TORCH-BEARERS OF MYSORE

By V. BHASKARAN

The renaissance in art and literature, as in other fields of human activity, followed the upheaval in the general consciousness of our Nation long held in the grip of foreign influence and domination. Naturally, during that subliminal period, the craving for new modes and the seductive attraction of a foreign language held sway for a time: Burke and Macaulay, Gladstone and Morley, Chaucer and Milton, to name only a few among the foremost masters of English, were the gods that hypnotised the students of art and literature. But it was only a temporary phase in the travail of a nation to find its soul and re-discover the beauties that lay enshrined in its ancient art and letters.

With the dawn of the twentieth century, however, came a new awakening that gave a fresh direction and motif to the Indian mind and opened new paths. The urge towards self-expression, untrammelled by text-books and dogmas, was there in the Indian heart all the while. But with the release from intellectual and political bondage, the springs of Indian culture overflowed the country. The dawn of the present century, and the years that followed, witnessed the gradual unfolding of a nation’s urge towards the fulfillment of its great destiny. India thus regained her wonted poise and cultural supremacy.

In the early stages, however, this evolution in thought and modes of expression was confined only to a few states in India. Among the earliest to react to this impact of new thought and ideology was Mysore. There the conditions were congenial for the assimilation of new ideas, and Mysore raced to the forefront as the torch-bearer of a quick-changing epoch in outlook and culture. Much of the literature produced in the early stages of this incubation persist was, however, inclined towards classicism of the old order, reflecting the epic moods of a fast fading age. In the meanwhile, a daring synthesis of the old and the new was in the making, jettisoning old patterns and forms, and providing an outlet for new dreams and inspired melodies.

But the way in which Mysore reacted to this new order was at first not very reassuring. All interest was focussed on the acquisition and assimilation of Western culture and patterns of living, and for a time it seemed that the anticipated glow and warmth might prove illusory. However, those who shook their heads in despair lived to see a sudden transformation in the minds of the very men who swore by the Western yard-stick. The temporary hiatus, a short but disturbing period of intellectual atrophy that usually precedes an emotional outburst, lingered for a while only to give way to a phenomenal output of literature in the language spoken by the men of the soil.

A remarkable feature of this awakening is the gathering of the intellectuals at the common shrine of their mother-tongue, after drinking deep at the fountain of Western culture. In this, respect, Mysore is singularly blessed in the fact that most of her authors and poets and authentic interpreters are good masters of English and well versed in its classical and modern literature. Naturally, when they sought to interpret their experience and knowledge through the medium of their own tongue, they enhanced the charm and elevated the tone of their beautiful regional language.

II

The person who contributed very largely to this widespread awakening in Mysore was the late Sri M. Venkatakrishniah, the Grand Old Man of Mysore. He was verily the father of every progressive movement in the State. A journalist by profession, he gathered round him a band of talented young men who looked upon him as the apostle of the new movement in Mysore. But his orbit of influence was limited, in the sense that he could not provide the requisite inspiration and atmosphere for the intellectual class in the making. It was not because he lacked great qualities; but his hands were so full with political and social problems that he could not spare time for other forms of activity. He was a grand man in every respect, a lovable personality and a pleasant conversationalist, and immensely popular with all classes of people. Journalism in those days in the capital of an Indian State was a hard job, a nerve-racking profession with no bright prospect on the financial side, and with the sword of official displeasure ever hanging over the head. Even in that strained atmosphere, ‘Tatiah’ (grandfather), as he was fondly called by those near and dear to him, was able to make his personality felt by his breezy optimism and strong convictions. He was the Moses of Mysore who showed his people the way to the Promised Land. Even in his advanced age, he fought gallantly against the ravages of time and kept his vision undimmed to the end.

I had the unique fortune of meeting this grand man in his home at Mysore when the latter was fairly advanced in age. What struck me even then was his keen intellectual alertness and sturdy commonsense, which combined to make him a shrewd observer of men and things. He had a phenomenal flair for conversation, always full of anecdotes interspersed with little humorous hits. He had a soft corner for me in his big heart, and I always felt a pang whenever I took leave of him. He was not by any means a rich man, but he exercised a beneficent influence on all those who came into contact with him. I consider him as the earliest man in Mysore to rouse the slumbering consciousness of his people and make them see beyond their nose and fight for the eradication of evil social, economic and political. He was a fearless fighter for all good causes.

