A
LANGUAGE PASSIONAL TELESEME
PROF.
SALVA KRISHNAMURTY, M. A.
With
the award of the Bharatiya Jnanpith to Srimad Raamaayana Kalpavrikshamu of Kavisamraat Viswanatha Satyanarayana, the
poet and Telugu have both, in a sense, arrived. In honour
of the distinguished poet and to commemorate the happy event it is proposed to
examine critically the poem Kokilamma Pelli–one of the poet’s earliest lyrics that bears a
topical relevance.
Were
it not to the fact of its inherent difficulty and complexity as also the
poet’s well-known impatience with anybody–reader or critic–that might interest
himself with his minor poems, this poem Kokilamma
Pelli should have attracted better and serious
critical attention than any that might have come in the wake of its
publication. The present writer has had the pleasure of exploring under similar
circumstances some twelve years ago1 the lyrical charms of the
romance of Kinnera, the heroine of the poet’s more
famous Kinnerasaani Paatalu.
Much as he may be filled with the thoughts of his major work Srimad Raamaayana Kalpavrikshamu, surely the poet does not want his
readers or even critics forget and neglect his other work however minor it
may be.
Kokilamma
Pelli the lyric on hand, it
is indicated, has been conceived in six parts and in order that we may
follow the principle of objective correlation the paraphrase of the poem may be
stated thus.
The
first part starting with a personal note of the poet promising the reader that
he will dig and pile up before him the “stories”2 of
ancient fore-fathers despite the denigrating antics of intellectual novices
goes on to describe the coastal country with “the cobra-like waves of the sea
walloping and receding”, “swinging great trees of the forest
on land up to the beach”, “the benign midnight stars peeping with their pinky
eyes into the forest as well as the sea” “the strolls of the young breezes on
the beach in the evenings”, “the ‘rafting’ of the sea-snakes in the swirls of
the mid-seas” and “the golden fields of corn and flowers on the coastal land.”
The
second part again starts with the poet exclaiming that the antiquity of the
happenings of the “stories” was such that it could not be gauged and simply
saying that the country was wild with shrubs and forests, hills and dales.
There was a village on the sea-coast with a king who was Telugu, the Telugus
having been kings as early as that. He shone like the rising full-moon with his
necklaces of pearls from (native) bamboos and home-spun clothes; he was a great
king, the country had not taken to shallow civilisation; no one ever did any
coarse thing; tillers ploughed just enough and no more land for their
sustenance; the remaining forest lands competing with the hills and clouds,
gave in-season rains; every one had enough and none had a quarrel on any score.
The king had two daughters with lips of crimson of the blooming Kimsuka (Butea Frondosa) and their names were Chilakamma
Kokilamma. Kokilamma was,
of course, black and Chilakamma green and they were
always cross with each other. Kokilamma started
prattling prettily very young to the ecstacy of the
father. Years rolled by and her eyes became wider, the pity, Kokilamma could not speak. The father would get colourful sarees for Chilakamma but would be grumpy with Kokilamma.
When Chilakamma laughed at her Kokilamma,
empaling,
looked at the mother. When Chilakamma made faces at
her, agitated, she hid behind the mother. Helpless, if the mother too was
impatient, she smouldered within herself. For days
she would weep with the wallopy waves looking emptily
into the foam, sit under some tree sinking inwardly. She could not unburden
herself even to a tree or ant-hill for, God–no one knew what kind of person he
was–had not given her speech. She would sit on the sand-beds of hill-streams
building sand-nests for sparrows all day; saunter along the hill-streams
looking at the wild flowers, not returning home till late in the night. At
times when she stayed in the woods all night, the mother got upset.
The third part describes
the corning of age of the two girls. Rainy nights came and went by; wintry days
came and passed by; Autumn falls stopped. Spring carne
with sprouting Red leaves. Foliage and efflorescence all
over. Like the mid-vein in a leaf, like honey in the nectar of a flower Chilaka and Kokila came of age,
respectively. Even the young breezes were smitten and agitated by the learning
and grace of Chilaka. Her beauty spilled, as it were,
all over and even those who have not seen her talked of it. The Queen-tree sang
of it in the skies, excited. Young breezes spilled it all over during their
twilight strolls. Every one wanted to marry her. But the parents protected the
young under their eyes; would not allow her to cross the threshold lest the
kings of the sea and forest should annex her. They took
care, like an eyelid of the pupil, that she never went out nor did any domestic
chores. Chilaka’s graces spread into streamlets, into
beautiful young sprouting leaves, shedding sweetness of honey drops. Pre-occupied
by Chilaka’s beauty and the affairs of her marriage,
the parents would not think of Kokila at all.
