PRESENT-DAY ASSAMESE LITERATURE

By P. GOSWAMI, M.A.

The war made itself felt in Assam by about 1942; it came as a dark cloud threatening the normal activities of the people. Literary expression tended to get stifled; publication of books became difficult; the magazines became erratic; many writers found the social and economic atmosphere uncertain and uncongenial for creative work. It was further a period of ideological turmoil for younger writers, and some of them, those who probably did not produce much though promising considerably, made themselves conspicuous before long and seemed to give a lead to those older writers who had not been able to decide which way to go–to go the way of the art of the leisured class or follow in the van of a fast changing world. The temporary revival of the monthly Jayanti and its management in younger hands seems to be a significant event in the history of literary ideas of the last ten years or so. For the magazine tried to clarify many issues, and in spite of its occasional idiosyncrasies, it was able to expose the futility of writing sentimental stories and conventional love-poems.

The war years and especially the August movement of 1942 gave to the thought of the people a socialistic bias and the younger writers became acquainted with Marxian doctrines. There was no regimentation of thought, but the change in thee outlook could not be denied. As a result of this changed outlook the note of national consciousness which had been felt in the modern literature of Assam, and which occasionally had tended to ring out in a cry of the oppressed in general, became less sentimental, less romantic, and indeed underwent a transformation in the face of the sterner realities storming the consciousness of sensitive persons. Most of the poems in the anthology Adhunik Asamiya Kavita (1946) record an awareness of capitalist exploitation, class conflict, and the need for a quick change in the order of things. How the same poet turned from a patriotic stand to an anti-imperialist fighter could be seen in the later work of Jyoti-prasad Agarwalla (d. 1951) who composed songs and poems of a revolutionary character.

One of the most promising of the younger poets, Amulya Barua, lost his life in the Calcutta Killing. The general note of the new poetry is strong confidence, and the overt meaning suggests a determination to fight the battle of life, however hard it may be:

…O you band of death-conquering immortals,

Writers of new histories for new days,

None of you do die–

None of you have died till this day;

Striding over death age after age

Have you upheld the great torch of life...

–KESHAV MAHANTA

A considerable amount of the new poetry seems a little futile, for it has not only freed itself from the restraint of rhyme and logic but tended to lose all sense of rhythm and “the light that never was on sea or land”. The younger poet is oftener a poseur, a critic in verse (or in ‘market-report' prose!), using new forms to advertise new doctrines, and to attack what had gone before. Moreover the new poet is frequently an under-graduate with neither a true conception of poetry nor an understanding of the means in the hand of the poet. The outward shell of modern English poetry has befogged a considerable number of these youngsters who are normally deficient in their knowledge of the English language, not to speak of speech-rhythm, sprung rhythm, stress, Image, and such features of modern English poetry. They have further been misguided by a few of their seniors who even think of introducing surrealism at this date. It is of course undeniable that the range of subjects and the gamut of consciousness have been enriched and the move towards fresh ideas is legitimate, yet an occasional happy image or two do not balance the loss the poetry has sustained in imaginative quality.

In fiction the post-war years seem to have seen a revival. As in poetry in fiction also, there has been a change in method and content. The narration has greater verisimilitude than before and the characterisation is nearer to life. There is a greater awareness of the changing environment. A comparatively young writer, Md. Piar, has produced several novels and at least two of them–Sangram and Herowa Swarga–deserve notice. In Sangram the story is about a poor and struggling Muslim lad who faces the world alone and, in order to realise his inner potentialities, does not accept defeat, but goes ahead and discovers himself to be a writer of originality. His work is put across to the public with the patronage of a high-minded Hindu girl. The problems that Rafique has to face are those that have disturbed the mind of the middle class in our society, and circumstances tend to transform him from a struggling poor man to a rebellious social worker. In the latest of Piar’s work, in Herowa Swarga, there is a vivid picture of the small world of unsympathetic relatives and ignorant people in which a poor Mussalman boy drifts about in search of shelter and sustenance. The waif finds his haven in the house of a Hindu youth: this haven is lost once, but is regained with complete peace to the central character. In grasp of social reality the second work is much better, but in both Piar writes of people he has known. Piar is not much disturbed by ideologies, hence his narration is easy and flowing.

A novel of a different type is Navakanta Barua’s Kapilipariya Sadhu, which is only the first part of the projected work. Here the emphasis is on the vagaries of the river Kapili and the hopes and despairs it raises in the heart of the peasants dwelling on its banks. The central character Rupai is found on the breast of the Kapili and all his life he feels a peculiar kinship with the river. His sweetheart Sonpahi loses her life in the Kapili and he consoles himself with the feeling that after all it is his river which has taken her away. The human story takes on a tragic colouring from the uncertainty and wildness of the river which serves as its setting. The picture of rural life presented in the novel is not idealised, rather the pity of it has been worked out.

