Clrijul2013 by Contemporary Literary Review India

CLRI

CONTEMPORARY LITERARY REVIEW INDIA â&#x20AC;&#x201C; journal that brings articulate writings for articulate readers

CLRI Print Edition ISSN 2250-3366

This painting was done by Durlabh Singh

July 2013

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July 2013

contents Poetry ...................................................................................... 3 1. ANNE WHITEHOUSE ...................................................................................................................... 4 Zen Rider ......................................................................................................................................... 4 The Eye That Cries .......................................................................................................................... 5 2. JOHN STOCKS ................................................................................................................................ 7 What will Survive Us? ...................................................................................................................... 7 Raw Material .................................................................................................................................... 8 3. KHURSHID ALAM .......................................................................................................................... 10 Demolition: The Bamiyam Buddha ................................................................................................ 10 4. K.V.RAGHUPATHI ......................................................................................................................... 12 A Reflection at Fifty Five ................................................................................................................ 12 The Invalid ...................................................................................................................................... 13 5. DR. MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR .................................................................................................... 14 Reality ............................................................................................................................................ 14 A Moment ....................................................................................................................................... 15 6. MOHAMMAD AMEEN PARRAY .................................................................................................... 17 The Sun is Out Again ..................................................................................................................... 17 7. NITISHA TOMAR ........................................................................................................................... 19 Life: A beautiful breath ................................................................................................................... 19 8. RICHARD LUFTIG ......................................................................................................................... 21 Same Old Story .............................................................................................................................. 21 Flight Plan ...................................................................................................................................... 22 From Near and Far Away ............................................................................................................... 23 9. SALIH HAMEED ............................................................................................................................ 24 Poems ............................................................................................................................................ 24 10. STEFANIE GOLISCH .................................................................................................................... 26 Triptych........................................................................................................................................... 26 11. SYEDA AMNA ................................................................................................................................ 28 Its Not a Race ................................................................................................................................ 28 12. TAYEB BOUAZID .......................................................................................................................... 30 A Dreamy Soaring Devotion .......................................................................................................... 30 13. TWISH MUKHERJEE .................................................................................................................... 34 Western Jester ............................................................................................................................... 34

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Interview ............................................................................... 37 14. PROFESSOR NDR CHANDRA ..................................................................................................... 38 Prof Chandra Interviews the Poet A.K. Choudhary ....................................................................... 38

Story ...................................................................................... 42 15. KERSIE KHAMBATTA ................................................................................................................... 43 Catch the Bull by the Horn ............................................................................................................. 43 16. MEGHNA DE ................................................................................................................................. 46 Inviolable ........................................................................................................................................ 46 17. RITU BAJAJ ................................................................................................................................... 51 An Ant has the Diabetes ................................................................................................................ 51 18. S. KRISHANMOORTHY AITHAL ................................................................................................... 53 A Family Saga ................................................................................................................................ 53 19. VALERY PETROVSKIY ................................................................................................................. 60 House of His ................................................................................................................................... 60

Criticism................................................................................ 62 20. DR. K.V.RAGHUPATHI.................................................................................................................. 63 Water and Religion: An Interface With ‘Deep Ecology’.................................................................. 63 21. MOHAMED KAMEL ABDEL-DAEM ............................................................................................... 72 The Panegyric in Old and Early-Middle English Poetry ................................................................. 72 22. SHAMEEMA THOTTATHIL ........................................................................................................... 86 The Carnivalesque in Angela Carter’s Wise Children .................................................................... 86 23. DR SHIV GOVIND PURI PURI ...................................................................................................... 91 Pain and Agony in O P Valmiki's Joothan: A Dalit’s Life Zofishan Bano ....................................... 91

Book Reviews..................................................................... 100 24. BOOK REVIEW BY C. D. PODURI ............................................................................................. 101 Poduri Reviews Jesus Lived In India – His Unknown Life before and After the Crucifixion by Holger Kersten ............................................................................................................................. 101

Book Releases ................................................................... 104 25. BOOK RELEASES ....................................................................................................................... 105

July 2013

editorial

Digital medium is not simply a medium, it is a space to our life. All its shortcomings stand tiny before its advantages. It is the best alternative to saving paper, thus to saving plants and forests. It is the fastest means of communication, you can fly your documents and files across the globe in no time and at no costs. You can share your heart and mind to the world without coming under any hammer. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Khurshid Alam, Editor-in-Chief, Contemporary Literary Review India

July 2013

Editorial Nomination to the Best of the Net Award to be Announced Soon! Dear readers, we could not bring out the CLRI June 2013 issue as I had a very bad time last month. However I would not like to detail the past lest it seems more of excuses. We’ll be bringing out a little voluminous issues beginning July 2013 to accommodate huge submissions for a few months ahead. We’re ready with the list of those writers published with Contemporary Literary Review India (CLRI) during July 1, 2012 and June 30, 2013, who we are going to nominate to the Best of the Net run by the Sundress Publications, USA. So keep your fingers crossed and see the best writers from us. Next we’ll move to Pushcart Award.

Khurshid Alam Editor-in-Chief Contemporary Literary Review India

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CLRI prides itself to have a good number of review writers. We have different review writers for books of different genres. Our reviews are gaining recognition among the publishers, journals and academia for fair and high quality reviews.

July 2013

At one time poetry was a large part of mainstream readership. The public seemed to lose interest with the advent of gaming and the Internet, and now the Internet can be the avenue of restoration of this important genre of entertainment and enlightenment. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Jack Huber, Poet & Author, http://www.jackhuber.com

Poetry

July 2013

ANNE WHITEHOUSE Zen Rider â&#x20AC;&#x201D;for Mila Borrero

Caspar is a great jumper but all who try to ride him end up in his favorite ditch. At last it is my turn. From the quietest place in my heart I tap into his will and his need, at one with the pulse of his breath as he gallops across the fields.

July 2013

The Eye That Cries Memorial to the victims of Peru’s internal armed conflict 1980-2000 by Lika Mutal, Dutch-born Peruvian sculptor, installed in Campo de Marte, Lima, Peru

After such conflict, there is only this quiet space, not a bridge, but a separation, like a moat, between what cannot be, and what is. Past a grassy knoll, in the heart of the labyrinth’s circuit, sits the ancient, jagged stone of Mother Earth in a pool formed by the spill of water forever flowing from her rocky eye. The twisting journey of reflection leads each soul in single file along the path of collective memory bordered by thousands of identical stones. Here every eye-shaped stone is inscribed with a name and date, even if names and dates are a way not to remember, but to forget what part in the fight each one took. Those strangers with dark, wrinkled faces and bowler hats, their legs bowed as if they’d just stepped off a ship into the fogs of the coastal capital, and not traveled down from distant highlands where the air is thin and cold and hard to breathe, and legacies of violence live on side by side. 5

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It wasn’t so much what they’d come to find as what they’d come to lose— that instinctive fear, like an animal’s, giving off a harsh scent. Knowing that their grief at last can speak its name.

Anne Whitehouse was born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, and graduated from Harvard College and Columbia University. She is the author of the poetry collections — The Surveyor’s Hand, Blessings and Curses, Bear in Mind and One Sunday Morning. Anne Whitehouse’s most recent poetry collection is The Refrain (Dos Madres Press, 2012). Her novel, Fall Love, is available in ebook format from Feedbooks, Smashwords, Amazon Kindle, and iTunes. Her story, “A Modern Princess,” appeared in CLRI in 2012.

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July 2013

JOHN STOCKS What will Survive Us?

You wonder occasionally If he still thinks of you And, when you covet him so strongly Conjure his flesh from boundless memory Whether he is tricked into dreaming of you Feeling your warm breath on his cheek As he sleeps with the window open Is such intricacy possible? Knowing that madness lies In this hunger for his heat His pheromones; the taste of his skin. Such thoughts are harbingers of unease Tingeing your thoughts with frost Turning the rime of memory bitter-sweet Separation kills cleanly, dissonance calls From some unbridgeable chasm Where the chords diminish And the music always dies.

July 2013

Raw Material You begin where my beginning ends Teaching me, a sense of place that blew in With my consciousness, teaching me Mischief Night, bonfires and Halloween Obscure fag-ends of winter afternoons Isherwoods chip shop, a seven penny mix Steaming from the back copies of the Guardian A stench of leaves from the old cut locks Clogged with leaves and random detritus Love in puddles, huddled in the bus stop. You begin where my beginning ends Songs of Praise when Advent slipped in The remedial room that stank to high heaven Everything given, a gift of sorts The primordial soup of poetry. Scents, images, embedded in my DNA All carried in my slouch, in my stoop In my confused, and in my angry looks In words that slowly creep across the page Words like fog over plains, stubble burning Words that free-wheel cycle down country lanes Or rise like miasma from flooded drains.

July 2013

John Stocks is a widely published and anthologised writer from the UK. Recent credits include an appearance in ‘Soul Feathers’ a poetry anthology, alongside Maya Angelou, the English poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, Bob Dylan , Len Cohen, Rimbaud and Verlaine. This anthology was the second bestselling poetry anthology in the UK in January, is raising money for cancer care and can be ordered online from Waterstones UK. He also features in ‘This island City’, the first ever poetry anthology of poetry about Portsmouth, also available from Waterstones. In 2012 John will be launching a collaborative novel, ‘Beer, Balls and the Belgian Mafia’, inspired by three of his primary interests.

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July 2013

KHURSHID ALAM Demolition: The Bamiyam Buddha

Oh heaven! Cease to exist there. And fall on them…the abbot of unreason! They play mortal games on immortal theme. With faint affiliation they desecrate The years-old medium of tenets divine. Oh heaven! Cease to exist there. And fall on them…the abbot of unreason! The "crime against culture" was committed At the very center of the enlightened land The Silk Route taught the world to trade And take a rest from all bustles and pray In solitude and search for the ultimate peace. The pilgrims and merchants and people Sat under the feet of the Vairocana To seek wisdom and self-liberation The first cultural melting pot on earth That united the West with the East And stood a resort for all— Tourists, schools and connoisseurs of arts. But there is a silver line that shines From under the dust clouds. He’ll reincarnate And the hands will rise for blessing again For he who grew wide ears to lend ear To people’s misery and brooded on to ease People from grief. He had the heart That did no harm to any and professed No Godism and no atheism. Oh heaven! Cease to exist there. And fall on them the abbot of unreason!

July 2013

Note: â&#x20AC;&#x153;the abbot of unreasonâ&#x20AC;? expresses the strongest opposition to those who claim to guard ones culture but destroy others for mean logics. This poem of one of the series of three poems titled Sacrilege: The Babri Mosque, Demolition: The Bamiyam Buddha, and House Arrest: The Mumbai Attack. These poems belong to the Investigative Poetry genre and express anti-religious feelings to other fellow believers. This poem commemorates the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha in Kandhar, Afghanistan on March 12, 2001 carried out by the Taliban. The poem was written on March 22, 2001, in reaction to the demolition of the images of Gautam Buddha and expresses strong opposition against forced aggression to any religion.

Khurshid Alam is a writer and editor.

Kavyanaam, in Hindi means in possession of poetry, is a collection of 44 poems in Hindi. The anthology is available with www.cyberwit.net and amazon.com. Abhay Chokshi works as a technical writer in a software company based in Pune (India). He started writing poetry out of sheer passion for words. He likes to build poetry around the incidents that he observes around him. According to him, poetry is a soul-searching journey of love and passion.

July 2013

K.V.RAGHUPATHI A Reflection at Fifty Five

At eighteen I came here like Ulysses Nothing happened in the class room except parroting and rattling. I knew it wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t shape my bole. What a chasm between the seed and tree in it! I stumbled and tumbled over my life through severe summers and rolling rains I wrote about them, it was like peat I talked about them, it was like drainage water I knew these writings and talkings would land me on the barren mountain back What a hiatus between the infant in me and the elephant in forest!

At eighteen I came here, alone I have grown up since, like fern to live alone to sustain Ulysses in me to keep my old visions set sail on the fallen leaves. All my dreams, unreal to myself like clouds in the purple sky I have grown up since, like heavily warped tree making the epic poem out of dried experiences taking word after word from the sucked roots. At fifty five, I am a tree When I last looked at it, it is shrinking like morning star on the hills. What an estuary between dream and reality!

July 2013

The Invalid I know this invalid has no full life like you and me in this broken world. Half naked, with perforated shawl across his upper body, like hanging tendril from garret. Walking along, as old as his stick with the only companion, black dog Is the disciple leading the master or the master the disciple? He for the dog, the dog for him That is their world, a perfect union in imperfect world a gift for the both â&#x20AC;&#x201C; mutual trust With boundaries prohibited destined nowhere. I know neither has full life.

K.V. Raghupathi (b. 1957) has published 16 books which include nine books in English Verse. He has attended many conferences and seminars and presented papers on literature, language and philosophy. A great lover and promoter of classical Karnatic music, he has published a number of articles in various international journals. He is a recipient of several awards that include Michael Madhusudhan Dutt Award, Kolkata in 2001, H.D. Thoreau Fellowship, Dhvanyaloka, Mysore in 2000 and the best chosen poet for 2003, Poetry Society of India, New Delhi.

July 2013

DR. MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR Reality

No end Of the path We keep on walking! Darkness Spread out on far off lands Never becomes less Even a little! Like a flickering lamp Day and night We keep on burning! Only a few moments Are left for me All of a sudden on any day The throbbing of the heart will stop! Knowingly all We keep on deceiving death! At each and every step How can one find his goals? In life There are only heaps of pebbles, Where are pearls?

July 2013

A Moment A moment Only a moment Snatches away Life All of a sudden! Yes, only a moment! Every moment Has its own mysterious meaning, It creates Its own history complete. Persist again and again. That is why it is essential â&#x20AC;&#x201C; You live every moment to the fullest Before It crushes your existence! Every moment slips away silently in a similar measured pace, Inscribing countless mishaps, Proclaiming its importance!

July 2013

Dr. Mahendra Bhatnagar's is one of the significant post-independence voices in Hindi and Indian English Poetry, expressing the lyricism and pathos, aspirations and yearnings of the modern Indian intellect. Rooted deep into the Indian soil, his poems reflect not only the moods of a poet but of a complex age. Dr Mahendra has vast experience as a teacher in schools and colleges with various universities and also has worked in various positions with many educational institutes in India. His poems have been included in various Text-Books of Educational Boards & Universities of India. Worked as one of the members in the Audition Committees of Drama / Light Music of All India Radio (Akashvani) Stations, Indore and Gwalior. Contracted Song-Writer of All India Radio \ For all Radio Stations (Light Music Section). Broadcast many poems, talks and other programmes from Indore, Bhopal, Gwalior and New Delhi (National Channels) Radio Stations. Many of his poems have been translated, published and broadcast in many foreign and Indian languages. He has eleven books to his credit.

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July 2013

MOHAMMAD AMEEN PARRAY The Sun is Out Again

After many dark and gloomy days The Sun is out again I had a piece of fire in my palm Or a mouth full of pepper The days were so tough And nights so long I waited and waited But the Sun didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t turn up My days would start With my eyes on the eastern horizon Westwards I would look in search of the beloved Sun What is warmth I had forgotten? Numbness had turned me dead in fact. In nights dark dreams would haunt me all the night After every dream I would have a bath in sweat Bulls chasing me or monkeys teasing me Or black dogs running after me in an open field To doctors I went In faith I tried my treatment All Peers of the town I met The dreams did not go away In smoking I buried my head But the dreams did not go away Even masturbation of ideas Could not heal the wounds of my soul Of my mind And of my heart As a child of violence It was always a dream to find a consoling face 17

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Warm my heart in a loving Sun Talk freely to someone I could trust But all this proved to be a mere dream There was no Sun around Dark shadows had consumed the peace of my days La Taqnatu Min Rahmatillah Was always a promise to me Of a day when the sun shall shine again And after many years past Today I could feel The Sun is out again With the promise of a new day And a new dawn Of hope And Freedom from Oppression Of Man on Man.

Md Ameen Fayaz is an Assistant Professor of English with North Campus, University of Kashmir.

July 2013

NITISHA TOMAR Life: A beautiful Breath

I heard, That you wish to die And spill your blood The red wine of life Blaming life for all your hue and cry Manifesting your defeats into an endless strife But, Before you kill your self Before you murder your soul I call your angels, the halo to delve Into the verses down below If you could ever witness the dew Sparkling and playing with the light The morning saturated with the majestic hue You wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have hated your life If you could see the sun On its course, hung , for you to glance at it at the horizon Where the sky, an expanse of blue myriads and the sea, the abode of the dancing colours for you, become One You would have worshipped this sanctity and not run If you could encompass yourself with the odour of the rose And dance around the 19

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divided sunbeams in the forest After drowning in the hymns of the rain and being astounded by how the pious fragrance of the earth rose Life would have been your love, with you standing at the ecstasyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s crest If you could understand why The umpteen meteors crash elsewhere And not on your walls Why your parents cradled you In their smiles Why they walked with you And their sore feet for miles Took you to school, part of enriching a life You form their happiness, their integrated life Yet you sing of your death In your despondent mind What is it that demands your suicide? Nothing but your crestfallen thoughts For life has always chosen you to be on its side Since the second when Your bones were lifeless dots. So love your life, It is beautiful...indeed.

Nitisha Tomar is a young writer.

July 2013

RICHARD LUFTIG Same Old Story

High up in a tree, a blue jay cackles and caws as whatever leaves still left on bare branches struggle to hold on to their lives by their toes. He has tried all autumn to warn us of winter but we never pay attention even when he complains that heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s seen this old story before.

July 2013

Flight Plan She is happiest when she can open her magazines upside-down and shake out the snowstorm of postcards that flutter and land softly on the kitchen table. Carefully, she’ll bubble in all the circles, destinations that follows one another in perfect alphabetical order, warm and sunny and ending in vowels; Montenegro, Palermo, Sao Paulo, Santo Domingo, anywhere away from this flatness where the worn-weary landscape does little more than proclaim the coming of another night. In a few days, a week, a lifetime from now, she’ll walk up the long gravel drive and spread out the brochures on the table like place settings for welcome dinner guests and dream of flying east where each hour holds its breath, so far east that morning can last forever. She’ll wish her way through clouds, soaring above this place,

July 2013

this life that has always looked better in the dark.

From Near and Far Away This night full of indifferent stars, a moon not fit to be trusted, so round, so cold, so full of itself that even the lights out on the edge of town blink on and off in disbelief. Out here he struggles to remember when life wasn’t seen from a distance, of when she wouldn’t let him love her and couldn’t stop him from trying.

Richard Luftig is a past professor of Special Education and Educational Psychology at Miami University in Ohio. He was named a recipient of the Cincinnati Post-Corbett Foundation Award for Literature and a semi-finalist for the Emily Dickinson Society Award. His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals in the United States, internationally in Japan, Canada, Australia, Europe, Thailand, Hong Kong and India (including Contemporary Literary Review India) and have been translated into Japanese, Polish, German and Finnish. One of his published poems was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Poetry Prize.

July 2013

SALIH HAMEED Poems

1 Heavy was the rain, Thick was the dark, But by Aurora's wake, Apollo faintly smirked. A sparrow dangled by my window; It crooned and echo my heart did; Eyes drowsily sparkled, and like to the patient Etherized I vertiginously did a vision behold. 2 Kawkab's playing the flute at Haj Hussein's orchard; I feel throbbing knocks at my head; Is that Haifai back? In 1984, I last met her at St. Mary, Eye's cast down by then, With teary eyes and sighs she choked; she rained. Can that be Godot, flouting waiting crowds? And can my heart dance to the rainbow in the sky, And like to the merry children do I leap now? Kawkab's rhymes and flute, The brook flows through the saplings by the footbridge The palm trees drop ripened Zehdi dates in September, My mother's bread at dawn: her smile, her prayers, her tears, and her pale poverty.

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3 But Oh! The vision passed. The beatings of drums, the flute broke; Kawkab is afar; St. Mary's is too remote; Haifai's eyes are dry; Godot did lifeless depart; All fire's the rainbow: steel drops fall. Dates are sour; the brook desiccated; Burnt is my mother's bread, her clay Tannor smashed. A new one I can build, But mother is no more, I miss her bread. 4 Thick is the rain. Heavy is the dark. Aurora is dead.

Salih M Hameed is a writer based in Iraq.

July 2013

10.

STEFANIE GOLISCH Triptych

Learn How to Rain Learn how to fly away old letters, one by one, learn how to look into your enemyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes lovingly, they are breaking eyes like your own eyes, like everyoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes and mouths on earth. Forgive them that they do not love you for deep inside you know and see that they just cannot. Be as kind as the new day that lights the hunchbacked on the park bench, with the same warm rays that awake the strong and straightforward to life. Open your unbeloved heart to the grace of the ununderstandable. Let yourself rain generously

July 2013

Attempt to Love The world is a bride, who loves her combs and adorns her hair. â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Arabic wisdom The comb broke, and he took his hands to fair her hair. He spread earth on her pale face and opened her eyes wide. He put her to bed and pulled the corners of her mouth up into a smile, but she wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t smile. He dons a paper crown on her head, and yet, she is not his queen. Then he lays down beside her. He will not leave her when darkness falls, not leave her until love will unclose his fists as if to free one by one voices of stone and plume and je ne sais pas

Stefanie Golisch (born 1961) is a writer, translator, literary critic and teacher. She has many books to her credit including on German authors: Uwe Johnson (1994) and Ingeborg Bachmann (1997), a novel Vermeers Blau, 1998. Many of her short stories, essays, and reviews have been published in literary magazines and anthologies.

July 2013

11.

SYEDA AMNA Its Not a Race

Of all the lines by Shakespeare, one is above all far greater, The line - “All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players, Some generations ago, indeed everyone were players, Each played their roles well & in a manner so rare, But now the stage’s gone & people are no longer players, Instead the world’s a race track & all the men & women are merely players. People are running so fast that they fail to notice what’s left behind, They bury their soul & heart’s desire for their ruler is their mind. Success, money & power is what they run after, Such that they lose their family, friends & others just to be a bit faster. This loss of dear one’s at first seems so less, When they feel with money, success & power they are blessed. But when they reach high to the top, That’s when they slows down to stop. A stop for the self - made race & to just think, About the great loss in spite of their win. They realise then that sometimes the materialistic world is everything, But to the world of love, kindness & greatness compares nothing. Happiness & glory doesn’t come to the rich or to the one who ran, Because sometimes the happiest, thankful & hopeful of all happens to be a poor man. Hence slaves of time, stop running for God’s sake, For this life is to live & not merely to race...

July 2013

Born and brought up in Saudi Arabia Syeda Amna came to India for her higher studies. She is a student pursuing a bachelorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree in biotechnology. She is very passionate about poetry, originally which started off as a hobby has developed into a passion. She is writing since the age of nine and hopes to write in the coming years too.