The fourth part describes the arrival of a Brahmin, a vedic scholar, and Chilaka’s falling in love with him. On one mid-noon, a Brahmin with the dazzle of his ear-rings on his cheeks came there. The parents received the guest, gave him presents and treated him. Reciting Veda and provocatively ready for an argument, he stayed as the guest of the Telugu King. Hearing the cadences of his vedic recitation and seeing the brightness of his face, Chilaka kept in her thoughts. Having come to know of all this, the Telugu King might have felt excited but the mother could not like Chilaka for that.
The
fifth part describes the change of attitude of the mother and her search for Kokila who had skulked away into the wilderness. The mother
thought: Kokila had been wandering in the hills and
dales; how the dear thing must be crying herself out, for she would not come
home; Chilaka has bestowed her love on a visiting
stranger of a distant land; Kokila wandering, even
without coming home, in the forests had estranged herself from my
mother’s-heart. Thinking thus she, with faltering steps, went in search of her,
along the hills, dales, and streams of the wilderness. She searched for the
daughter in the shady noon-dens of the growling tigers, peeped into the
sneaky paths of the thirsty tigers and leopards into the streams, traced the
valleys filled with the footprints of wandering wild beasts,
saw the wandering spots of the wild dogs that would kill even tigers, explored
even the dense forest-areas where pythons would doze off after swallowing deer.
Search wherever she might Kokila was not found and
the mother’s heart broke. She sat grief-stricken under a Mushini tree (Strychnos nux vomica) sprawling into a
stream. All the while, Kokila has been following the
mother. She saw her grief and cried aloud. She thundered, like a thunder,
dazzled like lightning and in a jump was in her mother’s lap. Mother and
daughter, locked in mutual embrace with closed eyes and insensible, sank at the
foot of a tree-trunk. And that was the last. Neither of them ever got up and
opened their eyes. The filial affections touched everything and in
appreciation, the stream crooned it, the creepers swayed, breezes fluted it in
bamboos, and Nature itself sang about it. Without the rattling and ubiquitous
presence of Kokila the woods looked desolate; spring
waters unbathed and ungurgled
by her, trees with their tender leaves and flowers unplucked,
had no beauty; the dales unwalked by her deficient in
their
spring bloom. Kokila with such abundance of filial
affection is immortal, the mango tender foliage sang; the spring crooned; she
will come back alive, the woods sang; love is immortal, the moonlight sang
softly. After rains and fall, the forest bloomed again like a newly-married
girl with kumkum on her forehead. The
stream with its waters sweet as cocoanut milk was beautiful like a brownish
cobra. A thin sweet song broke out somewhere at the outskirts of the forest.
The forest was startled as if the missing relation has returned. The spring
rambled along impatiently with gurgling noise, and overflowed with joy at the
cooing and return of Kokila. The mango bud reddened
into sprouting leaves. Within no time the woods became beautiful.
The
sixth part describes the reception given to the Spring-God Vasanta
and the marriage of Kokila with him. Shortly
afterwards the King of flowers, of exotic beauties came on his yearly round
with smiles all over his cheeks. The forest sang: “O, King, you have come; we
present you with the same flowers you have brought; we will prepare Kokila as your young bride and you as the bride-groom and
join you together. By grace and song, your handsomeness and Kokila’s
voice are a match to each other. You are made for each
other.” The spring leaves became festoons for their marriage. Tigers kept vigil
on boulders. The thin white spring waters sang like Shahanai.
Nature with its moonlight of flowers opened her eyes. Honey flowed from flowers.
Sweet songs broke out. Paths of beauty appeared. It was
a harvest of Raajanaalu, the best variety of paddy.
In
the great line of Chilakamma Sanskrit words came to
stay. Kokilamma
stored up the Telugu idiom.
On
reading the poem–rather the paraphrase–the reader is apt feel a little uneasy
and discomfited because the ‘tone’ at the beginning and the end of the poem
puts him into a serious, if not an exalted, frame of mind and makes him
anticipate or search for some intellectual element, whereas the poem itself
deals with the simple pathetic story of a mute girl ridiculed by her own sister
and neglected by the parents. He may find that even this story is short and the
poem unduly long; may even be tempted to say that parts of the poem like the
first and sixth are perfunctory and that the later portions of the parts three
and five are just the verbal extravagance of a Romantic poet. And finally he
may find himself in a bewildering situation for, much as he is aware of the
fact that the poem is addressed not to children as befitting the story but to
adults like himself, he has to find the meaning, rather understand the theme,
of which he is only vaguely aware from the final key statement that Kokilamma stored up Telugu idiom. The problems pertain
respectively to the mood of the poet and the poem, to its structural coherence,
and the theme underlying it.
