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Dr. Utukuri Lakshmikantamma by Nidadavolu Malathi.

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Kalaprapoorna Dr. Utukuri Lakshmikantamma, (1917-1996) was a rare combination of several talents from reciting poetry extempore in Sanskrit and Telugu to martial arts such as fencing, stick fighting and horse riding.

Lakshmikantamma was born on December 21, 1917, in a sophisticated family of scholars and social activists. Her father Nalam Krishna Rao was a reputable poet, journalist, and active participant in the social reform movements of his time. He was the founder-president of Gautami Granthalayam, one of the oldest and highly acclaimed libraries in the state. Her mother Nalam Suseelamma participated in her husband’s activities and was the founder of Andhra Mahila Gaana sabha [Andhra Music society]. One of her distant aunts, Battula Kamakshamma, was founder of Arya Seva Sadanam, which was converted to Andhra Yuvati Sanskruta Kalasala [Sanskrit College for Women] later. Against this background, it is no surprise that Lakshmikantamma became actively involved in political and social movements at an early age.

In her childhood, she used to play boys’ sports along with her brothers and their friends. At the age of seven, she started learning vocal and veena. By twelve, Lakshmikantamma was already an exhilarating speaker. She used to deliver electrifying speeches and sing patriotic songs. Crowds would hold their breath and listen to her speech or singing.

She was married at thirteen to Utukuri Hayagriva Gupta, a lawyer and six years senior. They had their first child in 1935 but the baby lived only for six months. Of the eleven children the couple had, five children—three boys and two girls—grew up to be well educated and well settled in life.

At eighteen, she graduated from the Sanskrit College run by her aunt Kamakshamma and received the degree, ubhaya bhashaa praveena, an attestation of scholarship in two languages, Sanskrit and Telugu. The same year, she was bestowed with two titles, Telugu molaka [Telugu sprout] and vidwat kavayitri [Poet of excellence]. Lakshmikantamma, who had been named “Sahiti Rudrama” [Queen Rudramadevi in literature] by Devulapalli Ramanuja Rao, President of Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, was the proud recipient of ten more titles including kalaprapoorna (awarded by Andhra University, 1976), Andhra saraswati, dharma prachaara bharati, and sangeeta sahitya kalanidhi, in addition to honorary doctorate. Mention must be made of two felicitations, kanakabhishekam [being showered with gold] and gajaarohanam [Elephant ride], which are normally associated with royalty of the past and rather unusual in modern times. To my knowledge, Lakshmikantamma was the only author to be honored with these two felicitations.

She was actively involved in several literary and social organizations such as Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Academi, Telugu Bhasha Samiti, Andhra University Senate, Viswa Hindu Parishat, Andhra Pradesh Arya Vysya Sabha, Gautami Granthalayam library in Rajahmundry, Stri Hitaishini Mandali [Women’s Welfare organization in Bapatla], Andhra Yuvati Sanskrit College, Guild of Service, Central Sahitya Academi, and and many more. This list is sufficient to emphasize the wide array of her interests and accomplishments.

Lakshmikantamma possessed a versatile and exhilarating personality. In her autobiography, she stated that she would keep laughing always. Pilaka Ganapati Sastry, who became a famous novelist later, was her teacher for a brief period. At the time, he was still young and shy. Lakshmikantamma was amused while he was teaching Sakuntala, a play, and kept laughing. It was disconcerting to Ganapati Sastry. Later, he told her father, Krishna Rao, that, “I used to pick from her laughter, the in depth meaning and beauty of poetry in Kalidasa’s poetry and bless her in my own mind.” (Sahiti Rudrama, p. 43).

Lakshmikantamma’s father was a follower of Brahma samajam, which rejects polytheism and promotes one god theory. Her mother Suseelamma believed in Hindu tradition. However she changed some of her religious practices to please her husband, she wrote in her article pavitra smruthulu [Pious memories] published in Yugapurushudu Veeresalingam published in Veeresalingam Satajayanti sanchika, Hyderabad.

Ever since she was a teen, Lakshmikantamma had been living active public life. She was attending public forums, literary meets and conferences and delivering stimulating and scholarly speeches. Writing and publishing came much later, early 1950’s to be specific.

