Showing posts with label 202111E. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 202111E. Show all posts

Review: The Window Sill, ‘a celebration of the mundane’

Book Name: The Window Sill

Author: Nishi Pulugurtha

 Hawakal Publishers (May 30, 2021), INR 250

ISBN: 978-8195240142

 

 

            As I read through the twenty short stories in Nishi Pulugurtha’s debut collection of short stories “The Window Sill’, it reminded me of a few lines expressed by the famous American short story writer, Raymond Carver. He said: “It’s possible, in a poem or short story, to write about commonplace things and objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things – a chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman’s earring – with immense, even startling power.” It is surely not a very easy feat, but Ms. Pulugurtha has done it with success in her maiden short story collection.

Nishi Pulugurtha

             The book, which has a very attractive cover of a windowsill, laden with vibrant pink flowers, begins with the author’s own ‘Impressions’. She mentions: “Small snippets of conversation, an anecdote, someone I met or heard about, a travel experience, something that I read, an object that sets off a train of thought- my stories have their origin in almost any little thing that strikes me.” She deals with the bits and pieces that have taken her fancy. The bits and pieces that she had stored away from her array of experiences, in her little observations that have universal connotations.

             Her world has both highs and lows, but what strikes out from her stories is a kind of musing, little glimpses into the lives of several characters we meet in our everyday life. Her stories are stories of love or the lack of it, loss, connection, dissatisfaction, struggle, regrets, and these lend a solid realness to her stories. Each of the stories has a unique feel. For example- the story ‘Hide and Seek’ that speaks of a child’s desire to teach the parents ‘a lesson’; or, the story ‘Spinster’ where the ‘plain looking and very simple’, unnamed protagonist, despite living a life of neglect at home where ‘all she had to face was the boredom of being alone and a sense of being confined in a dark windowless room,’ [Page 58, Spinster], decides to ‘celebrate her birthday the way she wanted.’ [Page 62, Spinster] Or, in the very next story called the ‘Movie Time’ where Rinita, who was ‘so used to hearing a ‘no’ to everything she said,[Page 63, Movie Time] from her husband, yet she does not give in to his bullying behavior, but continues taking pleasure in taking such harmless decision as going to a movie.

Chaitali Sengupta

            She keeps the stories short, and the readers hooked in suspense, for while reading the pages, we have little idea as to how the story will end. A very good example of this is the short story called ‘Samaresh’ [Page 104]. This story stands out from the rest as it deals with the plight of a fisherman’s family battered by the recent cyclone Amphan. Pulugurtha writes this story, through the lens of a child, and the stark minimalism and the bare-bone language, hits you hard as you flow through her prose: ‘Dida made a nice fish dish. I like eating fish. I also like eating kolmi shaak. Mama said he got the shaak from a field nearby. Ma makes it very well. But Ma is not at home. She is in Kolkata. She works in a house there and looks after another Dida.’ [Samaresh, Page 104] In the end, Samaresh says: ‘After some time the wind stopped. I think it got tired. It was still raining, someone said. Hori’s dadu started to sing a song. Ma sang that song too. I liked that song. I didn’t tell you my name. My name is Samaresh.’ [Samaresh, Page 108] What happened after that? Was Samaresh able to contact his mother? Could they get back to their home? The questions linger in our mind as we end the story, but the author leaves that up to the readers to decide. This crafted ambiguity is a hallmark of most of her stories in this collection and raises our expectation as we read on.

            I’m specifically drawn to the women characters in her stories, characters snared in a tattered web of unhappy relationships, loveless marriages, a sort of postmodern distress. The characters, be it Seema from ‘Seema’s choice’ [Page 52], or, Rinita from ‘Movie Time’ [Page 63], or Anima from ‘Little Mercies’ [Page 29], they channel their voices without fussiness, in a simple matter-of-fact, easy way. These above-mentioned stories and a few others are fraught with male-female tensions, there is an ebb and flow of confrontations, that most of the time culminate in friction. But be it Seema, Rinita, Anima, or the character of the unnamed spinster, no matter how impossible a situation faces them, they do not surrender to its pressures, and almost all of them find the strength to embrace life with their own choices.

            Ms. Pulugurtha’s women characters are mostly working women from various strata of our society, trying hard to balance work and motherhood or other caretaking. While the male characters in her stories are arrogant, stiff, bullying, uncaring and overbearing, her women characters are hardworking, and they work as schoolteachers, maids, caretaking women, office clerks, and of course, as housewives.