Before
we find the answers to these problems it may be noted that the poem is a lyric.
It has no formal treatment either in our alamkaara
saastra or in Aristotelian poetics. At best we
may loosely describe it as an Anibaddha Kaavya but cannot strictly categorise
it under that head. Now, in as much as a lyric is highly imaginative, as we all
know, we may note the psychological nature of its mood and composition, and try
to find some symbolistic interpretation just as it is
done in the case of dreams by a psychologist or in the case of colours by an occult colourologist
as also the esoteric significance of the characters mentioned. We may take them
in so far as they can illuminate our understanding of the poem without
introducing any arbitrariness on our part and without affecting the objective
collocation of the terms and the theme.
Thus
we note that the sea-green colour of the waves symbolises envy, cunning and self-defeating action. Pink,
the ultimate in light red, attributed to the stars represent love rather than
affection, being above jealousy and spite with a willingness to serve and help.
The golden yellow of the corn fields symbolises
creativity, artistic and scientific intellectuality and wisdom. The white of
the moon attributed to the father-king represents neutrality, fastidiousness,
understanding, sincere and fair, but apt to be over-critical. Chilakamma’s (she-parrot) colour
green is the great colour of nature signifying
adaptability, formidability and immutability yet sympathetic and sentimental.
The black of Kokilamma (the cuckoo) is the colour of ‘dignity’ without
false pride, commanding respect, formal and conventional and yet with ability
for dynamism. The crimson of the lips of the two girls mentioned symbolises action and aggressiveness on
intellectual plane and achievement of great things and an optimistic and
competitive spirit.
Treating
the lyric on par with a dream, we may note the symbolism of some of the very
many things mentioned in the poem on the psychological level. Thus, sea or
ocean symbolises a warning or
danger or enmity, chance to start over again, desire to be re-born, and death;
reptiles like snakes–men and their power; trees–happiness and
success; green woods–lucky change, if alone
and happy in a forest, finding a new home; beach–need for
relaxation and sex motives; stars–many prosperous years; canoeing or
rafting–ability to run one’s own affairs, if in rough waters, domestic
and occupational discontent; farms–desire
for security; gold–competition, anxious to realise
ambition; rice–steadfast friends; flowers–happy working conditions; pearls–gala
celebration; full moon–over-sentimentality; abundance–desire for independence and
neglect of duties to the loved ones; talking birds like parrots–warning
to be careful about gossip; talking with mother–anxiety,
hear her calling you, your guilty conscience; agony–fear
or jealousy; crying–corrupt business
dealings, implications of love affairs; father–some
difficulty bothering, foam–a waifer;
building a house–many changes in present
plans, clergy (or a Brahmin)–desire to gain
strength, overcome a wrong; gifting–seeking
attention or flattery; escape–improvement
of status; tigers (and cheetahs)–torment
due to personal problem involving disappointment, desire
for sexual fulfilment, wild dogs–anxiety;
lightning–symbol of love; dying–sense of guilt or a problem that cannot
be avoided by any other way; embracing–longing
to help others; music–prosperity; bathing–intense
interest in opposite sex, business expansion and renovation about the home;
concert–an inward passion that
needs expression in some kind of artistic endeavour;
being a bride–good future.
On
the esoteric level suffice it to know that the father-king represents, Time (Kaala), Mother–desa or country (dik);
Chilaka (parrot)–esoteric
Fire; and Sanskrit. Kokila (cuckoo) esoteric Fire (in embers) and Telugu. Permitting
ourselves a little useful digression, we may note that the rulership of Telugu as a language is attributed to the
fiery planet Mars who also rules Saama Veda
with its musical element.
The
poem demands reading at three levels. We start a little hesitantly wondering as
to the possible significance of the personal note of the poet–namely
that part of the statement–“despite the
denigrating antics of the intellectual novices”. However, we may follow the
story and find, at the end almost startled by the statement that Sanskrit words
come to stay in the line of Chilakamma, and Kokilamma stored up the Telugu idiom. This time we are
virtually ordered back to re-read the poem. The personal note of the poet
conjointly with the final statement regarding Telugu idiom makes us suspect the
poem as a personal statement also. Thus we may have to read the poem not merely
on the story level but as a personal statement of the poet as well as saga of
Telugu idiom.
Before
we try to explore these three levels one point has to be noticed. A poem
is as much incritical as it is insouled.