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July 2013

12.

TAYEB BOUAZID A Dreamy Soaring Devotion

Who dares set out looking at the twinkling stars and moonbeams None could ever gather his sense of knowledge, his wits, The burning fire flickering his chest. None could ever bear it in mind, ruthlessly chasing his destiny To overcome these dreary dire circumstances. Heart is broken and with no cure a breathing piece of flesh, The hearty sensation roving with no help at sight, Seeking amidst the somber summer nights. There in the shaky remote azuring sea, I was as a dream walker half awake- and half asleep raising my mean hands to erase my watery brown eyesI gave free reins to my imagination to float beyond time There in the gloomy sight lusting for a destination. Sometimes and forever waiting for someone to come, To take by my hand, to fill it with pituosity and vim, To whisper to my ears the very love words of wisdom, To tease the little erring heart and appease the blazing fire To invigorate the hellish pains in its gloomy corner. For oft and by the lofty trees I remain alone think足ing about How to free my heart of that soaring fever. Merriless, I got up for a nightingale stroll singing lovely songs releasing the knell of my broken heart Plunging my mind beyond time roving over to the boyish experiences of the very past, remembering jolly moments spent together Hand in hand knitting a common abode of love and affection. None in his turn could ever disrupt that sound friend足ly warm relation.

July 2013

I often recall my existence to ever twist in going turn To set in fire and motion the flying leaf of our affection And whirl there in the blow of the gentle breeze, Of the smooth running dawn to take an overstay Out of the turmoil of the burning furnace and blaze. Lo! I often feel alone quite silent sitting talking to myself Thinking deeply of the spectrum of my little deer Then, across time, I feel her presence quite portrayed in mind. I turn a little bit around then I start whispering to her moving Dwindling pictures swinging in front of my gleaming eyes, Wondering Dear! How can I stay alive without receiving your gentle smile? How shall I revive without even glaring at your small brown eyes? Do come along my precious gem, I cannot survive anymore My eye sight is dwindling, my heart is suffering with pain My limbs dumb tormented by your blink足ing brown eyes. For oft I stay up for a whole night as an overseer looking out, Waiting for the glistening star amidst the cloudy sky To light up on my face. But what on Earth am I doing? Sleeping or dreaming? Ask and let the events narrate the story Of our passing days, the scattering pleasant scent Off The pianissimo little rose, fra足grant beauty and charm going Ahead to attract the heart throbbing little lover. Do bear in mind my precious thing that I cannot even forget I still remember your gestures, your laughter and your motions. How shall I proceed in darkness without the light of your candles, Your affectionate advice and words of wisdom? I shall watch out forever to let my rose peep as a culminating power Off drenched land nicely drizzled , a porous rock taking its water Till vigour and flourish in a spirit stirring fashion. Shall I remain asleep to behold the burning flame digging my heart? Shall I stay whole nights waiting for that flickering light? I apologize for the plummeting flame that in slow motion increased my pain.

July 2013

Do keep in mind my little rose, we are shifting to足wards an end And none will stay alive to eternity. Take this counsel, I shall favor your fame and never let you down But promise to keep you sane whenever I shall survive I reckon Her love is a burning flame that renews exceedingly She still remembers my deep ringing voice, my gladness and my faithfulness I oft walked by a small running creek listening to the moving rippling water, Speaking in a cool voice beneath the mild breeze emanating from the nearby mansions. I apologize for what makes you a troublesome love thirsty little rose I can do nothing but protecting your deep shifting roots. I constantly look to your green leaves, to your buds, to your blossoms. To feed you with my soul, my heartthrob love and my warm devotion. Oh dear! I need you by my side, ogling at your reddish face musing endlessly About your witty words fused within your blinking brown shining eyes And though your omnipresence, yet I feel alone living by your vicinity I have much time to spare doing nothing but thinking folded arms round my face. I felt wicked ignoring how to get out of that dreadful situation. Off the page with another counsel let us turn Be patient my little rose, I am still good as my words. I cannot abandon my precious milestone. I am always on your heels whenever you move for a pithy spin behind the wheels. Think over the long term promise that one day we shall meet And none will stay alone, exchanging the very sweet love words, Smiling to each other under a jolly atmosphere. Keep in mind that I shall ask for your hand to be my sweetheart forever. I cannot let you go whenever you find the fortune. Lest things will take another turn and you will an unfortunate victim. Never forget, one day, when you hear of my eternal demise, To offer my lonesome grave, a hearty welcome a bunch of flower, To commemorate and crown the common vistas of our background. At that time and for sure I cannot say a word but I feel your perfume scattered along the somber corridor, coming slowly

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through the groovy land to spread moist in my right hand. Then, I’ll feel warm, something will play with my mean fingers, Itching them together, then taking them one by one for warmth But alas for something that is gone, a vain hope a pipedream…. This is but a dream mapped out by an ill-tempered lover Flattened by the knell of his dormant pet deer What remains then for sure, creative minds perusing, growing love That instantly fades out leaving traces on the strand of time.

Tayeb Bouazid is a graduate and postgraduate lecturer in the English Department University Mohamed Boudiaf, Msila, Algeria. He has an MA in psycho pedagogy and TEFL, a MEd (with specialisation in Environmental Education (UNISA) and a Teacher Trainer Certificate of Advanced Studies from Lancaster University. He has been recently awarded a completion certificate with Middle East Partnership of the best practices in teacher training programs. Mr Bouazid is a freelance writer for the London School of Journalism and a fifth year doctorate student at the University of Batna, Algeria. His articles have appeared with Southern African Journal of Environmental Education, Vol. 26, 2009 , Arab Gulf Journal of Scientific Research, 27 (1&2): 59- 69 (2009), Per Linguam 2010 26(2): 33-49 Department of Curriculum Studies, Private Bag X1 7602 Stellenbosch, South Africa etc.

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July 2013

13.

TWISH MUKHERJEE Western Jester

Awed, alright, in broad daylight, my pawns take tiny steps towards fluorescent light in the middle of the night while I'm tired of display of defeat and despair when it's but a display in literary disguise of sharp and shrewd images of burnt sienna pages of lazy afternoons and youthful rages. Will you buy me coffee today? Sugar, but no milk. I'll dip my finger and warm my flesh and then, taste the blend of sweat and caffeine and you shall smell the stale memory of a similar young man in a similar blue jeans with a similar fetish for weirdness. In the dead of the night the monster smiles and watches with care my dangerous high

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from where I descend into a bed warmed by the pout-lipped women we share in vain, until I know its him, and I win; the restless winds keep him company. Tell me Beautiful, do you see the men they are beneath their daily misgivings, their daily drudgery against their dreams, pitted against ethics scribbled in ink in an idle workshop's din? Humanity is beyond all this. I rose above the roof and floated mid-air, waiting for the fall on the hard floor, but the terrace made a face and bid me farewell with sad, mad silence. A grey consolation awaited me everywhere I looked. I would buy you a hill in the North and build a house on top with brown wood and a red roof with dirty glass pane windows and rooms cluttered with food and a fluffy guinea pig in a corner who'll amuse you when I'm gone.

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Twish Mukherjee is a young filmmaker based in New Delhi, India. He is also the sub-editor of The Little Messenger, a children’s fortnightly newspaper tabloid, and FORWARD PRESS, India’s only completely bilingual magazine.

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July 2013

It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story. â&#x20AC;&#x2022; Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

Interview

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14.

PROFESSOR NDR CHANDRA Prof Chandra Interviews the Poet A.K. Choudhary

Prof NDR Chandra recently appointed as Vice-Chancellor at Bastar University, Chhatishgarh. interviews Arbind Kumar Choudhary, Poet & Editor of Kohinoor. Chandra was Professor of Literary Theory, Department of English, Nagaland Central University Kohima Campus, Nagaland, India. He was Visiting Professor at Dr. H.S. Gour University, Sagar (M.P.) in 2006. He has been Fulbright-Nehru Senior Research Fellow in the USA in 2010-11. He is Editor-in-Chief of the Journal of Literature, Culture & Media Studies (ISSN-0974-7192). Arbind Kumar Choudhary, the prominent poet, the eminent editor, celebrated critic, reputed reviewer and thought tickling teacher has become a literary celebrity in India and abroad due to his 1200 thoughtful poems in English besides two refereed literary journals Kohinoor and Ayush known globally amidst the creative and critical authors. His Aurobindonean and Ezekielean conception of poetry bloom hand in hand for the glorification of age old ancient Indian culture on one side and the burning national issues on the other for the revival of the spiritual sanctity in place of materialistic nebulosity prevailing across the continent. As a literary bard, he propounds his philosophy of suffering in “Melody”, view of nature in “Nature” and theory of poetry in “The Poet” in all his conscience for the poetic world worldwide. His poetic philosophy has been warmly embraced by the academicians, teachers, critics and writers who have not only written hundreds of research papers and reviews but also presented their papers in a number of UGC sponsored seminars across the country. His interviews appeared thrice in Malta and Poetcrit, Kafla-Intercontinental, Mandakini, All Round, Literati, Notions, Voice of Kolkata, Indian Ruminations, Research Vistas, Bizz Buzz and many other anthologies in India. His nine poetry collections are called brain children by the poet himself. They have been spreading their poetic fragrances through a number of poetry websites, published books, Cambridge Dictionary of English Writers, London, World Poetry Almanac, Mongolia and several other anthologies in India and abroad. Here is an excerpt of interview with A. K. Choudhary with Prof NDR Chandra.

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NDR Q: 1. Could you name your creative works, please? AKC: My poetry collections are as follows: 1. Eternal Voices (2007) 2. University Voices (2008) 3. My Songs (2008) 4. Melody (2009) 5. Nature Poems (2010) 6. Love Poems (2010) 7. Love (2011) 8. Nature (2011) 9. The Poet (2011) 10. Leader (Press) 11. Haiku (Press) 12. Majuli (Press) NDR Q: 2. What are the dominant and recurrent themes of your poems? AKC: Ecological disorder, environmental pollution, emotional distress, discrimination, suffering, nature, life, love, death, friendship etc. are the main themes of my poems. The capital idea of my writings is to arouse literary sensation across the globe. The social hypocrisy, exploitation, discrimination, deforestation, dehumanization etc. are the main contents of my creative world. NDR Q: 3. Can you share a little of your current work with us? AKC: â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Leaderâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, a poetry anthology, is my new literary adventure expected to be published soon in which irony, satire and humour are put together to expose the hypocrisy of the modern leading faces. NDR Q: 4. What role does music play in inspiring your work? AKC: Music is the voice of the soul that stirs my shaping spirits for the fragrance of literary wisdom in life. NDR Q: 5. Do you have a specific writing style? Give illustrations if any? AKC: Rhymed verse is my favorite poetic style. However, you can find many of my poems in free verse also. Apart from rhymed verses there are a number of other poetic qualities such as plenty of the phrasal and the proverbial words, mythical blending, compound words and many others all through my poetic groves. NDR Q: 6. Do you sit and think through every world of every stanza or do you just write freely and allowing the words to flow? AKC: The flesh of ideas flourishes side by side with the selection of words of every stanza. However, capital idea is primary and all poetic ornaments are to enhance the poetic beauty to its climax.

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NDR Q: 7. Ultimately, what do you want readers to take away from your poetry? AKC: The readers are expected to inhale the fragrance of the alluvial spiritual world from my poetry. NDR Q: 8. What has been the response from readers and reviewers so far to your poetry collections are concerned? AKC: I got myself interviewed for 17 literary journals and anthologies besides more than 80 criticisms and reviews published in journals, books, websites and anthologies by prominent poets, professors, philosophers and critics. Is it good or no? I do not know. NDR Q: 9.Is it more difficult to use rhyme? AKC: Difficulty lies in mind rather than in rhyme. Mind moulds the meditative pattern of the poet he desires. New bloomers may have more difficulty. I feel more comfortable in composing rhymed verses rather than free verses. NDR Q: 10. Who is your favourite writer and for what reason are they your favourite writer? AKC: Aurobindonean cultural affection tickles my creative germs time and again. Tagorean humanism flows through my poetic vein. Medieval saint poets have entered in to my poetic blood. Ezekielean burning issues of corruption, exploitation and discrimination also flourish all through my poetic potion of creation. NDR Q: 11. Do you have any advice for other writers? AKC: The writers are expected to be impartial with dealing with the subjects and listening of the criticisms. They must be true to their inordinate passion of writing. Be voracious reader and highly sensitive. Fortune will embrace your poetic potion; if writing becomes your passion, not profession. NDR Q: 12. How do you feel while you are writing? AKC: Creative world is the divine world that sends the shaping soul in the seventh heaven. I sip a cup of the divine pleasure while spell-bound in writing. NDR Q: 13. As a writer, to which tradition, if any, do you see yourself as belonging? AKC: I believe in exploration of new vistas of knowledge, innovative racy style, uses of Indian popular words, new words, and a number of new and experimental technique to make Indian English literature up to the global mark. In a nutshell, I can reply that I belong to innovative tradition that suits my literary temperament most. However, I leave the answer of this question for the critics who will have to go through all my creative works and will finally pass comment and judgment on my belonging, if any.

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NDR Q: 14. What is your innovative poetic style? Give an example; if any. AKC: The muse lovers can detect the ascending order of the alphabets in a single quatrain that is not common amidst the creative writers nor is it easy to use in a stanza. Here is a stanza that is quoted from “The Poet” (2011): The enigma, facetiae and genre Heal the infidel’s conjecture That enrich the oeuvre Of the father- figure. (Stanza -188). One can find the sequence of the alphabet- e, f, g, h and I in a quatrain besides the rhymed quatrains.

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July 2013

Story

July 2013

15.

KERSIE KHAMBATTA Catch the Bull by the Horn

First serial rights requested About 947 words “Hey you guys…ready?” I was clinging to the top of the mussel bar which stands ten metres high in the centre of a cobbled square surrounded by bars and restaurants. I am a quiet, reserved man. Why was I there, looking down at the amused faces and outstretched arms of strangers! If they decided to walk away, I would be dead meat! There were others impatiently waiting for me to vacate. I had to take the plunge. I closed my eyes, imagined I was jumping into a swimming pool, and dived! I am no lightweight. The impact of my hurtling body caused many of them to fall flat on their backs. But I was alive! No broken bones. No bruises. They pulled me to my feet, and the old man with the wrinkled face and the enigmatic smile gave me back my camera. “Good shot!” he announced triumphantly. “You show your wife. She be proud of you.” I didn’t tell him that I had lost my wife two years ago, and it was possibly loneliness that made me do crazy things. I thanked him, and walked away. Champagne and Sangria rained from the sky. An egg war broke out between two opposing teams on either side of the narrow street. Flour bombs burst everywhere. Tomato sauce and mustard stains were treated by the gallants as medals, the bigger the better. Someone dug his elbow into my ribs, and I groaned, but was pushed along. Where were they heading? What was going on? A senorita with dark, long hair and a bright, red, flowing dress caught my hand abruptly, and flashed a brilliant smile. “You tourist?” she asked in a soft, sweet voice. “Come, I show them”. We sailed along in the sea of faces, some young, some old, but all smiling and happy. There were red-cheeked, chubby children perched on their shoulders, like parrots on pirates. One of the brats slyly kicked me as he passed by. I made a rude face at him, and he showed me his tongue. Then I heard bellowing! So that’s what it was! The running of the bulls! The El Enciero!

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“You no have newspaper!” She was clearly worried. “They beat you. You touch bulls.” She dragged me into a small, wayside stall, and bought a newspaper. Of course, I paid for it. She then folded it like a sausage, and thrust it into my hands. “You run with bulls. You touch them newspaper. You no touch hand on bull. No allowed.” The street was so narrow, ten men wouldn’t have been able to walk abreast. Sudden silence! Then a huge roar. “They come! Run!” she screamed in my ear, turning me around the way we had come. A mass of tightly-packed bodies went wild. The children were passed over into arms dangling from low balconies. The women darted into doorways, which closed behind them. She blurted “Good luck”, propelled me forward and disappeared. That was the last I saw of her. There was only one way for me to go. Faster and faster we went. Round bends and up slopes. My daily run in Hyde Park paid off. I kept up with my companions. I couldn’t even look around to see how many of us were there. All I was aware of was deep panting. Then I heard snorts and thundering hooves. People in the houses were yelling and cheering. They were pointing to me and saying something I couldn’t understand. The ground was shaking with the charge of the maddened bulls. They were now close. Very close! My heart pounded in my chest. I could see them from the corner of my eyes. They were only metres behind, and catching up fast. I could feel the immense power in their heaving, sweating bodies, and evil horns. Ahead lay a long straight,……… and no escape! A nudge from behind; I lurched, staggered, nearly lost balance, but luckily swiftly recovered… to carry on. Then a sharp horn glanced my right side, and I clutched at it without thinking. I just held on to it, like I did to the mussel bar. It felt as hard. I was lifted into the air. I hung on tighter. The beast tried to dislodge me. It shook its massive, square head violently, all the while galloping madly. That bull had only one horn! I couldn’t see another.

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The other animals were lagging behind. The leader carried me along like I was an empty sack. The runners ahead entered a vast arena, with no exit. The crowd had been waiting patiently for the show, and when they saw me carried along by the one-horned bull, there was stunned silence! No shouting, no cheering. Just silence. Riders on horses galloped into the inner circle. They wedged each bull between the horses, and slowed the pace gradually. The bulls were winded! Their heavy bodies are not made for distance running. “Come” said a thick-set man on a white horse. He extended his arm, and I grasped it like a drowning sailor clutches a floating straw. He lifted me onto his horse and we rode towards the stands. The crowd was standing now! The military band played, while I walked up the red carpet. The King smiled at me kindly, and shook my hand warmly, He pinned a medal on me,…….a medal for bravery! Ah well, that’s when the doorbell rang sharply, and my sleepy eyes opened slowly to a cold, grey, damp, London morning.

Mr. Kersie Khambatta is a semi-retired lawyer practising in New Zealand. He is also a part-time writer of articles and short-stories. His writing is recognizable by his simple style, with short sentences and carefully-chosen words. He has a diploma of Associateship of the British Tutorial Institute, London, in English, Modern Journalism, and Journalism in India, and a Certificate in Comprehensive writing awarded in October 2005 by the Writing School (Australia and New Zealand). His pieces have appeared in Senior Living (B.C., Canada), Her Magazine (New Zealand), The Rusty Nail magazine (U.S.A.), and many other publications.

July 2013

16.

MEGHNA DE Inviolable

“You are not to step foot outside this house without my permission. Dare you go outside again? If your friends ask you to meet them anywhere, you are to say no.” “But I-” “Silence! Spend so much money on your school and all you care about is going outside and having fun. If I ever catch you again.” “Father, my friends were just.” “Listen up and listen carefully. These friends of yours were not the ones who clothed, sheltered and fed you. They did not bring you into this world. They don’t give a damn about you. Do not forget that you are a girl. Do you have any idea what will happen to you if you step outside? The world will eat you up. Do you get me, girl? And wipe that look off your face, you ungrateful chit. I spend so much money on you and what do I get in return?” “Father, I.” “If you utter another word I will make sure that you will never experience the comforts that you are so used to. Do you understand? Don’t you ever interrupt me again. If something happens to you, do you think these so-called friends of yours will help you? Do you? They will not. They will turn their backs and then you will come running right back here, crying. All you do is take and take. Suck the blood out of me. You are to remain in the house and assist your mother. You are never, ever to go out again unless and until I give you permission to. And if I catch you, God help you.” “Father if you would just listen.” Her father rose from the chair, his eyes bulging and bloodshot. His hand trembling, rage coursing throughout his body. The small figure of the girl that stood in front of him seemed to merge in with the shadows, such was the terrifying built of the man that the girl called her father. The father who had clothed, sheltered and fed her. The father who was now forming an inviolable barrier that impeded her from pursuing her hopes, dreams and joys. Blood of the father boiled and his head seemed about to burst. Frustration and anger of the highest order coursed through him. His rage, and not his judgement led him to raise his hand and strike the daughter in front him. The very daughter, who at one time, was his life, the light in the darkness. She still was but if she was to find happiness, she had to be restrained. He loved her and all that he did was in her best interest. His daughter had a mind of her own and it was not

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right. After all, she could not be encouraged to follow the path that she was walking on. She had no business in doing what she was doing. His daughter slowly raised her head, an ugly bruise forming at the place where her flesh had been abused. Her mouth in an angry, defiant line; her eyes burning. “Can I breathe now, Father?” And then her father uttered a word that was to be branded in her soul forever, “Devil.”

***** She was a normal kid. She did fairly well in examinations. But she had a talent for competitions. She always triumphed in them, the reason for which had always evaded her. The teachers told her that it was because she was spontaneous. Her parents were conservative, always had been. But she never thought that this was out of the ordinary. After all, she had never known otherwise. Then she saw the movies that she had been forbidden to watch and read the books that she had not been allowed to read; and understood that her case was an isolated one in a society that allowed their children to have their own perspective. Her parents were the only ones who controlled the interaction of their child with other students. They yelled at her for receiving a phone call from a friend. She was the only girl who would get scolded for not being able to execute a perfectly balanced dish with just the right amount of salt. Standing in front of the mirror was a sin, wearing skirts a crime. If her parents caught her talking to a male, she would get a thrashing. When she grew up, every pair of pants she wore was disapproved of and the more time she spent studying was frowned upon. What good was academic excellence when she was ultimately to get married, bear children and run the household? But she had a mind of her own, and she had plans. Plans which did involve raising a family, but that would come into picture only after she made something out of herself and on her own terms. In order to put these plans into motion, she would have to devise a way to get her way. And so she made a deal. She made her parents see green. She tempted them with something that made the whole world go round. Money. If they were to finance her education, she would bring money into a household that was slowly crumbling. Her father was old and sick, and her mother could not possibly muster a job that paid a good salary without a single qualification to her name. But if the daughter was able to secure a job that payed well, their slow descent into poverty might just be halted. She endured tongue lashings and beatings, but she received the money in the end. “Devil.”

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***** She worked relentlessly and tirelessly, fired by a wish to free herself of the miserable life that she led. She wanted to leave the ache and the agony behind and carve a new life. She submerged herself into her work in a fervent desire for ambition. She worked till she ran out of breath. And is if the whole universe was involved in her master plan, she landed a job that brought into picture lakhs. It was enough for a family to thrive on, enough for her to evade a thankless position as a wife in a household. Why? Because she knew her parents thought that if they married her off they wouldn’t receive the money. Her mother looked at her mutely as she had always done, her father spat out the word. “Devil.”

