Ramaswamy ponders on the significance of his ancestors’ death, affirming toward the end that “you must go to the end of philosophy, go near enough to truth – but you must end with a question mark. The question mark is, I repeat, the 38

M.K. Naik also pointed out that Queen Anne, wife of Louis X I I I , whose real dates are 1601–66, is an apt example of an unsuccessful marriage; a wedding being one of the key symbols in the story “it represents […] the union of two persons in wedlock, the union of the individual soul with the Oversoul – an idea common in Indian devotional verse.” Naik, “The Short Story as a Metaphysical Parable: Raja Rao’s Policeman and the Rose,” 112. 39 Maya is usually translated incorrectly by the term ‘illusion’. As René Guénon observes, Maya is “a work of art,” the dynamic aspect of both universal substance and cosmic flux, the cause and effect of existence, the spontaneous self-transformation of an originally undifferentiated, all-generating divine Substance. According to the Vedanta, all objects, ranging from the gross entities in the outside world to the mind, are only ‘different gradations of reality’ (Maya). The self, or consciousness, is for the Advaitins the only Ultimate Reality, Pure Consciousness, or atman, in its individualistic aspect, and Brahman in the universal or cosmic aspect. See Guénon, Études sur l’Hindouisme (1966; Paris: Éditions Traditionelles, 1990).

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sign of French Intelligence; it is the tradition of Descartes, that great ancestor of Abélard” (S R , 401). Continuing along the path of Vedantic logic, Raja, the Indian narrator, engages Pierrot in a cheerful dialogue while the child is totally absorbed with his wooden toy camel: “Where are you going?” I asked. “To the Oasis of Arabia,” he said and stopped […]. “You know where the Oasis is?” I asked. “Oh yes, the Oasis is all water and big like this, my camel goes there to drink.” “Let’s go there,” I said. (P R , 104–105)

Pierrot’s nanny gives an occasional glance to check that the child is safe; noticing that he is in Raja’s company, she takes the opportunity to continue her flirtatious effusions with her lover. Thus, Pierrot and Raja are left in peace to embark on a game that will take them on an imaginary adventure to distant lands. From the beginning, the dialogue between the two protagonists seems to organize the elements of exotic worlds into distinct categories: whereas Pierrot imagines Arabia with his camel, the sand, the oasis to be reached, and princesses with horses laden with gold, Raja introduces his India with its vast forests, rivers, maharajas, elephants, and four armed goddesses adorned with golden crowns. This apparent duality of the two worlds dissolves as the characters continue their own fable, until they land in another imaginative space, in a sort of in-between dimension where India and Arabia perfectly intertwine: “ Raja is what they call you,” he said, trying to pronounce my name slowly, and to understand. “Yes,” I said. “It means a prince.” “Then you are like Rudolfe. Rudolfe is the Prince of the Oasis and of Arabia. And you?” “Of India. ” (P R , 106)

Once this imaginative territory is established, Pierrot and ‘Monsieur le Prince’ are ready to embrace new planes of reality. In a recalling of the opening epigraph, in which Sri Atmananda refers to the three planes of reality, the two characters will move along them vertically in order to reach the highest level of knowledge, that of Pure Consciousness (Brahman). In the story, Rao evokes the physical plane of objects and forms through the description of the park, the throngs of people, the cold wind rocking the little boats in the Medici fountain, and especially the peculiar light emanating from the gold buttons of Raja’s Indian jacket (sherwani),

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which totally captivates Pierrot: “‘Look, you’ve faces in your buttons, Ah, faces, faces’” (P R , 105). The entire scene is directly observed not only through sight but also through taste: “the chocolat chez Alsecia rue d’Assas whose taste would not leave my mouth,” touch: “the cold wind blew over my mouth […] over my chest,” and hearing: “the old, fat women removed their kerchiefs and spoke garrulous words” (P R , 104). After defining the picture of solid reality, structured on the phenomenological plane, the Indian narrator introduces the metaphysical idea of India, thus leading the characters towards a higher plane, shifting from gross levels of the senses to subtle forms of the mind: Then we came to the central pool amidst the blue flowers. There were many, many children. Pierrot walked among them as though he were going on a long journey. He was going somewhere very far, far, far as that Avenue de l’Observatoire, full of great forests of trees, pools and big buildings and rippling sunshine. The sun shines there. The moon is big there. There are many birds, all blue and sometimes transparent. There are many clouds. And the camels there are never thirsty. “And camels – are there many in your country?” “Oh, we’ve elephants,” I said […]. The wind blew, and in the pool the boats raced one against the other, going to many lands, dashed against one another, fell on their sides, and rose up, and nobody was hurt or angry, because the sun shone. (P R , 107)

Added to this fantastic vision is a reconstruction of India – no longer through its physical traits, but in its metaphysical quality, which relies on a specific Hindu philosophical symbolism. It is the ancient Vedic thought of the sun and the moon, night and day, and, extending the metaphor, the individualistic self – the Absolute that resides in any individual (Atman) – and the True Universal Self, Brahman. Rao, in a very easy, almost childlike, language accessible to Pierrot, chooses to synthesize the polarity of the universal/individual energy through the figure of the Goddess: “What is a goddess, a goddess, Monsieur le Prince?” “Ah, goddesses, well: they are ladies with four arms and a golden crown on their heads, and the water of the Ganges, all sweet with perfumes, runs at their feet.” “And you have two of them?” “Yes,” I said. “One for the wedding of the night, and one for the wedding of the day. One who is dark as the bee, and the other who is blonde as butter.” “One is like dream-

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ing. The other is like waking up.” He understood. He became silent. Then: “And they ride elephants.” He smiled to himself. Now, he really understood. (P R , 107–108)

The use of the female figure of the Great Goddess is even more apt in overcoming the solitude and sadness of the little orphan who is seeking shelter and protection. The motherly ‘oasis’ re-emerges – if only for a few moments of rare intensity – at the centre of a multifaceted idea of India that takes shape in the archetypal “wedding of night and day,” like Gauri– Parvathi, “blonde as butter” and, like Durga–Kali, “dark as the bee.” In her iridescent expressions, the creative force of the Goddess is at the same time Dream (Mithya or Swapana, the relative reality), waking (Jagrity), and the Pure Non-Dual Conscience (Turiya). The Goddess, being the nondual substratum of all temporary conditions, is therefore outside the karmic law, and her actions leave no trace but, rather, “fragrances” (vasana), “all sweet with perfumes,” which are detached acts without desire. The waters of the Ganges are the dark vibrant waters of the divine shakti, the primordial and supreme Pure Self that, according to Hinduism, came from the sky in the form of the river Ganges, thanks to the assiduous meditations of the sage Bhagirata. We should also notice that Rao subsequently connects the same symbolism of the water – signifying the metaphysical Absolute, Brahman – to other crucial moments of the story. A close reading reveals that Raja, after a brief physical description – “my blue-bronze face […] my sherwani and my gold buttons” (P R , 105) – subtly assumes the figure of a spiritual master (svamin), becoming the ‘fatherly’ oasis of Pierrot. In an almost epiphanic passage, Raja appears overtaken by a great subliminal force that enchants him and leaves him suspended for few moments: the wind blew hard. The child came behind me, his hands tight shut in self-protection. Yellow plane leaves fell. At the Medici fountain, the water purred in the wind. I felt as though I could count each drop. (P R , 105)

The same metaphysical significance of the water, as Pure Conscience (Brahman), will be crystallized toward the end of the story in the image of the fountain, symbol par excellence of Knowledge (Jnana), which will shine completely in its synthetic and intuitive quality as a symbolic figure of the Divine Principle. We now understand that Raja wants to elevate

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himself with Pierrot towards something that is not a mere abstract principle, but something tangible. That evening, in the Luxembourg Gardens, the day seemed particularly beautiful: “never was the Luxembourg so beautiful as on that fragile spring day” (P R , 104). The term “fragile,” a rather unusual way to depict a day, seems intended to suggest an evanescent atmosphere, a twilight zone that escapes rigorous classification and categories, and somehow anticipates the desire to protect something precious, like Pierrot, who is perfectly inclined to accept Raja’s Vedantic penchant. We have to remember that Pierrot is a motherless orphan, his father, the only living member of his family, residing in Morocco. His sadness mirrors that of Pierrot–Gilles, the mask of the commedia dell’arte and the eighteenth-century descendant of Pedrolino. A more explicit reference to this theatrical tradition will in fact appear in The Serpent and the Rope: “one felt that the sun indeed had cheated us, had made us characters of a commedia dell’arte” (S R , 96). The eighteenth-century figure of Pierrot, underlying the child’s sadness, is analogous to that of the eternal ‘wonderer’, which does not belong to any place in particular. It is, thus, quite a dislocated figure, fitting completely into this metaphysical parable, and underlining at the same time Pierrot’s sadness and the spiritual journey that awaits him. In addition, it is worth remembering that Pierrot’s mask represents quite a precise form of sadness, that which comes from unrequited love; consequently, his happiness cannot manifest itself without an ‘external condition’, the love of Colombine. This Vedantic message given by Rao, that true happiness and self-fulfilment reside in identification (bhakti: i.e. pure love and devotion) with the Absolute – the awakening of the self to the Truth within (mukti) – will become clearer towards the end of the story, when Pierrot slips in the fountain, undergoing a kind of purifying ritual bath, and achieves self-realization. In his attempt to embrace Eternity, Raja takes the images in the fable game to a subtler plane of reality towards which Pierrot enthusiastically seems willing to go. In the meantime, Pierrot’s nanny, “so big, and fat and young,” acts as a contrast to the magical atmosphere the two protagonists enjoy, and remains in the background, clinging to the illusions of the phenomenological plane, where “she wanted to be pressed against some tree and kissed” (P R , 104). We see Raja and Pierrot finally reaching India through the mysterious and sublime alchemy of their fable:

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“And now, the fifteen days’ journey is over,” he said. “Yes,” I said. “Where are the goddesses?” “Don’t you see, there’s one to the right and one to the left. And how beautiful they are.” “Yes. And I ride on my elephant. I’ll call him Titi the Elephant.” He was pleased with his speech. “Titi, now there, turn to the left. And now to the right. There you’re good boy. And, what’s the name of your river, Monsieur le Prince?” “The Ganges,” I said. (P R , 109–10)

Thanks to this dialogue based on mutual understanding, the fabulous game succeeds in supplanting time and space, reaching infinity, and brings Pierrot and Raja closer to the Absolute. Yet Pierrot halts on this imaginary journey for a while, as his experience in Raja’s India is much more invigorating than the surrounding reality. He has, in fact, thrown the toy camel into the garden pool, as any child would do when a better game comes along.40 Pierrot’s return to the physical plane is evocatively summed up in a few lines, all indicative of a dense distillation of the spirit: The wind blew hard and cold. The boats fell against one another. “We must be going home now. Oh, it’s so cold,” said Jeanne, as though to the wind. She was looking at the gate of the garden, the one near the Medici fountain. The young man was gone, and the path had gone with him. The leaves were black against that grey sky. (P R , 110)

All seems to suggest the end of their imaginary journey, yet this is not so. In the moment when the nanny leaves them alone to fetch the toy camel, Pierrot cries “‘we’re going to the wedding, to the wedding!’” and after climbing the few steps, he makes out the Medici fountain and says: “I know where I am. I am in India.” […]. The elephant was drinking water at the Medici fountain. He saw the two goddesses, one to the 40

Quite surprisingly, Pierrot’s act of throwing away his toy is interpreted by a distinguished Indian scholar, M.K. Naik, as the symbol of the child’s conversion from “the Westerner’s illusive world of gross fantasy.” It is also unfortunate that the same binary interpretation is extended to many other issues through statements like “the contrast between India and the West,” or “[Pierrot’s father] runs true to the image of the Westerner as a conqueror and colonizer.” In view of Raja Rao’s Vedantic quest – and the central theme of the “wedding” – it is hard to agree with Naik’s assessments, which tend to reiterate such uncomfortable stereotypes as “the spiritual maturity of India as against the immaturity of the West” and oppose the very ‘gylanic’ balance of the story. See Naik, “The Short Story as a Metaphysical Parable: Raja Rao’s Policeman and the Rose,” 110–22.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS right and one to the left. One that I would marry with the moon, and one that I would marry with the sun. He looked at the water and said: “Look, there, that’s your country. How beautiful it is. Now it’s the hour of the wedding” […]. “Jeannot!” he cried and slipped into the water. He touched the bottom that was like himself, his hands and feet made of light. The water was not deep, but very cold and full of perfumes. (P R , 111–12)

It is clear that this passage has to be understood according to the Vedantic principle of non-duality, symbolized by the fountain as an evocative and almost magical image of Pure Consciousness (Brahman), the point which is without both form and dimension, hence invisible and transparent like ‘water’, possibly one of the closest images one can use in describing the Primordial Unity. Pierrot “touched the bottom that was like himself,” thus transcending the plane of dual experience and all its relative states. Here is the ending of Pierrot’s imaginary journey and the beginning of his new consciousness of the Absolute. Raja will meet Pierrot again after a few weeks in the Luxembourg Gardens: “Monsieur… Monsieur le Prince,” and leaped straight into my arms. He was very fond of his new navy suit. It had golden buttons that shone in one’s eyes. “Look!” he said. “Look, faces!” and he laughed. He seemed to have grown in years. “I know now,” he said. “I am a maharaja. I ride the elephant. The wedding is over.” (P R , 112)

The image of the wedding (kaliana), taken in its true significance of the unio mystica with Brahman (Brahmabhuya), perfectly expresses the idea of spiritual liberation, achieved through the gradual progression along the three planes of reality. Thanks to this expansion of Raja and Pierrot’s conscience, we are led to the primordial Oneness of the universe that not only underlies the entire story but also directs the spiritual growth of the protagonists. Accordingly, Raja Rao chooses that part of the evening towards dusk to enact the moment of integration between Pierrot and the Absolute: “the leaves were black against the grey sky” (P R , 110). In India this part of the day (sandhya) is very sacred to the Hindus, as light and dark meet, thus dissolving opposites in the dense light of dusk; the day becomes charged with potency and magic, to become life again after night. It is the holy moment for evening prayers (sandhya vandana), in which thanks are expressed to the gods for the day that has passed. In Pierrot’s journey, it

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produces an overall hypnotic setting, which appears immune to the timeridden preoccupations of human life. Thus, the whole story concludes with Pierrot’s awareness of the right relationship with the living cosmos, in which even the physical reality of life becomes a religious experience. It should now be clear how important it is to consider all these social, cultural, and philosophical elements in analyzing Raja Rao’s fiction, as they connect the reader to the symbolic and religious language of India. Even the abstract symbolism is perfectly reconciled with a penchant for concrete sense-experience, expressed – in the Vedantic view – through the protagonists’ metaphysical journey along the three planes of reality. Inherent in this metaphysical idea of union and connectedness with the Absolute is the reconciliation of many realities becoming one, where different coexisting cultural logics exquisitely weave themselves, emerging as a whole greater than the sum of its parts. The experience of reading “India: A Fable” is one of fluctuation between the apparently opposing poles of phenomenological reality, which have to be overcome, according to Rao, through a marriage between the Self (Atman) and the Ultimate (Brahman). In “Nimka” (1963), we encounter a more complex portrayal of a female character, far from the indigenous sensibility of both Akkayya and Javni’s rustic village life depicted in The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories. These are the years soon after the publication of The Serpent and the Rope, and “Nimka” emerges enriched by Rao’s consolidated experience with Europe and a deeper spiritual quest along the philosophical path of Vedanta. The protagonist is connected with different cultural contexts which are rendered in the story by a dynamic combination of images from India, France, and Russia. Nimka sums up, as C.D. Narasimhaiah pointed out, a multitude of symbols and notions ranging from Conceptualism, Nominalism, poetry, the concept of space, the theory of the word, the symbols of the cat and the swan, and several references to Abélard, Tolstoi, Gandhi, and Indian epics.41 Nimka (or Nimotchka) is a charming and mysterious Russian girl from the Caucasus who lives during the 1950s in exile in Paris with her mother, an impoverished old princess. Despite the painful experience of living away from her mother-country, she has brilliantly overcome the past, displaying an indomitable hope for the future, a rare generosity, and a humbling simplicity: 41

Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 21.

42

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS The old princess even left her small portion to the cat, and so the young Nimotchka left some of her foods for her mother. That is goodness if goodness needs a definition. Nimotchka was good, very good, and of a simple true beauty, as though you cannot efface it even were you to cut her face with many crosses. Her beauty had certainty, it had a rare equilibrium, and a naughtiness that was feminine and very innocent. It projected a quality of assurance that you were good, even were you bad, for this beauty could not be bad, so you had to be good. It was beauty – it always will be, and you cannot take it, and as such you cannot soil yourselves. How could you, for when you contemplate beauty, you end in contemplation – you may even have a cup of tea. Nimotchka loved tea – of course – and I loved it because she loved it. (P R , 99–100).

She is clearly the incarnation of Good, and her luminous beauty, compassion, and innocent wonderment seem to have the power of leading even the most deluded human being towards spiritual realization. The narrator is a young Indian student at the Sorbonne,42 Raja, and perhaps the sweetness and innocent purity characterizing her – “a soft lolling tongue that contains rounded sweetness” (P R , 98) – is more likely to have been the result of an autobiographical experience than a mere characterization. More importantly, we need to pay attention to Rao’s new narrative style, a more visionary and hypnotic kind of writing forged by the desire to move beyond mundane daily life and approach new spiritual realms. In the story, the exceptional radiating goodness of Nimka is further reinforced by the image of the cat, a Hindu symbol of compassion and self-surrender (prapatti) which Rao more adroitly employs in the novel The Cat and Shakespeare (1965) as one of the highest female divine principles:43 The kittens is being carried by the cat. We would all be kittens carried by the cat […]. Ah, the kitten when its neck is held by its mother, does it know anything else but the joy of being held by its mother? You see the elongated thin hairy thing dangling, and you think, poor kid, it 42

Interestingly, in 1931 Raja Rao began a three-year research project at the Sorbonne on the influence of India in Irish literature which he never completed. 43 In Vedanta, this principle is propounded by the famous twelfth-century philosopher Ramanuja, who popularized the Vishistadvaita teachings (qualified monism) along the path of Bakti (the yoga of devotion).

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must suffer to be so held. But I say the kittens is the safest thing in the world, the kitten held in the mouth of the mother cat. Could one have been born without a mother? Mother inventions do not so much need a father. But a mother – I tell you, without Mother the world is not. So allow her to fondle you and to hold you. I often think how noble it is to see the world, the legs dangling straight, the eyes steady, and the mouth of the mother at the neck. Beautiful […]. Let the mother cat hold you by the neck. (C S , 12–13)

Nimka was never sad, “her heart contained an intimacy of sorrow that was almost kin of joy. She was warm, of course, and spoke beautifully […]. Nimka asked nothing of life” (P R , 103). On Sundays, she likes spending her time with Raja, who entertains her by recounting episodes from the Indian epics. These tales appear to bond the two on a more intimate level, especially the story of Nala and Damayanti: I read to her some text from the Ramayana or the Mahabharata, the story of Nala and Damayanti, and the exile of the royal couple always moved her. She made a link beetween the Smolny Courtyard and the palace of Damayanti, and she had only to invent the Swan. I was the Swan then – I was the Swan now. Nimka knew the Indian saying that the swan knows how to separate milk from water – the good from the bad, and as I knew her to be good, she recognized me a swan. (P R , 100)

According to Hindu tradition, the swan (hamsa ksheera nyaya) is the symbol of virtue, as the act of distinguishing water from milk represents the ability to discriminate truth from falsehood, and the victory of good over evil, thus synthesized by Rao in the aphoristic statement “evil must be met with good. The good is what had distinction, and the bad what is successful” (P R , 99). As in the epic story, where the princess Damayanti realizes Nala is her love thanks to the advice of a swan, the author–narrator again acts as a spiritual guide capable of seeing beyond the shadows (vivarta) of the phenomenal world: “I was their saint and protector” (P R , 102). Yet, even if Nimka welcomes Raja and everything Indian in her world as symbols of virtue because “Tolstoy was right and India was right, and since she was right and India was right, and since she could not put up a picture of me on the wall, she put up Mahatma Gandhi’s” (P R , 100), at the end she falls in love with Michel, a student of Sanskrit:

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS Nimka, I think, loved me, but somehow that necklace came in the way. She could not imagine me and the necklace altogether – that necklace was made of pain, it stood there as a reminder of man’s inner strength against outer odds – it meant struggle and passion and poverty – the bow of Rama is easier to break than to twist the screw of that Russian necklace, the hand that could twist it, needed a more masculine grasp, a more painful nobility, a graver happiness. The Indian is too simple in his depth – if there’s no concierge and the cat, there’s no goodness. Success is sin. Gandhi is poverty. The maharaja is proof of truth. Truth is unnaked. Love is unsaid. So, Nimotchka fell in love with Michel. (P R , 101)

The impossibility of their love, here aphoristically summed up by Rao in his unique Upanishadic style, is not simply dictated by their cultural differences. Nimka, at the cost of preserving her purity and beauty, is determined to live in exile, work hard, and look after her mother, whereas Raja is incapable of struggling incessantly against mundane reality: he rejects the poverty and the hardships that a life spent with Nimka would entail; therefore, even the bow of Rama would be easier to break. Here Rao refers to “the bow of Shiva” (Shiva dhanus), the mythical episode in the Ramayana where the hero Rama is the only one in the kingdom of Videha who manages to break the famous weapon of Shiva and thus obtains Sita as his consort. Yet Nimka’s relationship with Michel will not last, as she will choose to live with Vergilian Kormaloff, a dissolute count who, like Nala, will gamble away all his wealth. In addition to this downfall, she will never see her son Boris again once he returns to Russia; she continues to live in Paris on her meagre earnings from work in a garment shop. A more complex juxtaposition of Hindu myths and philosophical principles is found in “The Policeman and the Rose” (1963), a story that has often discouraged many critics and readers, for, as C.D. Narasimhaiah observed, Rao’s excessive and personal use of symbols hampers an intelligible interpretation.44 Yet, once the story is analyzed in accordance with the concepts of Advaita Vedanta, the symbolism of this intricate scenario becomes clear. The main assumption of this philosophy is that the apparent dualism existing between the individual self (jivatman) and the divine Self (paramatman) is an illusion, as the true essence of both the 44

Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 41.

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individual and the universal self is one in Absolute Unity (kevala). The dualistic perception of reality is thus caused by spiritual ignorance (avidya), which confuses the pure Self-consciousness with the mundane world of incessant change and transformation (maya), perceived as infinitely manifold. It is in this way that the individual soul remains trapped in its mind, where the law of duality, space and time, reigns. Once the human being is capable of transforming its mind to the extent that it is able to transcend its egoistic self (ahamkara), it becomes possible for the soul to awaken and merge with its immanent Brahman consciousness, thus realizing its true inner essence in this lifetime (jivanmukta). The metaphor of the ‘policeman’ associated with the egoistic self that imprisons the pure Self since birth will thus become clear: When I was arrested my problem was not me but it. You see, I was arrested when I was born, and that is many, many years ago, a teen and truant score and more. All men are arrested the moment they are born […]. Every living man has a policeman, and his name is your name, his address your address, his dreams your dreams. (Of course in the dream, his name, force and function are other and inappropriate, but that is another matter.) […]. We have a policeman for everyman – Voltaire said the civilized state ‘est un état bien policé’ – civilization is the cross-road where the policeman stands. To the left is the past, to the right is the dawn, and behind you was death, and before you is life. (P R , 113)

The first-person narrator begins his tale about his existence and past lives, going back to a primordial time and then to his wanderings in France – “the Queen of Reason” – America, and Japan, up to his present life in India, where he eventually meets his guru – described as “a retired Police Commissioner” – and the ego is destined to dissolve with all its ossified structures: My medals melted on me and my skin became fresh! My voice became cantation, and my intelligence intimate. I laid my petal of rose at the Lotus of Truth, and I never beheld it again, brother, my brother. And when I woke up I heard them singing: In between two thoughts is the dance of Truth, He who’s seen it hath no rebirth.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS […]. The rose, I forgot, to tell you, has lost its tear, and I my medals. The rose knew its perfume was of the rose, its petals, its colour of rose was of the rose, and so there was no rose but the rose – if you understand what I mean. So it smelt of the Lotus. I was very happy. I became a man, that is free, and all that […]. And the trouble, brother, all the trouble is that we mistake the Lotus for the Rose. (P R , 125–26)

The fundamental problem thus arises from the identification of the self with the empirical reality of the phenomenal world, as it loses sight of its originary pure essence and grows in the pursuit of expansion with its voracious appetite for more. To become ‘the knower’ (saksin) is thus to go beyond the false egoistic self, the primordial error of an illusory sense of identity, and once this illusion is recognized, it dissolves. The symbols employed by Rao to describe this long spiritual journey focus on the apparent duality of life represented by the ‘policeman’ (the egoistic mind) and the real Self (the Jivatman), which is ‘arrested’ from the moment of its birth and remains deluded (avidya) until it becomes aware of its own real nature, the larger Self (Paratman). The same metaphysical assumption is further articulated through the colour-symbolism of the red and white rose (Jivatman/Paratman) and the lotus (Brahman).45 The particular complexity of all this allegorical significance can be put down to Rao’s remarkable erudition and ability to harmoniously weave together both East and West: “the rose is red elsewhere, in Avignon or in Paris, and white in Travancore. The rose of Travancore is the story of a pilgrimage” (P R , 121). The image of the red rose – “Rose of Compassion” – is not only connected with the medieval romantic-love tradition of the West, but it is also an implicit reference to the Vedic sacrifice of Purusha (the original eternal man, the Supreme Being), in which the colour red becomes the symbolic transposition of the vital cosmic blood of the universe: “Earth thou origin of the sperm and splendour of the rose-blood, as say the ancient texts” (P R , 114). Accordingly, the white rose and the lotus evoke the religious asceticism so typical of India – “the story of a pilgrimage” – in which the guru helps the joyful blossoming of the real Self, symbolically 45

A different interpretation of the same symbolism is given by M.K. Naik in which he associates the colours of the three flowers with the concept of the three Gunas of Samkhya philosophy. See Naik, “The Short Story as a Metaphysical Parable: Raja Rao’s Policeman and the Rose,” 119–20.

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represented by the unfolding of Prakriti, the quintessential substance of the universe and the feminine force. Therefore, Purusha (Shiva) and Prakriti (Shakti) are the polar forces of the whole universe, the Creation (Brahman) and the Manifestation (Maya) and salvation lies in realizing the difference between the two. As we have seen, the metaphysical idea of India depicted in “India – A Fable,” “Nimka,” and “The Policeman and the Rose” requires a particular spiritual and philosophical background in order to deeply understand the intricate symbology of Rao’s journey of self-enlightenment. An essential part of this awakening is the re-creation of a meditative form of writing “where the word, any word, from any language, dissolves into knowledge […] and here there’s neither you nor I. That is what I have been trying to achieve. That I become no one, that no one shine but It” (M I , 158). Along with the Puranic Indian storytelling tradition, Rao’s innovative language acquires the sapient aphoristic tone of the Upanishads, characterized by highly polished vocabulary and sentence structure mainly drawn from Sanskrit, such as the way Rao articulates the philosophical preoccupations of Raja in “Nimka”: Colour, yes, a name. A name is everything. Abélard, that old sensualist, was right. We are all nominalists. The object exists because of its name. Remove the name, and the object is space. Remove the space, and the object is the Reality. Poetry must be made of reality. Vocables are voluntary creations. We just invent language as we invent breath. Breath. (P R , 101–102)

Similarly, the complex and long-winded introduction of Nimka and her family: Nimka’s mother was of course brought up at the Smolny, and the Smolny courtyard seemed to play a more important part in their family history than the revolution and the civil war. For, in the Smolny courtyard, everyone in their walks de jeunes filles dreamt, and they dreamt such glorious dreams, that some Grand Duke of course went to a ball, and of course the Circassian beauty was the most ravishing of all that he had ever seen (and Smolny taught such rare bashfulness, it made even the horses at the sledges neigh) and the Impératrice, naturally, would hear nothing of it all, but some high priest intervened, and as the Court loved escapades, the couple fled to Switzerland, and was, and

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS the Emperor was duly white and red with ire, but what was, was, and after all the Circassian beauty had a father who was a general, and he was made bigger and brought to the Court, and the fault was of course laid on Count Tolstoy who destroyed every vestige of Society, and Tolstoy wrote a letter to the Countess Straganza Boriloff, a letter which is still a treasure in the little room – sous l’escalier A, un bis, as the concierge shouts – and you knock at the door and this Circassian princess opens the door to you, with a smile that would warm your heart even on this cold and wet summer of 1953. (P R , 98)

Whereas the figure of Nimka is described according to the Puranic storytelling tradition, her qualities and virtues are expressed in the aphoristic style: He who knows himself good is known by the animals he has […]. Her beauty had certainty, it had a rare equilibrium, and a naughtiness that was feminine and very innocent (P R , 99); Success is sin. Gandhi is poverty. The Maharaja is proof of truth. Truth is unnaked. Love is unsaid. So, Nimotchka fell in love with Michel (P R , 101); Mahatma Gandhi was shot, and Nimka knew that was the price of righteousness […] Nimka asked nothing of life. She asked nothing of me. When I said goodbye, she did not say when shall I see you again? She knew the life that has ended is eternal. When you are shot you become immortal. (P R , 103)

These examples clearly show how a series of profound truths are woven into each sentence, summing up philosophical principles in few words. In The Policeman and the Rose, the transposition of lexical and syntactic models from one language to another is not limited to Indian languages but is further extended to the French language, especially proper nouns, as shown in the following list:46 myths: Rama, Ravana, Sita, Nala, Damayanti, Gandharvas, Siddhas, Yakshas;

46

Those linguistic units, which have been already mentioned in the previous study of The Cow of the Barricades, will thus not be mentioned again.

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writers and historical figures: Robespierre, Henri Becque, D’Alémbert, Yuvaraja, Akbar, Uday, Tolstoy, Gorki; places: Kishkindha, Himalaya, Rajputana, Luxembourg, Sorbonne, Smolny, Quartier Latin, Pantheon, Théâtre des Champs Elysées, Institut de la Civilisation Indienne, École Normale, Lycée Louis le Grand, Grands Magasins, Promenade des Anglais, Place des Fontaines, Avenue de l’Observatoire, Rue de Fossé Saint Jacques, Rue d’Ulm, Rue du Sommerard, Rue d’Assas, Rue Vaneau, Rue Racine, Rue Servandoni, Rue Saint Jacques; towns: Mysore, Benares, Madras, Travancore, Avignon, Perpignan, Arles (Arlésienne), Monte Carlo; miscellaneous: sherwani, kundalini, Magh, pujari, prasad, tirth, pukka, Non, Légion d’Honneur, Miséricorde, petit nigaud, Aggrégation, Impératrice. Within the group of lexical borrowings there are some mixed compound words, such as pukka God, mango leaf, coconut-pandal, and some others made up of lexical units from the same language: papa-punya, AswijaShudda, tulasi vrindavan, festival-born, Two-Feet, flower-hands, and washerwoman. Another characterisitc of Rao’s experiments with the language, consciously forged during his long stay in France, is the use of code-mixing, by which he inserts French words into his nativized English: […] everyone on their walks de jeunes filles; […] the little room – sous l’escalier A, un bis, as the concierge shouts (P R , 98); he was addressing himself – Il n’y a pas de doute que – Auguste Comte dit quelquefois – d’autre part il faut bien ledire – je suis, etc., etc… (P R , 99); […] and the chocolat chez Alsecia rue d’Assas whose taste would not leave my mouth (P R , 104); “Non, petit nigaud,” he answered back (P R , 110); Voltaire said the civilized state “est un ètat bien policé.” (P R , 113).

Kachru observes that in the Southern Asian languages the abrogative strategy of code-mixing is employed as a means of creating an harmonious interaction among different languages, thus allowing the cultural inter-

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change among different cultures.47 In the specific language moulded by Rao, this highly complex linguistic technique is referred to as style-identification, through which the writer chooses to make use of other linguistic units although they are available in his own mother-tongue. The aim of this linguistic transfer is to create an authentic description of the social context in which the story takes place, thus allowing the confluence of new customs, habits, ideologies, and cultural models of other countries within the English language. In the case of Sanskrit, the linguistic choice is determined by Rao’s metaphysical bent in conceiving the language both as a medium (madhyama) and as a vehicle (mantra) for Vedantic wisdom. The writer has thus moved away from the rustic idioms embedded in the southern village life of The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories to further advance in his existential quest and make his complexity of mind and sensibility resonate more vibrantly.

On the Ganga Ghat Around the most sacred of the seven Indian rivers (sapta-sindhava) revolves from time immemorial a vast literature inspired by the strong desire to lead human beings closer to the ascetic ideal of spiritual liberation. The importance accorded to the Ganges is expressively conveyed even in the very first Vedic texts, the Puranas, and in both of the epic poems, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata (composed between the fourth century B C E and the fourth century C E ), in which both the holy river and the goddess Ganga, the archetype of sacred waters, are described as symbols of salvation (mokshada). According to the myth of her descent to earth (Gangavatarana), Ganga was moved by the austerities of the sage Bhagirata, who, after many prayers and long penance, succeeded in bringing to earth the divine Goddess to relieve the world of suffering. But Ganga, before descending from the sky, replied that the earth would not be able to withstand the impact of her powerful flow. So Shiva appeared and stood in a position where he could receive the rushing waters of Ganga, thus containing the river goddess in his matted head; and from Shiva’s head she has flowed for thousands of years. 47

The Cambridge History of the English Language, ed. Robert Burchfield (Cambridge: Cambridge U P , 1994): 541.

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In India, all waters are Ganga and are constantly praised and invoked by Hindus during their morning ablutions. This is even more so in Raja Rao’s a-historical and a-geographical India, which corresponds, rather, to an idea, a state of being, “the India of my inner being,” as he states in The Serpent and the Rope, leading to true self-knowledge: Can you understand that all things merge, all thoughts and perceptions, in knowledge? It is in knowledge that you know a thing, not in seeing or hearing […]. That is India. Jnanam is India. (S R , 331–32)

In this revelation, spiritual salvation is never a liturgical ritual but awareness, recognition: “India is the Kingdom of God, and it is within you. India is wheresoever you see, hear, touch, taste, smell. India is where you dip into yourself, and the eighteen aggregates are dissolved” (S R , 389). On the Ganga Ghat (1989), published a year after The Chessmaster and His Moves, is Rao’s third collection – eleven stories (without separate titles but instead simply numbered), all of which are set in the ancient city of Benares. In a note to the reader, Rao suggests that the whole book should be read as a single novel, “pushing again the form of the novel in a new direction.”48 In each of these stories, Rao gives expression to the same Vedantic intuitions associated with the misleading duality of worldly existence by choosing Benares and the Ganges as the central protagonists and symbols of Self-Knowledge of his metaphysical literary universe: How simple is the truth if only we listen to ourselves. But we prefer to listen to the crows on the Ganga Ghat, to the chatter of the brahmins at the funerals […] and to the ekka drivers […] and to those dead to death, the sadhus. The fact of the fact is simple. One cannot go to the Ganges One cannot go to the “I”. For if you dare have a deep look on the Ganges evenings, and see the Ganga unflowing, then you know there is no Ganga. Water is just water. So, O, Mother Ganga, please be gracious, and, – flow. (G G , 125)

In Benares, death is a reigning presence that envelops the city with its burning pyres placed along the river, where “once in a while a lean tongue 48

Makarand Paranjape, “Introduction” to The Best of Raja Rao, ed. Paranjape (New Delhi: Katha Classic, 1998): xxii.

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of flame flares up – some dead whose body was being slowly turned to ash, which would be finally dissolved into the Ganga” (G G , 13). Here, death is not only welcome, but is also considered auspicious, because it corresponds in Hinduism to the spiritual liberation of the soul (moksha) that abandons its transient body. This explains Rao’s choice of elevating Benares to the Ultimate Truth – “the world is indeed the city seen in a mirror, and, upside down” (G G , 10) – and to a symbol of non-duality, a perfect setting to orientate the characters’ mundane vicissitudes towards the dissolution of all polarities and contradictions. Benares is a visible universe which shines in the moonlight and glows through the burning flames of the many funeral pyres. What cannot be seen or expressed in words is shown through the silence of the night: The silence simply whirled as solid space, as if the earth were but a turning top on Shiva’s palm. The earth whirls in the pure silence of akasha, of space essence. Man whirls with it too and his words become silences. As the Ganges dissolves all acts of man so does silence dissolve all of speech. Man is never more a pilgrim than when silence carries him from darkness into light. (G G , 13)

This Vedantic view of life is thematically illustrated by the powerful allegory of Lord Shiva–Nataraj: To the drummer night is like a drum, one hears the beats. You know that’s why Lord Shiva has the drum in his hand. He dances in the crematorium, you remember. To beat a leather instrument with Godgiven hands is easy. But to beat drum that Shiva’s silence become sound could only be the gift of Mother Parvathi. He alone beats the drum true, who knows he’s never there. (G G , 16)

To the Hindus, the dance of Shiva symbolizes the act of creation and the drum in his right hand “connotes Sound, the vehicle of speech, the conveyer of revelation, tradition, incantation, magic, and divine truth.”49 The metaphysical implication of his image indicates the manifestation of the True Self ab initio, whereas the primordial sound represents the Ultimate Truth as a vehicle for spiritual salvation. Shiva recurs in almost all the 49

Heinrich Zimmer, Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization, ed. Joseph Campbell (1946; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1990): 152.

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stories, both as a pervasive pointer to the immortal soul which resides within everyone and as a reminder of the timeless dimension of Benares: Nothing in Benares has ever changed since Shiva decided to come down and emerge here for the benefit of mankind, on this crescent curve where the two streams Varuna and Asi meet […]. Where the truth is, nothing changes. (G G , 85)

This is how the god appears in all his splendour to the Rani of Benares: When she thought of Lord Shiva he was present to her, with the serpent garland, the tiger skin, the Ganges crown, his third eye filled with compassion. For her Shiva was real. More real she would say than this hand, and she will beat her exquisite hands against the marble of the temple floor to prove Shiva was Shiva. (G G , 89–90)

Alongside Shiva, usually worshipped as Vishvanatha (‘Lord of the universe’), stands the figure of the Great Goddess in her myriad forms. She is Mother Ganga, daughter of the Himalayas, who, with her sacred waters, washes away the ashes of the dead before taking them to heaven: “Only the Ganges flow, Mother Ganges carrying our memories away. Who could, Lord, who could carry the memory of the millions and millions that have been born since the beginnings began.” (G G , 11). She encompasses all living beings and affirms the essential Indian view of the unity of all creation. For the quiet Madhobha, who sells the wood for cremations, “Ganga is the real Mother […]. You know I never pray–I just forget to pray. You know I have no time to come and bathe in you often. I sit under a tap, by the shop, and have a quick shower. But all water is Ganga water. Gangaji, you know my heart is all with you. I worship you, Mother, as a calf worships its cow.” (G G , 31)

For the orphan Madhobha, there is always Mother Ganga, and even for Shankar, who is interested in mathematical equations, Ganga is zero: “In mathematics you climb mountains. Mathematics is therefore like the Himalayas, the higher you go the holier it becomes. And near Kailas, on the snowy heights, and from Gangotri, does the Mother Ganga emerge. ‘Zero is Ganga, Ganga is zero’.” (G G , 71)

The same concept of eternity is further elaborated by Bhola, who returns to India after having fought the Germans. When he arrives in the Holy

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City, his mother, wife, and young son die of cholera, and he finally entrusts them to the river, promising to devote himself to the ascetic life: “This Ganga is my father, this Ganga is my mother […], he who has not slipped into the Ganges and felt the lightness of the Ganges knows no water […]. God himself is a potter […] all ends in a circle […] until the triangle becomes the circle, God will not be pleased.” (G G , 82–83)

This is rather a rigorous, religious approach, yet at the same time it is animated by a profound and respectful fascination for the holy river which unifies and resolves in a circle the “triangle of birth, marriage and death.” Thus, while Bhola returns to the river after losing his loved ones, Shankar prays to Mother Ganga for a son: “Mother Ganga you will have to give me a son. He must be better than me […]. And I threw some flowers at Mother Ganga. And you know how the Mother does, when she answers. She hissed her two-lipped hiss, as if she said the same thing twice over. When Mother Ganga is there what lack of greatness,” he remarked and wept between his knees. (G G , 67–68)

We also encounter the figure of the Goddess as the deity Bhavani, one of the terrifying forms of Parvathi, usually depicted with a vase in one hand full of Ganga water. Her vehicle (vahana) is the crocodile (makara), “an ambivalent sea-creature which synthesizes both a creative and destructive energy.”50 Rao also connects Bhavani to the Thugs, bandits who “strangulated travellers for the pleasure of the Goddess” (G G , 10).51 A different manifestation of the Devi is the benevolent Annapurna, “a giver of nourishment”, worshipped particularly in Benares and in Rao’s stories by Shivlal and Madhobha: “What would we do with women anyway […] and as for the rest you have Devi Annapurna, the benign goddess in her lovely temple, there by Lord Vishwanath!” (G G , 31). But the most significant 50

Steven G. Darian, The Ganges in Myth and History (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2001): 72. 51 The thugs (or Thuggee) cult is a controversial subject in South Asian history. For some scholars, it was the product of the ‘colonial imaginings’ of the British Raj, which justified their suppression in the 1830s. See, for instance, Martine van Woerkens, The Strangled Traveler: Colonial Imaginings and the Thugs of India (Chicago: U of Chicago P , 2002).

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revelation of the Great Goddess, after we have encountered her many forms, is that given by Rao himself at the end of the stories. Here he elucidates at greater length the metaphysical essence of Ganga by affirming that the holy river corresponds to the process of evolution and involution of the universe: O, let water flow, Lord, that the earth turn not away from its fulcrum, whirl, earth, that the Ganga flow, round and around on herself, from earth to sky and from the heavens back to the Himalaya. The circle is the end of all beginnings as the Ganga is of water. For, where the flowing ends – ap, the is-isness of water begins. So, now Ganga, flow. (G G , 122–23)

The Vedantic teaching contained in these few lines accords primary importance to the concept of eternal existence and the re-affirmation of the True Self. In other words, it is the evolution of the Divine Conscience in its endless process of expansion and re-absorption back into Oneness. The spiritual realization of the individual conscience (jivatman) is achieved only after realizing that death is merely a superstition: Death is an empty event. It’s like the yawl of a crow, the son of a barren woman […]. The Ganga answers: Man, you think you die. Burn yourself on my banks and know that what flows cannot but unflow. Death is a superstition, like the flies that sit on the baby’s rags, and find nothing there […] If the Ganga cannot grow dry one will never know death. Hence is she, the Mother of compassion […]. When knowledge, as Ganga, as jnana-ganga, flows, death is dissolved into truth. (G G , 61)

In Benares, all of the characters are more or less aware of this spiritual truth, or at least, they show some profound knowledge about life. Here even a taxi driver like Moti Ram displays remarkable wisdom, as does Murthradas from Vrindavan, who attends every day the public readings of the Ramayana, devoting himself to the study of Vedic texts under the supervision of a guru. Whereas Shankar, the inexorable Three Bs – ‘barbarian Benares brahmin’ – knows how to chant his anya and jnya, Bhola learns both the Shiva stotram and the Chandi hymns by heart and is moved to tears when reading the end of Tulsi’s Ramayana. If business is not successful for Ranchodoss, he focuses on the holy texts of the Vishnu Purana

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and the Bhagavathan, whereas Sudha reads the Upadesha Sahasriyam and the Yoga Vasista, and explains the theory of Shankara in Mayavada. Even animals understand the importance of attaining spiritual liberation: in the second story, the journey of self-knowledge (chaitanya) is described through the figure of the queen Prabhavathi, who died by leaping into the Ganges, as she could no longer bear to live in her sumptuous palace; a stone rose on the very spot: True or untrue the potters will also tell you that a few years after Bhim, the parrot, came to live there, so the elders said, another parrot was seen evening after evening sitting on the Prabhavathi stone. And of course Bhim was Prabhavathi, and her companion (who soon joined him) was born as Rupvati. (G G , 19)

The principle of the soul’s being trapped in the physical body (jivatman/ paramatman) underlies the story of the two famous parrots of Benares, Bhim and Rupvati. They have their nest on top of a neem tree protected by a siddha, a highly evolved invisible ascetic, and there they live undisturbed with their progeny. Bhim’s offspring stand out from others, as they have the virtue of not stealing, and they could die easily in a dishonourable home. In Benares, even birds are divided into castes: some live in the weavers’ quarters, others in those of the untouchables, yet others with concubines and temple pilgrims. Bhim usually spends the time standing on one leg meditating, aware of sharing the tree with an enlightened soul, whereas the vulture Krodha is too rough to grasp the presence of the siddha: Everybody cannot know the Siddha, and even among the potters only a few can hear that mantra like humming of the nights, Hum… Hum… Hum. You think sound can be heard because you’ve ears. I tell you, you can only hear what your ears hear, there are so many sounds in Benares that your ears cannot even smell of, leave alone see. (G G , 21)

Benares is the place where everybody is looking for spiritual salvation and so, one day, when a great saint is about to die, Bhim fasts for two days and then is seen falling into the pyre of the sadhu. Jhaveri, the beautiful brahmin cow, seems to pay attention to Bhedia’s long cogitations and follows the pilgrims down the ghats, where she enjoys her ablutions:

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Then Jhaveri Bai contemplates now as if she were the flow of the Ganga […] and after she looked across the ghats, over the pyres and the palaces and Dufferin bridge, she shivers as if she gave up her thoughts to mother Ganga […]. Head inturned and her horns unshaking, Jhaveri Bhai contemplates her own face in the moving waters. There’s magic in this picture that appears and disappears. (G G , 56–57)

Of all the characters, it is Benares and the river Ganga that emblematically emerge as the only illustrious protagonists. Their different myths underlying the stories relate to the basic pattern of a quest for wholeness to be achieved through the rooted Hindu philosophical tradition as symbolized by divinities and, more often, by the gylanic image of the Great Goddess. The holy city appears in all its multifaceted dimensions even when a funeral crosses the Dalhousie bridge and the girders ripple off the silence “but at each rib they seemed to get merrier. The Dalhousie bridge was not laughing at anyone. He was laughing at the immensities he linked, and his ever light burden” (G G , 13) – an idea of the city that permeates even the scale of the wood deposit, where it creaks “for a sneeze or a stretch of arm, and would she not, the old witch, when you have added on maunds more of fat wet firewood?” (G G , 29). When the monsoon season sets in, entire oceans of water pour down on the city “like a howling police inspector spitting and kicking, and then there’s the rain of a thousand years” (G G , 27). In its incessant flux, like the flowing of the Ganges, everything in Benares seems to possess a soul, like the train arriving at the railway station: “O, that donkeyson Punjab Express is already there. Run” (G G , 11), and everything is blessed and protected, including the city gutters, which are “halffull with dark moving fluids to any Ganga Ghat, and leap down under pipal trees. For all of here must be holy, and even the sewage has to rush in cascades, and be hallowed by the pipal’s knotted roots” (G G , 123). With the last story, Rao strips away the illusions human beings live by and provides a metaphysical basis for his entire short-story collection by meditating upon the reality of the Ultimate Self: There is no here, Lord, there is no space, no movement, therefore I am the Ganga that flowing flows not. For where ends the flow? Nowhere. Where there is no end there is no beginning. Anything that is nonexistent at the beginning and also at the end, does not exist in the

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Faithful to his Vedantic world-view, Rao’s writing is capable of accommodating the interrelatedness between an enlightened state of consciousness and the external reality where spiritual realization coincides perfectly with what is perceived, experienced, thought or felt, and the essential Beingness is sensed in the background of life at all times. This is what Rao realizes about the ‘dream’ of mundane existence, thus reinforcing his profound experience of the holy city as Kashi, ‘the luminous’. The Indian way of life of the characters is described by a recurring use of idioms, proverbs, and native colloquial expressions: three thousand rupies dowry she brought the Shastri, and Shankar was tied to her like a bull to an oil-mill (G G , 61); even a scorpion is worth bearing for a woman than one be childless (G G , 79); she waited for death as a baby-bird awaits its mother’s beak, a gnat or caterpillar for food (G G , 92); with jacket and Bata slippers you can drink the best air God ever offered on earth (G G , 98); Oh you are searching for the Rukmini temple or you want to buy a maina and the cage (G G , 104); no gold-lotuses rose in the backyard fountain […] but money came in more and more; a lie on earth costs a kingdom in Vaikunta-heaven. (G G , 112)

Very useful is also the use of numerous lexical borrowings: food and drink: chutney, jal, jellebi, khir, peda, pheni, puri; caste, jobs, and social positions: ayah, bahadur, bai, ben, chettiar, chhota, coolie, hakim, munshi, rani, saab, sahib, saheba, sannyas, shastri, siddha, swamiji, yogi, dom, lakhpathi, brahmachari, ustad, sadhu, pativrata, bayya, shastri, dewan, acharya; historical and mythological characters: Bhagirath, Bhim, Krishnamurti, Pandava, Rajput, Sri Shankara, Thug, Vishwamitra, Kantaka, Tulsi, Arjun, Kunti, Vikramaditya, Dasaratha, Prithvi Raj, Manu, Nakula, Sahadeva, Mandodari, Gaudapada, Vasista;

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ceremonies and festivals: Holi, Ramlila, Durbar, Swayamvara, Kalasa; animals: bharadwaj, cheetah, maina, geko, garur, kakabhusundi, nilgai; divinities: Bhavani, Devi, Gopi, Kala, Ketu, Rahu, Madhu, Rakshasha, Yama, Prabhavathi, Bhaghirathi, Janaki, Mohini, Hanuman, Maruthy, Raghupathi, Annapurna, Vishwanath, Krishna, Radha, Kanhia, Tribhuvana, Narayana, Kama, Hara, Saraswathi, Rukmini, Chandi, Vithala, Pashupati. Places, cities, and rivers: Ghat Dashahwamedh, goshala, tarai, bazaar, tehsil, Raj Ghat, Vikramapur, Ramnagar, Kathiawar, Bhuj, Amber, Jumna, Jamuna, Mewar, Prayag, Palitana, hotel, Chandrapur, Oudh, Harischandra Ghat, Kailas, Gangotri, Ghazipur, Nilagiri, Varana, Assi, Darbhanga, Mathura, Gwalior, Chanda, Nagpur, Bhavnagar, Indore, Badrinath, Kedarnath, Manikarnika, Rameshwaran, Bhuvaneshwar; flowers: babul, bhang, mahua, padma; philosophy and religion: akasha, akasha, ap, bhajan, bhakti, Brahman, brahmo, darshan, dukha, kirthan, mantra, prasad, puja, Upanishad, Vedanta, krodha, Purana, Upadesha Sahasryam, Dharma Sastra, stotram, Bilva Mangal, Bhagavatham, Mayavada; onomatopoeic expressions: aré (exclamation indicating surprise or incitement), sa ri ga sa ri ga sari ga…(musical notes of the Indian heptatonic system), chuk, chuk, chuk (the train chugging), cluck, cluck (the sound of the sewing machine imitated by Shivlal), hum hum humumm (the sound of a mantra); miscellaneous: charpai, chillum, desa, ekka, lathi, phut, punkha, tilak, raga, bolo, Ayurvedic, unani, sati, gond, kamandala, ashad, cowrie, lakh, attar, bidi, choli, maund. Among the compound words we note the formation of linguistic hybridisms (or ‘mixed formations’) such as Mother Ganga, kalasa-mount, Ramamarks, bharadwaj-bird, one-maund log, four-shoulders brahmins, swayamvara ceremony, jack fruit, neem-twigs, choli-piece, mango-stones, bamboobasket, rose-attar, silver covered peda, barbarian Benares brahmin, Gandhi-gander, mirror-worked cholis, Asoka tree, Vaikuntha Heaven, prithi grass-juice, bamboo-tassellated fans, Parsi-theatre, mahua tree, durbar regalia, Gond boys, dark-mantras, Gandhi-men and pice-miserly. Also worthy of mention are a series of compound words made up of lin-

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guistic units from Indian languages: Mughal Sarai coolies, Himalayan tarais, Sita Devi, tarai-teak, Ram Lila, Ananda Mahal, Benares brahmins, Shiva stotram, Gangha Ghats, Ganga-jal and Sat-Guru. Another group of compounds is represented by Indian collocations into English, difficult to understand because culture-bound: Queen-born-of-the-furrow, serpent-box, snake-box, shaven widows, monkey-god, wall-lizard, and nail-driving-inthe-courtyard stuff. The insertion of these compounds in the lexical, morphological, and syntactic levels of the narrative contributes significantly to the creation of a specific variety of Indian English, thus privileging a sort of postcolonial swadeshi language based on a native cultural and linguistic heritage. However, we should keep in mind that this variety of English does not represent the whole of India, as it strictly conveys Rao’s personal Hindu vision, whose tradition is often consciously connected with authoritative Sanskrit lore. This is a position that is clearly traceable in the lexical borrowings, largely from Sanskrit, and in the syntactic structure based on the Puranic and Upanishadic traditions. If, on the one hand, framing the complexity of India through a Vedantic vision is a legitimate choice by the author, it inevitably, on the other, places the cultural and polyglot heterogeneity of the country to a secondary plane. The many interpretations and quotations cited in both The Policeman and the Rose and On the Ganga Ghat clearly belong to Vedantic thought, a primacy that is also accorded to the linguistic structure and, more extensively, to the imaginative metaphysical force of Rao’s fiction. Yet the use of local or indigenous forms of cultural expression, although preminently related to Rao’s spiritual quest, enabled him to forge a unique linguistic medium outside the sphere of Western cultural hegemony, to the extent that it ultimately accommodates both the language and the cultural models inherited by the Raj within Indian native lore, a position brilliantly dramatized by the Rani of Benares: “The English language is all right when you have to read newspapers or to say yes and no to Edward V I I , but this invasion of an untouchable tongue everywhere was desecration. You don’t say your beads in English, do you? Or can you say your mantra in that guttural, awkward tongue?” (G G , 90).