The circumstances surrounding her first book, Andhra kavayitrulu are interesting. In 1953, Telugu Bhasha Samiti [Telugu Literary Guild], Madras, announced a competition and invited writers to write a book on Telugu women poets. Lakshmikantamma’s husband, Mr. Gupta, and several friends suggested she should write the book. Lakshmikantamma however was not interested. She said, “Reputable scholar Veeresalingam compiled the book Telugu kavulu [Telugu poets] in which he had included about six hundred writers. In it, he mentioned only five or six women poets. If you look carefully, you may find only one hundred poets worth mentioning and possibly one of them would be a woman. I do not want to take that one poet and hold up to the world, and thereby expose that we have no women poets worth mentioning.” (sahiti rudrama, p.81.) Then, one of her close friends, Boddupalli Purushottam suggested that she could at least make an effort to see if there were more women poets. Convinced by his argument, she set out to search for women poets. She traveled to famous libraries in other places like Vetapalem, Madras, and Tanjore, and went through thousands of magazines such as gruhalakshmi, Hindusundari and literally unearthed 264 women poets who had produced excellent works. Lakshmikantamma’s very first book was a first prize winner in a competition held by a reputable literary guild, Telugu Bhasha Samiti.

In the history of Telugu literature, this book Andhra Kavayitrulu is the only comprehensive work on women poets to date. This is being used as a valuable reference tool by research scholars. Arudra, an established writer and researcher, used it as a source for writing about women poets Molla and Mohanangi in his samagra Andhra sahityam.

The second edition of Andhra kavayitrulu, published in 1980, included only 86 poets. In her preface to the second edition, some of the comments made by the author are worth quoting. Lakshmikantamma stated that she herself was not sure if she could revive the enthusiasm and the style she had evinced while working on the first edition. She was somewhat disappointed by the prevalent perceptions regarding education, language and scholarship in the country. In the past, scholarship was respected. Now (at the time producing the second edition) the shrinking respect for classical poetry in the face of growing interest in fiction is discouraging. Lakshmikantamma also mentioned the cost of paper and printing. Personally, I am sad that money should play such crucial role in publishing the second edition. The second edition included only 86 poets as opposed to more than 200 poets (I have only the second edition on hand for reference). In any case, I sincerely hope that Andhra Pradesh Akademi or some other literary organization would undertake publication of the full version before it is lost totally. At this writing, the book is out of print. And it is too valuable to neglect.

Having said that, I need to address a couple of other comments on some entries in this work, Andhra kavayitrulu. One of them is the authenticity of the claim that Krishnadeva rayalu had a daughter named Mohanangi and she authored a book, marichi parinayam. Lakshmikantamma devoted six pages to Mohanangi and marichi parinayam in her book. Arudra took this information and incorporated in his book, samagra Andhra sahityam [Complete History of Andhra Literature]. However, while writing about Mohanangi, Arudra wrote, “They say Mohanangi was daughter of Krishnadeva rayalu.” By shifting the speaker to an unverifiable “they”, it would appear, he was not sure if that was authenticated. He did not clearly contradict Lakshmikantamma’s statement though. In 2002, I met with two reputable scholars, Dr. Nayani Krishnakumari and Dr. Kolavennu Malayavasini. They both stated that there was no verifiable evidence to show that Krishnadeva rayalu had a daughter, and that the authorship of marichi parinayam had not been established unequivocally.

A second comment on Lakshmikantamma’s work was by Sangidasu Srinivas who commented that Lakshmikantamma had not given full credit to a poet named Kuppambika (Andhra Jyothy September 22, 2008 Vividha page).

My position is scholars usually set parameters for themselves and work within those parameters. Lakshmikantamma went to great lengths, researched all the sources available to her at the time and recorded the data. Other researchers may find more information or different perceptions in course of time. That does not mean that the work done by earlier researcher, whether it is Lakshmikantamma or another scholar, is less significant. It is quite normal for latter researchers to find more evidence or lack thereof and add further to the existing data.

Lakshmikantamma’s works fall broadly into four categories. 1. Classical poetry in Telugu and Sanskrit; 2. Modern poetry; 3. Essays and biography, and, 4. Plays.

In Sanskrit, she authored kanyaka parameswari sthavam, extempore, in praise of the goddess Kanyaka. It is being recited as invocation prayer in the morning in several temples of Kanyaka across the state. (Vijnan Kumar. Personal correspondence, dated September 22, 2008). Another work of her in Sanskrit is Devi sthava taraavali in praise of goddess Devi.

