For a wedding of dwarfs
rascals beat the drums
and whores
carry on their heads
holy pitchers;
with hey-ho’s and loud hurrahs
they crowd the wedding party
and quarrel over flowers and betelnuts;
all three worlds are at the party;
what a rumpus this is,
without our Lord of Caves.
Allama Prabhu, Vacana number 461, translated by A K Ramanujan.
Here is more poetry for you, Ms. Bee.
In Mysore today, Kannada writers and activists led by D. Jawaregowda are holding a symbolic one day hunger strike. Their demand: status of classical language for Kannada on par with Sanksrit and Tamil. Now this has to be done by the Government of India. From January 15th, Jawaregowda plans to launch an indefinite hunger strike if their demands aren’t met.
Eighty six year old Jawaregowda has been a great institution builder and a widely respected writer. He is primarily responsible for raising the stature of Kannada studies in the universities of Karnataka and turned Kannada Research Institute at Mysore University into a massive research, archiving and publishing entity. A fine prose writer, he wrote many biographies and translated all of Tolstoy, no mean feat, mind you. He was also a teacher and an early mentor to my father.
But for the life of me, I do not understand how gaining classical language status would help Kannada, even symbolically. Such state recognition does not even ensure more funding to finance let us say the proposed Rashtrakavi Kuvempu International Centre for Kannada Software and Technology in Mysore University. Speaking to reporters earlier today, he said: “Kannada language must be given classical status similar to Sanskrit and Tamil. All Kannadigas must struggle for the cause in order to safeguard our language, art, culture, customs, traditions of the land.” Sir, could you be more specific and outline the contours of such a struggle? As the world turns, the new demands of our times demand different paradigms of institution building and sadly, our elders such as Jawaregowda are not being much help.
In related news, Steven Pearlstein writes in WAPO today about a new thesis by Nicholas Carr: the death of corporate IT departments. Carr believes that corporate IT needs will be met by large scale, centralized computing suppliers, like electricity is supplied today. The question for Pearlstein is whether the Samuel Insull/Thomas Edison of the new era will be a Sam or Sanjay.
Now this must be something Jawaregowda and his friends, including myself, ought to be concerned about. Because both Sam and Sanjay will set up shop in Mysore not in Chicago, as Insull did with Commonwealth Edison. What are the implications of that to Kannada, to the community and civic ethos of the city of Mysore? Do we have the cultural and institutional capabilities to deal with such intrusions into our lives and communities? If there is a symposium on these issues, I will show up for that. We could even fast, for the intellectual exchange itself will be filling and yeah, the terror of the unknown will cause all hunger to disappear, in any case.
Part 2
There is something qualitatively different and even magical in the dramatic reinterpretation of epic episodes in South Asian performative traditions, be it music dance, dance-drama, theatre, folk performers or even film in recent times. I am more familiar with (and will focus on here) the south Indian performative traditions, especially theatre (professional, amateur and village groups), Yakshagana and mythological films, the staple diet of my childhood. Contrast these interpretations to reading epics in their entirety. Here I refer to not merely the critical editions of Ramayana, Mahabharata and puranas, but also to television mega serials and even literary works of Tulsi, Kamban, Pampa and Kuvempu – texts, which operate with epic imagination on an epic scale. However, note how all the different performative genres choose particularly dramatic episodes and in the process offer insights and perspectives on characters and narratives that the epics do not suggest. What comes into focus during such moments, often dramatically, are human frailties, from which no human being, even those of divine origin (like Krishna or Rama) or those who are always on the side of the dharma too (like Arjuna and Dharmaraya) too wouldn’t escape.
Consider, Arjuna in the film ‘Babhruvahana’. In the first half of the film, he is presented as someone who embodies humility, dignity, confidence and valor. However, in the second half, which takes place after the kurukshetra war and by which time Arjuna has established his stature as a great warrior, Arjuna is an arrogant and egotistical person, who doesn’t need Krishna’s support and guidance. As he takes on the responsibility of leading the Pandava army that accompanies the Asvamedha horse, Arjuna, in fact, explicitly states he is capable of subduing all the warriors and kings by himself. In part 3 of this review, I will write more on the wonderful exchanges between Arjuna and Babhruvahana on Arjuna’s character and accomplishments. True, it is Krishna who has caused Arjuna to forget his relationship with Chitrangada and Uluci but the film makes it abundantly clear that Arjuna’s arrogance, boastful nature and rejection of Krishna’s grace cause his downfall.