C HAPTER T WO ————————

The Painful Search

I

the development of Indian English fiction, as well as the literatures in other Indian languages, one must consider India’s long-standing indigenous narrative tradition, the richness of which such poet–philosophers as Prabhachandracharya carefully explored and defined ever since the tenth century.1 Over and against the recognition of a vast repertoire of indigenous fictional forms there is the overwhelming eurocentric assumption of the novel as an entirely Western legacy transplanted to India and adopted by Indians under the impact of Western education. Yet critics like Makarand Paranjape, Meenakshi Mukherjee, and C.D. Narasimhaiah2 have consistently traced the novel back to India’s classic literary tradition, which existed long before British colonial rule. Not surprisingly, colonial discourse devoted its energies to alienating India from its own cultural past in order to 1

N EXAMINING

Prabhachandracharya offered six alternative definitions of fiction: (i) fiction is a recollection of what one has observed in the past; (ii) fiction is a verbal reconstruction of an experience; (iii) fiction is generalization from particulars; (iv) fiction is that which is based on facts that do not exist; (v) fiction is what cannot be understood without the help of a real experience of life; (vi) fiction is where words are used in their symbolic sense. Dayanand Bhargava, Theories of Fiction in Indian Tradition (Jodhpur Studies in English, 1991), vol. 5: 75. 2 See, for instance, C.D. Narasimhaiah, The Rise of the Indian Novel, ed. Narasimhaiah & C.N. Srinath (Mysore: Dhvanyaloka, 1986), Meenakshi Mukherjee, Realism and Reality (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1985), particularly the chapter “From Purana to Nutana,” and Makarand Paranjape, Towards a Poetics of the Indian English Novel (Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 2000).

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impose its own cultural hegemony and “create secular hierarchies incompatible with the traditional order.”3 However, if we examine more closely the nature of this developing literary genre, especially with the aid of the seminal study of the theory of the novel articulated by Mikhail Bakhtin in The Dialogic Imagination, any eurocentric assumption will appear in all its naivety: The novel comes into contact with the spontaneity of the inconclusive present […]. Characteristic of it is an eternal re-thinking and re-evaluating […]. The novel, after all, has no canon on its own. It is, by its very nature, not canonic. It is plasticity itself. It is a genre that is ever questing, ever examining itself and subjecting its established forms to review. Such, indeed, is the only possibility open to a genre that structures itself in a zone of direct contact with developing reality.4

The actual interpretative consequences of these definitions articulated by Bakhtin compel us to look radically at the nature of the novel as something that is a-geographical, fundamentally anticanonical, and antihierarchical; its extraordinary complexity, indeterminacy, and semantic openendedness can be fully understood only in the process of its continuous unfolding. What we have in the specific case of Indian literatures is even more complex, as the impact of Western traditions, along with India’s own mainstream tradition (marga) and the various regional traditions (desi) contribute to creating a kind of tripartite dialogic relationship from which a ‘thrice-born’ fiction emerges. On one level, this cultural complexity seems to be very close to all the features that Ruth Prawer Jhabvala considers essential to an Indian work: The Indian novel cannot become a distinctive genre and its creators cannot be really true to their basic artistic instincts until they produce novels which would be bits of prose-poetry, anecdotes, lots of philosophising and musing, an oblique kind of wit and an ultimate self-

3

Ashis Nandy, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism (1983; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004): ix. 4 Mikhail M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, tr. Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist (Austin: U of Texas P , 1981): 27–39.

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surrender, a sinking back into formlessness, into eternity […] something like Indian music.5

Just as the consolidated British novel – as a supposedly modern and superior form of art – pervaded Indian society during the ‘benevolent Raj’, the Indian literary scene began toward the end of the nineteenth century to gradually dismiss the formal conventions of such an alien genre, along with its alien Victorian idiom, and slowly started fashioning a more indigenous form of novel-writing in which the uniqueness of Indian culture would find full expression in English with the novelists of the 1930s and 6 1940s. Indeed, the Indian English novel, as R.K. Narayan, M.R. Anand, and Raja Rao demonstrated,7 has roots in the native traditions, and the encounter between the Indian and the Western literary tradition merely provided a new impetus for it. All of this is especially true in M.R. Anand’s Untouchable (1935), which prompted E.M. Forster to affirm that it could only have been written by an Indian and by an Indian who observed from the outside. No European, however sympathetic, could have created the character of Bakha […]. And no Untouchable could have written the book, because he would have been involved in indignation and self-pity.8

Anand, as Leela Gandhi also points out, will attribute his novelistic negotiation of tradition and modernity to “the double burden of my shoulders,

5

Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, “An Interview,” in M.E. Derrett, The Modern Indian Novel in English: A Comparative Approach (Brussels: Institute of Sociology, Université Libre, 1966): 94. 6 The Indian novel in English had a relatively slow start when compared to those written in other Indian languages. See Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction, 17–33. 7 Obviously, the literary achievements in the use of myth between oral tradition and written narrative go far beyond ‘the great trinity’. For instance, see also Sudhin Ghose’s The Cradle of the Clouds (1951), Balachandra Rajan’s The Dark Dancer (1958), and especially M. Anantanarayanan’s The Silver Pilgrimage (1961), which deliberately abrogates the conventions of the European novel. 8 E.M. Forster, “Preface” to Untouchable by M.R. Anand (1935; New Delhi: Penguin India, 2001): vii. In his article “The Source of Protest in My Novels” (Literary Criterion 17.4 [1983]), Anand acknowledges the experimental base of the novel and questions the validity of interpreting Indian writing from a Western critical perspective.

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the Alps of the European tradition and Himalayas of my Indian past.”9 As I have said elsewhere, and would repeat unhesitatingly, R.K. Narayan, by enjoying the polychromous ambivalences arising from the East–West encounter, reworked India’s ancient myths and symbols in modern times, such as the mythical tale of Bhasmasura in his novel The Man-Eater of Malgudi (1961), thus creating not only the inevitable synthesis between India’s traditional past and its contemporary background but also the apparently incongruous blend in the novel of the realistic and the fabulous, “an excellent piece of mythology in modern dress.”10 Similarly, and unequivocally, Raja Rao’s classic foreword to Kanthapura describes his personal indigenization of both the novel and the English language by relocating his narrative within India’s oral and epic traditions: There is no village in India, however mean, that has not a rich sthalapurana, or legendary story, of its own […]. In this way the past mingles with the present, and the gods mingle with men to make the repertory of your grand-mother always bright” (K , v).

We are on solid ground with Jasbir Jain when she maintains that “the Indian novel as it developed interacted with Western forms, parodied them, imitated and more often than not deviated from them. It never really strayed far from the native tradition of storytelling.”11 This is even more true in the case of Raja Rao’s fiction, which is profoundly characterized by the synergic interaction and evolution of both Western and Indian linguistic, philosophical, political, and cultural models. This cultural dialogism, although deeply implicated in an imperialistic and hegemonic ideology, shaped modern Indian culture and tradition so as to give expression to India as an emergent nation, heroically asserting its own national identity through Gandhi’s Freedom Movement.12 On the literary plane, whether 9

An Illustrated History of Indian Literature in English, ed. A.K. Mehrotra (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003): 168. 10 R.K. Narayan, “Gods, Demons and Modern Times,” Literary Criterion 10.3 1972): 47. 11 Jasbir Jain, Feminizing Political Discourse: Women and the Novel in India 1857– 1905 (Jaipur: Rawat, 1997): 209. 12 Gandhi’s political and spiritual influence was so pervasive in all facets of Indian life that it became the major theme of many literary works, identifeed by S.K.R. Iyengar with the term ‘Gandhian Literature’, in which Indian writers absorbed Gandhian

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this great national upsurge was treated as a central theme or as the background to a personal narrative, it ultimately triggered vigorous resistance to British colonial rule on all levels of Indian society and prompted many writers to redefine their country and identity with intense emotional and artistic vibrancy.13 The historical fact of British rule and the Indian struggle for Independence thus enabled Indian writers to produce memorable literary works without eroding the fundamental character of Indian cultural traditions. Indeed, it gave even more impetus to fostering an original narrative style far from the familiar Western model, in which the story usually unfolds in a chronologically sequential manner. Here, as Raja Rao would have it, the Puranic style is the most suitable Indian mode of writing, capable of expressing fact against custom, history against time (and I was going to say) geography against space, and it is these coordinates that have to change and make the life larger than it seems […] so that, finally, when the whole as chronicle takes on a movement and rushes into the Gangetic flood, down the hill and wide as the plains, you speak in terms of song and anonymity, the crowd-singing story. (G I W , 7)

In an interview with Shiva Niranjan, Rao gives another detailed opinion about his privileged Puranic form of the novel as distinctly Indian: I like the Puranic conception. That is the only conception of novel for me. I don’t want to compare my novel with any foreign novel. I don’t like to write like a foreign novelist. I am very much an Indian and the Indian form, is the Puranic form. Form comes naturally to me. Hence it is wrong to study my novels in the light of Western conception of a well-made novel.14

Rao’s narrative style also attracted the attention of E.M. Forster, who found Kanthapura to be “the finest novel to come out from India in recent years.”15 His fiction is a rich creation, in that its aesthetic and intellectual ideology into their own literary universe; see “Raja Rao,” Indian Writing in English, ed. Iyengar (New Delhi: Sterling, 2000): 386–411. 13 Meenakshi Mukherjee, The Twice-Born Fiction. 34. 14 Shiva Niranjan, “An Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. Krishna Nandan Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 22. 15 Raja Rao, Kanthapura (1938; New Delhi: Hind Pocket Books, nd): cover.

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complexity requires longer and slower analysis, which is also required by its problematic linguistic texture, based on the continuous interplay between indigenization and internationalization of the English language influenced by his long residence in both Europe and the U S A . With the publication of his first novel, Kanthapura, Rao consolidates his experiments with the indigenous oral tradition of mythicizing situations and characters, a narrative procedure already adopted in his first collection of short stories, The Cow of the Barricades. Along with the nationalistic and anti-imperialist fervour of a small village in South India is the conscious self-assertion of a creative artist who wants to express himself through a dialect “which will some day prove to be as distinctive and colourful as the Irish or the American” (K , v). Rao reveals and accentuates his linguistic and politico-spiritual concerns in his subsequent works The Serpent and the Rope and Comrade Kirillov, through which his cosmic vision of humanity finds its most mature and liberated narrative form. We should not forget that Comrade Kirillov, although published after The Cat and Shakespeare, actually dates from the late-1930s: I wrote it immediately after Kanthapura, though it was published much later. It was, however, originally written in English, not in French […]. In Kanthapura I talked as a Gandhian. In Comrade Kirillov I am talking of Gandhism from the Marxist point of view, from the view point of Kirillov.16

Hence my decision to discuss Kanthapura, Comrade Kirillov, and The Serpent and the Rope together to illustrate a type of analysis infrequently encountered in mainstream critical interpretations of Rao’s fiction. His novels are deeply grounded in the socio-political phases of India’s history and represent a broader discursive dimension than the usual metaphysical progression singled out by so many scholars.17 More precisely, I refer to the Gandhian freedom struggle during the Indian national movement and the difficult years of India’s consolidation as a nation. In accord with the 16

Asha Kaushik, “Meeting Raja Rao,” Literary Criterion 18.3 (1983): 36. See, for instance, Iyengar’s classic analysis of Rao’s novels, which describes a trajectory “from karma in Kanthapura to jnana in The Serpent and the Rope, and on to bhakti-prapatti in The Cat and Shakespeare”; K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, Indian Writing in English (1962; New Delhi: Sterling, 2001): 410. 17

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unfolding of these two significant nation-building developments in India’s history, Rao undertakes an intensive search to understand the misery of the world. In the nearly two decades he spent in France, he constantly compares and contrasts his Brahminical identity within different philosophical disquisitions, from Buddhism to Christianity, Indian and European history, Marxism, mysticism, and so on. It is a painful and wavering quest, which takes him back to his Indian roots in a kind of cultural voyage of discovery not unlike Nehru’s discovery of India, in order to probe the roots of intellectual and spiritual misery, both personal and that of humanity at large, and the ultimate values of life. Rao’s subsequent novels, dating from shortly after his encounter with his guru in Travancore, The Cat and Shakespeare and The Chessmaster and His Moves, are marked by a consciousness poignantly steeped in the experience of the Absolute, a state of serenity in which the shadow of the egoistic self dissolves away. Again, parallel to this profound spiritual realization achieved by Rao within the incongruous and tormented contemporary world, we observe in The Cat and Shakespeare a sharp denunciation of the mounting level of exploitation and corruption in India that followed the years of Nehru’s prime ministership, as seen through the lens of a small South Indian Ration Office. Further, in The Chessmaster and His Moves, India’s vertical and a-historical spiritual knowledge is set against the horizontal and historical Judaeo-Christian and Chinese civilizations, as well as more recent Communist ideology. The decision to analyze these novels according to Rao’s long creative rediscovery of his roots and his true self against India’s political background thus arises from the need to better assess his true greatness as a spiritual–political writer and his unique, if intermittently applied, talent for connecting Western and Indian cultural traditions. As he admitted, the job is to build bridges – not of stone or girders, for that would prove the permanence of the objective, but like the rope bridges in the Himalayas, you build temporary suspensions over green and gurgling space. (S R , 302)

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Kanthapura The novel begins with the description of the village of Kanthapura in the elephant-haunted valleys of the Himavathy’s blue waters, located in the province of Kara. It is a village that, according to the usual Anglo-French imperial discourse, is supposed by many scholars to be the quintessential unit of many other South Indian villages still characterized by almost selfsufficient and self-governing communities. Conversely, as Ronald Inden has aptly argued, the constitution of India as a land of villages was also due to the efforts of the British to deconstitute the Indian state. As they were composing their discourses on India’s villages, they were displacing a complex polity with an ‘ancient’ India that they could apppropriate as an external appanage of a ‘modern’ Britain. The essence of the ancient was the division of societies into self-contained, inwardly turned communities consisting of cooperative communal agents. The essence of the modern was the unification of societies consisting of outwardly turned, competitive individuals. Just as the modern succeeded the ancient in time, so the modern would dominate the ancient in space.18

The imperialistic discourse on Indian villages would thus work on the basis of the usual dichotomy drawn between the ‘ancient’ (traditional/barbaric/caste-ordered) and the ‘modern’ (capitalist/rational/state-ordered), still reiterated in most of the available criticism on both Indian history and literature. Let us briefly look at the usual assumption about the Indian village as being the ‘atom’ of Indian nationalism, propounded especially by such Indian scholars as A.R. Desai. When India was colonized by Britain – the emerging industrial giant of the world – the ‘traditional life’ of Indian villages was completely disrupted by colonial exploitation and underwent serious economic, social, political, and ideological transformation. Moreover, as the impact of British politics and education initially remained confined to the upper strata of Indian society, the masses were left isolated in their grievances without being actively involved in the nationalist battle for Independence. Since the state did not exercise any fundamental influence on the social, ideological, economic, and even administrative life of the village group, a national consciousness did not 18

Ronald Inden, Imagining India ((London: Blackwell, 1990): 133.

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exist which would have brought Indians to see themselves as a single unit. As Desai insists, it is with the growth of capitalism and the gradual commercialisation of agriculture fostered under British rule that the very basis of the Indian village communities radically changed: it destroyed the village self-sufficient economy and made village economy an integral part of a single unified Indian economy. It was this economic unification of India which became the objective material basis for the steady amalgamation of the disunited Indian people into a unified nation, for the growth of national sentiment and consciousness among them and for the rise and development of an all-India national movement for their political freedom, and social and cultural progress.19

Now, it could well be that Indian villages might not be rigidly viewed against Western ‘civil societies’ as mere autocratic atoms, self-sufficient in their economy like little static republics, patriarchal in their governance, and opposed to a ‘higher’ Indian state considered “an artificial, disorganized, and unstable institution of personal aggrandizement and opulence.”20 But we could instead start to look at villages as ‘overlapping agents’ and outward-turned communities interacting with and reshaping one another, with their intertwining and interdependence of individuals. Also, the village can be seen as the site where caste – another essential institution of India – is not the only social paradigm of its tribal precapitalist world. Accordingly, the villagers would not appear to be the strange sort of humans who are steeped in a ‘mystical world outlook’ in which “the subtlety of the Gandhian thought and the complex political situation of the pre-Independence era could be explained to the unlettered villagers only through the legends and religious stories of gods.”21 We could instead, and more intelligently, assume, as Inden does, that 19

A.R. Desai, Social Background of Indian Nationalism (1948; Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1998): 36. 20 Inden, Imagining India, 134. 21 Prabh Dayal, Raja Rao: A Study of His Novels (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1991): 14. This kind of statement is frequently made by many Indian scholars in most of the critical assessment of Raja Rao; they all more or less agree that “Raja Rao delves deep into that most irrational of minds – one dominated by myth and more attuned to archetypal convictions than to rational explanations.” Chitra Sankaran, The Myth Connection (New Delhi: Allied, 1993): 34.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS politics is an aspect of, or a way of talking about, all human institutions and not the essence of one of them, the ‘state’ […]. More generally, we would be able to provide the bulk of the people of an ancient India with the possibility that they could have consciousness of themselves, of their community, and of the larger polity to which they belonged.22

From this major revision of a ‘traditional’ idea of India set against the modern rational West – along with its ‘binary’ struggle for Independence – we can acknowledge a more humanistic and ‘partnership’ evaluation of those complex activities of India’s rural political societies which are poetically depicted in the ‘decision-taking community’ of Kanthapura. This is not an imaginary homeland characterized by a ‘metaleptic’ mind unaware of its operations but a lively community animated by its inner capacity to transform itself in the pursuit of human freedom and, legitimately, of its country at large. It is clear, then, that within this critical perspective the village and its inhabitants are not moved by purely immanent agents – such as the ‘state’, the gods and goddesses, or the caste-order – but they are actually acknowledged as the real protagonists of the Indian Independence movement: under Gandhian leadership the downtrodden were able to advance their cause by adopting a position of superior morality – that of nonviolence – in a situation in which the rich and powerful routinely deployed forms of violence that were now, under law, criminal acts.23

Mass civil resistance, then, and a prodigious social force that, with its practice of Satyagraha (truth-force) non-violence (ahimsa) and non-cooperation (swadeshi), was not merely economic but intensely political and spiritual. Kanthapura is the story of such a nationalist upsurge fused with traditional religious faith, come during the 1930s to a small South Indian village. Its community, like many other Indian villages, appears organized according to the traditional caste–class division which determines the occupation of its members and divides them into a Brahmin, a pariah, a 22

Inden, Imagining India, 160. David Hardiman, Gandhi in his Time and Ours (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2005): 50. 23

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potters’, a weavers’, and a sudra quarter. Within this initial description of a seemingly static society, Raja Rao briefly hints at its economic activity, simply based on artisan life and agricultural work in the Santur Coffee Estate, the Kuppur Cardamon Estate, and the many coconut gardens, rice paddies, and sugarcane fields. Kanthapura has no industry, no railway or bus station, and no police post. Yet its peaceful life is not a static one but is characterized by a variety of social activities originating in a conscious world outlook with its own native aesthetic, morality, social values and systems. Rituals such as worshipping with kumkum and camphor, fasting, offering betel leaves and coconuts – these abound throughout the novel, thus highlighting the ethical sense and the human values of the villagers’ world outlook. Festivals, bhajans, temple offerings, and community feasts play a vital part in the Kanthapurians’ daily chores, regulated by the traditional method of accounting for time based on the lunar calendar, as in the long and poetic description of the onset of the autumn season (Kartik): Kartik has come to Kanthapura, sisters – Kartik has come with the glow of lights and the unpressed footsteps of the wandering gods; white lights from clay-trays and red lights from copper-stands, and diamond lights that glow from the bowers of entrance-leaves; lights that glow from banana-trunks and mango twigs, yellow light behind white leaves, and green light behind yellow leaves, and white light behind green leaves […]. (K , 85)

Likewise this evocative passage of rural life where villagers bless the plough: Oh, tomorrow is the rohini star, and people will yoke their bulls to the plough […]. “Why, tomorrow, you rat of a woman” […]. “Oh, Ohè, this morning the plough will be blessed” […] and Weaver Chennayya rushes up and washes himself, and puts oil on his hair, and his wife goes to the backyard to pick flowers in the garden […]. And priest Rangappa is heard to ring the bell in the sanctum, and all eyes grow dim and the eyelids droop and everyone says “There, there the goddess is going to show her face […].” Then priest Rangappa lights the camphor and lifts it up to her jewelled face and takes it round her diamondhands and ruby feet and then flowers quietly roll down her face and they all say, “There, she has sent us her blessings” […]. And even the bulls stand without waving their tails. And then Rangappa comes with

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Kanthapurishwari Temple is the centre of the villagers’ life along with the other temple on the Kenchamma hills dedicated to their presiding deity (grama-devata),24 which protects every activity of life, whether it be a marriage or a funeral, rains or famine, smallpox or cholera, sowing or harvest. Esha Dey makes a questionable distinction between the archaic temple of the goddess symbolizing the ‘eternal agrarian existence’ of the village and the Kanthapurishwari temple of recent construction. She maintains that “the hallowed timeless existence of Kenchamma is clearly conceived and presented as far above the blood and mire of the contemporary history which centres in the new temple.”25 Yet, to allow such a rigid clear-cut distinction would mean to dismiss the continuous intermingling of the spiritual and the political as it is shown in the song created by the women who cut the grass for their calves: “Goddess, when the demon came to eat our babes and rape our daughters, you came down to destroy him and protect us. Oh, Goddess, destroy this Government […]” and mowing the grass they sang: Goddess, Goddess, Goddess Kenchamma, The mother-in-law has wicked eyes, And the Sister-in law has hungry stomach, Betel-nuts never become stone, And a virgin will never become pregnant, Red is the earth around the Goddess, For thou hast slain the Red-demon. (K , 98; emphasis mine)

Through their gylanic world-accepting presence,26 the Goddess Kenchamma and the gods of Kanthapurishwari temple establish the mythical24

The Goddess Kenchamma’s authority is confined to the village and she is powerless outside her own territory, as in the neighbouring village of Talassana, whose presiding goddess was Talassanamma. 25 Esha Dey, The Novels of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Prestige, 1992): 32. 26 The term ‘gylany’, coined by Riane Eisler, hints at a peaceful cohesive model which used to be the predominant paradigm of pre-neolithic societies, yet today is still active in a few traditional communities of the Indian subcontinent. Here, especially the goddess is the symbol of a life-affirming and world-accepting religion rather than of a world-renouncing one.

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religious background of the novel and firmly sustain the Gandhian political action through the villagers’ faith: Kenchamma is our Goddess. Great and bounteous is she. She killed a demon ages, ages ago, a demon that had come to ask our young sons as food and our young women as wives. Kenchamma came from the Heavens – it was the sage Tripura who had made penances to bring her down – and she waged such a battle and she fought so many a night that the blood soaked and soaked into the earth, and that is why the Kenchamma Hill is so red […]. (K , 1–2)

Reminiscent of the caring and supportive female force of the goddess Kenchamma27 (amma, ‘mother’, a suffix with several semantic nuances referring to the Great Goddess) is Achakka, an archetypal village grandmother to whom Rao gives the task of garrulously narrating “the sad tale of her village” while remaining in the background. Her fluid sthala purana narration is a continuation in English prose of the old and honoured native tradition of the folk epic. It is a mode of narration so uniquely woven with the factual, the mythical, and the poetical vision of Kanthapura’s dramatic events that we are gradually pulled into a complex matrix – Rao’s creative synthesis – radiating on multiple levels: the mythic experience, the spiritual transformation of the villagers, and their political struggle with both the outsider ‘colonizer’ and the internal corruption of the village, which embraces the problems of marriage, dowry, widows, caste, and untouchability. Interestingly, it is from the Kanthapurishwari temple that the central character of the novel, Moorthy, begins his religious and political activities and undergoes a personal awakening that will affect his entire community. Similarly, it is before the temple gods that the vow of spinning, practising non-violence, and speaking the truth is to be sworn. It is, in fact, Moorthy, as the narrator points out, who discovers a “half-sunk linga” and who, along with some city boys, spontaneously erects a little 27

As Rumina Sethi points out, the Kenchamma myth embraces some of the broader narratives of the country: the sage Bhagirata’s penance in the Gangapurana and the Sapta-matrikas. However, she maintains that Rao has ignored the dominant myth of the “seven mothers or goddesses” and employed instead that of Tripura’s invocation of Kenchamma to highlight the parallel myth of Valmiki calling down Gandhi, and thus made associations with national politics. Rumina Sethi, Myths of the Nation: National Identity and Literary Representation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1999): 61.

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mud wall and a tile roof, a consecrated spot from which readings of Shankara–Vijaya, Ganesh Jayanthi, festivals, harikathas, and other ceremonies are regularly performed. As the story progresses, Moorthy, initially depicted as “quiet, generous, serene, deferent and brahminic, a very prince” (K , 5), gradually develops into a radical social reformer who incites the villagers to join Gandhi’s Satyagraha movement. Up to this point in the story, we have encountered a consistent amount of mythic lore made up of old tales and folk legends which Rao conveniently uses to construct the mythical dimension of the novel: the legend of the village goddess Kenchamma, who waged the battle with the demon, the Harikatha-man, Jayaramachar, who tells the story of Shiva and Parvathi (as a mythical metaphor of India’s enslavement by the devilish ‘red-man’28), Damayanti and Shakunthala, the dominant myth of Rama–Sita and Ravana,29 and how Krishna fought the serpent Kali and “so too our Mohandas began to fight against the enemies of the country” (K , 12). We have thus learned that Gandhi’s swaraj, like the god Shiva, is three-eyed (“Self-purification, Hindu–Moslem unity, Khaddar”), and we cannot but notice the continuous coexistence of religious and political strands, sometimes even merging, as in the slogans ‘Inquilab Zindabad’, ‘Gandhi Mahatma ki jai’, and ‘Vande Mataram’ (K , 95) or in statements like “every promise before the Congress is a promise before the Mahatma and God” (K , 75). The figure of Gandhi is thus firmly established as an avatar of Shiva, and along with this identification Moorthy becomes its microcosmic enactment: “the State of Mysore has a Maharaja, but that Maharaja has another Maharaja who is in London, and that one has another one in Heaven, and so everybody has his own Mahatma, and this Moorthy, who has been caught in our knees playing as a child, is now grown-up and great, and he has wisdom in him and he will be our Mahatma.” (K , 79)

28

‘Red-man’ is a standard Indian colloquialism for the British, owing to their complexion, which appeared to Indians remarkably florid, far more red than white. 29 As Jasbir Jain observes, “The Ramayana is a story of a man who sustains personal values in a world seemingly hostile to them, a world where attempts are constantly made to dislocate order through power, temptation and ambition. It is the conduct of Rama which is central to the myth and this was the point which Gandhi emphasised.” Contesting Postcolonialisms, ed. Jasbir Jain & Veena Singh (Jaipur: Rawat, 2004): 28.

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This identification of Shiva, Gandhi, and Moorthy is also conspicuous when the young Moorthy chants Shankara’s “Sivoham, Sivoham, I am Shiva. I am Shiva. Shiva am I” (K , 66–67) on the second day of his fast. After his moving meeting with Gandhi, “a vision of the Mahatma, mighty and God-beaming” (K , 35), Moorthappa (‘appa’ means father, hence a way of addressing Moorthy with respect) returns to his village as a Gandhiman and implores his community to remember that “whether Brahmin or bangle-seller, Pariah or priest they are all one as a mustard seed in a sack of mustard seeds, equal in shape and hue and all.” The mythic dimension of Kanthapura, a village now depicted in the streaming starlight as floating “like a night-procession of the gods over still waters […] and as a wavering lantern light” (K , 61), accompanies the economic and political changes which are shaping the villagers’ Gandhian spirit. In addition to the modest contributions made by Kanthapurians for the celebration of festivals and monthly bhajans, Moorthy distributes spinning wheels (charkas) free, explaining the economics of khadi among his community on behalf of Congress, as tools with which to subvert British rule: “Because millions and millions of yards of foreign cloth come to his country, and everything foreign makes us poor and pollutes us. To wear clothes spun and woven with your own God-given hands is sacred, says the Mahatma. And it gives work to the workless, and work to the lazy. And if you don’t need the cloth, sister – well, you can say ‘Give it away to the poor,’ and we will give it to the poor. Our country is being bled to death by foreigners. We have to protect our Mother.” (K , 17)

The pitiless industrialization, particularly by the Lancashire textile manufacturers, which reserved the Indian market for machine-made English cloth, and the other colonial economic policies of the British Empire – such as the new land-revenue system and the colonial administrative and judicial systems30 – deeply affected India’s agrarian structure and impov30

As A.R. Desai maintains, the new land system eliminated the so-called zamindar system (the village as the unit of land-assessment and revenue-payment) and introduced a system of fixed money payment, assessed on land, to be paid in cash irrespective of the year’s production. When a landholder could not pay the land revenue, he was constrained to mortgage or sell his land. Similarly, all land disputes, instead of

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erished the peasantry. The consequent poverty, famine, and ever-increasing neglect on the part of the landlords made village life particularly harsh and at times unbearable, as Raja Rao shows vividly in this passage about migrant labourers working on the Skeffington Coffee Estate: Armies of coolies marched past the Kenchamma Temple, halfnaked, starving, spitting, weeping, vomiting, coughing, shivering, squeaking, shouting, moaning, coolies – coolies after coolies passed by the Kenchamma Temple, the maistri before them, while the children clung to their mothers’ breasts, the old men to their son’s arms, and bundles hung over shoulder and arm and arm and shoulder and head […]. (K , 48)

As Bipan Chandra has pointed out, the colonization of the economy, administrative and legal structure […] created a favourable economic and political climate for the village money-lender who began to occupy a dominant position in the rural economy and to expropriate both the peasant proprietors and the occupancy tenants and the zamindars.31

It is remarkable that Raja Rao conceives Kanthapura as a sensitive ground in which political slavery, economic exploitation, and social backwardness are not seen merely as perpetrated by the colonizers but also as fostered by autochthonous forces. The violence of the Coffee Estate owner in forcing people to surrender their wives and daughters to him is a fitting example of the moral and physical oppression of the labourers, not to mention the policeman who rapes Puttamma and is then killed by her. Bhatta, Kanthapura’s first brahmin, portrayed by Rao with sympathy and a touch of humanity, cheats people all the time in his priestly duties and uses his money as capital for his lending business and mortgaging of lands. In order to preserve his forms of subjugation, he tries to oppose the Congress activities of the village, supported by other wicked characters like Temple Rangappa, patwari Nanjundia, schoolmaster Devaraya, and being settled by the panchayats (village committees), were dealt with by the courts established by the centralized state. Desai, Social Background of Indian Nationalism, 30–50. 31 Bipan Chandra, Nationalism and Colonialism in Modern India (1979; New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2003): 339.

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Rama and Subba Chetty. However, he fails miserably in his attempt to constitute a sort of Brahmin Party, and when his true nature is exposed he quietly leaves Kanthapura for Kashi, where “for every hymn and hiccup you get a rupee” (K , 190). Even the swami of the village, Bhatta’s mentor, makes use of the caste system to “respect the ancient ways of our race, and not for all this Gandhi Gindhi who cannot pronounce even a gayatri, and who says there is neither caste nor creed and we are all equal to one another” (K , 93). As M.K. Naik rightly points out, the struggle with the orthodoxy outside is bitter enough; but it is with the enemy within – the orthodoxy entrenched firmly in their hearts owing to centuries of tradition – that the new Gandhian has to fight a far more terrible battle.32

Specifically, Moorthy, as a true follower of Gandhi, has to overcome his own prejudices before succeeding in uplifting the status of Kanthapura’s untouchables. In fact, it is only much later in the story that he decides to go into a pariah hut, accompanied by a trembling fear and sense of being ill at ease: Moorthy thinks this is something new, and with one foot to the back and one foot to the fore, he stands trembling and undecided, and then suddenly hurries up the steps and crosses the threshold and squats on the earthen floor […]. “Accept this from a poor hussy!” and slips back behind the corn-bins; and Moorthy says, “I’ve just taken coffee, Lingamma…” but she interrupts him and says, “Touch it, Moorthappa, touch it only as though it were offered to the gods, and we shall be sanctified”; and Moorthy, with many a trembling prayer, touches the tumbler and brings it to his lips, and taking one sip, lays it aside. (K , 76)

This is a significant ‘passage’ not only because Rao insightfully captures Moorthy’s doubtful state of mind but especially because the writer projects the painful rising strength of the individual self – what Gandhi called the soul-force – and it is this an awareness that enables Moorthy to behave differently and alternatively to the rigidity of the caste system’s dictates. In this light, Gandhi’s swaraj becomes a political practice and the expres32

M.K. Naik, Raja Rao (New York: Twayne, 1972): 62.

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sion of a spiritual determination, both based on the individual’s moral strength. Moorthy’s personal transgression against caste orthodoxy is an assertion of his resistance to authority and, in the broadest sense, a logical affirmation of peasant consciousness far removed from the one depicted by Hegel as ‘dream-like’ or by Marx as ‘primitive’. Moorthy, like many other minor characters, is capable of a vast range of transformations that will also enable his community to act ‘within’ Gandhian resistance and react against social subjugation. Similarly, the village women form a Sevika Sangha and commit themselves dauntlessly to the freedom movement, thus participating actively with their strength, enthusiasm, and hope in the peasant insurgency. They do not remain trapped in some ostensibly ‘archaic’ village shell but emerge as courageous revolutionary ‘agents’ capable of displaying all their spirit and energy.33 It is precisely this ability of Kanthapura’s community, both men and women, to join actively in the struggle for independence that makes their political and spiritual revolt a deliberate and conscious experience. We first see Moorthy struggling with himself by undertaking fasts against violence, penances for self-purification, and prayers for the regeneration of his entire village through his own self-transformation. In this spiritual and political human revolution he is eminently practical: he organizes pujas, harikathas, bhajans, religious processions, and conducts the picketing of toddy groves and shops and civil disobedience campaigns. Once he understands what Gandhi has preached and practised – an ongoing process of questioning and reformulation – and has awakened to the deep meaning of the non-violent path, he effectively conveys the spirit of Satyagraha to his villagers. Although, at the end, the village will be destroyed by the ‘red-man’’s government, leaving “neither man nor mosquito,” there will be something that has enriched the villagers’ hearts, “an abundance like the Himavathy on Gauri’s night, when lights come floating down” (K , 188).

33

For insightful studies of village women involved in Kanthapura’s freedom struggle, see Meena Shirwadkar, Image of Woman in the Indo-Anglian Fiction (New Delhi: Sterling, 1979), Shantha Krishnaswami, “Raja Rao: The Indian Pattern of Saved Males and Doomed Females,” in The Woman in Indian Fiction in English (1950–1980), ed. Krishnaswami (New Delhi: Ashish, 1984): 22–59, and Senath W. Perera, “Towards a Limited Emancipation: Women in Raja Rao’s Kanthapura,” A R I E L : A Review of International English Literature 23.4 (1992): 99–112.

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Raja Rao, as is amply shown in C.D. Narasimhaiah and M.K. Naik’s critical essays, was deeply inspired by Ignazio Silone’s Fontamara (1933), which describes “the strange events” that took place in an old southern Italian village of the Marsica. The striking convergence of both novels is in the way they deal with the impact of colonialism on indigenous people in which both Silone and Rao find projected not only a genuine resistance to the lies and violence of colonial barbarity, but also a distinctive revolutionary passion within their subjugated communities. Whereas in Fontamara (1933) the resistance of the community is directed against the fascist regime in Italy, in Rao’s Kanthapura (1938) the Indian village reacts against the British government by joining the Gandhian struggle for Independence, turning the nationalistic upsurge into a complex balancing-act between traditional religious faith and politics that comes into conflict with the conservative orthodoxy of the villagers. Interestingly, these texts are connected on multiple levels: the historical events of the national growth of Italy and India (which took place between the two World Wars); the challenge to the representation of colonial dominance as a virtuous and necessary ‘civilizing’ task; the conflict between progressive socialist forces and the conservative orthodoxy within their rural communities; and the need to forge a language that effectively conveys the essential indigenous sensibility. Kanthapura and Fontamara are texts of community empowerment, both engaged in resistance to a colonial system which is confronted by both extensive and active violent opposition and a considerable internal struggle for self-determination. A huge investment was clearly made here by both Silone and Rao in researching, compiling, and then making anew this anticolonial experience into an imaginative form which emerges as a genuine indigenous identity in its own right, rather than a minority or peripheral presence. In fact, while Silone devoted his writings to attacking fascism from a Christian socialist perspective, Rao brought the English language and literature into the mainstream of India’s linguistic, politico-spiritual, and cultural tradition. Accordingly, time and place are remarkably nativized in ways rarely touched upon in Western literature: Fontamara, as Silone writes in his “Foreword,” “is in striking contrast to the picturesque vision of southern Italy often conjured up in tourist literature […]. Its people dress like the

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poor do all over the world.”34 In Kanthapura, the past mingles with the present, and the gods and goddesses mingle with the people, giving rise to endless legendary stories (shtala purana). Fontamara’s message is not “purely political and social,”35 as M.K. Naik maintains, but also spiritual, as the sacrificial character in the novel, Berardo, welcomes his painful death as an opportunity for Christian redemption. The fact of summarily contrasting these two novels by highlighting only the differences in their common tragic struggle against colonialism inevitably falls under suspicion. Even if, in Kanthapura, religion constitutes the dynamic living tradition of the whole village, whereas in Fontamara the villagers instead become alienated by it, this does not mean that Silone’s community has no spirituality and no chance of salvation. Silone, indeed, proposes the ‘imitation of Christ’ as a natural religion and certainly not one revealed by the Church; it is an organic spirituality grounded in the soil of human temperament. This particular narrative, capturing Berardo’s inner struggle while in prison, is of such central significance to the novel that it needs to be quoted in full: “If I turn traitor, everything is lost,” he said. “If I turn traitor, Fontamara will be damned for ever. If I turn traitor, centuries will pass before such an opportunity occurs again. And if I die?...I shall be the first peasant to die not for himself, but for others. For the other peasants. For the unity of the peasants.” That was his great discovery. That word seemed to lift the scales from his eyes, as if a brilliant light had suddenly been brought inside our cell. “Unity,” he said. “What is unity? Have you ever heard the word? It’s a new word. Unity. That is solidarity. That is strength. That is, liberty. That is, land (rent-free!). Have you ever heard that word? Such a simple thing. You must take that word back to Fontamara. If I die” – he said to me – “you must tell them all […] Unity. An end must be put to hatred between peasant and peasant. Away with hatred between peasants and workers. There’s only one thing that we lack – unity. All the rest will come by itself.”36 34

Ignazio Silone, Fontamara, tr. Gwenda David & Eric Mosbacher (1933; London: Redwords, 1994): 18. 35 Naik, Raja Rao, 76. 36 Silone, Fontamara, 174. My emphases.

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It is through this inner dialogue of Berardo’s that Fontamara’s community engages in the struggle for justice against power. The solution to Fontamara’s tragic end is thus profoundly spiritual, and quite close to the Kanthapurian Moorthy’s Satyagraha – another ‘great discovery’ – and in the light of this evidence it is hard to agree with C.D. Narasimhaiah’s contention that Silone’s novel is characterized thus: the absence of a truly motivating, controlling, organizing point […]. It is not hard to imagine how a progressive writer in India of the thirties would have reacted to Fontamara where he would have looked for stimulus and what he could have imparted to his work as art and through it contemporary life. The answer is very likely to take a negative form.37

Another striking example of indigenous self-determination and ‘international cultural partnership’ is the way in which Silone and Rao took up, used, and reshaped the ‘inherited’ language. This occurred as the colonialist’s language inescapably imprisoned the colonized within the colonizer’s conceptual paradigms, hence the rejection of a normative standard language and the redefinition of a distinctive medium of expression. Accordingly, in the handling of village material, Ignazio Silone raises the question “in what language ought I to tell this story?” and warns the unwary: To us Italian is a language learnt at school […]. It is a foreign language, a dead language, a language the vocabulary and the grammar of which developed without any connection with us or our way of behaving or thinking or expressing ourselves.38

Similarly, Raja Rao discusses in his foreword to Kanthapura the problem of Indians writing in English – specifically, how to fuse the tempo of Indian thought and sensibility with English expression, thus nativizing the English language to such an extent that “he succeeds in making his characters speak as they would speak if English were Kannada itself.”39 The experiments with the English language initiated in the short stories are 37

C.D. Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao (Delhi: Doaba, 2000): 49. Silone, Fontamara, 19. 39 G.S. Amur, “Raja Rao: The Kannada Phase,” Journal of Karnatak University 10 (Dharwar, 1966): 42. 38

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more fully explored in Kanthapura, where a series of native lexical idioms, transpositions of lexical and syntactic models from one language to another and frequent loan translations extensively convey Rao’s ‘culturalization’ of the ‘alien’ language. In the linguistic group of lexical borrowings in which words taken from Sanskrit, Arabic, Hindi, etc. are simply inserted in the English language, we find the following words: measurements: khanda, seer, maund; money: rupee, annas, pice, pie; food and drink: dal, paysam, betel, gram, odès, ghee, pheni, happalam, chillies, ragi, toddy, laddu, haldi, chitranna, copra, jaggery, khir, sajji; clothes: dhoti, khadi, kurta, sari; castes, jobs and social positions: brahmin, zamindar, pathan, jamadar, patwari, patel, maistri, shamoo, peon, swami, shanbhog, Mahatma, panchayat, vakil, mlechas, Rani, Rajputs, padrè, badmash, pariah, sudra, sahib, vaisya, coolie; religious festivals, ritual and customs: bhajans, harikatha, Dasara, kumkum, prayaschitta, Gayathri, Sivoham, arathi; gods and goddesses: Gauri, Siva, Ganapati, Mahadeva, Brahma, Kali, Manes, Naga, Krishna, Rama, Anjaneya, Eesh, Narayan, Buddha; historical and mythical figures: Damayanthi, Sakuntala, Asoka, Chandragupta, Akbar, Ramanuja, Kabir, Prahlada, Vasistha, Vidyaranya, Ravana, Harischandra, Bharata, Tripura; places and towns: Gujerat, taluk, tirtham, maidan, thothi, mutt, Kabul, Bukhara, Lahore, Vedavathy, Kanchi, Jallianwalabagh, Kashi, Sahyadri, hobli, Siddapur, Sholapur, Kailas, Kanyakumari, Karachi, Kachar, Ghats, Gokarna, Gaya, Rameshwaram; rivers: Ganges, Godavary, Cauvery, Jumna, Saraswathi; flora and fauna: pipal, bandicoot, krait, neem, rudrakshi, bel, champak, paddy, margosa; time: sravan, ekadasi, Kaliyuga, pushya, vaisakh; culture: linga, dharmaraja, Gita, Sastra, Vidya, avidya, Upanishads, Rohini; political and worldly: swaraj, howdahs, sitar, bidies, lathi, mandap, hookah, ahimsa, kartik, pandal, charka.

