World, World, O World!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate
thee,
Life would not yield to age.
King Lear, IV,
i.
WHEN I wrote A Daughter’s Shadow* against
the background of Shakespeare’s play King Lear and of Balzac’s Old
Goriot I had not read another classic, A Lear of the Steppes by
Turgenev, the Russian novelist. A literary critic while writing about
Turgenev’s short story, referred to my Daughter’s Shadow as an
‘incipient’ Lear. I asked myself: “if it was incipient in what sense was it?”
My idea was to impress on the reader that a tragedy does often arise in the
soul of an aged man on account of his daughters, though they may be normally
good, without any of the intense selfishness of or the wanton cruelty shown by
the heroines of Shakepeare or of Balzac. It is incipient only in the sense that
my story does not display the crude primordial passions of a savage under
primitive social conditions but the reactions of an age-long culture on an
intelligent, and emotionally controlled Hindu, in situations where his ideals
and aspirations are unrealised in his children and when disillusionment sets in
the human mind in the course of human relationships and on the development of
human events.
A short summary of Turgenev’s story may benefit the
readers. Harlov (the Lear) is a strong well-built man with a giant human frame.
He has two daughters by a frail wife who dies not long after the birth of the
second girl, the elder named Anna and the younger Evlampia. He owns a large estate
with a residence, outhouses, threshing floor etc., and is proud of a family
lineage with a hoary tradition. His wife is chosen for him by a well-meaning
aristocratic lady of the land, a lifelong friend of Harlov. (The story is
related by a son of this lady who had seen the events to follow during his
boyhood before he was sixteen) Harlov loves the younger girl more than the
elder because of his wife’s death, and as the younger takes after him both in
health, frame and features. He is also miserly, riding on an old horse for
years, which is even unable to bear the heavy weight of the rider as it seemed
to onlookers. He is a terror for the farm hands and his strength is such that
he could easily strangle any man who would offend him. The elder girl is married
to a man chosen for her by the aristocratic lady. The son-in-law works
servilely for him on the estate and is poorly remunerated. The married
daughter, the son-in-law and the younger girl reside with him. A husband has
also been chosen by the lady for the second girl from one of the visitors, a
man who had served in the army, but the marriage does not come off.
The story practically opens with the visit of
Harlov to his lady friend, when he has had a bad dream followed by what he
thought, was a paralytic attack of his arm while asleep. A superstitious fear
of death takes hold of him. He wishes during his lifetime to divide his estates
among his two daughters so that they may not subsequently quarrel among
themselves, even against the advice and warning of that lady that his daughters
may do him wrong, and that he himself may not be cared for by them when they
have got hold of his monies. As in King Lear, he assigns to himself under the
name of rations, a full allowance of normal provisions and ten roubles a month
for clothes and reserves the right to go on living in the rooms he has occupied
so far. The deed is signed with a pompous show before a big party wherein he
invokes the aid of God that his daughters act by the deed of gift. It has even
a clause embodying a curse to befall his children should they not care for
their aged father. He reads aloud the portion of the deed pertaining to
himself. The younger girl does not say profusely her thanks in public (as
Cordelia did in King Lear) and the seed is sown for a set-back in his love for
Evlampia. The fool and the mad man of Shakespeare’s play are combined in the
character of Harlov’s brother-in-law, in indigent circumstances, and a servant
of the aristocratic lady. As in King Lear, Harlov is not properly fed, and not
attended to by the daughters of the house, his rooms are even forcibly occupied
by the girls as required for some or other purpose and his horse given away as
a present to a farm land. He gets to be of a vacant mind, bordering on lunacy.