            As they begin to talk, we easily slid into the complete world of their daily lives. Their stories are a ‘slice-of-life’, and although they are easily recognizable characters from our daily life, they are educated, free-willed, and value their own freedom. Men are mostly getting the upper hand in these stories, but the women too, gradually come out realizing they do not need to stay bound in these uncaring situations. And they try hard to gain their foothold in a society that has them shackled in many ways due to their gender and their roles.

            Like, the author in ‘Seema’s Choice’ says: ‘It had been another day at office, just like any other. She had joined this office thirty years ago. Her folks said she had been lucky to get this job, that too just a month after graduating. It was the very same job that she was at, it was not very cushy, the work was monotonous, but then she had got used to it by now.’ [Page 52] or Rumki from the story ‘Tea with Moni’ who works so that her daughter’s life would be different than hers. She spends her life with her high-handed husband Kishore, who ‘decided on everything. Rumki had no say in anything. It was almost as if she did not exist.’ [Page 36]: But despite all the friction at home, Rumki wouldn’t think of leaving her job. ‘Rumki could never quit her job, she needed that money. She paid most of the household expenses.’ [Page 36]. I personally feel in these stories, Nishi Pulugurtha’s writing is at its finest, perfectly poised, and shorn of all superlatives.

            Her words and her prose are direct, concrete, not slippery. There is nothing in them to blur the meaning, and the author lets her characters live and breathe in the pages. The Window Sill shows Pulugurtha’s striking range and her deeply-honed craft of storytelling. What makes these stories so absorbing and ultimately so engaging is their absolute ordinariness. In my opinion, this transparency of prose and her strong powers of observation are the greatest strengths of her book.

            The Window Sill is a treat of a book, one can read the stories several times for their simplicity and be in the pleasant company of Ms. Pulugurtha’s earnest prose and her interesting characters. It is undoubtedly a rewarding experience to read the stories in this collection.            

 

Bio-Note: Chaitali Sengupta is a published writer, a poet, a translator, and a journalist based in the Netherlands. She has contributed largely to the esteemed international anthologies and online/print journals. “Cross Stitched words”, her debut collection of prose-poems, has been recently published in the USA. Her two translated works are “Quiet whispers of our heart” & “A thousand words of heart”.


Poetry: Anthony Wade

Anthony Wade

 Whence Came The Sower?


Were the seeds sown ostensibly

to further the goal of social justice

watered with the tears of love,

or were they nourished

with the bile of malign intent?

 

Were their fruits to be filled

with honeyed sweetness

intended to draw forth acceptance

and the kindness of strangers,

or with a bitter gall

 

to sour tongues

to spit out

recrimination,

promoting

the pain of prejudice?

***

 

The Harvest


Seed sown upon hallowed ground

within the sleepy citadels of the learn├йd

unmindful beneath their dreaming spires

sprang forth bearing fruit that tempted

those with an appetite for dissent,

who, like fungus unobserved in dark places,

seized that field of struggle

with scarce an alarm raised, before

suffusing society’s bastions of privilege,

seeking to raise

unassailable walls of guilt

around the voiceless

accused of inheriting

the ancestral sin of oppression,

in an age when the accusation

is the judgment, and

with the gift of forgiveness denied

and without hope of redemption,

only shame and abasement can remain.

***

 

 

Silencing Clamorous Voices


Having stood in the imagined shadow

that once stretched from the clayed feet

of a sometime soaring spire,

 

and laid hands on sky-bared walls

within an abject abbey long forlornly

gathering only inconstant winds,

 

viewed long eyeless clerestories

where retreats of raucous ravens

collectively croak their unkind canticles,

 

and witnessed the lost treasures of

defunct dynasties slowly but tellingly

exposed by small careful trowels,

 

while patient sable brushes continue

to caress from the long dark of their

forgotten ever-enduring eminence

 

time-encrusted civilisations

once believed to be beyond the reach

of the lowering winds of time,

 

I know the wisdom of shutting out

the clamorous voices of todays truth-sayers,

of reposing trust in truth only in myself.