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Other examples of lexical transfer can be observed in the formation of hybridized linguistic items (compound words) belonging to two different languages: betel-bag, lathi-ring, pipal-tree, head peon, three-pice, fieldbund, brahmin lines, neem leaves, Ganges water, Parvathi-well, rag-wide, Gandhi-cap, taluk office, bel tree, pickle-pots, pariah women, sari fringe, jack-fruit, lathi-stick, harikatha-man, taluk magistrate, collector sahib, toddy-pot, pipal-platform, brahmin-priest, rudrakshi beads, ekadashi-day, vermicelli paysam, haldi invitation, khadi-bound, coolie-car, lantana bush, first brahmin, second brahmin, kraaled elephants. A lexical formation that is not limited by any grammatical rule can be observed in compounds like kumkum water and haldi invitation, whereas closed, grammatically bound hybrid sets can be found in those formations with the suffix -wala in policewala, -worth in piceworth, and -ship in patel-ship. Among the collocations: i.e. formations which are ‘context bound’, we find: red-man, dharmawar sari, Shankara-jayanthi, Shankaravijaya, Maya-vada, wet land, dry land, hair ceremony, salt-giver, spinningwheel, seventh-month ceremony, holy ashes, obsequial dinner, Bengalgram, evening ablutions, eating-leaves, holy bull, Vandè Mataram, Durbar turban, Rama-rajya, saffron robes, Sevika Sangha, holy fire, book bundle, swing festival, invitation rice, nail-witch, Satyanarayana Puja, prabhat pheris, winnowing pail, sanctum clothes, festival-pots, loin-cloth, dasara havu, caste-mark, rice-water. Another hybrid linguistic formation operated by Rao is those new lexical sets made up of adjectives, names, and adverbs associated with a proper noun in order to indicate a precise Indian rustic context to which the characters belong or to stress some major human and physical trait: Waterfall Venkamma, Corner-House Moorthy, Temple Lakshamma, Patwari Nanjundia, Front-House Akkamma, Gap-tooth Siddayya, Bent-legged Chandrayya, Postmaster Suryanarayana, Khadi-shop Dasappa, Beadle Thimmayya, Shopkeeper Subba Chetty, Pock-marked Sidda, Patel Rangè Gowda, Pandit Venkateshia, Venom Venkanna, One-eyed Nanjayya, Cardamom-field Ramachandra, terror-stricken Devaru, Gold Bangle Somanna, and Nose-scratching Nanjamma. Other hybrids can also be fashioned through a long series of linguistic items (string formations) which, depending on word-order, modify the sense of the noun: harvest-queen, rain crowned Kenchamma, Fig-Tree-

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House-people, crow-and-sparrow story, the Post-Office-House-People two-eight, Four-beamed-House Chandra-Sekharayya, a four-anna bit, broad-filigree Benares sari, gold cased rudrakshi beads, her gap-toothed son-in-law, a hundred-and-fifty rupee diamond nose-ring, puffed-rice and Bengal gram people, Hammer-and Sickle country, the blue, pot-bellied, half-naked coolies, half-wakened eyes Siva, pariah-looking coolies, and Bel-field-bund. The use of loan shifts, by which Raja Rao borrows native locutions from his own Indian mother-tongue (Kannada), brilliantly conveys the immediacy of Indian cultural specificity: Tell us Kenchamma, why do you seek to make our stomachs burn? (K, 2); The first time I corner you, I shall squash you like a bug (K , 15); Rangamma was no village kid, like us, and she could hold a word for word fight with Bhatta (K , 30); Narasamma was growing thin as a bamboo and shrivelled like banana trunk (K , 45); The sinner may go to the ocean but the water will touch only his knees (K , 99); He looked a veritable Dharmaraja (K , 104); This is all Ramayana and Mahabharata, such things never happen in our times. (K , 125)

Similarly, the semantic and syntactic repetition (reduplication) of one or more linguistic units is ordered in such a way as to re-create the colloquial register of certain characters, to emphasize a particular event, or to indicate precise temporal continuity and a dramatic moment: if your woman has put forth a she-goat, a she-goat needs a he-goat, and a he-goat, well you have to weigh it out in gold (K , 58); […] “Between Truth and me none shall come,” […]. “Judges are not for Truth but for Law,” […]. “If that is so, it will have to change. Truth will have to change it. I shall speak that which Truth prompteth, and Truth needeth no defence” […]. But Truth, Truth and Truth was all that Moorthy said (K , 90);

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at every step there are corn-people and puffed-rice and Bengal gram people and bangle sellers and buttermilk people and betel-leaf people. (K , 141)

A further indigenization of English is in the characteristic predominance of changing the usual syntactic word-order of Standard English in order to make this variety of Indian English more expressive and closer to the fundamental pattern of a Kannada sentence: Our village – I don’t think you have ever heard about it – Kanthapura is its name […]. Kenchamma is our Goddess. Great and bounteous is she […]. High on the Ghats is it, high up the steep mountains […] up the Malabar coast is it (K , 1); Clever fellow this Bhatta! (K , 6)

The syntactic displacement of ‘high on the Ghats’, ‘clever’, ‘name’ is stylistically significant, as it affects considerably the presentation of information and adds more emphasis and implications to the narration. Kanthapura’s characters also employ a language characterized by bawdy words which lend a distinctive realism to the stories: I’ve two sons and five daughters, and that shaven widow hadn’t even the luck of having a bandicoot to call her own. And you have only to look at her gold belt and her dharmawar sari. Whore! (K , 4); “son of a concubine” – “son of a widow” – “I’ll sleep with your wife” – “you donkey’s husband” – “you ass” – “you pig” – “you devil” – and such a shower of spittle and shoes, and “Brother, stop there” – “No, not till I’ve poured my shoe-water through his throat” […]. “Oh, you bearded monkey” – “Oh, you pariah-dog” (K , 62–63); And Rangappa says with his gruff voice, “And you are all ready, you sons of my woman?” (K , 115)

Raja Rao makes frequent use of very long sentences and paragraphs by employing the connectives ‘and’, ‘if’, ‘or’, ‘for’, ‘with’, ‘then’, ‘but’. These long narratives are further complicated by a limited use of punctuation to indicate both a certain speed and rhythm and the typical naturalness of traditional epic storytelling, such as the oral harikathas (stories of gods). This kind of narration is clearly seen in Achakka’s way of telling the story of Kanthapura, in which she frequently lapses into a kind of

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soliloquy and experiences a sense of emotional and temporary forgetfulness. As Syd Harrex observes, this idiosyncratic style, characterized by a long series of connectives and sustained by a fluid oral rhythm, is clearly noticeable in, for instance, the depiction of Kanthapura’s freedom struggle as the villagers confront the police: And this time it was from the Brahmin quarter that the shouts came, and policemen rushed towards the brahmins and beat them, and old Ramanna and Doré came forward and said, “We too are Gandhi’s men, beat us as much as you like,” and the policemen beat them till they were flat on the floor, mud in their mouths and mist in their eyes, and as the dawn was rising over the Kenchamma hill, faces could be seen, and men became silent and women became sobless, and with ropes round their arm seventeen men were marched through the streets to the Santur Police Station […]. (K , 89)

According to Harrex, Raja Rao succeeds in creating the typical popular rustic voice of the traditional storyteller, as it causes the reader to experience both the dramatic and the descriptive plane of events, without incurring excessive monotony.40 Especially in the above passage, the narrative voice holds the attention through continuous modulation and such oral techniques as the sudden shift from describing an action to the adoption of direct speech (“Doré came forward and said”), or the co-presence of a sense of the place and the characters’ movements in the same sentence (“mud in their mouths and mist in their eyes”), reinforced by repetition, the rhythmic use of proper nouns, connectives, and alliteration. In Kanthapura, Rao’s intimate knowledge of South Indian rural life enables him to elevate the narrative to further, densely symbolic multiple planes, capable of powerful spiritual and political resonance with his country. Herein lies one of the many affirmative signs of India’s linguistic and cultural traditions through which Rao’s multifaceted rendering of its distinctive ethnic lore leads the reader to experience an engaging depiction of a pre-Independence Indian village.

40

Syd C. Harrex, “Raja Rao: Companion of Pilgrimage,” in The Fire and the Offering, ed. Harrex (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1978): 153.

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Comrade Kirillov Raja Rao’s painful spiritual search, paralleling the politics of contemporary world history, continues in his next novel, Comrade Kirillov, written in 1949 in the French village of Brosses, soon after Kanthapura. As Perry Westbrook observes, quoting from a copy of an introduction to the same novel: even in pastoral Brosses citizens had died before firing squads, first Pétain’s and later those of the Résistance. Rao muses: “Thus, the drama of man, wheresoever one goes trying to find his Jerusalem. And Comrade Kirillov is just one of these men, caught in this mighty theme of history.”41

Politics, specifically the Communist ideology along with the Stalinist brand of Indian communism, plays a central role in Comrade Kirillov, in which, again, Gandhi also appears, if intermittently. In addition to Raja Rao’s admission in an interview that he actually met a man like Comrade Kirillov in England,42 it is likely that the novel is also connected with those political events which took place in India during the 1940s before his return to France in 1948. Makarand Paranjape rightly argues that when Gandhi and the entire leadership of the Congress were arrested and imprisoned in 1942, six political prisoners managed to escape – among these J. Narayan, A. Patwardhan, and A.A. Ali – and continued their struggle against the British in ‘underground’ activities in which Rao was also presumably involved.43 In this unstable social and political situation, the rising of Indian nationalism and democracy witnessed the growth of two powerful leftwing groups, the Communist Party of India (C P I ) and the Congress Socialist Party (C S P ), which struck roots in the subcontinent in the backlash of the Russian Revolution. The overthrow of the despotic Czarist regime by the Bolshevik Communist Party led by V.I. Lenin (on 7 November 1917) was such an historical victory, especially because it was an 41

Supplied by Raja Rao in 1974; P.D. Perry Westbrook, “Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov: Marxism and Vedanta,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 617. 42 Shiva Niranjan, “An Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. Krishna Nandan Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 22. 43 Makarand Paranjape, “Critique of Communism in Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” in Image of India in the Indian Novel in English 1960–1985, ed. Sudhakar Pandey & Raj R. Rao (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1993): 71.

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achievement of the common people (the workers, the peasants, and the intelligentsia), that it deeply inspired Indians in their own battle against British imperialism. Thus, socialist ideas rapidly spread, used as they were by Jawaharlal Nehru and Subhas Chandra Bose to both attack the British government along with its capitalist ideological corollary and promote the economic emancipation of the masses. As M. Paranjape rightly points out, the conduct of the C P I in particular reflected very closely the behaviour of the international communist authorities, which, although initially puzzled by the Stalin–Hitler pact in August 1939, eventually had to support the British to defend the Soviet Union, once invaded by Germany in 1941. Similarly, Makarand Paranjape observes that Comrade Kirillov reflects the same politics and attitudes of the C P I , thus offering not only “an ironic portrait of a conflict-ridden Indian expatriate intellectual [but] also a critique of the political fluctuations and manoeuvres of the C P I during the 1930’s and the 1940’s.”44 In those same years spent in India, Raja Rao became a public figure by editing Soviet Russia (1949) and two anthologies with Iqbal Singh, Changing India (1939), on modern Indian thought from Rammohan Roy to Nehru, and Whither India? (1948), as well as co-editing, in 1943–44, with his life-long friend Ahmed Ali, the Bombay journal Tomorrow. Rao was also one of the founders of a short-lived cultural organization, Sri Vidya Samiti, as well as of Chetana; both aimed at the vigorous revitalization of the ancient values of Indian civilization. On a literary level, however, it is clear that Rao’s progressive politico-spiritual vision expressed in Kanthapura finds a further development in Comrade Kirillov which becomes articulated both as an ‘affectionate criticism of Gandhism’ from a Marxist point of view and a sharply ironic critique of the blind materialism professed by Marxism and other Western philosophies.45 Interestingly, the central character of Kirillov, alias Padmanabhan Iyer, a young London-based Indian Marxist, bears the name of one the most compelling characters created by Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel about Russian nihilism, 44

Paranjape, “Critique of Communism in Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” 78. As Raja Rao admitted, “In Kanthapura I talked as a Gandhian. In Comrade Kirillov I am talking of Gandhism from the Marxist point of view, from the point of view of Kirillov. But as I said earlier, it is an affectionate criticism”; Kaushik, “Meeting Raja Rao,” 36. 45

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The Possessed, from which Raja Rao also provides an extract on the flyleaf of his novel:46 “Tell me, have you caught you hare? To cook your hare you must first catch it; to believe in God you must first have God… Do you believe in God?” STAVROGIN:

SHATOV:

“I – I will believe in God.”

A brief analysis of the above-mentioned passage can conveniently spotlight the bi-polar existential theme underlying Rao’s Indian ironic creation of Kirillov.47 In Dostoevsky’s novel, the two characters of Kirillov and Shatov express a polar contrast between the need for and the value of God. Kirillov believes that there is no God, and that life consists of pain and suffering. Consequently, Kirillov sees suicide as the ultimate expression of man’s ascent to a greater form, a ‘man-god’ existence. Happiness for him has no bearing on one’s surroundings; it is, rather, a state of mind; thus, if one believes in happiness, he will be happy and there will be nothing to deny that happiness. Here, Kirillov’s understanding of God – or, better, the logical assertion of his absence as it is replaceable by Man – allows him to become a sort of anti-Christ, to the extreme extent that he plans to kill himself as the ultimate act of self-will, thus offering his exemplary death in order to free all human beings by helping them realize their god-like existence. Conversely, Shatov wants to believe in God, but 46

Raja Rao also cites Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov as one of the books he most loved. Raja Rao, “Books Which Have Influenced Me,” in Aspects of Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik, (Madras: Macmillan, 1979): 48. M.K. Naik has already studied Dostoevsky’s The Possessed as a chief literary source of Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov. See M.K. Naik, “Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” Indian Journal of English Studies 21 (1981–82): 117–16. 47 For further comments on Kirillov and Dostoevsky’s The Possessed, see P.D. Westbrook, “Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov: Marxism and Vedanta,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 617–20, Elena Kalinnikova, “Russian–Indian Literary Connection, Dostoevsky and Raja Rao: A Comparative Analysis of Two Novels, The Possessed and Comrade Kirillow,” in New Perspectives in Indian Literature in English: Essays in Honour of Professor M.K. Naik, ed. C.R. Yaravinatelimath, C.V. Venugopal, G.S.B. Gupta & Amritjit Singh (New Delhi: Sterling, 1995): 137–46, Om Prakash Mathur, “The East–West Theme in Comrade Kirillov,” in Modern Indian English Fiction, ed. Mathur, 109–16, and “Existential Overtones in Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” in Indian English Fiction, 117–25.

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feels he has no faith. He values the idea of God and believes that religion is essential to the Russian identity, yet he is aware that his life-style and principles are an obstacle to his having faith. Although he admits to the existence of God, he is incapable of espousing complete faith. Dostoevsky places both Shatov and Kirillov in extreme tragic roles: as soon as he begins to understand himself and develop a religious conviction, Shatov is murdered. Throughout the novel he seeks faith (“I – I will believe in God”; Raja Rao’s emphasis) and once he has a chance to grasp it Dostoevsky has him killed; whereas Kirillov will eventually commit suicide as the apotheosis of the ‘man-god’ ideology inspired by Stavrogin – the true devilish disseminator and symbolic embodiment of emptiness. Both Kirillov and Shatov have firm convictions; the former has faith but does not believe in God, and the latter believes in God but has no faith. In the above dialogue mentioned by Rao as an epigraph to his novel, Stavrogin, the man of intellect, seems to have the upper hand on Shatov, yet it is his ‘distorted mysticism’ and ‘satanic grandeur’ that will eventually lead to his self-destruction. In The Possessed, Dostoevsky voices his protest against attitudes and theories that appear to be viable in the West but are disastrously unsuited to the Russian soul. Similarly, Rao’s criticism of Communism in India, although more delicate and ‘affectionate’, illustrates the insidious human alienation that can derive from such a blind adherence to Marxist materialism. Whereas Dostoevsky suggests a return to the spiritual life as propounded by the Russian Orthodox Church (but certainly not that of the Western Roman Catholic Church) Rao recurs to the tenets of Vedanta as the true source of Indianness. Rao’s Kirillov is not moulded as the pure atheist but originally conceived as the embodiment of a divided consciousness which embraces both a Marxist intellectual logical mind and a nostalgic ‘unreasoned love’ for a ‘classic’ idea of India. Unable to reconcile the two aspects, Kirillov remains locked in this ambivalent relationship between his mind and his soul, an immanent and unresolved dialectic of the polarities of human nature that is made tangible in his metonymic attire, the ‘Kirillov tie’ and the irregular pants signifying the ‘unsuitability’ of Western modes of thought: Marxism had given a strange ascetic incision to his brahminic manners and his sweetness has that unction, the theological compassion, of a Catholic priest. The inwardness of his nature gave a prominent curve

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to his chest, which in turn gave that peculiar parabola to his necktie, as though man in his destiny had shaped his garment to his thought and had given a certain twist of psyche this particular intensity of approach from the thick neck to the narrow waist, this grey-green stretch of respectable cloth found its umbilical end. (C K , 30)

Here we have a fitting example of Rao’s multiculturalism; he imbibes, in Padmanabhan–Kirillov, both Western and Indian cultural traditions: the necktie, a symbol of Kirillov’s Marxist ideological obstinacy, hangs like a peculiar parabola waistwards as a sign of his contrived Indian emotional life. Rao, appearing in the novel as the narrator (first as R. and later acknowledging himself), imagines Kirillov’s celibate hand “gently passing the knot through the right centre of the shirt-collar and the sensuous fold that, like some South India prince, gives to his dhoti folds” (C K , 31). Through Rao’s telescopic imagination, Kirillov’s Russian Socialist mindset is juxtaposed with the ancestral remembrance of India’s princely past, thus giving to his necktie “such a praterplusparenthetical curve, as though much concrete philosophy had gone into its making, and it revealed a soul so ambivalent that I could not gaze on its self-aware turpitudes without human compassion” (C K , 25). Similarly, the ironic indianization of Kirillov as an amalgam of both Dostoevsky’s Kirillov and Shatov: So I called it the Kirillov tie – whether Dostoevsky had given him one or not did not matter – and one could almost see our Kirillov, a pistol in his pocket, going round and round shouting wife’s (other-man’s child), like Shatov, and if our Kirillov were smitten with dialectical despair, no doubt he too would go round and round his Wakefield square flat […]. But, being a Gandhian and a Vedantin and an Indian, I would rush to his rescue, pull the pistol out of his trembling, tired hands and, seating him on the bulging barrel, give him a glass of fresh, sugared buttermilk. (C K , 25–26) [emphasis mine]

This Kirillov, differently from the satyagrahi Moorthy, represents the negation of the Absolute supported by an illusory overriding of any spiritualism that is practised according to the distorted mantra “logic my religion, Communism my motherland” (C K , 71). He is “an inverted brahmin” whose deviant paradigm centres on History, sardonically confuted by

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Rao’s Vedantic dialectic through another articulate multicultural statement: History, said the Mahabharata, is like the collyrium of the feminine eye – our perspective becomes more beautiful, and your nostrils have the camphor of the antiseptic. Death, the Moscow deaths, were the antiseptics of history – you kill for the beauty of your eyes. (C K , 46)

So it is that in Marxism, too, all men have an anonymous name, “another act of sheer surgery against betrayal” (C K , 26) along with the equation of Man as a biological number born to fight, as “fighting is an instrument of Darwinian evolution” (C K , 34). Along the same lines, Kirillov condemns Gandhi, “friend and fool of the poor,” to the extent that the Mahatma’s professed non-violent ideology is contraposed to the blunt acceptance of Lenin’s implacable violence, through which even Leon Trotsky must be seen as a traitor and an ‘historical opponent’. Here Raja Rao cannot hold back his trenchant irony when Kirillov speaks: “I know simpletons write that Trotsky has sold out to the capitalists. I know, as far as I can, that Trotsky is not the one to be bribed by the capitalists into their golden dens. Trotsky, like Zinoviev and Kameniev, was an instrument in a great historical process.” (C K , 44)

Gandhi appears again, described as “an oriental Mazzini […] with the Almighty too often on his lips” (C K , 34), and a kleptomaniac, more insidious than Hitler: You know what kleptomaniac is. It is the instinct for stealing the money from others. You can read any day in the provincial newspaper of this country case after case about kleptomania. You find it in juvenile courts. The fact is Mahatma Gandhi is an un-grown adult – look at his theories of sex – he justifies sex in terms of theological necessities: God wanted to people the world. When He wants the population to rise, then you know it instinctively. You feel like increasing the population of your own home. (C K , 35)

Ironically enough, Kirillov’s ostensive socialism vitiates his pontifical pronouncements, and even the writing of a book on “Mahatma Gandhi – A Marxist Interpretation” gives further space to the distorted ways in which his mind operates. Exploiting to the full the contradictions arising

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from Kirillov’s socialist atheism, Raja Rao weaves a kind of expository narrative – at times too overtly didactical – aimed at showing “the venoms” of Soviet Marxism by making it coincide with the harmless spiritual blindness of his character. For instance, if, on the one hand, Kirillov’s ambivalent predicaments figure Gandhi as “an un-Darwinian enemy,” an “old puritan,” and a “moral hypocrite,” on the other he trembles when he sees the Mahatma speaking and once showed “one long tear.” Moreover, he has not wholly rejected his traditional morning rituals: he chants the verse hasta-kamale into his opened hands and hums Shankara’s lines in the bathroom. In another passage, Kirillov affirms that all apocalypses are disconfirmed by history – but then he himself conceives a revolutionary apocalypse in the form of “the foundation of the great human city on which the rose-bed beauty of man-kind will arise, and shine as in a desert” (C K , 45). Again, the multi-cultural ambivalence of this particular statement is vividly reinforced by his metonymic necktie, which receives his pattings as if “it hissed and curled in ritual approval. The snake-charmer had played on his bamboo flute” (C K , 45). The genesis of the bi-polar configurations that Rao weaves around Kirillov’s divided self goes back to the time he was a wealthy south Indian brahmin, painfully aware of the tragic social set-up of the rural masses as “the urgency of his sincerity set him thinking” (C K , 10). He sees the thin-legged Indian driving his miserable bullock, “its sides flagging for want of fodder, and its bones speaking of the chemistry of death” (C K , 10), the villainy of the money-lenders, the humiliated untouchables, and the corruption of the Indian educational system, which grants anybody with a university degree a comfortable sub-collectorship. Kirillov thus finds an answer and a direction as a follower of the Theosophical movement, which “had carried him westward on its proselytising flood […] to the California coastline where perforce new religions are born” (C K , 8–9). Animated by a strong urge to help both humanity and his colonized country, he feels that he has to find a more concrete way of solving his existential bitterness: “Kalidasa and all that is perfect. But Kalidasa does not produce lentils, nor Bharthrihari milk” (C K , 23). Thus, Kirillov gives up the abstract Vedantic philosophy and plunges himself into an intense study of the social, political, and economic doctrines of the great masters, and learns German, French, and “the holy Russian tongue” in

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order to read the original works of Marx, Engels, Fourier, Saint-Simon, and Lenin. Once settled in London, Kirillov finds in Communism “the joyous knowledge of the neophyte” (C K , 20) and becomes “a sadhu of Communism.” He joins the Labour Party and earns a modest living by translating German texts. Soon afterwards he marries Irene, a Czech communist and devoted wife whose cultural interest in India somehow anticipates that of Madeleine in The Serpent and the Rope. In fact, she lovingly compares their son Kamal (who has been spared the names ‘Stefanovich’ or ‘Electricity’ thanks to his dark skin) to an Indian garland of sugarbeads, displays a knowledge of Indian epic texts, and envies Indian women their ability to kneel and pray. Irene’s character is particularly relevant, as the other side of Kirillov’s personality – his Indian soul – comes to the surface, mainly through the pages of her diary, as a man who loved India and “the permutations, the magnitude of the Sanskrit verse” (C K , 96–97). This device employed by Rao of including a section of Irene’s diary is likely to have been inspired by Dostoevsky’s wife, Anna Grigor’evna, whose memoirs revealed that The Possessed was initially conceived as a political pamphlet. Curiously, far from being “reduced to vegetative life,”48 Irene’s character becomes a mirror through which light is thrown on both Kirillov and the narrator’s (Raja Rao) personalities. We thus come to know that Kirillov saw Gandhi and was charmed by his sweet presence and his curiosity for factual politics. He also met Nehru – such a fine man, who does not hide under a metaphysical umbrella. We note that he hates the British just as he hates Muslims, yet in his conversations and his writings he defends both. Irene is aware that, once Kirillov touches the soil of his homeland, his Indianness will rise up, breaking “every communist chain,” “and all this Occidental veneer will scuttle into European hatred” (C K , 113). Conversely, the narrator ‘R.’ maddens Irene with his aesthetic and his Sanskrit, making her feel ten years younger and an undergraduate. She confesses that his leanings “are still Trotskyite, and worse, the rank reactionary going back to the Vedas and all that” (C K , 116). For those who are familiar with Raja Rao’s work, there is too close a resemblance between Kirillov and Irene’s world-view and the novelist, whose ideas predominate over the dizzying politico-spiritual complexity 48

Shantha Krishnaswami, “Raja Rao: The Indian Pattern of Saved Males and Doomed Females,” 56–57.

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of the story, thus not allowing it to fully shine through in its own light. Although we are aware of the first-person narrator – Raja Rao – who functions in the role of ‘I’ as a keen interpreter of Kirillov’s psyche, equally Western and Indian, the reader comes across the usual celebratory Vedantic world-view of the writer, leaving his characters and the story lacking at times in psychological profundity. As the novel was written soon after the years following Indian Independence, it is highly probable that Rao has projected his anxieties at, and the perplexities of, a world acutely shaken by war and political struggle. Accordingly, Comrade Kirillov becomes to a large extent an ideological reading of those years, a reading in which Rao seeks not only to confute the solid truths of Marxism – probably embraced by him at first hand at the very beginning of his underground socialist activity – but also to recover those traditional Indian values that have been obscured as a result of India’s internal historical changes and ongoing westernization. We thus have access to Rao’s ideological stance concerning specific issues and historical events which contribute to creating further multicultural configurations such as the partition of India and Pakistan, seen as “the Ulsterization of India,” or the Albigensians – “some European incarnation of the Hindu” – which threatened the Church, “a vested interest […] like Washington is today. So they gave chase to the Albigensians, called them heretics, hence worthy of divine extermination” (C K , 79). And there is also the theory of the Sphota juxtaposed with Kirillov’s Marxist readings, along with Rao’s many blunt critiques of Indian politics – “a good masala” – orthodox Brahmanism, Buddhism, and Islamism. Particularly the multicultural fantasy of Kirillov/ Buddha dealing with the diabolical forces of Marxism/Mara deserves full quotation: But, what a beautiful thing it would be if, yellow robe in hand, I stood at the bottom on the staircase, a Kanthaka under the porch […]. And there once his hair has been cut and thrown into the high air, his Bristol shoes under the cactus, his glasses let sail on the river Niranjana, Kirillov walks up to the lonely Bo-tree and sits looking at his navel. “Until that be found, I shall not arise.” Such should be his Indian decision. The earth trembles, and Mara himself appears in fearful fascination. “Here be the Urals for your Iron, here the Dnieper for your bounty, here the song of Marshal Stalin for your slumber, and here the Lenin institute of Agronomy for your rice fields.”

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If this coexistence of different world-logics constitutes the main force of Rao’s artistry, it is also true that, with such an unbalanced array of the novelist’s personal world-views, the story strives to become something more than a satirical novella. Not surprisingly, Janet M. Powers complains that “the novelist has erred in not allowing enough distance between himself and the character who bears his initial.”49 However, despite Rao’s dominant Vedantic streak, Kirillov remains a convincing and unforgettable character animated by a sincerity that makes him regard his socialist commitment as a sacrifice to the truth, albeit distorted, as was also the case with Dostoevsky’s characters. In this sense, the novel expressly conveys a feeling of sympathy for Kirillov – a “satyadhir, the hero-of-truth” (C K , 77) – at the same time as it denounces what other converted Communists were doing during those years between the two world wars by sacrificing everything to their version of the truth. The novel concludes with the legendary story of Kanyakumari as a final affirmation of Rao’s personal notion of classical India, which is seen symbolically prevailing in the lively spirit of the young Kamal50 even after his mother’s death and the removal of his father Kirillov to Peking. Just as the mother, Kanyakumari, waits for a marriage that will never take place, so it is for Communist ideology and the Indian psyche, which, for Rao, remain irreconcilable. Stylistically, this novella constitutes a drastic change from Kanthapura, although the signs of Rao’s linguistic experimentation remain strongly 49

Janet M. Powers, “Initiate Meets Guru: The Cat and Shakespeare and Comrade Kirillov,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 616. 50 The name itself means ‘lotus’, a flower which blooms in muddy swamps and remains beautiful and undefiled, thus symbolizing the emergence of the Pure Self which blooms uncontaminated by mundane experience and earthly desires. It also evokes the religious asceticism so typical of India, as the lotus symbolizes the joyful blossoming of the real Self, usually associated with the unfolding of Prakriti, the female force of the universe, which is represented in the concluding story of Comrade Kirillov by the goddess Parvathi.

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rooted in the polyglot Indian universe. Yet the confluence of Western cultural modes and international contexts (England, Austria, France, Germany, Russia, China, Japan) within Indian civilization confers on the text a multicultural magnitude so rich in allegory and symbolism that it contrasts with the unpretentious tone, at times almost journalistic – through which the story is told. The Puranic narrative style is thus diminished, to leave space for a more abstruse and sophisticated dialectic which becomes incisively ironic and enjoyable when articulated in short sentences: Death makes of intelligence a willing martyr to truth (C K , 26); A fact is the truth of the moment in its own historical setting (C K , 36); God is the fiction of the lazy (C K , 40); A traitor for me is not my moral enemy, but my historical opponent (C K , 44); The Communist Truth has Hegel for father, Feurbach as the spouse of a legal wedding. Marx gave it a baptismal name, and Stalin gave it his own crown of steel (C K , 48); Hitler will be received with coconut, kumkum and flower-garlands (C K , 67); Logic my religion, Communism my motherland (C K , 71); Hitler’s message is a physico-chemical vibration in ether (C K , 98); There is a certain honesty of mind that is the grossest dishonesty of being. (C K , 119)

Here the process of Rao’s experimentation with language and style acquires a sort of dense Upanishadic brevity, supported by an aphoristic use of highly polished vocabulary interlaced with citations and thoughts drawn especially from the Sanskrit: myths: Mara, Ravana, Hanuman, Parvathi; historical figures: Buddha, Mahavira, King Rajasekhara, Danton, Mazzini, Ramsay MacDonald, Kerensky, Lenin, General Potemkin, John Victor Williams, Stalin, Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kameniev, Hitler, Churchill, John Henderson Chamberlain, Attlee, Mussolini, Chiang Kai Shek, Tej Bahadur Sapru, Nehru, Mountbatten, Patel, Jinnah, Roosevelt, Mao, Fenner Brockway; theorists and writers: Kalidasa, Bharthrhari Bhaskara, St. Francis, Tulsidas, Descartes, Voltaire, Saint Simon, Epstein, Fourier, Feurbach, Goethe,

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Darwin, Shelley, William Scawen Blunt, Reverend Leadbeater, Annie Besant, Krishnamurti, Freud, Kropotkin, Mitcherin, Marx, Engels, Tagore, D.H. Lawrence, Hemingway; places: Adyar, London, Sewagram, Paris, Stalingrad, Tanjore, Trivandrum, Vladivostock, Munich, Prague, Warsaw, Hyderabad, Baghdad, Chidambaram, Berlin, Moscow, Vienna, Trichinopoli, Delhi, Peking, Mayavaram, Madura, Kumbakonam; culture: Para, Pashyanta, Madhyama, Vaikhari, akashic, sphota, Lilavathi, hamare, Sukshma, visarga; social positions: pandit, sikh, rajas, Nizam, Yogis, patiji, patni; miscellaneous: chakras, ashram, satyadhir, sherbat, Gauh, Vindhyas, Kailas. In order to express his vision of India, Rao makes use of lexical borrowings, especially from Sanskrit, which contribute to the formation of hybrid compounds: tulasi-gardens, school-satyagrahi, Granth Sahib, Barrah Sahibs, deva-heights, dhoti folds, sadhu reactionary, marwari-capitalist, mass Satyagraha, Janata ke, Uttara Charita, Vak-Artha, Marathabuds, hasta-kamala, bo-tree, Mantra-Sastra, Vayu-Putra, choli-piece, sapinda brothers. Another characteristic of Rao’s Indian English in the use of code-mixing, through which French and Sanskrit linguistic units are transferred to the English language: Écrasez l’infame […] Écrasez le vermine (44), Pasunam patim papanasam paresam (86), Manobuddhi ahamkara cittani naham / cidananda rupah Shivoham – Shivoham (86), Marlborough va t’en guerre (89). This is a prelude to Rao’s polyphonic mixed prose, which will find its full expression in The Serpent and the Rope, characterized by an extensive use of larger lexical units from both Sanskrit and French.

The Serpent and the Rope If Comrade Kirillov is the less studied of Raja Rao’s works, The Serpent and the Rope is perhaps the most ambitious of all and thus the most closely scrutinized. The evaluation of such a complex narrative edifice is made even more complicated not only by of the vast number of critical essays written on it but also by the encyclopaedic erudition, the metaphysical breadth, the ample array of historical events, the multicultural social con-

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texts, and the heterogeneous linguistic lore the novel sensitively delineates. Moving through such dense imaginative terrain, inhabited by a hyperbolic number of ‘Indianist’ critical responses, on the one hand,51 and by Raja Rao’s politico-philosophical imaginative offshoots, on the other, is always a deeply overwhelming experience, especially for the Western reader. However, for those who are looking for a fruitful East–West encounter, both enriching and artistically satisfying, the novel undeniably offers innumerable avenues of exploration into the multifaceted world in which we live. The Serpent and the Rope particularly reflects the very difficult time Raja Rao experienced during one of the most unsettled periods of world history, ravaged by conflict and imperialist change. Parallel to those political and social transformations, Rao felt the urge to discover a deeper meaning in existence, to the extent that he wished for a while to seclude himself in an ashram in his favourite city, Benares, and become a sannyasin. Yet, during World War I I , he decided to travel a great deal in the subcontinent, “discovering India with passion and devotion, almost as a pilgrim.”52 Even after having found spiritual relief by meeting his guru in 1943, it took him some years to settle down into himself; “the actual writing of the novel was done in Paris in twenty-nine days, though the work took ten years in shaping itself.”53 In crafting such a monumental work, Rao was influenced considerably by many European writers, mostly French authors like Chateaubriand, Hugo, Lamartine, Balzac – “Les écrivains impériaux” (S R , 228) – and Baudelaire, Gide, Rolland, but also Rilke, Yeats, Kafka, and Dostoevsky, thus relying on an interlacing of Western and Indian symbols and aesthetic modes, as he attested in a letter to M.K. Naik: Both Advaita Vedanta and French culture go so intimately into the working of the book that much would be lost if you did not get the symbols appropriately fixed […]. For example, Paul Valéry’s “La mer, la mer, toujours recommencée” (The sea, the sea, ever re-beginning) 51

As Paul Sharrad has pointed out, more than eighty percent of the available critical assessment on The Serpent and the Rope has been written by Indians; Sharrad, Raja Rao and Cultural Tradition (New Delhi: Sterling, 1987). 52 Raja Rao, “Books Which Have Influenced Me,” 48–49. 53 M.K. Naik, Raja Rao, 79.

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As far as The Serpent and the Rope is considered, a highly autobiographical work, the story of the main character, Ramaswamy, reveals in many ways a very close resemblance to Rao’s life: the years spent in France during the compilation of a research thesis in history; the failed marriage with a Frenchwoman; and the philosophical quest to transcend the ego in order to merge with the Cosmic Self (Brahman). Although we again encounter his use of the main character as the first-person narrator – as previously seen in Comrade Kirillov – this time we are left with far more opportunities for meaningful discussion, as a wider variety of themes and the intensity of Rao’s personality have somehow been considerably diluted by the syncretic blend of Eastern and Western political history and philosophical discourse. Even the very same themes encountered in Comrade Kirillov, such as the Albigensian heresy, the Buddhist path of NotBecoming, and the theory of the Sphota – all find, this time, a more complex relationship with the novelist and the consciousness of the characters. This multicultural sweep has been forcefully pointed out in comparative studies by Lloyd Fernando, who affirms that The Serpent and the Rope is “the only Asian novel I know where the author pursues the goal of satisfactory adjustment between cultures with an intellectual energy comparable to Joyce’s.”55 The novel can be analyzed from different angles: the failure of the marriage between Ramaswamy and Madeleine; the highly idealized relationship between Ramaswamy and Savithri; the hero’s spiritual quest for the Ultimate; the India of the imagination; the roles of men and women and Indian family life – they all constitute the central themes upon which the narrative structure is built. Yet the painful search for the meaning of one’s destiny, surely the key theme of the novel, is also anchored in the historical period soon after Indian Independence in the 1950s, in which India, while aspiring to become a nation, is also seen to be at the same time beset 54

M.K. Naik, Raja Rao, 99. Lloyd Fernando, Cultures in Conflict: Essays on Literature and the English Language in South East Asia (Singapore: Graham Brash, 1986): 13. 55

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by internal divisions and corrupt government. The allusions made by Rao to an India shaped by continuous historical and political tensions are so recurrent throughout the novel that closer scrutiny is required. In trying to understand how Raja Rao achieves the dialogic partnership between Western and Eastern cultures and by doing so realizes his own mission in life in the contemporary world, we need to pay attention to the ways in which he describes and articulates his own brahminical identity through the character of Ramaswamy. Without such a cautious identification of Ramaswamy’s developing consciousness we would tend to grossly misjudge his predicaments and locate his Indian identity in a merely textualized mythic continuum. In coping with the tensions arising from an ever-widening encounter between East–West cultural models, the narrator, who is also the protagonist of the novel, Ramaswamy, seeks self-realization by delineating and regulating his spiritual unfolding between two poles – a constantly swinging between a traditional Hindu orthodoxy and a more progressive and contemporary brahminical identity. We can associate the Hindu orthodox pole with a sort of centripetal force which tends to a conservative, introverted world-view (the ‘dominator’ model) and the progressive, extraverted brahminical self with the centrifugal force that welcomes and invites interaction with the new (the ‘partnership’ model). By coping with and interacting between these two main forces – one that promotes authoritarian structures, rankings, and hierarchies of domination and the other that supports mutual trust, cultural traditions, and moral sensitivity – Ramaswamy achieves, as we shall see at the end of the novel, a balanced state of serenity which closes the painful cycle of his existential pilgrimage. It has to be added that The Serpent and the Rope presents such a vast range of multicultural references that it is rather difficult to identify them as belonging strictly to one pole or other of the dominator–partnership continuum. We should thus imagine an open territory running from almost a dominator model, at the one end (centripetal/introverted), through varying degrees of partnership values, to the absolute partnership model at the other (centrifugal/extraverted). In certain cases, some of the references made by the characters intermingle and jointly and simultaneously exert introvert–extravert forces. However, this interaction between a rigid cultural exclusivism and an evolving tradition based on caring and empathic values is what we find constantly working at the very core of Rao’s

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literary universe. It is a multicultural and dialogic partnership that incorporates aspects of both the Eastern and the Western cultural traditions without transcending the political and historical changes of the contemporary world. Indeed, it is a pilgrimage anchored, as Paul Sharrad also points out, in the post-Gandhian, post-Independence society which throws him into a pluralistic world of secularized confusions. It is no accident that Rama becomes a historian and tries to make his profession a means of spiritual self-discovery.56 Comrade Kirillov seems to form a bridge to The Serpent and the Rope in terms of a passage from the thematic Marxist negation of the Absolute to its poignant acknowledgment: “There can be only two attitudes to life. Either you believe the world exists and so – you. Or you believe that you exist – and so the world […]. The first is the Vedantin’s position – the second is the Marxist’s – and they are irreconcilable.” (S R , 333)

Within this dualistic perspective of the world in which idealism is embodied in Advaita Vedanta (the school of Shankara monistic philosophy) and realism in Marxism lies the potential for the realization of the fundamental Oneness of all life. The history of Communism, as criticized in Comrade Kirillov, clearly illustrates what happens when people attempt to change external reality without any prior change in their state of consciousness; the inevitable lesson of history is the consolidation of the deluded self, driven by its divisive and egoistic nature, which degenerates in violence and destruction. Further, whereas Comrade Kirillov ends lyrically in Kanyakumari with the pilgrimage of the narrator and the motherless Kamal to the bright Goddess, The Serpent and the Rope opens with Ramaswamy, a brahmin who has lost his mother and has had to perform her funeral rituals. We see from the very first pages his assertion of his brahminical identity in apparent contradictory ways: “I was born a Brahmin – that is, devoted to Truth and all that. Brahman is he who knows Brahman,’ etc., etc. … But how many of my ancestors […] have really known the Truth” (S R , 5). From this opening statement of his brahminical self – which is echoed in the novel with the roguish closing definition, “a Brahmin is he who loves a good banquet” (S R , 406) – we see Ramaswamy providing several coun56

Paul Sharrad, Raja Rao and the Cultural Tradition, 42.

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terpoints to the negative corollary of a corrupt brahminical consciousness: “just fifty silver rupees made everything holy […]. The sacred Brahmin too is pleased. He has his fifty rupees […]. I would rather have thrown the rupees to the begging monkeys than to the Brahmins” (S R , 11). These examples denote the polarization of the ever-growing dimensions of Ramaswamy’s brahminical identity which allows him to progress towards a non-dual Truth – “duality is anti-India; the non-dual affirms the Truth” (S R , 41) – and by doing so, he is able to express at the same time a sharp critique of a monochromatic, decayed spiritualism and politics. It is crucial to understand the narrator’s polarized consciousness – which is also Ramaswamy’s – as everything in the novel is seen exclusively from his point of view. A few more examples will suffice to further clarify this dynamic polarization. Throughout the novel, we meet with statements that indicate the basic corruption of brahminical orthodoxy, as expressed in arrogance, a sense of racial superiority, and mechanical ritualizations: […] the fact that I was a brahmin by birth and a South Indian seemed to have given me a natural superiority […]. I could not understand these Northerners going from strict purdah to this extreme modernism with unholy haste. We in the South were more sober, and very distant. We lived by traditions – shameful though it might look. (S R , 31) The Brahmin, the Vedantin, has such arrogance. It was Astavakra who said, “Wonderful, wonderful am I”; he with the eight deformations. Yes, one is wonderful – when one is not one, but the ‘I’. (S R , 79) “My own countrymen, outside my country, terrify me […]. They all look like Brahminee-kine left at some funeral […]. There are Brahmins, imagine, that do three funerals a day, so sometimes one has to wait a long time for them to come […] for they can only come on an empty stomach…but you know from their belching and rounded bellies much food has already gone into them […]. We, the Indians abroad, therefore, I repeat, are the Brahminee-bulls. Nobody strikes us because we are so virtuous. Nobody washes us because we are so clean. We get the worship of others, and we have nothing to do. We ferry the dead to the opposite shore….” (S R , 191–92) The Brahmins came and showed their thirty-two teeth. (S R , 256) Brahmins are like race horses: they are either good at their job, or they are sent to the vet to be shot. They are never sent to the common butchery; they could not be. (S R , 334)

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What is at stake here are the ways in which a recognizable degeneration of spiritual values is practised and experienced as the lowest expression of brahminical faith. Conversely, the original empathic power and wisdom of brahminical spiritualism is poignantly conveyed: For withal, I was a good Brahmin. I even knew Grammar and the Brahma Sutras, read the Upanishads at the age of four. (S R , 5) Destiny is, I think, nothing but a series of psychic knots that we tie with our own fears […]. Freedom is to live nothing of yourself outside […]. Not wavelet or crest, however breathless with foam, is life: water is the meaning of life, or rather the meaning of life is līlā, play. Not achievement but self-recognition is pure significance […]. He indeed the Brahmin who turns the crest inward […] the true Brahminhood commences when you recognize yourself in your eternity […]. I was confirmed and true in my centripetal being. (S R , 215–17) I had left India too young to know the sensibilities of a Brahmin girl […]. Saroja was my sister made the knowledge of her womanhood natural to me […]. I felt that maturity in a girl was like the new moon or the change of equinox, it had polar affinities. There was something of the deep silent sea before the monsoon breaks. There was, too, a feeling of the temple sanctuary […]. (S R , 49–50) The Himalaya made the peasant and the Brahmin feel big, not with any earthly ambition, but with the bigness, the stature of the impersonal, the stature of one who knows the nature of his deepest sleep. (S R , 42)

Through the dynamic interaction of these two contrasting poles (the introverted and the extraverted), Ramaswamy consolidates within himself the non-dual state of self-realization achieved by overcoming a series of incidents57 experienced at different stages of his life, thus putting an end to his suffering. More specifically, Ramaswamy’s existential journey is fundamentally shaped by the difficult relationships with his “dutiful” French wife Madeleine and Savithri, a charming Indian woman, “modern and progressive” in her views. It is through the interaction of these introvert/ 57

As Paul Sharrad observes, “there are two trips to India, two to England, four marriages, at least three deaths, a divorce, two attempted seductions and two successful ones, three pregnancies, side-trips all over the place, family quarrels, an operation”; Sharrad, Raja Rao and the Cultural Tradition, 126.

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extravert forces exerted by these two female characters that Rama progresses towards his True Self. The complex matrix of the introvert pole is carefully reflected in the characterization of Madeleine: she is an individual feminist concerned with the abstract concepts of individual human rights and the quest for personal independence, dismissing all socially defined roles. She dislikes human contact: Touch, as I have said, was always distasteful to her, so she liked the untouching Cathars, she loved their celibacy […] the bridge, was anyhow there and could not be crossed. (S R , 15)

She marries Rama “partly because she felt India had been wronged by the British, and because she would, in marrying me know and identify herself with a great people” (S R , 18). She teaches history at the French University of Caen, and for her, ‘the visible’, time and space, are relevant coordinates, whereas for Rama they have much less importance, for he is more sentimental about the invisible: “how incompetent we two Indians [Rama and Savitri] felt before things” (S R , 140). Her inherent virtue and puritanism, coupled with her balanced rationalism, make her an alluringly distant figure whose pragmatic way of thinking constantly clashes with Rama’s Advaitic spiritualism: Madeleine always needed a theory to convince herself. I used to tease her and say, “You are only called Madeleine because your carte d’identité says so. You are a nominalist.” (S R , 116)

When Rama returns from his father’s funeral in India, the rift between the two widens. He feels that something is missing in his life: For I had serious questions of my own and I could not name them. Something had just missed me in life, some deep absence grew in me, like a coconut on a young tree, that no love or learning could fulfil. (S R , 26)

When Rama meets Savithri, we immediately recognize the different polarization of her extravert force, which further contrasts with Madeleine’s introvert characteristics: “Her presence never said anything, but her absence spoke” (S R , 31). Savithri is plump and mature, a “waiting womb,” and very progressive in her views, to the extent that she even refuses to

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marry the man who has been chosen by her family. To Rama, she is earth, ether, light, sound perception, apprehension, intuition, vision, and she proves that he can be truly himself: I felt the presence, the truth, the formula of Savithri. She was the source of which words were made, the Mother of Sound, Akshara– Lakshmi, divinity of the syllable; the night of which the day was the meaning, the knowledge of which the book was the token, the symbol – the prophecy. (S R , 167)

But with the death of Madeleine’s premature child – and after the symbolic ritual marriage between Rama and Savithri in London – the rift between Rama and Madeleine widens unbridgeably and the two characters, instead of grasping the crisis as a unifying opportunity, are driven in different directions: she gives up her work on the Holy Grail (her theory was to prove that it was a Buddhist relic) and turns to Hinayana Buddhism.58 At first, Madeleine grows happier and feels relieved, but soon after she withdraws more and more from the outside world and cynically – and introvertedly – confines herself to an inaccessible and isolated ascetic dimension, leading at the end of the novel to their inevitable divorce. By contrast, Savithri’s presence, although a highly idealized character, brings peace, perfume, elevation: “with Madeleine everything was explanation. With Savithri it was recognition” (S R , 340). Yet Rama becomes aware of the impossibility of living with her: I fell into myself, and forgot all but the feel that existence is I. I am, therefore the world is. I am, therefore Savithri is. How I would have loved to have taken Savithri into my arms; how natural, how true it would have been! But we were not one silence, we were two solitudes. What stood between Savithri and me was not Pratap, but Savithri herself. (S R , 179)

58

The teaching that aims at attaining the state of arhat. The practitioners of this school are mainly concerned with achieving personal emancipation and are indifferent to the salvation of others, a teaching which is instead developed in Mahayana Buddhism, the other school based on the bodhisattva’s altruistic practice. Hinayana teachings regard earthly desires as the cause of suffering and assert that the latter is eliminated only by eradicating earthly desires. See Daisaku Ikeda, Unlocking the Mysteries of Birth and Death: A Buddhist View of Life (Santa Monica C A : Middleway, 2003).