***** “You have started to stay out late an awful lot lately. You can’t be working all the time. The neighbours have started whispering already. You pay heed to no one but yourself. God knows what you do out so late at night.” “Father, I just went to a friend’s house yesterday. She-“ “Ah! I knew it. Those friends of yours again. I swear-“ “Father! If it were not for her I would never have gotten the job.” “Just because you got the job doesn’t mean you can do whatever the hell you want. I am still your father and you still live under my roof. As long as you are here, you answer to me, you listen to me and you abide by me. And how dare you interrupt me. I put in my hard earned money to get you all this. Go to your room.” “Father, I-“ “Go or I swear I will not be held accountable for my actions. You chit, you are nothing without me. If it were not for me, you wouldn’t even be fit enough to be dirt on someone’s shoe. All that you have now is because of me.” As she turned on her heel, with hatred in her heart, she heard it all around her. “Devil, Devil, Devil.”

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***** It was as if the fire in her was fuelled by the routine verbal and sometimes physical assault that she faced. The fire consumed her, made her darker. The fire was uncontrollable and it was burning her inside out. Her desire to succeed strengthened with each lick of the flame. As her flesh charred, her soul yearned to prove that she could make it to the top with the power of her own knowledge and will. She wanted to acquire ultimate glory and so she imprisoned herself in her own hell. She saw no one, noticed nothing. Anything that would help her on her way was all that she was interested in. She was unassailable, unshakeable. Nothing could deviate her from her ultimate goal. She worked hard and long. The salary was good for a reason, they were not paying her for sitting in an office all day. But she was a survivor. And endure, she would. That was the one thing that she could do. Survive and endure. It had become second nature to her. Life was not fun and play. It had never been for her, nor would it ever be. She had to work unrelentingly and persistently in order to earn the hefty amount that was her salary. Yet, all around her the whispers continued. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Devil. Devil. Devil.â&#x20AC;?

***** At the end of the month she found herself clutching a thin sheet of typewritten paper. Her hands shook as she read it. The cheque in her hand was the lightest load that she had ever had to bear but it had powers that she found herself unable to comprehend. She felt numb, she could not feel. She was numb, there were no emotions. She gave the money to her parents. The parents who had clothed, sheltered and fed her. The parents who had brought her into this world. The parents who had condemned possibly every course of action that she took. The parents that had always robbed her of her free will. The parents that now depended on her for their survival. She gave the money to her parents and told them to buy whatever they needed with it. And her parents spread their hands and took it. They took the devilâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s offering. Her father could not meet her eye now. Her mother looked at her mutely. She turned around. It was in her head now. The devil showed her paths of freedom, of rights, of happiness, of lives and loves and of hard-earned peace.

July 2013 Meghna De is a student at the Convent of Jesus and Mary and is an enthusiastic national-level debater. She is an observer of life and society.

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July 2013

17.

RITU BAJAJ An Ant has the Diabetes

Hard to imagine life in the darkness of a forest where there is rare a sunbeam. But in this dark forest lived a group of wild ants. Wild black ants lived together with restrictions and jobs to perform. Every Ant has to procure something useful. Something that can be eaten or utilized in any other form. These Ants were governed by their queen; the biggest in all of them. The Queen rests at the belly of the tree hole where they stored all their procurements. In this group of ants there was an Ant, not quite young neither very old, slowly toiling the solid drop of the syrup that he has retrieved from the nearby tree stem. He was assigned with this job; to get the sweet quotient to the storing. The solid form of sugary that he was holding in his mouth was not that heavy to bear by an Ant. Ants are skilled to toil weights if not alone then in group but usually they never have problem in labouring weights. This Ant was toiling sugary substance to the hole since his infancy as this was the law of wild. The one who brings something, will be protected and allowed to live in the hole. No mother-father will guard or feed any ant. Notwithstanding, this Ant never had any problem with his job until this time. He was feeling little dizzy, uneasiness by toiling and thus when he reached the hole he was advised to get in touch with the Voodoo Ant. Alike the witch doctors in other animals these ants had their wild and bizarre ant for healing purpose. The Voodoo checked some symptoms and concluded that he has the most severe illness any ant could ever have. Voodoo has the appearance that can scare any ant in one glance and after bearing that scariness this Ant was not afraid anymore. “Diabetes, it is that you have”. “Your body has absorbed little proportion of sweet that you have laboured in all these years and now it cannot be beared anymore”, said the Voodoo. Ant was shocked and perturbed for his life, left the Voodoo to meet the ant who controls the work of all the ants, without wasting any time. If he changes his job assignment that way he can remain within the group and his illness may get better, he thought. The controller denied his plea by contending that the bees consumes a lot of honey and still live long life so, he should learn the lesson of hard work from them and also he must not forget that the more they save in their hole the safer they would be in the cold times. Disappointed Ant did not sleep that night rather, he thought deep about the solution to his problem. He then remembered the knowledge about the leaves his grandfather once told him. There are certain type of leaves important for the ants, important than any other substance in the hole. So, he decided to procure those instead of sugary quotient. But there is no avail talking to the controller about this, only the queen could understand and retain him within the group against his procurement of those leaves. Meeting the queen was not easy so, he planned that he would stop doing his job and that would lead him appear before the queen.

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He was strolled by the other ants to the queen. He paid his greetings to the queen and when the subservient ant told her about his breaching. He played a trickery. He told her that he never denied to do work instead he informed the controller that he had found the leaves that are not only important and more precious than the sweet but it would make our queen stronger. He showed a sample of a leaf for her consumption and revealed all that his grandfather told him about the leaves. Queen was convinced and impressed by his wisdom. She then ordered the controller to let the this ant bring those leaves into the hole. Also he can meet the queen without any restriction for supplying the leaves. No ant could raise objection to queens word or she would decapitate them for that matter. He came back satisfied to his resting place and that night he slept well with all his energy intact.

Ritu Bajaj (30) is a Delhi-based writer.

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July 2013

18.

S. KRISHANMOORTHY AITHAL A Family Saga

After a simple South Indian dinner, Madhav’s family and friends sat down to listen to a relative from home who had come on a business trip to Washington, DC. The talk turned to the growing family saga, and a young family member Deepak’s contribution to the mythology of the famous cows. As he listened to the story, much as he liked the latest version and the numerous others in circulation, Madhav knit his brows, tightened his fists, and fought off tears over his imaginary lost cows nearly half a century ago. Feeling embarrassed, he took leave and retired to his study. Seated in the recliner, he could recall the painful day undimmed by the long intervening years. As night began to fall that day on the tiny Indian hamlet of Balgudi, Madhav, his sister Laxmi, and mother Padma living in an old house beside the pond of Lord Narasimha’s temple had become increasingly worried. During the day, they had felt a sense of accomplishment, but the feeling slowly melted away as the hours wore on. There were now long spans of silence in place of the earlier uninterrupted chatter. The three were in deep thought. Each of them silently debated who was going to tell Narasimha, the head of the family, on his return home that they had sold four of his cows-- Ganga, Yamuna, Kaveri, and Sindhu--given him on solemn occasions by way of dan by the members of his community. The dan of a cow is no ordinary gift. By giving this precious gift to a carefully chosen Brahmin, the giver hopes to earn the highest favors of heaven; and the receiver assumes a heavy responsibility of not only facilitating the heaven's grace on the giver, but also taking good and proper care of the cow. The gift is received not without careful thought. However tempting the offer, a person even slightly doubtful of his merit and virtue would forego the gift on one pretext or another rather than bear the burdensome obligations. Padma, Laxmi, and Madhav discussed various other matters unrelated to the day's events to hide their anxiety. They knew that Narasimha would be returning home late. He had gone to a village miles away from home to perform a shraddha ceremony. It would be probably midnight when he returned home. After an early supper, they lay down on mats on the floor, but none of them could really sleep, as they were apprehensive of Narasimha's reactions to the sale of the gifted cows.

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Probably, it was a good idea not to tell him about it that night. They would wait until the next morning to apprise him of the situation. Weren't the cows past the age of bearing calves? Weren't they really a burden on the meager resources of the family and wasn’t the shed too small to accommodate two dozen or more cows? Didn't the man who bought them say that he had wide, green pastures for the cows to graze all round the year? No doubt Narasimha loved all the cows like his own children, besides Laxmi and Madhav, Saraswati now married and settled in the nearby village of Uppur, Nagaraja hunting high and low for a job in a wider world, and Ananthapadmanabha still in his cradle, taking things easy. He often spent hours washing the cows and wiping them clean with the other end of his loincloth. "Why don’t you listen to us for a moment?" Padma screamed, as Narasimha walked in haste. "Listen, we wished them well, and god is our witness ….." Her words uttered in her dream evidently produced no sound. Suddenly, she stopped arguing with her husband because of the unexpected developments in the solid, material world. Chilled by the dream, Padma dimly saw Narasimha hurriedly light the lantern. She shook Laxmi who was still sleeping. Madhav, a little boy of five, clung to both his mother and sister for protection. They made a last-minute decision not to go ahead with their welcome address, and simply decided to wait for some time. Whenever Narasimha came home late from a wedding, or a thread ceremony, or a name-giving ceremony, he would wake up the whole family and go on and on describing the delicious dishes, item after item, served on the happy occasion until their mouths watered. He would say that he had never tasted laddus or holiges or payasa like that and add that he wouldn't need to eat food for a whole week. These ravings about food almost always ended with his address to Laxmi or Madhav, "Is there anything left to eat or not? I can't go to sleep on an empty stomach!” "Laxmi, get up and serve your father his meal," Padma said mustering confidence, as Narasimha took the lantern and walked towards the cowshed. "The shraddha meal would have been surely digested by now." The meals on the occasion of shraddha, a day of remembrance, were simple and did not include delicacies such as those served on happy occasions. Laxmi was all nimble. She ordered Madhav to draw water from the well for his father to wash hands and feet, and rushed to the kitchen. Madhav swiftly went into action. He heaved a bucket of water from the well and made urgent appeals to his father to get ready for his meal. To please his father, he chanted aloud with correct stress and intonation the Sanskrit salutation he was taught the previous day--"Abhivadaye, Madhav Sharmah, Jamadagni Gotrah, Bodhayana Sutrah…." But why was Narasimha heading towards the cowshed? Short of physically blocking his path to the cowshed, they tried everything else to stop his march in that direction. The trio trembled and stood in alarm. "You sold my cows, indeed!" Narasimha roared after carefully taking a roll call of the cows. "Thunder will strike you, lightning will reduce you to ashes, pralaya will come and drown us all!" 54

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The three saw the gravity of their error, but none of them was prepared for the punishment invoked. Severe caning, yes; thunder, lightning, and flood never crossed their mind as a just and fitting punishment for the crime. Earlier in the evening, Madhav had swept the yard clean off sticks and stones and hidden them under his mat so that his father wouldn't easily find one to beat or hit them with. Now he removed them from under his mat and threw them on to the yard within reach of his father and waited for the lesser punishment. With his father's tender nursing, it would take hardly a week or so for the swellings to subside and bruises to heal. Certain of the gentle care they received, they often gladly bore his cruel punishment. "I never imagined that any of you would stoop so low," Narasimha berated his stunned audience. "Our family is ruined, ruined forever. Ruined in this life and in the lives to come for generations. Do you have any idea to whom you sold the cows? I can't bring myself even to utter his name." At this point, Padma tried to control the situation. "All right, if you can't utter his name, I will. If it defiles my tongue, so be it. I sold them to a good, kind-hearted man who has wide, green pastures and our cows won't starve there, as they do here. At least four of our cows will be well looked after." "You believed whatever the man said, didn't you?" Narasimha thundered. "May God give you some sense to trust me sometimes! You know God's punishment for your act? Eternal damnation! The punyas accumulated over generations are now reduced to cinders and ashes by your greed!" "Don't talk to me of my greed," replied Padma with equal vehemence. "Take the money. What do I need the money for? I don't need to buy a new sari. The one I am wearing I have worn for the past six years and it will see me through to the end of my days." Narasimha wailed as if he was widowed. He called each of the cows named after India's holy rivers--Ganga, Yamuna, Kaveri, and Sindhu--by their sweet names and praised their tenderness, beauty, and virtue. "Oh, my motherly cows, we have betrayed you. You came to us trusting us, and gave us all we needed and cared, and see what we did to you in returnâ&#x20AC;Ś" In a tranquil tone of voice, he reflected, "I couldn't believe they were my own cows. I hoped I was under some mistaken delusion when I saw them being driven in a herd. I called each of them by their name and they came to me and looked at me with their loving eyes. They licked my face and hands and gently butted me from all sides. Even then I couldn't believe they were my cows. I thought I must verify before I prepared myself to face God's wrath." Pointing his finger at his confused and frightened listeners, he repeated his earlier warning, "There will be punishment for thisâ&#x20AC;Ś." Ananthapadmanabha squealed from his cradle. Madhav now picked up a slender stick and thrust it into his father's hands.

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"Father, I take responsibility for this. I met the man in the market and brought him home to talk to mother about the cows. If I didn't bring him here, the cows would be safe in the shed at this time. I now see it is wrong to sell the gifted cows. You kill me, and I will gladly die." Madhav generally spoke and acted mature for his age. When children of his age played chadugudu, he sat by the temple pond pondering deeply over issues facing the family such as failed crops, payment of interests on loans, mother's illness, and search for a groom for Laxmi, pushing fourteen. "Please take care of mother," he continued, "and Laxmiakka when I am gone. I hope you will find a husband for Laxmiakka soon." The delay in Laxmi's marriage was a matter of deep concern, especially to old uncles and aunts, who often asked Madhav in muted voices why his father, a prominent village purohit, was lax in discharge of his duties and obligations to his own family. Hai, Ram, what an example to set to others! As he spoke, Madhav fell down at his father's feet to take the punishment. "You stupid boy!" Narasimha scolded with a derisive laugh. "You think your death will clear you of the sins of your deed, don't you?" Madhav felt a little relieved. "What else can I do, father? Is there anything more valuable than my life I am trying to save?" Without paying attention to Madhav's gabble, Narasimha turned to his wife and said in retort, his voice growing hoarse, "The good, kind-hearted man to whom you sold the cows is a â&#x20AC;Ś(choking). He is taking the cows (breaking down) to the slaughterhouseâ&#x20AC;Ś. " The revelation came as a shock to the three, and they began to see the real magnitude of their crime. It seemed the world came to an end. The sky fell. The earth crumbled. Shouting and wailing filled the air. "Why did you let the cows go? Why didn't you ask the man to return us our cows?" The three spoke in one voice and accused the accuser, hinting at his lack of presence of mind, and utter lack of wit and intelligence. Narasimha explained to them how things worked in the practical world. The man who had bought the cows wasn't there when he encountered the cows being herded with hundreds of other cows. The man who was driving the cows said that none of the cows was stolen. He had no knowledge where the cows were bought and how much was paid. Four annas was all that Narasimha had at the time. He felt too dazed to think what to do. He hoped there was some mistake and he ran much of the way home to check the facts. Padma got ready to go and bring back the cows, though ten long strides brought her asthmatic attacks. Laxmi was ready too. Madhav wouldn't stay behind. He wanted to be there just in case of an emergency. From his cradle Ananthapadmanabha squalled.

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Evidently, the child in the cradle was eager to join the rescue mission too, but his appeal was simply ignored. After some coolheaded discussion, they determined that Narasimha and Laxmi were the only ones physically fit for the task. They had to walk at least ten miles. There was also the wide Mabukal river to cross. During the night, they couldn't possibly find a boatman to ferry them across. They would have to swim across the river in high tide. Ten rupees carefully folded at the end of his loincloth, Narasimha looked towards the temple of Narasimha for the Lord's blessings and started on the long journey with Laxmi, bravely marching along hopeful of success. Late in the morning the next day, the cows returned to their barn leaping and dancing and loudly mooing to the skies, joined by all their companions in the barn in the mode of call and response. The cows received a heroâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s welcome. Padma and Madhav greeted them with due fanfare with flowers, kumkum, arti, and hot kadabu. They touched and hugged the back and sides of the cows, and the cows reciprocated by gently butting from the front and the back of the greeters, licking their bodies. The hearts of animals and humans burst with joy. Narasimha and Laxmi soon joined in the joyous celebration. Standing there in the middle of the barn, amidst the cows, they narrated the incredible events which took place earlier in the morning, interrupted now and then by the squealings of Ananthapadmanabha from the cradle. They reported that the man who bought the cows would not return them unless he was made the full refund of money paid for the cows plus the transportation expenses he had incurred which, in his rough calculation, was equivalent to the price he had paid for the cows. Narasimha had no money to compensate the man's transportation cost. Laxmi joined Narasimha and begged the man in vain to return them their cows for the amount paid for them. With soft and tender eyes, she told him that Lord Narasimha would bless him and also his children and his children's children with health, wealth, and wisdom if he returned the cows. When this failed to work, she warned him with her eyes flaming with fierce anger that Lord Ugra Narasimha's rage and fury would destroy him and his whole family if he didn't return the cows. None of these gentle pleadings and stern warnings cut ice and produced the desired result. Meanwhile, Ganga, Yamuna, Kaveri, and Sindhu had been attentively listening to the conversation. They assessed the situation and found it was turning hopeless and silently decided to take their fate in their own hands, their legs, to be accurate. When the man who had bought the cows goaded them with his cruel whip and sharp, barking orders to march ahead, Ganga bounded in the opposite direction, followed by Yamuna, Kaveri, and Sindhu, their hoofs producing sparks of fire, as they all fled in the direction of Balgudi. They were soon out of sight to the dismay of the onlookers. The other animals in the herd also began to stir, taking the cue. Helplessly, the man seized the money from Narasimhaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hands, and hurriedly began to mind the remaining herd before it was too late. This story was told and retold since the eventâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s occurrence hundreds and thousands of times in family gatherings, in Balgudi, Udupi, Bangalore, and, on rare occasions, Washington, DC. Each time it was narrated, it became a different story with an ending only Valmiki or Vyasa could conceive of.

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In one version, the sparks from the hoofs of cows produced a ring of fire, and the evil master took to his heels shaking with fright, as if struck by lightning. In another version of the incident, the cows refused to move and turned themselves into stone and transformed back into their original form after they saw through their divine, stony eyes the man who had bought them making a retreat in disgust and despair. In yet another, the tears from the cows’ eyes formed a turbulent river which carried away the cows. In another, the cows grew wings and simply flew above the clouds and landed with a resounding thud on the roof of their barn in Balgudi. Oh, the trouble the people of Balgudi and the thirteen surrounding villages of Chitrapady, Giliyaru, Karkada, Kota, Padukere, Mudukere, Balekudru, Sasthana, Mandarti, Vaddarse, Sirsi, Gundmi, Hebri, and Tekkatte had to go through to bring the cows safely down to the ground! A massive mud incline had to be constructed connecting the eaves of the roof and the ground below and the cows had to be led one by one gingerly, carefully. The villagers worked one whole day and night, risking life and limb. They tumbled and fell one on top of another during the operation, sprained their muscles and broke their bones, but the cows held their own. Thank Divine Mother Cow, the landing event passed without fatalities! There are some bloodier versions authored by more recent arrivals in the family nearly half a century after the event, thanks to the violent video games. The visiting relative to Washington, DC, had narrated one such recent tale. According to Deepak, the grandson of Laxmi, whose version turned out to be really the mildest on the subject, the cows dismembered the man, limb from limb, with their horns and legs in a tandava dance, and from the bloody mess arose a splendorous angel who, as s/he emerged, profusely thanked the cows, and Narasimha and Laxmi, besides, for liberating the heavenly spirit from an angry god’s curse delivered eons ago for an act of carelessness allegedly suggestive of disrespectfulness. Gods are, unlike our bosses on earth, undeceived by acts of even the faintest disrespectfulness. Thinking about the whole family saga, Madhav wondered what if none of these came to pass, and his father was really unable to recover the cows for want of a few rupees. Given to much brooding and contemplating the worst possible scenarios as a child, he found that the gloomy tendency had grown in him with years. “Moo, … moo,...” Madhav heard his folks enacting Deepak’s story in the drawing room. He broke loose from his darkling thoughts and joined the rest of the crowd, saying, “Moo,…. moo,...”

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S. Krishnamoorthy Aithal’s short stories have appeared in Critical Quarterly, Short Story International, Unlikely Stories, Long Story Short (where his “Enter, Search, Select, Click” appeared as the Story of the Month for February 2012 http://www.alongstoryshort.net/EnterSearchSelectClick.html), Journal of Postcolonial Societies and cultures http://www.jpcs.in/upload/449745252Short%20story%20Samudramanthana.pdf, Indian Literature, and New Quest. Manuscripts of two volumes of his short stories One in Many and Many in One are making the rounds of publishing houses. Besides creative writing, he has published articles on a wide range of authors and books in scholarly international journals. Currently, he teaches English at Potomac College, Washington, DC.

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July 2013

19.

VALERY PETROVSKIY House of His

I knew that I was born out of my house. And how did they make out there little ones I wasn’t aware, and then they could be not my parents, unrelated possibly. Well, tell me how does one love properly? I don’t know, so I couldn’t be sure if they loved me indeed. Maybe, if I die I would have known better if they actually loved me. However, I would be sorry for my little brother and sister. They are quite young and they don’t see that I’m not their own brother, so they love me seriously. I can’t alarm them just passing away: none to play with when the parents would go off. Though they might be not my true mom and dad, that’s why they do shout at each other, call names and pay no heed to me. And I’m a big boy, and I know that when there is love one never abuses. It’s because of me they quarrel so much, for I’m not their own son most likely. Why do they scold? Am I a wrong one, a foundling? They might have taken me from somewhere and now afraid to make me aware. They fear that I get to know the truth when I grow up and will scold them, but I’d never scold them. And I am a big boy already, grown enough to take my little brother and sister from a nursery school and to sled them home. And I’m not afraid of dogs, and I drive away of them because my little sister fears dogs. The nursery is rather far off but I am fast to take them home. First I’m sledding down for them from the hill to the bridge along the country road. Behind the grocery, I’m turning to the right to run past an old drugstore, smelling of medicine. And then I stop at a certain place to look up the street, where is a House of His, it’s a lofty build with a tall tower. They say, God stays there; and He is old enough to know all the things. When I grow up, I’ll go there to speak to him: “O Lord, it’s me… You might remember me… You know I didn’t weep when dad and mom were railing. I think they did it because of me: and if I cried they could have thought that I was a bad boy. Good boys never howl, so I didn’t sob. I have never wept, I’d rather die, my Lord. And I have forgotten how to ease up, O Lord…” When I got to know that my wife was unfaithful to me, I couldn’t burst into tears. It just meant that she wasn’t my proper wife if I didn’t weep. I was in love with her and never railed at her. Can one be unfaithful when one is well-liked, O Lord… You are keeping silent, you don’t remember me, you don’t know me… You won’t know me, and I believed in you… It’s me, O Lord, the boy who’s never howled. Then you aren’t real as well… Why are you silent… What have I done wrong… I’m a big boy and I’ll cope with it, so dad said to me. Don’t interfere with me… Just wait a bit…”

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Now they’ve grown old, quite elderly, my dears. And they are still quarrelling and arguing, my dad and mom. Don’t interrupt their talking, my Lord, let them have their say. They haven’t had a good long talk yet, most likely. And I haven’t talked to them seriously when they are alive so far. I have something to say to them, and to my brother and sister, to all brothers and sisters. It’s all-important matter, protect them God. I’d like to tell them that I love them all. Let them never suffer; let me weep instead of them, so long I have been silent. I can’t bear it any more… Do not hinder me, my Lord, step aside… I’d like to have a good cry, Mom…

Valery Petrovskiy is an international writer from Russia. He is a Chuvash State University, Cheboksary graduate in English. His works have been published in India (CLRI, Literary Yard), as well as in Canada (RYGA Journal), the U.K. (Blinking Cursor, Firestorm Journal), Australia (Going Down Swinging, Skive), and in the U.S.A. (Metazen, Monarch, NAP). He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and a finalist to The Open Russia’s Literary Contest, 2012. Valery lives in a remote village by the Volga River, Russia.