***

________________________________

 

Bio

Anthony Wade, a Forward Prize nominee, has published in poetry magazines in England, Ireland, Scotland, and as far afield as India and the USA (including Setu Bilingual), both in print and online. Irish, he lives by the sea in East Cork and is an active member of the local Writers' Group. twitter.com@anthonywadepoet


Poetry: Prerna Kalbag

Prerna Kalbag
She

Look inward, they say
And you will find torrents 
of insidious cervixes
Of Brutal Pain
An earthquake

You will wonder why you
swam in
the water you drank.
Why you let swishing pain
inside a membrane
lovingly f**k you up-
when you were just a coiled room:
a grilled plank.

You will joggle,
Joggle
then thrust forth 
a lifetime of fervently held 
hallucinogens:
of bubbles
leading up a lurid lane
Of floating green doors appearing
out of nowhere.
Of purple skies wobbling
While the gushing fumes you clamped 
seeped inside your pate.

You will wonder why you gave him
Miles and miles of pavings
Shovelled to reveal
throbbing, disregarded pathways.
And living castles will still 
breathe inside you,
While you will be a colonel’s drawing room: 
Grimy, cluttered, a mere case.
***



The Nun

A pocketful of Catholics
in a gutterlane,
Of frothy Sapphic hugs
in a Convent.
You remember much;
The scowling of her habit for instance,
That still rents your head.

You were a child,
She a woman;
Beneath her surging, secluded
Bleached Church Skin.
The dumping of her innerwear
on a bathroom slab 
for you to clean;
She splayed her legs
while none was looking,
Inviting you in.

Food for Sin,
Food for Sin.
She barters her
food for Sin
She might give you an
extra handout
If you can make her squeak 
in her unseen bower
Under the fan din.

And all those 
umpteen mouths to fill
That recite after her
On piercingly mephitic mornings.
(children just like you,
filling her convent).

Christ is indeed King,
but not inside his
Festooned dwelling
Where prayers are spat out
as often as
his soiled chalice 
hits the sink.

The traipsing through
stacks of donatives
A concoction of 
ruined Benefactor Skin
They who’d rather
Spend their money
in this House of Filth 
than on Unchristian Divertissements.

She left all those 
screams
trapped in your head
Morning after Morning
you cleanse yourself
of Knowing
by spitting out intermittently
the blood
in your phlegm.

Your basin must be
an omniscient Hell
From which still trickle
warring cathedrals
intermingled with Her smell.
***



Mourning

You are supposed to feel
uniformly about a person
At least when they’re on their deathbed.
You must feel peace, or at least a sense of closure.
You must love them, or hate them.

You do not, under any circumstances,
walk around with a bouquet
of pins
sticking out of your fingers.
They do not, under any circumstances,
leave you feeling gutted
on the side of a dark road.

They do not leave you
with a heavy box
weighing in on your chest that you
spend a lifetime
trying to get off.
They do not leave you
with a torrent of unspeakable moments
manifesting for your every lover
as a Wall.

Especially when they were
not even your lover.
They birthed you in pain
and brought you out into
a world of
tumult and horror.

Through them you saw
the depths of cruelty
the world could descend to.
Through them you felt Everything
stuck to and
plunged into you like a
Wildfire.

Through them your innards
Raged under your flesh
and made you bark out
Words (they call you a “Writer”)
Through them “Love” became a term 
both terribly bland and terribly tired.

People like to believe you
loved them and they, you.
People have such a disemboweled,
diminished understanding of
what you went through.
***

Author Bio: Prerna Kalbag has just completed a Master’s degree in Literary Arts from Ambedkar University Delhi. She is interested in art history, sociology, sociology of law, and critical theory. Power relations and the politics of social exclusion deeply influence her creative work. She feels that writing, far from being a spontaneous activity, is a responsibility and a conscious act.


Eco-critically analysing the animal imageries in Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh and Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun


- Sharbari Ghosh

Abstract: The paper aims at understanding the inter and intra texts’ animal imageries to not be limited to the age-old negative aspects of the human race but rather to be an ‘extension’ of the human experience. Since both the short stories, Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh and Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun have been penned during the oppressive British rule, the paper also tries to locate the voiceless pain in the animal world keeping it at close quarters with the socio-cultural trauma of the contemporary human world. With the help of textual references and by implementing the various approaches of eco-criticism, the paper will thus, reflect upon the need to perceive the supposed (dis)harmony in the two worlds bringing together intellectuality and strength from either sphere.