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In metaphysical terms, Raja Rao spiritualizes Savithri to such a centripetal extent that she can guide Ramaswamy toward his self-realization. Her extravert force thus becomes a sort of Prakriti – suggesting an allusion to many archetypal pairs such as Shiva–Shakti, Krishna–Radha, Satyavan– Savitri, Rama–Sita – but also a Dantesque Beatrice through whom, as Claudio Gorlier points out, the ego dies and achieves spiritual salvation: now Rama identifies with Yagnyavalkya, who leaves his two wives and invokes his guru: “Ever since being has known it self as being I have Known It” (The Serpent and the Rope, 403). The iteration of the ‘I’ on the last page of the novel records the phases of Rama’s pilgrimage and the sense of his vision, of his worldly and metaphysical adventure, of the exploration of a vast territory where Beatrice dwells.59

As we have seen, Ramaswamy’s quest is thus constantly shaped by Madeleine and Savithri’s centrifugal and centripetal influences and it is by reaching an equilibrium between the two that he is able to recognize his true Self as it is also represented by the wisdom of the Bhagavad Gita: “an affirmation not of the good but of Truth. Truth can take no sides – it is involved in both sides” (S R , 100–101). This is a state of ‘blissful consciousness’ to be seen not as purely Vedantic but as the synthesis of the eternal wisdom of Tantric philosophy, the Samkhya system, Hinayana Buddhism, the Black Virgin of Saint-Ouen, and the beliefs of the Cathars. Accordingly, the title of the novel sums up this fundamentally non-dual Reality as indicated by Ramaswamy through the famous Advaitic exposition of Shankara: “the world is either unreal or real – the serpent or the rope. There is no in-between-the-two – and all that’s in-between is poetry, is sainthood” (S R , 340). In the same manner, Ramaswamy’s individual self-discovery is projected on an historical plane where he swings between dominator and partnership configurations of world history, embracing many civilizations and making innumerable references to both ancient and modern Western and Indian myths and customs: I am not telling a story here, I am writing the sad and uneven chronicle of a life, my life, with no art or decoration but with the ‘objectivity’,

59

Claudio Gorlier, “ ‘ See what I am’: The Figure of Beatrice in The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 609.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS the discipline of ‘the historical sciences’, for by taste and tradition I am only a historian. (S R , 231)

Ramaswamy’s polarized historical and political consciousness is clearly seen operating in, for instance, such a statement as the following: The Brahmins sold India through the backdoor – remember Devagiri – and the Muslims came through the front. Purnayya sold the secrets of Tippu Sultan and the British entered through the main gateway of Seringapatam. Truth that is without courage can only be the virtue of slave or widow. Non-violence said Gandhi, is active, heroic. We must always conquer some land, some country. Ignorance, pusillanimity, ostrich-virtue is the land we shall liberate. That is true swaraj. The means is Satyagraha. Come. (S R , 350–51)

In 1290, during the Muslim invasions, Khalji Jalal-ud-din Firuz became sultan in Delhi and his more ambitious nephew Ala-ud-din Khalji attacked the kingdom of Devagiri, gaining booty and exacting from the Yadava king Ramachandra gold which the sultan used to raise his imperial army. This not only subjugated Rajasthan and Ranthambhor but, with Ramachandra’s collaboration, made Devagiri their strategic base of operations in the Deccan for southern invasions. Similarly, in the eighteenth century, the British formed an alliance with the Nizam of Hyderabad State and the Marathas of Maharashtra State and through their diplomacy, conspiracy, and intrigue – by corrupting Tippu Sultan’s personal secretary, Purnayya – managed to defeat Tippu in his capital of Srirangapattana, and forced him to sign a humiliating treaty (1792) in which he had to concede half of his kingdom and pay an enormous indemnity to the English and their allies. As C.D. Narasimhaiah rightly notes, both betrayals were motivated “by the sordid ambition of the cultural elite to be the governing elite without the necessary courage to equal the ambition.”60 Ramaswamy’s outburst is particularly significant, as it refers to the inner corruption of the soul and reminds the reader that the true meaning of swaraj lies in overcoming our inner human baseness. Similar historical references are disseminated through the novel, such as “Nazism […] must have been born of the He principle” (S R , 173), “Communism is the acceptance of life, the 60

Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 72.

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justification of life; Nazism was the denial of life, its destroyer” (S R , 174), “Stalin, who is history, had to kill Trotsky the anti-history. The pure, the human, the vainglorious leader’s personal magic was an unholy impediment to the movement of history” (S R , 205). Significantly, Ramaswamy introduces a further polarization between Hitler and Stalin: Stalin, the man of iron, the mystery behind the Kremlin, the impersonal being; to whom torture, growth or death are essentials of an abstract arithmetic. As the Catholics looked for omens in the Bible, Stalin looked to impersonal history for guidance. Stalin lives and dies, in history as history, not outside history. Hitler, on the other hand, lived in his dramatic Nuremberg rallies, visible, concrete, his voice the most real of real; his plans personal, demoniac, his whims astrological, his history Hitlerian – Germanic, if you will – dying a hero, a Superman: Zarathustra. (S R , 204)

Whereas Hitler’s dictatorship was the full expression of his personal beliefs – exaltation of the Super Race – Stalin ruled as the archetypal impersonal being, and “the impersonal cannot allow that any man be a hero. Stalin was no hero: he was a king, a god” (S R , 205). Many other statements are made on a larger time-scale which embraces the British Raj, the Spanish Empire and fascist Spain, the Avignon Popes, Muslim separatists, the Cathars, and the Albigensian heresy,61 right up to the contemporary status of modern Indian politics. In this particular passage, for instance, we find both a sharp critique addressed to Indian politicians and a timely reconsideration of the vision of India as it was, and continues to be, a false construct fashioned by Western Orientalists to exert cultural hegemony over the Orient: India would never be made by our politicians and professors of political Science, but by these isolate existences (like Ananda K. Coomaraswamy) in which India is rememorated, experienced and communicated; beyond history, as tradition, as the Truth. Anybody can have the geographic – even the political – India; it matters little.

61

See Alistair Niven’s enriching discussion of this medieval movement in connection with courtly love: Truth Within Fiction: A Study of Raja Rao’s “The Serpent and the Rope” (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1987): 42–46.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS But this India of Coomaraswamy, who will take it away, I ask you, who? Not Tamurlane or even Joseph Stalin. (S R , 352)

Ramaswamy’s polarized consciousness also encompasses a vast number of mythical and cultural references belonging to both East and West traditions in which the exemplary lives of Rama, Akbar, Buddha, Napoleon, Shiva, Parvathi, Nandi, Radha, Krishna, Durvasa, Demeter, Ulysses and Achilles, Tristan and Isolde and many others reverberate throughout the novel. Even the episode of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth I I , “a symbol in which both the British and Indians could rejoice,”62 exerts its partnership force on both an historical and a metaphysical plane and contributes to Ramaswamy’s self-discovery: The mist on the Thames is pearly, as if Queen Elizabeth the First had squandered her riches and femininity on ships of gold, and Oberon had played on his pipe, so world, gardens, fairies and grottoes were created, empires were built and lost, men shouted heroic things to one another and died, but somewhere one woman, golden, round, imperial, always laid by her young man, his hand over her left breast, his lip touching hers in rich recompense. There’s holiness in happiness, and Shakespeare was holy because Elizabeth was happy. Would England not see an old holiness again? […] there would be good government on earth, and decency and a certain nobility of human behaviour, and all because England was. That I, an Indian who disliked British rule, should feel this only revealed how England was recovering her spiritual destiny, how in anointing her Queen she would anoint herself. (S R , 199–200)

Historically, monarchies are seen through Ramaswamy’s consciousness as the visible expression of the will of humanity to be united under its highest representative, a communal dedication to the ideals of Purity and Truth,63 whereas on a metaphysical level they represent the celebration of the Female Principle (Prakriti/Shakti): “The womb (bhaga) is the great Prakriti (nature), and the Possessor of the womb (Bhagavan) is Shiva” (S R , 379). Similarly, the many references to the many facets of European Christianity – Catharism, the Albigensian heresy, the worship of the Virgin 62 63

Narasimhaiah, Raja Rao, 85. Niven, Truth Within Fiction, 35.

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Mary – all contribute to offering a wide range of partnership configurations through which Ramaswamy acknowledges intensity of devotion as a supra-cultural experience: […] you feel a streak of gold, a benevolent cerulean green, that you want to touch, to taste, to rememorate unto yourself. You feel it belongs to you, be you Indian, Chinese, French, Alaskan or Honduran. It is something that history has reserved for herself, just as humans reserve an area of their own being, known but hardly used; it exists, as it were, for one’s rarer moments: in the simplicity of dusk, in the breath after poetry; in the silence after death, in the space of love; in the affirmation of deep sleep; an area all known but atemporal, where you see yourself face to face. (S R , 247)

We have thus seen how Raja Rao articulates Ramaswamy’s brahminical self-discovery by making it evolve through the interaction of centripetal and centrifugal forces within the main two female characters, Madeleine and Savithri, and having it simultaneously project and expand itself on historical and metaphysical levels. The varied strands of Ramaswamy’s profound existential struggle use all the resources of English prose to communicate the novel’s political and philosophical breadth. Language becomes, at this stage of Raja Rao’s life, not only a means for the discovery of Truth but also its tangible reflection.64 In order to create a language inextricably bound up with the Ultimate Truth, Rao makes use of the aphoristic style characterized by short and concise sentences to avoid imprecise and ambiguous formulations. Aphorisms have the advantage of transmitting a specific concept in a more rapid, poetic, and intuitive way. Thus, without adding more complexity to a statement, Rao’s metaphysical thought is capable of unfolding through long disquisitions along a precise track, such as the typical issues discussed in ancient classic texts, with both the epigrammatic brevity of the Upanishads and the musical prolixity of the Puranas. Here are few examples:

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Idam adyam padasthanam sidhi sopanaparvanam / Iyam sa mokshamanamam ajihma rajapaddhatih. This is the first step on the ladder leading to salvation: this is the first royal road for all those who desire liberation. Quoted in Raja Rao, The Meaning of India (New Delhi: Vision, 1996): 163.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS When one is alone one always loves. In fact, it is because one loves, and one is alone, one does not die (S R , 9); Affection is just a spot in the geography of the mind (S R , 18); In difference there is the acceptance of one’s self as a reality – and the perspective gives the space for love (S R , 20); Love is a way of looking at things. If you love you forget yourself, and perceive the object not as you see it, but rather as the seen. The woman therefore is the priestess of God (S R , 57); Dukka is the very tragedy of creation, the very sorrow of the sorrow that sorrow is (S R , 80); Truth, which always is, and is therefore never born and can never manifest itself in any way, cannot have a mother or a father. Maya, on seeing the Truth born from herself […] sees that illusion has never existed, will never exist. So Maya did not die; Maya recognized truth being truth; Maya was as such nothing but the Truth (S R , 110); Just as I could see antara-kasi ‘the inner Benares,’ India for me became no land – not these trees, this sun, this earth, not these ladle hands and skeletal legs of bourgeois and coolie… but something other, more centred, widespread, humble; as though the gods had peopled the land with themselves, as the trees had forested the country, rivers flowered and named themselves, birds winged themselves higher and yet higher, touched the clouds and soared beyond, calling to each other over the valleys of their names. (S R , 246)

These examples show how, in each sentence, there are revealed the multiple profound truths of Indian thought, expressed in a highly concrete and erudite form which conveys in a few words the vastness of philosophical discussion, always anchored in an exploration of the essence of natural and human existence. Similarly, normative English syntax retreats, yielding to echoes of the profundity and majesty of the Sanskrit language and its incantatory rhythms, as in the case of archaisms where Rao uses ‘be’ instead of ‘is’ or ‘are’: “All brides be Benares, born” (S R , 50), “he was so noble and humble, Grandfather was” (S R , 17), or when he attaches the name of the subject to the end of the sentence: “he is the whole of himself, is Oncle Charles” (S R , 85), “he’s such a nice person, is Subramanya” (S R , 258). As Wimal Dissayanake has also observed, the novel has four distinct voices: “the voice of North India, the voice of South India, the voice of the connoisseur of European culture, and the voice of

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the questioning self seeking to integrate the earlier three voices and refine them so as to reach the deeper metaphysical truth.”65 Rao’s polyphonic mixed prose displays plenty of lexical and syntactic transpositions which integrate the text with many linguistic units belonging to Western languages, mostly French (e.g., Collège, délire, mélopée, notaire, divorcée, absence, fiançailles, patron), Latin (regina coeli, laetare, De Moribus Brachmanorum, oenanthera, homo sapiens consolamentum), Spanish (del gran golfe de mar, etc.) and Italian (modern: una vera marchesa, fraticello / dialect: apri gli occhi e riguarda qual son io, lo naturale è sempre senza errore, etc.). This very large number of lexical units and quotations is drawn from the works of Shankara, Bhavabhuti, Mira, Dante, Baudelaire, Paul Valéry, Berdyaev, Provençal songs, and Anglo-Saxon texts. Other linguistic units and long passages are added through loan translations and code-mixing techniques, chiefly from Sanskrit literature and philosophy, which recall the Sanskrit form champu, a mixed narrative in prose and verse.66 To avoid belabouring the obvious, a few examples of linguistic hybridism (compounds) characterized by mixed formation will suffice: kusha grass, Maratha saddle, holy Brindavan, sheesham trunk, pan-spitting father, babul-thorn, babu English, moon-guava, pankha-boy, Tibetan tanakas, parijata blossoms, Indian ragas, satyagrahis-graspers, peacock-gold choli, kumkum-box, rudrakshi band, marriage pandal, geejaga bird, upanayanam ceremony, dorje posture, Hindu avatara, himru jacket, and jalatarang voice. Along with the heteroglot formations of new lexical units, Raja Rao’s first-person narration is frequently accompanied by parenthetical interpolations which serve several functions (explanatory, informative, modificatory, commenting, reflective, additive) and confer on the text an intimate and oral tone: I was born a Brahmin – that is, devoted to truth and all that. (S R , 5) And that is the central fact – I do not believe that death is. (S R , 9) Madeleine was so lovely, with golden hair – on her mother’s side she came from Savoy – and her limbs had such pure unreality. (S R , 13)

65

Wimal Dissanayake, “Questing Self: The Four Voices in The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 600. 66 Naik, Raja Rao, 105.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS Man must not wish to taste he sweetness of sugar, as that old Bishop Madhavacharya said in the thirteenth century – I always think of someone sucking a bonbon! But one must become, and the Vedantins say, sweetness itself. (S R , 111)67

It is because of his creative linguistic experiments, which impart to the narrative structure an erudite and contemplative resonance, that Raja Rao has been subjected to sceptical scrutiny concerning the authenticity of his narrative form by critics like David McCutchion.68 On the other hand, “to see him simply from the standpoint of the western novelistic tradition would amount to diminishing the indigenous categories of narrative he uses to construct his fiction.”69 It is indeed the visionary and meditative style, built mainly on the linguistic and syntactic peculiarities of Sanskrit, that allows Rao to progress toward the Infinite. It is this highly stylized language that succeeds, by tapping its infinite capacity, in exploring the question of the metaphysical self within past and contemporary history – a history that can be known, according to Rao, spiritually through intuition, and linguistically, as Bakhtin, too, maintains,70 by interrelating dialogically with the heteroglossia that surrounds it.

67

Surprisingly, P.C. Bhattacharya maintains that the novel completely lacks humour. See Bhattacharya, Indo-Anglian Literature and the Works of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Atma Ram, 1983): 313. These kinds of ironic statement abound throughout the story. Conversely, Paul Sharrad gives an extended analysis of Rao’s use of irony: “Irony in Narrator and Author,” in Raja Rao and the Cultural Tradition, 105–23. 68 David McCutchion, “The Novel as Sastra,” Indian Writing in English (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1969): 92. 69 Rumina Sethi, Myths of the Nation. National Identity and Literary Representation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1999): 70. 70 Mikhail M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, tr. Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist (Austin: U of Texas P , 1981): 332.

C HAPTER T HREE —————————

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the Indian English literary canon, it is usually assumed that, after the publication of Kanthapura, Raja Rao underwent a twenty-two-year ‘long silence’ which, we are told, was broken with the publication of The Serpent and the Rope.1 However, a much closer look at his literary production – more than a quick glance at the ‘chronological sequence’ of his publications – reveals that the author was indeed constantly active in elaborating and publishing his writings.2 In addition to his metaphysical streak, he was also remarkably aware of the historical and political changes which took place during the years of India’s consolidation as a modern nation. A brief overview of his works will serve to rectify the wide-spread assumption of his ‘creative stagnation’. Rao began to write journalistic articles and short stories in Kannada, French, and English in the early 1930s, long before the publication of Kanthapura in 1938.3 During the 1940s, perhaps the most significant years of his literary production, we see the publication of other short stories (The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories), and he worked on The Serpent and the Rope – after finding his guru in 1943 – on Comrade 1

CCORDING TO

See, for instance, K.R. Srinivasa Iyengar, Indian Writing in English (1962; New Delhi: Sterling, 2001): 396, and Studies in Indian Writing in English, vol. 2, ed. Rajeshwar Mittapalli & Pier Paolo Piciucco (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001). 2 There is a large amount of Raja Rao’s fiction awaiting publication, which testifies to how constantly prolific the author has been. See the Raja Rao Publication Project website at the University of Texas (Austin). 3 See the Raja Rao “Chronology” at the end of this volume.

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Kirillov in 1949, and (co)edited three anthologies. The 1950s saw the publication of other short stories and the American publication of The Cat in 4 1959. If we consider this brief scheme, we can easily free Rao from the burden of being an un-prolific writer and agree with C.D. Narasimhaiah in pointing out the initial paucity of Indian literary criticism on Rao’s first two novels, long before the official award by the Sahitya Akademi in 5 1964. With The Cat and Shakespeare, Raja Rao again pushes the genre of the novel to a further level of literary experimentation, thus avoiding easy categorizations and requiring almost religious attention from the reader. As he declared in the publisher’s blurb, “All I would want the reader to do is to weep at every page, not for what he sees, but for what he sees he sees. For me it’s like a book of prayer.” While the reader may be left hesitant about his alluring invitation, this “metaphysical comedy,” as he described it, undoubtedly reveals the thirst-quenching fruit that was at the end of his long and painful search for the Ultimate Reality. The main achievement of Rao’s tortuous quest is the confirmation of an aspect of mundane human existence upon which he long meditated: that of the absolute ‘I’, Brahman, the Supreme Self, present everywhere and nowhere. Although Rao extensively elucidated the Brahman in the famous allegorical dialogue in The Serpent and the Rope between Ramaswamy and Madeleine (S R , 335–36), via logical metaphysical exposition, it is with this novella that he communicates the living pulse of such a truth. Even if Rao took many years to settle down with his reconciled self – under the spiritual guidance of his guru – his way of looking at life radically changed and the weighty existential burden of his laconic enquiries vanished, to be replaced by a light and detached understanding of the human condition beyond cultural differences. Not surprisingly, Rao displays an exceptional dexterity in interacting with other cultures: 4

M.K. Naik observed that “The Cat and Shakespeare was actually written about two years after The Serpent and the Rope was completed in 1955–56. What makes the question of chronology somewhat confusing, however, is the fact that an earlier version […] appeared under the title The Cat […] while The Serpent and the Rope came out in 1960, in the British edition, to be followed by The Cat and Shakespeare five years later.” M.K. Naik, Raja Rao (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1972): 115. 5 This is even more true as Rao’s first works were published in France and in England long before those published in India.

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Whether I am in Paris, London, New York or Austin, Texas, I don’t think my life changes. By force of circumstance, purely accidental and sentimental, I have lived abroad. My roots are in this country [India]. That is why I come here every year and spend as much time as I can. I live abroad but I am chained to my country.6

With the same ease, in The Serpent and the Rope and The Chessmaster and His Moves he creates new literary universes in which his restless traveller’s nature coalesces with the widening of new meditative horizons. In this renewed perspective on life, in which light and dark dance harmoniously within the ever-playful cosmos (lila), Rao builds his stories by employing two specific planes of reality: the horizontal and (or) the vertical. They could also be named the anthropomorphic and the abhuman. The vertical movement is the sheer upward thrust toward the unnameable, the unutterable, the very source of wholeness. The horizontal is the human condition expressing itself, in terms of, concern for man as one’s neighbour – biological and social, the predicament of one who knows how to say, I and you. The vertical rises slowly, desperately, to move from the I to the non-I, as non-dual Vedanta would say – the move towards the impersonal, the universal (though there is no universe there, so to say) reaching out to ultimate being – when there is just being there are no two entities, no I, and, you. The I then is not even all, for there is none other to say I to. It is the nobility of Nirvana, of zero, of light […]. The vertical then is the inherent reality in the horizontal: the I and you, the I and I, so no I but “I”, and never I again. You can and must go beyond yourself, but you cannot go beyond the self, the “I”. (M I , 139–40)

The world is no longer seen as a unique temporal paradigm of eternity but as a stage veiled by the cosmic delusion or nescience (avidya) from which the individual has to detach himself/herself in order to awaken to the Absolute ‘I’ (Atman). This truth, once acknowledged, produces a change in consciousness in the way that it reconciles the self to its own true nature – on the one hand, the horizontal plane, upon which the human drama takes place within the borders of time and space; on the other, on the 6

Word as Mantra: The Art of Raja Rao, ed. Robert L. Hardgrave, Jr. (New Delhi: Katha, 1998): 30.

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vertical plane the gradual awakening of the self (jiva) unfolds and reveals what is inherently ‘true and immutable’ beyond the mundane historical dimension of becoming. Rao places human experience precisely at the intersection of these two planes, as, at any instant, the individual is capable of manifesting the double potential of extinguishing ignorance and achieving spiritual realization. Brahman thus resides at the junction of these two planes of human experience and any duality vanishes. Is it, then, legitimate to ask how all this philosophy and the many linguistic experiments carried out by Rao upon India’s complex heteroglossia manage to converge in a language so apparently ‘alien’ – English? Rao overcomes another duality when he states: Truth, said a great Indian sage, is not the monopoly of the Sanskrit language. Truth can use any language, and the more universal, the better it is. If metaphysics is India’s primary contribution to world civilization, as we believe it is, then must she use the most universal language for her to be universal […]. And so long as the English language is universal, it will always remain Indian.7

We could still object that he is only referring to a lack of linguistic difference from a metaphysical standpoint. However, in his speech delivered on the occasion of the Neustadt International Literary Prize, he further explains the same question linguistically: My ancestors and, yes, the ancestors of some of you, or of most of you, who speak the English tongue, came from the same part of the world, thousands of years ago. Was it from the Caucasus or the North Pole, one is not certain yet. They spoke a language close to my own language, and close to your language. There is in America a remarkable dictionary called the Heritage Dictionary. It gives you almost a hundred pages (at the very end) of the Indo-European roots of many of our words. Most of you are of European origin. At least your thinking has been conditioned by European thought. There’s a common way of thinking, an Indo-European way of thinking, between us, so that we are not so far from each other as we often think we are. (M I , 158)

7

Raja Rao, “The Caste of English,” in Awakened Conscience: Studies in Commonwealth Literature, ed. C.D. Narasimhaiah (New Delhi: Sterling, 1978): 421.

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What is certain, besides the challenging complexity of his thought, is that his life experience with the West allows him to express a vision of India, highly erudite and sophisticated, within an elegant synthesis of voices and cultural traditions apparently alien and distant. It is in this very creative act in which both national boundaries and linguistic barriers vanish that we hear his most resonant call to lead the individual back to his deepest essence.

The Cat and Shakespeare One of the major threats to India’s national development soon after Independence was the large-scale corruption that was beginning to burgeon in both the political and the administrative spheres. With the introduction of “the permit-license-quota regime, shortages of consumer goods, and high taxation during the Second World War, black-marketing, and tax evasion became widespread.”8 A major signal of this rampant corruption was the gradual eclipse of the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry (F.I.C.C.I). Initially, during British rule, the Federation was the economic wing of the Congress and supported both the freedom movement and the business community in the legislatures, but after independence, Jawaharlal Nehru strongly condemned the role of the business community, which was suspected of evading taxes. A commission of inquiry was proposed by Liaquat Ali Khan to stop the black market, but his attempt failed, as there was no sufficiently evolved strategy to deal with the real roots of the problem; corruption kept multiplying towards higher levels of administration and politics, in parallel with the rapid economic development of the country. In his “tale of modern India” – as the subtitle of the novel states – Raja Rao’s artistic receptivity provides him with the opportunity to exploit fully another significant human trait of spiritual degradation which, during the Nehru–Patel era, began to manifest itself tangibly in pervasive corruption. For Rao, the urge to formulate a remedy for this all-pervasive phenomena must have been even more compelling as he was witnessing it at

8

Bipan Chandra, Mridula Mukherjee & Aditya Mukherjee, India After Independence, 1947–2000 (New Delhi: Viking Penguin, 1999): 484.

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first hand during the years he spent in Kerala,9 also the chosen locale of his novella. Rao introduces us to a small town, Trivandrum (nowadays Thiruvananthapuram), through which both planes of reality, the historical and the spiritual, are interlaced in such a way as to offer the reader the chance to experience the spiritual freedom from human baseness (avidya) by seeing not what he/she wants to see but “to see what you see” (C S , 96). In order to understand this statement correctly, it is valuable to recall one of Sri Atmananda Guru’s teachings – Rao’s guru – which appears as the epigraph to The Policeman and the Rose: If one looks through the gross organ eye, gross forms alone appear. The same relation exists between other gross organs and their objects. Leaving the physical organs if one looks through the subtle organ called mind, subtle forms appear. Looking through the attributeless pure Consciousness, one sees Consciousness only and nothing else.10

Rao organizes the narrative structure of his novella appropriately in accordance with these three levels of consciousness, through which the protagonist, Ramakrishna Pai, the narrator and a caricature of Rao himself, is seen progressing toward spiritual realization through Govinda Nair’s marjara-nyaya philosophy11 – most likely a caricature of Rao’s own guru. Through the enlightened vision vouchsafed by the enjoyable eccentricity of Govinda Nair, the three strands of Reality are experienced by Ramakrishna as instruments of knowledge emerging from the cosmic interplay between gross nescience, logical intellect, and lucent intuition, culminating, at the end of the story, in the mystic epiphany of the atman pulsating 9

Shyamala A. Narayan observes that “this is the Trivandrum that Raja Rao himself has lived in, the town he has written about in an article in the Illustrated Weekly of India series called ‘Cities of India’ ” ; Narayan, Raja Rao: Man and His Works (New Delhi: Sterling, 1988): 74. 10 Raja Rao, The Policeman and the Rose (New Delhi: Oxford U P /Three Crowns, 1978): ix. 11 The Tenkalai school of Visistadvaita maintains that self-realization can be achieved through complete surrender (prapatti) to the Absolute, and it illustrates it by using the analogy of the cat carrying the kitten in its mouth. See P.N. Srinivasachari, The Philosophy of Vishistadvaita (1943; Madras: Adyar Library & Research Centre, 1978): 382–413.

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through his being. The mistaking of the rope for a snake is dispelled here by the conative activity involved in the actual perception of one’s own truth: “There’s only one depth and one extensivity and that’s (in) oneself” (C S , 56). On both a realistic and a metaphysical level, “life is a ration shop,” and the corrupt Rationing Office becomes the pivot around which the fraudulent practices affect the lives of all the characters: Two rupees a ration card is the official black-market price, if you want to know. If you have children you can have ten cards. To have ten children is permitted by law. And the doctors have no objections. “So we have ten children. Look how well fed they look. My wife has a ruby earring. Look, look at her. (C S , 42)

Whereas canal-workers with their boats make a good living on thuggery, clerks like Velayudhan Nair can manipulate ration cards “with a facility that make everybody wonder whether he learned street jugglery” (C S , 39) and rats eat up the accounts and provide a natural explanation for misplaced food and money, “otherwise who will eat up all the rice?” (C S , 27) and the wagon can thus go to Coimbatore, or Cannore, as both have C in them: “Government or no government, who is there to come and see?” (C S , 37). Even in the case of people who need medical attention, bribes are commonly expected and rendered: After all, sir, it is wartime and everybody has children. Two is the limit – but then if you have three – on forty-seven rupees, how can you feed a third child? Especially if it has a bit of difficulty in the spleen? Three years old and she has the belly of one of eight. Spleen may be just a pouch on the left side of man but it gives infinite trouble. It make the child bloat and cry. What can you do with a child’s cry? Doctors are expensive – even government doctors. They don’t take fees, but they like gifts. What is the gift for a good sized spleen? Thirty rupees, etc., etc. (C S , 39)

Corruption, though briefly sketched with humour throughout the story, is not confined merely to a small South Indian town. On a train travelling through the North, a rich grain merchant from Calcutta pretending to attend “the annual festival of the Lord of Earth” is heard saying:

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS “the famine, we hear is very serious now […] it must be terrible, they said. Yes, I am going to Jagannath Puri. I am giving the Lord a silver spire […].” “Now I ask of you, my friend, when shall we build your golden spire?” “When do you want to?” (C S , 27)

Apart from several occasional references to historical and political events such as Japanese kamikazes, the Gandhian movement, the speeches of Churchill, the permanence of the Maharaja of Travancore, and Dutch christianization, the realism of Indian life is mainly elaborated by Rao against the background of the global war: Hitler was winning his wars. The price went up. The British army poured into India. India sent rice to Persia. Russia attacked the German left flank. Von Boch was hurtling towards Moscow. Von Rundstedt’s armies rushed towards Kiev. The Dnieper Dam was blasted. Paris decreed against the Jews. Roosevelt was wiping his spectacles – that was one of the pictures stuck against the wall in our office (C S , 40).

Another passage refers to the unknown physiological eruption of British boils all over Ramakrishna’s body and adds more physical gravity to the story by describing the feast of the flies and the lizards enjoying the pus and blood on his wounds, or the side-effects of Ayurvedic horse-dung medicine. Likewise the characterization of Ramakrishna’s wife, Saroja, who is always busy taking care of her ancestral land – “land is a fact” – and inspecting “the rope making”: for her, two and two always make four, even in the logic of her dreams; the round and tall Govinda Nair, who has a long nose, pointed and expressive, as if he could speak with it; and the sorrowful Lakshmi, whose breasts – heaving with such ovular pain – spread physical bliss. Ramakrishna’s obsession with building a threestoreyed house – repeated almost like a mantra – along with the wall that separates his garden from Govinda’s and ‘the time that ticks’ at points in the novel – all these contribute to the establishment of the “absolute reality of the world.” Looking through the subtle organ of his mind (antahkarana), Rao imparts to the story a metaphysical dimension which gradually becomes supernatural, almost magical, as the novella unfolds, bestowing a higher philosophical and religious significance upon mundane human baseness. By shifting from the gross plane of sense-organs (deha) to higher, more

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subtle forms of the mind, the hilarious description of the British boils becomes a witty parody of the nature of the Anglo-Saxon imperialistic agenda, which operates mysteriously both like an unknown disease and an embodiment of what people think: The Hitlers are in us, like objects in seeing. We think there is Hitler, when Hitler is really an incarnation of what I think. You are bad because I am. You are good because I am. The sun is because I see. You do not suffer because you are the British bubo. Ah, brother, you too be British […]. I love the British. I respect them because they are such shopkeepers. What can you do after all? If you have to buy you must sell. If you want betel and tobacco, you must work in numbers. You issue ration cards, six hundred seventy a day, and God gives food to the needful. I must say I have never come across so much respect for God as amongst the British. I often think God is a ledger keeper. Loss and gain do not interest him. Accounts do. Even a rat can give trouble to the British. (C S , 26)

Rao imperceptibly weaves gross and mental dimensions by constantly shifting the two protagonists from one level to the other like the “wall” which is tangible – “tile-covered, burgeoning, obstreperous” – and at the same time elusive – “will-o’-the wisp.” Govinda is seen leaping and jumping across the wall “going from nowhere to nowhere” (C S , 14) and quickly closing newspapers, as he likes politics, to read sacred texts like the Astavakra Samhita, Eletchan, and Cheeranjivi. Ramakrishna, whose lineage smells of chilli, cardamom, and tamarind, wonders at the thorns of the bilva tree visible in the morning sun, “just like that hunter carelessly dropping bilva leaves on some Shiva as yet unknown” (C S , 11). But then, after falling to the ground in a faint and losing consciousness, he gradually begins to question the meaning of death and contemplates further dimensions of the self beyond the phenomenal: when you are reminded that you are empty as a tamarind seed […] and begin to think of the play. And where play begins, reality begins […]. In dream you must have gone to a house from which you could not escape. The staircase fell off and the upper wall had gone somewhere. On waking up, do you say, I am falling, I am falling? You say, I played in the dream. (C S , 83)

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Here the metaphysical dimensions of the self are evoked in terms of Gaudapada’s classification of the four states of consciousness: a waking state (Jagrity), a dream-sleep state (Svapna, relative reality), a deep-sleep state (Sushupti), and the daydreaming state of the Pure Non-Dual Conscience (Turiya).12 Ramakrishna’s insistence on building a three-storey house eventually changes, after the mystic vision he experiences at the end of the story, into a house two storeyss high and a third one like a terrace open to the sky, thus hinting at the infinite potential of spiritual expansion and freedom. The very same concept of the soul bound by matter in its physical body which struggles to enjoy unconditioned existence is brilliantly summed up by the multicultural speech given by Govinda in which Western technology, symbolized by the gramophone, is juxtaposed with the mind of Indian metaphysics: “Chee-Chee! This body. And this mind, with its encaged gramophone record, another His Master’s Voice, and all it needs is a white dog listening to its music. Yes, that’s the mystery, sir. The dog listens to this mechanical music.” (C S , 86)

As Om Juneja observes, Govinda Nair “probes further into the relationship of body and mind in order to pose an ontological question about the ultimate cause of the song.”13 Similarly, the multicultural symbolism of Shakespeare – the Western sage (jnani) – and the cat – the Female Principle – is again perceived through the subtle form of Govinda’s mind as a dream-like chain of associations: after all, “Shakespeare knew every mystery of the ration shop” and “a kitten sans cat, that is the question” (C S , 73–74). The qualities of the mother cat are also objectified through the unifying force of Usha, Ramakrishna’s daughter, who says that “Seeing is sleep” (C S , 104), and Shanta, the Nair woman14 who carries Rama-

12

Whereas M.K. Naik refers to these states of being as the symbolic representation of Ramakrishna Pai’s three-storeyed house (Raja Rao [New York: Twayne, 1972]: 137), C.D. Narasimhaiah maintains that the three stories signify the three gunas or qualities (Raja Rao [New Delhi: Doaba, 2000]: 133). 13 Om P. Juneja, Postcolonial Novel: Narratives of Colonial Consciousness (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1995): 53. 14 In Kerala, the Nair matrilineal system allows extra-marital alliances with Brahmins (sambandham).

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krishna’s child in her womb and knows how to give – her silence “has all that logic cannot compute” (C S , 29). All the realism and metaphysical arguments articulated in the story converge towards an understanding of the ways in which the Ultimate Reality of life (Prakriti, the ways of the Mother Cat) works: “Happiness is so simple. You just have to know footpaths. I ask you, does the water ever change?” (C S , 15). By going beyond both the gross background perceived by the sense-organs and the subtle forms of the mind, Ramakrishna intuits the substratum that always underlies the duality of existence. Significantly, when Govinda is paradoxically imprisoned on a charge of bribery – “is it life normal?” (C S , 96) – Ramakrishna crosses the garden wall for the first time and finds a garden “all rosy and gentle” with the air “so like a mirror you just walked toward yourself” (C S , 100), in which he experiences the reconciliation of the Self with the Whole: I saw nose (not the nose) and eyes seeing eyes, I saw ears curved to make sound visible, and face and limbs rising in perfection of perfection, for form was it. I saw love yet knew not its name but heard it as sound, I saw truth not as fact but as ignition. I could walk into fire and be cool, I could sing and be silent, I could hold myself and yet not be there. I saw feet. They made flowers on stems and the curved hands of children. I smelled a breath that was of nowhere but rising in my nostrils sank back into me, and found death was at my door. I woke up and found death had passed by, telling me I had no business to be there. Then where was I? Death said it had died. I had killed death. When you see death as death, you kill it. When you say, I am so and so, and you say, I am such and such, you have killed yourself. I remain ever, having killed myself. (C S , 101)

The metaphoric description of such an intense spiritual awakening is even more powerfully rendered, as it combines the fluidity of the expanding soul with a rare syntactic and lexical simplicity which is ably left floating like a wave above the solidity of mundane human condition. We would be tempted to judge Rao’s prose, as well as his stories, as a fusion of the real and the ideal combined in an undifferentiated whole. Yet Rao’s artistic ability seems to find more authentic expression in keeping all elements of his literary universe interacting dynamically with one another in a momentary vision of a world in equilibrium.

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By following the analogical mode of the Upanishadic dialogue, Rao succeeds in conveying his metaphysical discussions in a highly suggestive and clear prose which are reminiscent of those of Savithri and Rama in The Serpent and the Rope. Moreover, as the narrator is an office clerk, we are also exposed to the kind of English (Babu English) which is usually spoken in government offices: He said: “Sir, it’s done.” I said: “What?” “I say, sir, it is done. The thing is done. You have it when you want.” I think I understood. But I was not sure. I was afraid to know lest the knowing be false. So I said: “Which.” He said: “That.” I was dumbfounded. “And that is?” he said as if he had said everything. (C S , 33–34)

Many other Indianisms reproduce the conventional/traditional language of most Konkani-speakers in Kerala:15 “I come and go” (C S , 25), “Many persons in Trivandrum fell ill with this or that disease” (C S , 16), “He is one with one and other with the other” (C S , 39). Ramakrishna’s Babu/ Konkani English contrasts with the multicultural English of Govinda, which is “a mixture of the Vicar of Wakefield, Shakespeare” (C S , 11), and the philosophy of Ramanuja: Your Lordship, I speak only the truth. If the world of man does not conform to truth, should truth suffer for that reason? If only you know how I pray every night and say: “Mother, keep me at the lotus feet of Truth!” The judge gives judgement. The Government advocate can accuse. Police Inspector Rama Iyer can muster evidence. But the accused only knows the truth. (C S , 91)

The lexical structure of The Cat and Shakespeare reveals only a few compounds (bilva tree, wada sellers, bandi-wallas, rasapuri mangoes, swayamavara rounds, Gandhi-raj, templemantap); one Sanskrit verse (Aho Aham Namo Mahyam Yasyame Nastikinchana); and several lexical units from Latin (felinus, humanus, ego, clericus, etc.), Sanskrit, and Malayalam 15

See Ayyappa Paniker, “On Translating Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare,” in Changing Traditions in Indian English Literature, ed. P.K. Rajan (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1995): 13–21.

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(sacred texts, myths and philosophy: Kamadhenu, Bhima, Malayalarajyam, Astavakra Samhita, Electchan, Cheeranjivi, jeeva; customs and festivals: namam, namaskar, Dussera, tilak; food: dose, chapatis, upma; miscellaneous: marjoram, Margashira, Vaidyans, jhatka, poocha). Yet, despite the scarcity of lexical items and loan transfers, Rao’s English again succeeds in capturing the distinctive flavour and cadences of South Indian native idioms, thus supporting the aesthetic simplicity with which the many layers of this humorous politico-spiritual novella are authentically re-created.

The Chessmaster and His Moves During the late 1980s, this much-awaited work, which was expected by many of Rao’s admirers and scholars to be his masterpiece, proved disappointing to many. Some shared the view that this time Rao had gone too far, both in terms of length (708 pages) and in the expression of his personal metaphysical inclinations. Yet, even given the massively demanding attention that the novel requires, it seems that The Chessmaster, as Makarand Paranjape aptly points out, “reveals more about ourselves and our predispositions than about the virtues of the text.”16 Only a few critics17 stood by it in praise and admiration, for, to them, Rao showed that he had once again substantially stretched the narrative form of the Indian English novel in the direction of new and unexplored terrain, whereas those who had remained silent about their own reservations about his previous work finally had the chance to give vent to past accumulated concerns. Uma Parameswaran, for instance, does not hesitate in defining The Chess16

Word as Mantra: The Art of Raja Rao, ed. Robert L. Hardgrave, Jr. (New Delhi: Katha, 1998): 130. 17 Notably Edwin Thumboo, “Raja Rao: The Chessmaster and His Moves,” in Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism, ed. Ramachandra (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 150–66. R. Parthasarathy, “The Chessmaster and His Moves: The Novel as Metaphysics,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 61–66, T.J. Abraham, “Raja Rao: The Chessmaster As Puja,” in A Critical Study of the Novels of Arun Joshi, Raja Rao and Sudhin N. Ghose, ed. Abraham (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999): 68–85, Prabh Dayal, Raja Rao: A Study of His Novels (ch. 6: “The Chessmaster and His Moves: A Saga of Love”), and Chantal Curtis, “Raja Rao and France,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 595–98.

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master as “an endless ream of words so as to prevent even the most patient of readers from finding out that the core is just a hollow echo of his masterpieces of earlier years.”18 Similarly, Shyamala Narayan, a major critic of Raja Rao’s fiction, argues that “the chief defect of the novel is its prolixity” and the action of the story “not quite credible.”19 It is even more unfortunate that its second edition (2001), published by Vision Books, is full of misprints and mistranscriptions. However, although nearly all of Rao’s readers have experienced – on at least one occasion – the disorientation of being confronted with his overwhelming life epistemology, there is a lot more to be gleaned, and this proves a far more enriching experience. A rewarding challenge awaits the curious reader by seriously testing his/her capacity to be profoundly engaged in one of the broadest multicultural dialogues available in today’s fiction. The Chessmaster moves from a vast tapestry of philosophies and religions ranging from the Indian esoteric knowledge of the Upanishads down to Shankara’s Advaita Vedanta, Buddhism, Christianity, Hebraism, Theosophy to Ramana Maharshi and Guru Atmananda’s teachings.20 Historically, it offers a great diversity of discussions, from the ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Roman empires to Marx, Gandhi, the Nazi Holocaust, the Algerian revolution, De Gaulle’s France, Nehru’s India, Communist China, and the materialistic culture of the U S A and its global spread. Moreover, by mainly setting the story during the 1960s in the metropolises of Paris and London, Rao’s cross-cultural cast of characters reflects an impressive multicultural heterogeneity: the Frenchwoman Suzanne Chartereux, the Jew Michel, Jean–Pierre Vauxgrand, of half-Greek and half-Senegalese origin, Madame X(enakapoppulos) – Mireille’s Greek mother – the exiled Algerian Abd’l Krim, the Tamil Brahmin Sivarama Sastri (Raja Rao’s spokesman) and his sister Uma, the Frenchman Jain Ratilal, the Rajput princess Jayalakshmi and her husband Raja Surrendar Singh and cousin Raja Ashok. Each closely parallels one of the characters in The Serpent 18

Uma Parameswaran, “Siva and Shakti in Raja Rao’s Novels,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 577. 19 Narayan, Raja Rao: Man and His Works, 131. 20 R. Parthasarathy refers to the following texts of Atmananda: Atma-dharshan – At the Ultimate (1946; Austin T X : Advaita, 1983) and Atma-Nirvriti – Freedom and Felicity in the Self (1952; Austin T X : Advaita, 1983).

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and the Rope, and they are mainly defined by their opinions and their own philosophical stance. The quest for self-recognition by the Brahmin hero is again located at the centre of the narrative structure, which, being neatly organized in three books, ambitiously takes the reader through a constant dialogic matrix of ideas and conversations evolving around the Absolute, traditional philosophical conceptions of God, humans, and the universe, and, above all, the political and spiritual beliefs grounded thereon. To clarify and support these broadly ethical questions, however, Rao must first demystify the universe and show it for what it really is. This requires laying down some metaphysical foundations, which we find in “The Turk and the Tiger Hunt” of Book One. Here we are introduced to all the major characters, starting with the narrator–protagonist Sivarama, a brilliant expatriate mathematician who left Calcutta to join the International Institute of Pure Mathematics in Paris. The opening of the story has a very sad tone as he recalls through retrospective flashbacks his impossible love for the princess Jayalakshmi. This unfulfilled love constitutes the main source of his suffering and unfolds as the grounds for both his metaphysical beliefs and the establishment of a series of axioms converging on the concept of the world as sorrow (dukkha): “death always lies behind our flesh like a worm, a snail that sleeps in one’s body. But some worms are out and about, and some only in the larval state. Her worms were asleep” (C M , 3). Siva met Jayalakshmi in childhood in Chindabram and since then they always felt a deep love for each other. But she married Surrendar Singh, the son of the Raj of Sindhur, and was drawn into an unfulfilling marriage which, as is hinted in the story, was never consummated. She first met Ashok during a tiger hunt, and perhaps he represents the Turk, as he describes her being brave like a lioness. In addition, the figure of the Turk is a recurrent metaphor which sums up a series of negative connotations throughout the novel, such as the sheer violence and barbarity of the “invader” (and allegorically of Jayalakshmi’s brain tumour?), as in this passage: fact is history, the factless the deathless river that flows. To leap across the chasm is to conquer the the turk (and his fortresses and his abyssinian mercenaries) – but to lie at the feet of the true sadhu, is to

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS rise into your true kingdom. Everybody is a king of space – the inner space, akasa – man’s real home. (C M , 91)

In a brief interlude in London, Sivarama goes to visit the long-beloved princess in hospital, where she is about to undergo surgery for a brain tumour, and in their flirtatious conversation becomes painfully conscious of their impossible relationship (for a Hindu woman there is but one marriage); yet their bond is unbreakable, as her real ‘self’ belongs to him, also suggested by the analogical reference to Tristan-and-Isolde myth. When in Paris, Sivarama meets Suzanne, a married French actress at the National Theatre and with whom he falls in love, for “she looked so untouched. She knew no sin” (C M , 8). Although it is revealed that she has gone through a very unsettling time – in which she also attempted suicide twice – she displays a fascination for Vedic knowledge seen through a firm Cartesian logic, which also sprang from her deep-seated suffering. The relationship will not last, however, as Sivarama expects both unconditional love and her total surrender, whereas she is proudly independent and “tends to be unique even before God” (C M , 314). By engaging in long metaphysical disquisitions with lovers, friends, and acquaintances, Sivarama gradually becomes clearer in his mind about his attitude towards life. For him, the universe is a mathematical equation; all its varied forms emerge and return to the same primary source (“from pure nothingness do all objects emerge, from zero all numbers,” C M , 33), and death is elevated to a symbol of positive non-existence beyond birth and death, as also pinpointed by the Nachiketas myth.21 Like Ramanujan, the great Indian mathematician (1887–1920), and, more like a contemporary Nachiketas, Sivarama worships the Goddess22 so as to awaken himself not to mathematical

21

The story of Nachiketas as narrated in the Taittiriya Brahmana and Katha Upanishad recounts that his father used to perform great sacrifices; when he felt that he had given everything, he angrily sends his son Nachiketas to the realm of Death for contradicting his practice of giving. After three days, Yama is compelled to offer him a boon for his admirable self-sacrifice and Nachiketas simply asks to know the true knowledge of the soul, which is then imparted to him by Yama. 22 However, it seems that Ramanujan believed his knowledge of numbers was given not by the family goddess Lakshmi Namagiri (Vishnu’s consort in the local mythology of Kunbakonam) – referred to by Raja Rao in the novel as the goddess Namakkal – but by the god Narasimha, a particularly aggressive incarnation of Vishnu. See Ashis

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equations of the universe but to the Ultimate Truth. Life is thus seen as a two-phase cycle (creation/dissolution) through which the individual has to understand and gather insight about the Absolute. Within this ontological truth of existence, womanhood – to be seen in the Purusha– Prakriti equation – ultimately plays the fundamental role of achieving the miracle of spiritual realization and emancipation (mukti). However, this familiar Tantric concept of love – which was also so central in The Cat and Shakespeare and The Serpent and the Rope – only partly explains why Sivarama gets entangled in other relationships such as the one with Mireille and the brief sexual escapade with Rati, his sister’s friend, and the reader is left rather confused when he/she considers Sivarama’s uncompromising spiritual pull. We also perceive other insights into Sivarama through the many discussions and long debates with Jean–Pierre, Mireille, Madame X, Madame LaFosse, and Michel in which the metaphysical plane is interwoven with historical and political events such as Communism, Nehruvian India, and the French Fifth Republic. Interestingly, we have glimpses of an India animated by strong undercurrents (communal, caste, social, political, and economic), mainly subsumed under the figure of Nehru: Whoever said in India we have no decent bureaucracy. Of course we have. Only the new bureaucrats functioned according to other rules. Under the British you followed (mostly) the rule of the law. Under Nehru the clerks increasingly practised the rule of the rupee. Dharma was not a question of metaphysics – it’s a question of how much you can grease the bureaucratic machine. (C M , 122)

There are many other references to Nehru’s India which point up the disappointment of many people at the failure to re-establish, as Gandhi wished, Indian cultural and social traditions and to get rid of Western cultural models: Politics therefore revealed Gandhi’s truth and Nehru’s socialist dreams. You cannot have it both ways. Either you accept the world, and build a human empire, accepting death and, therefore the pyramids […] or you transcend the world and as such death itself, and find the

Nandy, “The Other Science of Srinivasa Ramanujan,” in Alternative Sciences (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001): 97.

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THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS Truth of Shankara’s “Sivoham, Sivoham.” […] and there is no halfway house to it. But we lived in Nehru’s half-way house, and saw hope and despair everywhere. (C M , 145)

Soon after Independence, although Nehru was the new hero of the masses, he remained aloof from them mentally, maintaining instead and, indeed, cultivating an attraction for the political and economic examples of the modern West, an Englishman in Indian skin: […] Nehru had become their Prince of Wales (or so it seemed) – and with him in their cabinet, as it were, the empire continued, like the buses in London, rich in colour, heavy in weight, going to Kilburn or to Putney Bridge with absolute self-knowledge. (C M , 166)

Whereas Gandhi turned to religious traditions to make himself truly Indian, Nehru discovered India and himself through the medium of history, hence the idea of India as a palimpsest with a layered past and “the national planning,” both accommodating all the significant internal diversity of the subcontinent within the inherited “form of the new nation state.” As Partha Chatterjee aptly points out, it was the very institution of a process of planning that became a means for the determination of priorities on behalf of the ‘nation.’ The debate on the need for industrialization, it might be said, was politically resolved by successfully constituting planning as a domain outside ‘the squabbles and conflicts of politics.’23

Rao’s political awareness of India is even further enriched by parallels and connections with world history. The examples of the multicultural connections he forges with various contemporary civilizations are so numerous that for reasons of space I shall just quote a more significant one: De Gaulle wanted to set history back behind time, Chartres behind the Elysées. Gandhi wanted the British to remain a thousand years, were Truth hurt even once by Indian freedom. Chiang Kai-Shek wanted to rule China, that the world be China. Gandhi preferred to die that Truth be. (C M , 45)

23

202.

Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001):

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In Book Two, “The Goblets of Shiraz,” Sivarama’s recollections go back to the time when he was a student in Delhi and his classmates used to hide their appreciation of women’s breasts behind the Persian expression ‘Goblets of Shiraz’, for Queen Victoria “seemed to have shaped our morality in the last seventy-five years so that to know ourselves we have to go to Kalidasa or Amaru” (C M , 341). In this second part of the novel, Sivarama, after having blamed Suzanne’s sorrowful destiny for their break-up – “events are shapen by the rules of this chess game” (C M , 195) – meets Mireille, a very beautiful bourgeoise with whom he establishes a profound physical and intellectual relationship. Sivarama’s love for her makes him feel like “a precious jewel” (C M , 427) moving “softly, ontologically in this world” (C M , 368), whereas Mireille experiences mystic epiphanies of wholeness and holiness. Yet, despite her propensity to seek the pure, both in art history and in life, her temperament remains fundamentally driven by reason and logic: “‘I like Greek precision, and Cartesian logic. I need clarity in everything, a sort of intellectual virginity’” (C M , 357). This period of Sivarama’s life is even more difficult, as he suffers from physical and mental exhaustion due, according to him, to an excessive intake of cortisone to cure his asthma, but it is also implicitly hinted at in the text that he feels extremely distressed by Jayalakshmi’s lingering death. Sivarama’s relationship with these three major female characters – even her sister Uma – contributes profoundly on different levels to his self-awareness, like Madeleine, Savithri, and Saroja24 in The Serpent and the Rope: they all give “not only bone and blood to your abstractions, but the sense of the real” (C M , 44–45). It is a spiritual progression that proceeds along what Rao/Sivarama calls the vertical, the “abhuman,” as opposed to the anthropomorphic horizontal which extends along the dual reality: The fact is, like in mathematical equations, you make a series of statements, and you reduce one to the other, till you get one clear class. As I was telling Michel […] the only equation that now remains and remains to be solved, is the hindu-hebraic one, the vertical or the

24

Especially suggestive was the description of Saroja’s womanhood, depicted by Rao in such a way that Ramaswamy could understand why primitive people took the first blood of menstruation for the better harvesting of the fields (S R , 50).

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The female characters – and, of course, India and Greece25 – are all placed on the vertical axis at different degrees of spiritual evolution: Jayalakshmi, “Sivarama’s etheric ego,” the high ideal of transcendental love as in the medieval courtly love (amour courtois) of the Provençal troubadours and the Hindu myth of Radha–Krishna beyond temporal dimensions; Suzanne, “Sivarama’s earthly companion,” with her sexual and metaphysical independence, which eventually enhances Sivarama’s own isolation; Mireille goes to the extreme of both the sexual and the metaphysical, as she demands only pure experiences which have “no history […] she was satisfied by being satisfied, that is, fulfilled” (C M , 427). On the vertical plane, along with the solid historicity of China, Russia, England, France, Algeria, Germany, and Israel, we have the major male characters like Michel, “a man without a country […] a French man according to his identity card, a Polish Jew at heart” (C M , 470), the successful Jain businessman Ratilal “with his gallic intellectual quality […] well versed in philosophical dialectics, both Indian and European” (C M , 525), Jean– Pierre with his “greco-negritude […] and his aristo-communisme” (C M , 236), and Abd’l Krim’s partnership of Gandhism and Communism, both, for him, with high ideals. The Jewish linguistic scholar Michel Girome is perhaps the most significant male character, as he represents the archetypal horizontal plane, the human and the dualistic, against Sivarama’s vertical non-duality, and he also appears more pre-eminently in the Third Book, “The Brahmin and the Rabbi,” as a Jewish Holocaust survivor, one of the Chosen People of the West, “the brahmins of Jerusalem” (C M , 63). Initially, Michel and Sivarama are seen through their arrogant intellectual superiority – arguing about whether the word existed before the image, or vice versa. The more their arguments revolve around other issues such as the meaning of wisdom, the nature of different world races, the analysis of numbers and integers, gods and prophets, the more their contrasting outlooks delineate the usual irreconcilable dichotomy of the vertical metaphysical plane (Sivarama’s mind) and the horizontal utilitarian and scien25

Rao defines the Greeks as the Orientals of the West and cousins of India: according to him, they disappeared – from form to formlessness – because Greece was not India: i.e. the zero, the Ultimate without history.

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tific (Michel’s experience) which carries the heavy burden of historical persecution and diaspora: Then when we arrive at another railway siding, then again another, with rubble, and barbed wire and snarling dogs […]. Schnell, schnell. And now a shout again, “Enter, go back.” And we leap, like circus animals, back to the opened-in wagons. There is, however, no audience to clap hands. Tickets sold out. There is an SS man, and he closes our doors, seals them. And we enter our permanent night again. There’s, do not forget, there is always an SS man in history, Egyptian, Iranian, Rome, the Roman legionnaries. Why, for ought I know, there might even have been Indian, buddhist or mughal SS men. Who knows, who knows? And schnell, schnell again. We leap out. And now we are marched off, all of us, bundles, children, grandfathers with canes, caftans, halts and shoes, to the Lager, large as a hangar. (C M , 646)

For Michel, life is more important than death, whereas for Shiva “‘Truth alone matters. Life is insignificant. Hence my mathematical craze. For me, life comes from truth’” (C M , 479). As a ‘wandering monk’ in search of the Ultimate Reality, Sivarama is constantly oriented towards dissolving the egoistic self (ahamkara), “the ego just a crust of being” (C M , 622). How, then, can the duality of life – birth and death, creation and dissolution, the zero and all the numbers – be resolved? In a typical Indian way, Rao does not answer directly but tells legends, anecdotes, and stories – as he also did in the letter addressed to André Malraux by telling the story of Ramanujan, “the good Einstein” (C M , 612) – and weaves them into a suggestive and penetrating dialogue which reaches that very depth common to all human beings: “Michel, the real dialogue in the world is not between the East and the West, but between, but between you and me, between the Brahmin and the Rabbi.” Michel closed his eyes, as if in the reminiscence of something (or maybe he thought of Moses and the Sinai), and slowly opening them again, he remarked, “You are probably right.” (C M , 226)

The ontological universal Reality is never one-sided, the zero or the one, as “the zero is the only number that includes all numbers – and as itself is not a number […] there’s no zero except for the numbers […] Death

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implies the two – Truth has no definition […] the miracle of death is there is no death” (C M , 617). This is what makes Truth reside beyond the vertical and the horizontal; human beings can achieve spiritual realization in precisely that non-dualist juncture in which both planes meet and touch a common centre, ‘the No-God’, whereby the entire universe is illuminated: “The No-God, the highest God. He is not even a He but an It.” “Maybe that’s the only true God,” he said, and fell into his usual silence, scratching his face. Even after all these years, the whip-cut wound in the face, he said, ached. It wanted the nazi knout back, or so it seemed, he joked. Man loves even his slavery, he had once explained. “And now, allons enfants de la patrie,” he said, rising, “Let us make the pilgrimage to the No-God” […]. “So my brother,” he said, lifting his head suddenly, his eyes shining up with love. “My brother,” and, coming to me, kissed me on both cheeks, hugging me with a deep, long, forlorn sigh. Something had been seen and known […]. In that knowledge, in that wisdom, Michel and I were brothers. (C M , 670–72)

Such brilliant intensity springs from the dialogic interaction of two apparently contradictory civilizations finding cultural and ideological ground for partnership in which the joyous revelations concerning the universal accessibility of the Absolute are revealed. Whereas, in world history, doctrinal clashes arose – and still arise – from time to time, many eventually tearing human beings apart to such an extent that wars are seen as inevitable, in Michel and Sivarama’s dialogue both the brahmin and the rabbi are pictured advancing toward enlightenment in that rare spirit of religious tolerance and mutual understanding: […] as though he’d lost his breath, and lifting his hands up, gently bowed to the Being, only he saw, and none others ever saw, and in that evening light, I promise you, I saw, maybe, the most ancient face – a face of supernal beauty, I should have said – of the whole Western world, he the zadik, the miracle maker, who loved all of man. (C M , 681)

This is perhaps the most convincing example of self-reconciliation in the entire novel – the final mantra to human suffering, as Edwin Thumboo

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observes, “to which the other mantras, arising from other relationships and meditations, contribute. It is an end; it is a beginning.”26 The Indian form chosen by Rao to express such a long spiritual journey is noticeable in his closely textured prose, woven “like a mala”27 in which the main story is followed by many other stories, fables, and philosophical discussions, all interlinked and arranged along the same thin thread. This is achieved through Sivarama, who, as the first-person narrator, connects all the other stories one after the other by continuous pulses of retrospection which merge with the stream of consciousness of his interior monologues. Further, he acknowledges all the different characters’ worldviews by allowing them to be what they are: “each one of us, the French sensibility, or the Indian, the Arab or the Chinese, has his own way of coming to the same centre, like the poet or the physicist” (C M , 332). Accordingly, the language displays here its broadest and deepest veins of experimentation, with innumerable borrowings from other languages. As it aims at conveying the human being’s constant search for self-knowledge on both an abstract and a realistic plane, lexical and syntactical openness becomes the main linguistic feature – and also one of the main causes of The Chessmaster’s relative unintelligibility. Despite a detailed glossary at the end of the volume, the extensive insertion of lexical borrowings and hybrid compounds widens the distance between the reader and his/her comprehension of Indian culture-bound expressions. Take, for example, the opening passage: So, I showed you, J., as we walked that wide arched, and leaf-lit tree: All it would need would be a round, rather, an oblong stone, a kumkum mark, a large one, and a crude rubble sanctuary around. (C M , 3–4)

The collocations “oblong stone,” which is a translation of the word nagapratishta or nagakal (‘snake stone’) – but it can be also refer to the word lingam – and “kumkum mark” both provide an Indian religious distinctiveness which can easily be misunderstood; and, indeed, they do not even appear in the novel’s glossary. To list only the hybridisms, lexical borrowings, and loan translations in The Chessmaster would require another whole book. However, it would certainly be interesting to analyze them 26 27

Thumboo, “Raja Rao: The Chessmaster and His Moves,” 165. Naik, Raja Rao, 106.

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more carefully, as the implications of these lexical and syntactic experiments are one of the major manifestations of the cooperative nature of the East–West cross-cultural contact; the reader needs to be more prepared in engaging him/herself with Raja Rao’s own multilingual and intercultural erudition. In view of this, I trust that my previous linguistic analysis of Rao’s works may serve as a useful tool for possible interpretation. Because of its importance as an expression of religious and crosscultural openness, The Chessmaster appeals for its meaningful connections, its dramatic scenes, its political and metaphysical multiple strands supported by memorable legends and myths. The work is not so much a well-structured novel as an anti-novel which demonstrates the amalgam of human existence, a loose commentary (bhasya) of long discussions quoting and referring to religious texts, historical figures, epistolary passages, and diary entries, a mesmerizing compendium of stories, myths, and anecdotes both inside and outside space and time. Some of these speak with particular force to certain characters as representatives of specific worldviews and others to a vast set of circumstances which are equally interpreted through the light of multi-religious wisdom; the reader cannot fail to find compelling passages amidst its wealth of profound metaphysics and striking imagery.

Conclusion ———————

A

in the predominant trend of Indian English literary criticism, ‘Indianness’ has often referred to a rigid monochromatic approach, at times militant and revivalist, to trumpeting a sense of nationhood and ‘postcolonial’ exclusivism based on the indigenous pull of defining India’s distinctive cultural identity outside the eurocentric and authoritarian perspective of the world. Conversely, my evaluation of Raja Rao’s fiction has evolved from the desire to emphasize the original dialogic interaction between Eastern and Western cultural traditions to better understand the philosophical, linguistic, and multicultural complexity upon which Indian identity is woven. Thus, Raja Rao’s work, in its ambitious transcultural endeavour to express an Indian sensibility, emerges as the epicentre of many echoes and dynamic resonances, both Western and Eastern, harmoniously balanced, and far removed from conveying univocal configurations and nationalistic stereotypes. In order to understand the ways in which Rao reconstructs his specific idea of India as ‘a state of Being’, I first focused on a series of indigenous philosophical, linguistic, and multicultural aesthetics. After a careful delineation of these three main segments of analysis, I have shown them to be operating in the short stories and novels as building-blocks of his literary universe, in which a dynamic ambivalence functions simultaneously on both political and metaphysical levels. As the analysis of his fiction has shown, Raja Rao is not merely a metaphysical writer, as many scholars of the first Commonwealth generation depict him as being, but, rather, a much more complex one whose literary dimensions transcend the commonplace essentializing Hindu-ness projected by many critics over three decades. I thus suggest instead an amplification of Rao’s idea of India by S WE HAVE SEEN

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framing his fiction in a transitional and cross-cultural space which evolves, like its Indianness, over the course of his entire oeuvre. In the first collection, The Cow of the Barricades, we have both a realistic and also tragic representation of rural villages in which Rao portrays an unravelling Hindu social fabric along with the ancient force of partnership values by evoking powerful resonances with native folkloristic and religious philosophical traditions. In The Policeman and the Rose, Rao’s work, enriched with a metaphysical vision of India, puts foremost his philosophical quest for the Absolute, as he once declared in an interview: “it has been my endeavour all my life to be face to face with the ultimate.”1 It has therefore been necessary to examine the relationship between Vedantic thought and his short stories in order to unravel the same metaphysical preoccupations that animated the years of Rao’s intense pilgrimage. It is about a literary universe that is no longer exclusively Indian but, rather, a complex scenario elaborated through the discovery of new places, customs, and cultural logics. However, the excessive metaphysical penchant of the author, detrimental to a realistic depiction of human experience, reaches a kind of equilibrium in the stories of On The Ganga Ghat, where Rao seems to have understood that both the empirical and the metaphysical plane have to be equated in order to show a more profound and universal vision of life. His skilful reworking of India into symbols is thus balanced with the ordinary and mundane things of life in which the human element shines. Here, we discover an image of India that coincides both with the purest essence of the Self and with the ever-flowing humanity of Benares, a dimension that can only be comprehended in its totality through the spiritual journey of the soul toward its ultimate liberation. Rao’s India is here revealed as a synthetic vision of traditional quotidian values and customs, summing up the achievements of Rao’s long spiritual quest. In such a reading of worldly existence, Rao has been able to transform the illusions of dual reality into spiritual meditations, qualitatively different from tangible experience yet capable of leading us to the point where all the assumptions, theoretical knowledge, and perceptions of empirical reality make way for an inward experience from which that truth becomes life. 1

Shiva Niranjan, “An Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. Krishna Nandan Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 20.

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In Kanthapura, Rao’s creative rediscovering of his roots and his true self begins with the engaging portrayal of a pre-Independence village set during the 1930s against India’s political background, a representation that fuses traditional religious faith with the intensely political truth-force of the Gandhian passive-resistance movement. In his next novel, Comrade Kirillov – usually wrongly positioned and analyzed after The Serpent and the Rope – Rao articulates an affectionate criticism of Gandhi’s ideals from a Marxist point of view and tenders a trenchant ironic critique of the blind materialism professed by Marxism and other Western philosophies during the period in which India witnessed the growth of left-wing parties in the wake of the Russian Revolution. In The Serpent and the Rope, Rao depicts the very difficult time he experienced during this particular unsettled period of world history ravaged by conflict and Imperial decline, a period which coincided with his deepest metaphysical crisis about the meaning of life, which he finally resolved by meeting his guru. The Cat and Shakespeare inaugurates a new phase in Rao’s quest for self-knowledge by displaying a new way of looking at life in which the weighty existential burden of his laconic probings vanishes, to be replaced by a light and playful approach to contemporary existence beyond cultural differences. At the same time, this “tale of modern India” provides Rao with the opportunity to criticize the spiritual degradation which, during the Nehru–Patel era, began to manifest itself tangibly in the form of pervasive corruption. In The Chessmaster and His Moves, Rao ventures further, to include Europeans, Africans, and Jews, along with Indians, in his cast of characters. These are all seen to progress through a great diversity of discussions on topics ranging from Antiquity to Marx, Gandhi, the Holocaust – discussed particularly as an exploration of reasons for its occurrence and a powerful attempt to expiate it – the Algerian revolution, Fifth-Republic France, Nehru’s India, Communist China, and the materialistic American civilization. The meditative quality of Rao’s novels unfolds in its deeper concern for man’s spiritual existence; he sets his characters on both the political and the spiritual plane in order to plot their progress towards the Absolute: “Unless you grow you cannot give. And growth needs search. And search fearlessness. And all search is inward – the outer leads one to repetition” (C M , 110). For Raja Rao, self-discovery can thus be achieved both in the past and in the present world scene, in which no mundane

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affairs of life or work are ever contrary to the True Reality. Characters possessing wisdom – such as Moorthy, Kirillov, Ramaswamy, Govinda, and Sivarama – are not those who experience their spiritual quest apart from worldly affairs – Madeleine’s mistake – but, rather, those who have thoroughly absorbed and grasped the principles by which the world is governed. It is because Rao’s characters are engaged, on the one hand, with the contingent reality of love and marriage, their families, their inner pulls, frailties, and contradictions, and, on the other, with multicultural historical, philosophical, and spiritual traditions – as evolution of the Truth – that his quest for and vision of both East and West appears, in artistic terms, powerful and authentic.

Glossary —————

W

each term transliterated from Sanskrit and other Indian languages, the word-order, orthography, and pronunciation follow the Latin alphabet as far as possible. The books mentioned in the following list have been used as reference material for the compilation of this glossary: ITH REGARD TO

Achaya, K.T. A Historical Dictionary of Indian Food (1998; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002). Apte, V.S. The Practical Sanskrit–English Dictionary (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 3rd ed. 1965). Dowson, John. Hindu Mythology and Religion (New Delhi: Rupa, 1993). Hawkins, R.E. Common Indian Words in English (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1984). Hornby, Albert Sydney. Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary of Current English ed. Indira Chowdhury Sengupta. (5th ed. with a special supplement of Indian English; Oxford: Oxford U P , 1996; Indian English supplement: 1429–75). Leaman, Oliver. Key Concepts in Eastern Philosophy (London: Routledge, 2004). Leeming, David. A Dictionary of Asian Mythology (New York: Oxford U P , 2001). Lewis, I. Sahibs, Nabobs and Boxwallahs: A Dictionary of the Words of Anglo-India (Bombay: Oxford U P , 1991). Mani, Vettan. Puranic Encyclopaedia (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2002). McGregor, R.S. The Oxford Hindi–English Dicionary (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1993). Monier–Williams, M. A Sanskrit–English Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1956). Parikh, S.S. Hindi: Transliterated Hindi-English Dictionary (New Delhi: Allied, 1996). Rao, G. Subba. Indian Words in English: A Study in Indo-British Cultural and Linguistic Relations (Oxford: Clarendon, 1954). Yule, Henry, & C. Burnell [1886]. Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (Ware: Wordsworth, 1996).

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Advaita: ‘non-dual’, a school of Vedanta based on the idea that reality is one (Brahman) and not to be differentiated. aeons: a numeral unit defined differently in different texts but clearly indicating an extremely large number of years. aham: ‘I am’, the full I-consciousness achieved by the cancellation of all relational awareness and dependence on anything outside one’s Self. ahamkara: ‘I-maker’, the ego that creates the experience of limited individuality and functions as a surrogate of the Self. ahimsa: harmlessness, non-injury; a term particularly significant in Jainism, which sets out to avoid harming any form of life whatsoever. In Hinduism, and particularly according to Gandhi’s thought, it refers to charity, love for all living beings, and universal social equality. akasha/akashic: vacuity, free space, void, substratum of the property of sound. One of the gross elemental principles of the universe (bhuta). Akbar/Akbari: one of the great Moghul emperors (1556–1605), grandson of Babar. He maintained one of the most brilliant courts of his time in the world. Akbar’s great ambition was to found a universal religion, for he saw truths in most of the creeds and Truth in none of them. amara/hamare: refers to the Amarakosha, the ‘immortal vocabulary’ compiled by Amara Sinha in the fifth century CE . amma: mother (mata, in Northern Indian languages). anahata-nada: spontaneous unstruck sound heard by Yogins as emanations from within the body. Anjanayya/Anjaneya: the greatest of the Hindu monkey gods, also known as Hanuman, Anili, and Maruti. He was son of the wind-god Vayu, and Anjana, wife of a monkey named Kesari. In Hindu mythology, his primary deeds are recorded in the Ramayana, in which Hanuman leads the war to free Sita, the wife of Rama, an avatar of Vishnu, from the demon Ravana in Lanka. As the son of the wind, he is able to make the passage from India to Lanka in one leap. He demonstrates his powers of self-denial and his loyalty to Rama by not rescuing Sita himself so that Rama can have the honour of doing so. anna: a sixteenth of a rupee. Before the introduction of the new pice in 1957, the basic Indian unit of currency (rupee/roupaya) was formerly divided into sixteen annas, each anna again into four pice, and each pice into three pies. Today, since the adoption of the decimal system, a rupee is made up of one hundred pice.

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antahkarana: from Sanskrit antar, interior, and karana, sense organ. Interior organ or instrument defined as the seat of thought and feeling, the thinking faculty, the heart, mind, soul, and conscience. In Vedanta philosophy, it is looked upon as a fourfold inner instrument or intermediary between spirit and body, with mind being the bridge. anya and jnya: the different pronunciations of the Sanskrit term jnana, ‘knowledge’. ap: water, a gross elemental principle. Aranyakas: Vedic texts designed to comment on the early Brahmanas. arathi: flame and song; kumkum water and flowers are offered to a divinity or an important personage. It is a sign of honour, an offering of love and esteem, a request for benediction, and it concludes every ritual in every Hindu temple. artha: material need. In Hinduism, one of the principal goals of life (purusharthas) along with dharma (ethical need), kama (emotional need), and moksha (spiritual need). According to Indian grammarians (e.g., Bhartrihari), artha also means ‘referent’, the meaning of a word in the sense of its denotation, de Saussure’s signifié, and is opposed to sabda, ‘that which is meant’, the signifiant. asana: ‘seat’, more commonly used to denote a posture in Hatha Yoga. Ashad: the fourth month of the Hindu calendar, falling in June–July. Ashoka/Asoka: heir to the great empire of the Mauryas, who conquered all his neighbours, thus unifying the whole of Northern India up to the frontiers of present Afghanistan and of South India almost to the confines of the Tamil country. After the bloody war against the small state of Kalinga, Emperor Asoka (272–232) was so filled with remorse that he disbanded his army, turned his soldiers into bearers of peace, and decreed that in his state only the moral law (dharma) should govern human beings’ lives; hence the famous edicts of Asoka. His name has such importance in Indian history that the insignia of the present government is the three-lion symbol taken from one of the Asokan pillars. Ashram: spiritual asylum where a teacher (guru) provides religious instruction for disciples. Asvina: the seventh month of the Hindu calendar. The first ten days of the lunar month of Asvina are celebrated in different parts of India variously as Ram Lila, Dussehra, or Durga Puja. It corresponds to the solar months of September and October. In Indian astrology, it also indicates a star of the universe.

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Aswija-Shudda: more correctly, Aswayuja Suddha, which refers to fifteen days before the full moon in the month of Asvina. Ashayuja Bahula corresponds to fifteen days before the new moon. Atharva-Veda: the fouth Veda of India, probably composed later than the Rig Veda, the Sama Veda, and the Yajur Veda, according to the tradition of the Fire priests (atharva-angiras). The Atharva-Veda consists of myths, magical formulae, spells, prayers, verses, and hymns. atman: ‘the true self’ or essence of living beings that does not change when they go through the process of birth and death. In Advaita Vedanta and other branches of Hinduism, Brahman is the Absolute, the Ultimate whole, while Atman is the individual soul that can merge with Brahman in mystical oneness, a state of ultimate consciousness or identity. attar: essential oil made from flowers and used as a base for perfumes. avatar/avatara: an incarnation of a deity into this world of samsara, the realm of endless rebirths, in order to restore religious law and help human beings find salvation. avidya: ‘non-knowledge’, or ignorance of the true nature of reality. It contributes to creating the idea of the distinction between the self and reality itself, and between one self and another self. ayah: from Portuguese (fem. aia, a nurse, or governess; masc. aio, the governor of a young noble); a lady’s maid or nursemaid. Ayodhya: the capital of Ikshwaku, the founder of the solar race and after the ancient kingdom of Rama described in the Ramayana. It is one of the seven sacred cities. Babu: from Bengal, a term of respect attached to a name like Master or Mr. During the British Raj, it was used to designate clerks in English offices, ‘a native clerk who writes English’, and, by extension, an urban, westernized, English-educated person. babul/babool: a thorny mimosa common in most parts of India, also called kikar. Bada: principal in rank or standing. Bada babu, head office. badmash: a Hindi term of abuse; a scoundrel. bael/bel: Bengal quince (Aegle marmelos). It is a small tree, a native of various parts of India. In the Punjab, the shelly rind of the bel is made into carved snuff-boxes for sale to the Afghans. Bahadur: hero, champion; honorific title added to a surname. Bai: also ben, ‘Madam’, appellative of polite address to women.

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bairagis: ‘dispassionate’; Vaishnava ascetics who are mainly devotees of Rama and are also known as Ramanandis, after their founder, Ramanand. They are extreme ascetics, often known to mortify their own bodies to show how indifferent they are to the flesh. bandicoot: from the Dravidian root-word ‘pig-like’; a large rat, known to be a carrier of plague. bania: a merchant, usually belonging to the Vaisyas caste of Gujarat. In Indian villages it also refers to a money-lender. Bapu: from Sanskrit bap, ‘father’. Appellative of polite address like the suffix ji, or je. Bapuji is often used in reference to Mahatma Gandhi. Barrah Sahib: ‘the great Master’, a term constantly occurring, whether in a family to distinguish the father or the elder brother, in a station to indicate the Collector, Commissioner or whatever officer may be recognized head of the society, or in a department to designate the head of that department. baswanna bulls: often when a rich person dies, a consecrated bull is let loose in the village in his name. They wander freely and are fed by everyone. More importantly, bulls are sacred, both for being the vehicles of Hindu gods and for their invaluable work in the fields. Hence, Baswanna are also those bulls that are considered unfit to work in the fields and are left free to be well-treated by people and worshipped as Shiva’s vehicle (Nandi). bath-slab: from Kannada kallu chappadi; the slab of stone placed in the bathroom where Hindus can sit and conduct their daily ablutions. Usually in villages where it is rare to enjoy pipe water, people collect their water in buckets and use it during the day for showers. betel: the leaf of the vine Piper betel, chewed with the dried areca-nut (the seed of the palm Areca catechu). Hence, betel is the ordinary term for both the nut of the tree and the leaf of the vine. The betel-nut is usually wrapped in a leaf which has been pasted together with chunam (chalk or slaked lime), sugar, and other spices (pan supari) and then popped into the mouth and munched for hours. No occasion is considered to be auspicious unless pan is freely distributed to the people assembled. There is also a popular belief that Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, abides in the betel leaves; thus, by chewing them people are supposed to please her and receive her blessings. betel-bag: small bags, often highly embroidered, used by all classes of people for carrying their chewing material (tobacco or betel leaves).

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Bhagavathan/Bhagavata: ‘The Book of God’, also known as Shrimad Bhagavatam or Bhagavatha Purana. One the great Puranic texts of Hindu literature; its primary teaching is bhakti yoga, in which Krishna is understood to be Svayam Bhagavan, ‘The Lord’. Bhagirata/Bhagiratha: a descendant of Sagara (king of Ayodhya), whose austerities induced Shiva to allow the sacred river Ganges to descend to earth for the purpose of bathing the ashes of Sagara’s sons, who had been consumed by the wrath of the sage Kapila. The Puranic myth tells how the sage Bhagirata, after many prayers and long penance, succeeded in bringing to earth the divine goddess Ganga to relieve the world from suffering. But Ganga, before descending from the sky, replied that the earth would have not been able to withstand the impact of her powerful flow. So Shiva appeared and stood in the position to receive the rushing waters of Ganga and contained the river goddess on his matted head, and from Shiva’s head she has flowed for thousands of years. bhajan: hymn-singing performed on great occasions. According to the Hindu unitary tradition, devotional hymns in India are as likely to be philosophical as strictly religious in content. bhakti: ‘devotion’, ‘reverence’, traditionally expressed through Hindu ritual sacrifices, ascetic practices, hymns, and prayers. Different kinds of bhakti apply to the worship of particular deities. The ultimate goal is spiritual union with the chosen deity (Ishtadevata). bhang: the dried leaves and flowering shoots of the marijuana plant. bharadwaj: lark. Also the name of an ancient seer. Bharatas: the legendary first Indians and, by extension, Hindus, described in the great epic, the Mahabharata, literally ‘Great (Maha) Story of the Bharathas’. Bhartrihari: a celebrated poet, grammarian, and philosopher of language believed to have lived in the fifth century CE . He is known for his work of high repute called Vakyapadiya, a metaphysical and technical grammatical enquiry into the nature and origin of language in relation to Brahman. Bhartrihari’s own position is conveyed in his Sphota theory – the idea that bursts out or flashes through the mind when a sound is uttered. bhava: this term has several meanings, including: phenomenal existence, life in its unfolding into the world; the attitude adopted towards the

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divine, a supreme religious experience through which the egoistic self vanishes into the Ultimate. Bhavani: one of the eight forms (ambas) of the Great Goddess (Maha– Devi) Parvathi. She is usually represented with her vehicle, a crocodile (makara), and with a vase full of Ganges water. bhayya: villager. Bhim: ‘the terrible’, the second of the five Pandu princes, and mythically son of Vayu, ‘the god of the wind’. bidi/bidies: small, hand-rolled cigarette. bindi/bindu: forehead mark between the eyebrows worn by women. bo-tree: the Bodhi tree (bodhidruma in Sanskrit) is according to tradition the tree under which Buddhas attain enlightenment (bodhi). Brahma: one of the Hindu Trimurti, the three manifestations of the Ultimate Reality (Brahman), along with Vishnu, the preserver and Shiva, the destroyer. Brahma is the only god who plays an active role during the creation of the universe. His consort is Sarasvati, the goddess of learning, and he is sometimes shown sitting on a lotus which rises from Vishnu’s navel, symbolizing the interdependence of the gods. He is generally depicted with four heads, each turned towards the four points of the compass, and he usually holds the four books of the Vedas, one in each of his four hands. brahmachari: celibate. A student who learns under the guidance of a preceptor to acquire education in the knowledge of life according to the Hindu four stages of life (ashramas). During this first stage, Brahmacharya, the student follows a disciplined and chaste life. Brahmanas: ancient texts designated as Sruti or ‘sacred knowledge’. Each of the four Vedas is made up of poetic hymns and prayers (Samithas) to which are attached one or more theological revelations in prose (Brahmanas). The word Brahmana also refers to the Brahmana caste. Brahmanism: refers to the whole way of life of the Brahman caste in Hindu India. Specifically, Brahmanism is a development of earlier Vedism, and they both revere the ancient rituals and sacred texts (Sruti) – the Vedas, the Brahmanas, Upanishads, Aranyakas – and the myths contained in other sacred texts (Smrti) such as the epics (Ramayana and Mahabharata), the Puranas, and various books of Hindu law. Brahmin: member of the priestly caste, the highest Hindu caste.

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Brahmin lines: during the British Raj, Indian villages came to be laid out somewhat on the principles of a military garrison, and the various quarters were spoken of as ‘lines’. Brahmin priest: his primary duty is to see that rituals and rules – especially those described in the Brahmanas – are followed and properly executed. The first brahmin is the chief officiating priest; the second brahmin assists the officiating priest and comes after him in the ceremonial order. A priest is not considered the highest Brahmin; in fact, a priest is never treated with the same respect as a Brahmin whose sole purpose is the cultivation of sacred learning, the reading and the exposition of philosophical texts, and the practice of spiritual exercises to obtain spiritual liberation (moksha). Brahmo: also Bramo Samaj, the monotheistic movement in Hinduism of the late-nineteenth century which fought against idol worship. Keshub was one of its well-known leaders. Brindavan/Vrindavan: in Hindu tradition, the village on the Ganges where Krishna is said to have been born. A place of pilgrimage for Hindus. Buddha: ‘the enlightened’. One who perceives the true nature of all life and who leads others to attain the same enlightenment. The Buddha nature is inherent in all beings, and is characterized by the qualities of wisdom, courage, compassion, and the life-force. Bukhara: an important central Asian city, historically part of Persia. Cauvery/Cauveri/Kaveri: the most famous – and recently controversial – of South India rivers, whose divine origin is described in the Agneya and Skanda’s Puranas (Kaveri Mahatmya). The Cauvery rises in the mountain-lands of Mysore, in the small but well-known province of Coorg, and passes thence across the plateau of Mysore and down into the plains, creating the famous waterfall of Sivasamudram; in the lowlands, it crosses the fertile rice paddies of Tamil Nadu and enters the Bay of Bengal, forming a delta that is famous in history, poetry, and commerce. chakra: a centre of energy located in the subtle system of the human being. Six major chakras lie within the central channel (susumna nadi) of the subtle body. When awakened, the spiritual energy (kundalini shakti) flows upward through the chakras to the highest spiritual centre (sahasrara) at the crown of the head.

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champak: a sacred tree also known as the Temple Tree, commonly found in courtyards of Indian homes and in the precincts of temples. Its slim yellow–gold petals adorn the heads of gods and women. champu/champoo: In medieval Kannada literature, champukkal or champu poems were written after the model of Sanskrit Champu poetry. The padya or ‘verse’ portion of a champoo poem was written in Sanskrit metres, while the gadya or ‘prose’ portion was mostly in medieval Malayalam metres. Chandi: another name for the Great Goddess (Durga/Kali) as protective mother. Chandragupta/Chandraguptai: grandfather of Ashoka (324–300 B C E ) and founder of the Mauryan Empire. He had the celebrated sage, Kautilaya, as his chief minister who laid down the principles of Indian policy (arthasastra). charka: spinning-wheel. Mahatma Gandhi believed that the national skill in spinning had been ruined by British rule, since the colonial administration had enforced regulations favouring the Lancashire textile manufacturers which reserved the Indian market for English machinemade cloth. Gandhi made the charka a symbol of the non-violent revolutionary movement. charpai/charpoy: the common Indian bedstead, sometimes handsomely wrought and painted. cheetah: ‘hunting leopard’, so called from its being commonly trained to use in the chase. chettiar: also chetty, a member of any of the trading castes in South India. chhota: ‘little’, but also ‘not the eldest son’. chillum: pipe of a hookah, commonly used to describe the pipes used for smoking marijuana (charas). chitranna: a spiced rice or food. Usually it is rice marinated in lemon juice or tamarind and sprinkled with many spices and grated coconut. Served mostly on sacred occasions. choli: sari blouse. Chosen ones: it usually refers to the member of the brahmin caste who are devoted to set an exemplary behaviour in daily life according to the Hindu sacred texts. Chutney/chutny: a kind of strong relish made of a number of condiments and fruits. Usually it is made with limes and mangoes, garlic, chilli powder and lime-juice.

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city chatter: from Kannada havate; = ‘frivolous chats’. coconut-pandal: a simple structure of bamboo poles and coconut leaves, raised as shelter against sun and rain. Pandals are put up at marriages, initiation ceremonies, anniversaries and civic receptions. coolie/cooly: a hired labourer, or burden-carrier belonging to the lower class of labourer as distinguished from the skilled workman. copra: dried coconut meat. Often eaten with a bit of sugar during Hindu festivals. cowrie: a small seashell at one time used as a coin (Cypraea moneta). dal/dhal: a yellow split pea native to northern India, but also any of several lentils which form a staple of the Indian diet. Damayanthi: wife of Nala and heroine of the tale of Nala (prince of Nishada) and Damayanthi (princess of Vidarbha). dargah: shrine or place of burial of a Muslim saint. In Rajasthan, a famous dargah is that of the Sufi saint Khwaja Muin-ud-din Chrishti, who arrived at Ajmer from Persia in 1192. In the Agra region, Uttar Pradesh, pilgrimages to Fatehpur Sikri, the city of Emperor Akbar, are made to visit the Muslim saint Shaikh Salim Chishti. darshana: originally meaning ‘seeing’. According to Hindu thought, once one sees the world correctly, one is firmly on the path of spiritual salvation. There are six orthodox darshanas in Hinduism: Nyaya, Vaisheshika, Sankhya, Yoga, Mimamsa, and Vedanta. The word darshan also refers to the practice of worshipping a divinity or a saint in order to assimilate its virtues. Dasara/Dussehra: the ten-day festival which celebrates Sri Rama’s battle with Ravana and his triumphant return with Queen Sita (Ram Lila). Ravana was killed on Dussehra day, which coincides with the Bengali festival of Durga Puja, when the buffalo-headed demon Mahishasura was also slain. In India, the biggest festivals take place in Mysore and Ahmedabad, with great processions. Dashakumaracharita: ‘Tales of the Ten Princes’, by Dandin (sixth century). It is one of the few Sanskrit works written in prose, but its style is so studied and elaborate that it is classed as a poem. The tales are stories of common life and display a low condition of morals and a corrupt state of society. Dashashwamedha: one of the most popular ghats of Benares, where ten horse-sacrifices were traditionally performed by Brahma, when Brahma himself beheld the Shiva Linga for the first time.

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Dassera: also Dussehra or Dasara, a popular Indian festival that lasts for ten days beginning on the first day of the Hindu month of Ashwin (September/October). It is celebrated in various ways all over the country: as Durga-puja and Vijayadashani, celebrating the victory of Lord Rama over Ravana, as Navratri or the festival of nine nights. The victory of Durga and Rama symbolizes the triumph of good over evil, the destruction of desires (vasanas), and the realization of the divine Self. death-drums: from Kannada karadi vadya, drums played only for funerals. Desa: a great extension of land, also ‘nation’. Deva: god, a deity. In Hinduism, the gods are spoken of as thirty-three in number, eleven for each of the tri-loka, the three worlds (usually heaven, earth, and hell). Devi: the great Goddess (Maha–Devi), wife and Shakti of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva in the manifestation of Sarasvati, Lakshmi, and Parvathi. The term usually refers to the wife and female energy of Shiva, Parvathi, ‘the mountaineer’, daughter of Himavat. Dewan: the Prime Minister of any princely state. dharma: law of being, rule or law of action; the collective Indian conception of the religious, social and moral rule and conduct. Dharmaraja/Dharmaraya: ‘justice’, ‘king of the ultimate law’, one who is totally in accord with the moral and metaphysical order of final reality. It is also the honorific name of Yama, the judge of the dead. In Raja Rao’s Kanthapura, it refers to the eldest of the Pandava brothers, Yudhishthira, who was a wise ruler and a pacifist, as told in the Mahabharata. dharmashala: a rest-house of pilgrims, especially close to sanctuaries, where usually one can stay for a few day without paying and can sometimes receive some food from the temple and charity. dhoti: loincloth worn by Hindu men, sometimes pulled up between the legs. Different styles may indicate both locality, caste, and family affiliations, while other styles are associated with special occasions, such as marriages, funerals, and religious ceremonies. dorje posture: also known as vajra posture, is one of the Yoga-asanas, often referred to as the lotus posture in the West, where the feet are placed on the opposite thigh. dosé/dosa: paper-thin pancakes made from lentil flour and served with curried vegetables (masala dosa) and chutneys.

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Durga: Parvathi, wife and Shakti (female primal energy) of Shiva, earned the name of Durga when she took a militant form to slay an asura (demon). She is a warrior goddess and, with the manifestations of Kali and Chandika, encompasses this active, at times darker aspect of the Devi. In West Bengal, the festival of Dussehra is known as Durga–Puja. eesh: also isha, ishwara, names for the personal god one worships. Ekadashi/Ekadasi: eleventh day of the moon, when orthodox Hindus observe a complete or partial fast. ekka: horse-cab on two wheels, recalling an ancient chariot. festival-born: in Kannada, habbada dina huttida, a person born on a very auspicious day particularily sacred to a deity. field-bund: embankment or dyke. Between rice fields, earthen embankments are built to keep in a certain amount of standing water for the flooding of the rice, especially during the early weeks of planting. filigree-tails: tuft of filigree that adorns the top of Moghul-style sandals in Northern India. flower-chariot: according to the Hindu almanac (panchaka), a series of sacred ceremonies are prescribed to be performed with the temple deity (utsavamurti). On a particular day of the Hindu calendar, it is taken outside the sanctum (garbagriha) and displayed during the village procession on a wooden chariot covered by flowers (ratotsava). Ganapati: ‘Lord of the Ganas’ (troops of inferior deities) commonly known as Ganesha, the elephant-headed god, son of Shiva and Parvathi. He is the god of wisdom and remover of obstacles, hence he is invariably propitiated at the beginning of any important undertaking, and is invoked at the commencement of books. Ganapati’s festival (Ganesha Chaturthi) comes at the end of the rainy season (August– September) and often lasts ten days. gandharvas: heavenly beings, one of whose offices was to prepare the soma juice for the gods. Gandhi-cap: a small foldable type of cotton headgear, made of simple white cloth. Along with khadi, the Gandhian-cap became its natural concomitant, a symbol of nationalism. Ganges, Ganga: the most sacred of all seven Indian rivers (sapta sindhava) and at the same time the name of the goddess Ganga, Santhanu’s first wife and daughter of the Himalayas. Traditionally a celestial river whose water is supposed to wash away the accretions of all actions (karma) and free human beings from rebirth. On returning from

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Benares, Hindus bring home some Ganges water in a copper pot sealed with wax (Ganga jal). They only drink this water at the moment of death, and at ceremonies of purification. gauh: ‘cow’. This term was used by the Sphota theory grammarians (e.g. Kumarila and Mandana) to discuss a statement of Patanjali’s famous question: “What is meant by ‘word’?” Gauri: ‘the yellow’ or ‘brilliant’ , ‘the golden skinned’, a name of the consort of Shiva and mother of Ganesha. Her festival is celebrated between August and September (Bhadra) and is immediately followed by Ganesha’s festival (Ganesh Chaturthi). Gauri is the bright side, the loving, tender, benevolent, keeper of life as opposed to Kali, the dark half of Nature, the bloodthirsty mistress of death. Gaya/Bodhgaya: in the state of Bihar, Bodhgaya is one of the four holiest places associated with Shakyamuni Buddha, where he attained enlightenment. Gaya is also a place about a hundred kilometres from Patna and a centre for Hindu pilgrims. Vishnu is said to have given Gaya the power to absolve sinners. Pilgrims offer funeral rice cakes (pindas) at the ghats along the river here and perform a lengthy circuit of holy places around Gaya, to free their ancestors from bondage to the earth. Gayathri/Gayatri: the most sacred verse of the Rig-Veda, addressed to the sun as Savitri, the generator. Personified as the Goddess, Savitri is daughter and wife of Brahma (Sata-rupa), mother of the four Vedas. It is the duty of every brahmin to repeat this verse during morning and evening devotions. This mantra consists of three lines: namely, ‘Om, bhur-bhuvah-svar / tat Savitur-varenyam / bargho-devasya dhimahi / dhiyo yo nah prachodayat / Om’. Its general meaning is: ‘Let us meditate on the adorable splendour of Savitri (sun); may it arouse our minds’. geejaga bird: small passerine bird related to the finch. ghats: stone steps leading to a sacred river, stream or lake. It also refers to a descent from a mountain; hence the mountain ranges parallel to the western and eastern coasts of the Peninsula. ghee: clarified butter. Since butter quickly becomes rancid in a warm climate, Indians usually melt it, and then, as it cools, draw off the liquid parts, called ghee. ghora: the destructive energy of the Great Goddess as opposed to the constructive and benevolent one (saumya).

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Gita: ‘the Song of the Divine One’, a celebrated episode of the Mahabharata, in the form of a metrical dialogue, in which the divine Krishna is the chief speaker, and expounds to Arjuna his philosophical doctrines. Godavery: a river, sacred to Hindus, that runs from Western to Southern India and is considered to be one of biggest river basins in India. It originates near Trimbak in the Nashik District of Maharashtra State. It flows east through the states of Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh into the Bay of Bengal near Rajahmundry. God-dedicated-cow: from Kannada Devarige (to God) bitta (given) hasu (cow). It is an ancient custom to offer cows and bulls to the gods and by doing so to increase one’s good fortune and transform negative karma (past and present actions). Gokurna/Gokarna: for Hindus, Gokarna, ‘cow’s ear’, is one of the most sacred sites in South India, Karnataka State. gopis: milkmaids with whom Krishna becomes their amorous companion. Gopala, literally means ‘protector of cows’, a name of Krishna, also known as Govinda, as a cowherd. The cowherd women’s intense longing for their beloved Krishna represents the yearning of the human soul for the divine. Pre-eminent among the gopis is Radha, Krishna’s consort. goshala/gaushala: in Sanskrit, go or gau means ‘cow’, shala means a sanctuary. The adobe or sanctuary for the cows and its progeny as calves and oxen. gram: a variety of legumes. gramadevata: village goddess whose protection is shared with the clan god (kuladeva). Granth Sahib: the most sacred book of the Sikhs. Gujarati/Gujerat: one of the Indian states whose capital is Ahmedabad, a major industrial city also called the ‘Manchester of the East’ due to its textile industries. gunas: from Sanskrit, ‘a string’ or ‘a single thread or strand of a cord or twine’. In more abstract uses, it may mean ‘a subdivision, species, kind’, and generally ‘quality’. In Samkhya philosophy, a Guna is one of three ‘tendencies’: tamas, sattva, and rajas. These categories have become a common means of categorizing behaviour and natural phenomena in Hindu philosophy.

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guru: spiritual teacher, ‘dispeller of darkness’ who has obtained liberation from the bondage of phenomenical world. Hakim: the first physician of unani medicine. haldi: turmeric. It has a distinctive smell and taste, a colouring property, and acts as both preservative and antiseptic. haldi invitation: the signs of a married woman, as opposed to a widow, were kumkum on the forehead and turmeric on the cheek and feet. Consequently, when women were invited to a female gathering, it was called a haldi-and-kumkum invitation, and both haldi and kumkum were offered to the guests, together with flowers and sandal-paste. halva: sugary dessert prepared with milk, almonds, ghee, and cardamom. happalam: a fritter made of rice paste. harikatha/harikatha-man: ‘story of God’. Generally, the haritaka performer extemporizes a verse narrative based on one of the Indian legends, with music and dance to heighten the effect. Sometimes the music and dance stop, and the performer explains the whole thing in familiar prose. Harischandra: one of the most important figures of Indian tradition. King of Ayodhya, he was so devoted to truth that he is still called Satya Harischandra, and thus celebrated for his piety and justice. When the gods decided to test his integrity, Harischandra and his queen Saivya underwent several hardships and lost their kingdom. But, in the end, the gods were so gratified by their exemplary behaviour that they permitted them to return to their kingdom. hasta-kamale: verse recited in the morning by Hindus looking at their opened hands. head peon: from Portuguese peão, ‘office boy’, an attendant, messenger, who has a considerable responsibility in large offices. Hemavathy/Himavat: the name of the river is connected with the term Himavat, the divine personification of the Himalaya mountains, husband of Mena or Menaka, and father of Parvathi and Ganga. himru: a special kind of weaving involving silk and cotton yarns. This technique of combining both silk and cotton evolved because Muslims were forbidden from wearing clothes made entirely of silk. Hitopadesha: ‘Good Advice’, the well-known collection of moral tales and fables by Narayana (eleventh century), compiled from the longer and older work called Panchatantra.