He goes a-fishing without a tackle or a worm. When this is pointed out by the
youngster, the story-teller, Harlov becomes furious and the lad has to run for
his life lest he should come to harm. The accusation of the loss of his senses
is keenly felt by Harlov. The brother-in-law who always accused Harlov of the
death of his sister, on seeing his unkempt condition shows his scorn on his
having become indigent like himself. Harlov’s affected pride makes him more
furious in temper. One day he goes through a muddy tank in his desire to visit
his lady friend and is described as a bear by her servants who could not fetch
any dress large enough to relieve him of his wet clothes but only a sheet to
wrap him up. He has already noticed that his younger girl is a paramour to his
son-in-law; and that fact worries him and his pensiveness becomes all the
greater. The brother-in-law’s scorn rouses him up to a sudden menta1 fury (akin
to Nature’s fury in the storm of King Lear). He gets up to the roof of his
house and pulls off after rafter with his own hands and threatens all persons
that the beams would be hurled at their heads, should they either talk or come
near him. There is a scene between the son-in-law and the younger girl who
would proclaim that the house is really Harlov’s and not theirs as the
son-in-law avers. No person could get to or approach him on the roof for fear
of being wrung by the neck by his uncontrolled giant strength. The second
house, it was said, was built with his own hands, including lifting the timbers
therefor. The younger girl asks pardon and forgiveness but all to no purpose.
Harlov falls down along with a beam torn up by his strength and dies by the
fall. As nemesis would have it, the elder girl shoots her husband, manages the
estate well and brings up her children nicely. The younger becomes a holy
virgin in the Flagellant sect of dissenters and rules with a firm hand
thousands of girls as a regular Commander-in-chief. The story is told with a
matchless art, and it is not my intention to declaim the greatness of Turgenev.
The lesson conveyed to the reader is one of terror and horror of Harlov,
portrayed with all loss of culture and even the loss of love for children with
no pity for them. The primitive, sub-human and animal nature of man when provoked,
is seen in glaring colours as a painted portrait. What lesson the Westerner
learns from the story is not clear to me but to a Hindu reader, it suggests
(though unsaid) the Upanishadic saying Magridah–Do not grasp–and Kamo-karshith–Manyurakarshit–do
not give way to passion and anger–for it is not human to give way to
them under provocation. Both Balzac and Turgenev have only two daughters to
their Lears, while Shakespeare has a third daughter Cordelia, through whom
human love has re-entered the heart of King Lear. Thus Shakespeare’s art is
supremer as it has given a self-direction to the reader of his play in the
matter of his living a true life!
(2)
The village of Mangudi is well known to the
residents of the Tanjore and Tiruchi Districts of Madras Province. If the
chronicles of the men who have lived there were written, they will surely rank
high enough to be beacon lights to succeeding generations. About a hundred
years ago, there lived in that village over a hundred Brahmin families of the
Brahacharanam subsect of Siva worshippers. They were originally very extreme
Saivites not even saying ‘Govinda’ in the sandhya worship, and thus a
stern austerity in the ordering of their lives was noticeable. Cynics say in
derision of these Brahmin folk that ‘Brahacharana’ means ‘large-footed’. It
really means ‘Brahat-charana’–those who follow in the footsteps of the great.
From the Vettar, a branch of the Kaveri, a channel takes off–called the Mangudi
channel, to irrigate the rice fields of that village. It runs a very zigzag
course, taken by a foot passenger of Mangudi followed by a horse rider to
demarcate the channel for the reason it should never silt up when it was dug.
Tradition has it that it is the gift of a Prince of Tanjore to that Brahmin of
magnificent strength for routing the Pahlwans or professional wrestlers
of his Court. No riparian rights of other villages in the earlier reaches are
even today recognised by the owners of Mangudi rice fields.
Strange to say, these Brahmins of Mangudi and its
offshoot Porasakudi, reputed to be a stalwart race of men, are all of the same Gotra:
they are male cousins, sometimes removed even more than the seventh or tenth
generation of male ancestry. These men had perforce to seek wives from other
villages, from the same subsect in the Tiruchi district lying on the north of
the Kaveri and south of the Coleroon. They were capitalists, small or large,
owning agricultural lands, under the ryotwari system, engaging farm paid labour
of Sudras and Pallas, the very house sites of the latter belonging to the
Brahmin folk. There are even now a Siva temple, with an adjacent large tank,
and a Vishnu temple, built later. There was a talim khana or wrestling
ground for the training of Brahmin youth besides an elementary Tamil school for
children, a Sanskrit Patasala for Vedic learning, as also a music school
teaching Tyagaraja’s and Syama Sashtri’s Telugu kritis. They also learnt the
art of fencing with bamboo lathis. The reason for their stalwart,
physical nature, though they were only good and hearty rice-eaters with dhal,
milk and curd, is attributed to the fact that their lands were in the centre of
certain Kallar clans, depredatory in their habits of carrying away corn
just reaped and stored on the threshing floor; and thus the Brahmins in pure
self-defence, learnt the art of physical well-being. It needs hardly be said
that the art of fencing and wrestling gave them a sense of ‘fair play’ in
worldly matters too. It is said they would not brook a foul stroke in the feats
of fencing exhibited by the Sudra folk in the Ayyanar or Village God festivals
and the man who hit foul would immediately be admonished. In this Mangudi
village, lived an old Brahmin of about eighty years, right at the very end of
the Brahmin street, always looking after himself, about five foot seven, and
walking erect all through life. His corpse was given a Govinda Kolli–cremated
by the other Brahmin villagers but not by his son living in the village. The
history of this remarkable man, named Sarikara Iyer was resuscitated by me,
piecing up the details of his career from various sources, as the event roused
my curiosity.