III

The passing away of this modem Bhishma did not, however, arrest the flow of events in the State. D. V. Gundappa was already in the field, having been an active contemporary of Venkatakrishniah during the later part of the old man’s career. Like all men imbed with the idealism of Burke and the political philosophy of Gladstone and Morley, Gundappa first took to journalism in all seriousness and his weekly comments bore the stamp of his wide scholarship and keen political insight. His political philosophy sometimes touched the fringe of extremism, but his heart was and always has been, with Liberalism and all that it stands for. Gokhale is his political guru. His mental make-up acted as a powerful antidote against all forms of political legerdemain and sensationalism. He feared the storm; he loved peace and tranquillity; he continues to be the same even today.

Apart from the political prestige he enjoys in the Mysore State today, Gundappa is a versatile writer in Kannada. His writings are conspicuous for their clarity, depth of thought, and profundity of learning. He has no faith in ‘cheap clap-trap that merely amuses and entertains but does not inspire and exalt. He caters to the thoughtful and serious-minded people with precious stuff dug out from the rich mines of our ancient lore and literature, and presents it with the polish and glow of his facile pen. His humour is always subdued and mellowed by his fastidious taste and lofty outlook. While others catch the public imagination by parading little follies as the main content of their literary wares, Gundappa will not touch such ephemeral stuff, however easily marketable it may be. He has set before himself a high standard from which he will not deviate for a mess of pottage. He belongs to the old tradition of writers, pursuing a rigid and sometimes lonely course. He has a high reputation as a writer of proved integrity.

Gupdappa as a man is entirely different. He overflows with vim and vigour, and loves jokes and takes them like a good sport. His vivacity in talk is only equalled by his zest for the good things of life. Whether he talks in Kannada, English or Telugu; or Tamil, in all of which he is well versed, he will entertain and enthrall you by his spicy and sparkling wit and piquant comments on men and things with the ardour and relish of a child. An hour spent with him is an education and a kind of intellectual feast by itself. With a seemingly rugged exterior, Gundappa displays a remarkable softness of heart and a fund of sympathy the moment you come into contact with him. He has enjoyed the confidence of great men like the late Rt. Hon. V. S. Srinivasa Sastri, Sir P. S. Sivaswamy Aiyer and Sri T. R. Venkatrama Sastri, and a host of other eminent men. No publicist, author and critic is so well-known and respected even outside the State as D. V. Gundappa. Not quite him physically, he has withdrawn himself from all strenuous activity, except to nurse and watch the growth of his pet child, the Gokhale Institute of Public Affairs.

IV

The enthusiasm generated by Gundappa for the Kannada language, as an adequate medium for the expression of a Nation’s thoughts and ideals, has led to a revolution in the thought of writers and set free, in a perennial flow, the long suppressed thoughts of the best minds. As a result of the upsurge of this new consciousness, several writers who would have otherwise remained unknown have come into prominence and made their mark in literary craftsmanship. Nobody has contributed more to the encouragement and uplift of Kannada writers than the late Sri N. S. Subba Rao, the distinguished educationist of Mysore. His influence on the Kannada writers of the day was largely on the personal side, as his hands were always full with administrative work. But he had always a good word for a promising writer or a struggling poet, and those who came into contact with him felt like having a refreshing dip in a fragrant stream. He was a veritable encyclopedia which included not only economics, his special love, but also science, poetry, art and literature. Brilliant and versatile, Subba Rao towered over others by his incisive intellect and peerless vision and the grandeur of his manner. I pay this humble tribute to a great man whose friendship still remains a precious memory with me, as that of one who never harboured any malice even against his worst traducers and smiled away little differences in spirit of abounding generosity.

V

The love and atmosphere created by men like Subba Rao exercised considerable influence on the course of thought and literature in Mysore. Those who were content with the mastery of Western culture slowly turned their vision on the lavish pastures remaining unreaped on their own soil. That vision was soon transformed into a reality, and foremost among those who came under this spell was the late Sri B. M. Srikantiah. He was a profound scholar in English and an authentic exponent of the old classics. I had the unique privilege of attending a few of the Bible classes in the New Testament conducted by him every weak at the Central College. It was an extra-curricular exposition on the hidden beauties of the old English contained in that classic; it was certainly not meant as a thesis on religion by any count. It was a wonderful and most exalting revelation to me how a man who had bequeathed to his people that great Kannada piece, Aswathama, could be also a fluent and authoritative master-interpreter of the Bible. His contribution to Kannada literature constituted a new epoch by itself and led others to concise their energies into unexplored paths and seek fresh avenues for their literary efforts and ambitions.