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hobli: in Karnataka state, an administrative division between the village and the taluk (a district of about a hundred villages). Holi: the annual festival of colours and the least religious of Hindu holidays, where the controversial boundaries of caste, gender, religion, and regional affiliations temporarily vanish in the inclusive exuberance and liveliness of springtime (Vasanta–Mahotsava). Celebrated for several centuries before Christ all over India in the month of March (Phalguna), most prominently in the northern regions of the subcontinent, the two-day festival marks both the awakening hopes of a new season – with its prospective harvest – and, on a higher metaphysical level, the transcending of self-conceit and selfishness. holy pot: translation of the pan-Indian term hundi, a container used to collect money, gold, and other valuable gifts offered to the deity. hookah: water pipe, hubble-bubble. A tobacco pipe consisting of an earthenware or wooden bowl, a reservoir of water, and a tube for drawing up the smoke. howdah: seat for carrying people on an elephant’s back. Indra: the most important and prestigious of the Vedic gods. As deity of the atmosphere, he is the god of rain, thunder, lightening and war. jackfruit: (Artocarpus heterophyllus) a species of tree of the mulberry family native to parts of South and Southeast Asia. Its fruit is the largest tree bearing fruit in the world; it can reach fruits weighting over 30 kg. The sweet yellow sheaths around the seeds have a taste similar to that of pineapple, but milder and less juicy. jaggery: molasses made from kitul palm sap. In Karnataka state, jaggery is poured into square wooden moulds and allowed to harden; then the glasslike pieces are removed and carefully packed in hay. jal/jala: water. jalatarang: musical instrument comprising vessels filled with water. Jallianwalabagh: the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, also known as the Amritsar Massacre, named after the Jallianwala Bagh (Garden) in the northern Indian city of Amritsar where, on 13 April 1919, British Indian Army soldiers under the command of Brigadier-General Reginald Dyer opened fire on an unarmed gathering of men, women, and children. Jamadar: a petty officer of the police force, a sergeant. Janata: ‘people’, the Janata Party is the People’s Party (J P P ), a coalition formed during the late-1970s with the sole purpose of defeating Indira Gandhi. Its leader was Morarji Desai, who lacked interest in the coun-

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try’s problems and therefore the party fell apart in late 1979, bringing Indira Gandhi back to power with a larger majority during the 1980 election. Jataka: Jataka literature is composed of some 550 myths and legends that have developed over the centuries about former existences of the Shakyamuni Buddha. Some of the tales are clearly Buddhist in origin, some are taken from earlier folklore. There are animal tales with morals attached, much as in the tradition of Aesop or the later La Fontaine in Europe. jawari: corn. jellebi/jalebi: orange-coloured squiggles with rose syrup inside made of flour, coloured and flavoured with saffron. jessamine/jasmine-oil: perfumed oil made from jasmin flowers boiled in coconut oil. jiva: ‘the individual self’, the ‘true’ life or ‘soul’ for the Hindu. As the world is bound by limitation of time and space, the infinite character of jiva is covered by maya. To escape from that bondage one must spiritually struggle to be merged with the Brahman, from whom all things are born, live, grow, and ultimately merge. Jodhpur: the largest city in the Rajastan state after Jaipur, founded in 1459 by Rao Jodha, a chief of the Rajput clan. It is from here that the jodhpurs, baggy-tight horse-riding trousers, take their name. Jumna: also Yamuna, which rises in a mountain called Kalinda (sun). Hence the river is personified as the daughter of the sun by his wife Sanjna. It is the second most sacred river in India after the Ganges. Kabir: a famous Indian saint whose songs are sung throughout the country. He lived from 1440 to 1518, a Muslim weaver by birth, but became a disciple of the celebrated Hindu saint, Ramananda. Kabir dedicated his hymns to the one god, Allah or Ram, and many of his songs were favourites with Mahatma Gandhi. Kabul: capital of Afghanistan, a main stopping-off point on the route between India and Russia. Kachar/Kachari: a powerful kingdom in medieval Assam. The rulers belonged to the Dimasa people, part of the greater Bodo–Kachari ethnic group. Some historians speculate that they are the remnants of the Mlechchha dynasty of Kamarupa kingdom. According to tradition, the Kacharis (Dimasas) had to leave the Kamarupa Kingdom in the ancient period due to a political turmoil. As they crossed the Brahmaputra

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river, some of their compatriots were swept down river. Later they came to be called Dimasa (Dima-fisa, sons of the great river Dima, the Dhansiri river). Kailas/Kailasi/Kailasa: a mountain in the Himalayas, north of Lake Manasa. It is also called Gana-parvata and Rajatadri, ‘silver mountain’, the paradise of Shiva. Kala/Kali: ‘the black’, terrible form of the goddess (Devi) commonly depicted with black skin, dripping with blood, surrounded by snakes and wearing a necklace of skulls. Kalabhairav: ‘the black’, another name of Shiva in his terrible form. Kali Yuga: the age of Kali, the iron age, according to one ancient Hindu belief. There are four ages: Krita, Treta, Dwapara, and Kali. The Kali age is the present one and the shortest of the four in which the gods are forgotten, disease and misfortune are common. At the end of this age will come dissolution: first famine, then fire, and finally flood, until all creation has been destroyed. kama: ‘desire’, ‘passion’, also indicating Kama-deva, the god of love. He inspired Shiva with amorous thoughts of Parvathi while he was engaged in penitential devotion, and for this offence the angry god reduced him to ashes by fire from his central eye. kamandala: the bowl of the ascetics (sadhus) often shaped like a human skull or may be a real human one. Kanchi/Kanchipuram: one of the seven sacred cities of India, near Chennai. The Goddess Kamakshi reigns here; her name means Shewith-the-Eyes-of-Desire. She is often associated with the Meenakshi of Madurai (She-with-the-Eyes-of-a-Fish), and Vishalakshi of Benares (She-with-Large-Eyes). When Kanchi became the Pallava capital (sixth–seventh century), the arts, especially literature, music, and dance, prospered. Today it is not only a significant temple city and pilgrimage site, but also an important centre of commerce and famous for its handwoven pure silk fabrics. Kanhia: familiar name for Krishna. Kanyakumari: Cape Comorin in South India; ‘Virgin Maiden’, another name for Durga. A number of myths grew up around this virgin goddess and a common strain ran through them all: unfulfilled love and eternal waiting. Once Parvathi started to practise austere penance to gain Shiva as her husband, the god eventually appeared before her and asked if she was ready to wait several aeons to pass and be alone in

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meditation until then. Parvathi promised him that she would wait to have him as her eternal husband. She returned to contemplation and still sits in a trance on the seashore as Kanyakumari. Karachi: the provincial capital of Sindh province and the largest city in Pakistan. karma: from Sanskrit karman, ‘action’, refers to the accumulation of causes one makes and their effects, lying deep within one’s life, which exert an often unseen influence over one’s future. Kartik: the seventh month of the Hindu calendar, falling usually in October–November. It is a custom is South India to light lamps at the entrances of houses, and on the last day the whole garden, the veranda, and the terraces are brightly lighted with oil lamps (Diwali). Kashi: also known as Benares and Varanasi, one of the holiest places in India, the city of Shiva on the bank of the sacred Ganges. katha: ‘story’. Kathasaritasagara: ‘The Ocean of the Rivers of Stories’, a collection of popular stories by Somadevabhatta of Kashmir composed between 1063 and 1081. Katyayana: an ancient writer of great celebrity (second–first century B C E ), who came after Panini, whose grammar he completed and corrected in what he called Varttikas, ‘supplementary rules and annotations’. Kenchamma: the village goddess of Raja Rao’s Kanthapura, one of the many manifestations of the great Goddess (Mahadevi), wife and Shakti of the god Shiva. Ketu: according to the astronomical scheme of the Hindu nine-planet cosmology (Navagraha), Ketu is the demon representing the descending node. It does not correspond to a real planet but, rather, to a result of a specific astral configuration (ketu kala), considered inauspicious by Hindus. khadi: homespun cloth. Mahatma Gandhi encouraged people to spin clothes instead of using imported ones (swadeshi). khanda: a measure used in Karnataka state; roughly 350 pounds. About eight to nine seers (a seer being almost two pounds) make a kolaga, and twenty kolagas make a khanda. khir/kheer: rice pudding. kirtan: hymn-singing groups.

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Kishindha/Kishkindhya: a country in the peninsula, thought to be in Karnataka state, which was taken by Rama from the monkey king Bali. The capital city was Kishkindhya. kraaled elephants: before elephants are broken they are forced into kraals (wooden enclosures), where they are systematically starved. When sufficiently weakened, they are given a little food and taken out for training. This unfortunate practice is defended by elephant trainers on the ground that an untrained elephant in full possession of its powers is too strong to be handled safely. krait: a venomous serpent (Bungarus coeruleus) akin to the cobra. Krishna: probably the most important incarnation (avatar) of god Vishnu sent to earth to fight for good and combat evil. The mythology of Krishna is among the richest in Hinduism: there are many versions of each part of the man-god’s history as recorded in the Mahabharata – particularly in the Bhagavad Gita – in the Harivansa, and in the Vishnu and Bhagavata Puranas. He is a favourite model of the devotee on the path of devotion (bhakti-marga), a whole-hearted humble surrender to the infinite grace of the Divine Being. He is depicted as being dark blue in colour and usually carries a flute, symbol of the call to divine love and enlightenment. krodha: ‘anger’, one of the ‘six powerful enemies’ (Arishadvarga). kumkum mark: forehead mark. Caste-marks are generally applied by men on both the forehead and the centre of the chest after a bath. Vaishnavaites wear different tilaks according to their sect: the U-shaped caste-mark (Vadakalais sect), the Y-shaped mark (Tenkalais sect) and caste-marks made with a kind of earth called gopi chandana (Madhvas sect). Shaivaites use ashes, sandal and vermilion and they usually wear their caste-marks (namas) as three horizontal lines on their forehead. kumkum water: water mixed with vermillion offered during the ritual of arathi to a deity along with flowers, coconuts, fruit, incense and canfor. kumkum: vermilion with which Indian women mark their foreheads as an auspicious and religious sign. kummarbund/cummerbund: a girdle, waist-belt or loin-band habitually worn by domestic servants, peons, and troops. kundalini: female power or energy (kundalini shakti), depicted as a coiled and slumbering serpent at the base of the spine in a chakra (centre of energy) pictured as a lotus. Through meditative techniques, the aspirant (sadhaka) awakens this power and causes it to ascend by way of the

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central channel (susumna nadi), which traverses the body along the line of the backbone. As the kundalini rises, it passes through six other chakras until it reaches the topmost one at the crown of the head (sahasrara), where it creates the bliss of awakening (mahasukha). kurta: a loose shirt or tunic falling either just above or somewhere below the knees of the wearer, a pullover-type shirt with a few buttons. It has side slits or seams for easy movement. Kurtas are usually teamed with baggy drawstring pants that fall loosely called pyjamas. kusha grass: (Eragrostis cynosuroides), a very sacred grass for Hindus used in certain religious ceremonies, especially those performed in connection with ancestors. laddu/ladu: sweet yellow-coloured balls made from chickpea flour. Lahore: once capital of the Punjab in undivided India, now one of the chief cities of Pakistan. lakh: in Hindi, ‘a hundred thousand’; ten million is a crore. Lakhpati or crorepati is someone possessing that amount of money. Lakshamma: a local manifestation of the Great Goddess. The suffix amma indicates the affiliation with Durga–Kali, the ferocious and dark aspect of the Devi. Lakshmi: goddess of affluence and abundance, wife and Shakti of Vishnu, represents the beautiful and bountiful aspect of Nature. As Bhoodevi, the earth-goddess, she nurtures life; as Shreedevi, the goddess of fortune, she bestows power, pleasure, and prosperity. With Lakshmi came a cow called Kamadhenu with enough milk to feed the world for all eternity, a wish-fulfilling gem called Chintamani, and a tree called Kalpataru that bore every flower and fruit desirable. Lakshmi usually appears seated on a lotus (Padmalaya), along with two or four elephants, symbols of fertility and strength. She is celebrated during the Feast of Lamps (Diwali) and inaugurates the beginning of the financial year for companies. lantana bush: a wild shrub with thorny stems and red and yellow flowers. lathi: a heavy bamboo stick, often metal tipped, used by all Indian police as their billy. As a long wooden pole is often used by peasants as a walking stick, and for defence against wild animals and robbers. Lilavathi: daughter of the mathematician and astronomer Bhaskara and the name of the treatise he wrote to distract her from her widowhood; a poetic book of puzzles, famous as an introduction to algebra.

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linga/lingam: phallic symbol of Shiva. Its female iconic symbol is the Yoni. lobha: ‘greed’, one of the ‘six powerful enemies’ (Arishadvarga). loin-cloth: a literal translation of the Kannada word langoti which means a strip of cloth. low-born: a lower-caste member usually called coolie, paria or dalit. mada: ‘arrogance’, one of the ‘six powerful enemies’ (Arishadvarga). Madhu: a name of a demon (asura) destroyed by both Vishnu and Ravana. Madhva: a celebrated scholar and religious teacher. As a religious philosopher he professed the doctrine of dvaita or dualism, according to which the Supreme Soul of the universe and the human soul are distinct. Madhyama: according to the grammarian Bhartrihari, the speech principle has four stages in the course of its manifestation: para, the highest level of language (Parabrahman, the supreme Reality); pashyanti, the principle of consciousness; madhyama, the utterance in its phonological structure, the sound pattern of the norm; vaikhari, the actual sound uttered by the speaker and heard by the listener. Magha: January–February in the Hindu calendar. Mahadevi: the Great Goddess, Parvathi–Durga–Kali, wife and Shakti of Shiva, often simply called Devi, the Ultimate Reality conceived as female. maharaja: also maharana or maharao, princely ruler or king. Mahatma: ‘the great soul’, appellative given to those who have reached moral and spiritual realization. It was Tagore who gave it to Gandhi; but the Indians more often addressed Gandhi with more familiar names like bapu (father), or bapuji or Gandhiji, where the suffix ji adds a special sense of veneration. Mahavira: founder of Jainism (sixth century B C E ), a contemporary of Shakyamuni Buddha, the last tirthankar. Jains believe that only by achieving complete purity of the soul can one attain liberation. Purity means shedding all karma, matter generated by one’s actions which binds itself to the soul. This is obtained by following various austerities such as fasting, meditation, retreating to lonely places, and other ascetic disciplines. mahua/mahwa: an intoxicating drink made with the flowers of the Madhuca indica.

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maidan: a flat open area in a city used for fairs, for cartment to camp overnight, for police drill, for military inspections and parades, and often for political meetings. maina/myna: a pet singing bird akin to a lark. maistri/maistry: a master-workman. More generally, any artisan such as a mason, a bricklayer, a blacksmith, a cook and a tailor. mandap/mandapam: pillared pavilion in front of a temple. Manes: according to certain traditions, the good dead go to live in the Ptruloka, or celestial region, among the gods, and are thus propitiated during the sraddha ceremony (funeral rite performed each year in honour of the spirits of the dead). Manikarnika Ghat: the last of the five famous ghats of Benares. This is where everything – creation – began and where it also ends. Parvathi is said to have dropped her earring here and Shiva dug the tank to recover it, filling the hole with his sweat. Manikarnika is also the main burning ghat and one of the most auspicious places that a Hindu can be cremated. mantra: an instrument of thought (man, to think; tra, a suffix used to make words denote instruments), or as a salvific thought, made by a series of potent esoteric syllables used for meditation and worship. Mantra–Shastra: book of divine or recognized authority on mantra; that portion of the Vedas which consists of hymns as distinct from the Brahmanas. Maratha/Mahratta: the name of a famous Hindu race, from the old Sanskrit name of their country, Maharashtra (Magna Regio). Maratha derives also from a tribal name Rathi or Ratha, ‘chariot fighters’, thus Maharatha means ‘Great Warriors’, once the dominant race of the Maratha Empire in the seventeenth century. margosa: corruption of the Portuguese word amargosa, ‘bitter’, indicating the character of the tree, also known as the neem tree (Azadirachta indica). It grows in almost all parts of India, and has a reputation for various remedial uses. Marwaris: people from Marwar in Rajasthan, but generally equivalent in name to businessmen. matsara: ‘envy’, one of the ‘six powerful enemies’ (Arishadvarga). maulvi/moolvee: a judge, a doctor of the Law. It is a usual prefix to the names of learned men and professors of law and literature. maund: unit of weight of about twenty kilograms, now largely superseded.

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Mayavada: the philosophy that the world is not real or unreal but a delusion. Everything except Brahman is illusory or phenomenal. milk-cup: according to the traditional village way of life, once bitten by a serpent people are cured by certain specialized doctors who know how to remove the venom through a series of complex rituals, comprising a cup of milk, and the chanting of mantras (in Hindi, sanp ke katane ki dava). mlechas: all those born outside the Hindu fold. moha: ‘attachment’, one of the ‘six powerful enemies’ (Arishadvarga): kama (desire), krodha (anger), lobha (greed), mada (arrogance), and matsara (envy). moksha: literally ‘setting free’ or liberation, spiritual freedom, realization of perfection in which we transcend the normal distinctions between self and non-self, good and evil and so on. Moksha is central to Hinduism as well as to Buddhism and Jainism. muezzin: in Arabic, mu’adhdhin; one who calls Muslims to prayer from the minaret. mullah: Muslim scholar, teacher or religious teacher. munshi: writer, secretary or teacher of languages. mutt/muth: form Sanskrit matha, a sort of convent where a celibate priest lives with disciples making the same profession, one of whom becomes his successor. Buildings of this kind are very common all over India, and some are endowed with large estates. Naga: serpent, nagara, ‘cobra’. In India, the serpent is worshipped during the Naga–Panchami festival (July–August) dedicated to Ananta, the serpent upon whose coils Vishnu rested between universes. Offerings are made to snake images and snake-stones (nagakal) to overcome any curse or infertility. In Hindu mythology, the same term refers to semidivine beings (Nagas) having a human face with the tail of a serpent, and inhabiting Patala, the regions below the earth. Nagas are also animist tribes from Nagaland in the South of Arunachal Pradesh which were almost decimated by the British since 1832. Naga leaders campaigned for independence before the British left, but were unwillingly absorbed into India, and continue to rebel until the present day. nagapratishta: also nagakal, votary stones carved with snake images usually placed under trees and worshipped by people for fertility and prosperity.

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nagaswara: also nadaswara, musical instrument similar to a flute whose sound is considered very auspicious by Hindus. Nala: prince of Nashada, master of the sixty-four arts and famous charioteer. The story of Nala and Damayanti is one of the episodes of the Mahabharata (Aranyaka parva, chapter 49). He was brave and virtuous, but addicted to the vice of gambling. Nala and Damayanti loved each other on the mere fame of their respective virtues and beauty. Bhima thus organized a swayamvara ceremony (the bridegroom-ceremony) for his only daughter, who recognized her lover and thus duly wed. But their love was disrupted by a demon, Kaliyug, who entered Nala and made him lose his kingdom by playing dice, thus forcing the couple to wander in the jungles. Meanwhile, Nala gained the knowledge of numbers from Rituparna; only then did he defeat his brother Pushkara in a dice game for the kingdom. Nala and Damayanti thereafter ruled Nashada happily for a hundred years. narayan: the original man, commonly referred to as Vishnu, the creator, under which he was first worshipped. Navratri: ‘Festival of Nine Nights’. In Gujarat, Dussehra is known as Navratri. nay: from Hindi nahin,’no’. nazar: offerings of gold and silver presented to a distinguished person. neem: also margosa, one of the most sacred trees of India (Azadirachta indica). The leaves are very bitter and, along with the bark, are employed as a powerful antiseptic to cure skin deseases. Since old times, the twig is used by most Indians to clean their teeth. nirvana: a term for the highest possible level of happiness. This is a state in which the individual no longer craves anything and sees beneath the layers of illusion and ignorance (avidya). This results in a feeling of total peace and inner freedom, where the mind experiences purity and stability. nizam: Before India’s independence from the British, the hereditary style of the reigning prince of the Hyderabad Territories. odès: fried cakes usually made with Bengal gram, salted and spiced. oil-shop: from Kannada enne angadi. In India, there are shops that only sell a variety of oils which are employed for cooking, domestic and medical purposes. paddy: unhusked rice, or rice as it comes straight from the rice fields. The husking of rice is one of the important activities of village women.

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padre: a priest, a clergyman or minister of the Christian religion, sometimes also indicating a church. pan/paan: an Indian meal should properly be finished with paan, the name given to betel leaf wrapped with lime or chalk (chunam), areca nut, and chewed with spices and other condiments (supari). Panchatantra: ‘five books’, a collection of Sanskrit tales written down between about 100 B C E and 500 C E by Vishnusaram for the edification of the sons of a Mahilaroopya king. The basic political principles taught through these tales are: saama (kind behaviour), daana (offering gifts), bheda (create disharmony to the enemy), danda (war), and upaya (to act cunningly). Panchayat: traditionally, every Indian village was ruled by the Five Elders, who collectively comprise the Panchayat. Further, each community within the village (caste, sub-caste) has its own Panchayat, invested with certain judiciary powers. Many Indian villages over the centuries have been relatively unaffected by historical and political changes and continue with the Panchayat system even today. pandal: a simple structure of bamboo poles and coconut leaves, raised almost anywhere as a shelter against rain and sun. It is usually put up at marriages, initiation ceremonies, anniversaries, and civic receptions. Pandavas: the descendants of Pandu, the five brothers and heroes described in the Mahabharata (Pandava, Dharmaraja, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva) who fought against the demons (Kauravas). pandit/pundit: a learned man, especially in Sanskrit lore. Panini: the celebrated grammarian (third century C E ), author of the work called Paniniyam. This is the standard authority on Sanskrit grammar, and it is held in such respect and reverence that it is considered to have been written by inspiration. Therefore, in old times, Panini was placed among the rishis. pankha/punkah: cloth fan, swung by pulling a cord. papa-punya: papa, ‘error, vice’; the corruption of the pure soul; punya is the virtue acquired through good deeds. para: an ultimate or fourth level of language developed by Kashmir Shaiva writers. pariah: the name of a low caste of Hindus. The word as gained widespread use as a term for anyone considered an ‘outcast’.

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parijata: tree said to have been produced by the churning of the ocean, and come into the possession of Indra, from whom it was wrested by Krishna and planted in the garden of his beloved Satyabhama. Parsi/Parsee: the descendants of those emigrants of the old Persian stock who left their native country and, retaining their Zoroastrian religion, settled in India, mainly in Gujarat, to avoid Muslim persecution. Parvathi/Parvati: ‘the mountaineer’, wife and Shakti of Shiva, himself a deity who dwells in mountainous regions and on the fringes of society. She is the Great Goddess (Mahadevi) usually portrayed as a wife sitting beside Shiva. She is the mother of Kartikeya, general of the army of the gods, and Ganesha, the benign elephant-headed deity of good fortune. She is celebrated in many traditional festivals (such as the Teej festival in Rajasthan, Dussehra in Karnataka, and Diwali in most of India) to improve the fertility of the earth and marital happiness. Parvathi-well: refers to Parvathi’s incarnation of Sati (cf. sati/suttee). When she committed suicide and leapt into the fire, water arose from the same spot, giving birth to the sacred Sarayu river. pashyanta/pashyanti: the supreme Reality, the principle of consciousness. According to the Sphota theory of language, it corresponds to the level of intuitive or flashlike understanding of the sentence meaning as a whole. Patanjali: the founder of Yoga philosophy and author of the Mahabhashya, a celebrated commentary on the grammar of Panini, and a defence of that work against the criticisms of Katyayana. He is supposed to have written about 200 B C E . patel: the headman of a village, having general control of village affairs, and forming the medium of communication with government officials. pathak: priest. patiji: husband. pativrata: in the Indian tradition, a chaste and devoted wife is believed to have almost divine power. patni/putnee: a person who pays for a kind of sub-tenure of land held by a zamindar. patwari: a village administrative clerk who works for the landholder (zamindar). pau: unit of weight of about two hundred and fifty grams. paysam: a sweet pudding made with milk, cardamom, almonds, cashews saffron, raisins and ghee. Sometimes also cooked with vermicelli pasta.

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peda: a round solid milk sweet and a particular favourite in South India. peon: lowest grade of clerical worker. pheni/feni: liquor distilled from coconut milk or cashews. phut: from Hindi phatna, ‘to burst’; anything that stops working. pice/pies/paisa: a small copper coin which corresponded to a hundredth of a rupee. pickle: a variety of spicy pickled side dishes or condiments. It serves as a flavour enhancer and is eaten typically in small pieces with the rest of the meal. There are a wide variety of different pickles made and each is usually made with a mixture of fruits or vegetables which are chopped and marinated in a liquid (often oil or lemon juice) and a variety of different spices and salt. pipal/peepull/peepal: also banyan or bo-tree, one of the most sacred trees of India (Ficus religiosa), which often occupies a prominent place in a village, or near a temple. Often a platform is built under its branches. Prahlada: the myth recalls the story of the demon king Hiranyakashypu, who tried to kill his child Prahlada as he worshipped Vishnu in defiance of him. In order to burn Prahlada alive and wipe out the very name of Vishnu, the king sent his sister Holika, who was divinely granted immunity from burning. She cajoled the young Prahlada to sit on her lap and took her seat in a blazing fire with the full conviction that she would have remained unscathed. But, because of Prahlada’s boundless faith in Vishnu, Holika was devoured by the flames and he walked out of the fire. A further variation of the same legend depicts the king Hiranyakashypu ready to decapitate Prahlada when Vishnu emerges from one of the pillars of the courtroom in the form of Narasimha (nara/man, simha/lion) and kills the king by opening his stomach with his sharp nails. Prahlad was thus installed on the throne and ruled wisely for many years. prasad: offering to the gods, shown to them and returned by the priests at the temples. prayaschitta: ‘purification’; special purificatory rites must be performed by anyone who has become defiled through either social or religious misconduct, otherwise the head of the community may excommunicate the offender from his caste. puja: a ritual prayer offered to the deity’s image usually conducted by a priest. The deity is washed, anointed with oils and sandalwood paste, dressed and garlanded, then gifted with incense, food and flowers. The

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priest presents devotees with the sacred flame over which they pass their hands, thus receiving darshana, the blessing of the divinity. This is the climax of the ceremony when the deity is openly displayed to the worshippers. pujari: the temple priest who performs puja. pukka: from Sanskrit parva, ‘mature’, and, by extension, ‘proper’. pungi: wind instrument made by a bamboo cane similar to a flute and played by snake-charmers. Puranas: ‘ancient narratives’ of Vedic Hindu texts containing myths, legends, and ritual instructions revolving around five major topics (pancha-laksana): world creation (sarga), distruction and creation (pratisarga), divine cosmogony (vamsha), the cycles of Manu (manvantara), and the universal royal dynasties (vamshanucarita). The Puranas, along with the Itihasas (epic poems), the Agamas (Holy Scriptures), form the Smriti, ‘what was remembered’ and handed down by tradition. puri: flat dough that puffs up when deep fried and usually served along with vegetables. Purusha: ‘the original eternal person’, the Absolute, the Supreme Self (Paramatman) or Spiritual Principle of human being (Jivatman). purusharthas: ‘value’, the meaning and purpose of life. The ‘Four Ends’ of life: dharma, artha, kama, moksha. Pushya: the tenth month of the Hindu calendar, corresponding to December–January. raga: any of several conventional patterns of melody and rhythm that form the basis for freely interpreted compositions. rag-wide: often for rough measurements peasants use a loin-cloth; hence a rag-wide is a strip of land perhaps a yard in width. rahu/rahukalam: ‘the dark planet’; like Ketu, it refers to parts of the day which are astrologically inappropriate for doing important things. raja: king, also rajkumar, prince. Rajputana: ancient name of Rajasthan. Rajputs: Hindu warrior castes, heroic fighters, and royal rulers of north India. rakshasas: goblins or evil spirits; demons, of whom Ravana was chief. It is thought that the rakshasas of the epic poems were the rude barbarian races of India who were subdued by Aryans.

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Ram Lila: ‘the Play of Rama’, any dramatic representation of the life of Rama usually based on Tulsidas’ medieval Hindi version of the epic, the Ramcaritmanas. In Delhi, Dussehra, the festival dedicated to Durga’s victory over the buffalo-headed demon Mahishashura, is known as Ram Lila and celebrated with fireworks and re-enactments of the Ramayana. Rama: seventh incarnation of Vishnu and made his apprearance in the world at the end of the Treta Yuga (second age). His story is given in full as the grand subject of the famous epic the Ramayana. Ramanuja: life-philosopher and spiritual guide (1017–1137 C E ) who provided the love of god by rediscovering India’s Vedic lore, after the wane of Buddhism. He established seventy-four spiritual centres in different parts of the country and popularized Vishistadvaita Vedanta. Ramayana: traditionally attributed to the sage Valmiki, the Ramayana is one of the two greatest Sanskrit epics of India (between 500 B C E and 200 C E ), the other being the much longer Mahabharata. It stands as a record of Hindu virtues and values. Rameshwaram: known as the Varanasi of the South, it is a major pilgrimage centre for both Shaivities and Vaishnavaities. It was here that Rama offered thanks to Shiva. Rani Saheba: rani, ‘queen’, and saheba, ‘lady’. Ravana: the multi-armed and multi-headed demon (rakshasa) who holds Sita prisoner in the Hindu epic the Ramayana. It is said that Shiva imprisoned him under his mighty leg for ten thousand years as punishment for his having attempted to move the Mountain of Heaven to Lanka. red-man: standard Hindu colloquialism for the British; also to a certain extent for all Europeans, due to their complexions being far more red than white. rice-water: water in which rice has been cooked (conjee, congee) and then used to starch clothes and saris. rishi: a seer or hearer and revealer of divine knowledge such as that contained in the Vedas and other sacred Hindu texts (Shruti). Veda means ‘knowledge’ and the rishis were therefore transmitters of divine knowledge revealed to them in visions. rohini: in astrological calculations, a star which indicates the coming, or the absence, of rain. rose-water: from the Persian word attar, an essence made with rose petals.

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rudrakshi: a wild, thick-hulled fruit, used for making prayer-beads (rudraksh mala). Sometimes brahmins, especially of the very learned class, use necklaces of these beads encased in gold or silver. rupee: in Hindi, roupaya; the standard unit of the Indian monetary system. It is divided into a hundred paise. saab/sahib: ‘sir’, from the Arabic word sahib, ‘ companion’. sabda: word or words that when spoken convey knowledge, especially of the Divine. Sabdabrahman is the Absolute, the Divine for Bhartrihari; the intertwined unity of word and consciousness that is one ultimate reality. For Bhartrihari it is both the material and the efficient cause of creation, also called the Divine Word (Daivi–Vak). sadhana: a personal discipline or practice for spiritual self-realization. sadhu: wandering ascetics with ash-smeared bodies and matted hair, an enduring icon of the spiritual quest in India. They often relinquish all wordily possessions and rely almost exclusively on food donations from devotees. Sahyadri: the Western Ghats, also known as the Sahyadri mountains, is a mountain range in the west of peninsular India. It runs north to south along the western edge of the Deccan Plateau, and separates the plateau from a narrow coastal plain along the Arabian Sea. About sixty percent of the Western Ghats are located in the state of Karnataka. sajji: fried semolina mixed with sugar and cardamom. Samkhya: a school of Vedantic philosophy, based on a cosmology in which mind and matter emanate from an original source as a result of the imperfections in the ‘types of being’. The Samkhya system conceives a certain state which is known as avyakta (unmanifested) when only the causes exist. It is also known as Prakriti, the primordial energy, the original substance of the entire creation. samsara: the endless process of birth, death and afterlife and rebirth as a result of one’s previous actions (karma). sannyas: ascetic stage, the last of the four stages of life (ashramas) in which is prescribed a saintly life with the only thought of merging with the divine. sapta-matrikas: from Sanskrit, the ‘Seven Little Mothers’, they may sometimes be eight (Ashta-matrikas). Aspects of the divine female energy (Devi) which become manifest in the act of eliminating the forces of evil. They are: Brahma’s consort ‘Brahmani’, Shiva’s ‘Mahesvari’, ‘Raudri’ or ‘Rudrani’; Vishu’s ‘Vaishnavi’, and in Varah

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(‘boar’) incarnation, ‘Varahi’; in Narsimha (‘lion’) incarnation, ‘Narsimhi’; Kartikeya’s ‘Kumari’, Indra’s ‘Indrani’, and of Yama ‘Chamunda’ or ‘Chamundi’. Saraswati/Saraswathi: in the Vedas, she is primarily a river, and then celebrated as a deity. In later Puranic literature she also appears as speech (Vac). Consort and Shakti of Brahma, she is the goddess of poetic inspiration and learning, often represented seated on a swan and having four hands: the most common items held are a book as a symbol of science and learning, a veena (a stringed instrument) representing musical arts, a rosary and a water pot which associate her with spiritual sciences and religious rites. Especially in West Bengal, Saraswati is celebrated during the spring festival of Vasant Panchami with books, musical instruments and other objects related to the arts and scholarship, all placed in front of the goddess to receive her blessing. sari/saree: the cloth which constitutes the main part of an Indian woman’s dress wrapped round the body. sastra: pronounced shastra, ‘a rule, book, treatise’, any book of divine or recognized authority, usually the law-books. Dharma Sastras are a compendium of a series of rites, habits, inhibitions, taboos and ceremonies of purifications which are supposed to regulate the moral code of every Hindu. satyagraha: ‘holding on to truth’, a term coined by Gandhi to indicate his theory of non-violence based on opposing injustice with love. satyagrahi: a practitioner of Gandhi’s quest for Truth. The satyagrahi uses trust, support, sympathy and, if necessary, his/her readiness to suffer to gradually open up the heart of the adversary and disarm any opposition. seer: the basic Indian measure, roughly two pounds in weight (almost one kilogram) and in liquids about a litre. serai: hospice for travellers. Shaivities: worshippers of Shiva. shakti/Shakti: embodied energy (lower-case); the Great Goddess (uppercase) or Mahadevi, identified with the creative force of the cosmos and the underlying potency of all things. Shakuntala: famous drama of Kalidasa. Foster girl of a sage, she marries King Dushyanta, who abandons her. A child is born of their union. Because of a curse, the kingdom forgets the marriage, but at the end they are united.

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shamoo: any person, usually well-known in the village, who, being possessed by the divinity, speaks oracularly; a speaker in tongues. shanbhog: a name used in Mysore for the revenue officer of the village; the same as patwari in other parts of India. Shankara: one of the greatest Vedanta philosophers, who lived in the lateeighth and early-ninth centuries C E and advocated the non-dualistic approach to Vedanta known as Advaita Vedanta, which states that Brahman is the only Reality, that the world is not real, and that the jiva is nothing else than Brahman itself (Brahma satyam jagam mithya jivo brahmaiva naparah). Shankara jayanthy is a folk entertainment, a public recital by a noted brahmin of the events associated with the life of Shankara together with moral interpolations. Shankranthi: also Khichari or Pongal, is the harvest festival and marks the end of the harvest season (January–February). The festivities last four days and include such activities as the boiling-over of a pot of pongal (a mixture of rice, sugar, dhal, and milk), symbolic of prosperity and abundance. shastri: a man of learning, one who teaches any branch of Hindu learning, such as law. sheesham/sissoo: the tree Dalbergia Sissoo and its wood, also known as rosewood. sheikh: an old man, an elder, chief, head of an Arab tribe; also a Muslim saint. sherbet: a beverage made with fruit, milk, rosewater, sometimes with the addition of wine or spirits. sherwani: a formal coat-like garment buttoned in the front, which reaches down to the knees, or lower. Usually it has embroidery or some other type of work on it. Shiva: ‘auspicious’. A manifestation of the Hindu Trimurti, in particular that related to transformation and destruction, without whom creation could not occur. He is commonly represented seated in profound meditation, with a third eye in the middle of his forehead, surmounted by the crescent moon. His matted locks are gathered up into a coil like a horn, bearing upon it a symbol of the river Ganges, which he caught as it fell from heaven. His neck is blue from drinking the deadly poison which would have destroyed the world. He is generally accompanied by his vehicle, the bull Nandi. Under the name of Rudra, he is the great destructive power (which implies reproduction); hence, as a restorer, he is

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represented by his symbol, the lingam. As Bhairava, he is the terrible destroyer who takes pleasure in destruction. He is celebrated on Shivaratri day (February–March) when Shiva danced the tandava (Hindu victory dance over the demon Mahisha). Shiv–Shivah: refers to Shiva and his consort Parvathi. Sholapur: an industrial centre in the Deccan, noted especially for its cotton mills. Siddapur/Sidhpur: a city in Eastern Gujarat around Ahmedabad, closely related to the Indus Valley cities of Mohenjodaro and Harappa (both in Pakistan), such as Lothal, Mehesena, and Modhera. siddha: highly evolved ascetics who are supposed to live in the midheavens. Sikh: a disciple of Sikhism, a religion with more than sixteen million people in India, mostly from Punjab, where it was founded by Guru Nanak in the late-fifteenth century. Sita: ‘a furrow’. In the Veda, she is the furrow and worshipped as a deity presiding over agriculture and fruits. In the Ramayana and later works, she is daughter of Janaka and wife of Rama. sitaphul: custard apple. sitar: stringed melody instrument. Sivoham: ‘I am Shiva’, or ‘I am the Absolute’; famous saying of Advaita Vedanta. Smriti: sacred texts not transmitted directly from the divine source but ‘remembered’ by human beings such as the Indian epics, Puranas and Itihasa. soma: intoxicating drink derived from the juice of a milky climbing plant (Asclepias acida), offered in libations to the deities and drunk by the Brahmans. Sphota: ideas that eternally exist within consciousness and that are evoked or manifested by the spoken words of sentences; can be directly perceived through intuition. The grammarian Bhartrihari deals with the linguistic and metaphysical features of the Sphota theory in his famous work the Vakyapadiya (fifth century C E ). Sravan: July–August according to the Hindu calendar. Sruti: lit. ‘what is heard’, hence ‘revelation’, the highest form of sacred texts such as the Vedas. sudra: low Hindu caste.

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swadeshi: another major cause promoted by Gandhi, which for most Indians meant the use of Indian cloth, not foreign, but which Gandhi defined as self-restriction to the use and service of one’s immediate heritage, one’s indigenous political institutions, one’s ancestral religion, and the goods produced in one’s own country and region. It also implied the propagation of Hindi as a national language. swami/svamin: ‘lord of the self’, a title of respect given to initiated Hindu monks. swaraj: self-government. More precisely, according to Gandhi’s satyagraha it refers to the inner corruption of the soul; hence the true meaning of swaraj is in overcoming the inner human baseness. swayamvara: choice of a husband by the bride herself. Talakamma: another manifestation of the Great Goddess as a village deity. taluk: a subdivision of a district, presided over as regards revenue matters by a tehsildar. tarai/terai: foothills of the Himalayas. tehsil/tahsildar: from Arabic ‘to collect’; the chief revenue officer of a subdivision of a district. thothi: an inner courtyard for private use. Thug/thuggee: from Sanskrit staga, ‘cheat, swindler’; a member of the group of stranglers demonized by the British as a religious cult. According to some scholars, thugs were deceivers and con men, not a hereditary religious cult of human sacrifices. Tibetan tanakas/thangkas: from thang, ‘a flat plain’; scroll painting on a flat surface. Tilak: Lokamanya Bal Gangadhar Tilak (1856–1920) was one of the most important leader of India before the coming of Mahatma Gandhi. He believed that all noble methods, including violence, could be used, whereas Gandhi firmly preached non-violence and truth as the only means to obtain India’s independence. tirtha/tirtham: a sacred ford, a bathing place. Hindu pilgrimages are connected with water, especially the river. The Ganges was the first river to be regarded as holy, and had its sacredness extended to other rivers of India. Tirthankar: the twenty-four great Jain teachers.

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Toddy: from Hindi tari, meaning the juice of the Palmyra, called the toddy palm, which is fermented, thus becoming an intoxicating drink widely enjoyed among the agricultural classes. Tripura: ‘triple city’; an aerial mythical city, destroyed by fire in a war with the gods. tulasi/tulsi: sacred plant connected to the worship of Vishnu–Narayana– Krishna, similar to basil (Ocymum sanctum). It is also an anthropomorphic manifestation of the Great Goddess Tulsi-devi, who lived in Vaikunta, the heavenly abode of Narayana, as his wife. tulasi-vrindavan: a clay structure on which the tulsi plant is palnted and worshipped. twice-born: English translation of the Sanskrit term dvija, ‘twice-born’, because, according to Hindus, one is first born physically and then, once awakened to Brahman, is reborn again spiritually to the immortality of the Self through the ritual initiation of upanayana. two-feet: from Sanskrit padayugma or padayugala; the name that indicates the spiritual master (guru) who has achieved spiritual realization. udbhavamurti: a stone on which a deity image is carved. Unani: ‘Greek’. It is used to refer to Graeco-Arabic or Unani medicine (c.1025 C E ), also called Unani-tibb, based on the teachings of Hippocrates, Galen, and Hakim Ibn Sina (Avicenna), and based on the four humours: phlegm (balgham), blood (dam), yellow bile (safra), and black bile (sauda). In India, there are about hundred Unani Medical Colleges where the Unani system of medicine is taught. Both Unani and Ayurveda medicine are based on the theory of the presence of the elements in the human body. According to followers of Unani, these elements are present in different fluids; their balance leads to health, their imbalance to illness. Upadesha Sahasriyam/Upadesha Sahasri: ‘A Thousand Teachings’, a philosophical treatise written in both prose and verse by Shankara, in which he explains a method of teaching the means to spiritual liberation. upanayanam: the initiation of a child by a teacher into sacred lore and invested with the sacred thread. It is also a means of communion with the society because without it none could marry an Aryan girl. Upanishads: a compilation of Sanskrit writings considered an extention of early Vedic thought, or Vedanta (‘the end of the Vedas’). Their emphasis is on inwardness and spiritual life, a differentiation between the self

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of the body (jiva) and that of the true self (Atman). Understanding that the true Self within must identify with Brahman, the goal of the thinkers in the Upanishads is moksha, release from the world of physical phenomena. upanyasa: ‘lecture’. In the oral tradition of Indian storytelling, refers to commentaries and explanations of a story (katha). uppittu: steam-cooked semolina served with nuts and other condiments. Uttara Chiarita: usually refers to the Uttara–Rama–Charita, ‘the later chronicle of Rama’, a drama by Bhavabhuti (eighth century) on the later part of Rama’s life. More rarely, it refers to the Uttara–Naishada– Charita, a poem on the life of Nala, king of Nishada, written about the year 1000 C E by Harsha, a celebrated sceptical philosopher. uvaraj: prince; uvarani princess. vaikhari: gross or physical level of uttered speech of the Sphota theory. Vaisakh: April–May, when the crops are harvested in Punjab. Vaisakhi is the most important festival in the Sikh calendar and takes place in the first lunar month of Vaisakh, which falls on 14 April each year. Vaishnavaities: followers of Vishnu. vaisya: a member of the caste of merchants or tradesmen, the third caste. vak-artha: sentence-meaning. According to the theory of verbal comprehension upheld by the Mamamsakas of the Bhatta school and by some of the Naiyayikas, the meaning of a sentence is a concatenation of the individual items expressed by the words. vakil/vakeel: an attorney; an authorized representative. Vakyapadiya: Bhartrihari’s magnum opus, even though partly incomplete, is the only extant work comprehensively dealing with the linguistic features of the Sanskrit language and the philosophy of grammar, more specifically the analysis (vyakarana) of the sentence with the Ultimate Reality (Sabdabrahman). Vande Mataram: ‘I bow to thee, O mother’; the celebrated Indian song taken from a novel by B.C. Chatterjee (1838–94). Vasistha/Vasishtha: ‘most wealthy’. A celebrated Vedic sage and guru of Rama. His teachings are embodied in the Yoga Vasistha, believed by some scholars to be a part of the Ramayana, and regarded as one the greatest books on Advaita Vedanta. He was the possessor of Nandini (also known as Kamadhenu or Surabi), the cow of plenty, which had the power of granting him all things (vasu) he desired; hence his name.

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Vayu–Putra: the god of the wind. In the Vedas it is often associated with Indra, and rides in the same chariot with him, drawn by a thousand horses. Vedanta: ‘the culmination of the Veda’. One of the six darshanas (‘demonstrations’) of Hinduism which concentrates on knowledge of the divine power, Brahman, and on the four major sacred Vedic texts (Rig, Yajur, Sama, and Atharva–Veda). It divides into three main school: Advaita Vedanta (non-dualism) as propounded by Shankara; Vishistadvaita, or Bhedabheda (qualified monism), as propounded by Ramanuja; and Dvaita Vedanta (dualism), as propounded by Madhva. Vedas: from Sanskrit vid, ‘to know’; refers to four ancient Indian collections of hymns and ritual formulae – the Rig Veda, the Atharva Veda, the Sama Veda, and the Yajur Veda – that are the foundation of the Hindu religion. The Vedas consist of hymns written in an old form of Sanskrit between 1500 and 1000 B C E or, more specifically, in the Samhita period (c.2000–1100 B C E ). The Vedas and the Upanishads are the ancient scriptures of the Aryans, who came to be known as Hindus in later years. Vedavathy: the ‘vocal daughter’ of the sage Kusadhvaja. In the Ramayana, when Ravana was passing through a forest in the Himalayas he met with Vedavathy. He fell in love and tried to win her, but she remained obedient to her father’s wish for her to be Vishnu’s bride. To escape Ravana’s persecution, she entered a blazing fire with the promise that she would be born again for his destruction. It was she who was then born as Sita, and was the ultimate cause of Ravana’s death, although Rama was the agent. Vedic: refers to Vedic literature, conventionally divided into two parts: the earlier part, the Sruti (revealed literature), consisting of the Vedas and the Brahmanas, including the Aranyakas and the Upanishads; and the latter part, the Smriti (literature based on tradition) written in the form of Sutras, the most important of which are the six Vedangas (members of the Vedas), the six subjects that must be studied for the reading, understanding, and proper sacrificial employment of the Vedas. Vedism: refers to the schools of Indian thought and belief based on the sacred texts (Sruti). This pre-Hinduism grew directly out of the religion brought by the Aryan Indo-European settlers who invaded India in the second millennium B C E .

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vidya: ‘knowledge’ leading to the realization of the Utimate Reality. Vidyaranya: ‘forest of learning’, also know as Madhava, a celebrated scholar and religious teacher who lived in the fourteenth century. As a religious philosopher of dvaita (dualism), he opposed Shankara’s doctrine of advaita (non-duality) according to which God and soul, spirit and matter are all one. Vindhyas: the mountains which stretch across India and divide Hindustan from the Dakhin. visarga: from Sanskrit, ‘sending forth, discharge’; in Sanskrit phonology visarga (also called, equivalently, visarjaniya by earlier grammarians) is the name of a phone, /h/, and an allophone of /r/ and /s/ in pausa (at the end of an utterance). Vishistadvaita Vedanta: the theory of the Absolute as Brahman the sharirin (the owner of the body) with the universe as sharira (body); panorganismal monism. Vishnu: the Preserver of the universe, the second god of the Hindu triad (Trimurti). When powers of good and evil (gods/goddeses and demons) are in contention for domination over the world, Vishnu descends to earth (as avatar) to equalize the forces. He is portrayed as blue- or black-skinned and has four arms: the first holds a conch (sankha), indicating spread of the divine sound; one holds a disc (chakra), the wheel of time; one holds a lotus (padma), symbol of glorious existence, and the fourth hand holds a mace (gada), indicating the power and the punishing capacity of the god if discipline is ignored. His consort is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, and his vehicle is Garuda, the swiftflying bird that can spread Vedic knowledge with great courage. Vishwamitra: one of the seven great sages (rishis). In the Puranas he appears as a king in the myth of Kamadhenu (the cow of plenty) whereas in both the Mahabharata and the Ramayana he is Menaka’s lover. He occupies a prominent position in the Rig-Veda, being the rishi of the hymns in the third Mandala, which contains the celebrated verse Gayatri. Vyakarana Mahabhasya: a work on the science of Sanskrit grammar studied by Panini and Candragomin, compiled by Shakatayana in the ninth century. washerman/woman: English translation of the Hindi term dobhi-wallah. Yagnyavalkya: a celebrated sage to whom are attributed several works (White Yajurveda, Satapatha Brahmana, Brihad Aranyaka, Yagnya-

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valkyasmriti). The Mahabharata makes him present at the royal sacrifice (raja suya) performed by Yudhishthira. He is known to have inculcated the necessity of religious retirement and meditation, so he is considered as having been the originator of the Yoga doctrine, and to have helped in preparing the world for the preaching of Shakyamuni Buddha. yakshas: a class of ancient Indian life-energy deities, ordinarily associated with vegetation, particularly trees. Yama: the god of the departed spirits and judge of the dead. Yashodha: foster-mother of Krishna. Yoga: from Sanskrit yuj, ‘to join, to yoke’; the ‘union’ of the individual soul with the Supreme Soul. One of the six schools of orthodox Indian philosophy systematized by Patanjali. It describes a practical psychological discipline for the realization of Truth through concentration and meditation. yogi/yogin: a person who lives and practises according to the Hindu Yoga system of meditation and sense-control to produce mystical experience and the union of the individual soul with the universal spirit. yoni: the female sexual organ, a representation of the Goddess; the yoni, in conjunction with the lingam, symbolizes the female aspect of the universe, the Shakti of Shiva. Yuga: an age of the world. They are four in number (Satya, Treta, Dvapara, and Kali) and are within a kalpa, which corresponds to a day and night of Brahma (4,320,000,000 years). zamindar: a landlord, sometimes owner of a whole village.