(3)
The worldly interests of the Brahmins were
necessarily co-operative in the sense that they had to work jointly for looking
after the agricultural operations say, in the matter of silt clearance of the
smaller village channels adjoining the fields, the guarding of the crops, the
watering of the lands, the storing of water at the village anicut and the
filling up of the village tanks for use if and when timely rains fail. The
partition of agricultural lands under the joint family system or of
co-partnership until the eldest member dies, should have led to the splitting
up of the acreage under cultivation; and so when the yield from land was not
sufficient to maintain the growing population, they took advantage of the
English education provided in schools and colleges newly opened by Government,
at Kumbakonam, Tanjore and Tiruchi and other near towns. Mangudi village saw to
it that its children adopted different ways of additions to their income either
by taking up Government jobs or other intellectual professions after completion
of their new English education; and the rivalry of the Brahmin in the early
years of the British administration took strange forms, in the matter of the
successes of the younger generation. Both the rich man and the poor man sent
their children to the English schools. But a rich man would say that so and
so’s son too, referring to the poor man, has passed his Matriculation examination.
Money had to be found for education of the sons. Land was mortgaged by the
poorer cousins to the richer cousins either for the payment of interest on the
security of the land or cash obtained under a usufructory system of mortgage.
Sankaran (as he was known in boyhood) was one of
the first graduates with Mathematics as the optional subject to hail from the
village from the poorer stock of residents. His earlier education was at the
High School at Kumbakonam where his own maternal grand-mother took up a room
and a kitchen to live with and cook food for him and the transport of rice and
other commodities was easy enough from his village. He was betrothed at the age
of fourteen just as he had passed his Matric to a girl from the Tiruchi
district. In those days it was the custom for the parents of boys to pay a
dowry to the father of the wedded girl. This event cost the family a bit of
money and the father to continue his further education had to send him off to
Tiruchi where he completed his Arts course at the then S.P.G. College (now
Bishop Heber College) opposite to the huge temple tank and near the Clive
House. As ill luck would l1ave it, his father passed away soon after he had
left for Tiruchi to continue his studies; and his paternal lands had to be
mortgaged under the usufructory system for cash required for his further
education. This amount was placed on the hands of his father-in-law and he
continued to be at Tiruchi. His village house in Mangudi in the Brahmin street
and the house in the Sudra street were nominally let to one of his cousins so
that the houses may not go into disrepair. He became a graduate at the age of
eighteen but he did not take a high distinction since the languages were rather
difficult for his assimilation. His father-in-law a Sanskrit scholar, and a
State Vakil as a Sanskritist, suggested Sankaran’s moving to Madras to try his
luck in the Provincial Accountant-General’s Office and thus his official life
commenced. During any spell of leave he would go round to Tiruchi to meet his
wife’s relations, with whom he was more familiar, and Mangudi was entirely off
his round of visits. There is nothing to describe specially about his official
life, which was humdrum routine and where one gets slowly pushed up to higher
grades of pay by mere seniority and regular work. One particular feature of his
character should be mentioned. He formed the habit of coming to a quick
decision about the interpretation of the rules and regulations. This habit
allowed him to dispose of work quickly without unnecessary waste of time, as
was usual with other clerks, who would generally put up for orders long notes,
discussing the pros and cons of the case. Not having any children for many
years of married life he undertook a pilgrimage when nearing the age of thirty,
according to custom, to Rameswaram, after which travel he was bestowed with a
son. He was named Ramalingam according to the name of the deity of the pilgrim
centre. A girl too was born to him some years later.
