GURRAM.LAXMAIAH..18-11-1940…..18-11-2007
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Telugu is one of the Four important Languages that is spoken in south India, the other three being Tamil, Malayalam and Kannada. Telugu has its origin in Dravidian Languages it is spoken by all over the India epically Tamil Nadu, Orissa, Karnataka, and Madhyapradesh. Perhaps Telugu is the largest language is widely spoken by Majority of the people. It has a long history tradition as well as literary tradition. According to Historians Telugu have been its inscriptions from sixth century and first literary work from the eleventh centenary. In this paper I Would like to examine, Literary Modernity, particularly Indian Literary Modernity in general and Telugu Literary Modernity in particular. Telugu people does not have the Modernity, this is western discourse. Colonialism spread Modernity all over the third world countries, and the West has invaded the colonial countries and occupied them and wipe out their Native Discourse through their Imperial domination if at all we have the Literary Modernity we need to critically re- examine the structure of Telugu Literary Modernity.
Modernity as a concept and the basic characteristic is opposition to the ancient. According to Jurgen Habermas” The term “modern” has long history investigated by Hans Robert Jauss. The word “modern” in its Latin form “modernus” was used for the first time in the late 5th century in order to distinguish the present, which had become officially Christian from Roman and pagan past.”
“ Modernism as an artistic or literary movement was associated with the intellectual and artistic relation to the last of the developments noted above; it was influential at the turn of the Twentieth century” (John Hartley Key concepts).We can find Modernity in different Spears, we have Economic modernity, Technological modernity, Philosophical modernity, scientific modernity, political modernity. In religion it has its own idea, it opposed to liberal Protestantism. Modern art wipe out all existed cannons of beauty, it reflects a new attempts and schools. Artists created a new kind of modern art. In the same way a modern painter will cover his canvas with zigzag or portraits a woman with different hair colors. At the same time a modern sculptor will carves figures in different way, he may be an architect, an engineer, a composer they will have their unique qualities which are not existing elsewhere.
But what is modernism in literature? Do we have literary modernity In Telugu literature? Is it a western debate or Indian? If at all we have modernism what is pre modern literature? Before going to examine Telugu literary modernity I would like to analyze Western Literary modernity.
Hegel was the first philosopher to develop a clear concept of modernity; we need go back to him if we want to understand the internal relationship between modernity and rationality. It was introduced as a technical term only in the 1950s by Max Weber. His concept of modernity from its modern European origins and stylizes it in to a spatio temporally neutral model for process of social development.
There are several definitions for modernism. The famous Marxist critic George Lucas said that “ Modernism despairs of human history abandons the idea of a linear historical development, falls back upon notions of a universal condition humane or a rhythm of eternal recurrence, yet within its own realm is committed to ceaseless change turmoil and recreation”
Jurgen Habermas is a German Philosopher a sociologist in the tradition of critical theory and American pragmatism. He is the most influential German philosopher and a leading theoretician of the Frank fort Institute of social Research. His philosophical hermeneutics opened a new way of re thinking the critical theory tradition of Frankfort school social philosophy. He is perhaps best known for his work on the concept of the public sphere. His theoretical system is devoted to revealing the possibility of reason, emancipation and rational critical connection. He gave two level of modern world. One is cultural modernity another one is Aesthetic modernity.
Habermas says his ‘In the philosophical Discourse of Modernity’ “ We are still contemporaries of the young Hegelians .He is concerned here to respond to the challenges posed by the radical critique of reason in contemporary French thought by re examining the philosophical discourse of modernity. He gave two kinds of interpretation of the modern world. Before Habermas they deal with modernity as a theme of Philosophical not Aesthetic discourse. David M. Rasmyssen writing about him “ Habermas double attempt to address the problem of modernity, first by re constructing his own position to meet the demands of modernity and second by dealing with the question of modernity in the context of the development of philosophy” .
Earlier we discussed various kinds of Modernity as pre modern and modern at the same time what is pre modern philosophy? Modern philosophy is generally said to have began with Descartes (1596-1650) or with Francis Becan (1561-1626), in England and with Descartes in France. One can find a break between medieval and post medieval philosophy and each phase poses an important characteristics. Most of the seventeenth century philosophers were convinced that there was a sharp division between the old philosophical traditions as well as modern philosophical traditions. I assume that Literature and Philosophy are bound together and have organic relationship; we cannot separate Literary Discourse with Philosophical Discourse. They are interdependent.
“We can see philosophy in the middle ages gradually winning recognition as a separate branch of study. And we can see lines of thought emerging which anticipate later philosophical developments, for example, the characteristic philosophical movement of the fourteenth century generally known as the nominalist movement”.
One can find the emergence of the pre modern philosophy is not the same. “The medieval philosophers were the most part University professors, engaged in teaching. They wrote commentaries on the standard texts in use at the universities, and they wrote in the language of the learned world”. The modern philosophy in the pre Kantian period, on the contrary were in the majority of cases unconnected with the work of academic teaching. On more un believable thing is that the original and creative philosophy of the early modern period developed outside of the Universities”. There were original minds and fresh voices not as traditionalists. Most of the thinkers use vernacular languages instead of using Greek and Latin. It was not only in Philosophical discourse they use in other literary fields also. The most important point one can find that modern philosophy is autonomous and product of reason alone, where as Medieval Philosophy was dominated with Christian Theology. And also pre modern philosophical discourse has been in the clutches of the Catholic Dogma.
“In the Middle Ages theology was esteemed as the supreme science and we find theologians who were also Philosophers. In the seventeenth and eighteenth century we find philosophers, some of whom believed Christians while others were not. And though their religious beliefs doubtless exercised some influence on the philosophical systems of men such as Descartes and Locke.” (A History of Philosophy-Copestone)
They were fundamentally in the same positions as any philosopher today who happens to be a Christian but who is not, in the professional sense a theologian. That is one reason why philosophers like Descartes and Locke appear to us ‘modern’ if we compare them with St Thomas or St Bonaventure. It clearly indicates that one would say that philosophy was separated from its close connection with theology and freed from any eternal control.
It becomes purely autonomous branch of study. I think modern philosophy has long journey which came out from the traditional languages to vernacular languages and theological influence to autonomous way of thinking.
Subjectivity becomes the typical condition of the modernist outlook. German novelist Herman Hesse speaks about “ A whole generation caught…between two ages, two modes of life with the consequence that it loses all power to understand itself and has no standards no security, no simple quiescence” . “On or about December 1910 human nature change” said by Mrs. Woolf she meant to suggest that there is a frightening discontinuity between the traditional past and the shaken present; that the line of history has been bent, perhaps broken. Modernist literature goes on the tacit assumption that human nature has indeed changed (the circumstances we live has been transformed by nature these are not delit) some assumptions have been radically altered.
Jurgen Habermas, defined modernity his famous speech “modernity- an Unfinished Project” he gave it in September 1980 on the occasion of accepting Adorno Prize. After returning from University of Frankfurt he gave series of lectures and offers courses on this subject.
“He described modernity as process of disenchantment which led in Europe to disintegration of religious world views that issued in a secular culture.” He says that the concept of modernisation refers to a bundle of process that are cumulative and mutually reinforcing: to the formation of capital and the mobilisation of recourses.
“The theory of modernisation performs two abstractions on Weber’s concept of “modernity”. It dissociates “modernity “from its modern European origins and stylizes in into a sptio- temporally neutral model for process of social development in general. Furthermore, it breaks the internal connections between modernity and historical context of western rationalism, so that process of modernisation can no longer be conceived of as rationalisation, as the historical objectification of rational structure. Modern thought did not remain a fixed ideal. The ideals of French Enlightenment they looked back to the ancients and changed the beliefs. The Romantic modernists oppose the antique idea of classists. They looked for a new historical epoch. During the 19th century they were emerged out of romantic sprit and radicalized consciousness of modernity and freed it from all historical ties, and one more thing the most recent modernism simply an abstract opposition between tradition and the present.” our sense of modernity crates its own self enclosed cannons of being classic. Modernity unfolded in various avant-garde movements and reached its climax like Dadaism and Surrealism. Habermas says Modernity revolt against the normalizing functions of the tradition; it lives on the experience of rebelling against all that is normative. These revolts neutralize the standards of both morality and utility. Octavio Paz a fellow traveller of modernity noted already in the middle of the 1960s that “the avant- grade of 1967 repeats the deeds and gestures of those of the 1917. We are experiencing the end of the idea of modern art “post avant-grade art it indicate the failure of the surrealist rebellion. He is asking what is the meaning of the failure? Does it signal to fare well to modernity?
American neoconservative Daniel Bell argues in his Famous book “The cultural contradiction of capitalism” argues that the crises of the developed societies of the West are to be traced back to a split between culture and society. Modernist culture has come to penetrate the values of the everyday’s life” Habermas concluded his argument “The impulse of modernity, we are told on the other hand, is exhausted; anyone who consider himself avant-grade can read his own death warrant.
I assume that Western Philosophical and literary discourse and critical theory have gone a different stages and different experiments. They have literary evaluation as well as organic growth. They have done other modes of enquiry free from Theological religious Mythical authority.
European modernity what we are thinking is Colonial modernity, because Indians are largely trained by colonial understanding of modernity. The debate of Modernity is Western Thought. They propagate this idea all over the colonial countries.
New Trends in modern Telugu Literature:
The origin of the modern thought came in to existence in the Telugu literature with the influence of English education as well as English literature. Telugu poets and writers followed the models of the old themes, new patterns of literary expression. G V Sitapathi in his book “History of Telugu literature” says “Veeresalingam may be regarded as the founders of this new school, though he did not give up the accepted style of prose writing in his novels and other works. He wrote books which represented almost all the new patterns of this age Novel story, Drama, farce essay, short poems, biography auto biography literary criticism and lives of Telugu poets. He used the “Kavya” dialect for poetry and prose, but in the case of prose the language used by him is very simple and free from obsolete or obsolescent forms and words, and in the case of farces he used the spoken tongue of the characters in the story.” Not only Veeresalingam but also anotherSchool called Bhavakavita originated with the influence of Western Romantic poetry, Rayaprolu Subba Rao and Devulapalli Krishna Shastry were the leaders of this movement, these two were the earliest to start the new trends in modern Telugu poetry. The influence of western culture on Telugu language and literature during the Mohamadean period, many foreign words crept in to the Indian languages epically North Indian languages and next to Telugu and other south Indian languages. After the Mohamadean period the colonial ruling started all over the Nation.
G V Seethapathi says “In the course of the time The Telugus like other peoples of India came in to contact with the Portuguese, The Dutch , the French and the English, and learnt to use the words of these Foreigners as occasion arose. It is interesting to note how the names of these Western people came in to use in Telugu (p.85)
K V Ramana Reddy in his book “Modern Trends in Telugu Literature” says,” Gopichand, was a philosophical dissident who ultimately found refuge in Arobindo. But his” Asamarduni Jeevita Yaatra” is a minor prose classic, with the little man for its hero. Buchibabu was a prolific writer who always went in for the latest in Western thought and writing, in the process landing him self in complications of form and content. “Chivaraku Migiledi” is an epitome of his out look on life” (page22) we can find the most of the early writers and poets of the Twentieth century have taken a fancy to write poems or Novels are simply imitation of English Genres and themes. Kndukuri Verresalingam ‘Rajashekara charitra’ was imitation of “The Vicar of the Wake field” Krishna Shastry, Rayaprolu Subba Rao imitated s Romantic Poets.Gurazada Apparo himself acknowledged In Kanyaasulkam scene in King Henry part one Falstaff is inspiration for his character Gireesam.
I feel that Indian intellectuals are captivated by Western culture. Instead of crating new modes of enquiry they began to imitate Western mode of thinking. As earlier I said before, we have been under the clutches of Colonial ruling for more than Three hundred years and we largely trained by colonial understanding of literary modernity. The Indian literary modernity roots are connected with Western literary modernity. When we are thinking about our past we need to explore fundamental enquiry. And need to ask how Indian modernity emerges. If at all we have literary modernity we need to re examine the structure of Telugu literary modernity.
I this connection Adonis a highly influential figure in Arabic poetry and literature, he combines in his work a deep knowledge classical Arabic poetry and revolutionary, modernist expression. He critically examined problems of the Middle East, as a poet he has been more interested in experimentation, Language, and freeing poetry from traditionalist formalism, than to comment contemporary socio political issues. His famous work” An Introduction to Arab Poetics”
He says that “In the light of these considerations it would appear that modernity is the problem of Arab thought in it dialogue with itself and with the history of knowledge in the Arab tradition. If we are to treat the problem of modernity, we must first re examine the structure of Arab thought. To question modernity Arab thought must question itself. Arab modernity can be studied only within the perspective of Arab thought to study it from a Western perspective would be to distort it and distance oneself from the real issues.”
I assume that Adonis rightly asses the problem of the literary modernity. The point here I am trying to make out is West has gone enormous kind of research about critical theory and critical enquiry as well as literary modernity. They have experienced different modes of understanding about literary modernity. And one more thing they have nurtured intellectual or poetic nature but it is political and ideological it in values all over the Colonial countries through their Imperial domination. It does not mean everybody should reject technology or intellectuality, but we should careful about the western domination. West has penetrated in to our daily life, and impose their hegemony upon us it lead to we become consumers and our countries are turn in to Market places for their Experiments in Technology as well as Cultural domination.
Ngugi Wa Thiong’o A prolific Literary and social activist Said That “The real aim of colonialism was to control the peoples wealth as well as culture. It involved two aspects of the same process: the destruction or the deliberate undervaluing of peoples’ culture, their art, dances, religion, history, geography, education, orature, and literature; and the conscious elevation of the language by the languages of the colonising nations was crucial to the domination of the mental Universe of the Colonised” (De colonising the mind” page 16) .
I assume that West has annihilated the literary growth and captured the people’s culture. Imperialist nations introduced the printing press and they published the Bible and control the content by the colonisers. And the coloniser’s publications were censored by the Imperialists.
There is no single scholar from Telugu Literature evaluate the crisis of literary modernity because they are the products of Colonial ruling. As Rallapalli Ananta Krishna Sharma in his Famous Book “Vemana” rightly said that “we are still depending on C P Brown contribution to Telugu Literature”. I feel that one must open up new kind of enquiry of Native literary thinking as well as Modernity.
Colonialism spread the modernity all over the third world countries. In this way we don’t have critically examined this discourse. We don’t have developed the native philosophical outlook yet to. What we have is simply taken from west only; one must need a way from western centre of learning. There is an age gap between earlier generation and modern generation to defend Modernity. Reformers like Unnava Laxminaryana a Dublin Trained barrister, Veeresalingam and Gurazada sold out by the colonialism. The point here I am trying to make out is West has gone different stages, phases and organic growth in spending time in all previous state and also they have intellectual or political nurture but it is political and ideological it in invaded (The spectre) all over the colonial countries, and occupied through their imperial domination. It does not mean everybody should reject technology or intellectuality, but we should careful, that the West has penetrated in to our daily life, and has been imposing their cultural Hegemony upon us, it leads to we become consumers and our societies are turn in to their market places.