Humans make sense in the world as they differentiate or identify themselves from or with other beings. This necessarily does not undermine the rest of the ecosystem rather pulls together the other units to create sense at two distinct levels, of the tribe and the individual. Using the eco-critical approach, the simultaneous power relations of the two worlds (human and animal), will be studied herein. Tracing out bestiality through animal imageries is a down to top mechanism to conceive the human world with greater depth. The animals in the society and thus, in the literature, more often than not have been sidelined for mere economic deals or as beasts of burdens. This paper, however, brings in two heart-wrenching vernacular short stories, Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh and Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun written around the same decade, in British India. To unearth the gory and tragic situations of both humans and animals alike while being fettered during the British rule, the short stories, former one in Bengali and the latter in Hindi, tries to unanimously paint a picture of pain (and not a fa├зade of mere pity!) 

The use of animal imageries in the literary domain is neither mere ornamentation nor a coincidence. The animal imageries can primarily be bifurcated into the vernacular and the metaphorical animal imageries (DeWit 7). The first type connects more with the immediate social background and derives its meaning from the local language. The vernacular animal imagery provides a limited vision into a literary piece. The second kind of animal imagery or the metaphorical one is more widely used and can transcend the local virtues of a text to a universalised platform. Likewise, the abundance of apt animal imageries used by Fakir Mohan Senapati in his remarkable novel, Chha Maana Atha Guntha in the Oriya language is a brilliant example of highlighting various hidden aspects of the human self in particular and the society on the larger canvas. Fakir Mohan through a series of “kaduakhumphi birds”, “kingfishers”, “kite” and “Hindu cranes” (Senapati 103), dexterously brings to his readers the hierarchy of mistreatment and extensive exploitation rampant at all levels in the society. However, it is very important to note, the animal imageries used here direct the readers more towards the beastly face of the humans rather than expanding the idea of the human as a ‘species’ and as an integral part of nature. The two short stories herein, Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh and Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun try to uphold the mesh of relations shared by the humans, non-humans, and their immediate as well as the universal nature.

 Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay (1876-1938) holds an irreplaceable position in Bengali literature; particularly owing to his magnum opus, Devdas. The short story, Mahesh brings to flesh and blood, the sagas of the marginalised clan of the society. With great precision, the story brings to the foray that the invisible communities comprise not only of religious minorities like Gafur Jola, a Muslim and the protagonist but also of the wordless creatures like his beloved bullock, Mahesh. Herein, the cow transcends the mere purpose of utility and becomes more of a symbol - of trauma and violence owing to the fatal existence of abject penury. With the scorching heat and the consequential drought during the Jaishth (the second month of the Bengali calendar and along with Baisakh month, which comprises the exhausting summer season) month, the burden of feeding the bellies becomes all the more problematic but empathy remains as rare as the raindrops! It is in this state of palpable chaos that the silent teardrops of Mahesh speak galore.

 The pain of starvation and physical degradation doubles up when Mahesh being a mere animal remains deprived of even the proper channels of word and speech to relay the same. Herein, Mahesh does not stand merely as a ribbed creature of four limbs but an element of contestation. The ribbed body of the cow reveals the pathetic state of humanity at large. When on one hand, Tarkaratna, the priest feeds himself with extra ounces of fruits and rice, yet spares not a single grain either to Gafur or to his beloved, Mahesh whom he cared for as his son. Thereby, carefully placing the humans in the same plane of cognition as that of the animals, Sarat Chandra reveals the depth of dark inhumanity rampant in the human souls. The Darwinian struggle of survival trespasses the boundary between humans and animals. So to say, desperation at the hour of hunger and thirst (both for the tangible food and for the intangible identity) effortlessly superimpose the traits of humans and beasts.

 The misery of the characters reflects the unrestrained exploitation of nature and the non-human beings in the hands of the deadly consumerist society identified by Tarkaratna and by the wealthy Brahmin Zamindar heading the village of Kashipur. Resonating with the words of Raymond Williams’ The Country and the City (Nayar 329), Sarat Chandra too does not aim at glorifying the green nature of the rural world rather brings in the helplessness associated with wretched poverty, the defunct societal structure and the harsh seasons. Through every inch of this literary piece at hand, there is a constant persuasion to re-construct a healthy bio-social cont(r)act.