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I criticize by creation - not by finding fault. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Marcus Tullius Cicero

Criticism

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20.

DR. K.V.RAGHUPATHI Water and Religion: An Interface With ‘Deep Ecology’

Abstract Excepting air, nothing is more vital for plant, animal or human life, than water. The Sanskrit word for it is jala, an important element in panchabhutas in the Vedas according to which formed the source of Creation. It is described that life is created with panchabhutas and life is extinct with their exit. Among the five elements, water is given its undue high place as is evident that two thirds of our earth is occupied by water, and the remaining one third by land and 65 per cent of human body is composed of water and every day one must replace five per cent of it. Water is regarded as an integral part of religious life. Its use in divination has been common both in ancient and modern times. It runs up the whole gamut or scale of religious expression. The paper examines the inseparable relationship citing myths surrounded, folktales, rituals and ceremonies drawn from Graeco Roman mythologies, Jewish tradition to Hindu tradition. The focus is given more on Hindu tradition as water in it has an inherent symbolic value, intersecting with the recent developed western theories and basic principles by George Sessions and Arne Naess. The paper concludes exploring the alien nature of the theories in the context of profound sacredness associated with water in Indian tradition since ancient times besides parallel ideas in the tradition. Water and Religion: An Interface With ‘Deep Ecology’ Excepting air, nothing is more vital for plant, animal or human life, than water. The Sanskrit word for it is jala, an important element in panchabhutas in the Vedas according to which formed the source of Creation. It is described that life is created with panchabhutas and life is extinct with their exit. No element is important with an exclusion of other elements. All elements have equally importance in the share of creation. Nevertheless water is given its undue high place as without it, it is impossible to conceive life. Its undue importance is evident in our planet as two thirds of it is occupied by water, and the remaining one third by land. Coming to the human body 65 per cent of its composition is water, and every day one must replace 5 per cent of it. Water is considered an integral part of religious life. The relationship between the two is so great that no ceremony takes place without it. Its use in divination has been common both in ancient and in modern times. It runs up the whole gamut or scale of religious expression. Greek and Roman mythologies are full of cult of river gods, nymphs and similar divinities. The worship of rivers or of water as the origin of life was found in early speculation and philosophy. Thus 63

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Homer says that ocean is the origin of all things (Illiad, XIV, 201). Ocean according to Homerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s conception was regarded as a river flowing round and bounding the earth, thus it was set around the rim of the shield of Achilles (Illiad, XVIII, 607). It is personified in art as an elderly man with flowing locks and beard, but has little importance in religious cult. The gods of sea in Greek mythology may be divided into two classes: 1) the elemental beings that constantly occur in folklore and popular belief, and 2) the clearly defined and personal Olympian gods who rule over the sea. The former had as a rule little importance in the official worship. Triton, Proteus, Glancus, Nereus and the Nereids have many of the qualities attributed to sea divinities or demons such as the gift of soothsaying or foretelling the future, and the power of transforming themselves into various shapes. Thus Proteus when seized by Menelaus, changed into various beasts, and into water and could change into fire. In the systematized religious life of Greece all these were regardless subordinate of Poseidon as supreme god of the sea. Poseidon is one of the chief gods of the state worship of many Greek cities, especially among the Ionians and Miniyans. As god of the sea, Poseidon can arouse and pacify storms, but it is noteworthy that in the greatest sea poems, the Odyssey, he appears as malignant, rather than a beneficent god. Earthquakes, split of the mountains, salt springs are attributed to him. The Romans were not sea faring people and their god Neptunus was not originally a sea-god, though he came later to be identified with the Greek Poseidon. He appears, however, to be a god of springs, and so associated with the nymphs. The worship of the nymphs in connexion with springs was very widespread in Italy and throughout the Roman Empire. Their frequent representations in art, like those of river gods, evidently follow Greek models. The Camanae associated with soothsaying and poetry; appear to have been spring goddesses in origin. River gods, nymphs (often holding shells) and similar representations of water deities are very common in Graeco-Roman art, but they do not, as a rule, bear any distinctively Italian character. A more original conception is that of the famous figure of Jupiter Pluvins, the rain god, on the Antonine Column (Eugenia Strong, 1907: Pl.ixxxvii) who is represented hovering over the armies without spread wings, and pouring down rain in torrents from his beard and outstretched arms. In Hebrew and Jewish, the importance attached to water in Jewish belief and practice is so great that it embraces almost every manifestation of life. According to the record of the Bible the primordial element of creation was water. Only by the separation between the waters above and waters below could earth appear. But the waters were not entirely separated. A connexion was believed to exist between the upper and lower waters in the forms of pipes which led from the heaven above to the sea below, sea is the counter part of the earth, and it contains every creature that is found up on the earth (Steinschneider, 1859: 27 a and b). The waves of the sea can be appeared by magical formulas (Gaster, 1896). On the other hand, the waves and storm are messengers sent to carry out divine ordinances. The waters of the deep are also part of cosmogonous process. They are kept underground. According to the legend when digging the foundations of the Temple, David came upon the floods of the deep. David receded slowly step by step and whilst receding, he recited the seventeen Songs of Degrees (or Steps) until at last, writing the ineffable name of God upon a 64

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stone he closed with it the month of the abyss and, when the waters saw the divine name, they withdrew in terror, and thus the world was saved from a second flood (Wilna, Pp. 93-6). The waters underground are flowing close to the fires of hell, hence, the hot springs; and the waters of the flood which surged up from the deep were boiling and helped in the destruction of the wicked world. There are also miraculous wells and rivers. The well in the desert, created on the sixth day, accompanied the Israelites in their wanderings through the desert and ceased to flow with the death of Miriam. Just as Moses, Joshua and Elizah divided the waters, so did also sages of a later period. Jesus walked upon the waters. On the other, wells and rain-pipes were considered to be haunted by demons. It was therefore forbidden to drink water from any vessel that left open oversight, more especially over Wednesday or Saturday night for it might have become defiled or poisoned by a demon and hence to pour a few drops of it on the ground before drinking a kind of libation. In Jewish tradition, water is the great purifier and cleanser. In Palestine rain is considered a blessing and drought a curse. The sources of rain were believed to be treasuries in the heavens. According to the Revelations of Moses the key which locks and unlocks this treasury was one of the three keys which God kept, and He only once delivered it up to man when he handed it over to the prophet Elijah. The rainfall is regarded as a divine gift and a blessing,and drought is caused by sin. Thus a moral connexion was established between the phenomena of nature and man’s moral actions. According to the teachings of Rabbis, rain fall was only for the sake of the righteous and was withheld when the Israelites deserved punishment. Though several civilizations have grown on the banks of rivers, in Hindu tradition, it occupies a pivot position. There is no ritual conducted without water. The deification of the great rivers by the Vedic Indo-Aryans was highly developed (Macdonell, 1897: P.86). It is identified with Varuna, whose name probably corresponds with the Greek Oupavos. Though Varuna is connected with the element of water both in atmosphere and on the earth, the characteristics of Varuna as a sovereign god faded away with the growth of the conception of Prajapati as a supreme deity. Thus he ultimately became in post Vedic mythology an Indian Neptune, god of the sea. But, in more recent times Varuna has gained the dignified position in view of the absence of rains. In East Bengal the most famous festival is held in his honour at the full moon of the month kartik (October- November), when devout Hindus bathe at a famous bathing place (Wise, 1883: P.189). He is worshipped as one of the guardian deities of the earth, and by fishermen before they start their work, or in time of drought to secure the needed rain. In the western city of Ahmedabad, in the absence of rains, a Hindu priest sits in a cauldron of water and makes offering to a fire while performing the “prajanya varuna yagam”, a special prayer for rain. Hindus of this region believe that the prayer appeases the god Varuna. In Gujarat he is believed to live in the waters, or by another account, he has five abodes – the sea, the river, the pond, the spring and the well (Enthoven, 1914: P.40). In ancient times he received human sacrifices. He is invoked in daily worship as “kind of waters, who curbs the wicked, who made a road in the heavens to receive the rays for the Sun. I, therefore, follow that route”(Colebrook, P.86). He is commemorated as a fertility deity at marriages (Colebrooke, 1858: P.280).

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The place of Varuna as sea god was at a later period to some extent assumed by Krishna and Siva. During the 5th and 6th centuries A.D. on the arrival of the white Hunas in Gujarat and Kathia war, the sea began to influence these new comers, Siva in his form as Somanatha or Somenswara (Lord of the moon) with his shrine at Somanath and Krishna at Dwaraka to whom sailors pray to save them from shipwreck. Siva an inland god is worshipped at river junctions (Tod, 1920:P.704). In Madras in time of drought, instead of worshipping Varuna, men pray to the spirit Kodumpav (the wicked one), or to some other local spirit to send the rain (Thurston, P.393). The Apsaras, (Sanskrit, ‘apas’, ‘water’, ‘sri’ – ‘going’ in the sense of moving in the waters) a kind of nymphs in the Atharvaveda have their abode in the waters. In the post Vedic literature frequent lakes and rivers especially the Ganges were believed by the Rajaputs to converse the souls of dead warriors from the battle field to the mansion of the sun and have now little influence over the water or on the rain (Macdonell, 1897: P.134). The sea is known as Ratnagarbha filled with jewels to modern Hindus. It is revered by the pious, and at the Asuras, or new moon, a sea bath is considered cleansing, as on that day the waters of 999 rivers are supposed to be brought into the sea by the springtides. In parts of Kathiawar on the bright second of every month people light a fire on the shore, throw butter into the fire, and on the day when the fleet puts to sea, fishermen pour milk, sugar, and liquor into the water and throw in flowers and coco-nuts. In West India Coconut Day (nariyal or naral purnima) is held at the full moon of the month Sravan (July-August) in the height of the annual monsoon, when flowers and coco-nuts are thrown into the water to secure the favour of the sea, or as a thankoffering, because by this time the most serious storms are supposed to have ceased. In Poona clerks go to the riverside and fling coco-nuts into the water, and when they return, the women of the house wave lighted lamps round their heads to disperse evil influences (Mitchell, 1885: P. 205). The Vada fishermen on the east coast worship the sea-goddess Orusandiamma, who roams over the sea at night with a male deity, her brother Tamasondi, and is worshipped with special rites (Thurston, vii, P.261). On the west coast Koli fisherwomen wear glass bangles only on the left wrist, because on their wedding day the right arm bangles are thrown into the sea to win its favour. In the Puranas we find a belief, which still survives, that the seven great seas: Lavana, or salt water; Jala, fresh water; Ikshu, sugar cane juice; Sura, wine; Grita, clarified butter; Dadhi, curds; Dugdha, milk; and this idea also appears in Musalman traditions (Burton, 1893: iv, P.255).The objection felt by Hindus to travelling by sea resulted in the Arabs and Persians monopolizing the trade of India. Hence Musalman saints became the guardians of the sea. One of the most important of these sea or river saints is Khwaja Khidr. Darya Pir, the ‘sea-saint’, sometimes identified with Khwaja Khidr, is in Gujarat patron of the Lavana merchants and lives in the sea, and offerings are made to him pouring a little water on the ground through a sieve dedicated to him (Enthoven, 1914: P. 40). Besides the greater water-gods, a host of spirits or sprites are worshipped. This cult is especially prominent in the Buddhist Jataka. Some of them are malevolent; in a bas-relief at the stupa of Bharhut a sea monster devours a ship and its crew (Cunningham, 1879: P.106). Others are kind and worshipped in conjunction with the nagas, or serpent gods. Among spirits of this class in Konkan, Mumbai, the asaras, or asras, are ghosts of young women who, after giving birth to one or more children, committed suicide by drowning. They live in water, attack anyone who 66

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approaches them, and go about in groups of seven; their victims are young women, and when a girl is attacked an exorcist is summoned, who makes an offering of food, red powder, and green clothes to the spirits (Campbell, 1885: P.149; Enthoven,.P.13). Another Konkan spirit of the same kind is Hadal, the ghost of a drowned woman , who wears yellow clothes, lets her hair flow loose, and is plump in front and a skeleton behind when women are attacked by her, they let their sari flow loose, shake all over and scream (Campbell, 1885:P.150). In Gujarat the mata or mother and Sankhini or ogress haunt springs and pools and drown or enter the persons of those who venture near their haunts. An exorcist affects a cure by giving a charmed thread to the patient (Enthoven, 1914: P.40). In Mysore the akkagaru, or â&#x20AC;&#x153;seven sistersâ&#x20AC;? attack women and in such cases the village washer man performs a rite of propitiation by setting up seven stones near the water and making an offering (Ethnographic Survey Reports, 1906: P.17; 1907: P.16). In the Salem district, the aasakarigal are female spirits who occupy tanks and cause as the embankments burst as they tread on them while they are quarreling (Richard, 1918: P.120). In UP within the bed of Jamuna was the fearful pool of the serpent kaliya (the black one) boiling with the fires of poison, from the fumes of which large trees on the bank were blighted, and by whose waters, when raised by a gale into the air, birds were scorched; the demon was conquered by Krishna and driven into the ocean (Wilson, 1840: P. 512). In Punjab district of Kulu the jalpai or water fairy is conciliated by offering a lamb and flowers on the bank of a water course. If she catches a man, she compels him to cohabit with her, and kills him if he refuses (Rose, 1911: P. 216). In the Panjab plains the Yogini or jogini haunts waterfalls, while the jaljogini occupies wells and streams and casts spells on women and children, causing sickness and even death (Ibid.P.215). In Assam the Garos believe that still pools in rivers are the abode of the bugarik, a lovely siren, whose hair floats on the current; she has the body and arms of a woman, but no legs; some say that she is well disposed but others allege that she kills women to add their lives to her own (Playfair, 1909: P.116). Sometimes these spirits demand human sacrifice like that of the Pennar river, who, when Malas were escaping from their Musalman enemies, demanded the sacrifice of a first born child before she would allow them to cross (Thurston,1909:P.139). The Kaivarta fishermen of Bengal at the rite for guarding their nets fling a live kid into the water spirit (Wise, P.299). The Gaddi shepherds of the Punjab offer food, water, or a sheep made of flour to the Batal water spirits (Census India, 1901: P. 120). The Khasis of Assam offer a goat to the river goddess before a fisherman can cast his net; in the old days she used to block the passage in the form of a crocodile until she was appeased (Gurdon, 1914: P.114). In Gujarat and the Konkan the water nymphs drown a person who tries to save a drowning man (Enthoven, 1914: i. 41). The Nayars and Vallalas of Tamil Nadu impose stringent rules against crossing certain stream for fear of arousing the wrath of the water-god (Thurston, 1909: V. 303). A Toda woman will not cross the sacred river for the tribe; the men will not use the water for any purpose (Rivers, P.501). At a wedding in the Magh tribe of Bengal the pair eat some curry and rice from the same dish, and what they leave is kept in a covered earthen vessel for seven days, during which time the married couple may not leave the village or cross running water (Risley, 1891: P.32). Water has an inherent value in Indian culture and civilization, much more than in any other cultures. Symbolically it stands for life and purification, and hence river and lakes are deified 67

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and worshipped. That river is an integral part of human life in Indian society has been an established truth; its separation from human body and soul is simply unacceptable and unimaginable. The association between the rivers and Hindu tradition is such that if the former is removed the latter shall vanish. Such is the connextion. More accurately, in Indian culture nature (prakriti) herself is taken into account as a whole symbolizing as mother of creation integrating with purusha principle, similar to ying and yang principle in Taoism. Hindu life in India is closely associated with rivers. Every river has its own significance and symbolic importance. Among rivers, seven rivers that include the Ganges, the Yamuna, the Saraswati, the Narmada, the Shipra or Kshipra, the Godavari and the Kaveri are counted as the most sacred. The holiest of all the holy rivers is the Ganges. Rivers are Indiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lifeline and enjoy a special place in prayers and its traditional practices. Most of the holy places like Varanasi, Haridwar, Talakaveri, Nasik, Ujjain and Patna are situated along with the bank of one river or the other. The famous Triveni Sangam in Allahabad is a confluence of three rivers, the Ganges, the Yamuna and the mythological Saraswati River. Kumbabhisegam/ Samprokshanam is performed for every temple once in twelve years according to agamas. Samprokshanam is the word used for Vasnavites shrines. Water drawn from various seven holy rivers in India is sprinkled and sprayed to Moolasthana Moorthi and Kalasam on the tower in Vaisnavite shrines. It is believed that Kumbabhisegam recharges the spiritual power of the deity and also the kumba of the temple tower, which is also surcharged with the same divine power as the deity. The holiness with rivers is such that according to medieval Hindu mythology as found in the Bhagavatam, Vishnupuranam, the Mahabharatam and the Ramayana, Kumbh Melas are conducted every twelve years at four places Allahabad, Haridwar, Ujjain and Nasik. The legend associated with it is famous. The account goes that when the Kumbha (urn) containing amrita (the nectar of immortality) appeared while churning ocean of milk, ksheerasagara (Primordial Ocean of milk), and a fight ensured for twelve days and twelve nights (equivalent to twelve human years) between asuras and gods in the sky. It is believed that Lord Vishnu in the incarnation of Mohini Murti flew away with the Kumbha of elixir spilling drops of amrita at four places: Allahabad, Haridwar, Ujjain and Nasik. The Ardh Kumbh Mela is celebrated every six years at Haridwar and Allahabad. It is a mass Hindu pilgrimage in which Hindus gather at the holy rivers for purifications of sins. Though such worshippers were cursed and castigated as pagans and heretics by Christians in the west in the beginning, today, ironically the same are now eulogizing and codifying eco critical theories and principles in a strange way and offering them on a golden plate to the human world. The concern for nature as more technically speaking concerning diversity and complexity of the whole earth being disturbed is a recent development having emanated from the backdrop of onslaught on her torso, systematically perpetuated by the western powers. Such theories developed and concerns expressed by western intellectuals are alien and exotic to Indian culture as the people of this country and their ancestors have been the passionate lovers of nature as is evident in our early literature of all vernacular languages, much more so in Sanskrit wherein the poets simply sang and celebrated the beauty of nature and creation. The term â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; in our Upanishadic tradition is an all-inclusive term, encompassing the whole creation and not simply the biosphere of the earth as used by many biologists and ecologists. It 68

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presupposes all other basic principles of deep ecology formulated and developed by George Sessions and Arne Naess. The Deep ecology and its embedded concept of ecosophy which deal with fundamental questions about our values and a deep spiritual kinship with the surroundings are not alien to our tradition. These values have been much dearer to Indian minds and hearts than to the western who of late have been awakened to the issues of environmentalism in the backdrop of their own narcistic and frankenstein ideas and thoughts. Open the Upanishads, one would find immense values which are unfortunately restated in much jargonized and twisted language and styles by the western intellectuals to suit and satiate their intellectual greed. The Self-Realization thesis of which Naess claims to be distinct which advocates a psychological rather than a moralistic approach to environmentalism, i.e. expanding self beyond the boundaries of the narrow ego through the process of caring identification with larger entities as forests, bioregions, and the planet as a whole parallels to the value Dayadtvam which is understood by the asuras when Prajapati utters the syllable “Da” to resolve the dispute between asuras and suras and devatas over the issue who are superior and supreme. Each of the group is humbled in understanding the syllable “Da”. Thanks to T. S. Eliot for incorporating and suitably acknowledging the episode from Brihadarnyaka Upanishad in his magnum opus poem The Waste Land for which he was awarded Nobel prize in 1948; and thus proved his honesty. Such honesty was not claimed by Jacques Derrida who failed to acknowledge the oriental sources for his much acclaimed mystifying borrowed concept of Deconstruction which is no better than the doctrine of Pratyutasamuthpada expounded by Nagarjuna of the Madhyamika School of thought in Buddhism, or the concept of neti,neti,neti in the Upanishads or the doctrine of Anekanantavada in Jainism or the Sphota Theory developed by Batrihari, a great Indian Sanskrit poetician. Further to state, one might discover deep ecology having close affinity to three more beautiful concepts, ahimsa, asteya and aparigraha as expounded by Patanjali in his Yoga Sutras. The concept of ahimsa occupies a prime position among virtues stated in Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism, the latter two being the offshoot of the former. It is one of the five ethical rules laid down in Yama by Patanjali. It doesn’t simply mean the non-injuring of human beings and mercilessness towards the lower animals and others. The text of ahimsa is absence of injury, exploitation and jealousy. The real ahimsavadi is who is jealous of none and nothing in the world. So long as injury, exploitation and jealousy exist in man, he is far away from ahimsa. Swami Vivekananda says, “any fool may abstain from eating this or that, surely that gives no more distinction than to herbivorous animals… The man whose heart never cherishes even the thought of injury to anyone, (includes every creature living and non-living, it is mine), who rejoices at the prosperity of even his greatest enemy, that man is the Bhakta, he is the Yogi, he is the Guru of all, even though he lives every day of his life on the flesh of swine” (Swami Vivekananda, 1959: P.60-2). Asteya is non-stealing and Aparigraha is greedlessness. Asteya literally means abstaining from stealing. Aparigraha is not merely absence of greediness but also non-possessiveness. These words should be taken in a very comprehensive sense and not merely interpret them in terms of the penal code. Asteya should really not be interpreted as abstaining from stealing but abstaining from misappropriation of all kinds. It does not allow us to take away thing which does not properly belong to us. Aparigraha implies free from exploitation. The tendency to accumulate is so strong that it may be considered almost a basic instinct in human life. Of course, we need to have a few things which are essential for the maintenance of the body. 69

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But it seems in the world there is no limit for essential. Even if we have at our disposal all the means that can ensure all possible comforts and enjoyments for the rest of our life we are still not satisfied and continue to amass wealth. This leads us to a sheer exploitation of things in nature. The instinct of possessiveness is very strong in human beings and therefore this leads us to domination and exploitation of nature and her resources. Unless these virtues are practiced, it is difficult to keep and maintain the world in condition of equilibrium. These virtues, I would not call them as concepts as that would sound more academic, have wider connotations and applications, not to be applied in limited sense only to human beings. These virtues are allinclusive and comprehensive. Such virtues are much dearer to Indian heart and mind. For a person who is born in this tradition, who is deeply wedded to nature, ‘deep ecology’ referred to as ‘Ecosophy T’, ‘the identification thesis’ or ‘the Self-Realization thesis’ or ‘transpersonal ecology’ may sound pleasing, romantic and heart-rending. Nature is in the “Collective Unconsciousness” of the people of this country. These phrases themselves look shallow because for Indians, the association with nature is much deeper than the ‘Deep Ecology”. The association is such that no amount of English language or appeal can represent or symbolize it or undermine it. Sanskrit expressions like ‘Dhayadhvam’, ‘Asteya’, Aparigraha’ are profound and tantalizing and can hardly be supplanted by any jargon. If one comprehends the profundity inherent in these expressions, he would undergo deep transformation in life. A villager in India need not be given sermons as to how to respect and love nature. The word “exploitation” came from the west. Until the arrival of the Europeans it was unknown to an Indian mind for centuries. He/she knows only “conservation” “respect”, “love”, and such individuals need no education. Persons lacking knowledge in our tradition are swept by such niceties of the concepts and theories. Nevertheless my contention is that such theories having emanated from deep concern expressed by western intellectuals though may stand apart and alien to our rich tradition, they still have value in their own sense as far as and as long as excessive exploitation and vulgarization of natural resources in developing nations continue in a neocolonial way.