Chronology ———————

1908 1912 1915 1925 1926 1929

1931

1932 1933

1934

Born 5 November in Hassan (Mysore, now Karnataka State). His mother, Gauramma, passes away. Enters the Muslim Institute Madrasa-e-Aliya (Hyderabad). Graduates from Madrasa as the only Brahmin student. Studies English with Eric Dickinson and French with Jack Hill for a year at the Aligarh Muslim University (Northern India). Graduates with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and History at the Nizam College (Hyderabad). Invited by Sir Patrick Geddes to study at the Collège des Écossais (Montpellier). Receives the Asiatic Scholarship for study abroad from the government of Hyderabad. Travels to France and studies French language and literature at the University of Montpellier. Marries Camille Mouly. Begins writing his first short stories in Kannada (his mother tongue) for the periodical Jaya Karnataka (Dharwar). Undertakes a research project entitled “The Influence of India on Irish Literature” under the supervision of Louis Cazamian at the Université de Paris–Sorbonne. Appointed to the editorial board of Le Mercure de France (Paris), a position he held until 1937. Returns to India and spends a few months at Pandit Taranath’s ashram in Tungabhadra (Southern India). Publishes two short stories: “Javni,” in Asia (New York), in English; “Akkayya,” in Cahiers du Sud, and “Javni,” in Europe (Paris), in French. Publication of “In Khandesh” in The Adelphi (London) and a French version of “A Client” in Le Mercure de France (Paris).

184 1935 1937 1938 1939

1940 1942

1943

1944 1946 1947 1948 1949 1950 1953 1958 1959 1960 1963

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS “The True Story of Kanakapala: Protector of Gold” published in Asia. A French version of “The Little Gram Shop” published in Vendredi (Paris). Publication of his first novel Kanthapura in London and the short story “The Cow of the Barricades” in Asia. Marriage with Camille Mouly ends in divorce. Visits Sri Aurobindo’s ashram in Pondicherry and lives for a while in Ramana Maharshi’s ashram (Southern India). Co-edits, with Iqbal Singh, Changing India: An Anthology (London). His father, H.V. Krishnaswamy, passes away. Visits Narayana Maharaj (Maharashtra State, India). Spends six months in Mahatma Gandhi’s ashram (Sevagram). During the political movement “Quit India” against British rule, takes part in underground activities with a socialist group. Appointed editor of the periodical Tomorrow (Bombay) with Ahmed Ali. Meets his guru, Sri Atmananda, in Kerala (Southern India). Continues, then terminates, editorial work on Tomorrow. Publication of “Narsiga” in Horizon (Bombay). Collaborates with the cultural association Sri Vidya Samiti (Vanaparti) and Chetana (Bombay). Publication of The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories and the Indian edition of Kanthapura (Madras). Returns to France and co-edits another anthology with Iqbal Singh, Whither India? (Bombay). Edits Jawaharlal Nehru’s Soviet Russia: Some Random Sketches and Impressions (Bombay). First visit to the U S A . “India – A Story” published in Encounter (London). Returns to India with André Malraux. “The Cat” published in Chelsea Review (New York). Publication of The Serpent and the Rope in London. Publication of “Nimka” and “The Policeman and the Rose” in the Illustrated Weekly of India (Bombay). Teaches Indian philosophy at the University of Texas. Kanthapura and The Serpent and the Rope are published in America (New York).

Chronology 1964 1965

1966 1968 1969 1971 1972 1976 1978 1980 1983 1984 1986 1988

1989 1997 1998

2006

185

Receives the Sahitya Academy Award (National Academy of Letters, New Delhi) for the novel The Serpent and the Rope. Publication of The Cat and Shakespeare: A Tale of India (New York) and Comrade Kirillov in France (Paris). Marries Katherine Jones, with whom he has a son. Starts teaching Indian philosophy regularly at the University of Texas (Austin). Publication of The Serpent and the Rope in India (New Delhi). Awarded the prestigious Padma Bhushan (Order of Lotus) by the government of India. Publication of The Cat and Shakespeare in India (New Delhi). Becomes honorary member of the Woodrow Wilson International Center (Washington D C ). Comrade Kirillov published in India (New Delhi). The Policeman and the Rose: Stories published in India (New Delhi). Malayalam translation of The Cat and Shakespeare published (Kottayam, Kerala State). Retires as Professor Emeritus of Philosophy from the University of Texas (Austin). Becomes honorary member of the Modern Language Association of America. He visits Japan. Marries Susan Vaught Rao, with whom he has two sons. Publication of The Chessmaster and His Moves (New Delhi). Receives the Neustadt International Prize for Literature (University of Oklahoma). A special edition of World Literature Today is dedicated to his work. Publication of On the Ganga Ghat (New Delhi). Publication of his essay-collection The Meaning of India and the Hindi version of The Serpent and the Rope (New Delhi). The Great Indian Way: A Life of Mahatma Gandhi is published on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of India’s independence. Dies 8 July in Austin (Texas), at the age of 97.

Select Bibliography ———————————

Primary Sources Novels and Short Stories Kanthapura (1938; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1997). The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories (Bombay: Oxford U P , Champak Library, 1947). Contains: “Javni,” Asia (New York; November 1933); “The Little Gram Shop,” Vendredi (Paris; 1937) [in French]; “The True Story of Kanakapala, Protector of Gold,” Asia (New York; September 1935); “Akkayya,” Cahiers du Sud (Paris; December 1933) [in French]; “Narsiga,” Horizon (Bombay; 1944); “A Client,” Mercure de France (Paris; August 1934) [in French]; “In Khandesh,” The Adelphi (London; November 1934); “Companions” (c.1941); “The Cow of the Barricades,” Asia (New York; August 1938). The Serpent and the Rope (1960; New Delhi: Orient Paperbacks, 1995). The Cat and Shakespeare: A Tale of Modern India (1965; New Delhi: Orient Paperbacks, 1992). Comrade Kirillov (New Delhi: Orient Paperbacks, 1976). The Policeman and the Rose (New Delhi: Oxford U P /Three Crowns, 1978). Contains the stories of The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories (with the exception of “Narsiga” and “A Client”) and the following three: “India: A Fable,” originally as “India: A Story,” Encounter 1.2 (London; November 1953): 59–63; “Nimka,” Illustrated Weekly of India (Bombay; 19 May 1963): 16–17; “The Policeman and the Rose,” Illustrated Weekly of India (Bombay; 6 October 1963): 36–39. The Chessmaster and His Moves (1988; New Delhi: Vision, 2001). On the Ganga Ghat (1989; New Delhi: Orient Paperbacks, 1993).

Articles and Non-Fiction Prose “Pilgrimage to Europe,” Jaya Karnataka (Dharwar) 10.1 (1931): 27–33. “Europe and Ourselves,” Jaya Karnataka (Dharwar) 10.3 (1931): 204–207. “Romain Rolland, the Great Sage,” Jaya Karnataka (Dharwar) 11.1 (1933): 46–51. “Pandit Taranath,” Asia (New York, 1935): 10–15.

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“The Premier of Shakuntala,” in Asia (New York, 1943): 365–68. “Jupiter and Mars,” Pacific Spectator 8 (1954): 369–73. “Aurobindo Ghose: An Anniversary Meeting Address,” Arts and Letters: Journal of the Royal India and Pakistan Society 31.2 (1957): 4–6. “André Malraux Among the Gods of India,” Texas Quarterly 4.4 (Winter 1961): 102–11. “Varanasi: Cities of India,” Illustrated Weekly of India (3 September 1961): 12–15. “The Moon in Lucknow,” Illustrated Weekly of India (5 November 1961): 15–17. “A Nest of Singing Birds,” Illustrated Weekly of India (10 December 1961): 27–29. “Trivandum,” Illustrated Weekly of India (25 February 1962): 12–16. “The Meaning of India,” Illustrated Weekly of India (12 August 1962): 18–19. “Fables for the Feeble,” Illustrated Weekly of India (27 January 1963): 39. “The Indian Destiny,” Illustrated Weekly of India (3 September 1961): 12–15. “Books Which Have Influenced Me,” Illustrated Weekly of India (10 February 1963): 45; repr. in Aspects of Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik (Madras: Macmillan, 1979): 45–49. “Diwali Comes to Ramu,” Illustrated Weekly of India (17 November 1963): 15–19. “Jawaharlal Nehru: Recollections and Reflections: A Symposium,” Illustrated Weekly of India (15 November 1964): 64–67. “Recollections of E.M. Forster,” in E.M. Forster: A Tribute with Selections from His Writings on India, ed. K. Natwar–Singh (New York: Harcourt Brace & World, 1964): 15–32. “The Gandhian Way: Replies to a Questionnaire on Gandhi,” Illustrated Weekly of India (14 February 1965): 39. “The Writer and the Word,” Literary Criterion 7.1 (1965–67): 76–78; repr. in World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 538–39. “Irish Interlude,” Saturday Review 49.26 (New York, 25 June 1966): 32, 37–38; repr. in Illustrated Weekly of India (9 April 1967): 21. “The Climate of Indian Literature Today,” Literary Criterion 10.3 (Winter 1972): 1–7. “Aru and Toru.” Preface to Toru Dutt’s Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1972). Les Temples de Khajuraho, préface de Raja Rao, ed. Marcel Flory & André Martin (Lucerne: Delpire, 1965). “The Caste of English,” in Awakened Conscience: Studies in Commonwealth Literature, ed. C.D. Narasimhaiah (New Delhi: Sterling, 1978): 420–22. “Autobiography: Entering the Literary World,” Journal of Commonwealth Literature 13.3 (April 1979): 28–32; repr. in World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 536–38. “The Cave and the Conch: Notes on the Indian Conception of the Word,” in The Eye of the Beholder: Indian Writing in English, ed. Maggie Butcher (London: Commonwealth Institute, 1983): 44–45. “Poetry of O.P. Bhatnagar: A Bird’s Eye View,” in Considerations: Critical Responses to O.P. Bhatnagar’s Poetry, ed. Niranjan Mohanty (Berhampur: Poetry Publications, 1985): 129–39.

Selected Bibliography

189

“The Ultimate Word,” Temenos 9 (London, 1988). “Entering the Literary World,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 536–38. “Laureate’s Words of Acceptance,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 534. “Creatures of Benares,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 540–46. The Meaning of India (New Delhi: Vision, 1996). The Great Indian Way: A Life of Mahatma Gandhi (New Delhi: Vision, 1998).

Books Edited by Raja Rao Changing India: An Anthology, ed. Raja Rao & Iqbal Singh (London: Allen & Unwin, 1939). Whither India? ed. Raja Rao & Iqbal Singh (Bombay: Padma, 1948). Soviet Russia: Some Random Sketches and Impressions by Jawaharlal Nehru, ed. Raja Rao (Bombay: Chetana, 1949).

Translations Kanthapura. Swedish tr. Jonason Olov (Stockholm: Folket i Bild, 1953). Le serpent et la corde, French tr. Georges Fradier (Paris: Calmann–Lévy, 1959). Kanthapura, Spanish tr. José Rovira (Barcelona: Seix Barral, 1966). La Chatte et Shakespeare, French tr. Georges Fradier (Paris: Calmann–Lévy, 1966) Le Camarade Kirillov, French tr. Georges Fradier (Paris: Calmann–Lévy, 1966). Kanthapura, Hungarian tr. Peter Balaban (Budapest: Európa Könyvkiadó, 1979). Poochayum Shakespearum, Malayalam tr. K. Ayappa Paniker (Kottayam: D C Books, 1980). Javni. “L’India – Una favola, La vera storia di Kanakapala, Il custode dell’oro,” tr. Lidia Zazo, in Racconti dall’India, ed. Claudio Gorlier & Paolo Bertinetti (Milan: Oscar Mondadori, 1989). Kanthapura, Italian tr. Alessandro Monti (Como: Ibis, 1994). Sarpa O Rajju, Bengali tr. Ranendranath Bandyopadhyay (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1994). Samp aur Rassi, Hindi tr. Balraj Komal (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1996). Sulle gradinate del Gange, Italian tr. Alessandro Monti (Florence: Giunti, 2000). Kanthapura, German tr. Ulrich Blumenbach (Zürich: Dörlemann, 2003).

Secondary Sources Interviews Bhattacharji, Shobhana. “Interview with Raja Rao,” The Book Review (New Delhi, September–October 1982): 63–67. Kaushik, Asha. “Meeting Raja Rao,” Literary Criterion 18.3 (1983): 33–38. Mathur, Om Prakash. “Excerpts from an Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Political Novel and Other Essays, ed. Mathur (Allahabad: Kitab Mahal, 1995): 191–98. Niranjan, Shiva. “An Interview with Raja Rao,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. Krishna Nandan Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 19–28.

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Parthasarthy, R. “The Future World is Being Made in America: An Interview with Raja Rao,” S P A N 17 (September 1977): 30–31. Reddy, P. Bayapa. “A Conversation with Raja Rao,” in Studies in Indian Writing in English, ed. Reddy (New Delhi: Prestige, 1990): 88–92. V[asu], S.V. “Raja Rao: Face to Face,” Illustrated Weekly of India (5 January 1964): 44–45.

Monographs on Raja Rao Bhattacharya, P.C. Indo-Anglian Literature and the Works of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Atma Ram, 1983). Celly, Anu. Women in Raja Rao’s Novels: A Feminist Reading of “The Serpent and the Rope” (Jaipur: Printwell, 1995). Dayal, Prabh. Raja Rao: A Study of His Novels (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1991). Dey, Esha. The Novels of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Prestige, 1992). Hardgrave, Robert L., Jr., ed. Word as Mantra: The Art of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Katha, 1998). Mittapalli, Rajeshwar, & Pier Paolo Piciucco, ed. The Fiction of Raja Rao: Critical Studies (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001). Naik, M.K. Raja Rao (New York: Twayne, 1972). Nanda, Nivendita. Raja Rao and the Religious Tradition (New Delhi: Anmol, 1992). Narasimhaiah, C.D. Raja Rao (1973; New Delhi: Doaba House, 2000). Narayan, A. Shyamala. Raja Rao – The Man and His Works (New Delhi: Sterling, 1988). Nirajan, Shiva. Raja Rao: Novelist as Sadhaka (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1985). Niven, Alistair. Truth Within Fiction: A Study of Raja Rao’s “The Serpent and the Rope” (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1987). Ramachandra, Ragini, ed. Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000). Rao, A. Sudhakar. Socio-Cultural Aspects of Life in the Selected Novels of Raja Rao (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999). Rao, K.R. The Fiction of Raja Rao (Aurangabad: Parimal Prakashan, 1980). Saranji, Jaydeep, ed. Raja Rao: The Master and His Moves (New Delhi: Authors Press, 2007). Sethi, Rumina. Myths of the Nation: National Identity and Literary Representation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1999). Sharma, J.P. Raja Rao: A Visionary Indo-Anglian Fiction (Meerut: Shalab Book House, 1980). Sharma, K.K., ed. Perspectives on Raja Rao (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1980). Sharrad, Paul. Raja Rao and the Cultural Tradition (New Delhi: Sterling, 1987). Singh, Paraminder. A Semiotic Analysis of Raja Rao’s “The Serpent and the Rope” (New Delhi: Bahri, 1991). Srivastava, Narsingh. The Mind and Art of Raja Rao (Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 1980).

Selected Bibliography

191

Tripathi, J.P. Raja Rao: The Fictionist (New Delhi: B.R. Publishing, 2003). Trivedi, Harish, ed. Raja Rao Birth-Centenary Essays (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2010).

Articles and Book Chapters on Raja Rao Abraham, T.J. “Raja Rao: The Chessmaster As Puja,” in A Critical Study of the Novels of Arun Joshi, Raja Rao and Sudhin N. Ghose, ed. Abraham (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999): 68–85. Agnihotri, G.N. “Raja Rao: The Distinguished Philosopher–Novelist,” in Indian Life and Problems in the Novels of M.R. Anand, Raja Rao and R.K. Narayan, ed. Agnihotri (Meerut: Shalabh Book House, 1984): 61–82. Alam, Qaiser Zoha “Kanthapura’s Style: A Point of View,” in Language and Literature: Divers Indian Experiences, ed. Alam (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1996): 1–26. Alterno, Letizia. “The Mystic Cat: Reality and Māyā in Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare,” Kakatiya Journal of English Studies 22 (December 2002): 54–76. Amur, G.S. “Raja Rao: The Kannada Phase,” Journal of Karnatak University (Dharwar) 10 (1966): 40–52. ——. “Self-Recognition in The Serpent and the Rope,” in Indian Fiction in English, ed. P. Mallikarjuna Rao & Rajeshwar Mittapalli (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999): 92–99. Belliappa, K.C. “The Question of Form in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Written in English 24.2 (1984): 407–16. Bhatnagar, K.C. “Raja Rao: Poetry as Prophecy,” in Realism in Major Indo-English Fiction, ed. Bhatnagar (Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 1980): 209–48. Brians, Paul. “Raja Rao: Kanthapura (1938),” in Modern South Asian Literature in English, ed. Brians (Westport C T : Greenwood, 2003): 27–46. Coppola, Carlo. “Ignazio Silone’s Fontamara and Raja Rao’s Kanthapura: A Contrastive Analysis,” Journal of South Asian Literature 16.1 (1980): 93–100. Curtis, Chantal. “Raja Rao and France,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 595–98. Dissanayake, Wimal. “Questing Self: The Four Voices in The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 598–602. Gorlier, Claudio. “Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare: A Western View,” Journal of Indian Writing in English 26.2 (July 1998.): 1–9. ——. “ ‘ See what I am’: The Figure of Beatrice in The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 606–609. Gupta, A.N. “Comrade Kirillov: An Appraisal,” in Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism, ed. Ragini Ramachandra (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 167–85. Harrex, Syd C. “The Fascination of What’s Difficult: Some Student Responses to Raja Rao,” in Indo-English Literature, ed. K.K. Sharma (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1977): 177–92. ——. “Raja Rao: Companion of Pilgrimage,” in The Fire and the Offering, ed. Harrex (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1978): 147–98.

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——. “Typology and Modes: Raja Rao’s Experiments in the Short Story,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 591–95. Harris, Wilson. “Raja Rao’s Inimitable Style and Art of Fiction,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 587–90. Iyengar, Srinivasa K.R. “On Re-Reading The Serpent and the Rope,” in Perspectives in Indian Fiction in English, ed. Iyengar (New Delhi: Abhinar 1985): 72–92. ——. “Raja Rao,” Indian Writing in English, ed. Iyengar (New Delhi: Sterling, 2000): 386–411. Jamkhandi, S.R. “The Cat and Shakespeare: Narrator, Audience and Message,” Journal of Indian Writing in English 2 (July 1979): 24–40. Jha, K. Ashok. “Identity and Its Quest in Raja Rao’s Later Fiction,” in Quest for Identity in Indian English Writing, ed. R.S. Pathak (New Delhi: Bahri, 1992): 29–37. Kachru, B.B. “Toward Expanding the English Canon: Raja Rao’s 1938 Credo for Creativity,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 582–86. Kalinnikova, Elena. “Russian–Indian Literary Connection, Dostoevsky and Raja Rao: A Comparative Analysis of Two Novels, The Possessed and Comrade Kirillov,” in New Perspectives in Indian Literature in English: Essays in Honour of Professor M.K. Naik, ed. C.R. Yaravinatelimath, C.V. Venugopal, G.S.B. Gupta & Amritjit Singh (New Delhi: Sterling, 1995): 137–46. Kanthak, V.Y. “Raja Rao’s Kanthapura,” Chandrabhāgā 13 (Summer 1985): 35–49. Khair, Tabish. “The Indian and the Universal in Raja Rao Making the World,” in Babu Fictions: Alienation in Contemporary Indian Novels, ed. Khair (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001): 203–25. Krishnaswami, Shantha. “Raja Rao: The Indian Pattern of Saved Males and Doomed Females,” in The Woman in Indian Fiction in English (1950–1980), ed. Krishnaswami (New Delhi: Ashish Publishing House, 1984): 22–59. Kumar, Akshaya. “Essentializing India: Nations, Culture and the Meaning of India,” Haritam 10 (1988): 63–73. Lehmann, Winfred P. “The Quality of Presence,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 578–81. Mahajan, Serena. “Raja Rao: The Serpent and the Rope,” in Stream of Consciousness in the Indo-Anglian Novel, ed. Mahajan (New Delhi: Jayshree Prakashan, 1985): 75–81. Mathur, Om Prakash. “The East–West Theme in Comrade Kirillov,” in Modern Indian English Fiction, ed. Mathur (New Delhi: Abhinav, 1993): 109–16. ——. “Existential Overtones in Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” in Indian English Fiction, ed. Mathur, 117–25. ——. “The Serpent Vanishes: A Study in Raja Rao’s Treatment of the East–West Theme,” in Modern Indian English Fiction, ed. Mathur, 98–108. McCutchion, David. “The Novel as Sastra,” in Indian Writing in English (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1969): 83–98. Mehta, P.P. “Raja Rao,” in Indo-Anglian Fiction: An Assessment (Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 1968): 177–97.

Selected Bibliography

193

Menon, K.P.K. “Kanthapura: Politics and Religion,” in Contemporary Indian Fiction in English (Proceedings of the National Seminar held at the University of Kerala, 1985): 68–75. Mercanti, Stefano. “Devi–Devata in Raja Rao’s Short Stories: The Gylanic Call of the Great Goddess,” Atlantic Literary Review 5.1–2 (2004): 108–27. ——. “The Divine Vessel and the Flowering Consciousness in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in The Goddess Awakened: Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education, ed. Antonella Riem Natale, Luisa Conti Camaiora & Maria Renata Dolce (Udine: Forum, 2007): 113–23. ——. “Multiculturalism as a Partnership Model in Raja Rao’s ‘India: A Fable’,” Il bianco e il nero 7 (2005): 141–50. ——. “Over the Barricades of Indian Nationalism in Raja Rao’s Short Stories,” Wasafiri 21.1 (2006): 16–21. ——. “The Village and Its Story: Indigenization of the ‘Alien’ Language in Raja Rao’s Kanthapura and Ignazio Silone’s Fontamara,” Quaderni del 900 7 (2007): 53–64. Mishra, Ganeswar. “The Search for an Idiom: A Study of Kanthapura and Nectar in a Sieve,” in How Indian is the Indian Novel in English (Bhubaneswar: Postgraduate Department of English, 1990): 36–54. Mukherjee, Meenakshi. “Raja Rao’s Shorter Fiction,” Indian Literature 10.3 (1967): 66–76. Murthy, Laxmana S. “Raja Rao: A Note on the Philosophy,” in Indian Fiction in English, ed. P. Mallikarjuna Rao & Rajeshwar Mittapalli (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999): 85–91. Nagarajan, S. “Little Mother in The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 609–11. Nagarajan, S. “A Note on Myth and Ritual in The Serpent and the Rope,” Journal of Commonwealth Literature 7.1 (1972): 45–48. Nagpal, L.R. “Home Coming in Comrade Kirillov,” in Contemporary Indian English Fiction: An Anthology of Essays, ed. Kamal N. Awasthi (New Delhi: A B S , 1993): 123–31. Naik, M.K. “The Cat and Shakespeare: A Study,” in Indian Literature of the Past Fifty Years, ed. C.D. Narasimhaiah (Mysore: Prasaranga–University of Mysore, 1970): 147–76. ——. “Coils of The Serpent and the Rope: Raja Rao and the ‘Unreal’ World,” in Studies in Contemporary Indian Fiction in English, ed. A.N. Dwivedi (Allahabad: Kitab Mahal, 1987): 34–45. ——. “Fiction and Reality in Raja Rao,” in Perspectives in Indian Fiction in English ed. Naik (Delhi: Abhinav, 1985): 58–71. ——. “Narrative Strategy in Raja Rao’s The Cow of the Barricades and Other Stories,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. R. Mohan (Madras: Orient Longman, 1978): 47–55.

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——. “The Short Story as a Metaphysical Parable: Raja Rao’s Policeman and the Rose,” in Explorations in Modern Indian English Fiction, ed. R.K. Dhawan (New Delhi: Bahri, 1982): 110–22. Naikar, Basavaraj. “Coming Together: The Central Problem in The Serpent and the Rope,” in Studies in Indian Writing in English, ed. Rajeshwar Mittapalli & Pier Paolo Piciucco (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001), vol. 1: 43–52. Narasimhaiah, C.D. “Raja Rao’s Kanthapura: An Analysis,” in Fiction and the Reading Public in India, ed. Narasimhaiah (Mysore: University of Mysore, 1987): 60–83. ——. “Raja Rao: The Metaphysical Novel (The Serpent and the Rope) and Its Significance for Our Age,” in The Swan and the Eagle, ed. Narasimhaiah (New Delhi: Vision, 1999): 200–41. ——. “Raja Rao: Novel Magic Casement of Celestial Concerns and Social Transactions,” Literary Criterion 33.3 (1998): 37–47. Narayan, A. Shyamala. “Ramaswamy’s Erudition: A Note on Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Changing Traditions in Indian English Literature, ed. P.K. Rajan (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1995): 69–80. Ojha, Uday Shankar. “Gandhian Ideology: A Study of Raja Rao’s Kanthapura,” in Studies in Indian Writing in English, ed. Rajeshwar Mittapalli & Pier Paolo Piciucco (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001), vol. 1: 24–28. Pallan, Rajesh K. “The Feminine Principle in Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare,” in Mothers and Mother-Figures in Indo-English Literature, ed. Usha Bande (Jalandhar: A B S , 1994): 70–94. Palkar, Sarla. “The Politics of Gender in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Women in Indo-Anglian Fiction, ed. N.K. Jain (New Delhi: Manohar, 1998): 86–100. Paniker, K. Ayyappa. “The Frontiers of Fiction: A Study of Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare,” in Indian Literature in English, ed. Paniker (Madras: Anu Chithra, 1989): 71–82. ——. “On Translating Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare into Malayalam,” in Changing Traditions in Indian English Literature, ed. P.K. Rajan (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1995): 13–21. Parameswaran, Uma. “Siva and Shakti in Raja Rao’s Novels,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 574–77. Paranjape, Makarand R. “The Chessmaster and His Moves: A Review of Reviews and an Introduction,” in Comparative Perspectives on Indian Literature, ed. A.R. Rao (New Delhi: Prestige, 1992.): 81–102. ——. “Critique of Communism in Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov,” in Image of India in the Indian Novel in English, 1960–1985, ed. Sudhakar Pandey & Raj R. Rao (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1993): 69–83. ——. “Introduction” to The Best of Raja Rao, ed. Makarand R. Paranjape (New Delhi: Katha Classic, 1998): i–xxvi. Parthasarathy, R. “The Chessmaster and His Moves: The Novel as Metaphysics,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 61–66.

Selected Bibliography

195

Perera, Senath W. “Towards a Limited Emancipation: Women in Raja Rao’s Kanthapura,” A R I E L : A Review of International English Literature 23.4 (1992): 99–112. Piciucco, Pier Paolo. “The ‘In-Betweens’ and The Serpent and the Rope,” In-Between 7.1 (March 1998.): 73–78. Powers, Janet M. “Initiate Meets Guru: The Cat and Shakespeare and Comrade Kirillov,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 611–16. Prasad, Baidya Nath. “The Language of Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Indian Writing in English, ed. K.N. Sinha (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979): 29–41. Prasad, Rajendra V.V.N. “Raja Rao and the Imperial Self,” in The Self, the Family and Society in Five Indian Novelists: Rajan, Raja Rao, Narayan, Arun Joshi, Anita Desai, ed. Prasad (New Delhi: Prestige, 1990): 43–70. Raine, Kathleen. “On The Serpent and the Rope,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 603–605. Raizada, Harish. “Literature as ‘Sadhana’: The Progress of Raja Rao from Kanthapura to The Serpent and the Rope,” in Indo-English Literature, ed. K.K. Sharma (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1977): 157–75. Ram, Atma. “The Linguistic Devices in Indian English of Raja Rao and M.R. Anand,” in Essays on Indian English Literature, ed. Ram (Aurangabad: Parimal Prakashan, 1984): 8–25. ——. “Peasant Sensibility in Kanthapura,” in Indo-English Literature, ed. K.K. Sharma (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1977): 193–200. Ramachandra, Ragini. “On the Ganga Ghat: An Assessment,” in Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism, ed. Ramachandra (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 186–90. ——. “Raja Rao,” in A Companion to Indian Fiction in English, ed. Pier Paolo Piciucco (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2004): 47–70. ——. “The Serpent and the Rope: An Indian Novel,” in Confederate Gestures: Search for Method in Indian Literary Studies, ed. C.S. Singh (New Delhi: Associated Publishing House, 1993): 154–63. Ramanan, Mohan. “Rao on Gandhi: A Method of Reading,” Journal of Indian Writing in English 29.2 (2001): 49–55. Ramaswamy, Sampatoor. “Raja Rao’s Tri-Lingualism: A Study in Linguistic Partnership,” in The Goddess Awakened: Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education, ed. Antonella Riem Natale, Luisa Conti Camaiora & Maria Renata Dolce (Udine: Forum, 2007): 125–32. ——. “ ‘ The Sanskrit Charge’ in Raja Rao: The Word and ‘Sabda Tattva’,” in Comparative Perspectives on Indian Literature, ed. A.R. Rao (New Delhi: Prestige, 1992): 103–12. ——. “Self and Society in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Aspects of Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik (Madras: Macmillan, 1979): 199–208. ——. “Vākyapadīya and the Writer and the Word,” in Critical Essays on Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik, S.K. Desai & G.S. Amur (New Delhi: Macmillan, 1977): 1–9.

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Rao, A. Ramakrishna. “Kirillov in The First Circle,” Literary Criterion 22.1 (1987): 24–31. Originally in The Literary Endeavour 6.1–4 (1985): 45–54. Rao, K.R. “Raja Rao and the Metaphysical Novel,” in Indian Readings in Commonwealth Literature, ed. G.S. Amur, V.R.N. Prasad, B.V. Namade & N.K. Nihlani (New Delhi: Sterling, 1985): 87–93. Rao, Srihari J. “Concepts of Time and Death in Raja Rao’s The Cat and Shakespeare,” in Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism, ed. Ramachandra (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 122–26. Reddy, K.V. “A Tale of Modern India: The Cat and Shakespeare,” in Major Indian Novelists, ed. Reddy (New Delhi: Prestige, 1990): 51–59. Shahane, A. Vasant. “Fiction and Reality in Raja Rao,” in Perspectives in Indian Fiction in English, ed. M.K. Naik (New Delhi: Abhinav, 1985): 58–71. Shanty, Isaac. “Two French Elements in The Serpent and the Rope,” Journal of Karnatak University 18 (1974): 138–47. Sharma, B.D. “Victims of Colonial Oppression in Raja Rao’s Kanthapura,” in Victim Consciousness in [the] Indian-English Novel, ed. Usha Bande (Jalandhar: A B S , 1997): 17–27. Sharma, S. “Gandhian Ideology and Raja Rao,” in The Influence of Gandhian Ideology on Indo-Anglian Fiction, ed. Sharma (New Delhi: Soni Book Agency, 1982): 64–93. Shirwadkar, K.R. “Literature as Ideology: Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Image of India in the Indian Novel in English, 1960–1985, ed. Sudhakar Pandey & R. Raj Rao (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1993): 1–11. Singh, Avtar. “Raja Rao’ Kanthapura: A Study in Technique,” in The Indian Novel in English: Essays in Criticism, ed. R.N. Sinha (Calcutta: Ankit, 1987): 123–43. Singh, R.S. “A European Brahmin: Raja Rao,” in Indian Novel in English, ed. Singh (New Delhi: Arnold Heinemann, 1977): 75–95. Singh, Sunaina. “The Cat and Shakespeare: Metaphysical Reality or Surrender to Destiny,” in Indian Fiction in English, ed. Mallikarjuna P. Rao & Rajeshwar Mittapalli (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1999): 101–10. Shivaraman, Shanti. “Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope: A Study in Archetypes,” in Indian Response to Literary Theories, ed. R.S. Pathak (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1996), vol. 2: 192–201. Srivastava, Ramesh K. “Raja Rao’s Kanthapura: A Village Revitalized,” in Six Indian Novels in English, ed. Srivastava (Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University, 1987): 3–16. ——. “Structure and Theme in Raja Rao’s Fiction,” in Six Indian Novel in English, 17–54. Swain, S.P. “The Theme of Marriage in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Studies in Indian Writing in English, ed. Rajeshwar Mittapalli & Pier Paolo Piciucco (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001), vol. 1: 29–34. Thumboo, Edwin. “Encomium for Raja Rao,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 530–33.

Selected Bibliography

197

——. “Raja Rao: The Chessmaster and His Moves,” in Raja Rao: An Anthology of Recent Criticism, ed. Ramachandra (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000): 150–66. Venkatachari, K. “The Feminine Principle in Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope,” in Studies in Indian Fiction in English, ed. G.S.B. Gupta (Gulbarga: J I W E , 1987): 152–57. Verghese, C.P. “Raja Rao: An Assessment,” in Problems of the Indian Creative Writer in English, ed. Verghese (Bombay: Somaiya, 1971): 142–54. Westbrook, P.D. “Raja Rao’s Comrade Kirillov: Marxism and Vedanta,” World Literature Today 62.4 (Autumn 1988): 617–20. Williams, H.M. “Raja Rao’s The Serpent and the Rope and the Idea of India,” in Rule, Protest, Identity: Aspects of Modern South Asia, ed. P.G. Robb & D.D. Taylored (Collected Papers on South Asia 1; London: Curzon, 1978): 206–12.

Studies of English and Indian Literatures Abraham, T.J. A Critical Study of Novels of Arun Joshi, Raja Rao and Sudhin Ghose (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1998). Agnihotri, G.N. Indian Life and Problems in the Novels of Mulk Raj Anand, Raja Rao and R.K. Narayan (Meerut: Shalabh Prakashan, 1993). Alam, Qaiser Zoha. The Dynamics of Imagery (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1994). ——. Language and Literature: Diverse Indian Experiences (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1996). Albertazzi, Silvia. Il tempio e il villaggio (Bologna: Patron, 1978). Alphonse, S. Xavier. Kanthapura to Malgudi: Cultural Values in South Indian Novel (New Delhi: Prestige, 1997). Alphonso–Karkala, J.B. Indo-English Literature in the Nineteenth Century (Mysore: Literary Half-Yearly, University of Mysore, 1970). Amur, G.S. Images and Impressions: Essays Mainly on Contemporary Indian Literature (Jaipur: Panchsheel Prakashan, 1979). ——, V.R.N. Prasad & N.H. Nihalani, ed. Indian Readings in Commonwealth Literature (New Delhi: Sterling, 1985). Aurobindo, Sri. The Future Poetry and Letters on Poetry, Literature and Art (Pondicherry: Sri Aurobindo Ashram, 1972). Bande, Usha. Mothers and Mother-Figures in Indo-English Literature (Jalandhar: A B S , 1994). Barucha, Nilufer E., & Vrinda Nabar, ed. Mapping Cultural Spaces: Post-Colonial Indian Literature in English (New Delhi: Vision, 1998). Belliappa, K.C. The Image of India in English Fiction (New Delhi: B.R. Publishing Corporation, 1991). Bhatnagar, K.C. Realism in Major Indo-English Fiction (Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 1980). Brunton, T.D. “India in Fiction: The Heritage of Indianness,” in Critical Essays on Indian Writing in English, ed. M.K. Naik, S.K. Desai & G.S. Amur (Dharwar: Karnatak University, 1968): 51–61.

198

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Choudhuri, I. Nath. Comparative Indian Literature: Some Perspectives (New Delhi: Sterling, 1992). Das, Sisir Kumar. A History of Indian Literature, 1800–1910 (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1991). Derrett, M.E. The Modern Indian Novel in English: A Comparative Approach (Brussels: Éditions de l’Institut de Sociologie, 1966). Devy, Ganesh. “Comparatism in India and the West,” in Critical Theory – Western and Indian, ed. Prafulla C. Kar (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 1997): 13–35. George, K.M. Modern Indian Literature: An Anthology (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1992). Harrex, Syd C. The Fire and the Offering: The English-Language Novel of India, 1935–1970, vol. 2 (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1978). Iyengar, Srinivasa K.R. The Adventure of Criticism (1962; New Delhi: Sterling, 1985). ——. Indian Writing in English (1962; New Delhi: Sterling, 2001). Jain, Jasbir. Beyond Postcolonialism: Dreams and Realities of a Nation (Jaipur: Rawat, 2006). ——. Dislocations and Multiculturalisms (Jaipur: Rawat, 2004). ——. Feminizing Political Discourse. Women and the Novel in India, 1857–1905 (Jaipur: Rawat, 1997). ——, & Veena Singh, ed. Contesting Postcolonialisms (Jaipur: Rawat, 2004). Jain, Naresh K., ed. Women in Indo-Anglian Fiction (New Delhi: Manohar, 1998). Kantak, V.Y. Perspectives on Indian Literary Culture (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 1996). Kaul, A.N. “R.K. Narayan and the East–West Theme,” in Considerations, ed. Meenakshi Mukherjee (New Delhi: Allied, 1977): 43–65. Kaushik, Asha. Politics, Aesthetics and Culture (New Delhi: Manohar, 1988). Khair, Tabish. Babu Fictions: Alienation in Contemporary Indian Novels (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001). Kirpal, Viney. The Third World Novel of Expatriation (New Delhi: Sterling, 1989). ——, ed. The New Indian Novel in English (New Delhi: Allied, 1990). McCutchion, David. Indian Writing in English (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1969). Malik, Yogendra K., ed. Politics and the Novel in India (New Delhi: Orient Longman, 1975). Mathur, Om Prakash. Indian Political Novel & Other Essays (Allahabad: Kitab Mahal, 1995). Mehrotra, A.K., ed. An Illustrated History of Indian Literature in English (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003). Mittapalli, Rajeshwar, & Pier Paolo Piciucco, ed. Studies in Indian Writing in English, vol. 2 (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001). Morey, Peter. Fictions of India: Narrative and Power (Edinburgh: Edinburgh U P , 2000). Mukherjee, Meenakshi. The Perishable Empire (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2000). ——. Realism and Reality (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1985).

Selected Bibliography

199

——. The Twice Born Fiction: Themes and Techniques of the Indian Novel in English (1971; New Delhi: Heinemann, 1974). ——, ed. Considerations (New Delhi: Allied, 1977). Mund, S.K. The Indian Novel in English: Its Birth and Development (New Delhi– Bhubaneshwar: Prachi Prakashan, 1997). Naik, M.K. A History of Indian English Literature (1982; New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1999). ——, ed. Perspectives in Indian Prose in English (1982; New Delhi: Abhinav, 1985). Nair, Rama, B. Gopal Rao & D. Venkateswarlu, ed. Framing Literature: Critical Essays (New Delhi: Sterling, 1995). Nanavati, U.M., & Prafulla C. Kar, ed. Rethinking Indian English Literature (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 2000). Narasimhaiah, C.D. The Function of Criticism in India (Mysore: Central Institute of Indian Languages, 1986). ——. An Inquiry into Indianness of Indian English Literature (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi Samvatsar Lectures 17, 2003). ——. The Swan and the Eagle (1968; New Delhi: Vision, 1999). ——, ed. Awakened Conscience (New Delhi: Sterling, 1978). ——, ed. Fiction and the Reading Public in India (Mysore: University of Mysore, 1967). ——, ed. Indian Literature of the Past Fifty Years (Mysore: Prasaranga–University of Mysore, 1970). ——, & C.N. Srinath, ed. The Rise of the Indian Novel (Mysore: Dhvanyaloka, 1986). Panja, Shormishtha, ed. Many Indias, Many Literatures: New Critical Essays (New Delhi: World View, 2001). Piciucco, Pier Paolo, ed. A Companion to Indian Fiction in English (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2004). Prasad, A. Nath, ed. Critical Response to Indian Fiction in English (New Delhi: Atlantic, 2001). Pathak, R.S. Modern Indian Novel in English (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1999). Rajan, Rajeshwari Sunder ed. The Lie of the Land: English Literary Studies in India (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1992). Ramanan, Mohan & Pingali Sailaja, ed. English and the Indian Short Story (New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2000). Rao, A.R. ed. Comparative Perspectives on Indian Literature (New Delhi: Prestige, 1992). Sankaran, Chitra. The Myth Connection (New Delhi: Allied, 1993). Gupta, Santosh, ed. Contemporary Indian Literature: Positions and Expositions (New Delhi: Rawat, 2000). Sarma, G. Prasad. Nationalism in Indo-Anglian Fiction (New Delhi: Sterling, 1978). Sharma, K.K. ed. Indian-English Literature: A Perspective (Ghaziabad: Vimal Prakashan, 1982).

200

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS

Sharma, S.D. Thematic Dichotomy of Writings in Indian English, Indology and Culture (Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot, 1985). Shirwadkar, Meena. Image of Woman in the Indo-Anglian Fiction (New Delhi: Sterling, 1979). Singh, Pramod Kumar. Five Contemporary Indian Novelists: An Anthology of Critical Studies (Jaipur: Book Enclave, 2001). Singh, R.S. Indian Novel in English (New Delhi: Arnold Heinemann, 1977). Sinha, K.N., ed. Indian Writing in English (New Delhi: Heritage, 1979). Thieme, John. “The Cultural Geography of Malgudi,” Journal of Commonwealth Literature 42 (2007): 113–26. Verghese, C.P. Problems of the Indian Creative Writer in English (Bombay: Somaiya, 1971). Verma, K.D. The Indian Imagination: Critical Essays on Indian Writing in English (New Delhi: Macmillan, 2000). Walsh, William. A Human Idiom (London: Chatto & Windus, 1964). ——. Indian Literature in English (London: Longman, 1990). ——. A Manifold Voice (London: Chatto & Windus, 1970). ——. R.K. Narayan: A Critical Appreciation (London: Heinemann, 1982). ——, ed. Readings in Commonwealth Literature (Oxford: Clarendon, 1973). Williams, Haydn Moore. Studies in Modern Indian Fiction in English, vol. 2 (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1973).

Studies of World Englishes Alam, Qaiser Zoha. English Language Teaching in India (New Delhi: Atlantic, 1995). Bansal, R.K. The Intelligibility of Indian English (1969; Hyderabad: C I E F L , 1985). Burchfield, Robert, ed. The Cambridge History of the English Language, vol. 5 (Cambridge: Cambridge U P , 1994). Dasgupta, Probal. The Otherness of English (New Delhi: Sage, 1993). Fishman, Joshua A., Andrew W. Conrad & Alma Rubal–Lopez, ed. Post-Imperial English: Status Change in Former British and American Colonies, 1940–1990 (Berlin & New York: Mouton De Gruyter, 1996). Garcia, Ofelia, & Ricardo Otheguy, ed. English Across Cultures, Cultures Across English (Berlin & NewYork: Mouton De Gruyter, 1989). Gupta, R.S., & Kapil Kapoor, ed. English in India: Issues and Problems (New Delhi: Academic Foundation, 1991). Hosali, Priya. Communication and Grammar. From Pigeons to Pidgins (Hyderabad: C I E F L , 2000). Joshi, Svati, ed. Rethinking English: Essays in Literature, Language, History (New Delhi: Trianka, 1991). Kachru, Braj B. The Alchemy of English: The Spread, Functions and Models of NonNative Englishes (1986; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1989). ——. The Indianization of English: The English Language in India (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1983).

Selected Bibliography

201

——, ed. The Other Tongue: English Across Cultures (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1996). ——, Yamuna Kachru & Cecil L. Nelson, ed. The Handbook of World Englishes (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006). Kapoor, Kapil. Language, Linguistics and Literature (New Delhi: Academic Foundation, 1994). Krishnaswamy, N., & Archana S. Burde, ed. The Politics of Indians’ English (1998; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004). ——, & Lalitha Krishnaswamy. The Story of English in India (New Delhi, Foundation Books, 2006). Mehotra, Raja Ram. Indian English: Texts and Interpretation (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1998). Mohan, Ramesh, ed. Indian Writing in English (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1978). Narasimhaiah, C.D., & C.N. Srinath, ed. English: Its Complementary Role in India (Mysore: Dhvanyaloka, 1982). Parasher, S.V. Indian English Functions and Form (New Delhi: Bahri, 1991). Pathak, R.S. Indianisation of English Language and Literature (New Delhi: Bahri, 1994). Patil, Z.N. Style in Indian English Fiction: A Study in Politeness Strategies (New Delhi: Prestige, 1994). Pennycook, Alistair. English and the Discourse of Colonialism (New York: Routledge, 1998). Philipson, R. Linguistic Imperialism (Oxford: Oxford U P , 1992). Rao, Subba. Indian Words in English (Oxford: Clarendon, 1954). Singh, R.K., ed. Indian English Writing, 1981–1985: Experiments with Expressions (New Delhi: Bahri, 1987). Spitzbardt, Harry. English in India (Halle–Saale: Niemeyer, 1976). Tulsi, Ram. Trading in Language: The Story of English in India (New Delhi: G D K , 1983).

Literary Theory and Criticism Afzal–Khan, Fauzia. Cultural Imperialism and the Indo-English Novel (University Park: Pennsylvania State U P , 1993). Ahmad, Aijaz. In Theory: Classes, Nations, Literatures (1992; New Delhi, Oxford U P , 2002). Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths & Helen Tiffin. The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (1989; London & New York: Routledge, 1994). ——. Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts (London: Routledge, 2000). ——, ed. The Post-Colonial Studies Reader (London & New York: Routledge, 1995). Bakhtin, Mikhail M. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, tr. Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist (Austin: U of Texas P , 1981). Bhargava, Dayanand. Theories of Fiction in Indian Tradition, vol. 5 (Jodhpur Studies in English, 1991).

202

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Bhabha, Homi K., ed. Nation and Narration (London & New York: Routledge, 1990). Boehmer, Elleke. Colonial and Postcolonial Literature: Migrant Metaphors (Oxford: Oxford U P , 1995). Buruma, Ian, & Avishai Margalit. Occidentalism: The West in the Eyes of Its Enemies (New Delhi: Penguin, 2004). Castle, Gregory, ed. Postcolonial Discourses: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001). Chatterjee, Partha. The Nation and Its Fragments (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001). Childs, Peter, & Patrick Williams, ed. An Introduction to Post-Colonial Theory (London: Prentice–Hall, 1997). Crane, Ralph J. Inventing India: A History of India in English Language Fiction (London: Macmillan, 1992). Deb, Kushal, ed. Mapping Multiculturalism (New Delhi: Rawat, 2002). Deshpande, Shashi. Writing from the Margin (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2003). Devy, Ganesh N. After Amnesia (1992; Mumbai: Orient Longman, 1995). ——. “The Multicultural Context of Indian Literature in English,” in Crisis and Creativity in the New Literatures in English, ed. Geoffrey V. Davis & Hena Maes– Jelinek (Cross / Cultures 1; Amsterdam & Atlanta G A : Rodopi, 1990): 345–53. ——. Of Many Heroes: An Indian Essay in Literary Historiography (Mumbai: Orient Longman, 1998). ——. “The Wind and the Roots: The Problem of Historiography of Commonwealth Literature,” in History and Historiography of Commonwealth Literature, ed. Dieter Riemenschneider (Tübingen: Gunter Narr, 1983): 78–90. ——, ed. Indian Literary Criticism (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2002). ——, & S.K. Desai, ed. Critical Thought: An Anthology of 20th Century Indian English Essays (New Delhi: Sterling, 1987). Fernando, Lloyd. Cultures in Conflict: Essays on Literature and the English Language in South East Asia (Singapore: Graham Brash, 1986). Fokkema, Aleid. “English Ideas of Indianness,” in Crisis and Creativity in the New Literatures in English, ed. Geoffrey V. Davis & Hena Maes–Jelinek (Cross / Cultures 1; Amsterdam & Atlanta G A : Rodopi, 1990): 355–68. Gandhi, Leela. Postcolonial Theory. A Critical Introduction (1998; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004). Goldberg, David Theo, ed. Multiculturalism: A Critical Reader (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994). JanMohamed, Abdul R. “The Economy of Manichean Allegory: The Function of Racial Difference in Colonialist Literature,” Critical Inquiry 12 (1985): 59–87. Juneja, Om P. Postcolonial Novel: Narratives of Colonial Consciousness (New Delhi: Creative Books, 1995). Kar, C. Prafulla, ed. Critical Theory – Western and Indian (New Delhi: Pencraft International, 1997). Loomba, Ania. Colonialism / Postcolonialism (1998; London: Routledge, 2005). ——, Survir Kaul, Matti Bunzl, Antoniette Burton & Jed Esty, ed. Postcolonial Studies and Beyond (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2006).