K V Raman Reddy says in his famous book Aaadhunikaandhra charitra “Abhydaya Rachayatala Sangam” followed the best traditions of the new epoch makers, Kndukuri, Gurazada, Gidugu, among others in Andhra history who recognised that the betterment of the society is the main aim of literature; and contributed to a lively literary scene. Drawing on the best qualities of ancient and modern literature, it creates a new literary tradition in Andhra literature. In order to revive indigenous literary forms, it portrayed contemporary life in these forms, propagated those forms and attained Andhra people’s appreciation. It gave up the literary forms alienated from the social life. Those peoples life and problems as their subject matters, supported progressive forces and showed a bright path to the Telugu Nation”
I think Abhydaya Rachyatal Sangam (ARASAM) may be progressive in their thought but it is completely colonial thought as Adonis says “to be modern it is necessary to identify with western poetry. From this there arises an illusion about the norms where standards of modernity in the west, springing from a specific language and experience of a different nature. This amounts to looting at a personal, linguistic and poetic level, and is the way to complete alienation. “
It indicates any colonial country can study the tradition with in the nativity only, I think Indian modernity can be studied with in the perspective of Indian modernity. If we cannot does it our issue may be distort or distance from the crux of the issue. This is unfortunate that those who are called themselves Modern thinkers they have adopted to the shock of the modernisation from the west simply Indians are treating modernity as a primarily as a technological achievement. Poets like Rayaprolu , Gurazada, and Kandukuri Veeresalingam Pantulu, Gidugu, who opposed the ancient dogmatic social evils claiming to be modernisers’ think they are the products of Chennapatnam, who were captivated by the Western culture, their literary plots, characters, ideas and their techniques borrowed mainly from the West. Three hundred years colonial ruling made our education system, ruling, are completely dependency on the West. There is no single scholar from Telugu literary circle to evaluate the crux of the discourse literary Modernity, and the ugly face of the colonial and post colonial domination. Our Telugu Literary figures and Reformers are the products of the colonial mode of training. They largely trained in Christian Educational Institutions.
Gurazada (1861-1915) the first great poet of Modernity started writing around 1900, with grate vigour, control, and complete honesty. His poetry stemmed and involved in the social life around the beginnings of the 20th century. Some critics consider him grater dramatist than poet. His poetry is unobtrusive and has the significance of the ordinariness and validity of the normal. In language ideas and expression he is the futurist” (This Tense Time by Vegunta Mohanaprasad). But poetry, Novel, any Literary domain does not acquire Modernity merely from being current. It is beyond that it requires the Philosophical base that we are lacking. Not only in India around any non Western countries did not develop the native Philosophical Discourse.
European colonial modernity dominated I feel west has done enormous research in critical theory, critical enquiry as well as literary modernity; they have experienced different modes of understanding about literary theory. We need to explore alternative Modernity; every place has distinctive modernity in terms of cultural, Political Aesthetic Domains. But Indian Literary modernity is different; the modernity we are discussing is the capitalist phenomenon which is alien to us.
Adonis says “The technical, mechanical aspect of modernity is turning our lives in to a desert of imported goods and consumptions eating away at us from within and distracting us from thinking about our own distinctive power of invention. In literature and in poetry in particular, it generate superficial, naïve conceptualisation that interpret modernity simply as a way of arranging and combining words; a mirror held up to everyday life or an attempt to catch the spray as it flies off rolling waves of time” This superficial modernity which is predominant in our societies engendered partly by a fear of confronting the true state of Arab culture and partly by an understanding which stops at appearances gives rise to many illusions.
Adonis discussed some illusions about Literary modernity may apply any colonial post- colonial countries, those who see modernity as a quality of being directly connected to with and a live to the present moment. “Poetry does not acquire its modernity from being current. Modernity is a characteristic latent in the actual structure of the poetic Language” I feel this is a mistake most modern poetry goes beyond the present moment.
The west is supposedly the source of modernity there is no modernity outside western poetry and its standards; to be modern it is necessarily to identify with western poetry from this there arises an illusion about norms where standards of modernity in the west, springing from a specific language and experience of a different nature. This amounts to looting at a personal, linguistic and poetic level and is the way to complete alienation.”
Partha Chactterjee says that “Indian Modernity is distinct from western Modernity” Our modernity is distinct in character and its agents are the Nationalist leaders and the intellectuals. He said that “The real agents of the project of our modernity are “The Western middle class” D R Nagaraj says “Modernity as western and therefore Foreign” He makes a distinction between “The western middle class and authentic Indians”
In Telugu Literature there is a misconception about a technical one concerning prose as a poetic form. Poets like Sri sri believe that old metric writing to prose is considered to be moderns. Of course the poetry was seen an attack on the values of the ancient and authentic we can see this force in Sri sri poetry. I feel during this time Sri sri ,Narayana Babu, Arudra, inspired from poets like Poe, Hopkins, Mayakovski, Pasternak Kazi Nazrul Islam and Harin Chattopadhya ,they produced power packed poetry. Poets like Narayana Babu does experiments in poetry in the name of the Surrealism with Freudian influence, Arudra “Twamevaaham” with Dylan Thomas to Ogden Nash, They enriched the Telugu poetry with the latest trends in Western writings. Shafting from old metric to prose is not at all modernity It is possible in an old metric writing may have modernist tendencies, present prose may consist pre modern thoughts. All pre verse is not innovatory and modernist .D Rami Reddy, Gurram Joshua do not wholly fit in to Bhavakavita, their diction is simple their themes are intimately human and progressive though they are the pre modern poets. Even among the Traditionalists, there are some Poets who show a Modern out look, for instance Gurram Joshua (1895-1972) “Gabbilam” (Bat Messenger to Lord Shiva) is a memorable poem which is a power full critique of a caste dominated society. He also wrote many poems with minor characters from the epics as the subject. I would like to conclude this essay with Adonis saying “European- American West is not of an intellectual or poetic nature, but it is political and ideological, originally a result of Western imperialism. We should not reject it a whole, but only this ideological aspect of it. Modernity requires not only freedom of thought, but physical freedom as well. It is an explosion, liberation of what has been suppressed… The essence of this modernity should be a creative vision, or it will be no more than a fashion. Fashion grows old from the moment it is born, while creativity is ageless. Therefore not all modernity is creativity but creativity is eternally modern”. I believe that no culture exists isolation from other culture, they give and taker from each other. They influence and are influenced. Each society has to re examine their Texts and find out their own creativity explore and open up new kind of Research.
Bibliography:
Adonis: an Introduction to Arab Poetics, Sind bad, Paris 1985.
Jurgen Habermass the Philosophical Discourse of Modernity, MIT Press, Messachusetts, 1990.
Copelstone, Frederic A History of Philosophy, vol 1 Search press, London, 1946.
Thomas McCarthy, the Critical Theory of Jurge Haber mass, Polity press, New York, 1978.
Chatterjee Prtha: Talking about our Modernity in Two languages, OUP New Delhi, 1997.
John Hartley: Key concepts in communication Rutledge New York 2004.
Ngugi Wa Thiyang’o De colonising The Mind Zimbabwe Publishing House, Zimbabwe, 1986.
Narayan Rao Velcheru: Telugu Kavitvamlo viplavaswaroopam Hyderabad Book trust: Hyderabad, 1987.
Ramana Reddy K V, Mahodayam Hyderabad Book Trust, Hyderabad, 1995.
Aarudra , Samagrandra Saahityam Prajashakti, Hyderabad, 1985.
K.V.RamanaReddy. Modern Trends in Telugu Literature and other essays, AILRC, Hyderabad, 1999.
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“ద ఫ్లష్ ఈజ్ Heavy ఆన్ మై బ్యాక్, షీ ఈజ్ మై డాటర్… జస్ట్ టర్న్డ్ ఫిఫ్టీన్… ఫీల్ హర్ బి బ్యాక్ సూన్…’’
ఈ వాక్యం నన్నెంతో డిస్ట్రబ్ చేసింది. ప్రముఖ ఒరియా కవి జయంత్ మహాపాత్ర రాసిన ‘ది హంగర్’ లోనిదా వాక్యం.
ఓ అరవై ఏళ్ళ ముసలివాడు తన పదిహేనేళ్ళ కూతురుతో సముద్రంలో చేపలు పట్టి రోజూ చస్తూ బ్రతుకుతున్న బీదకుటుంబ కథాంశం అది. తీరంలో గట్టిగా గాలివాన వస్తే మాయమయ్యే పూరిపాక అది. తండ్రి కూతుళ్ళకు శరీరం మీద సరైన ఆచ్ఛాదన లేదు. శరీర పోషణ, సరైన బట్టలు లేని ఆ అమ్మాయికి వయస్సును మించిన తన శరీరం వంపుసొంపులు దాచుకోవడానికి బారెడు గుడ్డలేని దీనస్థితి వాళ్ళది. తండ్రితోబాటే తీరానికి రోజూ వచ్చేది. సముద్రంలోకి వెళ్ళిన తన తండ్రి వచ్చేదాకా ఒడ్డునే తచ్చాడుతూ సాయంత్రం దాకా ఎదురుచూడడం నిత్యకృత్యం ఆమెకు. మనుగడే ప్రశ్నార్థకమైన ఆ ముసలాడికి ఆమె ఓ గుదిబండ, తలకు మించిన భారం. ఆమె పెళ్ళి గురించి ఆలోచించే ధైర్యం, తీరిక కూడా ఆ ముసలాడికి లేదు. ఎంతో కష్టపడితే తప్ప నోట్లోకి నాలుగు మెతుకులు పోవడం దుర్లభం. వాళ్ళ జీవితంలో ఏలినాటి శనిలా దరిద్రం ఆ ఇంట దాపురించింది.
ఆ సాయంత్రం అతను సముద్రం నుండి తీరానికి చేరాడు. ఆకాశం ఉరిమి ఎప్పుడు మీద పడుతుందా అన్నట్లుంది, అంతా శూన్యంగా వుంది. గత రెండు మూడు రోజులుగా తినడానికి ఏమీలేకపోవడం మూలాన అతనికి నిలబడే ఓపిక నశించింది. ఏడ్చేందుకు కూడా శరీరం సహకరించటం లేదు. అతని కన్నీళ్ళు ఎప్పుడో ఇంకిపోయాయి. తీరం అల్లకల్లోలంగా ఆ ముసలోడి మనసులాగే ఉంది. సందర్శకులు ఇళ్ళకు వెళ్ళడానికి తొందరలో ఉన్నారు. తీరం దాదాపు ఖాళీగా ఉంది. ఎవరి తొందరలో వాళ్ళు గబగబా ఉరుకుతున్నారు. ప్రతిరోజు యూనివర్సిటీ కుర్రాళ్ళు సరదాగా సముద్రతీరానికి వస్తుంటారు. గుంపులు గుంపులుగా అరుపులు, కేరింతలతో నీళ్ళలో ఒకళ్ళను మరొకరు తోసుకొంటూ సరదాగా వాళ్ళ జీవితంలో బాధలన్నీ ఆ తీరంలో గుమ్మరించిపోతారు. అందులో కొంతమంది కేవలం శరీర వాంఛలు తీర్చుకోవడానికే వస్తారు. వచ్చిన కాడ్నించి ఎప్పుడూ శరీరమంతా కళ్ళేసుకొని వెతుకుతుంటారు. కాస్త నాలుగు పైసలున్నవాళ్ళు రెగ్యులర్గా, లేనివాళ్ళు అప్పుడప్పుడు వస్తుంటారు. ఓ పాతికేళ్ళ విద్యార్థి నిత్యం తీరానికి రావడం, వేశ్యల కోసం వెంపర్లాడటం నాలుగు పైసలు ఇచ్చి తన వాంఛ తీర్చుకోవడం అతను ఎన్నోసార్లు గమనించాడు. ఎర్రగా బొద్దుగా ఉన్నాడు. చేతికి ఖరీదైన వాచ్, మెడలో చైన్, ఉంగరాలు, ఖరీదైన బట్టలు మంచి కుటుంబం నుంచి వచ్చినట్లే ఉన్నాడు. కాకుంటే కండ కావరంతో ఉన్నాడు. ఆరోజు ఎవరూ దొరకలేదనుకుంటా ఇసుకలో కాళ్ళను ఈడ్చుకొంటూ, ఒడ్డున గవ్వలను తన్నుకుంటూ తనవైపు వస్తున్నాడు. ఆ ముసలాడికి ఆ రోజుతో ఇంతకాలం తను పెట్టుకున్న ఆశలు ఆవిరైపోయినాయి. నమ్మిన సముద్రమే మింగేసేటట్టుంది. తను జీవితంలో ఎంతోకాలంగా ఓడిపోతూనే ఉన్నాడు. అతను కేవలం బ్రతకడం కోసం మాత్రమే ఓడిపోయాడు. ఇక ఎంతోకాలం ఆ ఓటమికి తట్టుకోలేడు. కేవలం ఆ ఓటమికి తలవంచి మాత్రమే తాను ఆ నిర్ణయం తీసుకొన్నాడు. అందుకే అతను తన స్థితికి తలవంచి ఆ కుర్రాణ్ణి పిలిచాడు. కొంతసేపు మాట్లాడి అతని ఆంతర్యం గ్రహించి…
“బాబూ! ఇది నా కూతురు. మొన్ననే పదిహేను దాటాయి.’’
“ద ప్లష్ ఈజ్ హెవీ ఆన్ మై బ్యాక్… ద స్కైఫెల్ ఆన్ మీ ఫిల్ హర్ బి బ్యాక్ సూన్…’’
“వర్షం వచ్చేటట్లుంది బాబూ- బహుశా లాస్ట్ బస్ కూడా వచ్చే టయమైంది. అలా వెళ్ళి పని ముగించుకొని తొందరగా వచ్చేయ్!’’ అంటూ ఆమెను అతనికి అప్పగించి తన దుఃఖాన్ని దిగమించుకొంటూ అక్కడ నుండి నిష్క్రమించాడు.
ఆ అమ్మాయి కళ్ళు గాజుగోలీల్లా కళాకాంతి లేకుండా ఉన్నాయి.ఆ కళ్ళల్లోంచి చూస్తే ఆమె ఎముకలు కనిపిస్తున్నాయి. యాంత్రికంగా అతన్ని అనుసరించిన ఆమె వాంఛా రహితంగా తన కాళ్ళను ఎడంగా జరిపి అతనికి వశమౌతుంది. అప్పుడే దూరంగా ఉన్న ఆ ముసలాడి సంచిలో ఉన్న చేపలు గిలగిలా తన్నుకున్నాయి.
తన ఆకలి తీర్చుకోవడం కోసం కన్న కూతుర్ని ఆ క్షణానికి అమ్మిన ఆ తండ్రి నిస్సహాయత, విధిలేక నిష్క్రియాపరురాలైన ఆమె ఆ యువకుడి మగతనం క్రింద నలిగి నుజ్జయి ఆ నాటకంలో ఎలా ఆటబొమ్మగా మారిందో చెప్తుందీ పోయమ్.ఈ దేశంలో కేవలం వృత్తిని నమ్ముకొన్నవాళ్ళకు ఏం మిగుల్తోందో ఈ కవిత చెపుతోంది. ఈ కవిత చెప్తుంటే అమ్మాయిలు కొంతమంది సిగ్గుతో తలవంచుకొని ఒకింత అసహనానికి గురైనారు. మరి కొంతమంది అబ్బాయిలు మిడ్నైట్ మసాలా చూస్తూ తాత్కాలిక సుఖానికి లోనైనట్లు నవ్వుకొన్నారు. అతికొద్దిమందిలో ముఖంలో రంగులుమారి కళ్ళ కొనుకులలో తిరిగిన నీళ్ళసుడిని చూశాను మరికొంతమందిలో.
తరగతి గదిలో చాలాసేపు అందరూ పూర్తిగా ట్రాన్స్లో ఉన్నట్లున్నాము.
“సార్! బెల్ కొట్టారండి!’’ అని ఓ విద్యార్థి అనడంతో సుదీర్ఘ నిశ్శబ్దం తర్వాత మామూలు మనిషిని అయ్యాను.
చేతుల్లోని ఆక్స్ఫర్డ్ యూనివర్సిటీ ప్రెస్వారి ‘కామన్వెల్త్ పోయెట్రీ’ ఆంతాలజీలోంచి బొక్కలపొడి చూర్ణంలా రాలిపడుతోంది. ఎముకల వాసన వస్తోంది. ఈరోజు శుభ్రంగా కడుక్కోవాలి. ఒంటికి అంటిన ఆ గులాలు (రంగులు) ఇంకా వదలడంలేదు. ఎంత రుద్ది కడిగినా ఆ రంగు పోవడంలేదు. ఇంకా ఎంతకాలం కడగాలో అర్థం కావడంలేదు.