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Works Cited: 1.

Alphabetum Siracidicum, ed. M. Steinschneider. Berlin, 1859, fol. 27a and b.

Burton, R.F. The Book of Thousand Nights and a Night, London, 1893, iv, P.255.

Campbell, J.S. Notes on the Spirit Basis of Belief and Custom, Bombay, 1885, P.l149.

Census of India, 1901, xvii, N.W. Provinces and Oudh, pt.ii. P.120.

Colebrooke, H.T. Essays on the Religion and Philosophy of the Hindus, new ed., London, 1858, P.86.

Cunningham, A. The Stupa of Bharhut, London, 1879, P. 106

Enthoven, R.E. Folklore Notes, Gujarat, Bombay, 1914, P.40.

Enthoven, R.E. Folklore Notes, Konkan, Bombay, 1914, P. 15.

Ethnographic Survey Reports, Mysore, no. 4, Bangalore, 1906. P.17.

10. Gurdon,P.R.T. The Khasis, London, 1914, P.114. 11. Macdonell, A.A. Vedic Mythology, Strassburg, 1897, P.86ff. 12. Michell, Murray J. Hinduism Past and Present, London, 1885, P.205. Midrash Tehilooim, ed. S.Buber, Wilna, 1891, Ps 936. 13. Playfair, A. The Garos, London, 1909, P.116. 14. Richards, F.J. Salem Gazetteer, Madras, 1918, i. P. 120. 15. Risley, H.H. The Tribes and Castes of Bengal, Caclcutta, 1891, ii. 32; W.W.Hunter, Orissa, London, 1872, ii.P. 83. 16. Rose, H.A. A Glossary of the Tribes and Castes of the Punjab, Lahore, 1911-14, i. 216. 17. Smith, V.A. A History of Fine Art in Indica and Ceylon, Oxford, 1911, P.259. 18. Strong, Eugenie. Roman Sculpture, from Augustus to Constantine, London, 1907, pl. Ixxxvii. 19. The Sword of Moses, ed. M.Gaster, London, 1896 20. Tod, J. Annals of Rajasthan, new ed., Oxford, 1920, i. 18, ii 704. 21. Thurston, E. Castes and Tribes of Southern India, Madras, 1909, i. 280. 22. Vishnu Purana, tr. H.H.Wilson, London, 1840, P.166; R.F.Burton, The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night, London, 1893, iv. 255. 23. Vivekananda, Swami. Bhakti Yoga, Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama, 1959, Pp.60-62. 24. Wise,J. Notes on the Races, Castes, and Trades of Eastern Bengal, London, 1883, P.139.

Dr. K. V. Raghupathi is an Assistant Professor in English at School of Social Sciences and Humanities Central University of Tamil Nadu.

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21.

MOHAMED KAMEL ABDEL DAEM The Panegyric in Old and Early-Middle English Poetry

Looking retroactively at the old and medieval English poetry, one may be identified with the fact that a great deal of verse depended upon panegyric elements in order to adapt to the atmosphere of conflict prevailing at the time. The poets used poetry to commend alive or dead people: heroes, knights, holy figures and nobles. This study is an attempt to explicitly show the panegyric features used in the old and early-middle English poetry. A panegyric is defined as Eulogistic oration or laudatory discourse that originally was a speech delivered at an ancient Greek general assembly (panegyris) . . . speakers frequently took advantage of these occasions … to advocate Hellenic unity. With this end in view and also in order to gratify their audience, they tended to expatiate on former glories of Greek cities; hence came the encomiastic associations that eventually clung to the term panegyric … was related to the Old Roman custom of celebrating the glories of famous men of the past … panegyric continued to be written on occasion in the European Middle Ages, often by Christian mystics in praise of God and in Renaissance and in Elizabethan England (Encyclopedia Britannica, Panegyric)

The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms defines the panegyric genre as: A public speech or written composition devoted to the prolonged, effusive praise of some person, group of people, or public body . . . this branch of rhetoric was particularly cultivated in ancient Greece and Rome, and Middle-Ages Europe (Baldick 199)

Depending upon such definitions the proposed dissertation will display and scrutinize the marks of panegyric employed in Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman poetic output; praise of heroism, religious devotion, romance’s chivalric pride and the expression of elegiac feeling. The panegyric can be seemingly realized in the heroic attitude of the old English heathen poets. Those old English poets believed in superstition and heroism “with a sense of endurance, of fate, and of unfailing courage revealing a spirit that is never completely recaptured in any later period” (Evans 19). In Beowulf, the monsters are depicted as God's foes and the thane as a divine champion. The Battle of Maldon portrays the defeat of Byrhtonth's men at the hands of the Viking invaders; it finds in defeat an opportunity to celebrate the heroic ideal, contrasting the resolution of Byrhtonth's warriors to avenge his death with the cowardice of others who horrifyingly quitted the battlefield. The Battle of Brunanburh is a panegyric on the occasion of King Athelston's triumph over an army of Norsemen and Scots: Then Aethelstan, king, Thane of Earls, Ring- bestower to men, and his brother also, 72

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The atheling Edmund, lifelong honour …………………………………….. ……..Broke the shieldwall, Split shields with swords. (Cook 10) The poets also sang of the rituals dedicated to their idols, the magic or supernatural powers and hymns devoted for royal celebrations. A lot of verses were addressed to Erce, the mother of earth, to furnish the fields with her grace and to preserve their fertility. Poems such as Beowulf, The Seafarer, Deor, The Wanderer and The Ruin show that the poets were interested in the adventurous life of the sea. The poems reflect the struggle between man and monsters, between sailors and the stormy weather (Ward vol.I, ch. III, 4-13); here are some lines from The Seafarer: For the harp he has no heart, nor for having of the rings, Nor in woman is his weal; in the world he's no delight, Nor in anything whatever save the tossing o'er the waves! O for ever he has longing who is urged towards the sea. (Cook 13) Old English heroic poetry was both created and performed by the Scop or poet, who usually recited verses aloud before a group of upper-class listeners. Accompanied by the harp, he used to add to the entertainment of his patron's guests by telling about stories of bygone deeds, battles of earliest times and the extraordinary skill of his lord's forefathers. This heroic poetry used alliteration and stress in the place of rhyme in order to echo powerfully in the recipients' hearts. Another salient feature of this pagan poetry was the use of many phantasmal metaphors or kennings for common subjects: the poets referred to the sea as the '' whale's way'', ''gannet's bath'', ''swan's riding'' and so on (Burgess 17-8). Peter S. Baker sees that the alliterative lines and the rapid rhyme enabled the poets to talk about descriptions of battles and adventures: Anglo-Saxons wrote what we call alliterative poetry after its most salient feature, the system of alliteration that binds its verses together and is largely responsible for its distinctive sound. Similar metrical systems are found in old Icelandic, old Saxon and old High German: all of these cultures inherited a common Germanic meter, which they adopted as their languages and cultures changed. English poets continued to write alliterative poetry as late as the fifteenth century… the poetry also employed a strict rhythmic scheme…the line consists of two verses (also called half-lines) divided by a syntactical boundary called a caesura. Each verse must conform to rhythmic patterns or types. Verses of all types have in common that they always contain two stressed syllables, called lifts, and two or more groups of unstressed syllables, called drops. The first verse in a line is generally called the on-verse and the second verse is called the off-verse. Only the alliteration of lifts is significant. In each poetic line one or two lifts in the on-verse must alliterate with the first in the off-verse. The second lift in the off-verse normally does not alliterate with any of the three other stressed syllables in the line … there is a strong tendency in old English poetry to group weakly stressed words that are not proclitic at the beginning of a

July 2013 clause or immediately after the first lift in a clause … a half-stress may sometimes be treated as part of the drop and sometimes as the lift (Baker 44-5).

After the advent of Christianity in England, people ceased to be loyal to the polytheistic idols or gods. The Anglo-Saxon poets wrote religious poems in which they praised God’s creations, the Christ and the saints, showing the merits of converting to Christianity. According to Bede, Caedmon, the first Christian English poet, became poet after an angel visited him and ordered him to sing the “Song of Creation” (Bede IV, ch 24, 10), Caedmon’s Hymn: Now we must praise the Guardian of the kingdom of heaven, The might of the Creator and the thought of His mind, The work of the Father of men, as He, the Eternal Lord, Formed the beginning of every wonder (Cook 37) This poem panegyrically presents accounts of creation based on translations of the Old and New Testaments that are included in the Bible which is: A composite book, consisting of two main sections – the Old Testament and the New. The Old Testament, originally written mainly in Hebrew, is a collection of poems, plays, proverbs, prophecy, philosophy, history, theology – a massive anthology of writings of the ancient Jewish people. The New Testament, originally written in Greek, contains the Gospels and the story of the spreading of Christianity by its first propagandists . . . The Old Testament Apocrypha consists of historical and philosophical writings. The New Testament Apocrypha gives . . . further details of the lives of the Apostles, the birth and resurrection of Christ, etc.(Burgess 39).

Bede reports that Caedmon “could never compose any foolish or trivial poem, but only those which were concerned with devotion” (Bede IV, ch 24, 16). In Christ and Satan, Caedmon speaks about the horrors of the day of judgment, terrors of hell and pleasures of the heavenly paradise. The first part of the poem deals with the fall of the angels; the second is about the resurrection of Christ and the harrowing hell, entailed with a short account of Christ’s ascension and return to the world; the third part tells about how Satan tried to tempt the Christ. In Genesis, Caedmon makes a poetical paraphrase of the first of the orthodox books in the Old Testament, proceeding to the story of Abraham’s sacrifice of his son. The poem opens with the praise of the Creator, and then continues to relate the protest and fall of the angels, and then the creation of the earth and the tale of the Satan who determined to tempt man in revenge for having fallen from his grand status. In Exodus, the poet tells the story of the Israelites' passage through the Red Sea and the destruction of Pharaoh's army. In Daniel, we learn about the life of St. Daniel and his endeavours to convey moral lessons (Ward vol. I, ch. IV, 3-6). Cynewulf, another significant Anglo-Saxon poet, produced a great deal of verse, eulogizing religious figures and virtues. In Guthlac, Cynewulf relates the life of the Mercian saint, Guthlac. The wonderful light that shines over Guthlac’s cottage before his death distinctly recalls the charming lights of the sky. When the saint enters into the heavenly paradise, the whole English land shakes with delight. Then the poet moves into the saint's last great fight with the powers of darkness and death. The Dream of the Rood tackles the story of crucifixion, showing the cross as 74

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a provider of self-assurance and help. Like his earlier predecessors, the poet arrests the attention of his audience by: “Lo, Listenth, lordings”. The technique must have been a common one in days when, at festive meetings, the harp was plucked at (Watts 201). In Crist, Cynewulf deals with the advent of Christ on earth, his ascension, and then his second return to judge the world. Elene tells the story of finding the cross by St Helena, the mother of the Roman emperor Constantine: Then straightway in the presence of the nobles Elene accomplished all ……..and unto her own Son she sent the glorious present ……………………………….. And the queen began to teach the Throng Of her dear subjects that they Should steadfastly hold to the love of the Lord (Holt 1-20) The conversion of the emperor is carried out when he sees a vision of the cross in the sky. Thus, the cross was “transmuted from being a symbol of ignominy to a symbol of glory”, and it began to be extolled (Brown 23).In Andreas, we see how St Andrew converts the Mermedonians by performing miracles (Ward vol.I,ch.IV,7-11). There were also Anglo-Norman poems that are concerned with expressing religious faithfulness. Love Ron is a religious lyric that tells about the happiness of marriage with the Heavenly Bridegroom. Handling Sin, a series of metrical homilies, deals with the Ten Commandments, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Seven Sacraments and the Twelve Spiritual Graces. The Prick of Conscience and Moral Poem urge people to do good works and holy things. The Course of the World advises people to read about religious stories – Creation of the World and the Judgment Day. Winter Wakens all My Care treats the transience of life's joy. Athelston,, Guy of Warwick, and Dispute between the Body and the Soul also tackle religious issues. Richard Rolle's “A Song of Mercy”, “The Nature of Love”, “A Song of Love-Longing to Jesus” and “Thy Joy be in the Love of Jesus” were written in praise of God, Christ and the Virgin. William Langland’s poems (e.g. The Vision of Pier the Plowman) laudably approve of the true religion exemplified in the life of Christ (Ward vol I, ch XI-XV): In a somer seson, when soft was the sunne, I shope me in shroudes, as I a shepherd were, In habite as an hermite, unholy of werkes, Went wide in this worlde, wondwers to here. (Moorman 23)

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The panegyric is also used in the early-middle English chivalric romance which is: the principal kind of romance found in medieval Europe from the 12th century onwards, describing( usually in verse) the adventures of legendary knights, and celebrating an idealized code of civilized behaviour that combines loyalty, honour, and courtly love. The emphasis on [sensual] love and courtly manners distinguishes it from the chanson de geste and other kinds of epic, in which masculine military heroism predominatesromance is a fictional story in verse or prose that relates improbable adventures of idealized characters in some remote or enchanted setting; or, more generally, a tendency in fiction opposite to that of realism . . . it usually refers to the tales of King Arthur's knights (Baldick 54, 291)

The troubadours or minstrels were responsible for the production of verse romances in England under the Normans. They wrote narrative poems or medieval French epics which are products of a feudal age; being so, they are affected by the conventions of chivalry. The subjects about France are found in the epic poems dealing with the deeds of Charlmagne and his knights (e.g., The Song of Roland and Otuel). The subjects about Rome touch on stories and myths about the Trojan war, and the life of Alexander the Great (e.g., Destruction of Troy and Siege of Thebes). The Celtic legends connected with the adventures of King Arthur and his knights shaped the main part of the themes about Britain (e.g., King Horn and Havelock the Dane). The first pieces of Anglo-Norman verse writings (that appeared around 1200) mostly pivoted on religious matters: homilies, litanies, preaching, stories about saints. The earliest poems were written with the aim to guide people to the merits of Christian creed. Then, English secular poets began to display their contributions, most of them imitating the French writings that aimed at entertaining the feudal lords. There is a lot of fancy in the stories told about Arthur and other noblemen. However, the Normans regarded these tales as historical facts. Layamonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Brut, for instance, depicted Arthur as a chivalric hero, paving the way for many middle English poets to take their main inspiration from such Arthurian legends (Ker 104-6). Afterwards, there were the ensuing metrical romances (e.g., Sir Gawain and the Green Knight): OĂŠr a mound on the morrow he merrily rides Into a forest full deep and wondrously wild: High hills on each side and holt woods beneath With huge hoary oaks, a hundred together (French, 1930 33) Such are some English narrative poems, mostly copies from French. They were much influenced by the writings of the Norman poets, and were concerned with knightly adventures and the aid of maidens in distress. Then followed a number of courtly love romances (e.g., Romance of the Rose); they can be considered as an acclaim of love sentiment or the beloved (Hibbard 49-82). The quintessence of romance sprang from Scandinavia [source of Beowulf] in the form of mythical tales. In addition, we are often enthralled by legendary elements, such as gods, dwarves, fairies, dragons, giants and magic swords. The heroes usually set off on dangerous quests where they challenge the forces of evil, witches, living skeletons, and rescue their fair damsels. The 13th and 14th century new courtly love romance was related to the Matter of Britain. 76

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Though still full of adventure, it devotes an unprecedented amount of time to dealing with the psychological aspects of love. On the other hand, the stories of the pre-Chaucerian romances focused not upon affection and sentiment, but upon adventure and gallantry, except some love lyrics such as Alison (Hibbard 278-90) By a gracious chance I have caught it. I know it has Been sent from heaven. From all other Women I have taken away my love: It has alighted on Alison (Burgess 27) The elegiac elements in both Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman poems represent an important use of panegyric, i.e., praising dead figures or bygone virtues: Since the pagan philosophy of the afterlife is dim, at best and so much of Old and Middle English period celebrates the heroic deaths of warriors in battle, the elegy form is of great importance in adding humanistic value to otherwise senseless savagery (Lambdin 174)

The old English elegies bewail the loss of secular good, prosperity, or human comradeship. The Wanderer is told by a man, who lost patron and family, and whose journeys make him realize that only in heaven man can find stability. The Seafarer is similar, but the speaker's spiritual longing is overtly sympolized by the poem’s journey motif. Several other poems have comparable subjects, and three elegies – The Husband's Message, The Wife’s Lament, and Wulf and Edwacer – describe what seems to be a familiar case: the separation of husband and wife by husband's exile. Deor bridges the gap between elegy and the heroic poem, for in it the poet regrets the loss of his position at court by referring to mythological Germanic tales. Beowulf itself depicts the battles of a leader against two monsters, containing some of the best elegiac verse; by setting magnificent stories beside historical background in which triumph is always temporary and strife is always renewed, the poet gives the whole an elegiac cast. The Pearl displays an elegy through an impressive lament of a little girl. Besides The Pearl, there are other early medieval elegies: John Skelton's The Boke of Phyllyp Sparowe, Stephen Hawes's The Pastime of Pleasure, William Dunbar's ''The Lament for the Makaris'' (Encyclopedia Britannica, English Literature). J.A. Burrow offers a survey of Old and Middle English laudatory poetry that attempts to recover a tradition of poetic activity in which “rhetorical amplification or magnification of a subject (auxesis) – be it an individual, a place, a building – was a credible motive that was itself praiseworthy”: the compulsion to compose laudatory literary treatments of secular and religious subjects is…widely found across the extant corpus of pre-Conquest verse …there is a frequent elision found between praise of one’s lord and praise of the Lord, and between sacred and secular registers in Christian narrative poetry. The presence of both praise and blame is identified in the demonstrated principal features of auxesis in Old English poetry, and the pinpointed formal devices employed, such as superlatives or epithets … Middle English praise poetry includes what is termed the

July 2013 “here-and-now” type: panegyric verse on noteworthy individuals, and on nobility and royalty (Burrow viii, 196).

The warlike life experienced by both the Anglo-Saxons and the Anglo-Normans can be considered a major factor of the poets’ adoption of panegyrical themes and tones. The earlier Englishmen were foreigners (Celts) who came from abroad and inhabited England along with a long-settled race, the Britons (today’s Wales). These races had contradictory, ethnic qualities that were fostered by their worshipping a multitude of local deities. In 55 B.C, they were invaded by the Romans, and afterwards, they were attacked by the barbarians – the Angles, the Saxons and the Jutes, then by the Teutons, and later on by the Danes. Being always exposed to invasions, these heterogeneous English races looked highly upon the heroes who can defy any coming danger. No wonder then that the creatures they imaginatively admired were dragons and monsters hiding in caves and lakes. They were enchanted by tempestuous seas and fierce battles, and nothing excited their fancy better than a stormy voyage or an unbreakable sword. They were markedly professional warriors, and above all things they sought glory and fame. But when St. Augustine brought Christianity to England in A.D. 597, those brutal people ceased to rejoice at their cruel victories. The new religion embodied a new philosophy, and a race that not long before had been eerily savage was soon burning with religious enthusiasm, expounding their new doctrine and its figures. When William the Conqueror invaded England in 1066, he faced severe resistance at the hands of the English native champions; many changes were observed in English society, language and consequently poetry. A feudal system, which was profitable only to the powerful French lords, was imposed on the country. Both the poetic language (a mixture of French and Old English) and topics were produced to please the aristocratic people (Burgess 1526). The importance of the panegyric genre to the development of old and middle English poetry has been observed by more than a critic, which represents one of the aids to the evolution of the English diction and verse. The poems written in that early era have been, and are still, the focus of interest of several scholars, who discover in these poems an expression of the thought and feeling of such a distant age. Beowulf, The Wanderer, and the Battle of Maldon best exemplify the expression of heroism in old English non-religious poetry. Interestingly, the heroic pulse in such poems is based upon both pagan and Christian elements. The observing of omens, the attribution of power to Wyrd (Fate), cremation and bloody revenge are all pagan. On the other hand, the praise of God's dominion over the world, of men's resistance to the devil's agency, supporting the idea of the existence of Heaven and Hell and Last Judgment are all Christian: This heroic spirit manifested itself most strongly in the desire for fame and glory . . . the code of conduct stressed the reciprocal obligations of lord and thanes . . . a mutuality that was the core of the comitatus relationship described as early as A.D.98 (Greenfield 80).