A few incidents may be related here about his
athletic life. At about the age of twenty-five, when proceeding along with a
marriage party of his relations, a country cart with the bamboo top and with a
load of passengers slipped off the track of the bund of a canal, and a serious
accident would have taken place. As he was walking by the side, he supported
the huge wheel with his shoulders till further help came from other men
travelling with him and the passengers could alight from that cart. On another
occasion, he took a bet that he could break a silver rupee into two pieces by
his teeth, and it is said he won the bet after about an hour’s struggle with
the coin by his molar teeth. As to his general characteristics, it was said of
him that he quoted often Shakespeare’s lines it is excellent to have a giant’s
strength but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant’. His son’s education was
entirely at Madras and the young man seemed to shape well for a high
intellectual career. He took First Class as a graduate with History as his
subject, and he was one of the top six. The next step in his education was a
naughty problem. The young man wanted to take up the Bachelor of Teaching
course so that he may go for a teacher’s work in schools or colleges. The
father, however, having observed the son’s highly analytic talent in his
summaries of studies of History, Politics and Economics, thought that the young
man had inherited some of his father-in-law’s legal acumen. So in accordance
with the wishes of the father, the young man passed both the Bachelor of Laws
examination and his Master of Laws examination taking a high rank therein.
Sankara Iyer always led a frugal life, consistent of course with the
maintenance of the health of his children and his family; the earlier savings
which he slowly accumulated were used for redeeming the original mortgage of
his paternal lands in Mangudi village. The management of the lands was placed
under one of his cousins who had so far lived in the paternal house. His
subsequent savings were invested in building up a decent house with a first
floor in the town site at Tiruchi, (which originally had a dilapidated house
thereon) given to his wife as a stridhana at the time of his marriage.
His object in putting it up was of course that his son would practise as an
Advocate and if possible that he should become a great jurist, maintaining the
intellectual traditions of his maternal grandfather. As it was also time near
enough for his retirement from public service, he had programmed his house and
built it up that he might also live on the banks of the Kaveri along with his
son as it has many temples to offer worship.
Towards the end of his career, not only the sudden
bereavement by the loss of his wife, but an official disgrace also overtook
him. He was not given his due promotion to one of the lower gazetted services
in the office by the then Accountant-General Rajah Iyer. It hurt him much
because Rajah Iyer had been educated at the St. Joseph’s College, Tiruchi and
passed the Intermediate examination the same year as himself; and they had been
fair acquaintances then. Latterly, Rajah went to Madras for his higher
education and then entered the gazetted rank direct, as the result of a
competitive examination for candidates. Even during his early acquaintance,
Rajah was a sort of a short fat boy, and did not command much respect from
Sankaran. Rajah had all along been in Northern India and had only come to
Madras at the end of his official career; so he could not forget, apparently,
the intellectual snobbishness of his youth. When Sankara Iyer reminded him of
his early acquaintance and pointed out that it was his turn for promotion,
having had no unfavourable reports against himself, Rajah Iyer observed:
“You who are only a Third Class graduate, to take a
seat along with me as a compeer! That could never be! After, all, it is a
question of selection!”
In these circumstances he took some leave
preparatory to retirement and came back to Trichinopoly to live with his son
who set up practice as an Advocate.
Sankara Iyer, Ramalingam and his wife were thus
living at Tiruchi for about eight years. Sankara Iyer’s pension was sufficient
to meet the family expenses along with the offtake from the paternal lands. As
the father was past the age of sixty, he thought that he should complete his
pilgrimage to Banares and Gaya, for it was the custom enjoined by religion that
whosoever went to Rameswaram should proceed to Haridwar before the close of his
life and vice versa. He then thought of writing up a deed in favour of his son
(as his daughter died long ago before her marriage) settling all the lands
redeemed from mortgage at Mangudi and the house at Tiruchi and other little
properties elsewhere; and the deed of gift and settlement was properly drawn up
and registered on stamp paper, his monthly pension alone sufficing for his
personal needs.
