Jottings - Slice of life - 422 ( The death and resurrection of a sublime novelist. Thoughts on Perumal Murugan’s “Madhorubagan” translated into English as “One part Woman)

In 2014 the BJP came to power in India, and in 2015, a brilliant Tamil novelist and a lecturer by profession published his suicide note as an author on Facebook and went into hiding. His note was stark, poignant, and ominous of the times. It read “Author Perumal Murugan is dead. He is no God. Hence, he will not resurrect. Hereafter, only P. Murugan, a teacher, will live,”. It shook the literary community and reading public to its roots.  Perumal Murugan was not a novice writer, he had started publishing fiction when he was twenty-five years of age, and his first novel was published in 1991. His fertile mind and facile pen have since then produced ten full-length novels, five collections of short stories and poems, and another ten volumes of non-fictional essays on Tamil language and culture. In 2010, he wrote a sensitive novel titled “Madhorubagan,"  which was beautifully translated into English as “ One part Woman” by Aniruddhan Vasudevan in 2013. With this translation, Murugan’s woes began. The book found wide readership for its finely nuanced translation and bold theme.  However, the timing of the popularity coincided with a change of tide in the political climate of the country.  With the resurgence of Hindutva,  a section of the rightwing political outfits and religious conservatives found the essence of the story as an assault and distortion of Hindu values, ethics, and culture. They rallied the local castes groups to condemn the book and its premise. Murugan’s books were publicly burned, his name maligned and life threatened, and he was forced, with the support of the local police to publicly sign an apology and withdraw all copies of his books from the stores. Murugan’s mental torture reached its crescendo when repeated insinuations and character assassinations followed even after the written apology. The writer, an introvert by nature, felt deeply victimized for his art and found he could longer write with the creative freedom he did. The wellsprings of his creativity were throttled and choked; he had reached a point when the very act of writing itself became futile and meaningless. That is when he wrote his suicide note relinquishing his identity as an author and fled his home town — in his mind, for good.

What was it about Madhorubagan that so offended the religious activists?  The novel is set in the British era in the hometown of Murugan ( Tiruchengoddu). It is a story about husband and wife  -  Kali and Ponna -  who are childless for twelve years. In Indian tradition, a married couple expected to become parents immediately, if not, the tongues would begin to wag. The modern generation may scoff and laugh at such expectation, and would even question the validity of such claims. The truth India lives in its villages, and there the light of modernity doesn’t shine at all. Ancient customs, traditions, and the pull of push of mere survival makes them more sensitive to the biological mandates expected of a marital union. The social roles come later. In rural India, a barren womb is still considered a curse, and women bear the brunt of countless insults, negative comments, social ostracism, and tremendous social pressure to become mothers at any cost. Men are also subject to these insinuations and accusations, they were urged, not directly, but in tangential ways, by family and friends, to consider finding a second bride who could give them a progeny.  These may seem outdated traditions and ways of thinking that have no relevance for modern times, and it is true, that such attitudes are surely becoming obsolete at a rapid pace, but at the time when Murugan’s story is set — becoming a mother was the only important measure of a woman, and barren couples will leave no stone unturned to earn the socially prestigious position of a parent.  Beyond wealth and position, becoming a parent is critical. All the rest follows this biological status.  

Until this point in the story, Murugan only recreates a known theme of dejection, pain, and hurt in Kali and Ponna on their inability to conceive; but what Murugan does to bring a resolution to the dilemma is to draw upon on a social custom that is considered a taboo. He recreates the atmosphere of a shiva festival that runs for two days, and on the second day of the festival, when the idol of Shiva is ritually returned to its sanctum up in the mountains, the villages below take on a festive mood, and as the day wears off,  all social codes of conduct between the sexes are relaxed. Men and women are allowed to copulate freely if they wish too. Women participate in the festival invoking the spirit of Shiva in the male they are attracted to, and the men act as divine conduits to the progenitive act of creation. It is a day when barren women are given a social sanction, under the garb of a religious myth, to find a different mate for themselves in the hope that such a union may help in consummating a child. This is, no doubt, a very controversial and disruptive custom, but throughout history, in all known societies, a religious ritual of this kind have existed. The Egyptians had it, so did the Greeks and the Romans. Murugan is a keen student of Tamil history and culture, and he believed that such a custom existed near his hometown for several centuries before it slowly vanished.  The presence of devadasis as late as the 1950s or more is indicative that Indian society did permit institutions and customs that were meant to quench and refine the biological urges of man that could otherwise threaten the stability of society. It is not hard for anyone to believe that such a custom may have indeed existed in the past.  After all, in the name of God, we have instituted many customs and traditions, why couldn't have something like this existed as well? 