In the book, naa Telugu Manchalaa, [My Telugu Manchala], 98 pages, Lakshmikantamma portrays Manchala as a 16-year old, intelligent woman endowed with remarkable beauty and sense of patriotism. The story is popularly known in Andhra Pradesh as that of Balachandrudu, Manchala’s husband. His mother, Prolama would want her son to go to war and earn her the title hero-mother (veeramaata) on one hand and, on the other, her maternal instinct would want him to stay home. In a strategic move, she sent him to his wife, Manchala, hoping her beauty would prevail and keep him at home. Manchala on the contrary provoked him in a cleverly manipulative language, and sent him to the battlefield. The verses are written in simple Telugu yet powerful in conveying the various rasas as appropriate in different stages. Lakshmikantamma had mentioned in the preface that there might be some stylistic lapses in terms of meter.

Kanthi sikharaalu is a collection of devotional lyrics, imbibing the tenets of Brahma samajam, which she had followed fervently in her teen years. The author stated in her preface that her inspiration for writing these lyrics was the singing by well-known romantic poet, Devulapalli Krishna Sastry. The language is simple and lucid, which appeal to all, scholars and non-scholars alike.

Okka chinna divve [A Small Lamp] is a collection of seventeen long poems, presented as a tribute to Gandhi. In her preface, she stated that she had the opportunity to participate in Gandhi’s non-violence movementi in her teen years (about 13 to 19 years of age), which contributed immensely in defining her values of patriotism and service. Additionally, she chose the title A Small Lamp to accentuate her respect for Gandhi, although not all the lyrics were about Gandhi. It included other topics such as a Telugu New Year day, Diwali, soldiers, and an invitation to youth. Some of them were written in semi-classical style with complex, descriptive phrases, and others in near colloquial style.

To me, this variation in style seems to point to the shift from classical to free verse that has been taking place at the time not only in her writings but in the country in general.

On a slightly different note, I would like to mention Lakshmikantamma’s comments on language as stated in her autobiography. She stated that while she was teaching maha bharata in Bapatla College, prominent linguistics professor, Bhadriraju Krishnamurthy, attended her classes. Impressed by her scholastic excellence, Krishnamurthy invited her to speak at a literary meet in Ongole. There she went out of the way from lecturing on Maha Bharata and introduced a new argument that Telugu language originated from Dravidian languages. Later Professor Krishnamurthy met with her and obtained detailed information about her argument and incorporated in his course content for second year M.A. (Sahiti Rudrama, p. 92-93).

The title of the book, kanyakamma nivaali, literally means a tribute to the goddess Kanyaka. Inside however, it is a collection of short verses, 3 lines and the caption Oh Kanyakamma. Most of the poems are humorous and/or sarcastic comments on contemporary lifestyle and society. A few of them are serious observations. The author writes in her preface that she was inspired by Koonalamma padaalu written by Arudra.

Saraswati samraayja vaibhavam, [23 pages], is a one-act play, which incorporated some well-known poems from the published works. It presents on one platform nine women poets, who lived at different times from 13 to 20^th centuries. Additionally, the author introduces two secondary characters partly as comic relief in step with the practice in stage plays. The poets recite poems from their best works both in Telugu and Sanskrit.

Lakshmikantamma’s works of history and literary criticism include Andhra kavayitrulu [Andhra female poets], Akhila Bharata Kavayitrulu [All India female poets], Andhrula keertana kalaa seva [Service of the Andhra people to music], naa videsa paryatana anubhavaalu [My Experiences during my tours to other countries], contributions to Vijnana Sarvasvam [articles in Telugu Encyclopedia], and numerous articles published in reputable journals. Unpublished works as of 1993: Story of Chandramati [Children’s book], Sahitya vyasa manjari [Literary essays], and Rutambari [prose ballad].

She also translated Humayun Kabir’s essays in English (Our country’s history and the lessons learned), and Hindi dohas by Kabir, Tulasi Binda and Rahim. She edited classical works, Molla Ramayanam and Vishnu parijata yakshagaanam. She wrote more than one thousand prefaces to books by other writers.

In her autobiography, Lakshmikantamma mentioned that at the beginning of her literary career, she published her poems under the pseudonym ‘Krishnakumari’. Soon after, her husband suggested that she should publish her poetry in her own name since they were so good. She did so, although she used yet another pseudonym ‘sukanchana’ for her story, Korala madhya koti swargaalu [Ten million heavens stuck between fangs], included in kathamandaram, an anthology of short stories published in 1968.