పుస్తకం తీసుకొని స్టాఫ్రూమ్కి బయలుదేరాను. పొడి దారి వెంట రాలుతూనే ఉంది. ఒంటి మీద చొక్కాలోంచి ఆ రంగుల వాసన ఇంకా వస్తూనే ఉంది… బయట ఎవరో తరుముతున్నట్లు అటుయిటు ఉరుకుతున్నారు. కేరింతలు కొడుతున్నారు. అలా స్టాఫ్రూమ్ వైపు నడుస్తున్నాను. క్యాంపస్లో అక్కడక్కడా చిన్నచిన్న సమూహాలు, ప్రెషర్స్ను ఆటపట్టిస్తున్న సీనియర్స్ ఆ ప్రక్కనే కొంతమంది లాన్లో కూర్చున్నారు. మరికొంతమంది పాప్కార్న్ నములుతున్నారు. ఎవరో అరుస్తున్నారు. కాలేజీ నిండా రకరకాల విద్యార్థి సంఘాల బ్యానర్లు, ఆకట్టుకొనే నినాదాలు… కొంతమంది విద్యార్థులను కలవడానికి వచ్చిన తల్లిదండ్రులు ఉండడం మూలాన కాలేజీ వాతావరణం నిత్య నూతనంగా కళకళలాడుతున్నా… నాకెందుకో ప్రతి విద్యార్థి శిలువను మోస్తున్న క్రీస్తుల్లా ఉన్నారు. ఆ ఉద్విగ్న వాతావరణం మధ్య స్టాఫ్రూమ్కు వచ్చి కుర్చీలో కూలబడ్డాను.
నా పక్క సీటులో ఉన్న తెలుగు లెక్చరర్ యాదయ్యగారు పలకరించారు.
ఏంటి సుందర్రాజు… ఏమయింది? ఎందుకు అదోలా ఉన్నారు?
ఏం లేదండీ అంటూ సాయంత్రం జరిగే సెమినార్కు నోట్స్ రాయడానికి పేపర్సు తీశాను.
అద్దాలు కనిపించలేదు ఎక్కడ పెట్టానా అని వెతుకుతుండగా…
శ్యామ్ అనే విద్యార్థి, ‘ఇదిగోండి మాస్టారూ!’ అని చేతికిచ్చాడు. నేను క్యాంపస్లో స్టూడెంట్ వెల్ఫేర్ కమిటీ బాధ్యతలు చూడటం మూలాన అక్కడ చదువుతున్న ప్రతి విద్యార్థి గూర్చి కొద్దోగొప్పో తెలుసు.
“సార్! శ్యామ్ కూడా ఈరోజు సెమినార్లో పేపర్ సబ్మిట్ చేస్తున్నాడటగా?’’ అన్నాడు యాదయ్యగారు.
“అవునండీ!’’
శ్యామ్ మంచి విద్యార్థి. సేవా కార్యక్రమాల్లో ముందుండే కుర్రాడు.
కాలేజీ అడ్మిషన్ల సమయంలో హాస్టల్ ఇన్ఛార్జిగా ఉన్న నన్ను కలవడానికి సూట్కేసుకు ఏదో పాతగుడ్డ కట్టి చంకలో పెట్టుకొన్నాడు. హ్యాండిల్ విరగడం మూలాన పట్టుకోవడం ఇబ్బందిగా ఉందతనికి. పోషణ కరువైన జుట్టు, పాత చెప్పులు కాని, కళ్ళలో ఏదో సాధించాలనే తపన ఉన్నట్టనిపించింది. గుడ్డలో మూట కట్టుకొన్న సూట్కేస్ మరో చేతిలో ఏదో సంచి. కొద్దిపాటి సామానుతో నా గదిలోకి వచ్చాడు. అక్కడే అతని వివరాలు తెలిశాయి. అడ్మిషన్ పూర్తి అయ్యాక హాస్టల్ రూంకు వెళ్ళాడు.
పాలమూరు జిల్లాలోని ఓ మారుమూల ప్రాంతం నుండి వచ్చిన శ్యామ్ ఎవరూ లేని ఓ అనాథ. అతని తండ్రి చెప్పులు కుట్టేవాడు. అతను పుట్టగానే బహుశా నెలలవాడుగా ఉండగానే తల్లి రక్తహీనతతో చనిపోయింది. తండ్రి చాలీచాలని తిండి తింటూ కాలం అతి కష్టంగా నెట్టుకొస్తూ సక్రమంగా తిండి లేకపోవడమో, పోషణ కొరవడడమో కడుపులో పుండు అయి అతనూ చనిపోయాడు. ఆకలి, అంటరానితనం, అవమానాలు, బంధువుల ఛిత్కారాలు, అడక్కతినడాలు సంక్షేమ హాస్టళ్ళలో శరణార్థిగా బ్రతికిన అతను హాస్టళ్ళలో కేవలం బ్రతకడం కోసం మాత్రమే పురుగులు నిండిన తిండి, పంపునీళ్ళతో కడుపు నింపుకొన్నాడు. తోడూ నీడా లేకుండా చీదరింపులు, ఛీత్కారాల మధ్య యూనివర్సిటీ దాకా వచ్చాడు. చదువులో అతనికి ఉన్న శ్రద్ధ, క్రమశిక్షణ మూలంగా అతని గూర్చి ఈ కొన్ని విషయాలు తెలిశాయి. అతనికి ఉన్న ఈ నేపథ్యమే క్లాస్లో ఆ పాఠం చెప్తున్నప్పుడు, అతని కళ్ళలో నీళ్ళు రావడానికి కారణం అనుకొన్నాను.
ఇలా ఆలోచిస్తూ మళ్ళీ నోట్సు రాసుకొనే పనిలో నిమగ్నమైనాను.
ఆ మధ్యాహ్నం అన్నం తినాలనిపించలేదు. రెండుసార్లు టీ త్రాగి రాసుకుంటున్నాను.
సాయంత్రం 5 గంటలు కావస్తున్నది. ఎవరికివారే హడావుడిగా తమతమ బీరువాలకు తాళాలు వేసి తిరుగు ప్రయాణం అవుతున్నారు. యాదయ్యగారు నా టేబుల్ దగ్గరకు వచ్చి,
“సుందర్ మేం బయలుదేరుతున్నాం, వస్తున్నావా?
అవునూ సెమినార్ ఎక్కడ? ఎన్ని గంటలకు?’’ అన్నారు.
“ఈరోజేనండీ సాయంత్రం ఏడున్నరకు సెంట్రల్ లైబ్రరీ సెమినార్ హాల్లో
‘అస్థిత్వ కులాల సాహిత్యం – సమాలోచన’ వీలుంటే మీరూ రండి,’’
అంటూ రాసిన కాగడితాలు ఫైల్లో పెట్టుకొని బయలుదేరాను.
కాలేజీ గేటు దగ్గర శ్యామ్ కనిపించాడు. “ఎలా వస్తున్నావ్?’’ అడిగాను.
“కొంతమంది ఫ్రెండ్స్ వస్తున్నారండీ. అందరం కలిసి వస్తాం. మీరు బయలుదేరండి.’’
“సరేలేగాని, వీలుంటే రేపు ఆదివారం ఇంటికి రా,’’ అంటూ బస్ ఎక్కాను.
అంతా గందరగోళంగా ఉంది. ఎవడో వెంటబడి తరుముతున్నట్లుగా ప్రాణాలు అరచేతిలో పెట్టుకొని బ్రతుకుజీవుడా అన్నట్లు ఫుట్బోరు మీద విన్యాసాలు చేస్తున్నారు కొందరు. సెమినార్ పూర్తయ్యేసరికి చాలా లేట్ అయింది. ఆరేడుగురు ప్రముఖ కవుల, ఓ మాజీ వైస్ ఛాన్సలర్ సందేశాలతో సెమినార్ ముగిసింది. మళ్ళీ ఇంటికి ప్రయాణం.
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రాత్రి చాలాసేపుచదివాను.
విక్టర్ హ్యూగో రాసిన ‘ది లాస్ట్ డే ఆఫ్ ఎ కండెమ్డ్ మ్యాన్’ చదివాను.
ఉరిశిక్ష పడి రేపో మాపో ఉరి తీయబడే వ్యక్తి చివరి క్షణాల మానసిక విషయాలను ఉత్కంఠభరితంగా రాశారాయన.అలా చదువుతూ ఎప్పుడు నిద్రపోయానో తెలియదు.
కిటికీలోంచి ఎండ ముఖం మీద పడి చురుక్కుమనడంతో మెలకువ వచ్చింది. పక్కనిండా కాగితాలు, పుస్తకాలుచిందరవందరగా పడి ఉన్నాయి. గత కొన్ని రోజులుగా రాత్రిళ్ళు ఎక్కువ మెలుకువగా ఉండటం మూలాన కళ్ళు ఎర్రగా ఉన్నాయి. ఉదయం లేవగానే టవల్ భుజం మీద వేసుకొని బ్రష్ చేసుకొంటూ బయటకు వచ్చాను. రోడ్ మీద వీధి కుళాయి దగ్గర ఆడాళ్ళు తిట్టుకొంటున్నారు. కొంతమంది ఖాళీ బిందెలతోనే వెనక్కు తిరిగారు. ముఖం కడుక్కొని ఇంట్లోకి వచ్చి కూర్చున్నాను.
టి.వి. ఆన్ చేశాను. ఏదో చర్చా కార్యక్రమం జరుగుతోంది. కొంతమంది పత్రికా ఎడిటర్లు కూర్చొని ఏదో అరుస్తున్నారు. ఎవరో దీక్షితులుగారు మాట్లాడుతున్నారు. అతను పత్రికా ఎడిటర్ల స్వేచ్ఛా స్వాతంత్య్రం గురించి మాట్లాడుతున్నాడు.
“ఈ రోజుల్లో ఎడిటర్లకు ప్రత్యేకమైన ఎజెండా అంటూ ఏమీ లేదని…
పత్రికాధిపతుల ఎజెండాలే తమ ఎజెండాలుగా భావిస్తూ చచ్చినట్లు పడి ఉంటున్నారు…’’
నాకెందుకో ఆ మాట్లాడుతున్నాయన మాత్రం స్వతంత్య్రంగా ఉన్నాడా అనే సందేహం కలిగింది.
చర్చ రోతగా అనిపించింది. న్యూస్ పేపర్ తీసుకున్నాను. పార్టీ ఫిరాయింపులు, మిస్సింగ్ కేసులూ, నకిలీ భార్యల పాస్పోర్ట్ కుంభకోణాలు అన్నీ రొటీన్వే. అప్పుడప్పుడూ పాత్రలూ, పాత్రధారులూ మారుతుంటారు.
అప్పుడే గదిలో బెల్ బ్రోగింది.
బహుశా శ్యామ్ వచ్చాడనుకున్నాను. తలుపు తీయగానే అతనే ఉన్నాడు.
“కమాన్ యంగ్ మాన్. హౌ ఆర్ యూ?’’
అంటూ ఇంట్లోకి తీసుకెళ్ళి,
“కూర్చో మంచినీళ్ళు తాగుతావా?’
’ అని వంటగదిలోకి వెళుతూ కొన్ని లిటరరీ మ్యాగజైన్స్ ముందువేసి వెళ్ళాను. కొంతసేపటి తర్వాత రెండు కాఫీ కప్పులతో నిశ్శబ్దాన్ని ఛేదిస్తూ, ‘దిగో,’ అంటూ టీపాయి మీద కప్పులు పెట్టి నీళ్ళ బాటిల్ చేతికిచ్చాను.
కాఫీ త్రాగుతూ టీవీలో పత్రికా స్వేచ్ఛ చర్చను చూస్తున్నాము.
మధ్యలో శ్యామ్ కల్పించుకొని, “వీళ్ళ దృష్టిలో పత్రికా స్వేచ్ఛ అంటే ఏంటండీ? పత్రికాధిపతుల స్వేచ్ఛనా? పత్రికా రచయితల స్వేచ్ఛనా? ఒకర్ని అంటుకుంటే మరొకరు ఉరికి వస్తున్నారే!
ఈ బహురూపులకు ఏ స్వేచ్ఛ కావాలండీ?’’ అన్నాడు. అంతటితో ఆ చర్చను ఆపేశాం.
“సార్! మేడంగారు ఎక్కడ? పిల్లలు ఏం చదువుతున్నారండి?’’
“అలాంటిదేమీ లేదు. నేనింతవరకు పెళ్ళి చేసుకోలేదు.
అది సరేలేగానీ చదువు ఎలా సాగుతోంది? హాస్టల్ వసతి ఎలా ఉంది?’’
ముక్తసరిగా జవాబు చెప్పాడు. అతని వాలకం చూస్తుంటే ఏదో పెద్ద పనిమీదే వచ్చినట్లు అనిపించింది. అతనే కొంచెం చొరవ తీసుకొని,
“సార్ నాకెందుకో మీ నేపథ్యం తెలుసుకోవాలని ఉందండి.
మీ గురించి చెప్పండి?’’ అని అడిగాడు.
అతని ప్రశ్న నాకు ఆసక్తి కలిగించకున్నా అతన్ని నిరుత్సాహపర్చడం ఇష్టంలేక మొదలుపెట్టాను.
అతన్ని తలుచుకుంటే నా నలభై ఐదు సంవత్సరాల జీవితం కళ్ళ ముందు తిరుగుతుంది. కళ్ళెమ్మటి నీళ్ళు ఉబికి వస్తున్నాయి.
గొంతు తడారిపోతుంది. అయినా తమాయించుకొని…
“పెద్దగా చెప్పుకొనేందుకు ఏమీ లేదయ్యా… నీలాగే కష్టాలు కన్నీళ్ళు అనుభవించాను.
తీవ్రమైన ఆకలిని, అంటరానితనాన్ని నా బాల్యం ఎదుర్కొన్నది.
తెలంగాణలో ఓ మారుమూల గ్రామంలో బీద కుటుంబంలో పుట్టిన నా బాల్యం ఎంతో క్షోభను అనుభవించింది.
దాన్ని నేను కళాత్మకంగా చెప్పలేను.
పైగా నాకు పండితుల భాష రాదు.
అందుకే నేను నా భాషలోనే చెప్తున్నా.
నా గురించి ఏం చెప్పినా, ఏం రాసినా ఆకలి, అంటరానితనం గూర్చి మాత్రమే.
“అప్పటికి మా ప్రాంతంలో సాగర్ లాల్బహదూర్ కెనాల్ త్రవ్వలేదు. విపరీతమైన కరువుతో అల్లాడేది ఆ గ్రామం. మా ఊళ్ళో మాదిగలంతాచిన్న సన్నకారు రైతుల దగ్గర జీతానికి కుదిరేవారు. అలా పాలేరుగా పుట్టిన మా అయ్య పేరు లచ్చయ్య. అతన్ని ఊళ్ళోవాళ్ళు ఏనాడూ అలా పిలవలేదు. లచ్చిగా అనేవారు. ఆయన ఏ అంటదగిన కులంలోనో పుట్టి ఉంటే లక్ష్మయ్యగారూ అనేవారేమో. అంటరాని కులంలో పుట్టాడు కనుకే లచ్చిగాడు అయ్యాడు. ఆరుగురిలో ఆఖరివాణ్ణి నేను. అటూయిటూ కొన్ని తర్వాత తర్వాత అక్షరం ముక్క నేర్చుకుంది నేనొక్కణ్ణే. మాకు సెంటు భూమి లేదు. అమ్మా అయ్యా ఇద్దరూ కూలిపని చేసేవారు. గూడేలలో వాళ్ళంతా పెద్ద కులపోళ్ళ ఇళ్ళను భాగాలుగా పంచుకొనేవారు. వాళ్ళిళ్ళల్లో పండగలకు, పబ్బాలకు, పెళ్ళిళ్ళకూ కుటుంబం అంతా పనిచేసేవారు. వాళ్ళిళ్ళల్లో పశువులు చనిపోతే ఎత్తివేయడాలు, మనుషులు చస్తే దాన్ని తగలబెట్టి ఆ శవం బుగ్గి అయిందాకా బొగ్గు అయ్యేవారు. డై లెట్రిన్లో మలాన్ని చేతుల్తో ఎత్తి పోసేవారు. అలా మలినమైన పనులన్నీ మాకు పంచి ఇచ్చిన నీతి ఏ శాస్త్రంలోదో నాకర్థమయ్యేది కాదు.