VI

The rapid resurgence in the cultural life of Mysore, thus fostered by the elder craftsmen, grew into a bright flame, shedding its lustre throughout the State. Those who came under its influence and continue to share the glow are men of high calibre and fine products of Western culture. The most outstanding among them is that frail figure, physically unimpressive but intellectually aggressive, distinguished either by a patent Mysore turban, or a cap and a shawl thrown over his shoulders, and exchanging his infections smile here and there or humming a tune to unburden the stirrings of a soul in perpetual communion with God and His wonderful creation. That is Masti Venkatesa Iyengar, a distinguished Civi1 servant by accident, and an author, poet and critic by nature and preference.

Masti, as he is affectionately called by his friends, is one of the most lovable persons I have ever come across in my long association with Mysore and its people. He has a rare flair for making friendship and retaining it in its ennobling form. I cannot pretend to have read his many creations in prose, poetry, sonnets, ballads and history, in all of which he excels by the sheer force of his intellect, the tenderness and sympathy of his imagination and the unique gift of his simple yet captivating style. I read some of his books with the help of a Kannada author, and even that superficial study, combined with the knowledge of the man and his mission, continues to remain an unforgettable experience and revelation with me. The Kannada language itself assumed the shape of a beautiful idyll under the deft touches of his pen. A writer who can bequeath to his people a prose-poem like that immortal Subbanna should also be capable of giving us a Hamlet or an Othello if only he will direct his thoughts that way. That person is Masti!

Whether Masti is writing or talking, his mind is always poised for the search of a sparkling idea, or an arresting theme, or a stray incident which he can transmute into gold by his mere touch. His passion for his own language is only equalled by his zest for living and his love for his friends and fellowmen. His laughter is infectious and he enjoys a joke as much as he loves to make one. There is no trace of any assumed airs in his manner or approach; he puts you at ease the moment you meet him. He is incapable of rubbing you on the wrong side, as some of the better-placed people sometimes do, and he at once disarms you by his simplicity and sweet manner of talking. He is your friend, adviser and teacher, and loved by all. I am still unable to shake off the spell he cast over me when I came to have the honour of his friendship twenty years ago. That spell is not that of a magician: it is the charm of a rare music of the soul, one that transcends time and defies analysis and endures through eternity. The Masti touch has come to stay. No farewell, Masti! It is always ‘au revoir’ to you.

VII

When I look beside Masti and allow myself to wander over the contribution of his contemporaries in the field, one tragic figure first rises before my mind, and that is the late T. P. Kailasam. Cast in a heroic mould, Kailasam was a daring craftsman who neither knew nor pursued any law or formula, except the one he created for himself by his own inventive imagination. He was a kind of literary pedlar who delighted to lay bare his wares to the men in the street. He was born and brought up in affluent circumstances and saw a great deal of the world in India and elsewhere. While he was in England for his studies, he had a great opportunity to observe and analyse the factors and conditions that made for the greatness and contentment of Englishmen. He studied their dramas, their theatre, their literature and social life, and returned to India with a mind fully equipped with experience and knowledge of the wide world. For a time, he was in official harness from which he soon broke away, for his rebellious spirit and volcanic temperament could not be bound and made static in an arm-chair or an easy environment. He loved the smell of battle and was thrilled by the puissant call for war–war against social evils, injustices and follies that were paraded in the name of tradition and culture.

Kailasam was not a reckless iconoclast, though he might seem to be one. Behind that convulsive vehemence against injustice and the rigour of man-made laws, lay a heart pure and pellucid, responsive to tenderness and absolutely free from rancour or animosity of any kind. He hated false pretences and exposed them by a scathing use of his pen. His social plays were full of vitality and charm. While he made people laugh and clap their hands in glee, he also pierced their conscience by what was spoken on the stage in his plays. Through his characters picked from the market-place and the by-lane, he opened the eyes of those who were impervious to the changing values of life. He was a Messiah of the poor, the downtrodden and the outcast; to redeem them from their age-long serfdom and meek submissiveness to an archaic, out-moded system was his sole mission in life. I cannot say whether he has succeeded in his self-imposed mission, but it cannot be denied that he prepared the way for the dawn of a vigorous literary upheaval, which would cater not only to the needs of the intellectual classes but also lead to the rapid redemption of the man in the street from the atrophy of a rigid tradition and benumbing superstition. He set a new pattern in Kannada writing so as to touch and galvanise the heart of the common man.