I think a brief note on her multifarious involvement in women’s organizations, social movements and public events, is appropriate here. She was a great speaker, fundraiser, organizer of literary meets and associations, active participant in charitable events, and herself a kind and generous individual. She was a driving force in women writers’ conferences at state and national level, had attended international women writers’ conferences, and was a sitting member at legislative council in two universities and various literary organs at the state and national level. She was honored at international women writers meets also. (I had the honor of being on stage with Lakshmikantamma at Andhra Women Writers Conferences in 1968 and 1969 and receive mementoes from her.). Sri Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, Hyderabad, produced a documentary on her life. University of Toronto, Canada, collected complete works of Lakshmikantamma. Her work had been research topic for doctoral dessertation.

I would like to go on a limb here and comment on her activities in her community. In an age when “caste” is considered a bad word, it is pleasing to note Lakshmikantamma’s involvement and contribution to Arya Vysya mahasabha [Business community in the scheme of societal breakdown based on Hindu beliefs]. She made no apology for being part of her community, and showed how the community spirit could be instrumental in bringing people together. This is particularly relevant in the context of her growing up with her father, who was a staunch Brahmo samaj follower.

In her autobiography, Lakshmikantamma listed some of her writings as “works unable to succeed”. I went through the list of books Lakshmikantamma had listed as “not successful”.

I am not sure what made her come to that conclusion. For instance, in the same list, she stated that Naa Telugu Manchala had received the Telugu University award and had been prescribed as textbook in St. Teresa’s college, Eluru. Her Sanskrit poem, kanyakaa parameswari suprabhatam is being recited in several temples of Kanyaka as daily morning prayers. That being the case, I must assume she was referring to the success as understood in modern times, which would bring me to comment on the definition of success.

In today’s world, success is correlated to sales. A parallel example would be a critically acclaimed movie failing at box office. Probably it is the same with books. Additionally, in Andhra Pradesh, book sales do not always reflect the actual readership. For one thing, buying books is not common in Andhra Pradesh, possibly because of our belief in free dissemination of knowledge, an idea sustained by oral tradition. Secondly, one book bought by one person is read not just by that one person but by other family members and friends also. Thus the number of books sold does not always reflect the number of readers for that one book.

At the risk of repetition, I would like to add a note on Lakshmikantamma’s major works. The books, Andhra kavayitrulu, first edition featuring pen portraits of more than 200 female poets from 13^th to 20^th centuries, Andhra sahitya vijnana sarvasam, originally compiled by her father, Krishna Rao, and which she later edited with annotations by her, Akhila Bharata kavayitrulu [All India Women Poets], and sahiti rudruma (Autobiography) remain landmarks in the history of Telugu literature.

This article is not comprehensive but a modest attempt to provide a brief introduction to the accomplishments of a versatile poet of our times. To present a comprehensive analysis of her accomplishments is beyond the scope of this article. My hope is to motivate readers to go to the original sources and learn more about this remarkable woman and poet. Those who are interested in further study of Lakshmikantamma’s multifarious personality and work may find the list attached as an addendum to her autobiography, Sahiti Rudrama useful.

Additionally, I believe that publication of Lakshmikantamma’s complete works with annotations and preserving it for posterity would be a welcome undertaking and service to Telugu literary and cultural service. This is particularly vital in the light of dwindling abilities of the current generation to appreciate classical, semi-classical and modern literature produced by our immediate predecessors.

She had been awarded twelve honorary titles, marking her literary achievements.

Once again, I am thankful to Vijnan Kumar, third son of Lakshmikantamma, for kindly lending me the books, which were immensely helpful in writing this article.

(End)

Source List (Works by Dr. Utukuri Lakshmikantamma, published by author)

Andhra kavayitrulu. 2d ed. 1980.

Kaanti sikharaalu. 1978.

Kanyakamma nivaali. 1978.

Oka chinna divve. 1980

Naa Telugu Manchala. 1981.

Sahiti Rudrama. 1993.

Saraswati saamrayja vaibhavam. 1988.

Other works:

Samsmruti (In her memory). Bapatla: Smaraka samiti, 1997.

Suseelamma, Nalam. Pavitra smruthulu. Yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Kandukuri Veeresalingam smarakotsvamula sangham. n.d. pp. 93-96.

Complete list of her works:

Works by Utukuri Lakshmikanthamma.