Sung-Il Lee claims that the theme of mutability (inspired by heroic spirit) recurs in many old English poems: Beowulf, The Wanderer, The Ruin . . . . etc. He thinks that the Anglo-Saxon poets strongly believed in the transience of life and in the power of fate that turns whatever man 78

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can attain. They courageously believed that there are things worse than death, and that “Death is better for every knight than ignominious life”. Many appreciators regard the compositional method in old English religious poems (Caedmon's Hymn and the Dream of the Rood, for instance) as an adoption of panegyric epithets to the praise of God and the Christ. The heroic descriptions in these poems have derived their inspiration from the psalms (Lapidge 65). In Doctrine and Poetry: Augustine's Influence on Old English Poetry, Bernard F. Huppe outlines the influence of Christian doctrine upon old English poetry. The poets paraphrased stories from the Bible, aiming at advocating the new Christian beliefs, and the promotion of charity to the end that God may be pleased; the true basis for eloquence is the truth in the meaning of words, not in the words themselves. This was felt not only in the interpretation of poetry but in its creation as well (Huppe 29-64). In Encounters with God in Medieval and Early Modern English Poetry, Charlotte Clutterbuck is engaged with some Middle English crucifixion lyrics in order to examine the linguistic nature of poetic praise of, or address to, God. She also presents original discussions of critical dilemmas in the study of such poems. The book focuses on the lexical and syntactical features of the poetic dialogue with God in old and middle English religious poetry. For example, the author gives forms of such encounters: redemption and response, faith - grace, mercy versus hope, works – justice. She treats grammatical and stylistic phenomena and their religio-theological implications, contributing to our understanding of the relationship between literature and theology. David Lyle Jeffrey views the Bible as a source book for many English literary works. He asserts that “Biblical aesthetics is really another form of bibliolatry (i.e., we must study the Bible because of its supposed superior literary beauty)”. He urges literary scholars to “adjust their approaches and goals . . . where the Bible competes in a highly diversified global textual market”. He sees that the history of the Bible as literature started with St. Augustine who paved the way for the Anglo-Saxon poets to create verse interpretations of the holy book. (Jeffrey 54044). A.T.E. Matonis asserts that: Panegyric verse occupied a prominent position in the work of the [English] bards and, along with elegiac verse, enjoyed a continuity of tradition and prestige throughout the Middle Ages. The early [poets] celebrated the martial deeds of the English during the British Heroic Age. The succeeding generations of bards (11001350) essentially carried on the tradition of eulogy and elegy, commemorating the exploits of the princes and nobility in their battles against AngloNormans…historical forces…inescapably influenced the development of the panegyric…from the almost exclusively martial-heroic frame of reference…to the wide use of chivalric and romance material (Matonis 667).

Reviewing Cassiodorus's Laudes (a book of panegyric), James J. O'Donnell said of the genre: It was to be expected that the praise contained in the speech would be excessive; the intellectual point of the exercise (and very likely an important criterion in judging it) was to see how 79

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excessive the praise could be made while remaining within boundaries of decorum and restraint, how much high praise could be made to seem the grudging testimony of simple honesty (O’Donnell ch.2). In Beowulf, the hero battles three antagonists and beats two, but in the final battle, he is fatally wounded, dies and buried in a tumulus in Geatland: High oér his head they hoist the standard, A gold-wove banner; let billows take him, Gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits, ……………………………………………. No hero ’neath heaven, - who harbored that freight! (Heany 31) The heroic virtues in the poem are evidently the Anglo-Saxon's as “the majority view appears to be that people . . . in Beowulf are based on real people in the 6th- century Scandinavia, and that the poem is contextually based on folktale type” (Anderson 115). Although Hrothgar and Beowulf are portrayed as: morally upright pagans, they fully espouse and frequently affirm values of Germanic heroic poetry . . . depicting warrior society, the most important of human relationships was that which existed between the warrior and his lord, a relationship based less on subordination of one man’s will to another’s than on mutual trust and respect (Abrams 30).

The elegiac mood in Deor can be obviously noticed in the poem's sorrowful life; the speaker is fatalistic, though at the same time is courageous and determined: I wish to say this about myself: That for a time I was the Heodening’s poet, Dear to my lord – my name was ‘Deor’. For many years I had a profitable position (Cook 19) The lament atmosphere is found in the refrain to Deor, where the poet is anguished because he has been estranged from his lord; he reminds himself of the bygone predicaments: “That grief passed away: so may this sorrow pass”. Resigned melancholy is a characteristic of many AngloSaxon poems. Even when a poem is at its most vigorous – dealing with war, storm, sea, the drinking-hall, the creation of the world – we always seem to be aware of a certain undercurrent of sadness. Perhaps this is a reflection of the English climate or perhaps it is something to do with the mere sound of English in its first phase – harsh, lacking in the tripping, gay quality of a language like French (Burgess 20). In the Dream of the Rood, Cynewulf praises the Christ as a Saviour of all human beings: Then the young hero (who was God Almighty) 80

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Got ready, resolute and strong in heart. . . . the warrior embraced [the cross] …………………………………………. He climbed onto the lofty gallows-tree Bold in the sight of many watching men, When He intended to redeem mankind. ……………………………………… And then I saw the Lord of all mankind Hasten with eager zeal that he Might mount upon me. (Cook 56-63) Jeannette C. Brock states that the poet: depicts Christ as a purposeful courageous warrior who boldly confronts and defeats sin…instead of simply using the word “Christ”, the poet calls Jesus “the young hero” and “mankind’s brave king”. These images create a vivid image of Christ which echoes the description of Beowulf who is praised as a “king”, “the hero”, and a “valiant warrior”. . . later, the poet suggests that Christ actually initiates the battle to redeem mankind. The poet emphasizes the voluntariness of Christ's undertaking of crucifixion (Brock 1-19).

Juliana is a religious elegy that weeps over the torture the Christians experienced under the rule of the Roman emperor, Maximian and over the tragic martyrdom of St. Juliana: From town to town fared mighty officers, As he had hidden them ………………………………… They wrought hostility, Setting up graven images; They slew the saints, and destroyed Those who were versed in Scripture (Murch 303-19) Juliana vehemently resists being married to the pagan Eleusis so as not to violate her relationship with God. Eleusis ghastly punishes Juliana by getting her beaten with rods, thrown into prison, and finally beheaded. The poem’s style is based on a military or battlefield language; this helps create the metaphor that the martyr's spirit was a sort of impenetrable fortress, impervious to the attacks of polytheism (Frederick 70-3). As one of the Arthurian romances, King Horn is based on chivalric adventures to present two themes: loyalty for love or family, and the rightful acquisition of land or status: You think I am a beggar, 81

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But I am a fisherman, Come far into the east ……………………. My net lies here By this beautiful shore (French, 1995 28) Horn, the hero, is gushed over for being involved in a number of battles with the Saracens – who come from the sea. He defeats them to prove his worthiness of being a knight and consequently win his love, Rimenild, to revenge his father's murder, and to regain his lands (Benson 73-80). The Pearl displays a long lament in a very ornamental language on the death of a child and a vision of the heaven to which she has gone: Before at spot my hande I spinned For careful colde at to me cast; …………………………… I playned my perle at er wat spenned I felle upon at flowery flat (William v.1,450-4) Being sad at the loss of his daughter, the speaker is transported – in one of his dreams – to another-worldly garden. There, he sees a young maid whom he identifies as his Pearl. She tells him that he lost nothing and that his Pearl is merely a rose which has naturally withered. Then she instructs him on several religious aspects: sin, repentance, grace and salvation, and asks him to go to the heavenly city of God. When he awakes, he resolves to fulfill the will of God. Both the elegiac and the allegorical (or symbolic) aspects of the poem make it “the most highly wrought and intricately constructed poem in Middle English” (Bishop 27), based upon a frequent, but not consistent, use of alliteration.

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Works Cited: Primary Sources: 1.

Cook, A.S. et al. Translations from the Old English. Hamden , CT : Archon Books, 1970.

French, W.H. & C.B.Hale. Middle English Metrical Romances. New York : Prentice Hall, 1930

-------------------------. Translation of King Horn. English Romance Reader. USA: UWA, 1995

Heany, Seamus, trans. Beowulf – A New Verse Translation. Ed. Daniel Donoghue. New York: Norton, 2001.

Holt, Lucius Hudson, trans. The Elene of Cynewulf. New York : Henry Holt &Co., 1904

Moorman, Charles, ed. The Works of the Gawain-Poet. N Y: Jackson, 1977

Murch, Herbert Spencer. Translation of Cynewulf's Juliana. The Journal of English and Germanic Philology. Vol.5,No3 (1905):303-19.

William, Vantuono,ed. The PearlPoems: An Omnibus Edition. New York: Garland, 1984.

Secondary Sources: 1.

Abrams, M.H. & Greenblatt Stephen. “Beowulf”. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Middle Ages (vol 1). New York: W.W. Norton, 2000.

Anderson, Carl Edlund. Formation and Resolution of Ideological Contrast in the Early History of Scandinavia. USA: CUP, 1999.

Baker, Peter S. Introduction to Old English. Oxford: Blackwall, 2003.

Bede, the Venerable. Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Rev. ed. London: Penguin, 1990.

Benson, Larry. “Thematic Structure in King Horn”. Malory's Morte Darthur. London: Methuen , 1976.

Bishop, Ian. “Pearl in its Setting”. A Critical Study of the Structure and Meaning of the Middle English Poem. Oxford: OUP, 1968.

Brock, C. Jeannette. “The Dream of the Rood & the Image of Christ in Early Middle Ages” The Anglosaxon Warrior Culture.Scribd Documents.August2009.p.1- 19.Scribd.<http//www.scribd.com/brocks/html>

Brown, C.F. “Irish-Latin Influence in Cynewulfian Texts”. Englische Studien, XI. (1909): 1-2.

Burgess, Antony. English Literature. England: Longman, 1974.

10. Burrow, J. A. The Poetry of Praise. Cambridge: CUP, 2008. 11. Clutterbuck, Charlotte, Encounters with God in Medieval and Early Modern English Poetry. USA: Ashgate, 2005. 12. Evans, Ifor. A Short History of English Literature. 4th ed. England: Penguin Books, 1976. 13. Frederick, Jill. “Warring with Words: Cynewulf’s Juliana. “Readings in Medieval Texts. Ed. Dvid Johnson. New York: Oxford, 2005. 14. Greenfield, S.B. & D. G. Calder. A New Critical History of Old English Literature. London: Faber, 1986. 15. Hibbard, Laura A. Medieval Romance in England. New York: Burt Franklin, 1963.

July 2013 16. Huppe, Bernard Felix. Doctrine and Poetry: Augustine’s Influence on old English Poetry. Albany: State Univ. of New York, 1959. 17. Jeffery, David Lyle. “The English Cultural Bible”. The Journal of Religion. Vol 75. no.4 (Oct1995): 54044. 18. Ker, W.P. Medieval English Literature. London: O.U.P, 1969. 19. Lambdin, R.T. & L. C. Lambdin. eds. Encyclopedia of Medieval Literature USA: Greenwood Publishing Group, 2000. 20. Lapidge, Micael et.al. Anglo-Saxon England. New York: CUP, 1991. 21. Lee, Sung-Il. “The Theme of Mutability in Old English Poetry” paper Presented at M E S A of Korea international symposium. Unsei University, (Nov 1999):12 pars. 22. Levine, Robert. “Aspects of Grotesque Realism in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”. 23. The Chaucer Review, vol.17, No1 (summer 1982): 65-75. 24. Matonis, A.T.E. “Tradition of Panegyric in Welsh Poetry: The Heroic and the Chivalric”. Speculum. Vol 53, No 4 (Oct.1978) 667-87. 25. O’Donnell, James J. Cassiodorous. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1979. 26. Watts, Ann Chalmers. The Lyre and the Harp. New Haven : Yale Univ. Press, 1969.

Encyclopedias: 1.

Baldick, Chris. The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, 2nd ed., N.Y: OUP, 2008

“English Literature”. Encyclopedia Britannica. Encyclopedia Britannica Online. 2011. web. 22Jan 2011.<EB./checked/topic/188217/ English Literature>

“Panegyric”. Encyclopedia Britannica. E B Online. Encyclopedia Britannica.

2011. web.25Mar2011.<http://www.britannica.com/44115panegyric>

Ward & Trent et al. eds. The Cambridge History of English and American Literature. An Encyclopedia in 18 volumes. New York: G.P Putnan’s Sons, 1907-21; New York : Bartleby 2000 (www.bartleby.com/ Cambridge ) [25 Nov.2010]

B. Further Readings Alter, Robert and Frank Kermode, eds. The Literary Guide to the Bible. 1st ed. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990.

Bradley, S. A. J, ed. and tr. Anglo-Saxon Poetry. London: Everyman’s Library, 1982.

Calde, Daniel G. Old English Poetry: Essays on Style. Berkeley: U of California Press, 1979.

Kennedy, Charles W. Old English Elegies. Princeton: Prin.U P, 1936.

10. Legge, M.D. Anglo-Norman Literature and its Background. New York: O.UP, 1963. 11. Morris, Richard, ed. “Early English Alliterative Poems”, EETS. 1 (1965). 12. Parker, Mary A. Beowulf and Christianity. New York: Lang, 1987. 13. Raw, Barbra C. The Art and Background of Old English Poetry. London: E.Arnold, 1978. 14. Schlauch, M. English Medieval Literature and its Social Foundations. London: Heffer, 1956.

July 2013 15. Smith, M.B. “Old English Christian Poetry”, The Cambridge History of English Literature. London: CUP, 1920. 16. Stone, Brian. Medieval English Verse. London: Harmondsworth, 1964. 17. Wheatley, Henry B. ed. Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. New York: Dover, 1966. 18. Weston, J.L. From Ritual to Romance. London: CUP, 1920.

Mohamed Kamel Abdel-Daem, from Egypt, is a lecturer in English literature at Shaqra University, Saudi Arabia. He got his M.A. in English literature, in 2010, at South Valley University, Egypt. His main interests feature: English poetry, comparative studies, translation and theology. He has published a book titled “A Brief Survey of Contemporary English Poetry”.

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22.

SHAMEEMA THOTTATHIL The Carnivalesque in Angela Carter’s Wise Children

Abstract Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin, the well-known Russian critic and philosopher, has contributed several note-worthy concepts to literary theory. The concept of the carnivalesque is one of them. This concept, introduced through his ground-breaking work, Rabelais and His World, is basically a literary mode used to interrogate and subvert norms and assumptions of the dominant discourses of society. Humour, Laughter, and the grotesque body are its major features. The British novelist, Angela Carter, exploits the potentials of the carnivalesque in her novel, Wise Children (1991). This paper is a brief examination of how the carnivalesque functions in the novel. Using the carnivalesque as a feminist strategy, Carter explores the issues of male dominance, and notions of legitimacy, marriage, family, gender and sexuality. The carnivalesque, it may be said, allows her to subvert a variety of myths traditionally associated with women. A bold and uninhibited celebration of the female body is one of the most striking and thought-provoking aspects of the novel. The women in the novel, who indulge in grotesque behaviour and actions, are particularly significant. The carnivalesque in the novel seems carefully designed to show women an alternative way toward empowerment and liberation. The Carnivalesque in Angela Carter’s Wise Children Bakhtin has contributed several important and fascinating concepts to literary theory. The concept of the ‘carnivalesque’ is one of them. Very few concepts in recent theory and criticism have attracted so much attention and discussion as this concept. The carnivalesque, as Bakhtin sees it, is basically a literary mode that has ample potential to subvert and liberate the assumptions of the dominant discourses. Carnival, as Bakhtini conceives of it, presents a topsy-turvy and heterogeneous world where everything is mixed, hybrid, degraded, and defiled. It is a phenomenon of the common people, and it highlights and exults in the corporeal, including the lower stratum of the body. It is a festive, revolutionary, and transgressive socio-political force. It hilariously critiques our conventionally accepted truths, realities, and notions, and shows us that everything that we have been taking for granted, and cherishing, as being right, just, and normal, is in fact, a historical construct. Carnival provides alternatives, too. The major features of the carnivalesque may be identified as laughter, humor, and grotesque realism. Carnival, in its widest sense, also embraces ritual spectacles such as fairs, popular feasts, wakes, masks, processions, competitions, comic shows, dancing, and open-air amusements with motley costumes. Verbal compositions of highly 86

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comic and humorous order are also an interesting feature of it. This paper is an attempt to explore how in her novel, Wise Children (1991), the British novelist Angela Carter uses the carnivalesque as a literary mode, and a feminist strategy, to subvert systems which repress and marginalize women. Wise Children tells the story of the twins, Dora Chance and Nora Chance. The narrator of the story is Dora who, though pretty old, is energetic, vivacious, and mischievously humorous. As she enthusiastically recalls the scenes and incidents of their life, the novel emerges as a celebration of life and the body and its perennial longings. Carterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s protagonists seize the days of their life and drink it to the lees, in all possible ways. There are the elements of laughter, revelry, renewal, parody, mockery, and subversion, all admirably blended to create a carnivalesque world and ambience in the novel. The story is told during the course of a single day. It is Nora and Dora's seventy-fifth birthday. Coincidentally, the day is the hundredth birthday of their father, Melchior Hazard, and his twin brother, Peregrine. Significantly enough, it is also the birthday of the great William Shakespeare. The action proper begins at a birthday party which is an appropriate space for carnivalesque entertainments. Dora recollects her family history. Dora and her twin sister, Nora are the unacknowledged, illegitimate daughters of Sir Melchior Hazard, an actor of fame on the British stage. Their mother dies in childbirth. As such, they are raised by their mother's landlady, Grandma Chance, since their father refuses to acknowledge them. So, they grow up as illegitimate girls and live in the south of London which Dora indignantly and contemptuously labels as "the bastard side of old Father Thames" (1) with low cultural values. While Melchior Hazard lives in the North, working for a reputed theatrical company and performing in the plays of Shakespeare to great acclaim, Nora and Dora live their life as singers and dancers in music halls, night clubs, and vaudeville venues , in the lowly theatres of the era. The distinction that Dora mockingly makes, at the very outset of her narrative, between high culture and low culture, between elitism and populism is worth noting in this context. She explains that the city of London is divided into North and South by the river Thames: The rich lived amidst pleasant verdure in the North, speedily whisked to exclusive shopping by abundant public transport while the poor eked out miserable existences in the South in circumstances of urban deprivation condemned to wait for hours at windswept bus-stops while sounds of marital violence, breaking glass and drunken song echoed around and it was cold and dark and smelled of fish and chips. (1)

It may be said that the southern part of London, where the marginalized and the illegitimate 'other' live, constitutes a place similar to the Bakhtinian marketplace. Continuing her tale, Dora, says: "But you can't trust things to stay the same."(1).The statement is indicative of the changes about to overtake her life, and also her sister's. Dora's colloquially vibrant narrative style reminds us of the distinctive speech patterns which the Bakhtinian theory associates with the language of the marketplace. Twins are central to Wise Children. In the novel, we come across a delightfully diverse juxtaposition of dualities represented by a number of twins. The very idea of twins, it may be 87

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said, is carnivalesque and grotesque, in that twins are not the norm in life. The notions of duality and mistaken identity have a special significance in view of the carnivalesque texture of the novel. As twins, Nora and Dora can play with their identities, transferring and exchanging them at a pinch. This does not mean that they are without any differences. They do have their differences. But, they can render them invisible and can switch their identities effectively before others. And, they are both fully aware of this ability. It is Dora who utilizes it first. For example, she asks Nora if she could become her in order to sleep with a man. The capacity to take on anotherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life and identity, to forego one's life and accept a fresh one is congruent with the carnivalesque motif of change, renewal, and rebirth. It calls into question the very idea of a fixed and inflexible personal identity. In other words, it contests the essentialist conception of subjectivity and identity. Self and identity, Carter implies, are social constructs. And, this is so in the case of the female self and identity, too. Carter also employs the carnivalesque mode while dealing with the lack of origin, particularly the lack of parentage. Nora and Dora, it may be noted, are not acknowledged by their true father, Melchior Hazard. Instead, they are said to be the daughters of his brother, Peregrine. Likewise, Imogen and Saskia, another pair of twins, although claimed by Melchior, are actually the biological daughters of Peregrine. Carter's concern, no doubt, is parentage and parenting. She subverts the traditionally glorified notions of parental identity and authority. Through suppression of the real origins of her protagonists whose rearing is taken care of by others, Carter seems to be pointing in the direction of a type of social parenting as an alternative to the traditional mode of parenting. Mocking at the exalted, according to Bakhtin, is a carnivalesque practice. Dora has an inordinate flair for this. Her own father also becomes the butt of her irony and degrading comments. She knows that the best and easiest way to undermine dignity is to apply images of copulation and defecation. She often evokes such associations when her father Melchior enters the scene. The indecorous style in which she speaks of her meeting with him is noteworthy here. Recalling his "smashing legs" (72), she says: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I did piss myself when I saw him, in fact, but only a little bit, hardly enough to stain the sofa. Such eyes! Melchior's eyes, warm and dark and sexy as the inside of a London cab in wartime.â&#x20AC;? (72). Using such coarse language, she degrades and desecrates him and points out his flaws and errors, his meanness and cruelty. Though she is given to ridiculing others, she certainly does not pretend to be any better than them. In her mockery, as in carnival mockery, we can see our own essential humanity with its virtues, vices, and frailties. There is a remarkable array of singers, dancers, performers, and actors in Wise Children. This invests the novel with some of the paraphernalia of the carnivalesque in its Bakhtininian sense. Bakhtinian carnival, as a rule, celebrates the body to its maximum. Indeed, figures of physical indulgence strut throughout the novel. Carter, it is significant to note, has cast even Dora and Nora in this hedonistic light. They do not scruple with themselves even when they have to expose their female body while singing and dancing in music halls. They are only happy to enjoy sex with multiple boyfriends. Norms are no bar to them. One of the episodes, in which the body is deliriously celebrated, may be mentioned here. While Nora is flirting with the American film 88

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producer, Gengis Khan, Dora goes upstairs to have sex with Nora's boyfriend for a second time. Gengis Khan leaves his cigar behind on the table to dance with Nora and forgets it. The tablecloth catches fire, and nobody notices it. Soon, the house is set ablaze, and everyone runs outside in panic. Dora and her boyfriend, both of them stark naked, escape through the window, and continue to have sex outside, while the house is burning down around them. This, in fact, is a hilariously grotesque scene which puts us in the mind of the story of Nero fiddling while Rome was burning. Nora and Dora are not ashamed of their illegitimacy; they celebrate it, wholeheartedly and in all available ways. At the end of the novel, her recollections being over, Dora comes back to her present life. She is seventy five now; it is her birthday; it is her twin sister Nora's birthday, too; it is also the birthday of her father, Melchior and his brother, Peregrine. And, the grand birthday party is merrily in full swing. At the party, Melchior finally acknowledges Nora and Dora as his daughters. The party, thus, turns out to be a venue where barriers between "high-brow" and "lowbrow" cultures, and also between legitimacy and illegitimacy, are erased, where, as on carnival grounds; there is a levelling of all dichotomies and differences. The arrival of the guests to the party, dressed in extravagantly fanciful costumes, wearing masks, accompanied by band and music and noise, and indulging in gimmicks of an entertaining nature has an unmistakable carnivalesque aspect to it. Peregrine, who is endearingly called Perry, is a carnivalesque figure throughout the novel,. He, too, makes his appearance in the birthday scene. He is always ready to see the funny side of every situation. He is, in a sense, a travelling carnival. He never stays at home; he roves eternally, because he has a queer kind of restlessness in his nature. When he is out, no one ever knows where he is, or when he will reappear. But, whenever he does, he brings a massive fund of fun and frolic with him. In the last episode of the novel, Dora and her uncle Perry rush off to the master bedroom to have sex. Amazingly enough, Perry is now one hundred years old , and Dora seventy five. They, too, celebrate their life even in their old age and in an incestuous relationship. For, to them, as Perry jubilantly tells Dora, "Life is a carnival."(222). At the close of the novel, another set of illegitimate twins are gifted to Nora and Dora. The two babies, one a boy and the other a girl, are the children of their half-brother, Gareth Hazard, who became a missionary in his teens and was subsequently based in South America. The unmarried Nora and Dora now become mothers of two babies, at the ripe old age of seventy-five. The image of two old women, with a pair of twins by their side, dancing energetically in the street, and singing loudly and vivaciously, â&#x20AC;&#x153;What a joy it is to dance and singâ&#x20AC;? (232), may be grotesque, but, it is profoundly significant. In this image, with which the novel ends, there is carnival, there is subversion, and there is also the hope of matriarchy with an altered form of child-rearing. Viewed from a gerontological perspective, the image also suggests that even the old, including women have the right to enjoy life. The recurring refrain in Wise Children is: "What a joy it is to dance and sing". This sums up Nora and Dora's attitude to life. It is, perhaps, Carterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, too. It is an attitude that is invariably carnivalesque in spirit and vision. And, it permeates and sweeps powerfully across the entire novel. 89

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References: 1.

Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World, trans .Helen Iswolsky. Bloomington:Indiana University Press, 1984. Print.

Carter, Angela. Wise Children. New York: Farrar Straus and Giroux, 1991. Print. Bauer, Dale M., and Susan Jaret Mckinstry, eds. Feminism, Bakhtin, and the Dialogic /. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1991.Print.

Gamble, Sarah. Angela Carter: Writing from the Front Line. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997. Print.

Hirschkop, Ken, and David Shepherd. Bakhtin and Cultural Theory. Manchester; New York; New York, NY, USA: Manchester UP ; Distributed Exclusively in the USA and Canada by St. Martin's, 1989. Print.

Shameema T, doing Ph D, with the Dept. of English, University of Calicut, Kerala, India. This paper â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Carnivalesque in Angela Carterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Wise Children" has been presented in an International seminar on Literature held at Thassim Beevi Abdul Kadar College, Kilakarai,Ramamnathapuram,Tamilnadu.India, on September 2012.

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23.

DR SHIV GOVIND PURI PURI Pain and Agony in O P Valmiki's Joothan: A Dalit’s Life Zofishan Bano

Om Prakash Valmiki is a well-known Hindi Dalit writer. He was deeply influenced by Dr. Ambedkar, the champion of the poor. He rejected the domination of the upper class over the lower class on the basis of superiority in the hierarchal order. He stood against the subhuman status granted to the low class people by the people in the ‘center’. His autobiographical work, Joothan: A Dalit’s Life is originally written in Hindi in 1997 and later it has been translated into English by Arun Prabha Mukherjee in 2003. In Joothan, Valmiki showed the lives of the Dalit people as the saga of discrimination, exploitation and exclusion. Valmiki’s Joothan is an autobiographical account of his birth and upbringing as an untouchable and his emergence as an important Dalit writer and national activist who fights for the liberation of the marginalized community. Valmiki was born into the chuhra caste, which was considered as untouchable or polluted in the northern India. The life of their people was very awful and pathetic. They were humiliated at every step by the upper caste people. They were forced to accept the joothan of the upper caste people. The Hindi word ‘joothan’ means the leftover food in a pattal given to the lower caste people to eat. In some ways, it is a symbol of demeaning existence imposed on the Dalits. Arun Prabha Mukherjee described the significance of the word ‘joothan’ in the ‘Introduction’ of the text, Joothan: A Dalit’s Life: The title encapsulates the pain, humiliation and poverty of Valmiki’s community, which not only had to rely on joothan but also relished it…. The term actually carries a lot of historic baggage. Both Ambedkar and Gandhi advised untouchable to stop accepting joothan. Ambedkar, an indefatigable documenter of atrocities against Dalits, shows how the high caste villagers could not tolerate the fact that Dalits did not want to accept their joothan anymore and threatened them with violence if they refused it. Valmiki has thus recuperated a word from the painful past of Dalit history which resonates with multiple ironies. [Mukherjee xxxi-xxxii]

Valmiki grew up in a village near Muzaffarnagar in Uttar Pradesh, in an untouchable caste named chuhra. The division of settlement of upper caste community and the lower caste communities was hereditary in Valmiki’s village. The chuhra were forced to live outside the village reserved for upper caste people. A high wall and a pond segregated their brick house in the village from the chuhra basti, a cluster of shanties. The first line of the text presents this division of settlement: ‘Our house was adjacent of Chandrabhan Taga’s gher or cowshed.’ The atmosphere of his childhood s was unbearable. Animals like pigs and human beings shared the same living place as there was surroundings no other place to go. The people of his community were forced to live in that atmosphere. Valmiki writes: 91

July 2013 There was muck strewn everywhere. The stench was so overpowering that one would choke within a minute. The pigs wandering in narrow lanes, naked children, dogs, daily fights, this was the environment of my childhood. If the people who call the caste system an ideal social arrangement had to live in this environment for a day or two, they would change their mind. [Valmiki 1]

Untouchability was one social evil which confronted the writer as he grew up. At that time, touching an animal like cow and dog was alright but to touch the chuhras made one polluted. Untouchability was so rampant that while it was considered all right to touch dogs and cats or cows and buffaloes, if one happened to touch a chuhra, one got contaminated or polluted. The chuhras were not seen as human. They were simply things for use. Their utility lasted until the work done. Use them and then throw them away. [Valmiki 2] Further, the narrator describes the hardships he had to face in the educational institution. At that time, the doors of government schools had begun to open for untouchables yet the mentality of the upper caste people had not changed. When the writer got admitted in the school, he had to sit away from the others in the class. He would have to sit near the door from where he was not able to see the board. The boys and the upper caste teachers did injustice of him so that he left the school and took up his family business of sweeping the public places and remove the carcasses. Valmiki narrates that the teachers were not different in humiliating the Dalit children. Dalit children were beaten almost daily by the teachers in the school. Valmiki narrates one incident when he was in fourth class. His friend Sukkhan Singh had a boil in his belly. He used to keep his shirt folded up in class so as to keep the boil uncovered. So that his shirt can be kept clear from the puss and the boil can be protected from the blows of the teacher. But one day the teacher hit his boil by stick and Sukkhan screamed with pain. Seeing him in pain, the writer also started to cry. While without any sense of guilt, the teacher abused both of them. He writes: The ideal image of the teachers that I saw in my childhood has remained indelibly imprinted on my memory. Whenever someone starts talking about a great guru, I remember all those teachers who used to swear about mothers and sisters. They used to fondle good – looking boys and invite them to their homes and sexually abuse them. [Valmiki 4] The chuhras are always entrusted the task of sweeping the homes and public places. It was considered their duty. Hence the Headmaster of the school asked the writer to sweep the school. The helpless boy spent two full days sweeping. Hoping, it would soon be over. Valmiki writes about the pain which he felt during sweeping the playground: The playground was way larger than my small physique could handle and in cleaning it my back began to ache. My face was covered with dust. Dust had gone inside my mouth. The other children in my class were studying and I was sweeping. Headmaster was sitting in his room and watching me. I was not even allowed to get a drink of water. I swept the whole day. [ Valmiki 5] The teacher used abusive language for the Dalit children at the school. On the third day he went to the class and sat down to study. But after a few minute the headmaster came in the class and called him in a abusive language: ‘Abey Chuhre ke, motherfucker, where are you hiding … your mother….’ The writer had begun to shake UNCONTROLLABLY "The headmaster had pounced on my neck. The pressure of his fingers was increasing. As a wolf grabs a lamb by the neck, he 92

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dragged me out of the class and threw me on the ground. He screamed: ‘Go sweep the whole playground … Otherwise I will shove chillies up your arse and throw you out of the school.’ [Valmiki 5] Valmiki was very much frightened by the thundering voice of the headmaster. He started to sweep the school. When he was sweeping the playground, his father was passing by that day and saw him weeping and sweeping the ground. Sobbing and overcome by hiccups, Valmiki told him the whole story. His father became so much angry that he snatched the broom from his hand and threw it away. He began to scream, ‘Who is that teacher, that progeny of Dronacharya, who forces my son to sweep? [Valmiki 6] After hearing his father’s thundering voice all the teachers stepped out, including the headmaster, who called his father by abusive name and roared back: ‘Take him away from here … The chuhra wants him educated … Go, go …Otherwise I will have your bones broken.’ [Valmiki 6 ] On his way back, his father declared in a loud voice: ‘You are a teacher … So I am leaving now. But remember this much, Master … This chuhra ka will study right here … In this school. And not just him, but there will be more coming after him.’ [Valmiki 6] His father’s act of protest sows the seeds of rebellion in Valmiki’s mind against the behaviour of upper caste people. This behaviour of the upper caste teacher upset his father too much. He felt tired and dejected. At the back from school, when his father tried to get a favour from the Tyagis, the responses from the Tagas were very sarcastic. Whosoever’s door his father knocked for a favour, they said: ‘What is the point of sending him to school?’ ‘When has a crow become a swan?' ‘You illiterate boorish people, what do you know? Knowledge is not gained like this.' ‘Hey, if he asked a chuhra’s progeny to sweep, what is the big deal in that?' ‘He only got him sweep; did not ask his thumb in the gurudakshina like Dronacharya' [Valmiki 6] For their livelihood, the Dalit people mostly depended on the joothan or the leftover food of the upper caste people. During a wedding, when the guests and the baratis, the bridegroom’s party were eating their meals, the chuhras would sit outside with huge baskets. After the baratis had eaten, the dirty pattals or leaf- plates were put in the chuhras’ basket. The joothan was eaten with a lot of relish. He questioned: 'What sort of life was that? After working hard day and night, the price of our sweat was just joothan.' [Valmiki 10] Valmiki narrates one such incident when his mother requested a Tyagi to give some food for his children. The Brahmin host insulted his mother and told her to mind her place and be satisfied with what she already had collected. After being humiliated by Sukhdev Singh Tyagi, his mother emptied the basketful of joothan and

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became rebellious against the humiliating behaviour of the Tyagis. Her act of defiance sows the seeds of rebellion in the child, Valmiki. He writes: That night the Mother Goddess Durga entered my mother’s eyes. It was the first time I saw my mother get so angry. She emptied the basket right there. She said to Sukhdev Singh, ‘Pick it up and put it inside your house. Feed it to the baratis tomorrow morning.' She gathered me and my sister and left like an arrow. Sukhdev Singh had pounced on her to hit her, but my mother had confronted him like a lioness, without being afraid. [Valmiki 11]

There was not a single moment in Valmiki’s life in which he would not have to face the caste discrimination. Though he consistently did well in his studies, his memories of school are all of suffered with pain and humiliation. The social ostarcism faced by the chuhras haunted the writer’s mind since his childhood right up to his adulthood. Valmiki writes, ‘One can somehow get past poverty and deprivation, but it is impossible to get past caste.' [Valmiki 18] In the ‘Preface’ of the book Valmiki expressed the pain of a Dalit life towards which the social order is extremely cruel: Dalit life is excruciatingly painful, charred by experiences. Experiences that did not manage to find room in literary creations. We have grown up in a social order that is extremely cruel and inhuman and compassionless towards Dalits. [Valmiki VI] In his autobiography Valmiki narrates the one painful incident of his school life which remains fresh in his memory till today. One day the teacher was describing the poor condition of Dronacharya who had fed flour dissolved in water to his femished son Ashwattama in the lieu of milk. After listening about the dire poverty of Dronacharya everyone in the class felt very sorry. So encouraged by their emotions, Valmiki asked to the teacher: … So Aswatthama was given flour mixed in water instead of milk but what about us who had to drink mar? How come we were never mentioned in any epic? Why did not any epic poet ever write a word on our lives? [Valmiki 23] So the whole class started to stare at him. As though Valmiki raised a meaningless point. The teacher screamed: Darkest kaliyug has descended upon us so that an untouchable is daring to talk back.’ The teacher ordered him to stand in the murga or rooster pose and he ordered a boy to get a long stick. ‘Chuhre ke, you dare compare yourself with Dronacharya … Here take this, I will write an epic on your body? He had rapidly created an epic on my back with the swishes of his stick. That epic is still inscribed on my back. [Valmiki 23] Valmiki narrates that how much he tried to avoid the caste – system, it did not leave him alone. Valmiki points out that the Dalit should not have to believe on the upper caste people for their upliftment because whatever sympathy they showed towards Dalits is only a fake. He questioned: ‘How will those who never suffered the needle pricks of hatred and jealousy feel my pain? Who have never endured humiliation? How will they know what it feels like?’ [Valmiki 48] When Valmiki reached the tenth standard he was determined to study well in order to get good marks which would fetch him an opportunity to study in a college but one day before his mathematics examination he was made to do forced manual labour by an upper caste brahmin, 94

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Fauza Singh Tyagi. He was helpless. He writes, ‘My mind was set aflame by his swearing. A fire had engulfed my innards that day. The memories of these crimes of Tyagis continue to smolder deep inside me, emitting red hot heat.’ [Valmiki 57] When Valmiki was offered rotis to eat, he refused to touch. He said that his refusal infuriated the Tyagi. Fauza started to shouting on him, ‘Abey chuhre ke … Just because he has learnt to read a little he has gotten above himself … Abey don’t forget who you are …’ But Valmiki remained standing there. He writes, ‘Revolt had taken birth inside me. Each word of Fauza’s was like a thousand stings on my body.’ Fauza Singh Tyagi decided to beat the writer. But somehow he managed to escape from the scene of torture. Valmiki’s father believed that one should improve one’s caste by getting education. But Valmiki says that it is not possible to improve one’s caste by getting education. He writes, ‘He (his father) did not know that caste cannot be improved by education. It can only be improved by taking birth in the right caste.’ [Valmiki 58] Valmiki described that whenever he tried to escape from the chain of castesism it tied him more strongly. When he reached class twelve new problems began to crop up and this time it was in the form of chemistry teacher. The chemistry teacher named Brajpal Singh dashed all his hopes of securing good marks in intermediate examination. He was a caste minded teacher. He did not like the idea of an ‘untouchable’ studying in the school. So he started to torture him mentally. He says, ‘… whenever I went to the lab for practicals Brajpal keep me out on some pretext or the other.’ [Valmiki 65] When the results were announced, the writer’s name was among the failures. He had obtained good marks in all other subjects, but he had failed in the practical of chemistry. At this time, Valmiki was in great pain. This turn of events had put terrible obstacles in his path of continuing education. After this incident, he left Barla for Dehradun with his cousin Surjan. It was during his stay in Dehradun that he became acquainted with the writings of Dr. Ambedkar. Dr Ambedkar’s life long struggle for eradicating untouchability inspired the narrator. He was extremely grateful to his friend Hemlal, who inspired him to read the biography of Ambedkar. Moreover it was only after reading that book the writer came to realize the misconceptions regarding the teaching of Mahatma Gandhi. He writes: After reading Ambedkar, I realized that by naming the untouchables Harijans, Gandhi had not helped them to join the national mainstream, but had saved the Hindus from becoming a minority. Guarded their interests, in fact and yet, these upper castes were angry with him because he had turned Harijan’s heads! The Poona Pact episode had completely erased any illusions I had harboured about Gandhi. It was the Poona pact that made Ambedkar lose heart. He further writes, ‘A new word, ‘Dalit’, entered my vocabulary, a word that is not a substitute for ‘Harijan’, but an expression of range of millions of untouchables. [Valmiki 72] When he got admitted to the Ordinance factory as apprentice, his father was very happy and excited and said to him, ‘At last you have escaped "caste". But Valmiki knew it very well that no one can escape the intricate labyrinths of caste created by the upper caste society as he writes, "caste" follows one right up to one’s death.’ [Valmiki 78] Om Prakash Valmiki further narrates that ‘caste’ is a very important element of Indian society. He writes: 95

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Caste is very important element of Indian society. As soon as a person is born, ‘caste’ determines his or her destiny. Being born is not in the control of a person. If it were in one’s control, then why would I have been born in a Bhangi household? Those who called themselves the standard bearers of this country’s great cultural heritage, did they decide which homes they would be born into? Albeit they turn to scriptures to justify their position, the scriptures that establish feudal values instead of promoting equality and freedom. [Valmiki 134] It was during his stay in Chandrapur he became totally absorbed in the strong currents of Dalit movement. He became a member of Dalit Panther and together with many leaders started a battle for the Dalit self-hood. Valmiki faced many trials and tribulation fighting for the rights of Dalits. The ground work done by Dr. Ambedkar and Jyotirao Phule had inspired him a lot and it gave a new dimension to his writings. In 1978 the Dalit Panthers had organized a huge rally in Bombay, demanding that Marathwada University’s name be changed to Dr.Ambedkar University. The bill for the name change had passed in the state assembly. Savarnas had protested against the bill on a very large scale and rioting and destruction of public property took place in the town and cities. The impact of the rioting was felt the most in Marathwada. The Maharashtra government had withdrawn the name change bill and the Dalit had started the battle for selfhood. He writes: The gulf of hatred between Dalits and non-Dalits has increased unabated and no one seems to be trying to bridge it. When Dalits stand up to protect their selfhood, they are declared casteist. It is the dyed-in-the-wool casteists who make these declarations against Dalits. It is a move by the traditionalists and status quoists who are always suspicious of Dalits. [Valmiki 108-9] Valmiki further narrates that his surname had created a storm in his life. In school and in college, his classmates and teacher had made a lot of pejorative comments of his surname. Not only the outsiders, but also his own family, except of his father, had begun to be bothered by his surname. His own wife Chanda has never managed to get used to his surname. Many of his relatives refused to recognize him as their kith and kin. Valmiki writes, ‘when my own have caused me unspeakable anguish. It is easy to battle against the outsiders; the most arduous battle has to be fought against one’s own.’ [Valmiki 129] However, what shocked Valmiki were the strategies adopted by many Dalits to hide their caste, which to him is once again acknowledgement of their self-degradation. While many of them wish to conceal the fact that he is a Dalit, Omprakash Valmiki was bold enough to keep it as his surname which was like a slap on the face of upper caste superiority that had engulfed the nation from the time immemorial. He proudly talks about his surname in the following lines: This surname is now an indispensable part of my name – ‘Omprakash’ has no identity without it. ‘Identity’ and ‘recognition’, the two words say a lot by themselves. Dr. Ambedkar was born in a dalit family. But ‘Ambedkar’ signifies a Brahmin caste name; it was a pseudonym given by a Brahmin teacher of his. When joined with ‘Bhimrao’, however, it became his identity, completely changing its meaning in the process. Today, ‘Bhimrao’ has no meaning without ‘Ambedkar’. [Valmiki 132] The Dalits not only suffered from caste-prejudices but also from poverty. They were not given proper wages for their labours. The Tyagis had ruled over them. When they refused to work for 96

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unpaid labours, severe retribution would follow on them. After working day and night the price of their sweat was just joothan. They saved the joothan (leftover) of the upper caste people for their hard days of the rainy season. Valmiki narrates that the children of his community were used to collect the mar of rice and dal which was thrown away by the upper caste people. He painfully narrates: Thrown away by others, the mar was to us even more valuable than cow’s milk. … The mar tasted very nice with salt. If once in a while gur was available, then the mar became delicacy. This taste for mar was not brought about because of some trend or fashion. It was due to want and starvation. The thing that everyone discards was a means to quell our hunger. [Valmiki 22-23] The Dalit people were not only physically humiliated and exploited by the upper caste people but the Dalit women were also raped and sexually abused by them. When Valmiki saw Master Vedpal Tyagi and another man exploited a Dalit woman, he felt nauseated. This incident made a great impact on Valmiki’s psyche that even today he is not able to forget it. He writes, ‘When I think of that woman today, I began to feel nauseated. What helplessness had brought her to them? A woman surrendering to two men, even today my mind refuses to accept it.’ [Valmiki 55] Omprakash Valmiki singled out a number of Dalit social practices that are extremely demeaning. One of these is called salaam. They newlywed couple along with mother-in-law went for salaam to all those houses where the mother-in-low worked. They would give some tit-bits as gifts by the upper caste people. Omprakash Valmiki was against it. With the help of his father he had broken the centuries old custom. Valmiki says that although it was centuries old custom but denial of it was a powerful act on anti-Brahminism. He writes:’ It is caste pride that is behind this centuries-old custom. The deep chasm that divides the society made even deeper by this custom. It is a conspiracy to trap us the whirlpool for inferiority. Many a time, not just bridegrooms but the brides too have to endure terrible humiliation. [Valmiki 33] Animal sacrifice was very famous in his community. It was celebrated as a festival in his community. He narrates that in the month of Asharh, a puja was performed at the Mata temple. There was a tradition of offering piglets, cocks and rams to the Mata. Valmiki says that the offerings of animals in the name of Shakti puja and to Goddess Durga in the society are very disturbing. Such animal sacrifices are observed in almost the entire society. The sacrifices are carried in the presence of the administrator, MLAs and the leader of political parties and liquor is sold freely in the fair. Valmiki was against it. According to him it is an inhuman act to sacrifice the animals. He writes: In the light of contemporary perspectives on animal sacrifice, how do such rituals are supposedly promote religious exaltation? That too in Uttarakhand, called the land of the gods? For me, animal sacrifice is a symbol of terribly inhuman and violent mindset. [Valmiki 81] The people of his community believed in the superstition and when anybody got sick in the community, instead of treating him with medicines, people tried things like getting rid of the evil spirit by tying threads, talismans, and so on. The people of his community worshipped their own gods and goddesses. As Valmiki grew up in such atmosphere, he refused to participate in the puja. His father was very disturbed and told him about the belief of his ancestors. But it did not 97

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have any effect on Valmiki. He felt very frustrated on such occasion. So his father thought that he had become a Christian. He wanted to proclaim loudly that he was not a Hindu. In a long attack on Hinduism, he questions: If I were really a Hindu, would the Hindus hate me so much? Or discriminate against me? Or try to fill me up with caste inferiority over the smallest things? I also wondered why does one have to be a Hindu in order to be a good human being… I have seen and suffered the cruelty of Hindus since childhood. Why does caste superiority and caste pride attack so cruel so heartless against only the weak? Why are Hindus so cruel, so heartless against Dalits? [Valmiki 41] Thus Joothan : A Dalit’s Life is a story of survival of oppression as grievous as slavery or apartheid and of victory as the author gets an education and learns to embrace his identity and became a spokesman for his community. Joothan combines representations of struggles with the external enemy with the enemy within the internalization by Dalit people of upper caste brahminic values, the superstitions of Dalit villagers, the patriarchal oppression of Dalit women by their men, the attempts by Dalits who have attained a middle class economic status to ‘pass’ as high caste and the attendant denial of their roots, all are the important aspects of the book. This self-critique has earned him brickbats from many Dalits who find the frank portrayal of Dalit society to be humiliating. Joothan thus has twofold task of celebrating and honoring Dalit assertions and attacking and dismantling anti-Dalit hegemonic discourses. Valmiki believes that only through education Dalits can fight against injustice and exploitation. He warns them that they must not believe to upper caste people for their upliftment. They should have to fight against discrimination and they should have to refuse to accept the joothan of the upper caste and they should not have to hide their ‘caste’ but they have to use this ‘caste’ as their identity.