Let us make a brief diversion to Mahabharata, to the last book in particular, Svargarohanaparva. Recall Draupadi and the Pandava brothers fall one after the other while ascending to heaven. As Dharmaraya explains to Bhima, Arjuna falls because of his vanity, but Arjuna’s character flaws aren’t what the epic poets are interested in. However, in the Babhruvahana episode, as is the case in many other episodes (the battle with Sudhanva too is a good example, as anyone who has watched Sudhanvakalaga Yakshagana would attest) during the Asvamedha campaign, Arjuna’s setbacks are all connected back to his arrogance and refusal to accept Krishna’s help. Perhaps this is also a narrative requirement since now Babhruvahana is what Arjuna was then: the young prince, who embodies grace, kingly bearing, valor and devotion towards Krishna. This dramatic reinterpretation of Arjuna’s character is a reminder of what Krishna says to Duryodhana at the end of the Kurukshetra battle: no man is entirely good and no man is entirely bad. We are then reminded of the good and evil that reside within all of us, and how our svabhava (as in both nature and character) are likely to change in time.
In the film, though, Krishna’s influence is all pervasive. In fact, a Krishna-centred theology is the determining element; it constitutes this world and more significantly influences all the moral visions that are generated. While the plot of the film must be quite evident by now, allow me to briefly recapitulate. Arjuna, who has violated the agreement among brothers by entering (albeit accidentally to take weapons) the room in which his elder brother Dharmaraya and Draupadi were alone, sets out on an year long pilgrimage. He meets and marries first Uluci, the Naga princess and then Chitrangada, the princess of Manipur. Before Babhruvahana is born, Krishna causes Arjuna to forget both these marriages and transports him to Dwarka, the Yadava capital. There, Arjuna marries Subhadra, against the wishes of her brother Balarama. The second part of the film is primarily about Arjuna’s return to Manipur a few decades later and his confrontation with Babhruvahana, who kills him in the ensuing battle. Following Uluci’s advice, Babhruvahana goes to the underworld, brings the legendary Sanjivini stone and then with Krishna’s grace, revives Arjuna, who realizes his follies.
I must now return to the theme with which I ended part 1 – strong women and (the question of their) character. The women in the film are more interesting, strong, independent characters and in fact, go against the stereotypical epic characterization of women. For instance, Chitrangada, who is practically the son king Chitrasena never had, is accomplished in sword play, horse riding and hunting. Yet once she encounters Arjuna, falls in love and secretly marries him, she does not return to the palace but lives in a temple outside the capital. After Arjuna leaves her, she leads a simple, monastic life, remaining faithful to an absent husband and raises an ideal son; but as we noticed earlier, she also is clear about her own dharma (duty) and volunteers to help her husband against her own son. Similarly, Uluci too falls in love with Arjuna, marries him secretly and when Arjuna leaves her, she accepts her fate graciously; she regards Chitrangada as her younger sister, helps her raise Babhruvahana and even trains him in martial arts. She also advises on how to bring his father back to life.
I realize that with such a reading I would be throwing stones at many a feminist beehives. A critical reading of the patriarchal values in this story is not only possible but necessary too. If God Krishna himself sactions and causes Arjuna’s abandonment of these women, then that is hardly defensible. Moreover, should they have remained faithful to Arjuna after their short-lived marriages, especially in light of the humiliation Chitrangada suffers? While all these questions should govern our reading of the film, I want to shift the debate away from what they remain committed to the nature and form of their commitment itself.
I want to suggest what we recuperate from Chitrangada and Uluci isn’t a notion of pativratya, an ideal wife. Their nature of commitment demonstrates a remarkable ability to remain true to an ideal, to a feeling (which is crucial in this case since they fell in love with Arjuna) to a course of life they choose, and ultimately to themselves. Even in a film saturated with Krishna devotion and the ultimate objective is breaking Arjuna’s ego, what seems to be important is an idealism that Chitrangada and Uluci choose to embody and which Babhruvahana seeks to defend. Both Chitrangada and Uluci nurture and sustain the world they create, in which Arjuna and even Krishna are merely visitors. The film then revolves around the question of character and commitment.
It comes as no surprise then that two of India’s foremost writers Tagore and Kuvempu wrote on Chitrangada. Perhaps that ought to be the theme for another posting. But before I get to that, I will write on the dialogues and songs of the film, which must be some of the most memorable dialogues and songs in Kannada film history.
Not knowing how to mount a given horse,
They wish to mount another horse,
Neither brave, nor warriors.
For this reason, carrying the saddle
Across the three worlds, they suffer.
How will they know the linga called Guhesvara?