 In the closing lines of the short story, when Gafur being caught in an unfortunate misunderstanding, puts an end to his dearest bullock and his metaphorical son, Mahesh, the story as if comes alive with the scientific term that all humans belong ‘only and only’ to the kingdom of Animalia. Though a mute spectator, the untimely death of Mahesh provides a psychological revelation of the human world wherein, the latter’s choice and cognition come to fruition only by manifesting ‘humanhood’ which entails supporting and caring for one another in the tribe. Alas! Most of the humans being caught in the mesh of circumstantial agony brewed by the consumerist world, never truly transcend the state of bestiality to humanity!

 Through the lenses of eco-feminism, it is instrumental to look into the binary opposites of male and female in the context of this short story. Throughout the literary piece, Amina (Gafur’s young daughter) hardly gets a say just like Mahesh. The only difference being, even though Amina has the privilege of word-formation yet never gets the right ‘event’ to voice out the same and Mahesh, on the other side, neither has the words nor has the capacity to relay his thoughts. In other words, Amina is an ‘extended version’ of Mahesh. Both doubly ostracised; once by the society and next up by the superior other, the (hu)man. In this surreal integration of women and nature (along with the non-human beings), it is key to note that not only do men exercise their will and action on the lesser ones by sheer force but also by hegemonizing them by false deification. Attaching vital elements of nurturing, caring and loyalty to the women and nature, the lot at large slowly gets pushed out of the culture and society (which steadily gets masculinized). 

 Additionally, owing to the violence and the brewed apathy in the environment, it becomes a major necessity to depict the sad state of affairs of the poor animals' side by side with their equally wretched masters. In cases of crisis, humans as we are, we often empathize with our clan at first before turning to help the animals. However, one needs to understand that the animals or the non-human beings are as much vulnerable as the humans are during the traumatic hours; in this context, drought and starvation. In these lines, it is important to underline the fact that the act of anthropocentrism highlighted here, ironically does not portray the humans as the cynosure rather cajoles the same to widen its arena of existence and thereby, the discourse to involve the other participants of the eco-system. This dialectical relation between nature and humans foregrounds the various levels of inequalities and exploitation. To march forward to a healthy environment, the sudden accidents of role reversals wherein the humans acting as brutes and vice versa, need to be uprooted once and for all. By scraping away the boundaries of anthropocentrism, the realisation of sensitivity is sure to dawn upon! It is through this inclusivity factor that the humans will get subsumed into nature and thus, will not attempt to exploit the same, either by alienation or by being a part of it.

 The animal imageries need to be studied not merely on the literary level but also on the linguistic level. Gafur being a Muslim gets penalised by derogatory words by the priest, Tarkaratna. The priest verbally abuses; calling Gafur, “mlecch├б” (Chattopadhyay 1). The word taken from Vedic Sanskrit literally means barbarians. In this context of bitter social relation, Gafur gets reduced to a beast, an outcast and hence, gets shooed away from the basic amenities of human society just because he was born a Muslim in a Hindu dominated society. The Muslims therein were considered as ‘untouchables’ as well, thereby, making them an invisible part of the ‘civilised’ society. This binary of savage and civilised comes strikingly clearer when Tarkaratna once again hurls down offensive words like “pashondo” (Chattopadhyay 1). The etymological meaning of the word “pashondo” (Chattopadhyay 1) is one who is an atheist. However, the meaning twists into a derogatory notion by contextualising the same within the time frame of exploitation wherein words like these were being used in the colloquial language to determine humans who acted like brutes. This likening to brutes does not always refer to the inherent layers of bestiality in humans rather highlight the communities who were considered ‘lesser’ to the predominant higher classes. Thus, anyone lower to the privileged classes was considered nothing more than animals, who could be used for eternal labour hours, with no individual rights, and at the end, begging for the scraps of food left over by the upper classes. This extension of the human world into the animals and vice versa is not only traumatic but also alarming at the same time. The minute readings bring to question “the struggle of spiritual, political, and community values that are unique to the human animal” (Levy 66).

The feudal’s and the Zamindars’ exploitative measures did not get restricted only in Sarat Chandra’s Bengal rather stretched even to his contemporary, Premchand’s land. Premchand (1880-1936), the legendary ‘kathasamrat’ stands tall as one of the strongest pillars of Hindi literature, known widely for his heart-wrenching novel, Godaan. His writings subjectively and emotionally align much with Sarat Chandra’s; both delving deep into the intricacies of the human self by contextualising them within the current frame of oppression under the British colonisers in particular and within the existing world of all beings in general. Through animals and humans alike, Premchand like Sarat Chandra too brings in the ragged episodes of the rural life with the degenerative daily lives of the landless tenants and at large the dysconnectivity between nature and the humans. His short story, Sawa Sehr Gehun flags the human face of the shortcomings, pain and tyranny bolstered by the economic and socio-cultural greed through his protagonist, Shankar.

