The National Library in Singapore stocks more than a few Indian titles that are not so readily available in India. Or at least I haven't spotted them in the usual bookshops. One of the books I borrowed from the library was Padmavati, one of the first few novels in Tamil. Apart from the milieu and the time it is set in, it is not very interesting as a novel. In fact it made me wonder if a certain timidity is inherent in Tamil Brahmins that makes for safe literature. In Bengal for e.g., the novel was already established when Padmavati was written. And despite certain conventional elements, Bankim's works are complex and morally ambiguous. OK Bankim is a master but you get the drift. Padmavati on the other hand tends to get a bit preachy and the characters are a bit black and white. And despite being billed as a reform movel about the education of women the novel is really about the friendship between the eponymous Padmavati's cousin and later husband, Narayanan and Goaplan. Nevertheless it was fascinating to me because the whole world of Tamil Brahmins at the end of the 19th century is captured in the book. And it speaks of the types in the community that many of the character traits described in the book are familiar to me from my own relatives and acquaintances. And of course it has the usual Tamil Brahmin male preoccupation with devadasis though of course the upright hero doesn't succumb to their wiles.
It's primary interest to me therefore lies in its portrayal of South Indian brahmins at the end of the 20th century. In the deeply conservative community,
there are two forces at play forcing some kind of change. One, modern
education, largely in the hands of missionaries. Two, the administrative
setup under British rule with its minor officials who wielded a good
deal of power over small communities. There are plenty of sharp vignettes throughout the novel that highlight this. To me the most amusing bit was the North-South divide i.e. the divide between Tirunelveli (the setting of the novel) and Thanjavur that is up North. None of the Thanjavur folk in this are up to any good which was kind of amusing given my family firmly has its origins in Thanjavur.
This illustration below for e.g. is of a naughty married Thanjavur lady all ready for a sneaky rendezvous with Gopalan. Her equally amorous husband is planning to seduce the virtuous Savitri, sister of Gopalan. Elsewhere in the novel formidable Thanjavur parents masterfully use their children in increasing their worldly wealth via marriages. What can I say, Go Thanjavur! Just kidding.
There is also a fairly long section on drama companies. There is again that faint ambivalence present in Tamil Brahmin novels. This world recurs in so many texts but there is also a moral stigma attached to it, little good can result by entering it. I suppose it was a concern for families - our family folklore has a relative who burned his way through the family fortune - leaving his wife completely destitute - in just such a manner.
The dissonance between the changes brought about by education and actual community mores occurs throughout the novel. Because the school is run by missionaries, the students are exposed to and aspire to the values of the West. On the other hand there is the world at home and one's own culture that cannot be denied. While this manifests itself in many ways in the novel, the many references to clothing interested me. For e.g. the below paragraph describes a groom's attire which shows the norms of masculine attire prior to Western influences.
After his ritual bath, Gopalan was decked in silk and zari, with
sandal paste and kumkumam on his forehead and sweet scented jasmine in
his hair. He wore jewellery too - a double stranded waist chain over his
silk veshti, a jewelled pendant strung on his golden punul, the scared
thread, a pearl necklace intertwined with a flower garland, diamond
earrings and gem studded rings. Gold bracelets accentuated his youth and
natural charm. The kohl, applied by Savithri, made his eyes appear more
beautiful than ever. With lips reddened by the juice of the betel
chewed and a complexion aglow with shy happiness, he looked enchanting,
like Manmathan with his body restored.
For us today, the flowers in
the hair and waist belts for the veshti
may seem excessive and even feminine, but they seem to have been common in Madhaviah’s
time. This description in fact reminded me of the way idols are
decked in temples. Gopalan’s English education makes
him embarrassed to be so decked, on the other hand he is secretly
pleased to be the traditional bridegroom. And of course it is interesting that bride and groom are equally
bedecked, bar the fact that saris were probably more coloured and elaborate than a veshti.
The novel of course isn't about fashion at all. Rather it is of its time and the stray references here and there provide clues to clothing norms of the time. For example, I often wondered about the origins of the half-sari in Tamil Nadu. From the novel it appears that it was a fashionable outfit worn by young Christian girls. This appears in a section where one of the characters seriously contemplates converting to Christianity.