“వీళ్ళు ప్రధానంగా వ్యవసాయపనుల్లోనే బ్రతుకు వెతుక్కొనేవారు. వీళ్ళ జీవితమంతా వ్యవసాయపనుల్లోనే మసిఅయ్యేది. వీళ్ళకు చివరగా దక్కేది కళ్ళం అడుగు గింజలు మాత్రమే. మా అంటే ఇంతో కొంత భిక్షంగా విదిల్చేవాళ్ళు. ఎంత కష్టపడ్డా వీళ్ళకు మిగిలేది మట్టి, తాలుతో నిండిన కొద్దిపాటి ధాన్యమే. వాళ్ళు ఏనాడూ ఆ ధాన్యపు రాశుల్లో తమకూ వాటా ఉంటుంది అని ఎందుకు కొట్లాడరో నాకస్సలే అర్థమయ్యేది కాదు.
నా బాల్యం మరీ దుర్భరంగా గడిచింది. పాన్షాప్ బడ్డీల కింద తమలపాకులీ ఏరుకొని తిన్నరోజులు, ఊరిబయట వాగులవెంట చామగడ్డలు తొవ్వి కాల్చుకున్న రోజులు, ఊసబియ్యం తెచ్చుకొని వేపుకొని దంచుకొని తిన్న రోజులు, పశువులు కాస్తూ పరిగ ఏరిన వడ్లనుక ండువాలో పలుకురాళ్ళతో దంచి భూమిలో గుంటతీసి పూడ్చి పైన మంటపెట్టి ఉడికి ఉడకని అన్నం తిన్న రోజులు… కందికాయలు, అనపకాయలు ఊరిబయట ముళ్ళపొదల్లో రక్తం కారుతున్నా సేకరించిన ఈతకాయలు, బలుసుపండ్లు, గుబ్బకాయలు ఇవ్విటి సేకరణలోనే నా సగం బాల్యం గడిచింది. బడి వదిలాకా మేమంతా మా ఊరి బొడ్రాయి దగ్గర గుమిగూడేవాళ్ళం. ఊరిపక్క వాగుల్లో నీళ్ళకయ్యల్లో చేపలు పట్టేవాళ్ళం. చిన్నచిన్న పరకలు, రొయ్యపిల్లలు, ఉసికదంతులు, జెళ్ళలు, కనిశెలు ఇంటికి తెచ్చేవాళ్ళం. చాలా సందర్భాలలో అన్నంకు బదులు అవే మాకు తిండి. మా ఇళ్ళల్లో ఉట్టి మీద ఏనాడూ మీగడ పెరుగు లేదు. ఉంటే గింటే ఎండుతునకలు, దోసకాయ వరుగులు ఉండేవి. సెంటు భూమి లేకున్నా మాకు ఆప్యాయతలే ఆస్తులు, ప్రేమలే జీవితాలు. నిజంగా పేదవాళ్ళు గొప్ప ప్రేమికులు. ఆ ఆప్యాయతా అనురాగాలే నా గురించి చెప్పడానికి, రాయడానికి కారణమైనాయి. మా అన్నయ్య చాలా చిన్నవయస్సులోనే జీతం కుదిరాడు. అతనికి రెండు పూటలా అక్కడే తిండి. ఉదయం తనక్కడ తిని మధ్యాహ్నం తినాల్సిన సద్దిమూట స్కూల్లో ఇచ్చిపోయిన రోజులు ఎన్నో ఉన్నాయి.
నేను చవిచూసిన ఆకలి బాధ రాయాలంటే నా కలంలో ఇంకు సరిపోదేమో. నా కంట్లోంచి కారిన రక్తాన్ని ఇంకుగా మార్చి రాయాలని ఉంది శ్యామూ!
“నేను ఇంతకుముందే చెప్పాను, మా ఇళ్ళలో ఎండుతునకల గూర్చి. చాలామంది మేమది తింటున్నామనే మమ్మల్ని దగ్గరకు రానియ్యలేదు. మనుషుల్ని మనుషులు చంపుకుని తింటే తప్పులేదుగాని చచ్చినవి తింటే తప్పెట్లా అవుద్ది.
ఈ దేశంలో చాతుర్వర్ణం బ్రతికి ఉన్నవాళ్ళను తిన్నది. దానికి బయట ఉన్న మేము చచ్చినవాటినే తిన్నాము.
వాళ్ళు కండకావరంతో చేస్తే మేం కేవలం బ్రతకడానికి మాత్రమే తిన్నాం. తప్పేమీ లేదు.
నా జీవితంలో మర్చిపోలేని మరో జ్ఞాపకం, మా ఊళ్ళో పశువుల ఎండిన బొక్కలను అమ్మడం. వాటి సేకరణ చాలా కష్టంతో కూడుకొన్నది. ఎక్కడైనా పశువు చనిపోతే ఊరికి దూరంగా పారేసేవారు. మా ఇళ్ళు కూడా ఊరికి దూరంగానే ఉండేవి. చచ్చిన పశువులు చూస్తేనే భయంకరంగా ఉండేవి. విపరీతంగా కుళ్ళి వాసనొచ్చేవి. ఒక్కోసారి వర్షం వస్తే అప్పుడు విపరీతంగా ఉబ్బేవి. వాటి దగ్గరకు పోవాలంటే దుర్లభంగా ఉండేది. అంత వాసన వచ్చినా దాని మీద తెల్ల పురుగులు లక్షలాదిగా లుకలుకలాడేవి. మేమేం తక్కువ తిన్నాం అంటూ కొన్ని ఎర్ర పురుగులూ పోటీపడి బొక్కల్ని నుజ్జునుజ్జు చేసేవి.
ఈ దేశ ఆర్థికవ్యవస్థను పీల్చి పిప్పిచేస్తున్న పెట్టుబడిదారుల్లా కొన్ని దూడబాతులు, రాబందులు ఎగబడేవి. అవి ఎలా పసిగడతాయో ఏమో! పశువు చచ్చిందంటే టంచన్గా ప్రత్యక్షమయ్యేవి. ఎంతో సఖ్యతతో చాలా సాఫీగా ఆ పశువు మీద మాంసం పీక్కు తినేవి. మనుషుల కంటే అవే చాలా క్రమశిక్షణగా తింటాయి. రాబందులు, కుక్కలు పీక్కు తినగా మిగిలిన అస్థిపంజరాలు మాకు అవసరమయ్యేవి.
“అప్పట్లో ఊళ్ళల్లో వచ్చే విపరీత కరువు మూలాన ఊళ్ళో పెద్దవాళ్ళు ఉండేవారు కాదు. బ్రతుకుతెరువు కోసం గూడేలు గూడేలే కాలవ క్రిందకు వలసపోయేవాళ్ళు. కేజవలం ఊళ్ళో పిల్లలమూ, వృద్ధులమూ మిగిలేవాళ్ళం. బ్రతుకు తెరువు వెతుక్కొనే క్రమంలో తెలంగాణలో ప్రతి పల్లె ఈటుపోయిన చేనులా ఉండేది. ప్రతి గడపకు తాళాలు వెక్కిరించేవి. అలా మిగిలిన కొద్దిమంది పిల్లలం జట్లు జట్లుగా విడిపోయి, బొక్కలు సేకరించేవాళ్ళం. వాటిని చిన్నచిన్న ముక్కలుగా కట్టలు కట్టి ఇంటికి తెచ్చేవాళ్ళం. అవి తెస్తున్నప్పుడు సైకిల్ మీద కట్టిన మూట ఒక్కోసారి తెగి కిందపడేవి. వాసనతో కూడినవి మళ్ళీ కట్టాలంటే చాలా ఇబ్బందనిపించేది. కిందపడ్డ అవి అక్కడ ఎక్కువసేపు ఉంటే ఊళ్ళోవాళ్ళు తిట్టేవాళ్ళు. ఆ తొందర్లో నేననుభవించిన న్యూనతా అనుభవిస్తేనే తెలుస్తుంది. ఎండుబొక్కలు విపరీతమైన వాసన వచ్చేవి. అవికొనేవాడు ఆ వాసన అంతకాలం ఎలా అనుభవించేవాడో నాకు అర్థం అయ్యేది కాదు. సైకిల్పై రెండు గోనెబస్తాలు వేసుకొని ఊరూరూ తిరిగి అవి కొనేవాడు. అలా వస్తూ ఊరిబయట కాలువ దగ్గర ఆగి తెచ్చుకున్న అన్నంమూట తినేవాడు. ఆ వాసనలోనే ఆ చేతులతోనే అన్నం తిని పొద్దస్తమానం అవి సేకరించి ఫ్యాక్టరీలో అమ్మేవాడు. వాసన అని అన్నం మానలేదు కదా!
“అలా వాటి సేకరణలో అరుపులు, తిట్లు, శాపనార్థాలు, కొట్లాటలు, చివాట్లు అదో గోల. వాటి సేకరణలో ఒక్కోసారి కొట్లాటలే జరిగేవి. అప్పుడప్పుడూ అవే ఆయుధాలుగా మారేవి. వాటితోనే గాయపర్చుకొనేవాళ్ళం. ఈ క్రమంలో తగిన గాయాలు, కారిన రక్తాలు జరిగిన అవమానాలు కోకొల్లలు…’’
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గదిలో ఎందుకో ఉక్కపోతగా అనిపించింది. ఇద్దరికీ బాగా చెమటలు పట్టాయి. ఏదైనా తినాలనిపించింది. ఆమధ్య ఊరి నుండి ప్రేమలత పంపిన అరిసెలు ఉన్నాయి. ప్లేట్లో అవి పెట్టుకొని రెండు వాటర్బాటిల్స్ తీసుకొని బయటికి వచ్చాము. బయట మొక్కల మధ్య తింటూ కూర్చున్నాం. ఆకాశంలో ఏదో అలజడి కన్పిస్తూనే ఉంది. వర్షం వచ్చేటట్లుంది.
“ఆ తర్వాత?’’ అన్నాడు శ్యామ్.
“మా ఊరికి దగ్గరలోనే ఓ బొక్కల మిల్లు ఉండేది. ఇప్పుడది లేదు. ఓ వామపక్ష పార్టీ నాయకుడిది అది. కేవలం బ్రతుకుదెరువు కోసం మా తెలంగాణ జిల్లాలలోకి సంచి భుజాన వేసుకొని వచ్చిన వేలాదిమందిలో అతనూ ఒకడు. కులం కారణంగానో, పార్టీ పలుకుబడి కారణంగానో అతి సామాన్యమైన అతను నేడు కోట్ల రూపాయలు సంపాదించాడు. వాటితో బాటే విస్తృతమైన పలుకుబడి, దాంతో విలువైన అపార్టుమెంట్లు, విదేశీ కార్లు సంపాదించాడు. మా తెలంగాణలో ఇలాంటివాళ్ళు ఎంతోమంది ఉంటే ఉండవచ్చు. వాళ్ళు నేడు మా అజ్ఞానం ఆకాశం అంత అనీ, వాళ్ళకు నోళ్ళు లేకపోయినా నోట్లో నాలుకలు ఉన్నాయని అంటున్నారు. ఇలాంటి కోటీశ్వరులు ఏ బూర్జువా పార్టీలోనే ఉంటే పోనీలే అనుకొనేవాళ్ళం. వ్యక్తిగత ఆస్తి ఉన్న ఆయన కమ్యూనిస్టు పార్టీ పాఠాలు చెప్తాడు. అతని ఫ్యాక్టరీకే ఈ బొక్కల సేకరణ చేసేవాళ్ళం. అలా సేకరించిన మా బొక్కలు బొందల పాలయినాయి కానీ అతను మాత్రం కోటీశ్వరుడు అయ్యాడు.
కొంతకాలానికి తెలంగాణ పల్లెలు తొండల గుడ్లకి స్థావరాలైనాయి. అప్పుడు గొడ్లు సహజంగా చావడం కంటే కబేళాలకు బలవన్మరణాలతో తరలించబడ్డాయి. తినడానికి తిండి లేని రైతు అవసరమైతే తాళిపుస్తెలు తాకట్టుపెట్టి కొన్న పురుగుమందులతో, తెచ్చిన కష్టాల నష్టాల మూలంగా అవే త్రాగి ఉసురు తీసుకొన్న రైతులు మాత్రం ఎంతకాలం ఆ భారం మోయగలరు.
‘ద ప్లష్ వాజ్ హెమీ ఆన్ దెయిర్ బ్యాక్.’
వాళ్ళకు కట్టుగొడ్లు గుదిబండలుగా మారాయి. మందలు మందలుగా లారీలకు లారీలు పట్టణాలలోని కటిక దుకాణాలకు కళ్ళనీళ్ళు ఉబికి వస్తుండగా అమ్మివేశారు.
ఈ దేశంలో రైతుగా పుట్టడమే శాపమయింది. ఆ శాపగ్రస్తులు కట్టుగొయ్యలతో సహా అమ్మివేసి నిస్సహాయులుగా మిగిలిపోయారు. కేవలం పశువులు మాత్రమే కాదు
ఇక్కడ మనుషుల అసహజ మరణాలు మాకు సర్వసాధారణమే.
స్మారక స్థూపాలు చెప్తాయ్ ఎంతమంది పోయారో.
“మా ఊళ్ళో అప్పుడు బొక్కల కరువువ చ్చింది. అప్పటిదాకా చచ్చిన కళేబరాల కోసం వెతుకులాడిన మా చూపులు స్మశానం వైపు మళ్ళాయి. మనుష్యుల బొందలు త్రవ్వే పనికి సాహసించాం.
అలా రాత్రిళ్ళు స్మశానంలోనే ఎక్కువ కాలం గడిపాం. శవాన్ని తగలెయ్యగా మిగిలిన మొద్దులు రాత్రి వీచే గాలులకు ఎర్రగా కణకణలాడుతున్నట్లుగా కనిపించేవి. భయంభయంగా ఉండేవి. అవి చూస్తే చిన్నప్పుడు స్మశానంలో కొరివిదయ్యాలు తిరుగుతాయి అని విన్న కథలు మరింతగా భయపెట్టేవి. ఇవేవి ఆకలి ముందు అంత సమస్యగా అనిపించేవి కావు. పైసల కోసం, ఆకలి కోసం, బొక్కల కోసం బొందలు తవ్వాం. తిరిగాం తిరిగాం ఎన్నో బొందలు మాయమైపోతున్నాయి కాని మా వెతుకులాట మాత్రం ఆపలేదు. చాలాకాలానికి బొక్కల సైజు తగ్గడం చూసి వాటిని కొనే వ్యక్తి మమ్మల్ని నిలేశాడు. విషయం ఊరంతా తెలిసింది. పెద్ద పంచాయతే జరిగింది. మా నోటికాడ సకల సంపదల్ని కొల్లగొడుతున్న రాబందులు మమ్మల్ని ఈ విషయంలో దొంగలన్నారు. తిట్టారు, కొటాజ్టిరు. అలగా లంజాకొడుకుల్ని ఊరు నుండి వెలివేయండి అన్నారు. ఊరికి అరిష్టం జరిగింది శాంతి జరపాలన్నారు.
నిజంగా దొంగలెవరో నాకిప్పటికీ అర్థం కాదు.’’