A vacana (saying) by Allama Prabhu
Part of the Sundays with Dr. Rajkumar series, which begins with the mythological Babhruvahana. Soon I hope to write a profile of Dr. Rajkumar but until then be satisfied with this and this.
Part 1
The first time Babhruvahana sees his parents side by side is in the battlefield, when his mother Chitrangada volunteers to be Arjuna’s charioteer. The battle itself is being fought, because Arjuna cast aspersions on Chitrangada’s character and Babhruvahana’s parentage. More on their quarrel later but now let us return to the battle scene.
Seeing his parents together, Babhruvahana, becoming emotional, folds his hands and exclaims: “This is a unique sight! My parents are in the same chariot. Once in the past, love and sexual desire brought them together and created this body. Now they are together again because of anger to destroy this same body. But to my eyes, they seem like Siva and Parvati who have come to bless their son. Having seen this sight, which I did not have the good fortune of witnessing before, I feel blessed.”
Let us now recreate the scene. Arjuna is in Manipura, protecting the Asvamedha horse and collecting tribute from all the kings of India. Babhruvahana, the young king of Manipura who had not been told by his mother about his father, restrains the horse, thus obstructing Dharmaraya’s Asvamedha sacrifice and seeking to battle with the great Pandava warrior. For the young king, this is a game, an opportunity to display his skills in a great battle with Arjuna and show his valor to the world.
Before the battle, however, upon learning from his mother that Arjuna was his father, he rushes to make amends. A proud and egotistical Arjuna, still angry at Babhruvahana’s audacity, rejects his son’s overtures for reconciliation. Having forgotten his marriage to Chitrangada thanks to Krishna’s machinations, he questions Babhruvahana’s bravery and doubts his birth, calling him the son of a prostitute (Jaariniya maga): “if you had been truly my son, you would not have released the horse but faced me in the battlefield with your bow. Since you have fallen at my feet like a shameful coward, you must be the son of a Jaarini.”
Nothing ever matches the fury of a son, when his mother’s character is questioned, even by his own father. Babhruvahana’s explosive and angry response is perhaps the highlight of the film: “O, son of a woman of loose character! O, son of a woman of loose character! (I can not tolerate this epithet)! I can resist a swollen river in full tide. I can supress wildfire by stepping on it with my foot. I can capture thunder in my fist. But, Arjuna, today you have awoken the goddess of death deliberately. By blackening the pativratya (faithfulness to her husband) of my mother, who is like a goddess, you have prepared your own funeral pyre. Even if the Three-eyed one (Siva) were to open his third eye or even if Krishna were to send his Sudarsana disc for your protection, if I do not respond appropriately to your arrogant diatribe, if I do not separate your head and body and play ball with them, then I am not Babhruvahana, son of Chitrangada.”
Note his emphatic statement as his mother’s son. Until this point, Babhruvahana was polite and proudly spoke of his relationship with Arjuna. But once Arjuna questioned Chitrangada’s character, then Babhruvahana would not remain deferential towards Arjuna. He questions Arjuna’s own accomplishments, by listing the trickery practiced by the Pandavas, especially during the Kuruksetra war. Without Krishna’s grace, Babhruvahana claims, Arjuna and his brothers would not have won anything and now that he is without Krishna, his end too is near. In fact, Krishna’s play (lila) is the framing idea for the story itself. We will return to this theme later.
Babhruvahana returns to his palace to prepare for the battle. His mother, he tells her, can only have one of the two things that are important for every woman: renown as a great wife or her mangalya, the symbol of her husband being alive. Chitrangada, who had lived a simple, virtuous and ascetic life in a temple ever since being abandoned by Arjuna, now has to permit her son to battle with her husband, inorder to break his ego and to remove the blot on her character. Yet, this does not stop Chitrangada from volunteering to drive her husband’s chariot, saying her dharma is to follow her husband, who is her god in reality (pratyaksa devata).
This leads us back to the scene with which I began this note. Babhruvahana, like Arjuna at the beginning of the Kurukshetra war, faces a moral dilemma. Can he risk harming his parents? While Chitarangada alerts Arjuna to shoot an arrow at their son and take advantage of Babhruvahana’s momentary lapse due to a sense of devotion towards them (as Arjuna did with Karna), Uluci (this should be Ulupi in fact, but in the film she is called Uluci, which I shall follow here), the Naga princess and yet another abandoned wife of Arjuna’s, reminds Babhruvahana of the teaching of the Kurukshetra battle that in the battlefield there is no space for feelings even towards parents. What Babhruvahana must do is to establish his mother’s good name and thereby his own character. The film ‘Babhruvahana’ captures this conflict spectacularly. The eerie parallels with the moral dilemmas of the great MBH battle aside, here all the familial relationships (in particular, strong mothers and dutiful sons) become exaggerated and demand our attention. But the key issue remains that of character.