Shankar, a petty landless peasant, “a kurmi farmer - Collective name for the Hindu agricultural caste(s)” (Premchand 129) deprived of even two meals a day, gets caught up in a debt to a Brahman, who in the years has elevated from the position of a priest to a tactful and cunning Zamindar. Shankar like Sarat Chandra’s Gafur too has a bullock which happens to be his sole source of income as it helped him in the ‘agricultural activities’.

Out of the five bighas, only half remained along with a bullock on his side. How was it possible to be a peasant now? At last, cultivation became a mere instrument of preserving the family honour for Shankar for livelihood rested now entirely on the daily wage earning (Premchand 132).

Shankar’s menial amount of borrowing from the Zamindar along the seven years had turned a “mountain out of a molehill” (Premchand 133), converting a “quarter ser of wheat” (Premchand 133) into “five and half a mun” (Premchand 133). The politics of the narrative further problematises when seen through the ideologies of the Marxist environmentalists. The helplessness of Shankar and his dead-beaten starved bullock (who is nameless here in) voices out the pain and ignominy the wealth accumulators can put the ‘have-nots’ to; in silence and in vain. The namelessness of the bullock bellows at recollecting the universal trail of exploitation. It is imperative to perceive the present stand that exploitation did not begin with the tyrannical Zamindari system but began right from the birth of the human race.

According to Marxist environmentalism (Nayar 338), nature no more gets revered as a space for integration of all aspects of life rather gets denominated as a mere ‘commodity’ or even worse, simply as a ‘production sector’. Here, it becomes crucial to see that along with nature, the non-human beings and the lowest strata of the societal hierarchy, an exclusion navigates through; stealthily, first at the social level and next, at the environmental level. The hoarding of commodities and the excess avarice of the rich Brahmins to extract more and more from the vulnerable lesser beings and the non-humans depicts exploitation at multiple levels (both horizontally and vertically). The traditional hierarchy or the Indian varna system showcases the stultified and the decadent forms of the society, with the rich getting richer by accepting donations and the poor keep slipping into a deeper level of poverty even after selling their bodies for labour. The poor herein does not simply bracket Shankar but also his bullock. Either of them toils hard in the burning “Jeth sun” (Premchand 132), only to be thrown into a never-ending cycle of piling debts and humiliation. Even in the earlier short story, Sarat Chandra’s Mahesh, when Gafur along with his daughter, Amina leave their agricultural base behind hoping to live anew by working in the jute mills, this further portrays the introduction of the vicious industrialised and capitalistic parasite feeding onto innocent lives. The death of Mahesh just before Gafur’s withdrawal from his village also marks out the territory that capitalism and the much-loved modernity does not hold any space for animals. Consequentially, under the garb of better lives in an industrialised society, the people get deprived of their humanistic virtues even more. Thus, the constant contestation between the bourgeois and the proletariats get outlined herein with greater finesse. 

The animal imageries through a domestic animal also extend to the fact that humans at large are also being domesticated, being enslaved and are being ‘used’ until they are reduced to their bare corporeal frames without an ounce of emotion, conscience and vigour. To drive out the dark hovering debts from his head, Shankar worked way more than he used to. With no food on the table and no money even to cater to his hukka (an equipment for tobacco consumption), the anxiety of clearing up the debts multiplied further on. The extensive work hours with not much extra earnings reduced him into a mere skeleton with nothing more than a rag. His body became bare like that of a brute; with no clothing to cover the self-respect and the humane self. It is in these wretched conditions; Shankar too subsumes into the identity of an animal. Particularly, he gets caricatured as a stray animal who has neither any food to consume nor a home for shelter. The contextual integration of Shankar to a beast of deprivation and no self-worth assumes to be tragic rather than the peaceful interconnectedness hailed by the idea of ‘deep ecology’.