After a few days, he began to visit the boy’s home in Palayamkottai and met his sisters who, dressed in the daring new style of pavadai, blouse and dhavani (emphasis mine), strolled about book in hand.
That is the kind of detail that is hard to come by for folk like me who blog on history. Happily, the translated novel is available because it was done by one of the author's
grand-daughters (the illustrations done in the 1950s are that of his nephew M. Krishnan). It's one of those moments where you have serious thoughts about an education that privileges English over regional languages, almost all one's literary history is a black box if a translation is not available.
A handsome young man of twenty five, dressed in a vannan washed
zari veshti, muslin shirt and uppada angavastram arrived after awhile.
Such was his appearance that even the old hag in the kitchen would have
concluded that he was an English educated government official. Else
would he wear ritually unclean, washerman washed clothes or a chandu pottu on his forehead? Without a government job, how could he have
sported whiskers or acquired Tiruchirapalli footwear or a silver
wristwatch.
The illustration and text above is of a minor functionary who arrives for Gopalan’s wedding (Padmavati, A. Madhaviah).
Though not senior they apparently wielded a good amount of power in the districts, far far more than a senior functionary in say Chennai, and were therefore to be appropriately appeased at all times.
It's a fascinating paragraph providing visual clues of status in his dressing, both in terms of wealth and a departure from orthodox.
There is also descriptions of jewellery of the time now and then.
All in all despite a very weak plot, the book was enjoyable because of its familiar milieu. And of course I was over the moon with those few throwaway lines on the davani!
For my clothing blog I often add relevant quotes from old Indian texts. As a result of this I have read (or in some cases partially read) more than a few translations hosted at gutenberg and archive. One of these texts is Shakuntala, on which I blog quite often (check out the Chinese performance!). And though the story is extremely familiar to me, I am a little embarrassed that until my posts I had never read Kalidasa's Shakuntala in entirety though it is has been translated often and is a seminal text.
In fact the posts were a bit shaming and made me reflect a bit on the kind of English education that we so prize in India that many of us do not read Kalidasa, if not in Sanskrit at least in a regional language. Instead we rely on English texts, often translated by foreigners. And even if we are to go with English, we are still taught Shakespeare as a standard text though in more ways than one it is Kalidasa who is relevant to our culture and history. In fact Shakuntala's persistence makes it ideal for study, analysis and interpretation much like a play by the Bard.
From memory, Kosambi's book (Myth and Reality) states that the tale occurs as a fragment in the Rig Veda. Or at any rate in one of the Vedic texts and of course in the Mahabharata. In its earliest version, it has none of the embellishments of Kalidasa's tale. Rather it is merely an episode wherein a woman asserts her rights and makes a king accept paternity. In Kalidasa's hands it of course turns into a classic romance (there is a first wife but let's not dwell on that here!). Shakuntala is a forest maiden, Dushyant is a handsome king. There is a love affair, there is the loss of the ring (oh so soap opera), the rejection of Shakuntala and then the reunion. Adding heft to this is the fact that Shakuntala and Dushyanta's son, Bharata, lends his name to the country.
It's later fame resulted from William Jones' translation that appeared in 1789, it's first outing in the West. Though it was hardly a forgotten text in India, Horace Hayman's Select Specimens of the Theatre of the Hindus mentions that there are plenty of copies in circulation amongst the "pundits". Subsequently it seems to have enjoyed a good deal of popularity in the West. Not surprising given all the forest nymph bit, the romance and most of all the enduring nature of the tale which meant that it worked across mediums. Gautier, for e.g., wrote a ballet, Sacountala. And it turns up at the oddest of places, including this 1914 production. On tumblr I have seen recent American school productions. Stage productions are still around. And of course Kalidasa's story, his descriptions, the poetry are still very much around us in Hindi films, albeit sometimes in a vulgarised form.
Given all this you would think that the tale is perfect for all kinds of study - from the original story to Kalidasa's treatment, its presence in modern Indian culture and it's interpretation by the West. Perhaps it is but I can't think of say my cousin's BA Lit including it at all. More's the pity.
_*_
My fav Shakuntala here and here (especially since it mixes it with Ashadh Ka Ek Din).