Coming back to the story, Ponni, Kali’s wife, is convinced by her family that the best way to overcome the pain of not becoming a mother would be to participate in the festival and give herself to the will of God. They convince Ponni that her husband acquiesces with this decision ( though he doesn’t), and surreptitiously take her to the town and let her loose there. What happens next, though not made explicit in the book, is obvious to all readers.  It is to this part of the story that religious conservatives took offense, claiming it had no validity, and Murugan was deliberately distorting and debasing the position of women in local Tamil culture.  

I read “One part woman” last week. Before I picked up the book, I knew about the controversy. What struck me immediately is the deep sensitivity that Murugan had brought to the theme - The beautiful relationship between Kali and Ponna, the delicate social balance of those times, the simplicity of life and its needs, and the overarching dependence on religious faith to resolve the problems of life. In the two hundred-odd pages of the wonderful English translation, nowhere could I get a sense that Murugan was attempting to disparage or titillate the reader’s senses. He slowly builds the story, harping on the numerous social occasions when the husband and wife are subjected to insults and needless jibes for their barrenness.  While the Festival looms as a backdrop to the story, the emotional conflict in both Kali and Ponna in deciding whether to participate in the festival or not, is worthy of a Chekhov or a Dostoevsky in terms of bringing out the psychological turmoil the couple undergoes. The writer Murugan understands it is not an easy decision, and once committed, can destroy the fabric of the strong bond between the husband and wife. It is the inevitability of the social condition and times they lived in, the inexorable need to become a parent, the relentless psychological pressure applied by peers and neighbors, that pushes the couple to even think of this possibility. Neither wants this option at any cost, but when there is no other way, what does one do? This is an existential question. It is easy to look at the past through our modern lens and claim distortion, but every event has to be evaluated in its own times and social circumstances. In the era, Murugan writes about, the relationship between man and woman was entirely different from what it today. What could have true then, may not even be casually considered as true today. That does not mean we cannot write or talk about it. 

On July 5th, 2016, In a landmark decision by the Chennai high court, the cases and against Murugan’s “one part woman” was summarily dismissed by the Chennai high court.  In a language worthy of Indian democracy, the judgment begins with a powerful quote from the French social thinker and philosopher Voltaire “ I may not agree with what you say, but will defend to the death, your right to say it”. In a hundred page judgment, the high court tore apart the reasoning that the artist has to bow down to the dictates of the crowd or political correctness.  In one stirring paragraph, which is worth quoting in full, the court makes the case for literary freedom. Chief Justice SK Kaul and Justice Puspha Sathyanarayana wrote: “Whether the society is ready to read a particular book and absorb what it says without being offended, is a debate which has been raging for years together. Times have changed. What was not acceptable earlier became acceptable later. “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” is a classical example of it. The choice to read is always with the reader. If you do not like a book, throw it away. There is no compulsion to read a book. Literary tastes may vary — what is right and acceptable to one may not be so to others. Yet, the right to write is unhindered.”

The good news is that Murugan is writing again.  “One part Woman” was long-listed for the American National Book award for translated literature in 2018, and most recently, Murugan’s “ a Goat story” ( again a brilliant work) was again long-listed in 2020. So far, three of Murugan’s books have been translated, and international readers are thrilled at the simplicity of imagery, and directness of his storylines. Perumal Murugan’s stories are native to the land he lives in, yet, his characters are universal.  I wish I could read his works fluently in Tamil. Unfortunately, my reading skills in my mother tongue isn’t good enough to enjoy literary works, but the English translations are great.  The translations are able to evoke the smell of the native soil, and the language reflects the local tongue. I can hear the characters speaking in Tamil in my mind.  Yesterday night, I read Murugan’s “ a goat story” at one go. What a wonderful satire? Almost Orwellian in scope.  I understand there is a new translation of his first work of fiction written in 1991. I am checking Amazon to see if I can get a copy. I am hooked to Perumal Murugan’s writing and stories for life. 

God bless…

yours in mortality,

Bala