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Work Cited: 1.

Agarwal, Nilanshu Kumar. "Only the ash knows the experience of burning: An Interview with Dalit Writer Jai Prakash Kardam.’’ The Quest (2009): 1-8. Print.

Beth, Sarah. "Dalit Autobiographies in Hindi: The transformation of pain into Resistance.’’ Web.

Dangle, Arjun, ed.. Poisoned Bread. Hyderabad: Orient Longman Private Limited, 1992. Print.

Jadhav, R.G.. "Dalit feelings and Aesthetic Detachment.’’ Poisoned Bread. Ed. Arjun Dangle. Hyderabad: Orient Longman Private Limited, 1992. 304-311. Print.

Limbale, Sharan kumar. Towards an Aesthetics of Dalit Literature. Trans. Alok Mukherjee. New Delhi: Orient Longman Private Limited, 2004. Print.

Mukherjee, Arun Prabha. Introduction. Joothan: A Dalit’s Life. By Omprakash Valmiki. Trans. Arun Prabha Mukherjee. Kolkata: Samya, 2003. Print.

Omvedt, Gail. "Literature of Revolt: Pefactory Note.’’ Poisoned Bread. Ed. Arjun Dangle. Hyderabad: Orient Longman Private Limited, 1992.IX-XVIII. Print.

Pathak, Vandana, and Urmila Dabir. "Crooning of a Different Drummer: Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan." The Indian Journal of English Studies XLVI(2009):101-112. Print.

Satyanarayana, K.. "Dalit Autobiography in English.’’ PGDTE Course Materials. Hyderabad: CIEFL, 2005. Print.

10. Singh, Dr. R.B.. The Marginals. Ghaziabad: Book Self, 2008. Print. 11. Valmiki, Omprakash. Dalit Sahitya ka Saundaryasastra. New Delhi: Radhakrishna Prakashan Private Limited, 2001. Print. 12. …. Joothan: A Dalit’s Life. Trans. Arun Prabha Mukherjee. Kolkata: Samya, 2003. Print.

Dr. Shiv Govind Puri is an Associate Professor, Dept. of English, with Lucknow University, Lucknow, (UP). Twenty papers have been published in different national journals and more than thirty research papers have been presented at different conferences and seminars across the country. Currently working on a major UGC research project titled “Other Voices: A Study of English Fiction by Contemporary Indian Women Writers” since July 2012. He guides research scholars at Lucknow University. He is a Co-Editor, Humanities & Social Sciences: Interdisciplinary Approach, ISSN: 0975-7090. He is also the Chief-Editor, Journal Of Scientific & Technological Research, ISSN: 2231-4709.

July 2013

The artist doesn’t

have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don’t have the time to read reviews. – William Faulkner

Book Reviews

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BOOK REVIEW BY C. D. PODURI Poduri Reviews Jesus Lived In India – His Unknown Life before and After the Crucifixion by Holger Kersten “Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind” – Albert Einstein Judaism, Hinduism, Pharaohs’ culture & religion represent the oldest of all religions in the world. Origin of all of these religions can be traced to some form of animism as inferred from the presence of animal deities/stories in almost all of them. While animism represents the predecessor of these religions, the successors include Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Jainism, etc., (need not necessarily in chronological order).

Whereas all the religions mentioned here coexist even today, one among these, the Christianity, assumes profound scientific significance for the simple reason that the present day timelines are taken with specific reference to the birth and death of the founder of Christianity – the Jesus of Nazareth. Thus, this person’s life becomes the crux of the modern day chronology of events. Continuing the discussion in similar lines, because this person’s life assumes, for various practical reasons, significance, Jesus the Nazarene also is the most studied individual on this planet. Obviously, he is the most controversial person on this planet as well. Needless-to-say, the later aspect, i.e., the controversies, never fail to arouse the curiosity of any individual irrespective of their background. In this context, three controversies are in circulation with regard to Jesus Christ: 1. The most recent - a set of scrolls in a private collection, whence translated by experts suggested that Jesus may have been a married man; 2. A recent discovery of the tomb of Jesus Christ in Jerusalem, Israel and the airing of the documentary in 2007 on various popular TV channels; 3. The Bloodline Theory – which says that the descendants of Jesus Christ & Mary of Magdalene ascended the throne in France – referred to as the Merovingian Dynasty – one good reason for the French Royalty to be considered equal to God – their excesses and the resulting 101

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French revolution (the sublime plot of many a stories of Dan Brown); 4. The existence of 'Shroud of Turin', which represents an enigma to humankind; and 5. Jesus lived, got educated and died in India. This is where the book titled “Jesus Lived in India – His Unknown Life Before and After the Crucifixion” by Holger Kersten (HK) gains prominence. Holger Kersten selects an interesting topic for his research. He says the Bible/the Testaments mention only about the infant Jesus and Christ of approximately 30 years. He further adds that these holy books describe only the miracles, crucifixion and the subsequent resurrection three days later. All of these instances in the life of Jesus Christ encompass a span of about 3 years. The author mentions that there is no information available with regard to the childhood, adolescence and the intervening years till Jesus starts preaching (hope I am using the right word), performing miracles, eventually ending in Crucifixion and the subsequent resurrection. Thus with the intention of throwing more light on the un-described years of Jesus Christ, HK starts his research in 1973. For the same, HK takes the 1887 discovery of Nicolai Notovich, a Russian Historian, about the Buddhist scriptures describing about a certain Christian Dalai Lama as the starting point. Subsequently, HK tries to prove at length that this son of Buddha – Issa is the Jesus Christ. Having established this, albeit crudely, HK in his book “Jesus Lived in India – His Unknown Life Before and After the Crucifixion”, currently in its eleventh edition and translated into more than 15 languages, traces the life of Jesus Christ in India. HK also establishes, partially, that prior to crucifixion Jesus was in many of the cities of Hindu religious importance before being expelled from the then Hindu centers of learning, viz., Taxila, for explaining Vedas to lower castes, whence he joined a Buddhist monastery where he learned Buddhism. Upon returning to Israel, Jesus Christ started explaining whatever he learned to the masses. Written in about nine chapters with more than forty photographic plates of genuinely good quality, “Jesus Lived In India – His Unknown Life Before and After the Crucifixion”, dwells at length to prove that Jesus did not die upon crucifixion but migrated to North India (more precisely to Kashmir). HK’s research relies heavily on: i. circumstantial evidence, ii. Etymology, iii. Assumptions, iv. Photographic evidence (particularly of the Shroud of Turin) and v. references to one Issa in various religious scriptures. Using these tools, HK tries to recreate the events that happened almost 2000 years ago. Moreover, mind you, for once, at many aspects, in my opinion, he hits the bull’s eye. Despite loopholes (particularly at the assumptions & speculations), the book is worth reading by researchers from various fields to get a glimpse of how to recreate events that happened thousands of years ago based on the circumstantial evidence available today. Among the many aspects of this book, HK attempts at showing the numerous similarities between Buddhism and Christianity. In this process HK passionately tries to project to the reader a ‘Bodhisattva Jesus’, a totally new faith. In doing so, HK fails to take into account that since time immemorial, and even today, the whole world has been in a dynamic state, with specific reference to religion. Consequently, each religion borrow(s/ed) heavily from other 102

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religions resulting in such similarities as observed by the author. Thus, while the emotional presentation of a new faith might satiate the philosopher within, one should keep in mind that the best religion/culture the world has got to offer is the religion/culture into which a person is born and grew up with… The beginning of the “Stita Pragnya”…? Amon. Disclaimer: This article is intended to be a book review, and not to hurt the feelings/sentiments of any person/religion/faith/culture. The views expressed here are my own. Opinions might differ. Title of the book: Jesus Lived In India – His Unknown Life before and After the Crucifixion Author: Holger Kersten Publisher: Penguin Books, New Delhi, India Year: First published 1981, now 10th Edition – 2001.

Reviewers Bio: C. D. Poduri has wide experience in teaching and research. He has 38 publications to his credit. Many of his writings have been published with various journals and magazines.

Subscribe to Contemporary Literary Review India — journal that brings articulate writings for articulate readers.

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Book Releases

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BOOK RELEASES

A series of books from Vitasta Publishing Pvt. Ltd. Anuj Dhar - "India's biggest cover-up" is on a roll on Flipkart Latest reviews... 1. Rajashree Bhanja: There are many books around on the Subhas Bose mystery, but Anuj Dhar's "India's Biggest Cover-up" stands out from the rest, . The book is a chronicle of different events in the mystery organised meaningfully into different chapters. Generally, such a work based on the past can be dreary but this one makes the reading as easy and engaging as it can be. Past and present day events are skilfully Indiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Biggest ran up together as in a thriller. Cover-Up by Anuj http://www.flipkart.com/reviews/RVQ1H64J1F9JI0AU4 2. Dhar

S. Sen: It is an extremely well researched book, and it draws upon several documents and files, which hitherto did not reach the common people of India. The chapters on the mystery saint of Faizabad, Gumnami Baba read like a thriller, and the photograph on the last page of the book simply takes your breath away! ...It is high time that all files pertaining to Netaji were de-classified, as it is imperative to study history as it unfolded, however unpalatable it may be! Kudos are due to Mr.Dhar for enlightening us with a version of the truth which was unknown to us till date. ...All in all, it is an extremely interesting book that every patriotic Indian must read! http://www.flipkart.com/reviews/RVINNNGQT2Y9OQD2S 3. Prabir Goswamee: This book by Anuj Dhar truly must be read by everyone. Not simple because it attempts to unravel the story behind the disappearance of perhaps the most charismatic of our leaders - Our Netaji, but also something that sheds light of the workings of the rulers that we have had since Independence. The one thing that this book does is raises a lot of questions. Questions that on the concocted history that has been taught to us, and more importantly history that has been hidden from us. Questions that must be answered. However the most unique aspect for me were the chapters on Gumnami Baba or Bhagbanji. The feeling that we may have shared timelines with the Great Netaji, if the Fizabad Bhagbanji angle turns out to be true is really thrilling. And from the evidence that are presented in the book this seems to be a strong possibility. A very good book indeed. http://www.flipkart.com/reviews/RVR9NS6EIGIJIO3D8 4. Smruti Panda: I expected the book to give details on lots of little known aspects of Netaji's death which it did. Lots of accusations and revelations which brings in us a lot of anguish over govt's handling of the issue. But what surprised me is the quality of writing.

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‘Here is a book that rips through the falsehoods and false noise that has deepened the silence about Kashmir. It shows moral courage and intellectual integrity. Here, finally, Kashmiris tell their own stories, analyze their own situation and dream their own dreams. And they do it bravely and beautifully.’—Arundhati Roy ‘Bludgeoned into isolation, while the world looked away, and then shrouded by deliberate misinformation, Kashmir has struggled to make itself heard; the very human aspirations of Kashmiris for dignity and strength and their great pain and anguish have been consistently misrepresented. No more: this book marks the pivotal moment when, using carefully chosen words as well as choreographed mass politics, a brave and resourceful new generation of Kashmiris is finally shattering the Valley’s long solitude.’ — Pankaj Mishra

Until My Freedom Has Come: The New Intifada in Kashmir by Sanjay Kak

'This book represents a clarion call for peace, freedom and stability in a region brutalized by mindless violence and killing; highly recommended reading for politicians, policy makers, academics, journalists and lay-people alike.' —Muhammad Khan THE PIECES in this volume voice the rage and helplessness sweeping through the Kashmir Valley, while also offering rare insights into the lives of those caught in the crossfire. With contributions from journalists, academics and artists, this book is a timely collection of some of the most exciting writing that has recently emerged from within Kashmir, and about it. SANJAY KAK is an independent documentary filmmaker whose recent work reflects his interests in ecology, alternatives and resistance politics. His films 'Jashn-e-Azadi' (How we celebrate freedom) about the struggle for Azadi-freedom-in Kashmir, and 'Words on Water' about the struggle against large dams in the Narmada valley in central India, have been widely screened both in India and abroad. 'Words on Water' (2003) won Best Long Film prize at the International Festival of Environmental Film & Video, Brazil. 'In the forest hangs a bridge' (1999) received the "Golden Lotus" for Best Documentary Film at the 1999 National Film Awards in India and the "Asian Gaze" Award at the Pusan Short Film Festival, Korea. He is based in New Delhi. About The Book: Three people, sifted by life into different countries, share a city and its struggles. Dubai becomes their commonality. Nakudushambey is a missionary of mercy with a self-chosen moniker. The grand old uncle of the courthouse came to being in Dubai. Leaving judgement to the higher lord, he helps, unmindful of the borders that are impressed upon every righteous mind. The pervert, the prey and the prostitute are served without discrimination or expectation. His spirit rallies on his being immune to depravity and despair. What then makes Beyond the Dunes him want to flee? Zoe Gonsalves is a single mother of three who opts to 106

July 2013 by Veena

leave her country and her children to scour for Dirham dreams.

But her fight for better yields only difficulties. Indulged by self-pity, what becomes of her ambitions and their rewards? Brought to existence in Dubai, Rayla Nizar has traded more than her name for the man she loves. She makes it her home. Blending her innate Western sensibility with cultivated Eastern sensitivity, she carves out space for women who are raped, bruised and abanonded, robbed of their will to survive. It only earns her controversy. Can she do anything for the young girl whose body is bearing the leftovers from repeated violation? Veena was twenty-five when she wrote this book, inspired heavily by her short stint as a journalist. Before that, following her degree in communication from the University of Westminster, London, she worked as an editorial assistant for an even shorter duration. At the time of writing this book, Veena was a firm believer of brevity. Author: Y Bhargava Krishna Price:245 Pages:252 About The Book - "In 1753, Ruckus Thawhorne, a British revenue officer, comes at midnight to the house of Ramabrahmam in Gandharva Kota. It is no ordinary counsel or favour that the officer seeks. In secret, the Brahmin journeys with him that night to destroy an unnatural 'evil'. On his death bed, five years later, he makes a sinister prediction to his son Madhavachary, that the evil may return, although its perpetrator — a British soldier James Hil — was deported to England. In 1792, Madhachary's days go by, as did his father's, in rituals, family affairs and offering counsel to the villagers. He lives with his two sons, a widowed daughter and the youngest daughter.

Fatal Fires - Dark Before The Dawn By Y Bhargava Krishna

Suddenly the forty year old events invade his life; his fears dead and buried return. He turns to his father's papers stashed in a casket. Madhavchary discovers an unnatural tale of evil and a mysterious discovery that led to its destruction — but — was it destroyed?" About the Author: Y Bhargava Krishna - Bhargava Krishna lives in Bangalore with his wife. He works for an e-commerce firm that sells books. Passionately fond of literature, he also enjoys movies and music. The Dark Before The Dawn is his first attempt at fiction writing. He has plans and plots for other books. Author: MAINAK DHAR ISBN: 978-93-80828-47-3, Pages- 296, Price: 295 About the Book: Dilli, 1857. The Mughal Empire is gearing up to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of its victory over the British. The Empire is thrown into sudden chaos when the Emperor is assassinated in a bloody coup Three unlikely companions find themselves thrown together by fate. Ranveer, a young officer in the elite Mughal cavalry, 107

July 2013 Hindustaan what if the British never conquered India? by Mainak Dhar

who is now hunted by the Empire he served; Theo, an English traveller with a mysterious past; and Maya, a beautiful Princess they rescue. Together, they embark on a journey that takes them from bloody. skirmishes with Afghan raiders, rescue missions in remote forts, joining

a coalition of rulers who band together against the new despotic regime to protect their independence, and then back into the heart of Dilli for adramatic final mission which will determine not just their fate, but that of all of Hindustaan. About the Author: MAINAK DHAR is a cubicle dweller by day and author by night. After graduating from the Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad, he has spent more than fifteen years in the corporate world. At the same time, he has been a prolific writer with ten books to his credit including the novel Line of Control, also published by Vitasta Publishing

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;From other publishers Kavyanaam, in Hindi means in possession of poetry, is a collection of 44 poems in Hindi. The anthology is available with www.cyberwit.net and amazon.com. Abhay Chokshi works as a technical writer in a software company based in Pune (India). He started writing poetry out of sheer passion for words. He likes to build poetry around the incidents that he observes around him. According to him, poetry is a soul-searching journey of love and passion. Kavyanaam by Abhay Chokshi

Sri Aurobindo could be a remarkable dramatist and fiction writer too apart from being a poet but he was either engaged as a secret revolutionary leader or a political leader in the open field; either professor, journalist, social thinker or a philosopher, doing yoga and meditating for hours. Busy with many other things, his original works of imagination largely remained incomplete and inconclusive. In a stormy life, shifting from place to place, he often lost track of his own works. Some of them were in police or government custody, recovered by chance after he passed away. It is little known that Sri Aurobindo was a The World of Sri fiction writer. Scholars only know him as a dramatist. Even as a poet he Aurobindoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Creative Literature has not been accorded the altitude that he deserves in the minds of the by Aju critics and common people though he was one of the greatest mystic Mukhopadhyay poets. His Savitri is unique in its own place, unparalleled in world literature. Even before the birth of the Indian English as a potential genre of literature he was one of the pioneers of Indian English Literature without his knowing it. 108

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A revolutionary, a poet and a writer, Sri Aurobindo, beginning with his journalistic days to the last of his poetic era, wrote large number of essays; political, socialistic, analytical and interpretative of scriptures besides translations of classics from different languages. Compared to his non-fiction and other works the volume of his original creative literature is quite lesser. But he remained a poet from his student days to the last, writing 50,000 (approx) lines of poetry. Savitri, the spiritual epic, his lifetime work, is one of the largest in world literature and the largest in English language. He wrote good number of dramas (five complete and five incomplete plus some fragments and translation) and four short stories. In this volume an attempt has been made by Aju Mukhopadhyay, a well known writer on Sri Aurobindo and the Mother besides other works, to present the whole of Sri Aurobindo’s creative literature within the covers of a single book, reproducing portions of his work written in English, as nearer to the original as it is available in his birth centenary library edition volumes, with appropriate discussions on them. Title: The World of Sri Aurobindo’s Creative Literature Author: Aju Mukhopadhyay Publisher: Authorspress, New Delhi. ISBN: 978-0-9831041-8-6 Pages: 161 Price: Rs 600 (Hard Cover) Publication Year: Nov, 2012

Aju Mukhopadhyay, the poet and author, has written Mother’s biography in English and Bangla, translated her stories and some other works, written on her thoughts on education besides writing on different aspects of her life and literature in large numbers of magazines, newspapers and ezines. This book is an attempt to present the Mother, the founder of Sri Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry, in all aspects of her life and activities; her thoughts and ideas, her teachings and literature. Above all, what is extraordinary is her lifelong effort and success to a great extent, in transforming matter with spiritual light and consciousness; transmuting the cells of her body, building a Mother of All Beings Gnostic body apart from her own material body, as shelter after by Aju Mukhopadhyay withdrawing her earthly body as a strategic need, reaching towards the goal of supramental transformation of her being as she promised to Sri Aurobindo; to live to continue his lifelong work after his departure, as his spiritual collaborator, as the Divine Mother. Title: Mother of All Beings Author: Aju Mukhopadhyay Publisher: Srishti Publishers & Distributors ISBN: 8187075864 ISBN-13: 9788187075868

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July 2013 Pages: 180 Price Rs.195 (Hard Bound) Publishing Date: July, 2002

Based in Pondicherry, Aju Mukhopadhyay, an award winning bilingual poet author and critic, writes fiction too. He has authored 30 books and has received several honours from India and abroad. Critiques on his poetry have been published in many periodicals and books. Many of his works have been translated in other languages and anthologised. About 25 scholarly books contain his works on Indian English Literature; quite more are in the press. He is in the editorial boards of some distinguished literary magazines and a member of the Research Board of Advisors of the American Biographical Institute. Writer on animals and wildlife; conservation of Nature and Environment is the watch word of his life. Červená Barva Press is pleased to announce the publication of Following Tommy a novel by Bob Hartley. Following Tommy tells the story of the O’Days, two young brothers living in an Irish American, working class neighborhood on Chicago’s West Side in the 1960’s. As thieves they are the bane of the neighborhood until the arrival of the first African American family.

Following Tommy by Bob Hartley

Hopefully this novel will evolve into a movie. I'll be on a front row seat eating popcorn without any anticipation of the end. This is a must read. – Irene Koronas, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene

In Hartley’s novel, set in the heartland of America, we dive deeply into disturbing pathos of intriguing and relatable characters... I urge you to read this remarkable debut, “Following Tommy.” – Robert Vaughan, editor of Flash Fiction Fridays “Following Tommy,” is a powerful, mesmerizing debut novel... These characters pack-apunch to the gut: tough, perceptive and shrewd. An unforgettable read. – Meg Tuite, author of Domestic Apparition Bob Hartley was raised on the West Side of Chicago. He holds an MFA in fiction writing from the University of Pittsburgh. He has been, among other things, a writer, actor, singer, teacher, bartender, mail room clerk, and soap mold washer. He currently makes his living as a respiratory therapist and lives in Pittsburgh with his wife and two children. Following 110

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Tommy is his first novel. Title: Following Tommy Author: Bob Hartley Publisher: Gloria Mindock, Editor & Publisher ISBN: 978-0-9831041-8-6 Pages: 104 Price: $17.00 Publication Year: July, 2012

Sammie Miller is a young naïve teenage girl from a broken home. She gets screwed over by men and all she ever wanted was to be loved. Life takes a turn when she discovers she has magical powers to change people’s lives. Does Sammie change people’s lives for the better or the worse? Unlock the magical, social dysfunctional world of Sammie Miller. The author was born in Jamaica and moved to London in 2001 and was educated at Westwood Language College for girls in Upper Norwood where she obtained 13 GCSE’s. Whilst at Westwood, at the age of 13 she entered the Young Writers competition and had her first poem published. Four years later she attended St Francis Xavier where she Sammie Miller studied Performing Arts, Media Studies, Maths and English Literature by Sonya Dunkley ‘A’ levels. Further education was at London South Bank University where she studied Writing For Media Arts (BA Hons). In addition to writing scripts and novels, Sonya also writes song, poetry and verses for greeting cards. Title: Sammie Miller Author: Sonya Dunkley Publisher: Melrose Books ISBN: 978-1-908645-23-4 Price: £9.99 Publication Year: January 2013

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