Kailasam was as facile and fluent a writer in English as he was undoubtedly in Kannada. It was most unique that he should have focussed his attention on the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, both of which provided ample inspiration for his quick receptive mind. His ‘Purpose’ and ‘Karna’, two of his famous English plays, are masterpieces in design and execution, imagery and dialogue. His portrayal of Ekalavya (‘Purpose’) is a brilliant study in human psychology, a striking thesis on the relationship that should exist between master and disciple, and the mental discipline that should result from such unswerving devotion. Karna was his hero; to him, Kaikeyi (in his poem) was more, to be pitied than condemned as one who, torn between love and justice, perpetrated the greatest crime in epic history by choosing the former. Besides these two standard plays, Kailasam has given to us several sonnets which, for their depth and fervour, were unsurpassed. A superb conversationalist, he had an uncanny penchant for humour which could make you laugh or weep. His mind was a vast store-house of information and his Kannada musical pieces, mixed adroitly with English words and phrases just at a pinch, bespoke the rare originality of his approach to creative art. He was verily one of God’s good men on earth and lived to make his vision known and felt by all ardent devotees of the Muse. He is gone, but the Kailasam tradition, the love and ecstasy he generated in abundance, will, live and continue to enthrall us. I cannot forget those precious moments I had the privilege of spending with him on lonely nights when he was usually at his best; he would simply smother you into a state of numbness by opening the flood-gates of his mind and uplifting you to dizzy heights, or taking you through haunting subtleties that he alone was capable of.

VIII

The flow of new thought and ideology did not cease with the passing away of Kailasam or the passage of time. The inspiration that came in the wake of the present century has been kept alive and burning by a galaxy of writers, of whom V. Sitaramiah, K. V. Puttappa, A. N. Moorthy Rao, Gorur Ramaswami Iyengar, A. N. Krishna Rao, G. P. Rajaratnam, S. G. Sastri, T. T. Sharma, to mention a few among others, are prominent, each in his own way, challenging the attention of the reading public. They cater to different tastes, but they are all united in their zeal to hold aloft the torch of Kannada culture. Those who have contributed very largely to the growth of Kannada literature by providing the requisite stimulus from behind, and by personal influence, constitute a legion, but mention must be made of Venkatanaranappa and Venkanniah (who are no more), Navaratna Rama Rao, Nittoor Srinivasa Rau, K. Sampathgiri Rao and a host of others who actively promote and nourish the growing demands of a rejuvenated culture. V. Sitaramiah has the supreme gift of an inspired artist, delineate yet effective, intensely emotional yet restrained and authentic, with shade and colour inter-woven adroitly on his canvas to produce the effect and animation of a living image. T. T. Sharma is a born journalist who wields a powerful pen, and a profound scholar in Kannada. Nittoor is a Good Samaritan, a friend of all, and exercises his beneficent influence on those who come under the spell of his refined impulses.

Of Sampathgiri Rao, I cannot write with restraint, for we grew together into manhood, communed with each other and loved together the things of the mind and the spirit. He had a brilliant career all through, and if only he had aimed at it, he could have easily reached the top-most position in the educational field. But he is a man of quiet ambitions and unassuming by nature, and has the unique gift of peace and contentment. Kannada was not in his line throughout his brilliant educational career, but the wonder is how easily he has picked up a very good knowledge of the regional language late in his life, with the zest and ardour of an inspired evangelist. He has a remarkable frame of mind which can re-create and inspire. As a friend and comrade, he is incomparable. A. N. Moorthy Rao is a brilliant product of the Mysore University and a versatile writer in Kannada. He is a kind of meeting-place between Western and regional literatures and a very authoritative interpreter at that. I cannot conclude this rambling survey without reference to the volcanic S. G. Sastri, who, in his active days, was the pioneer of new industries in the Mysore State as well as a finished scholar in Kannada. Today he is on the sickbed, like a lion in a cage, bent down by age and the rigours of a strenuous career. But to me, he will always remain a dynamic figure, overflowing with vigour and vitality, a true friend and a very good connoisseur of the fine arts.

The curtain must drop now, and we come to the end of our discursive sojourn into the literary garden and pastures of Mysore and the dreams and accomplishments of her inspired sons. The worship of the Muse is proceeding there with unabated intensity; and everywhere in the beautiful State of Mysore you can feel the growing keenness of men to recapture the beauties that lie enshrined in their art and literature, and give them back to the people in a bewitching and vivifying shape. That millennium is not far off: it is already in the making.

Back