It is said that a lyric is generally ordered by a problem; it starts with the
beginning of the problem and ends immediately after finding a permanent
solution for it. If so, what is the problem in this lyric? The problem is
competition with handicaps. A permanent solution is found only at the end of
the poem and not before. It is not difficult to see that Kokilamma
connected with the storing up of Telugu idiom represents Telugu and the
narration–poet
identifies himself with Kokilamma. On
the story level Kokilamma’s problem is the
competition she had to face with her sister with the twin handicaps as it were,
her blackness and dumbness. When she came of age, it became a sexual problem.
Though mute, she had many ideas and plans for future as symbolised
by her action of building sand-nests for sparrows. Ridiculed and neglected, she
suffered the agony but with the engagement of her sister to the vedic scholar, it culminated in
her leaving the home. It could not be solved in any other way except through
death. The emotional reunion of mother and daughter did bring it. And Kokilamma was born as a bird of song and married to the
king
Of
flowers, Vasanta–the
God of Spring. The problem is solved permanently and on
a much better footing. The mood of the poem is atavistic; the atmosphere
totemic; the execution shamanistic. Now we may ask ‘how is the first part of
the poem connected with the problem?’ It is. The first and second parts
constitute one unit; it is like a dicot ; they represent the ‘situation’. Description of the coastal
country is the inverse of it; the second part is the obverse of it. The
personal notes regarding the period at the beginning of both the parts give the
clue. The third and fourth parts dwelling on the beauty and engagement of her
rival constitute ‘the problem’. Her own colour and
dumbness, the natural handicaps aggravated by the ridicule of her sister and
indifference of her father with the mother’s passive helplessness and
occasional impatience turned it into an insoluble personal problem. The
parents’ constant preoccupation with plans for Chilaka’s
marriage and Chilaka’s finding of her man was perhaps
the last straw. The fifth and sixth parts, the ‘resolution’ dicot,
find the permanent solution through the death and rebirth of Kokilamma and her marriage to Vasanta.
The essential nature of competition here is in essence parallelism. This is
perfectly maintained in the problem dicot and the
solution dicot, the former describing the beauty and
engagement of Chilaka to the scholar and the
latter describing the beauty and marriage of Kokila
with Vasanta. Whereas Nature is made to sing Chilaka’s beauty only–she is made to sing the beauty and
celebrate the marriage of Kokila. The mother’s
earlier predisposition weighted the forces heavily against her. Her change of
attitude restored the essential balance of forces into parallelism putting the
father with Chilaka and the mother with Kokila.
The
inherent difficulty and complexity of the poem referred to in the beginning is
felt, when we try to read the poem on the other two levels if only because the
poet is trying to express an emotional abstraction in terms of concrete
intellection. At the level of language the competition is between Telugu and
Sanskrit. The former suffered ridicule and neglect not merely at the hands of
the rulers but even by the country-just as Kokila was
denied of her mother’s affection and support. This was the case until the
eleventh century, historically speaking. The period of neglect was long and
dark and no concrete instances could be presented to depict it. But only
concrete or at least tangible stimulii can evoke
emotions. Thus it is an emotional abstraction. Presenting it through concrete
intellection constitutes the difficulty, because we are yet to know as to what
could be the dumbness of a language and how Telugu, in this case, overcame it
and burst into a song The mother’s search for Kokila
refers to four places, possibly Kokila’s frequented
haunts. These four, the dens of the python, the hunting dogs, the leopard and
the tiger refer to the
But
Sanskrit is both ajanta
and halanta (vowel-ending and
consonant-ending). It is with the ajanta
characteristic that Telugu has acquired its sonorousness and music which
has brought her the compliment of being called the ‘Italian of the East’. The
idiom is from the nature of the soil into which it died and whence it rose
again. However, the competition between neither Chilaka and Kokila nor
between Sanskrit and Telugu was malicious. It was just a matter of ‘situation’;
of Time and place; at best a race against Time.
The
poem as a personal statement of the poet is a testament of unegoization.
I believe it indicates similar unfair competition in his early days and
describes his emergence as a Telugu poet instead of a vedic scholar. His identification of himself with
Telugu and Kokila, proves the bona fides of the great poet only too well. The
identification was so complete that the poet chose to narrate it all by himself
even where he dramatized the situation. I refer to the thoughts of the
distressed mother. Of course, neither Time, nor the country, nor a mute, nor
even a language could be made to speak in the poem. It was only for the purpose
of the problem and its argument–a problem that he himself encountered and
transposed on the ancient problem of Telugu–that the characters are invented.
They are at once imaginary and real, for nobody ever knows that Kokila was a mute; everybody knows that it sings so well,
occurs so often and so frequently in Telugu literature that it is almost a
Telugu bird.
The
song has broken out. The poet has arrived; the poem has fulfilled itself.
1 Bharati,
June 1959.
2 This
plural word has the sense of singular in idiomatic Telugu