Psychological preoccupation characterises Radhikamohan Goswami’s Chaknaiya. It is a fairly large work devoting most space to describing the unhappy contacts of Vivek with hypocrites and snobs. There is considerable character analysis but the work suffers as a whole because Vivek has no tangible ground for railing against the world; the reader does not discover what circumstances have made Vivek what he is. The author has succeeded in making certain minor characters convincing, but the novel fails because the central character is unconvincing. Characterisation is also the concern of Kecha Patar Kapani by the author of this essay. In this novel is a group of young people with the passional unrest typical of the young and the ideological unrest typical of the times. Young and educated Utpal makes an attempt to eke out his living in business, does not quite succeed, but contacts Nilima and loves her. She drifts out while Minati, a school-mistress, tries to grab him. Knowledge of the hard life led by young Bohagi and other Kachari tribals, as well as contacts with underground workers like the artist Rabinkumar, seem to make Utpa all the more undecided. Minati at last goes over to a friend of Utpal’s and the young chap is left without any plan as such. There is some amount of experimentation in the style of the novel as demanded by the analysis of moods.

Of other works, Gnanakanta Gagoi’s Sonar Nangal (First part) deals with rural conditions while Sureshchandra Goswami’s Sat Rangar Natun Krareng is preoccupied with the artistic regeneration of Assam. Hitesh Deka’s Ajir Manuh is full of promise in spite of its idealistic ending. The crime novel has come to its own in the hand of Premnarayan Datta.

The short-story, like the new poetry, has suffered a little in respect of form. The range of themes is varied, the life of the humbler people has been drawn on, some amount of translation is also there, still the genre does not seem to be as full-blooded as in the thirties. Formlessness and an undue intrusion of personal feeling weaken the stories of even Abdul Malik who is considered to be the most notable short-story writer of the last fifteen years or so.

A concern for character could be felt from the forties, but writers like Jagadishchandra Medhi and Prabodhchandra Goswami did not persist in their experimentation. Medhi’s eye was for the pitiable villager who spent his all on litigation while Goswami concerned himself with the reactions of the under-paid clerk. Of the present writers Jogesh Das has a condensed style and a feeling for atmosphere while Saurabh Chaliha an understanding of the neuroses of the lower middle class.

Assam is a land of backward tribals, and their modes of life and relations with the more advanced sections of the people should have offered an interesting field for exploration to the short-story writer. The sad fact is that this virgin source has remained almost untapped. An occasional exception is seen in a novel like Kecha Patar Kapani where there are glimpses of Kachari and Khasi life and, in a story like Medini Chaudhury’s Panu, about a Kachari girl. But there are stories which have attempted to speak of the people in general; for example, Biren Bhattacharya’s Kalang Ajiyo Bay, almost a novelette.

Love as such is no longer the staple of these stories: they have grown mote serious in the meantime. Humour too seems to have evaporated from the new story, but there is satire and caricature, as in the work of Papiya-tara, Premnarayan Datta and Lakshminath Phookan. The Assamese story would gain much if the technique of reportage were mastered by the younger writer for in reportage there is observation and consideration objectivity, both essential to the short-story writer. The war atmosphere also seems to have eluded the Assamese writer and a whole range of experiences has remained untapped. Better knowledge of the tribal areas and the Assam-Burma frontier, the wide scale social upheaval caused by the advancing armies and the Burma evacuation, and unusual personal adventures could have added richness to the literature. With the possible exception of Hariprasad Gorkha Roy no other writer took these things seriously. It was not possible to utilise the war material when the upheaval was there, but by now, from a distance, it could be harnessed to creative purposes.

In the drama a revitalisation has taken place as in the novel. The tendency has been towards the social play, as in the work of Pravin Phukan. The Assamese stage is not professional, hence in towns there is not much demand for good plays, the cinema further making a greater claim on the interest of the people. In the villages usually mythological and historical plays hold the stage. So the scope for the good social or problem play is limited indeed. Even then in the last few years two historical plays of the realistic type made stage history by drawing full houses. Maniram Dewan by Pravin Phukan, and Piyali Phukan by Chandranath Phukan and others held up to the public the inspiring lives of two nineteenth-century patriots who had made attempts to dislodge the British from Assam. The plays were well written; the characterisation was sharp and clear, the dialogue crisp and effective and the plots had considerable suspense. These plays were produced in the open air at Gauhati last year and were again received well by the public. Sarada Bardaloi and Kumudchandra Barua have attempted to write social and humorous plays. The talented Jyotiprasad Agarwalla published Labhita just before his death. The setting of Labhita is 1942, the August disturbances and the Allied Army occupation of Assam. Labhita has some unhappy affairs with a soldier, becomes a social outcast, joins the army as a nurse, goes over to the I. N. A., and finally loses her life in the front. The play is meant for the stage and there is detailed stage direction, as is usual in a play of Jyotiprasad.

The future of the drama lies in greater education of the public mind, more plays on social themes, and on Government patronage. Otherwise, in the face of the onward march of the cinema, the stage would be amateurish and may even die out. The recent move of the I. P. T. A. has done a little to stem the downward trend of the Indian theatre.

Recent years have further seen developments in the journalistic sphere. Journalism has trained young people to write well on a variety of themes, and at the same time made them impatient and less painstaking where they should give more attention and expend more energy. The war and the August movement have immensely broadened the intellectual horizon of the younger writers, but, as it seems, it may take some years to see the full flowering of the literary experimentation that has been going on at present. Publication difficulties and a limited reading public have often stood in the way of the Assamese writer’s self-expression, though in recent years there have been publishers who have ventured to invest money even in works of academic importance.

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