Lawrence Buell’s instrumental work, The Environmental Imagination (Nayar 337), “apocalypse is the single most powerful metaphor that the contemporary environmental imagination has at its disposal”. This painful realisation occurs at the closing lines of Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun. Shankar’s pile of debt does not come to a close rather closes the insignificant life of Shankar and introduces his son to yet another renewed cycle of slavery and captivity. Ironically, though Shankar along with his family and the bullock undergo unfathomable exploitation for no ‘proper’ reason yet they consider the same to be ‘pre-ordained’. It is in this naturalizing of the pain and brutality that the situation of the ‘other’ in the bourgeoise world grow even more pathetic. Once again through this latent acceptance, the meaning of Marxist ‘ideology’ comes alive and thus, the redundant societal bliss.

In this context, it is very evident that the eco-critical approach extends further into third world environmentalism. Premchand’s Shankar lived in a rural nameless village and on a daily basis, he was tormented. The pioneering idea of eco-criticism began in the West and consequentially, in the blind imitation of the West, our country too followed suit. The main problem however lies in the fact that the ways to protect nature and the non-humans, the bourgeoise perspective holds very paltry significance. It is the landless tenants like Shankar who work endlessly to secure the worth of the land and not the wealth-fed Zamindars. Thereby, Ramchandra Guha’s ‘environmentalism of the poor’ (Nayar 339) becomes an important point of discussion. Any malfunction in the environment directly affects the poorer lot and may or may not at all affect the Zamindars or the feudal lords. Even here, both Shankar and his innocent bullock bear the brunt of the excessive profiteering market set up by the priest turned Zamindar. Paradoxically, the voicelessness of the proletariats speaks way more about the imbalance in the society than the cacophony of the bourgeoisie!

When on one hand, the eco-criticism eyes the integration of humans, the non-humans and nature as a major factor in the progression of humans yet at the same time, these elements might also reveal the various discrepancies in human development. Likewise, be it Shankar or Gafur both exist within the framework of nature yet their end is abysmal; a state of catastrophe. The prime question arises why? Even though there is a string of harmony connecting Shankar, Gafur, and nature (including the non-humans too), but there is discord in the intra-human relations. It is the dissonance and friction between the various human strata that the true universal harmony cannot be achieved.

 Conclusively, either of the short stories brought in here under scrutiny, beautifully reflects that humans and non-humans are integral parts of nature, and supposedly, cannot exist in isolation. The animal imageries (both literal and linguistic ones) surfaces not just the integration of nature as a whole but also the fault lines in the same which needs to be glued by acting responsibly to one another. The animals in Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Mahesh and Premchand’s Sawa Sehr Gehun being connoted as the ‘extension’ of human development and experiences bring together a sense of recognition for every individual’s share of contribution in building up the ecological consciousness. Thereby, the short stories amidst the multiple layers of social injustice try to highlight the need to restore sanity and rationality both in human nature and in the universal nature at large.

  

Works Cited 

Chattopadhyay, Sarat Chandra. Mahesh. BDeBooks, https://bdebooks.com/books/mahesh-by-sarat-chandra-chattopadhyay/.

Sinha, Arunava. “Translations.” 1 March 2016, https://arunavasinha.in/2016/03/01/mahesh-sarat-chandra-chattopadhyay/.

DeWit, David A. “The Joyce menagerie : animal imagery in the first three novels.” University of Richmond, UR Scholarship Repository, 1967, p. 7.

Levy, Josephine. “Biological and Animal Imagery in John Steinbeck's Migrant Agricultural Novels: A Re-evaluation.” Between the Species, 1994, pp. 66-70.

Nayar, Pramod K. Contemporary Literary and Cultural Theory: From Structuralism to Ecocriticism. Pearson.

Premchand. The Bond of Slavery: Saw─Б Ser Gehun by Premchand in Hindi. Translated by Umesh Kumar, vol. 12, Translation Today, 2018, https://www.ntm.org.in/download/ttvol/volume12-2/translation.pdf.

Senapati, Fakir Mohan. Six Acres and a Third. Translated by Rabi Shankar Mishra, et al., University of California Press, 2005.

***

 

Bio: Sharbari Ghosh is currently pursuing post-graduation in English from Banaras Hindu University, Varanasi. Her research interests include Refugee and Migration Studies, Translation studies, Partition Literature, and Holocaust Studies. Her analytical approach to the usage of animal imageries traced in Fakir Mohan Senapati’s legendary translated novel, Six Acres and a Third, will be released by Muse India. On the most recent note, she has been selected (from an international pool of competitors) to participate with a cohort of 500 participants from 108 countries in the course, Global Compact for Migration by Global Research Forum on Diaspora and Transnationalism.