A few days later after the registration of the
deed, the father called his son and told him of the settlement and they
conversed thus:
F: Our religion says that when one’s grandchild has ascended the knees
of the grandparent he should relinquish family ties and start on the
Vanaprastha Ashrama: on un-selfish public service if the idea is given a modern
interpretation. So I have assigned all my properties to you except the long
shed at the back of this house with the right of entry by the side lane eight
feet wide adjoining it, which would be under my control during my lifetime and
left at my death for a charitable purpose, along with some funds to keep it
under repair.
S: -Thank you very much, father. I am very glad indeed. I now feet a
sense of independence.
F: -Since you came of age, you have been maintaining the accounts of the
family. I have no other ties in this world now and I am unable to see why the
sense of independence should only dawn upon you now.
S: -Though the assets are practically your self-earnings, and the income
therefrom would form additions to my earnings as an Advocate I cannot explain
my present feeling. The present profession of mine is indeed a very long
waiting. I don’t make much except to pay for the law journals I subscribe for,
as I have to keep in touch with legal decisions, and for my Bar Association
membership, and for a few personal expenses including the jutka hire to attend
the courts, with no decent briefs whatsoever.
F: -I am proceeding on a fairly long pilgrimage and it may take a year
or more before I come back. The small cash which I leave to you as capital you
may draw upon for your expenditure if the need arises, for my entire monthly
pension may be required to pay my travelling expenses and railway fares, etc. I
have a duty to perform to my forefathers: the offerings of water and balls of
rice, at Benares and Gaya for their good, as enjoined by the scriptures. So get
to work with a zest and put in more zeal into your work of earning a decent
livelihood.
S: -I have been cogitating whether I may not get to teaching work in one
of the private colleges going to be opened shortly.
F: -If you are so sick of the Advocate’s profession, there is nothing
wrong in applying for a Professorship in History. Surely the legal degrees will
only be additional qualifications for your selection. As for the Degree in
teaching which you don’t possess the college authorities might depute you later
for such a study.
S: -Perhaps I would be the laughing stock of the Advocates Association,
having passed my Master of Laws examination at a very young age.
Thus the talk ended.
Ramalingam, being now deprived of his father’s
guidance seemed to be at sea in regard to his career as an Advocate. He hated
his profession, which meant occasionally being slightly dishonest with the
clients in regard to cases which had no chance of success whatsoever in the
courts. Being of a bashful and a shy nature and having had no self-direction
all these nine or more years in intellectual or other worldly affairs, it
suddenly struck him that he should leave off all town life and get into a
village; for he did not also like to start afresh on a different career.
As ill-luck would have it owing to an attack of illness
at Benares on his return trip, Sankara Iyer was delayed long at the place. But
he finally recovered though lying helplessly for long in a hospital. On return
home at the end of two years to Tiruchi, he found his son not living in the
house which he had built for him. The shed was also locked up. His previous
letters had also been un-replied to, probably because the son’s replies could
not reach him at the previous station of pilgrimage from where he wrote.
Sankara Iyer had no inkling whatsoever why the house was occupied by one of the
sons of Rajah lyer Mani. He got the news that the house was sold to Mani about
six months previously, and that his son Ramalingam had gone and settled down in
Mangudi Mani, he knew, was one of the class-fellows of Ramalingam in the B.L.
course and secured only an ordinary Third Class. Rajah Iyer’s death on account
of heart failure brought in a lot of money to each of his sons. As they were
people of Tiruchi town for two or three generations, Mani had settled down for
practice there as an Advocate two years earlier than Ramalingam. A casual talk
between them must have resulted in the sale of the house at about double the
money Sankara Iyer invested therein, since the site had increased in value
during these long years he came to be in possession of it.
The sad and angry thoughts which arose in Sankara
Iyer’s mind had been recorded in a rough diary which he had begun to write soon
after he began his tour of pilgrimage and I quote therefrom the following
passage: -
“My father lived according to a certain tradition
and wanted me to set up a different intellectual tradition in which, I should
say, I was fairly successful. For several reasons I wanted my son not to follow
in my steps in subordinate official life but to start in an independent
profession, on the lines of his maternal grandfather. How miserably have I
failed in bringing to fruition my life’s work: of my son’s setting up a new
tradition for which he has talents! The house which I built under my
supervision, that I might live with my wife in our old age and where he should
have looked after us has also been sold. My wife had not lived to see its,
completion. I was indeed wretched owing to that fact and I named the house
after my wife’s name; and yet my son seems to have had no respect for his
mother’s memory and did not even wait for my return to dispose of the house.