బయట ఎవరో పిలుస్తున్నట్లనిపించింది. ఇద్దరం అటు తిరిగాం.
సుందర్ సార్, “ఏదో పార్శిల్ అండీ, నల్గొండ నుండి,’’ అన్నాడు. బహుశా పుస్తకాలు అయి ఉంటాయి. ఫ్రమ్ అడ్రస్ చూశా. వేముల ఎల్లయ్య ‘సిద్ధి’ పంపాడు. పార్శిల్ పక్కనపెట్టాను.
“స్కూల్కి వెళుతున్న నన్ను వంటి మీద బట్టల సమస్య విపరీతంగా ఇబ్బంది పెట్టేది. అమ్మ పాతచీరలే మాకు పక్కకూ, కప్పుకోవడానికి. నా చిన్నప్పటి నుండి మావి చింకిపాతలే. మా ఇంటి ప్రక్కనే బయిండ్ల వీరస్వామి ఉండేవాడు. ఊళ్ళో ముత్యాలమ్మ, మైసమ్మ లాంటి గ్రామదేవతల దగ్గర ఓ రకంగా సేవ చేసేవాడు. పక్క ఊర్లో ఉన్న కొంతమంది తండాల నుండి వచ్చి బాణామతి చిల్లంగిలాంటివి అతను తొలగిస్తాడని అతని వద్ద పూజలు చేయించుకొనేవాళ్ళు. అర్ధరాత్రి వేళ అరుపులు, మంత్రాలుచదివేవాడు. అతనితో మమ్మల్నెవరినీ మాట్లాడనిచ్చేవారు కాదు. ఓ రోజు నేను స్మశానంలో తిరుగుతున్నప్పుడు శవదహనానికి ముందు దాని మీద కప్పిన తెల్లగుడ్డను ఓ కర్రతో పక్కకు విసిరేశాడు.
దానివంక అందరూ భయంభయంగా చూసేవారు. ఆ గుడ్డను వీరస్వామి ఇంటికి తెచ్చుకోవడం నేను చూశాను. ఓరోజు ధైర్యం చేసి ఇంటికి వెళ్ళాను.
గడప దగ్గర నిమ్మకాయలు, తాయత్తులు కనిపించాయి. భయం వేసింది. ధైర్యం చేసుకొని,
“పెద్దయ్యా నాకో తెల్లగుడ్డ కావాలి ఇస్తావా?’’
“ఎందుకు రా?’’ అడిగాడు.
“చొక్కా కుట్టించుకుంటా!’’
“అలా అతనిచ్చిన ఆ తెల్లగుడ్డతో రెండు చొక్కాలు కుట్టించుకున్నాను.
ఎన్నోసార్లు అవే చొక్కాలు వేసుకున్నాను. ఈ సంఘటన నన్ను కొన్ని విషయాల పట్ల ధైర్యంగా మాట్లాడేటట్లు చేశాయి. అప్పటినుండే నాలో హేతువాద భావాలు అలవడ్డాయి. హేతువాద ప్రచారకుడ్ని చేశాయి.
హైస్కూలు తర్వాత చదువులో కొంచెం చురుకైన నన్ను మా టీచర్ ఆశాదేవిగారు చేరదీశారు.
వారు నన్ను వాళ్ళింట్లోనే అట్టిపెట్టుకొని చదువుకొనే ఏర్పాటు చేశారు. ఎంతో నిష్టగల శ్రీవైష్ణవుల కుటుంబం అది.
ఆ ఇంట్లో నేను ఉండడానికి మా మేడం పెద్ద యుద్ధమే చేశారు. వాళ్ళను ఒప్పించి నాకు తిండిపెట్టి చదువు చెప్పించారు.
భద్రాచలం దేవాలయంలో ఇప్పటికీ వాళ్ళ కుటుంబమే ప్రధాన అర్చకత్వం చేస్తున్నారు. అలా శ్రీవైష్ణవుల ఇంట్లో పనిమనిషిగా మారి చదువుకున్న నేను అనేక ఒడిదుడుకుల మధ్య యూనివర్సిటీ దాకా ఎదిగాను.’’
ఇలా నా విషయాలు శ్యామ్తో పంచుకోవడానికి ప్రధాన కారణం ఇద్దరి బాధలూ భావాలూ ఒక్కటి కావడమే… నా కాలంలో నా పట్ల వివక్ష చూపినా, నేటి నాగరికత ఎంతో అభివృద్ధిచెందినది. ఎక్కడికో వెళ్ళాం అంటున్న ఈ వ్యవస్థ ఈనాడు కూడా శ్యామ్ పట్లా అదే వైఖరి కలిగి ఉంది.
రెండు తరాలకు ప్రతీకలైన మాపట్ల ఎందుకు ఈ వ్యవస్థ కటువుగా ఉంది?
గడిచిన ఈ అర్ధ శతాబ్దంలో ఏమీ ఎందుకు మారలేదు?
ఎంతో మారింది అంటున్నారే ఈ దేశ మేధావులు. వీళ్ళు అంతా వృద్ధిరేటు పెరిగిందీ పెరిగిందీ అంటున్నారు.
ఏం పెరిగిందీ?
స్థూల జాతీయోత్పత్తి పెరుగుదల అనే డొల్ల పదాలతో మోసం చేస్తున్నారు.
మనలాంటి పేదలు ఎంత మగ్గినా జి.డి.పి. పెరుగుదల నమోదు చేయవచ్చు. కేవలం గణాంకాలు మాత్రమే పెరుగుతాయి. ఎక్కడ ఉన్నది అక్కడే ఉంది
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
.
ఆకలి అవుతోంది. ఇంట్లోకి పోదాం పద ఏమైనా వండుకుందాం అంటూ కిచెన్లోకి వెళ్ళాం. లైట్ వేశాను. కుక్కర్లో రైస్ వేసి ఆ ప్యాకెట్ విప్పాను. అప్పుడు గుర్తుకు వచ్చింది తను తప్పని పరిస్థితిలో ఈమధ్య ఇంటికి వెళ్ళాను. చిన్ననాటి మిత్రురాలు యూనివర్సిటీలో నా జూనియర్ అయిన ప్రేమలత తన కూతురుకు అన్నం ముట్టియ్యాలి, అదీ నాచేత జరపాలని పట్టుపట్టింది.
ఆ పద్ధతులు నాకు ఇష్టం లేకున్నా తప్పలేదు వెళ్ళాలనిపించింది. వాళ్ళను చూసినట్లు ఉంటుందని వెళ్ళాను.
వెళుతూ ఆమెకిష్టమైన పూర్ణాలు కొని తీసుకెళ్ళాను.
భోజనాల తర్వాత ఇంటికి బయలుదేరుతుండగా,
‘వన్మినిట్!’
అంటూ నీట్గా ప్యాక్ చేసిన కవర్ ఇస్తూ,
“నీకిష్టంగా సుందర్ ఇవి తీసుకెళ్ళు…’ అంది నవ్వుతూ, వట్టి తునకలు ఇస్తూ.
మాట్లాడుతూనే ఆ ప్యాకెట్ తీసి ఆ పూట వండాను.
భోజనాల తర్వాత చివరగా అంతకు ముందురోజు సెమినార్లో శ్యామ్ ప్రెజెంట్ చేసిన పేపర్,
‘అస్తిత్వ కులాల ఉద్యమాలు-సాహిత్య ధోరణులు’ మీదకు మళ్ళింది చర్చ. అతను కేవలం అకడమిక్ పుస్తకాలను మాత్రమే చదివినట్లు నాకనిపించలేదు. కొద్దోగొప్పో అదనంగా కూడా చదివాడు.
ఒక్కసారిగా ఆకాశంలో ఏదో మార్పు కలిగింది. సన్నటి చినుకులు మొదలయ్యాయి. గాలి బలంగా వీస్తోంది. ఉరుములు మెరుపులు మొదలయ్యాయి. కరెంటు పోయింది. ఇంట్లో రీడింగ్ రూమ్లోకి తీసుకెళ్ళాను. గ్లాస్ కిటికీలకు అడ్డంగా ఉన్న కర్టెన్లను పూర్తిగా తొలగించాను. గదిలో వెలుతురు కొంచెం పెరిగింది.
మా ఇద్దరి చర్చ కులం అనే అంశం మీదకు పోయింది. కులసమస్య పట్ల ఇంతకాలం ఒంటిచేతి చప్పట్లతోనే ఉద్యమాలు నడుపుతున్నారు.
ఇక్కడ కులం కేవలం ఒక భావన మాత్రమే. వర్గాలు మాత్రమే ఉన్నాయి అంటున్నారు ఈ దేశ బుద్ధిజీవులు.
“సార్ ఒకటి మాత్రం నిజం. ఈ దేశంలో శవానికీ, స్మశానానికీ అన్నింటికీ కులం ఉంది. అంతెందుకు కుల ఆచ్ఛాదన లేని గుండుసూది మొన పట్టినంత స్థలాన్ని చూపించమనండి ఈ దేశ బుద్ధిజీవులను. అలగాజనాల కళలకూ భావాలకూ తీరని ద్రోహం జరిగింది. ఇంతకాలం పండిత వర్గాలు అలగాజనాల కళలనూ సాహిత్యాన్నీ తృణీకరించాయి. వాళ్ళు చెప్పిందే కళ అయింది. సాహిత్యం అయింది. అందుకేనండీ మన కళలకూ, భావాలకూ ఏ గ్రంథాలు చోటివ్వలేదు. గ్రంథస్తం చేయలేదు. ఆధిపత్య కులాల కళలకూ, అలగాజనాల కళలకూ పెద్ద అగాధం సృష్టించారు. ఆ అగాథాన్ని పూడ్చి ఓ ప్రత్యామ్నాయ సంస్కృతినీ, సాహిత్యాన్నీ సృష్టించాల్సిన అవసరం చాలా ఉంది. అది ఎంతైనా అవసరం. ఇంతకాలం మనపట్ల ఎంతో వివక్ష చూపారు. చాలామంది మేధావులు చక్రవర్తి ఫారో శవం ముందు కిరాయి దుఃఖితులుగా దొంగేడ్పులు ఏడ్చారు. మనం ఇలాగే ఉంటే ఆ ఏడ్పులతో మనల్ని మభ్యపెడుతూనే ఉంటారండీ. మనం ఇలాగే ఉంటే మనల్ని భూస్థాపితం చేసి మరీ ఆనందంగా ధైర్యంగా నవ్వుతారు. ఎవడి అస్తిత్వాన్ని ఆత్మగౌరవాన్ని వాడే రాసుకోవాలి. అస్థిత్వ ఉద్యమాల ఆత్మ గౌరవాన్ని పరిపుష్టం చేయడానికి సరిపడా గింజలు తయారుచేశాం. వాటిని నలుమూలలా చల్లుతాం. ఇంతకాలం కేవలం ఆధిపత్యాల కోసం మాత్రమే జరిగిన ఈ అబద్ధ యుద్ధాల సిలబస్ను సమూలంగా మార్చాల్సిన అవసరం ఉంది.
ఒంటి చేటతి చప్పట్ల దిశను దశనూ మారుస్తాం!
“సార్! మనం కొన్ని వేల సంవత్సరాలుగా పరాజితులుగానే ఉన్నాం.
ఓడిపోతూ వంచింపబడుతూనే ఉన్నాం. ఎంతకాలం ఇలా… ఇంతకాలం విజేతలే చరిత్రను నిర్మించారు.
ఆ పరాజితులే చరిత్ర నిర్మాతలైతే ఎలా ఉంటుందో…
ఇంత కాలం బ్రతకడమే ఓడిపోవడమయినప్పుడు బరితెగించి యుద్ధమే చేయాలండీ!
ఏమో ఈ యుద్ధంలో మనమే గెలుస్తామేమో…’’
శ్యామ్ ఈ మాటలన్నాక కాసేపు మౌనంగా ఉండిపోయాను.
ఆ నిశ్శబ్దం నాకు చిత్రంగాకనిపించింది.
శ్యామ్ని తీక్షణంగా చూశాను.
ఎముకలు పిగులుతున్న చప్పుడు…………………….
కథలు
8 అభిప్రాయాలు
# gs rammohan 08 ఆగస్టు 2007 , 8:36 am
Moving tale. Simple in style yet powerful and penetrating narration.
# vrdarla 09 ఆగస్టు 2007 , 11:54 pm
మాదిగ జీవితం లో వర్ణించని కోణాలను ఈ కథలో వర్ణించారు కథకుడు. ఎముకలు అమ్ముకుంటూ భోజనం చేసే టప్పుడు చేసిన వర్ణన మాదిగల దయనీయ స్థితిని కళ్ళకు కట్టినట్లు అనిపించింది.శిల్ప పరంగా కొంత పరిణతిని సాధించ వలసినా, విషయం బలంగా ఉంది. కమ్యూనిజం లో వ్యక్తి గత ఆస్తుల పట్ల రచయిత దృష్టిని కేంద్రీకరించడం బాగుంది.
# PRAJAKALA.ORG » Blog Archive » ఇతర రచనలు: 24 ఆగస్టు 2007 , 12:35 pm
[…] కథ: కొన్ని ఎముకలు… ఇంకొన్ని గింజలు – గుర్రం సీతారాములు […]
# saiduluinala 27 ఆగస్టు 2007 , 5:39 am
ఈ కథ మాదిగ జీవితాలను ప్తిబింబించింది.రచయ్త కు దన్యవాద్ములు…ఐనాల
# khaja 29 ఆగస్టు 2007 , 6:03 am
కథ చాలా బాగుంది. తీసుకున్న అంశం, రాసిన తీరు బాగుంది.రచయితకు అభినందనలు!
# ramadas 17 అక్టోబర్ 2007 , 11:35 am
మి కథ చాలా భాగుంది.మరీ చెప్పాలంటె ప్రతి ఒక్క దళిత కుటుంభాలలొ అనివార్యంగా వున్నటువంటి సంఘటనలు మీ కథ లొ కన్పించాయి.
ఐనాల.రామదాసు
సిరిపురం,ఖమ్మం,జి.
# gorla 25 అక్టోబర్ 2007 , 4:16 am
కులమె మన లను చ0పి0చిది అన్న కథ బాగా రాషావు కుల వర్గ పొరాత0 చెయ్యాఐ
# nirmala 02 ఏప్రిల్ 2008 , 10:32 am
కధ నిరంతరం వెంటాడేలా వుంది.ఇలాంటి కధలు ఇప్పటి నేపధ్యంలో చాలా అవసరం.
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బాబి, ramesh [...]
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“I believe it is importent to write anything in Africa without some kind of commitment, some kind of message, some kind of protest…because there were people who thought we didn’t have a past. What we were doing was to say we did- here it is”
Chinua Achebe
‘African literature is politically committed’, declared Leopold Sedar Snghor at the first international conference of Negro writers and artists at the Sorbonne in 1956, most of the African writer’s revolt against colonial rule resentment at racial discrimination. The ugly face of the colonial rulers and their slave trade, inspired African poets in the first place. We can see slavery is still one of the main themes of Negro poetry. In this paper I would like to explore “Language, politics and the African Writer with reference to Chinua Achebe. The African writer has been very much influenced by the politics, because the African intellectual is a part of the political elite. Chinua Achebe is very suitable example. During the days his writing spans the succession of political crisis which has beset Nigeria.