In the second part of this review, I will continue with the theme of strong women and their character, in addition to other cinematic aspects that we should notice in this film.
Does Kannada need to be protected by those brave warriors, whose weapon of choice is black paint? Or is Fair & Lovely a better choice? Are the masaladosa eating Kannada writers not radical enough for protecting Kannada? what are we protecting anyway?
Kannada activists celebrated November 24th as victory day, in lieu of their earlier plan for a Karnataka bandh. The Government of Karnataka acceded to their demands and superceded the errant Belgaum corporation, dominated by the Marathi speakers who belong to the Maharashtra Ekikarana Samiti (MES, Maharashtra Unification Committee). What constituted victory here and why should anybody celebrate what happened is beyond me but the episode itself is absurd enough to merit our attention, not only to amuse us with a debate on masaladose and the revolutionary status of Kannada writers but also to ask ourselves: how do we ensure the wellbeing of desi, native, vernacular languages?
Here is what happened. On October 27th, Belgaum Coroporation passed a resolution demanding that Belgaum be united with Maharashtra. Funny, Novermber 1st was the 50th anniversary of the formation of Karnataka, of Belgaum and other Kannada speaking regions brought together to form the new state. Now, the fifty-year old boundary dispute between Karnataka and Maharashtra is STILL being resolved by the Supreme Court. The historian in me wants to do a series of postings on the many absurd tales of inter-state border and river water disputes but that’s for the future. Kannada activists, who were about to celebrate the 50th year of the formation of Karnataka state on November 1st, went ballistic, literally. Even as press statements were released, demonstrations held and demands for the supercession of the Belgaum Corporation were being made, fifty members of Kannada Rakshana Vedike (KVR, Kannada Protection platform) decided to take matters into their own hands and on 11th evening attacked physically Mayor of Belgaum, Vijay P More and his associates, at the Legislative Home in Bangalore, a stone’s throw away from Vidhana Saudha, the seat of government. The KVR members doused More with black paint and blackened his face. The attackers were swiftly arrested, booked under Dacoity act and criminal proceedings were launched against them. All hell broke loose as political parties, including the state unit of Shiv Sena (which we all know is a Marathi party), defended the attackers and demanded that they be released unconditionally. Even the Governor T N Chaturvedi came out openly against the Belgaum Corporation, for interfering in a matter that is sub-judice and for overstepping its authority, while not attending to the developmental activities of the city.
The die was cast. The Government superceded the Corporation on November 21st and appointed the Belgaum District Commissioner as the administrator.
Did the attackers deserve the widespread support that the political parties offered? Should they be described as brave warriors, who are fighting for the self respect of Karnataka?
Well known writers U R Anantamurthy and M Chidanandamurthy were ridiculed when they condemned the attack on More. Should More’s face have been applied with Fair and lovely, asked rhetorically author Purnachandra Tejaswi. Kannada writers condemning the attack on More are fit to eat only Masaladose, mocked Chandrashekar Patil, the president of Kannada Sahitya Parishad. What fair and lovely and masaladose, even black paint have to do with defending Kannada, I am still trying to figure out.
A politics centered in anxiety, it seems to me, is the driving force behind the acts of the attackers and the defence offered by their supporters. The border dispute itself is likely to go on for another fifty years, at least, while status quo will continue to reign. Why overreact to apparently an immature - and illegal act - by the MES Corporators? Shouldn’t fifty million Kannada speakers show a little bit more confidence in their capacity to preserve their language and culture? Moreover, why this knee-jerk reaction, rushing to defend against an MES resolution that can only be called as nuisance at best? What are the Kannada warriors protecting and how?
It is ridiculous to think that the language of Pampa and Kuvempu requires the protection of heroes, who specialize in blackening the faces of other people.
My fear is that this anxiety-centric activism (as well as the professional Kannada warriors it has produced) takes our attention away from the real challenges that we should be facing up to. If faltu (useless) issues and struggles continue to occupy us, then we might as well kiss goodbye to any constructive Kannada work (Kannada kattuva kelasa).
It is time to return to B.M. Srikantaia again and ask ourselves: what does the agenda of improvement of Kannada involve? I will be back with my reading of his lecture to the Mysore Economic Conference entitled: The Improvement of Kanarese.