Email: sgmg9698[AT]gmail[DOT]com


Five Songs to God --for Rainer Maria Rilke - by R. L. Boyer

R. L. Boyer
BIRTH AGONIES

 

you are stirring in

whispers like a

 

soft breath rustling of

leaves shifting of

 

lovers on beds of

raw silk soon you

 

will sound more like

thunder grumbling,

 

shouting above a

hard rain mountains

 

crumble in your

wake your power is

 

wonderful and my

thoughts are scattered

 

like clouds upon the

wind from the birth

 

agonies of eagles


 

IN QUIET HOURS

 

 

In quiet hours, I have ears to

hear your silences. That's how I

 

know that you are calling me. And

how I recognize your voice when

 

I awaken. I can hear you

in the secret places of my

 

solitude. Your voice sounds like the

flapping of great wings. (But it changes

 

all the time). Sometimes, your voice

sounds like  the birth wails of infants.

 

Sometimes, like the angry beat of

war drums. It often sounds like the

 

chirping of songbirds. Or the loud,

hot clash and din of battle, tumult of

 

nations. Echoes in deep valleys. The

mournful cry of loons on a

 

northern lake. Sometimes, your voice rolls

over me, like waves of thunder.

 

Sometimes, like mountains shifting, or

the grinding of giant teeth. Your

 

voice sounds like Eternity.

 

            Listen!

 

Everything is singing out of

your vast silences. Infinite

 

worlds we know nothing of are

singing there! (But mostly, you speak

 

softly like the lonely hush of a

mountain wind wandering where it

 

will and singing through long pines.)

 

            Listen!

 

You often speak in whispers like the

dead. The strange thing is that you have

 

ears to hear me, too!. So, why can't

you hear me?

 

            Listen!

 

In quiet hours, unspoken thoughts of

you rise in me like a shout!

 


 

ARE YOU STILL ASLEEP?

 

 

Old One, are you still

asleep? In my silence I

think I hear you, rocking

gently. I am often

 

saddened at your

loneliness. Sometimes, I

feel you bending down,

looking as if you've

 

lost something valuable.

That's when I feel afraid.

Here! Lend me your hand.

Doesn't that feel better

 

now? I am small, but far

from helpless. And in my

tiny hand your thick

finger feels like the branch

 

of an ancient tree. It feels

so heavy in my grip, and

rough, like the hand of a

workman, a master carver

 

in stone. But warm, too,

like the breast of a mother

bird. I grasp your finger,

tightly, growing calm, as

 

you are calm.


BEGINNING TO KNOW YOU

 

                                                           

Grandfather, I think I am beginning to know you. For

Too many years you have spoken to me out of the                       

 

Whirlwind, driving me willy-nilly—a leaf in a cyclone. I

Guess that happens when you fall asleep and dream.  I

 

Lost faith in you then, thinking you had lost me. But we

Are both awake now—at the same time, for a change. 

 

So, let's be calm and walk together in our Garden, my tiny

Hand in yours, silence our only speech. Grandfather,

 

I think I am beginning to know you—now.

 


 

COOING OF DOVES

 

Tonight, the moon lies hidden in your shadow.

I am covered by your thick silence, like a shroud.

                                               

I can't see you, there in the darkness, but I feel you

Lean towards me, across great distances: reaching,

                                               

From beyond the stars, with wavelike hands of light.

Your hands are unspeakably tender as they gather me

                                               

Up—holding me close, nestled against your great heart:

The lonely heart of a mother. I feel safe here, now.

                                               

But it still seems so strange to me that my faint chirps

Are loud enough to actually move you. And your

                                               

Silence seems more like the cooing of doves.

***

 

BIO

R L. Boyer is an award-winning poet, fiction author, and screenwriter. His poems have been featured in Depth Insights, Mythic Circle, Poetry Zone, ReVision, and other publications. Boyer is a two-time award recipient of the Jefferson Scholarship and a two-time award winner in Literature from the John E. Profant Foundation for the Arts, including the McGuire Family Award for 1st place in Literature. He is a depth psychologist and current doctoral student in Art and Religion at the Graduate Theological Union and UC Berkeley.