Chinua Achebe is probably the most widely read of contemporary African writers, both on the African continent and abroad. His reputation was quickly established with his first novel ,”Things fall Apart” which won him the “Margaret Wrong Memorial Prize “as well as scholarships and grants, After the publication of his second novel , “No longer at Ease”, He was awarded the “ Nigerian National Trophy “for literature, and for his third novel “Arrow of the god” he received the New states man Jock Campbell award .over the last decade, Achebe lectures and essays have provoked much debate the criteria for assessing African writers and his influence on younger novelists has been considerable. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature, Chinua Achebe Born in Odgidi, in the eastern part of Nigeria in 1930, his father was an evangelist and church teacher, although many of his relatives and neighbours adhered to the Ibo religion and customs ,Thus Achebe writes , he grew up “at the crossroads of cultures”
Chinua Achebe grew up at a time when Africans were not only opposing European rule through political action, but also beginning to question with increasing vigour and clarity the cultural assumptions used to justify that rule .Like many other people of his generation, Achebe was given a British education, first at the local mission school then at the government school, then government college in Umuahia, and finally at University college Ibadan, Where he had planned to study medicine. Both as a creative writer and as a critic, Achebe has had a great influence, particularly on younger African writers. His novels have made an especially powerful impression upon young Ibo writers who first became acquainted with his works as high school or University students. His political involvement as well as the intensity of his experience during the civil war meant that Achebe found the writing of poetry, short stories essays and lectures more appropriate and more feasible than the writing of novels. The collection of essays, from his early The Role of the writer in a anew nation” (1964)
He was born in 1930 and grew up at very crucial period of the definition of the intellectual and moral character of the modern Igbo man. It was with his generation that the average Igbo boy of scant means was able to have university education and at home too. That generation brought in to the life of Igbo intellectual a kind of exhilarating and refreshing humour formed from a combination of past and present .It was this generation that chose or learnt to face life with both innocence and shrewdness, with a jovial but serious attitude which enabled it to face modernity without anger and without equivocation. Achebe work also part of the Ibadan, movement of the 1950’s and 60’s;
Though one should remember that Ibadan, then was in fact, even if not in name, a colonial University.
Achebe’s first statement on the social responsibility of the African writer was made in lecture entitled “the role of the writer in a New Nation” Delivered to the Nigerian Library Association in 1964. Achebe talked specifically about the role of the writer in what he called the new Nigeria. The major problem all over the world, he said, was the debate between white and black humanity, a subject which presented the African writer with a great challenge:
“It is in convincible to me that a serious writer could stand aside from this debate or be indifferent to this argument which calls his full humanity in question .For me at any rate, there is a clear duty to make a statement .This is my answer to those who say that a writer should be writing about contemporary issues – about politics in1964 about city life the lost coup d’état.
Of course, these are legitimate themes for the writer but as for the writer but as far as i am concerned the fundamental theme themes must first be disposed of. This theme put quite simply is that African people did not hear of culture for the first time From European; that their societies were not middle but frequently had a philosophy of great depth and value and beauty that they had poetry and above all, they had dignity .It is this dignity and self respect. The writer’s duty is to help them regain it by showing them in human terms what happened to them, what they lost.
The writer can tell the people where the rain began to beat them. After the entire novelist’s duty is not to beat this morning’s headline in topicality, it is to explore in depth the human condition. In Africa he cannot perform this task unless he has a proper sense of history.”
Gareth Griffiths formerly a lecturer at University of Missouri, has published “A Double Exile: African and West Indian writing between Two cultures” (London, 1978). In that book he wrote a chapter called Language and Action in the Novels of Chinua Achebe” he says, “For Achebe the novel is a vehicle of self discovery. Writing is an activity through which the African can define his identity and re discovers his historical roots. This self defining function of the novel is , for obvious reasons , epically important to writers in a post colonial situation, especially where there exposure to European culture has led to an under valuing of the traditional values and practices.
This concern with identity is rooted in the African writers’ problem with language. The very choice of language involves in a deliberate public stance; his use of dialect, or of phrases in his native language, is cultural gests as well as rhetorical devices; while his movement’s one register to another in the recording of speech is a direct sociological comment.
Achebe has insisted upon the committed stance of the African writer. He has a clear vision of the duty which the writer owes to his society in a post colonial situation. The writer’s task is primarily to rehabilitate the culture which the colonising culture has overlooked or distorted. In his own words the writer’s first duty is to demonstrate:
“ that African peoples did not hear of culture for the first time from European; that their societies were not mindless but frequently had a philosophy of great depth and value and beauty That they had poetry and, above all, they had dignity” (Nigerian Magazine, june1964).
He refused to believe that African writer could be alienated from his society in spite of the fact that the education of Africans was largely Western-Oriented, the relationship between European writers and their audience will not automatically re produced itself in Africa . In Africa Achebe said, Society expects the writer to be its leader. He revealed that many people have asked him to bring out more forcefully the lessons to be learned from his stories. Achebe said that the role of the African writer should be that of a social transformer and revolutionary. In a paper presented at a political science seminar in Makerere in 1968, entitled “The African writer and the Biafran cause “he said that a writer is only “a human being with heightened sensitive’s” and therefore “must be aware of the faintest nuances of injustice in human relations The African writer cannot therefore be unaware or indifferent to, the monumental injustice which his people suffer”.
African writers are committed to a new society which will affirm their validity and accord them identity as Africans, as peoples. On the relationship between politics and the writer, He says that some measure of politics is bound to intrude in to writing epically in Africa. He himself could not abstain although he would not deny the right of any writer to do so. For him however one can only avoid commitment by pretending or by being insensitive. Achebe is correct that politics and social affairs cannot be kept out of literature in Africa; at least not for some time .Yet the writer’s approach to these issues will be crucial to the quality of his work. In order to be objective, he must be detached, must not become emotionally in involved.
In an interview at the University of Texas at Austin November 1969, Achebe gave a new reading of his novels, calling himself a protest writer. Indeed, all African literature, he said is protest writing.
“I believe it’s impossible to write anything in Africa without some kind of commitment some kind of message, some kind of protest … In fact I should say all our writers weather they are aware of it or not are committed writers The whole pattern of life demanded that you should protest that you should put in a word for your history your tradition your religion and so on”.
Achebe has moved from criticising his society to directly taking a hand in remoulding it. He claimed that, inanition to recording the past and the current revolutions and changes that are going on, The African writer has a great influence in determining Africa’s future, for by recording what had gone on before, he is in a way helping to set the tone of what is going to happen.
“The rise of independent African and west Indian states during the late 1950’s and 60’s was parallel by a phenomenal flowering of Black writing as writers have turned from the older problems of colonialism towards the new issues resulting from political independence, some of the new issues resulting from political independence, some of the original pan African idealism and concern for arrival cultural heritage have been lost the second Black and African arts festival therefore seems on occasion to see black literature in its historical and intercontinental perspectives”.
Aime Cesaire another West Indian also from Martinique was to play a much more important role in the development of French African Literature. Aime Cesaire is primarily a poet. The popularity of poetry among black writers stems from that genres capacity for experimentation with language so as to allow for the rendering of a new and very special experience. It is Cesaire who claims…. In the beginning was the world no one has believed this mere fervently than the poet. The power of the poetic ‘’word’’ becomes Cesaire miracles weapon, the beating of the wave of the mind against the root of the world. Cesaire’s poetry represents a pioneering effort to impose a new subjectivity upon an inherited literary form. Aime Cesaire gave the definition of Negritude is the most important thing in the history of African literature. The desperate optimism of 1930’s
Spread the ideology of negritude now confronted with the harsh unyielding reality of postcolonial societies, this effervesces scene seems frustrated. The group Leon Damas , Aime Ceasire, Leopold Senghor and James Baldwin called “That ache to come in to the world as men finds the political and cultural implication of negritude under attack.
In an interview Ceisere explained, the development of black writing has been closely connected with the renewal of African culture and political consciousness after the demoralizing effects of the slave trade and colonialism. In its earlier stages,, African and black written literature was a matter of racial pride showing that black men could succeeded and answer back within European cultural forms. This was followed by the gradual evaluation of the African Black cultural experience to an equal dignity the European. The period of cultural Affirmation has now passed.
“Negritude has brought with it same danger it has tended to become a school, a church, a theory an ideology, I am for a negritude which is literary and somewhat like a personal ethic , but I am against an ideology founded on negritude .. I refuse to be considered in the name of negritude, the brother of Francois Duvalier critiquing myself to only the dead.”
Achebe’s keen awareness of the possibilities of language and his craftsmanship are revealed in the varying idioms and techniques of his later fiction as well as in his first novel , which recreate through language a nineteenth century Ibo society . His “Things Fall Apart “is an illustration of the creative power of the language. The language used by the narrator is also closely related to the speech of the Ibo characters who are the centre of the novel. Expressions and pro verbs used by Okonkwo, Obierika and others are repeated or echoed by the narrator, and the identity of the narroter as spokes man for the Ibo community is emphasised Achebe technic can be illustrated by the following dialogue Between Okonkow and Nwakibie:
“I have come to you for help” (Okonkwo) said “Perhaps you can already guess what it is. I have cleared a farm but have no yams to sow I know what it is to ask a man to trust another with his yams, epically these days when young men are afraid of hard work. I am not a afraid of work.The Lizard that jumped from the high iroko tree to the ground said that he would praise himself if no one else did. I began to fend for myself at an age when most people still suck at their mother’s breasts. If you give me some yam seeds i shall not fail you
Nwakibi cleared his throat “It pleases me to see a young man like you these days when our youth has gone so soft. Many young men have come to me to ask for yams but I have refused because i knew that they would just dump them in the earth and leave them to be choked by weeds. When i say no to them they think I am hardhearted. But it is not so .Eneke the bird says that since men have learnt to shoot without missing. He has learnt to be stingy with my yams. But i can trust you. I know it as I look at you. As our father said, you can tell a ripe corn by its look. I shall give you twice four hundred yams. Go ahead and prepare your farm” (p.18).
The proverbs concerning the lizard and the bird emphasize the society’s concern with individual achievement and with physical survival, as well as its perception of man as at one with nature, learning from the animal world and constantly aware of it. They also suggest the whole store of tales and proverbs the Ibo culture has developed. The language we find in Achebe is the new language which allows the previously unspoken and unheard, and therefore unrecognised. Within a few pages we witness the breakdown of the Ibo language and the Triumph of English.
Historically, The action of Things Fall Apart” (and “Arrow of God”) belongs to the first phase of colonial contact with Igbo land. Philosophically, the two novels point to the central constant that is part of Igbo life before and since the colonial experience. Achebe once said that his aims in fiction and ‘deepest aspiration ‘of his society ‘meet , ‘For no thinking African escape the pain of the wound in our soul ‘. Achebe makes this point with passion and conviction in his third novel, “Arrow of the god” (1964), a novel about the death- thorns of what of an age. It is a novel of great fear and grate tenderness.
Felicity Riddy a lecturer in English at the University of Stirling in Scotland wrote “Language as a Theme” A year before war broke out in Nigeria the Chinua Achebe wrote, to a group of people concerned with English teaching in Nigeria, that he knew of “….no serious weight of opinion to day against the continual presence of English on the Nigerian scene. This is fortunate for our peace of mind for it means we can believe in the value of English to the very survival of the Nigerian nation without feeling like deserters. Thus we can use our energies constructively in the important task of extending frontiers of the language to cover the whole area of our Nigerian consciousness while at the same time retaining its worldwide currency .On a previous occasion, for example, He had spoken of the need for…new English, still in full communion with its ancestral home, but altered to suit its new African surroundings. This is true that the vernacular tongues of Nigeria lack Universality in a country made up of diverse peoples and oriented towards the rest of Africa and the world at large
“The literature written about Africa during this time generally tended to reinforce those assumption of the British and helped them defend colonial rule as enlightenment to primitive peoples without a valid civilisation of their own Hence Africa was seen as a dark continent a symbol of irrational, nourishing undifferentiated and child like peoples governed by fear and superstition rather than reason, a people only too ready to welcome and, indeed, worship, the Whiteman. “
Bibliography:
1 Chinua, Achebe. Things Fall Apart, London, Heinemann, 1958.
2 Chinua, Achebe: No Longer at Ease, London, Heinemann, 1960.
3 Chinua, Achebe: Arrow of the God, London, Heinemann, 1964.
4 Chinua, Achebe. Anthills of Savannah, London, Picador, 1987.
5 C.L.Innes: Introduction to Post colonial literatures in English. OUP, 2007.
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Tradition is how we interpret the past; Modernity is how we understand the present and future. Language is a social discourse. In this paper I am attempting to relate How Ngugi wa Thiongo and Chinua Achebe are attempting to bring their post colonial concerns within the social and political discourse of African languages in relation to English. In the process I am attempting to situate tradition and modernity as two forces that can be reconciled through the decolonization of the mind. The British Philosopher H.B Acton defines tradition as “a belief of practice transmitted from one generation to another and accepted as Authoritative, or differed to, without argument.” Samuel Fleischaker defines tradition as “a set of customs passed down over the generations, and set of beliefs and values endorsing those customs”. Africans are basically rural, village-conscious and traditional oriented people caught in a state of transition between tradition and modernity. When they are exposed to modern urban culture, one can notice certain ambivalence in their attitude towards alien culture and behavior patterns. We can see these kinds of conflicts in Chinua Achebe, Ngugi wa Thiyango’ and women writers like Flora N Wapa and Buchi Emechita. In their novels they go back to the pre-colonial and post colonial situations and record the cultural conflicts with the impact of the west on the native society. Chinua Achebe expressed his views with respect to the feelings of many African novelists when he said.” We must seek the freedom to express our thoughts and our feelings; even against ourselves without the anxiety that what we say might be taken as evidence against our race. We have stood in the dock for too long pleading and protesting before ruffians and frauds masquerading as disinterested judges “(Achebe “The Black writers Burden” 139.). African literature as a major segment of commonwealth writing in English, with its phenomenal, growth has attracted the English speaking world outside Africa thus leading to the arrival of Modern African literature in English. The new voice of Africa is countering the western thesis of cultural denigration of the African peoples and their histories. Most of the major African writers like Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, Ngugi Wa thiyango, Floran n Wapa, Buch Emechita, and others are deeply concerned with the task of restoring character and cultural identity to African society through the discovery of the past in the light of the present. Writers like Ngugi wa thiyango took a leading role decolonizing the school and University curriculum in Kenya. When he first became a lecturer at Makere University in Uganda, no African books were included in the literature curriculum; not even any in the secondary school syllabus. Here writers like Achebe argued against the assumption that literature is universal but instead saw the value of literature in its detailed and concrete depiction of a community in a particular place and a particular historical moment seeking to understand and create itself. Ngugi also introduced the study of local oral literature into the curriculum and said that these should be central rather than peripheral for students of literature. In his essay “Return to the roots” he says: “To choose a language is to choose a world, once said a West Indian thinker and although I do not share the assumed primacy of language over the world, the choice of a language already predetermines the answer to the most important question for producers of imaginative literature, for whom do I write? Who is my audience? I f a Kenyan writer writes in English no matter how radical the context of that literature he cannot possibly directly talk to the peasants and workers of Kenya. If a Kenyan acts in a play in English, he cannot possibly be assuming a truly Kenyan audience “ He believes that the African writer’s duty to his people is to nourish the language and culture that exist there. He goes on to say that Kenyan national literature should mostly be produced in the language of various nationalities that make up modern Kenya. Kenyan nation liberation can only get its stamina and blood by utilizing the rich national traditions of culture and history carried by the languages of all the Kenyan nationalities. In Kenya Ngugi led his lives in terrible conditions, contradictions and his experiences have changed his attitude toward his writings. Ngugi has said about his early life: “My parents were not Christians. But at the same time they did not practice much of the Gikuyu forms of worship. My father was skeptical of religious and magical practices that went with rites of passages and rhythms of the seasons. He believed in land and hard work “(C Brian Cox African writers 1997 p 537). From 1955 to 1959 he attended Alliance High School; that is the country’s most prestigious secondary school. He is the first student from his area of the country to be admitted and he excelled in his studies, during that time he read widely texts of Shakespeare, Shaw, Tennyson, Wordsworth and his own selections from the school library Tolstoy, Dickens, R L Stevenson and Alan Paton. He also gained familiarity with the Bible. The strongest influence in his period was the struggle for independence in the shape of armed resistance of the Mau mau uprising (1952-1956). The Kenyan government declared a state emergency (1952-60) and Ngugi family and village suffered in a number of ways. His brothers joined in the guerrilla movement and another brother was shot dead by the police. This is the main cause we see in his writings. He mentions his brother who fighting in the forest against the colonial powers still found time to send him message to “cling to education” that was provided by the colonialists even though it was an education meant to bolster the image and culture of the empire, thereby creating colonized subjects. Finally he is arguing that Western culture, education has done more harm than good. Describing this incident Ngugi says “Although I was in the school, I remember quite vividly standing up and trembling with anger saying that Western education could not be equated with the land taken from the peasants by the British. And I remember holding up the fountain pen and giving the example of someone whom comes and takes away food from your mouth and then gives you a fountain pen. I asked the audience: Can you eat a fountain pen? Can you clothe yourself with a fountain pen or shelter yourself with it? ” (C Brian Cox, African writers .1997 p). During this period Ngugi threw himself into various activities as writer, editor and organizer. In 1967, Ngugi return to Kenya as a special lecturer in English at the University of Nairobi and become the first black African Member of the Department, He soon issued his famous proposal along with two other colleagues to abolish the department of African literature and language, because he felt that African Universities needed to emphasize their own national culture. Ngugi’s attempt at change was only partly successful. Even he resigned from his position to protest against increasing restrictions in academic freedom. He says language as communication and culture are products of each other; communication creates culture: Culture is a means of communication. Language carries culture and culture carries particularly orature and literature the entire body of values by which we come to perceive ourselves and our place in the world. He is looking into language in colonial aspects; the aim of colonialism was to control the people’s wealth. It imposed its control of the social production of wealth through military conquest and subsequent political dictatorship. Ngugi is arguing that colonialism by destroying and deliberately undervaluing of peoples culture, art, dances, history, geography, education, orature, and literature and the conscious elevation of the language of the colonizer. Ngugi wa Thiongo demanded to abolish English departments in African countries. In his view language, any language has dual character; it is both a means of communication and a carrier of a culture. He says English is spoken in Britain and Denmark. But for Swedish and Danish people English is only a means of communication with non-Scandinavians. It is not a carrier of their culture. For the British, and particularly the English, it is additionally and inseparably from its use as a tool of communication, a carrier of their culture and history. He argues that the use of the language in Africa must be understood within the context of the European domination, marginalization and exploitation. The politics of revenge is deeply intertwined within the cultural imperialism represented by Eurocentric domination of Africans and other third world peoples in the past four centuries He says “For colonialism this involved two aspects of the same process. The destruction and the deliberate undervaluing of peoples culture, their art, dances, religions, history, geography, education, orature and literature and the conscious elevation of the language of the colonizer. The domination of a people’s language by the language of the colonizing nations was crucial to the domination of the mental universe of the colonized” (Decolonizing the mind). His main argument is that English, French, German, and Portuguese are not supposed to be seen as natural languages. They were used as tools of subordination during the colonial era and English language and literature, philosophy, culture and values were carried and elevated to the skies. African languages and the literature and philosophy they carried were brutally suppressed.” It is very important to cultivate African language is the only one solution to overcome colonial suppression. That’s why Ngugi wa Thiong’o declared in 1986 while Writing his famous book “Decolonizing the mind as “his farewell to English as a vehicle for any of his writings.” He chooses to write Gikuyu and Kiswahili all the way. This was undoubtedly a difficult decision, coming as it did after seventeen years of writing in English. He justified his decision thus: “I believe that my writing in Gikuyu language, a Kenyan language, and an African language is part and parcel of the anti-human relation between the nations and peoples of Africa and those of other continents. For these reasons I for one would like to propose Kiswahili as the language for the world.” One can understand no language can sustain in front of colonial languages because it suppressed other languages .This languages cannot be cultivated under these conditions. Ngugi calls for widespread usage of African languages as a way to counter their previous suppression. He says Black English developed in the black community as a crucial element in the formation of the cultural identity of Afro-Americans. Chinua Achebe another major literary figure and African Ideologue from Nigeria defend Ngugi’s argument. These renowned exile writers continue to share a deep love for their continent. Each has suffered by the colonial power; they were being exiled because of their commitments. Achebe wrote a paper entitled “The African writer and the English Language. “He declared “Is it right that a man should abandon his mother tongue for someone else’s? It looks like a dreadful betrayal and produces a guilty feeling. But for me there is no other choice. I have been given the language and I intend to use it.” “What does he mean when he says that there is no other choice? Achebe means that for practical purposes, European languages have become the languages of the world. This is the painful reality contemporary Africans must face. We, third world countries adopting the tongues of colonizers have no other choice or option. Ngara has commented, “By 1967 Ngugi felt that the African writer had failed. The failure referred to here was in fact not that of the African writer alone. It resulted from the Failure of the African Bourgeoisie to give meaningful freedom and independence to the broad masses of the people. In less than a decade of their rule, many African leaders proved that they were incapable of shaking off shackles of neo colonialism. The essence of Ngugi’s complaint, therefore was that by failing to challenge this new state of affairs, the African writer was guilty of neglecting his duty to society in general and to the African masses in particular. It was now incumbent upon (the writer) to throw in his lot with the masses once more by confronting the ideology of the new ruling elite. A new rift had surfaced in independent Africa, not between Blacks and whites, But between the haves and have-nots, what Ngugi has called a “horizontal rift dividing the elite from the mass of the people” (35 -35). Ngugi was imprisoned without charge for almost a year in 1978, and stripped of his position as chair of the department of literature at the University of Nairobi, and has subsequently been obliged to seek exile in the west. “When I myself used to write plays and novels that were only critical of the racism in the colonial system, I was praised. I was awarded prizes, and my novels were in the syllabus. But when toward the seventies I started writing in a language understood by peasants, and in an idiom understood by them and started questioning the very foundations of imperialism and of foreign domination of Kenyan economy and culture, I was sent to Kamiritu Maximum Security Prison” (Barrel of gun, 65). Since the 1960’s Ngugi has moved to redefine the situation of the writers along the axis of class solidarity rather than Romanticism and mysteries of imagination. He insists that the African writers cannot be assessed separately from those of the other categories of intellectuals and cannot be assessed without addressing the larger and more embracing questions of national culture and political justice. In other words while both Ngugi and Achebe agree on the basic argument against colonialism their strategies are different. Ngugi embraces the use of African languages and Achebe insists that we’ve no choice but to use western languages. But both are definitely for the decolonizing of the mind. The African has to reconcile both tradition and modernity. He has to bring the past and the present together in order that he may have a bright future.
Bibliography:
Ngugi wa thiongo: Decolonizing the Mind: The politics of language in African literature: Heinemann, 1986.
Ngugi wa thiongo: Moving the Center: The struggle for cultural freedom: .Heinemann, 1993.
Chinua Achebe: Morning yet on creation day: London, Heinemann, 1975.
Killam,G D : An introduction to writings of Ngugi, London, Henimann,1980.
Ngui wa Thiong’o : The River Between: London, Heinemann, 1964.
Ngui wa Thiong’o: Home coming London Heinemann 1972.
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Few Bones and a Few More Grains
Gurram Seetaramulu
‘“The flesh is heavy on my back; she’s my daughter, just turned fifteen. Feel her and be back soon.”
This sentence, from Jayanto Mahapatro’s “The Hunger,” disturbed me a lot.
It’s about a father aged sixty and a daughter aged fifteen, who struggle in their lives fishing in the sea. The shack they live in at the coast might get blown away even at a slight rainy-wind. The father and the daughter were not dressed adequately. Hers was a miserable plight of not having even a length of cloth to conceal her physic that was beyond her age. She used to accompany her father to the coast everyday. Her daily chore had been to wait for her father till the evening loitering at the coast. She was a burden; a responsibility beyond what the old man could manage. It became impossible for him to make the ends meet. Survival itself was a problem for them. He didn’t have either courage or leisure to think of marrying her off. It’s misfortune that inhabited in their house.
‘He reached back home from the sea. The sky seemed as though it might collapse any time with a thunder. He lost patience to remain standing, as he didn’t have food for two-three days. He was not in a position even to cry. The tears in his eyes seeped long ago. The coast was turbulent like the mind of the old man. As the visitors were hurrying up to leave for their houses, the coast was almost vacant. Each one was rushing in hurry. The university students would visit the shore for fun everyday. Groups together they would make fun jostling and shoving one against the other; they would scream and shout to tumble their sorrow into the waters. Some of them would come over there only to quench their bodily desires. As soon as they reach, they would gaze all eyes at the women folk. Those who could afford would come regularly; those who couldn’t, rarely. The old man noticed several times a youth coming over there for prostitutes to satisfy his desire by making some payment. He was fair and sturdy. He seemed to have hailed from a rich family since he sported a ring, chain and a costly watch. He seemed masculine. He was walking towards the old man dragging his feet in the sand and kicking the shells, complaining that he didn’t find anyone that day. The hopes of the old man that he had nurtured all these days got evaporated. He felt as though the sea that he had trusted swallowed him. He had been defeated in life for a long time; he got defeated only to survive. He would no longer stand the defeat. He had taken a decision only by means of bowing to his defeat. Having bowed to the plight, he called out to the boy. After conversing for some time, he could make out what the boy was looking for,
“Boy! ‘This is my daughter; just turned fifteen the other day.
The flush is heavy on my back; feel her and be back soon.
Look boy! It might rain. It’s time for the last bus too. Go over there, and come back after completing the work,” holding back his sorrow, the old man handed her to him, and disappeared from there.
‘The girl’s eyes seemed like the worn out marbles devoid of glow. When seen through her eyes, her bones could be seen. Having followed him disinterestedly, she spread her thighs involuntarily, and surrendered herself to him. The fish in the basket of the old man flickered.’
This poem, which I was teaching in the class, depicts the helplessness of the father who sold his daughter for quenching the hunger, and how an inert girl inevitably turns into a doll being crushed under the masculinity of the man. The poem narrates the fate of those who live by depending on their caste-occupation. While the poem was taught, some of the girls grew somewhat restless, head brooding. A few boys smiled to themselves enjoying amorously. I noticed the whirlpools in the eyes of some students the colors of whose faces changed. We were all in a kind of daze in the class for some time.
I came to normalcy after a prolonged silence when someone said,
‘Sir! The bell rang.’
The pages of the anthology of Commonwealth Poetry seemed to be smeared by the powder of the bones, and the powder seemed to be dribbling along the way. It smelled the whiff of bones. I started for the staff room holding the book in the hand. Some of the people were running helter-skelter as though being chased by someone. They were screaming. I was walking towards the staff room. Groups of the senior students were ragging the newcomers while some others were sitting on the lawns. A few others were munching popcorn. Some were shouting.
The premises of the college were abuzz with the visitors and parents. The welcome banners and hoardings of students’ organizations of various hues added festive atmosphere on the campus. Every student on the campus seemed to me like Jesus carrying the Cross. Amid emotional atmosphere, I reached the staff room, and relaxed in the chair. Yadaiah, a Telugu lecture, sitting beside me greeted,
‘Sunder Raju! What’s the matter? You seem dull?’
I told him that there was nothing specific, and took out a sheet of paper to make notes for the seminar to be held in the evening. When I was searching for my spectacles,
‘Here, sir your specs,’ a student by name Shyam handed them to me. Being the in-charge of the student’s welfare, I knew a little about every student.
Yadaiah said, ‘Shyam too seems to be presenting a paper in the seminar?’
‘Yes!’
He added, ‘Shyam is a good student; he takes active part in social activities.’
I was the in-charge of the hostel. I saw him first at the time of admissions when he came with a bag in one hand and an old suitcase wrapped in a rag in another. The handle being broken, he found it difficult to hold it. Though his hair was unkempt, and wore worn out sandals, there seemed a sense of determination in his eyes. He came into my room with very little luggage. I had learnt about him then. After completing the formalities of admissions, he left for his room.
Shyam was an orphan hailing from a remote village at Palamuru, known for migrant labor. His father used to sew sandals. His mother died of anemia a few months after his birth. He lost his father too who died of ulcer having dragged on life without food. He underwent the trauma of hunger, untouchability, insults and hatred. Having been an unwelcome inmate in the welfare hostels, he used to live in the hostels by eating stale food and drinking water in the streets.
He could reach the university braving the difficulties. I could learn these details about him because of the interest that he evinced in studies. I thought that it was this kind of background that made his eyes welled up in the class while teaching the poem. Thinking so, I immersed in making notes again. I didn’t feel like having lunch. I managed with tea, and continued to make notes. It was getting five in the evening. My colleagues were getting ready to leave. When my colleague asked me if I would accompany him for home, I said that I would participate in the seminar on the literature of the suppressed castes. I invited him should he be interested. When I started, I saw Shyam at the gate of the collage. I asked him, ‘How do you go to the seminar?’
‘I’ll go with friends, sir.’
‘It’s OK. But come to my house some time tomorrow,’
I caught the bus. The bus was overcrowded as some of the passengers were hanging on the footboard as though being chased. It got late by the time the seminar ended. A few prominent poets gave their messages. The seminar ended with the address of the vice chancellor. I started for home.
* * *
I read Victor Hugo’s The Last Day of a Condemned Man late in the night. He portrayed emotionally the last moments of a man who was sentenced to death and about be hung shortly. I didn’t quite know when exactly I fell asleep.
I awoke when the sunrays fell on my face. The bed was full of papers and books. My eyes turned red these days because of sleeplessness. I came out of the house brushing my teeth. The women at the public tap were quarrelling among themselves. Some of them were returning with empty brass-pots. I washed my face, and switched on the TV. There was a panel discussion among a few editors of new papers; they were shouting on some issue. An editor, who seemed to be a Brahmin, was speaking on the freedom of editors that they didn’t have an agenda for themselves but to carry forward the agenda of the owners. As the discussion sounded lousy, I browsed through the newspapers that were full of routine news. Then there was a knock on the door. When I opened the door, it was Shyam.
‘Come on young man, how are you?’
I gave him some literary magazines for reading, and went into the kitchen to make tea. After a wile I came back with a bottle of water and two cups of tea. We watched the discussion on the TV while sipping tea.
He commented, ‘What do they mean by freedom?
Do they mean the freedom of journalists or owners? One is being pitted against the other.’ We turned off the TV as the discussion was lousy.
‘Sir! Where is madam? What are your children studying? Shyam asked me.
‘Nothing of that sort; I am not married so far,’ I continued,
‘How is your study going on? How do you find the hostel facility?’ He answered briefly. His attitude seemed as though he had come to discuss a big issue. Taking liberty he asked,
‘Sir I feel like knowing about your background. Please tell me about yourself,’ he asked. Though his question was not curious, I began so as not to discourage him. When he asked about my past, forty-five years of my life was running like a reel before my eyes. My eyes were streaming. The throat was getting parched. Yet, I overcame a bout of emotion, ‘There’s nothing great to tell about myself; I underwent travails like you. Having been born into a poor family from one of the remote villages, I faced acute hunger and the problem untouchability in my childhood. I can’t narrate artistically. Whatever I have to speak or write about my childhood, it is inevitably about hunger and untouchability.
‘By then, the Lal Bahadur canal of Nagarjuna sagar was yet to be dug. My village used to be reeled under severe draught. The Madigas of my village used to work as the annual field-laborers in the fields of farmers. One of such laborers was my father, Lachaiah. The villagers didn’t ever address him by his name. They used to address him ‘Lachchiga’ derogatively. Had he been born into a touchable caste, they would have perhaps addressed him Laxmaiah gaaru adding a respectable epithet. He became Lachchi gaadu only because he was born into an untouchable caste. I am the last of the six children in my family. I am the only one to have learnt the alphabet in piecemeal. We don’t possess even a cent of land. Amma and ayya, mother and father used to work as laborers.