Selected Bibliography

203

Morey, Peter, & Alex Tickell, ed. Alternative Indias: Writing, Nation and Communalism (Cross / Cultures 82; Amsterdam & New York: Rodopi, 2005). Mukherjee, Arun P. Oppositional Aesthetics: Readings from a Hyphenated Space (Toronto: T S A R , 1994). Nair, Rukmini Bhaya. Lying on the Postcolonial Couch (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002). Nandy, Ashis. Alternative Sciences: Creativity and Authenticity in Two Indian Scientists (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001). ——. At the Edge of Psychology: Essays in Politics and Culture (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1999). ——. Bonfire of Creeds (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004). ——. The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism (1983; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004). ——. Time Warps: The Insistent Politics of Silent and Evasive Pasts (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003). Negri, Antonio, & Michael Hardt. Imperium (Cambridge M A : Harvard U P , 2000). Paranjape, Makarand R. Towards a Poetics of the Indian English Novel (Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 2000). ——, ed. Nativism: Essays in Criticism (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1997). ——, Amit Sarwal & Aneeta Rajendran, ed. English Studies: Indian Perspectives (New Delhi: Mantra Books, 2005). Prakash Gyan, ed. After Colonialism, Imperial Histories and Postcolonial Displacements (Princeton N J : Princeton U P , 1995). Radhakrishnan, R. Theory in an Uneven World (London: Blackwell, 2003). Rajan, Balachandra. Under Western Eyes: India from Milton to Macaulay (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1999). Rajan, P.K., ed. Indian Literary Criticism in English: Critics, Texts, Issues (Jaipur: Rawat, 2004). ——, K.M. George, A. Jameela Begum & K. Radha, ed. Commonwealth Literature: Themes and Techniques (New Delhi: Ajanta, 1993). Riem, Antonella Natale, & Roberto Albarea, ed. The Art of Partnership: Essays on Literature, Culture, Language and Education Towards a Cooperative Paradigm (Udine: Forum, 2003). ——, Luisa Conti Camaiora & Maria Renata Dolce, ed. The Goddess Awakened: Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education (Udine: Forum, 2007). Riemenschneider, Dieter. The Indian Novel in English: Its Critical Discourse, 1934– 2004 (Jaipur: Rawat, 2005). ——, ed. History and Historiography of Commonwealth Literature (Tübingen: Gunter Narr, 1983). Rushdie, Salman. Imaginary Homelands: Essays and Criticism, 1981–1991 (London: Granta / Penguin, 1991). Said, Edward W. Culture and Imperialism (London: Chatto & Windus, 1993). ——. Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient (1978; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1995).

204

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——. “A Window on the World” (2003): http://www.books.guardian.co.uk/ review /story/0,12084,1010417,00.html ——. The World, the Text and the Critic (London: Vintage, 1991). Selden, Raman, Peter Widdowson & Peter Brooker, ed. A Practical Reader in Contemporary Literary Theory (Hemel Hempstead: Prentice Hall–Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1996). Singh, Charu Sheel, ed. Confederate Gestures: Search for Method in Indian Literature Studies (New Delhi: Associated Publishing House, 1993). Singh, Jyotsna G. Colonial Narratives / Cultural Dialogues: ‘Discoveries’ of India in the Language of Colonialism (London: Routledge, 1996). Soyinka, Wole. Myth, Literature and the African World (Cambridge: Cambridge U P , 1990). Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present (Calcutta: Seagull, 1999). ——. “How to Read a Culturally Different Book,” in Colonial Discourse / Post-Colonial Theory, ed. Francis Barker, Peter Hulme & Margeret Iversen (Manchester: Manchester U P , 1996): 126–50. ——. Other Asias (Malden M A : Blackwell, 2008). Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. The Post-Colonial Critic: Interviews, Strategies and Dialogues, ed. Sarah Harasym (New York: Routledge, 1990). Suleri, Sara. The Rhetoric of English India (Chicago: U of Chicago P , 1992). Trivedi, Harish. Colonial Transactions: English Literature and India (Calcutta: Papyrus, 1993). ——, & Meenakshi Mukherjee, ed. Interrogating Post-Colonialism: Theory, Text and Context (Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1996). ——, & Richard Allen, ed. Literature and Nation: Britain and India, 1800–1990 (London: Open University / Routledge, 2000). Vijayasree, C., Meenakshi Mukherjee, Harish Trivedi & Vijay T. Kumar, ed. Nation in Imagination: Essays on Nationalism, Sub-Nationalisms and Narration (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2007). Viswanathan, Gauri. Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity, and Belief (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2001). Walder, Dennis. Post-Colonial Literatures in English (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998). Williams, Patrick, & Laura Chrisman, ed. Colonial Discourse and Post-Colonial Theory: A Reader (New York: Columbia U P , 1994). Zaman, Niaz, Shawkat Hussain & Syed Manzoorul Islam, ed. Other Englishes: Essays on Commonwealth Writing (Dhaka: Dhaka U P , 1991).

Philosophical, Historical, Anthropological, and Psycho-Analytical Studies Altekar, A.S. The Position of Women in Hindu Civilization (1959; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1999).

Selected Bibliography

205

Agrawal, M.M. The Philosophy of Non-Attachment (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1982). Atmananda, K.M. Atma-Darshan: At the Ultimate (Tiruvannamalai: Sri Vidya Samiti, 1946). Balasubramanian, R., ed. The Tradition of Advaita (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1994). Bhattacharya, Sabyasachi. Vande Mataram: The Biography of a Song (New Delhi: Penguin India, 2003). Bernard, Theos. Hindu Philosophy (1947; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1996). Bucciarelli, Dierdre, & Sarah Pirtle. Partnership Education in Action (Tucson A Z : Center for Partnership Studies, 2001). Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949; London: Fontana, 1993). Chandra, Bipan. Nationalism and Colonialism in Modern India (1979; New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2003). ——, Mridula Mukherjee & Aditya Mukherjee. India After Independence, 1947–2000 (New Delhi: Viking Penguin, 1999). ——, Mridula Mukherjee, Aditya Mukherjee, K.N. Panikkar & Sucheta Mahajan. India’s Struggle for Independence (New Delhi: Penguin India, 1989). Chaudhuri, Nirad C. The Continent of Circe (1965; Bombay: Jaico, 1967). ——. Hinduism – A Religion to Live By (1979; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 1997). Coomaraswami, Ananda Kentish. The Dance of Shiva: Fourteen Indian Essays (Bombay & Calcutta: Asia Publishing House, 1956). Coward, Harold G. The Sphota Theory of Language: A Philosophical Analysis (1980; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1997). Darian, Steven G. The Ganges in Myth and History (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2001). Desai, A.R. Social Background of Indian Nationalism (1948; Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1998). Dirks, Nicholas B. The Scandal of Empire: India and the Creation of Imperial Britain (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2006). Eisler, Riane. The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1988). ——. “Partnership: an Interview with Riane Eisler,” http://www.leadcoach.com /archives /interview/riane_eisler.html (2005). ——. The Power of Partnership (Novato C A : New World Library, 2002). ——. The Real Wealth of Nations (San Francisco: Berrett–Koehler, 2007). ——. Sacred Pleasure. Sex, Myth, and the Politics of the Body: New Paths to Power and Love (Shaftesbury, Dorset: Element, 1996). ——, & Ron Miller, ed. Educating for a Culture of Peace (Portsmonth N H : Heinemann, 2004). Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth, tr. Constance Farrington, intro. Jean–Paul Sarte (Les damnés de la terre, 1961; New York: Grove, 1965).

206

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Fischer, Louis. The Life of Mahatma Gandhi (1953; Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 2003). Fuller, Christopher John. The Camphor Flame: Popular Hinduism and Society in India (1992; Princeton N J : Princeton U P , 2004). Gandhi, Mahatma. An Autobiography, or the Story of My Experiments with Truth (1927; Ahmedabad: Navajivan, 2002). Garg, Pramila. The Freedom Movement in Indian Fiction in English (New Delhi: Ashis, 1993). Gimbutas, Marija. The Civilization of the Goddess (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1991). ——. The Goddess and the Gods of Old Europe, 7000–3500 B C : Myths and Cult Images (London: Thames & Hudson, 1974). ——. The Language of the Goddess (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982). Grant, Sara. Shankaracarya’s Concept of Relation (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1999). Gupta, Bina. Perceiving in Advaita Vedanta: Epistemological Analysis and Interpretation (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1995). Gupta, C.B. Advaita Rahasya (New Delhi: Macmillan, 2000). Gupte, B.A. Hindu Holidays and Ceremonials with Dissertations on Origin, Folklore, and Symbols (1916; New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1994). Jain, Jasbir, & Avadesh Kumar Singh, ed. Indian Feminisms (New Delhi: Creative Books, 2001). Ikeda, Daisaku. Unlocking the Mysteries of Birth and Death: A Buddhist View of Life (Santa Monica C A : Middleway, 2003). Hardiman, David. Gandhi in his Time and Ours (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2005). Hiriyanna, M. Indian Philosophical Studies I & II (Mysore: Kavyalaya, 2001). ——. Outlines of Indian Philosophy (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1994). Inden, Ronald. Imagining India (London: Blackwell, 1990). Iyer, Raghavan, ed. The Essential Writings of Mahatma Gandhi (1990; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2004). Kakar, Sudhir. The Inner World: A Psycho-Analytical Study of Childhood and Society in India (1978; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002). ——, ed. Identity and Adulthood (1979; New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2002). Kothari, Rajni. Politics in India (New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2003). Karve, Irawati. Yuganta: The End of an Epoch (1969; Hyderabad: Disha, 1999). Leslie, Julia, & Mary McGee, ed. Invented Identities: The Interplay of Gender, Religion and Politics in India (New Delhi: Oxford U P , 2000). Loye, David. Darwin’s Lost Theory (Carmel C A : Benjamin Franklin Press, 2007). Mukherjee, Prabhati. Hindu Women, Normative Models (1979; Calcutta: Orient Longman, 1999). Murty, Satchidananda K., ed. The Divine Peacock: Understanding Contemporary India (New Delhi: I C C R / New Age International, 1998). Nanda, B.R. The Making of a Nation: India’s Road to Independence (New Delhi: HarperCollins, 2004).

Selected Bibliography

207

Nehru, Jawaharlal. The Discovery of India (1946; London: Meridian, 1960). Pandey, B.N. Nehru (New Delhi: Rupa, 2003). Pandey, Rajbali. Hindu Samskaras: Socio-Religious Study of the Hindu Sacraments (1969; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2002). Raja, K. Kunjunni. Indian Theories of Meaning (1963; Madras: Adyar Library & Research Centre, 1977). Raju, P.T. The Philosophical Traditions of India (1992; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1998). Shankaranarayanan, S. Sri Shankara: His Life, Philosophy and Relevance to Man in Modern Times Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama, 2000). Sastri, Gaurinath. A Study in the Dialectics of Sphota (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1980). Sen, Amartya. Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (New Delhi: Allen Lane The Penguin Press, 2006). Sharma, Jyotirmaya. Hindutva: Exploring the Idea of Nationalism (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2003). ——. Terrifying Vision: M.S. Golwalkar, The R S S and India (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2007). Srinivasachari, P.N. The Philosophy of Vishistadvaita (1943; Madras: Adyar Library & Research Centre, 1978). Srivastava, M.C.P. Mother Goddess in Indian Art, Archaeology & Literature (New Delhi: Akam Kala Prakashan, 1979). Taroor, Shashi. Nehru. The Invention of India (New Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2003). Venkatachalam, V. ed. Shankaracharya: The Ship of Enlightenment (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1997). Zimmer, Heinrich. Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization (1946; New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1990).

Index ———————————

Abbas, K.A., Inqilab 3; Tomorrow is Ours! 3 Abraham, T.J. 127 Absolute, the, in Rao xvii, xviii, xli, xlviii, xlix, l, lvi, 4, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 45, 67, 91, 100, 102, 117, 120, 129, 131, 136, 140, 141 acculturation, linguistic 26 Achilles 110 Aditi 5 Advaita (Vedantic) philosophy xxviii, xlvii, 32, 44, 102, 128; and Rao 99, 100

Ahmad, Aijaz xxx “Akkayya” 9–10, 19, 41, 183 Albertazzi, Silvia xxxv Ali, Aamir, Conflict 3 Ali, Ahmed 88, 184; Twilight in Delhi

androcracy xxxiii, 4 Annapurna 54 anticolonialism xxxv, 23, 79 aphoristic style, in Rao 48, 111 Arabic, in Rao 82 Aranyani 5 archaisms, in Rao 112 Aryan culture 5 asceticism 46, 50, 54, 56, 90, 96, 106 Ashcroft, Bill et al. 28 ashram culture, and Rao xvii Asiatic Scholarship, and Rao xvi, 183 astrology 13 atheism 93 Atmananda, guru of Rao xviii, 33, 35, 67, 120, 128, 184 Aurobindo, Sri xvii, xxiii, l, li, 184 Ayyar, P.V. Jagadisa 8

3

alienation xxxvii, 4, 32, 90 Aligarth, and Rao xvi Amma 5 Amur, G.S. xxiii, xlv, 81 Anand, Mulk Raj xxiii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi; Coolie xxxv; Untouchable xxxv, 3, 63 Anantanarayanan, M., The Silver Pilgrimage 63 androcentrism xliii

Babu English xlvi, 126 Bakhtin, Mikhail 62, 114 Belliappa, K.C. xxv, 23 Benares, and Rao 99; in On the Ganga Ghat 26, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 140 Bhagavad Gita xxxix, 107 Bhagirata 37, 50, 73 Bharatiya Janata Party xx Bhargava, Dayanand 61

210 Bhartrihari (classical Indian scholar) xlviii, xlix, l bhasha (indigenous) literatures xx; traditions xxvii Bhattacharya, P.C. 114 Bhattacharya, Sabyasachi 11 Bhavani 54 bi-culturalism lii “Books Which Have Influenced Me” 89, 99 Bose, Subhas Chandra 88 Brahma 5, 35, 104 Brahminical culture xlviii, xlix, l, 3, 13, 19, 31, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40, 41, 45, 46, 47, 70, 75, 77, 86, 95, 101, 102, 103, 104, 111, 116, 118, 128, 129, 134, 135, 196; and Rao xiii, xv, xiv, xvi, xxvi, xxxvii, 19, 32, 67, 183; Brahminical conservatism, of Rao xxxvii; Brahminical tradition, collapse of xxxvii; Rao’s disgust at xxxvii Brians, Paul xliii bricolage, spiritual, of Rao 33 British Empire xv, xxxvi, 16, 23, 75 Brothers Karamazov, The (Dostoevsky) 89

Brurton, T.D. xxiii Bucciarelli, Dierdre, & Sarah Pirtle xxxii, xxxiii Buddha 82, 95, 110 Buddhism xlii, 8, 67, 95, 106, 107, 128; and Rao xviii, xlii, lvi, 100, 106 Campbell, Joseph 5, 17 caste xx, xxi, xxiv, xxvii, xxxvii, xlvii, 4, 10, 13, 19, 31, 68, 69, 70, 73, 77, 13; and Rao xiv1 “Caste of English, The” xxi, xxx, xlvii, 118

Cat and Shakespeare, The lvi, 42, 43, 66, 67, 96, 116, 119–27, 131, 141, 185

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS cat imagery 41, 42, 43, 44, 120, 124 centripetalism xlii, 101, 104, 107, 111 Chandra, Bipan 76 Chatterjee, Partha 132 Chaudhuri, Nirad xxiii, 5 Chessmaster and His Moves, The lvi, 51, 67, 117, 127–38, 141, 185 Chetana (cultural organization), and Rao xvii, xl, 88, 184 Children of Kaveri, The (Shankar Ram) 26

Chitali, Venu, In Transit 3 Choudhuri, Indra Nath xxvii Christianity xlii, 8, 67, 110, 128; and Rao xlii, lvi, 80 Chronicles of Kedaram (K. Nagarajan) 3

civil disobedience 12, 78 “Client, A” 4, 13–14, 183 cobra imagery 17, 19 code-mixing 49, 98, 113 collective memory 18 colonial government 22 colonialism, British xiv, xix, xx, xxi, xxii, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvii, xxxix, xl, xlv, liii, liv, lv, 1, 2, 3, 11, 15, 18, 22, 23, 54, 61, 65, 68, 75, 79, 81, 93 colonization li, 12, 15, 22, 76 Communism 67, 87, 88, 90, 91, 94, 96, 97, 102, 108, 128, 131, 134, 141 Communist Party of India 87 “Companions” 16, 19–20, 30 Comrade Kirillov lvi, 66, 87–98, 100, 102, 116, 141, 185 Conflict (Aamir Ali) 3 Congress Party 74, 75, 76, 87, 119 Congress Socialist Party 87 Coolie (Anand) xxxv corruption, in Rao’s fiction 121 Cosmic Self 100

211

Index Cow of the Barricades, The xiv, xviii, xxvi, xxxvii, 4–32, 33, 41, 48, 50, 66, 115, 140, 184 “Cow of the Barricades, The” 20–23,

Durga 5, 37 Durrell, Lawrence xiii Durvasa 110 Dutt, Kylash Chunder 3

184

cow symbolism xlviii, 6, 10, 18, 20, 21, 22, 53, 56 Coward, Harold G. xlix, l Cradle of the Clouds, The (Sudhin Ghose) 63 Creature All (Shankar Ram) 26 cremation 51, 52, 56, 57 crocodile imagery 54 Culture and Imperialism (Said) xxii Curtis, Chantal 127 Damayanti 43, 48, 74 Dante Alighieri 107, 113 Darian, Stephen G. 54 Dark Dancer, The (Balachandra Rajan) 63

Darwin, Charles xxxii Das, Sisis Kumar xxvii, xxviii Dayal, Prabh 69, 127 degradation 6, 7, 9, 119, 141; in Rao xxxvii Demeter 110 Derrett, M.E. xxiv Desai, A.R. 68, 69, 75 Desai, Shantinath xx Deshivad (Nativist) scholarship xx Deshpande, Shashi xxix Devy, Ganesh xxvii, xxviii, l, lvi Dey, Esha 72 Dickinson, Erick, and Rao xvi, 183 discourse, hegemonic xx Dissayanake, Wimal 112, 113 Divine Principle 37 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 88, 89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 99 Drew, John xxii

East–West dialogue xiii, xxi, xxii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, xlii, xliii, liv, lv, lvi, 46, 64, 89, 99, 100, 101, 102, 110, 138, 139, 142 Eisler, Riane xxxi, xxxii, xxxiii, liv, 72 Empire, British xxv, xxvii, lii, 16, 28, 109

English language, in India xix, xxi, xxviii, xxx, xlv, xlvi, xlvii, 2, 24, 30, 50, 60, 64, 66, 79, 81, 98, 118 Englishness xxii, xxiii “Entering the Literary World” xv, xvi essentialism xix, xxiii, xxiv, xxxvi ethnocentrism xx eurocentrism xix, xxiii, liii, 61, 62, 139 Europe, and Rao xxxvii extraversion 101, 104, 105, 107 Ezekiel, Nissim xxvi fascism 79, 108, 109, 128 Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry 119 female characters 7, 8, 105, 111, 133, 134

female principle 110, 124 Fernando, Lloyd liv, lv, 100 Fischer, Louis xlii Fokkema, Aleid xxii, xxiii folk-knowledge 19 folk-legends 16 folklore 11, 23, 24, 140; in Rao xiv folk-tales 17 Fontamara (Ignazio Silone), influence on Rao xxxix, 26, 79, 80, 81 Forster, E.M. 63, 65; A Passage to India xiv

212 France (and Rao) xvi, xvii, xviii, xxxv, xlv, 3, 32, 33, 34, 35, 41, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 66, 67, 68, 87, 97, 98, 99, 100, 104, 105, 111, 113, 115, , 116, 117, 122, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 134, 137, 141, 183, 184, 185 French language (and Rao) xvi Fuller, Christopher John 8 Gandhi, Mahatma xvii, xxvii, xxxix, xl, xli, xlii, xliii, l, lvi, 2, 3, 11, 12, 13, 20, 21, 22, 23, 30, 31, 32, 41, 43, 44, 63, 64, 66, 69, 70, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78, 79, 86, 87, 88, 91, 92, 93, 94, 102, 108, 122, 128, 131, 132, 141, 184, 185 Ganga 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 57 Ganges 22, 36, 37, 39, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57 Garg, Pramila 16 Gauri 20, 21, 22, 23, 37, 78 George, K.M. xxvii, xxviii Ghose, Sudhin 188; The Cradle of the Clouds 63 Gide, André 3, 99 Gimbutas, Marija xxxi Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von xxxiii Gokak, V.K. xxvi, xxvii Gorlier, Claudio 107 Government of Indian Act xv Great Goddess xxxi, 5, 8, 12, 17, 20, 37, 50, 53, 55, 57, 73 Great Indian Way, The xxxvii, xli, 65, 185

Greene, Graham xxxviii Guénon, René 34 gylanic universe xxxi, 39, 57, 72 Hafiz (Muslim poet) 19 Hardiman, David 70 Harrex, Syd 30, 86

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS hegemony, imperial xiv, xx, xxii, xxvi, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxvi, liii, 60, 62, 64, 109

Hindi language xxvi, 24, 185; in Rao 82

Hindu culture xx, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvii, xlii, xliii, l, lv, 6, 8, 9, 10, 16, 17, 19, 23, 27, 36, 42, 43, 44, 57, 74, 95, 101, 130, 134, 139, 140, 172; and Rao xv, xxxvii, 60; and Western narrative models ix Hinduism xv, xxiv, xxv, xlii, 5, 8, 37, 52; and Rao xvii, 19 Hindu-ness xxiv, xxvi, 139 Hindustan 22 Hitler, Adolf 88, 92, 109, 122, 123 Holmström, Lakshmi 1 Holocaust, the 128, 134, 141 humanism xxx, xxxiv, xliii; Edward Said on xxxiii Huxley, Aldous xxxviii hybridity, linguistic xlvi, 25, 26, 59, 83, 98, 113, 137 Hyderabad, and Rao xv, xvi Ikeda, Daisaku 106 illusion 33, 34, 38, 44, 46, 57, 112; in Rao 140 imperialism, British xiv, xix, xx, xxii, xxxi, xxxiv, xxxv, liii, liv, 64, 66, 68, 88, 99, 108, 110, 123 “In Kandesh” 14–16, 30 In Transit (Venu Chitali) 3 “India: A Fable” 32, 33–41, 47 Inden, Ronald xxi, xxii, liii, 68, 69, 70 Independence movement xvi, xxii, xxiv, xxxv, 2, 3, 13, 16, 20, 21, 23, 30, 32, 64, 65, 68, 70, 78, 79, 86, 95, 100, 102, 105, 119, 132, 134, 185; in Rao 141

213

Index India, relation of Rao to xvii Indian Council Act xv Indian English xix, xx, xxi, xxiii, xxiv, xxvi, xxviii, xxix, xxxiv, xxxix, xliv, xlvi, xlvii, lv, 3, 26, 32, 60, 61, 63, 85, 89, 98, 115, 126, 127, 139; Indian English literature ix, xiv, xix; Indian English novel xxiv, xxvi, xxxvi Indian languages xix, xxi, xliv, xlvii, 2, 26, 48, 60, 61, 63; in Rao 19 Indian National Congress xxxv Indianness xix, xxi, xxii, xxiii, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, xxvii, xxviii, xxix, xxx, 90, 94, 139, 140; in Rao xlvi, 26 indigenization, of novel 2; by Rao 64, 66, 85 Indo-European culture xxxi, 34, 118 Indus Valley civilization 5 Inqilab (K.A. Abbas) 3 interculturalism xxxiii, 138; of Rao xviii interior monologue 30 introversion 101, 104, 105 Islamism 95 Iyengar, K.R. Srinivasa xxiii, xxv, xxvi, xxxv, 64, 65, 66, 115 Jain, Jasbir xxiv, xxxix, 64, 74 Jainism xlii, 8 “Javni” 4–6, 7, 8, 10, 28, 31, 41, 183 Jaya Karnataka (periodical) 183 Jhabvala, Ruth Prawer 62, 63 Jones, Katherine, wife of Rao xviii, 185 Joyce, James 100 Juneja, Om P. 124 Kabir (Indian poet) 4, 10 Kachru, Braj B. xlvi, xlvii, 25, 26, 28, 49

Kafka, Franz xix, 4, 15, 99 Kali 5, 8, 18, 37, 74

Kalinnikova, Elena 89 Kamadhenu 20, 22 Kanakadas (Indian poet) 4 “Kanakapala”) 16, 17–18, 28, 30, 184 Kandan the Patriot (K.S. Venkataramani) 3 Kannada language, and Rao xlv, xlvii, 3, 4, 13, 27, 85, 115 Kanthapura xiv, xv, xxiv, xxxv, xxxix, xliii, xliv, xlv, xlvii, 2, 18, 19, 26, 31, 64, 65, 66, 68–86, 87, 88, 96, 115, 141, 184 Karaka, D.F., We Never Die 3 Karnataka xlv, 4, 183; and Rao xv Kaul, A.N. xxxv Kaushik, Asha xxxvii, xxxix, xliii, 3, 66, 88 Kaye, M.M. xxii Kenchamma 24, 31, 72, 73, 74, 76, 86 Kerala 184; and Rao xviii, 120, 124, 126

Khair, Tabish xxvi, xxxvi Khan, Liaquat Ali 119 Krishna xliii, 7, 65, 74, 107, 110, 134, 140, 160 Krishnaswami, Shantha 78, 94 Kumar, Akshaya xxxvi Lakshamma 19 Lakshmi 1, 5, 106, 130 Lal, P. xxv Leavis, F.R. xxvi lexical borrowings 24, 49, 58, 60, 82, 98, 137 lexical elements, in Rao’s fiction xlvii, 19, 24, 25, 26, 30, 48, 49, 58, 60, 82, 83, 98, 113, 125, 126, 127, 137, 138 lexical transfer 25, 83 life-style, expatriate, of Rao xvii lingam 6, 137 “Little Gram Shop, The” 6–8, 10, 184

214 loan shifts, linguistic 27, 84 loan transfers, linguistic xlvi, 127 loan translations 24, 26, 82, 113, 137 Loomba, Ania xiv Loye, David xxxii Macaulay, Thomas xxii; and Rao xvi Maha-devi 8 Mahalakshmi 7 Malgudi (fictional realm of Narayan) xxiv, xxv, xxxv, 64 Malik, Yogendra K. xxxix Malraux, André xxxviii, xxxix, 4, 135, 184

Man-Eater of Malgudi, The (R.K. Narayan) 64 manichaeanism xx, lv Mara 95, 96 Markandaya, Kamala, Some Inner Fury 3 marriage xvi, 9, 13, 34, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, 54, 72, 73, 96, 100, 106, 129, 130, 142

Marxism xxxvi, 66, 67, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 95, 102, 141 Masters, John xxii Mathur, Om Prakash 89 matriarchy xxxii Maya 5, 34, 47, 112 McCutchion, David xxiii, 114 Meaning of India, The xxxvi, xxxviii, xxxix, xlviii, xlix, l, 47, 117, 118, 185 Mehotra, Raja Ram xlvi metaphysics, in Indian philosophy xlviii, xlix, 118; in Indian writing xxiv; in Rao xvii, xviii, xix, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxvii, xxxix, xliii, xlviii, 16, 23, 32, 33, 36, 37, 38, 41, 46, 47, 50, 51, 52, 55, 57, 60, 66, 94, 98, 107, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115, 116, 118,

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 134, 138, 139, 140, 141 Minakanni 5 Minakshi Devi 5

Minoan Crete xxxii minority cultures lv, 79 mixed formations, linguistic 59 Modern Language Association of America, and Rao xix, 185 Montpellier, and Rao xvi, 183 mother-figure xxxi, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 21, 22, 43, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 75, 106, 125, 126 motherland xvii, 11, 91 Mouly, Camille (wife of Rao) xvi, 183, 184

Mukherjee, Meenakshi xxi, xxv, xxvii, xxxv, xxxvi, 3, 23, 24, 30, 32, 61, 63, 65

multiculturalism xxi, xxvi, xxx, xxxi, xlvi, li, lii, liii, liv, lv, lvi, 91, 92, 95, 97, 101, 102, 124, 126, 128, 139; in Rao 33, 98, 100, 128, 132, 139, 142 multilingualism xix, xxviii, lii, 138; and Rao xlv Murthy, U.R. Anantha xxi, xliii Murugan the Tiller (K.S. Venkataramani) 3 Muslim culture xliii, xlvi, lv, 16, 19, 94, 108, 109; and Rao xv, xvi, xxxvii, 183 mythic dimension, in Rao xxv, 17, 18, 19, 23, 30, 73, 74, 75, 101 mythic time 18 mythology 16 Nachiketas 130 naga stories 17 Nagarajan, K. Chronicles of Kedaram 3 Naik, M.K. xv, xvi, xxvi, xxviii, xxix,

215

Index xxxv, xxxvii, xlv, 18, 32, 34, 39, 46, 77, 79, 80, 89, 99, 100, 113, 116, 124, 137

Nair, Rukmini lii Nanavati, U.M., & Prafulla C. Kar xxi Nanda, Nivedita xliii Nandi 110 Nandy, Ashis xxxviii, lii, 62, 131 Narasimha 130 Narasimhaiah, C.D. ix, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, xxviii, xxx, xxxv, xxxvi, xxxix, 7, 23, 33, 41, 44, 61, 79, 81, 108, 110, 116, 124

Narayan, R.K. xxiii, xxiv, xxv, xxviii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, 3, 8, 63, 64; Malgudi (fictional realm of Narayan) xxiv, xxv, xxxv, 64; The Man-Eater of Malgudi 64; Waiting for the Mahatma 3 Narayan, Shyamala A. 8, 120, 128 “Narsiga” 10–13, 20, 184 nationalism, Indian ix, xx, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, l, lvi, 23, 66, 68, 79, 87, 139 nation-state, India as xxxv nativism xx, xxxiii nativization, linguistic xliv, xlvi, 28, 49, 79, 81; in Rao 19, 24–30 négritude xx, 134 Nehru, Jawaharlal xxix, xxxix, 67, 88, 94, 119, 128, 131, 132, 141, 184 Nemade, Balchandra xx Neustadt International Prize for Literature, and Rao xix, 118, 185 “Nimka” 32, 41–44, 47, 48, 184 Niven, Alistair 109, 110 Nizam College, and Rao xv, 183 novel xxiii, xxiv, xxxix, 3, 63, 65, 114; Mikhail Bakhtin on 62; British xxxviii, 63; British, indigenization in India xix; concept of, for Rao 65; first Indian 3; Indian English xx,

xxiii, xxxiv, xxxv, 1, 2, 3, 61, 63, 64, 65; Indian English, and Rao xiii; indigenization of 64; Ruth Prawer Jhabvala on 62; On the Ganga Ghat as 51; Russian 88; Western xxiii, 114 On the Ganga Ghat 50–60, 140, 185 orality, in India xliv, 1, 63; in Rao xlvii, 2, 17, 19, 30, 31, 64, 66, 85, 86, 113

Orientalism (Said) xxi, xxii, xxxiii, liii, 109

Other, the xx, xxiii, liv Otherness xxiv Padma Bhushan (Order of Lotus), and Rao xix, 185 Paniker, Ayyappa 126 pan-Indianism xx, xxiv, xxvii, xxviii, xxxv, 3 Panja, Shormishtha xxvi, xxix Parameswaran, Uma 127, 128 Paranjape, Makarand xx, xxiv, 51, 61, 87, 88, 127 Parthasarathy, R. xlviii, 127, 128 Partition lv, 95 partnership, cultural xxx, xxxi, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxviii, xxxix, xlviii, liv, lvi, 6, 23, 70, 81, 101, 102, 107, 110, 111, 134, 136, 140 Parvathi 5, 17, 20, 37, 52, 54, 74, 96, 110

Passage to India, A (Forster) xiv Patanjali (classical Indian scholar) xlviii Patil, Anil xx Patil, Z.N. 26 patriarchy xxxi, xxxii, 6, 9, 32, 69; in Rao xxxvii peasant culture 13, 22, 23, 76, 78, 80, 104

216 Perera, Senath W. 78 Persian language xxvi, xliv, xlvi, 133 pilgrimage 19, 20, 46, 56, 101, 102, 107, 136, 140 pluralism, in Indian culture ix, xxx, xxxvi, xli, lvi, 26, 102 plurality, of Indian English literature(s) xix Policeman and the Rose, The lvi, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32–50, 60, 120, 140, 184, 185 “Policeman and the Rose, The” 44–46 polyphony, in Rao 98, 113 polyphony, linguistic, Indian resistance to xxi Possessed, The (Dostoevsky) 89, 90 postcolonialism ix, xxii, xxxi, xxxiii, xlv, li, liv, 60, 139 Powers, Janet M. 96 Prabhachandracharya (poetphilosopher) 61 Prithivi 5 Puranic tradition, in Rao 19, 20, 21, 47, 48, 60, 65, 97 Pure Consciousness 34, 35, 40 python imagery 15 Quit India movement xvii, 184 Radha 110 Radhakrishnan, R. lii, liii, liv railways, in Indian unification 16 Rajan, Balachandra, The Dark Dancer 63

Rajarsi 20 Raju, P.T. xl Ram, Shankar, The Children of Kaveri 26; Creature All 26 Rama 2, 11, 13, 16, 24, 44, 74, 77, 102, 106, 107, 110, 126

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS Ramayana xlv, 25, 27, 43, 44, 50, 55, 74

Rao, Raja, B I O G R A P H I C A L T O P I C S : Aligarth xvi; ashram culture xvii; Asiatic Scholarship xvi, 183; Atmananda, guru of Rao xviii, 33, 35, 67, 120, 128, 184; Benares 99; Chetana (cultural organization) xvii, xl, 88, 184; Erick Dickinson xvi, 183; expatriate life-style criticized xvii; Europe xxxvii; France xvi, xvii, xviii, xxxv, xlv, 3, 32, 33, 34, 35, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 66, 67, 68, 87, 97, 98, 99, 100, 104, 105, 111, 113, 115, 116, 117, 122, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 134, 137, 141, 183, 184, 185; Hyderabad xv, xvi; Jaya Karnataka (periodical) 183; Katherine Jones, wife of Rao xviii, 185; Karnataka xv; Kerala xviii, 120, 124, 126; Modern Language Association of America xix, 185; Montpellier xvi, 183; Camille Mouly, wife of Rao xvi, 183, 184; Neustadt International Prize for Literature xix, 118, 185; Nizam College xv, 183; Padma Bhushan (Order of Lotus) xix, 185; Susan Vaught, wife of Rao 185; Sahitya Akademi xx, xxviii, 116; Sahitya Academy Award Rao xix, 185; Sri Vidya Samiti (cultural organization) 88, 184; Tomorrow (Bombay periodical) 88, 184; University of Texas xviii, 115, 184, 185; U S A xviii, li, 66, 128, 184; Vidyaranya Swami (ancestor of Rao) xv; Woodrow Wilson International Center xix, 185; Yagnyavalkya (ancestor of Rao) xv, 107, 181

Rao, Raja, L A N G U A G E S : Arabic 82; French xvi; Hindi 82; Indian lan-

217

Index guages 19; Kannada xlv, xlvii, 3, 4, 13, 27, 85, 115; Persian xxvi, xliv, xlvi, 133; Sanskrit xlvii, 47, 60, 82, 94, 98, 112, 114; Urdu xv Rao, Raja, L I N G U I S T I C A N D NARRATOLOGICAL TOPICS: aphoristic style 48, 111; archaisms 112; code-mixing 49, 98, 113; interior monologue 30; lexical elements xlvii, 19, 24, 25, 26, 30, 48, 49, 58, 60, 82, 83, 98, 113, 125, 126, 127, 137, 138; lexical (loan) transfers/borrowings xlvi, 24, 25, 27, 49, 58, 60, 82, 83, 84, 98, 127, 137; loan translations 24, 26, 82, 113, 137; mixed formations 59; multilingualism xlv; nativization 19, 24–30; novel, indigenization of 64, 66, 85; novel, Indian English, concept of, for Rao xiii, 65; novel, On the Ganga Ghat as 51; orality xlvii, 2, 17, 19, 30, 31, 64, 66, 85, 86, 113; rhetorical figures 24, 27, 28; polyphony 98, 113; short story 1–60; transculturalism xlv; transposition, lexical 29, 46, 48; Upanishads, and Rao’s style 44, 47, 60, 97, 111, 126; storytelling tradition, Indian, in Rao 85; string formations 26, 83; syncretism 16, 19 Rao, Raja, L I T E R A R Y W O R K S : “Books Which Have Influenced Me” 89, 99; “The Caste of English” xxi, xxx, xlvii, 118; The Cat and Shakespeare lvi, 42, 43, 66, 67, 96, 116, 119–27, 131, 141, 185; The Chessmaster and His Moves lvi, 51, 67, 117, 127–38, 141, 185; “Akkayya” 9–10, 19, 41, 183; “A Client” 4, 13–14, 183; “Companions” 16, 19–20, 30; Comrade Kirillov lvi, 66, 87–98, 100, 102, 116, 141, 185; The Cow of the

Barricades xiv, xviii, xxvi, xxxvii, 4– 32, 33, 41, 48, 50, 66, 115, 140, 184; “Entering the Literary World” xv, xvi; “In Kandesh” 14–16, 30; “India: A Fable” 32, 33–41, 47; “Javni” 4–6, 7, 8, 10, 28, 31, 41, 183; “Kanakapala” 16, 17–18, 28, 30, 184; Kanthapura xiv, xv, xxiv, xxxv, xxxix, xliii, xliv, xlv, xlvii, 2, 18, 19, 26, 31, 64, 65, 66, 68–86, 87, 88, 96, 115, 141, 184; “The Little Gram Shop” 6–8, 10, 184; “Narsiga” 10–13, 20, 184; “Nimka” 32, 41–44, 47, 48, 184; On the Ganga Ghat 50–60, 140, 185; The Policeman and the Rose lvi, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 15, 17, 18, 19, 20, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32–50, 60, 120, 140, 184, 185; “The Policeman and the Rose” 44–46; The Serpent and the Rope xv, xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xxiii, xxxvi, xliii, lvi, 35, 38, 41, 51, 66, 67, 94, 98–114, 115, 116, 117, 126, 129, 131, 133, 141, 184, 185 Rao, Raja, M O T I V I C T O P I C S : cat imagery 41, 42, 43, 44, 120, 124; cobra imagery 17, 19; cow symbolism xlviii, 6, 10, 18, 20, 21, 22, 53, 56; crocodile imagery 54; rose and lotus, as symbols xxxiv, 46; serpent/snake imagery 10, 12, 14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 53, 74, 93, 107, 121, 137; swan imagery 12, 41, 43, 173; symbolism xvii, 33, 41, 44, 46, 140; vulture imagery 56; water imagery xxv, 6, 15, 18, 21, 25, 35, 36, 37, 39, 40, 43, 50, 51, 53, 54, 55, 57, 68, 72, 75, 83, 100, 104, 125, 148

Rao, Raja, T H E M A T I C T O P I C S : alienation xxxvii, 4, 32, 90; Benares, in On the Ganga Ghat 26, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 140; Brahminical

218 culture xiii, xiv, xv, xxvi, xxxvii, xlviii, xlix, l, 19, 32, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40, 41, 45, 46, 47, 67, 95, 102, 116, 118, 183; Brahminical conservatism, of Rao xxxvii; Rao’s disgust at Brahmanism xxxvii; Buddhism xviii, xlii, lvi, 100, 106; caste xiv; Christianity xlii, lvi, 80; corruption 121; degradation xxxvii 6, 7, 9, 119, 141; Fyodor Dostoevsky 88, 89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 99; East–West dialogue xiii, xxi, xxii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvi, xlii, liv, lv, lvi, 46, 64, 89, 99, 100, 101, 102, 110, 138, 139, 142; female characters 7, 8, 105, 111, 133, 134; folklore xiv; the Great Goddess xxxi, 5, 8, 12, 17, 20, 37, 50, 53, 55, 57, 73; Hindu culture xv, xvii, xxxvii, 19, 60; illusion 140; Independence movement 141; India, relation to xvii; Indianness of xlvi, 26; interculturalism xviii, xxxiii, 138; Franz Kafka xix, 4, 15, 99; Thomas Macaulay xvi; André Malraux xxxix; marriage xvi, 9, 13, 34, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, 54, 72, 73, 96, 100, 106, 129, 130, 142; Marxism xxxvi, 66, 67, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 95, 102, 141; metaphysics, in Rao xvii, xviii, xix, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxvii, xxxix, xliii, xlviii, 16, 23, 32, 33, 36, 37, 38, 41, 46, 47, 50, 51, 52, 55, 57, 60, 66, 94, 98, 107, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115, 116, 118, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 134, 138, 139, 140, 141; mother-figure xxxi, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 21, 22, 43, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 75, 106, 125, 126; multiculturalism 33, 98, 100, 128, 132, 139, 142; Muslim culture xv, xvi, xxxvii, 183; mythic dimension xxv, 17, 18, 19, 23, 30, 73,

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS 74, 75, 101; partnership, cultural xxx,

xxxi, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxviii, xxxix, xlviii, liv, lvi, 6, 23, 70, 81, 101, 102, 107, 110, 111, 134, 136, 140; patriarchy xxxvii; peasant culture 13, 22, 23, 76, 78, 80, 104; pilgrimage 19, 20, 46, 56, 101, 102, 107, 136, 140; Puranic tradition 19, 20, 21, 47, 48, 60, 65, 97; rationalism xviii, 105; rural India xiv, xxii, 4, 8, 13, 18, 23, 26, 28, 31, 32, 41, 50, 68, 69, 70, 71, 76, 79, 83, 86, 93, 140; sadhana (metaphysical life) xviii, xix, xlix, l; Ignazio Silone, Fontamara, influence on Rao xxxix, 26, 79, 80, 81; socialism xvii, 79, 88, 93, 95, 96, 131, 184; spiritual quest xvii, xviii, xxxviii, 140; Sufi philosophy xxvi, xlii, lvi, 19; Rabindranath Tagore xvi; Tantra xlii; Ultimate Truth, quest for xxi, xxxiv, xxxviii, xxxix, xl, xli, xlii, xliii, xlvii, l, li, 4, 19, 38, 44, 45, 52, 102, 103, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 118, 126, 131, 132, 135, 136, 142; Vedantic philosophy xviii, xxviii, xli, lvi, l, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 50, 51, 52, 55, 58, 60, 89, 92, 93, 95, 96, 99, 107, 140; Vedic philosophy xviii; Western mysticism (university project on, by Rao) xvi; widowhood, in Rao xxxvii, 5, 9; women, in Rao xxxi, 9, 10, 13, 19, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 36, 54, 72, 73, 78, 86, 94, 100, 133; women, degradation of xxxvii, 6; W.B. Yeats xvi Rao, Susan Vaught, wife of Rao 185 rationalism 105; and Rao xviii Ravana 48, 74 Reddy, P. Bayapa xxvi rhetorical figures 24, 27, 28 Riemenschneider, Dieter xxiii

219

Index Rilke, Rainer Maria xix, 99 rose and lotus, as symbols xxxiv, 46 Rougemont, Denis de xiii rural India xiv, xxii, 4, 8, 13, 18, 23, 26, 28, 31, 32, 41, 50, 68, 69, 70, 71, 76, 79, 83, 86, 93, 140 Rushdie, Salman, The Satanic Verses lii

serpent imagery 10, 14, 16, 17, 19, 20, 53, 74, 107 Sethi, Rumina xxxvi, 73, 114 shakti 6, 8, 20, 37 Shakti xliii, 5, 16, 107, 110, 128 Shakunthala 74 Shankara (Indian philosopher) xv, 32, 33, 34, 56, 75, 93, 102, 107, 113, 128, 132

sadhana (metaphysical life), and Rao xviii, xix, xlix, l Sahgal, Nayantara, A Time to Be Happy 3

Sahitya Akademi xx, xxviii; and Rao 116

Sahitya Academy Award, and Rao xix, 185

Said, Edward, Culture and Imperialism xxii; Orientalism xxi, xxii, xxxiii, liii, 109

Sankaran, Chitra 69 Sanskrit culture and language xxi, xxv, xli, xliii, xliv, xlviii, xlix, 3, 24, 43, 50, 97, 118; and Rao xlvii, 47, 60, 82, 94, 98, 112, 114 sanskritization lv Saraswati 5, 8 Satanic Verses, The (Rushdie) lii Satchidanandan, K. xxviii sati (widow-burning) xxxvii Satyagraha xxxix, xl, xlii, 12, 21, 70, 74, 78, 81, 108 Scott, Paul xxii secularism xxv, 8, 62 secularization 9 Serpent and the Rope, The xv, xvi, xvii, xviii, xix, xxiii, xxxvi, xliii, lvi, 35, 38, 41, 51, 66, 67, 94, 98–114, 115, 116, 117, 126, 129, 131, 133, 141, 184, 185

Sharma, Jyotirmaya l Sharma, K.K. xvii Sharrad, Paul xxx, 99, 102, 104, 114 Shirwadkar, Meena 78 Shiv Sena Party xx Shiva xliii, 5, 8, 10, 16, 17, 18, 24, 27, 33, 44, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 65, 74, 75, 107, 110, 123, 135, 140 short story, and Rao 1–60 short story, development in India 1–2 Shyama 8 Silone, Ignazio xxxviii, xxxix, 26, 79, 80, 81 Silver Pilgrimage, The (M. Anantanarayanan) 63 Singh, Jyotsna xxii Sita 2, 13, 44, 48, 74, 107 snake imagery 12, 19, 20, 22, 93, 121, 137

social realism xxxvi socialism, and Rao xvii, 79, 88, 93, 95, 96, 131, 184 Some Inner Fury (Kamala Markandaya) 3

soul-force (Gandhi) 77 Soyinka, Wole xx spiritual quest xxxiv, lvi, 41, 60, 100, 142; and Rao xvii, xviii, 140 spirituality, and Rao xxxviii Sri Vidya Samiti (cultural organization), and Rao 88, 184

220 Srinivasachari, P.N. 120 Standard English xlv, xlvi, xlvii, 85 storytelling tradition, Indian 1, 18, 47, 48, 64; in Rao 85 string formations, linguistic 26, 83 Sufism xxvi, 19; and Rao xxvi, xlii, lvi swan imagery 12, 41, 43, 173 symbolism xxxi, xxxiv, lv, 5, 8, 11, 16, 19, 21, 34, 36, 37, 41, 43, 46, 50, 51, 61, 64, 86, 90, 97, 99, 100, 106, 124; in Rao xvii, 33, 41, 44, 46, 140 syncretism 16; in Rao 19 Tagore, Rabindranath xix; and Rao xvi Talakamma 5, 6 Tantra, and Rao xlii Tara, cult of 8 Thieme, John xxv Thuggee cult 54 Thumboo, Edwin 127, 136, 137 Time to Be Happy, A (Nayantara Sahgal) 3 Tolstoy, Leo 43, 48 Tomorrow (Bombay periodical) 88, 184

Tomorrow is Ours! (Abbas) 3 transculturalism, and Rao xlv transposition, lexical 29, 46, 48 Tristan and Isolde 110, 130 Trotsky, Leon 92, 94, 109 Twilight in Delhi (Ahmed Ali) 3 Ultimate Reality 34, 116, 125, 135 Ultimate Self 57 Ultimate Truth, quest for, in Rao xxi, xxxiv, xxxviii, xxxix, xl, xli, xlii, xliii, xlvii, l, li, 4, 19, 38, 44, 45, 52, 102, 103, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 118, 126, 131, 132, 135, 136, 142 Ulysses 110 universalism xxiv, xxxiv, xxxv

THE ROSE AND THE LOTUS University of Texas, and Rao xviii, 115, 184, 185 Untouchable (Anand) xxxv, 3, 63 Upanishads xxvi, 4, 104, 128; and Rao’s style 44, 47, 60, 97, 111, 126 Urdu language xxvi; and Rao xv USA, and Rao xviii, li, 66, 128, 184 Ushas 5 Valéry, Paul xix, 3, 99, 113 van Woerkens, Martine 54 Vasishtha 20 Vedantic philosophy xv, xlii, xlvii, lvi, 25, 34, 41, 42, 44, 87, 90, 102, 117, 128; and Rao xviii, xxviii, xli, l, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 50, 51, 52, 55, 58, 60, 89, 92, 93, 95, 96, 99, 107, 140 Vedantism, and Aldous Huxley xxxviii Vedas xxvi, 4, 32, 94 Vedic philosophy xlii, xliii, l, li, 9, 36, 46, 50, 55, 130; and Rao xviii Venkataramani, K.S., Kandan the Patriot 3; Murugan the Tiller 3 Vidyaranya Swami (ancestor of Rao) xv Vijayasree, C. xxxvi Virgin Mary 8, 111 Vishnu 5, 55, 130 Vishvamitra 20 Vishvanatha 53 vulture imagery 56 Waiting for the Mahatma (Narayan) 3 Walsh, William xxiii, xxxv, xxxvi Warner, Rex xxxviii water imagery xxv, 6, 15, 18, 21, 25, 35, 36, 37, 39, 40, 43, 50, 51, 53, 54, 55, 57, 68, 72, 75, 83, 100, 104, 125, 148

We Never Die (D.F. Karaka) 3

221

Index Weltliteratur (Goethe) xxxiii Westbrook, Perry 87, 89 Western mysticism (project on, by Rao) xvi westernization xxiii, lv, 95 widowhood, in Indian culture 4, 5, 9, 73; in Rao xxxvii Williams, Haydn Moore xxiii, xxiv women, degradation of xxxvii, 6 women, in Rao xxxi, 9, 10, 13, 19, 28, 29, 30, 31, 34, 36, 54, 72, 73, 78, 86, 94, 100, 133

Woodrow Wilson International Center, and Rao xix, 185 Yagnyavalkya (ancestor of Rao) xv, 107, 181 Yeats, W.B. 99; and Rao xvi yoni 6 Zimmer, Heinrich 5, 52