Was it a foresight that I renovated the old shed as handed to me by my
father-in-law so that I might live in it until the call came to me to depart
from this world? No, I shall not live here. The proverb ‘The ant builds up the
anthill for the poisonous cobra to live in’ has come true in my case. For I can
never forget, especially now, Rajah Iyer’s snobbishness and hurt to my
self-respect. Oh Siva! Thy ways are mysterious. I may not love, but I should
not hate. For hatred ever spreads like poison in subsequent lives in this
world. I will go now and ask my son what precipitated the sale.” So Sankara
Iyer went down to Mangudi well-nigh after a lapse of fifty years and found
Ramalingam occupying the old village house and managing the lands himself. On
seeing his son, he shed tears, which the son could hardly understand. The
following conversation between the father and the son in snatches was also
recorded in the father’s diary: -
F: -Cou1d you not have waited for my return, to sell that house which I
had taken a lot pains to build, and that to Mani, Rajah Iyer’s son of all
persons in this world?
S: -I do not see that I have done anything far wrong in disposing of the
house. For after all, property changes hands when the wheels of fortune turn,
as is often the case in this world.
F: -If you had no ready money you could have taken a small loan on the
security of the house, and have deferred the sale. It pains me much to have
lost what I have created for our comfort. Have you had no respect for your
mother’s memory after whom the house was named?
S: -(flippantly) You said you wanted to relinquish all ties of
family and worldly possessions before you left on your pilgrimage. What does
all this talk mean except a strong attachment to the house, after you had given
to me the full control and enjoyment or disposal thereof?
F: -You cannot understand my sentiments, and the love I had for the
structure which I created out of my mind. I don’t say I have done anything
wondrous. Even a bird builds its nest for its young ones. I acted on a similar
instinct. I am after all human.
S: - I have not wasted the money. I have bought a few more acres.
F: -What about your legal studies on which you had spent so much of your
life’s energy! Should it all go to waste except to write lease deeds yearly, to
be executed by the farmers, who till the soil? To what a shallow affair your
knowledge is used?
S: -Why do you thus criticise my conduct?
F: -I am sorry for all that has taken place. I have no house wherein to
lay my head till the call comes for me to depart from this world.
S: -You may go where you like. You are a veritable egoist. You
have been fashioning my life from the commencement, in not letting me go my own
ways. The crash in my life as you think it is only due to you, and I hate you.
F: -I am sorry. If only fathers left off their children, as animals do
as soon as they are able to walk, and not look after them for many long years
till they are able to support themselves, how should culture, human tradition
or civilisation continue to exist? The vegetative life which you propose for
yourself is indeed a sorrowful plight for me to see.
S: -I have already asked you to go wherever you please.
F: -(in a fit of anger) You need not cremate my body when I am
dead. You can leave it for the kites to peck at. A curse will befall you if you
should do so.
Sankara Iyer did not leave the village except for a
few days. Before he settled down in the village he saw to it that the long shed
became an asylum for old people to live in. He lived in a small house at the
end of the long Brahmin street. Though his son considered the teaching
profession infra dig because he had passed his M.L., he started the work
of teaching the children of the village to enable them to understand the best
of the East and the West. By his labours, the Primary school became a Secondary
school. All the children of the village called him ‘Thatha’ and were so pleased
with the gifts he gave them from his pension, as there was enough and to spare
since the village standards of living were very low indeed.
Long afterwards I asked Ramalingam why against all
public opinion he had not cremated his father. He then told me his father’s
final angry words and he feared a curse. I could hardly repress my cynical
smile. Ramalingam may have passed his Master of Laws Examination but he very
little knew the laws of love operating on the human heart, for his old father
lived in the village itself to continue seeing his son during his life-time.
But he would not retract from his last word though his faith would presumably
often press him to ask his son’s favour, but his self-respect did not allow him
to do so.
* Reviewed in ‘Triveni’ for March 1944.