Our folk used to divide the houses of the upper castes into shares for rendering caste-services to them. Our folk used to work in their families during festivals and other celebrations too. They used to remove the carcass of the dead animals, and keep guard of the pyres if someone died in the upper castes. The Madigas had to remove shit from the dry lavatories manually. I didn’t use to understand their ethics of assigning the menial work to us.
‘My folk used to spend their lives in the agricultural work. What they ultimately used to get in turn was the left over grains in the threshing ground. At the most, they used to dole out a few measures of grains by means of alms. However hard they might have worked, they used to be bestowed with the empty grains mixed in the soil. I never used to understand as to why they did never fight for their share in the heaps of grains.
‘My childhood was spent most dreadfully. There were days when I used to pick the discarded betel leaves at the shacks, roast the tubers, roast and pound the millets, and eat by the side of the trenches. There were days when I used to gather grains by gleaning, bundle them in a shoulder-cloth, bury it in the ground, and have it cooked by burning twigs over ground. Though semi-cooked, I used to eat the same because of hunger. I used to gather raw grams for eating. Half of my childhood was spent in gathering nuts and wild fruits. After the school hours, we used to assemble at the main junction of my village. We used to fish in the rivulet and trenches, and bring home sundry varieties of fishes.
Most of the days we used to eat this kind of stuff. There never used to be curds or curries available in my house. If at all anything was available, there used to be dry bullock meat and cucumber. We didn’t own a cent of land; affection among our folk used to be the sole asset. In fact the poor are capable of great love. If there is anything to speak about myself, it is but love and affection. Annayya, my elder brother was fixed for the annual field-labor right in his childhood. He used to eat his food at the landlords. On many an occasion, he would eat his morning-food, and hand me the lunch in the school, skipping his own lunch. If I were to write about the hunger that I underwent, the ink in my pen may not be sufficient to pen it. I feel like turning the blood that dripped from my eyes, into ink and write!
‘I told you already about the dry bullock meat. Several people didn’t allow us near them because we used to eat bullock meat. What’s wrong in eating the meat of the dead cattle as long as one does not kill the human beings for one’s selfish needs? In this country, the fourfold varna system had eaten the people alive. While they were arrogant, we at the dead cattle only to be alive. There is nothing wrong in it.
Another incident worth remembering in my life is selling the dry bones of the cattle. It used to be difficult to collect them. When an animal died, they used to throw it far away from the village. Our houses used to be away from the village too. The carcass of the animals used to be dreadful even to look at. Having been putrefied, they used to smell. When it rained, the carcass used to swell. It used to be very awful even to go near by them. In spite of the smell, the white-warms used to swarm on them. As though competing with them, some red worms used to pound the bones. Eagles and vultures used to prey on them like the capitalists who suck and turn the economy of this country into pulp. One didn’t know how, but the moment an animal died, they would arrive timely. They used to eat away the flesh of the animal with a lot of understanding among themselves. They are more disciplined in eating than the human beings. We used to be in need of the bones left out by the vultures and the dogs.
‘Due to the prolonged draught in the villages, the people didn’t use to stay in the villages. They used to migrate en mass in search of work. The children and the aged used to be left out in the village. In the process of searching for livelihood, every village used to seem like parched crops. The locked doors used to mock at us. The children left behind used to be divided into groups for gathering bones. Having bound them into small bundles, we used to bring them home. At times they used to slip off the bicycle. It used to be very difficult to re-bundle them as the bones used to smell horrible stink. If the bundling was delayed, the villagers used to scold us. The kind of humiliation I used to undergo while bundling the bones in a hurried manner could only be understood by one’s own experience. The dry bones used to waft sever odor. I didn’t use to understand as to how the buyer of the bones would bear the odor for so long. He used to buy them visiting every village by his bicycle with a couple of gunny bags. He used to eat his lunch on his way at the trench in the outskirts. He would eat with the same hands that held the stinking bones. Gathering them the whole day, he used to sell them in the factory. One couldn’t afford to give up bone picking on the pretext of odor.
There used to be a lot of quarrels, shouting, curses and abuses in the process of gathering them. W used to beat each other at times. The bones used to turn into weapons at times wounding ourselves. The wounds, the blood that dripped and the humiliation we underwent were countless.
* * *
As we felt sultry in the room, we both were sweating, and felt like eating something. There were some sweetmeats sent by Premalatha. We came out with the sweetmeats in the plates. When we were eating, the sky grew cloudy seeming like raining.
‘And then?’ asked Shyam.
‘There used to be a factory of bones just beside our village; it’s no longer there now. It belonged to a Leftist leader. He was one among thousands of people who migrated to our village in search of livelihood. A poor man that he was in the beginning, he has now earned crores of rupees. Either because of his caste or his party, he has earned a lot of clout, expensive apartments and foreign cars too. There might be several of his kind in the Telangana region. Today they accuse us that our ignorance is as big as the sky. To be a millionaire being a Leftist seemed strange. Further he teaches the Leftist ideology himself being in possession of a lot of wealth. The bones that we collected, we used to sell in his factory. The bones couldn’t change our lives; but could turn him into a millionaire.
After a few years the villages of Telangana became barren. The cattle were pushed to the slaughterhouses instead of allowing them die of starvation. How long could the farmers feed them, themselves committing suicide by consuming pesticides that they had bought by mortgaging the thali, the nuptial string of their wives.
‘The flush was heavy on their back.’
The cattle became a burden to them. They had sold out their cattle herds and lorries together holding back their tears. It became a curse to have been a farmer in this country. Having been a cursed community, they became helpless in selling them out. Not merely cattle. The unnatural death of human beings too was usual to us. The pylons raised in memory of the martyrs would stand a witness to the number of people who had died. Then there was a draught of bones in my village. Our gaze, that used to explore the bones of the dead animals, had turned to the graveyards. We had dared to dig the graves of human beings.
We had spent our nights more in the graveyard. The half-burnt logs in the pyres used to be afire at the winds. We used to get scared being reminded of the childhood tales of the peys; we used to get scared at the flames of pyres. But the fear was never a matter in the light of the hunger. We had dug graves for bones and for money because of hunger. So many graves were exhausted but we didn’t cease to search for the bones. Having noticed the difference in the size of the bones, the buyer of the bones once questioned us. Everybody came to know about it in the village, and made it a big issue. The vultures that were knocking away our wealth termed us the thieves. They scolded us and thrashed us. They proposed to excommunicate us from the village. They suggested for the consecration of the village so as to purify the portent that had taken place. But I didn’t really understand who the real thieves were.
‘We heard someone knock the door. It was a postman who delivered a parcel containg Siddi, a novel sent by its author Vemula Yellaiah.
‘The dress I used to wear was rather embarrassing since I had to go to the school in the same ragged dress. We used to make use of amma, mother’s old rags both for the bedding and bed sheets. Ever since my childhood I had been wearing torn rags. Baindla Veeraswami used to reside at next door. He used to serve in the shrines of Muthyalamma, Mysamma and other deities. People from the neighboring hamlets used to approach him for exorcising the evil spirits. He used to utter some chanting and make loud shouting. We were not allowed to speak to him. Once when I was roaming in the cemetery, he had flung aside the shroud of a dead body at the time of cremation.
Everybody used to look at it with fear. I saw Veeraswami bring it home. Once I mustered courage, and went to his house. I saw lemons and other paraphernalia of exorcising at his threshold.
I got scared. Having mustered courage I asked him, ‘Peddayya! I want a piece of cloth; can you spare one?’
‘Why do you need it ra?’ he asked me.
‘I want to get a shirt stitched.’
I got a couple of shirts stitched out of the shroud he had given me. I used the shirts for a long time. This incident made me bold in speaking on certain occasions. Ever since, I began thinking rationally. It made me a rationalist. My teacher, Asha Devi helped me in studies after my high school. She made me stay with them for education. They were Brahmins, that too pious Vaishnavas. She had to fight with her family for making me stay with them; spend on my education. They were the chief priests in Bhadrachalam shrine. Having joined as a domestic help to them, I pursued my studies, and could reach up to the university education.
It’s because of the similarities in suffering and ideology between us that made me share my experiences with Shyam. The upper castes showed discrimination against me; and the same kind of discrimination continues against Shyam too. Why does the discrimination continue even after a generation? Why hasn’t anything changed? The intellectuals claim using empty jargon that there is so much of development. If anything, there is a change only in the statistics. But everything remains where it is.
* * *
As we felt hungry, I said ‘Let’s get in. we’ll cook something and eat,’ we entered into the kitchen. I cooked some rice. Then I was reminded of Premalatha, my junior in the university who invited me for initiating maiden feeding to her daughter. Though I didn’t like the convention, I felt like going. I went there considering that it was a chance to pay a visit to them. I took along poornam, an eatable that she liked most. After meals when I was starting, she handed me a neat packet offering dry-bullock meat saying that I liked it so much. I opened the packet and cooked it. After having meals, finally we discussed about the deliberations in the seminar. He seemed a widely read man.
There was a sudden change in the sky. It began to drizzle. The wind was blowing powerfully with lightening and thunder. And then there was a power cut. I took him into the reading room and drew the curtains. There was a little light. Our discussion then focused turned to caste versus class.
‘Sir! One thing is true. In this country there is caste in everything; including a dead body and a cemetery. Why so much. Let the intellectuals cite where there is no caste references. There has been a treachery against the ideas and arts of the sundry castes. The upper caste scholars have been belittling the arts and literatures of the Dalits. What they had dubbed became arts; literature. That’s why there was no place for our arts and ideas. We didn’t record our arts. They created a gulf between the arts of the upper castes and those of the lower castes. There is a great need to bridge the gulf; to create an alternative culture and literature. They discriminated against us thus far. Several intellectuals shed crocodile tears like the hired mourners at the mummies of Emperor Pharos.
If we keep silent, they’ll take it for weakness. They will bury us, and laugh happily. One has to write one’s identity. We could work enough to sow the seeds of self-respect and identity movements. We’ll spread the seeds in all the directions. There’s a need to change drastically the falsified syllabus of the battles that took place for safeguarding the hegemony.
‘Sir! We have been the vanquished for thousands of years; cheated having been vanquished. How long would it last? The winners have constructed history. How I wonder the vanquished were the writers of the history! Our mfolk lived only to be vanquished all these years, one has to battle desperately. Who knows we might win the battle.’
I remained silent for a while after Shyam spoke. The silence seemed strange to me. I looked at Shyam intently for a while. I heard the noise of rattling bones.
Original: (Telugu): konni emukalu inkonni ginjalu
Translated from the original Telugu by Dr. K. Purushotham
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Resistance in the Fiction of Ngugi wa thiyango and Allam Rajaiah
A comparative study
For a long time I was lonely voice in literature
Ngugi wa thiyango
I wrote Telangana peoples History and human relations with flesh and blood
Allam Rajaiah
It’s true that writers want to write about what happening in their surroundings,
But it is unbelievable thing about this modern world is that to explain what is going on in their countries they were become excommunicated or being in self exile.
African literature in its written form relies on oral literature; the functional role of African fiction is committed to drawing and involving the people in a nation building activity. African literature has received world wide recognition with the award of Nobel prize in literature to Wole Soyinka in 1986 and Nadine Gardimer in 1991 In this proposal I intend to locate to juxtapose the Telugu and African oral narrative forms of {oraturre}Ngugi wa thiyango and Allam Rajaiah novels, a comparative study in the context of Telangana armed rebellion and Mau Mau { Kenyan land and freedom army }. Ngugi and Allam Rajaiah are recognized by the major readers as well as writers have been widely regarded as Africa and Andharapradesh most influential writers
Ngugi wa thiango is a distinguished professor of English and comparative literature, is the most important Novelist from East Africa as a writer ,playwright ,Journalist and lecturer , has been regarded as East Africa’s most influential writer. His books have been translated in to more than thirty languages; his works illustrates a basic difference from that of his West African counter part it is closer to a protest tradition closer to South Africa. He grew up in Kenya during the Mau Mau war in the year 1950,
he is interested in almost obsessed by the struggle for freedom in Kenya and its destructed effects on African way of life.
Allam Rajaiah grew up in India {Karimnagar} during the Telangana armed rebellion takes place in Andharapradesh a revolutionary arms struggle revolt against the land lords and bonded labor for the land less people. He is a time keeper, he records Jagityala ,Siricilla,korutla peasants rebellion in his writings ,and Singareni coal belt trade union movements {sikasa}. Ngugi ,Allam Rajaiah writings are conditioned by the object poverty suffered by his family when they were boys, both are committed writers, their novels describes in full details of peoples struggle for betterment of the society
The socio political situation in Kenya and Andharapredesh to which Ngugi is alive respectively in colonial and neo colonial phase ,in Andharapredesh Telangana peasant arms struggle the radical atmosphere and it leads in 1960 ,1970s when thy were the students there finally the influence of left ideology in shaping their ideological position. And it reflects in their writings.
Allam Rajaiah and Ngugi are committed to the political freedom and cultural renaissance of both Africa and Andharapradesh
The objectives of Rajaiah Ngugi meet and mix in the motif of struggle, the protagonists in their both novels are in a grim battle against the feudal semi colonial power politics Ngugi first experiment in writing and staging a play in gikuyu “I will marry when I want to marry” {Ngaahika Ndheenda} registered instant success it is critique on the government .The play was banned any further public performance of the play and he was arrested on 31 st dec in 1977 while imprisoned in Kamiritu maxim prison he wrote his first novel in gikuyu “ Devil on the cross “ on the toilet paper
Socio political background of Africa and Andharapradesh: it’s reflection on literature
Mau Mau is a militant African national movement under leadership of Jomo Kenyatta that originated in 1950 among the Kikuyu people of Kenya. The Mau Mau advocated violent resistance to British domination in Kenya the movement was especially associated with the ritual oaths employed by kikuyu central association to promote unity in the independence. In 1952 Mau Mau has declared open rebellion against British rule in Kenya at that time Ngugi elder brother joined the resistance in the forest. In 1952 it was after declaration of state emergency over Kenya many of the Kenyan writers’ books are banned either in terms of the censorship laws or of the suppression of communism act.
After the Telangana peasant arms struggle with the influence of Srikakulam movement
Thousands of university scholars and intellectuals joined in Jagityala Sirisilla agitation all over the Andharapredesh. Allam Rajaih kins joined in that agitation
During the emergency in the name of public security act hundreds of poets and writers were detained several books were banned as same in Kenya
Allam Rajaiah and Ngugi’Language:
Ngugi has continued to write critically on literature and politics particularly encouraging authors from the globel south to write in their mother tongue
Allam rajaiah Ngugi wrote their own native dialects Allam Rajaiah wrote his trilogy Kolimantukuntunnadi {The Frog is Aflame} The village, The Spark in Telangana dialect “I started writing in gikuyu language in 1977 after seventeen years of involvement in Afro-European literature. “I believe that my writing in gikuyu language a Kenyan language an African language is part and parcel of the anti imperialist struggle of Kenyan and African peoples. He wrote “We African writers are bound to nurture and enrich African language what Spencer, Milton, and Shakespeare did for English; what Pushkin and Tolstoy did for Russian”
Conclusion:
Not much work has been done in this area it is a wider area it is the first kind of work regarding two nations socio political literary comparative study
It this area much research to be done by university level
Bibliography:
1.O R Dathorne The African Literature in twentieth century .Heinemann 1982
2 Ngugi wa thiyang’o Decolanizing the mind Zimbabwe publishing house 1986
3: Jack Mapange Gathering the seaweed African prison writing Heniman 2002
4. Ngugi, Miceri Githae Mungo The trail of Dedan Kimati . Heniman 1976
5. Ngugi wa thiyang’o Detained The prison notes African writers series
6 G.D Killam An introduction the writings of Ngugi
7 Allam Rajaiah Allam Rajaiah saahityam 1 perspectives Hyderabad 2008
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