Andhra Kavayitrulu. 1953

Akhila Bharata racayitrulu. Sahitya Akademi, 1963

Andhrula Keertana Kala Seva [Andhra People’s contribution to the art of music]

Sri Kanyaka parameswari Suprabhatam [Sanskrit verses extoling the virtues of the goddess, Kanyaka]

Devi stava taravali [Verses praising Devi]

Jathi pitha [Father of the nation]

Sadukti manjari [Book of good words spoken by Hindi poets, Kabir, Tulsi das, and Vinda Rahim]

Bharatadesa charitra, konni guna paathamulu. [History of India, some lessons learned]

Kanti sikharalu. [Devotional songs]

Mahila ikrama suktam

Mana sahiti madhu bharati [Ballad]

Kanyakamma nivali [Poetry, satiric comments on modern day society]

Okka chinna divve [A Small lamp, poems]

Naa Telugu Manchala [Manchala, My Telugu hero]

Lajja kireety dharini [The Woman, who wore shame as her crown]

Naa videsa paryatana anubhavalu [[My experiences of foreign tours]

Articles contributed to Sangraha Andhra Vignana Sarwaswam [Complete Telugu Encyclopedia]

Saraswati samrajya vaidbhavam. [One act play]

Sahiti Rudrama [Autobiography]

Fiction.

Korala madhyana koti swaragalu

Chikati rajyam.

Unpublished books

Story of Chandramati [Children’s book]

Sahitya vyasa manjari [Anthology of literary essays]

Rutambari [Prose ballad]

Edited

Molla Ramayanam

Vishnu parijata yakshaganam

Prefaces for over 1000 books

Delivered over 3000 speeches on a wide variety of topics in literature, and Hindu religion.

(This article has been written by Nidadavolu Malathi and published originally on thulika.net, September, 2008.)

Dynamics of Transcultural transference: Translating from Telugu to English by Malathi Nidadavolu

After arriving in the U.S. in 1973, I became intensely aware of the incongruities on the surface in the two cultures—American and Indian—and the commonalities beneath. Hit by culture shock, and encouraged by my American friends, I launched the website, www.thulika.net, in an attempt to demystify the stereotypical perceptions, identify the underlying commonalities in our beliefs and customs. Reasons developed in course of time include the interests of the current generation Telugu youth: those who cannot read Telugu script and those who have gotten used to English so well that they are comfortable reading the stories in English. Additionally, the site has been recognized as a valuable source for scholars in multicultural education and Telugu literature by the academy globally.

Selection criteria have been based on: The stories that reflect our intrinsic values as opposed to the values newly developed in recent times; those that explain the age-old customs specific to Telugu culture; and the stories that lend themselves to translation reasonably well.

Problematic areas in translation experienced relate to: Native flavor, dialectal variations, phrases peculiar to Telugu, proverbs, (those that are easily translatable and those that are not), humor, and structure and the Linguistic areas: Pronouns, forms of address, and grammar, especially tense. I have gained valuable experience from my interaction with the authors of source texts and critics. In the summer of 1978, I started teaching Telugu as Second Language at the university of Wisconsin-Madison. While working with the students and talking to my friends at the university, I noticed the stereotypical perceptions prevalent in America. The repeated questions I was asked reminded me of typecasting we, the Telugu people, did. It made me think of ways to dispel some of the misconceptions at least. Being a writer, I wanted to pass on our stories, which would reflect the fundamental values we cherish in our culture and the broader spectrum of our writers in the process to the non-Telugu readers.

Before launching my website, I researched what was available in translations. My findings confirmed my belief that Telugu fiction is conspicuous by absence on the international literary scene. Very little Telugu fiction was available in the media and on the Internet, although there was considerable amount of fiction from other Indian languages. 2. There was no systematic attempt to illustrate the broad range of our writers in a coherent and comprehensive manner. 3. The translations were always of the stories by a few reputed authors, which meant ignoring other excellent stories by less known writers. 4. In the published translations, there seemed to be an assumption that the readers were familiar with our language and culture. To put it in another way, the academic journals and the web magazines had been catering either to the pan-Indian readers or to the foreign readers, who have some knowledge of Indian culture. However, there was no well-organized, concerted effort to translate modern Telugu fiction in a cohesive manner, catering to the readers who were not familiar with our culture. To my knowledge, the published works in translation had not reached the readers outside India, particularly outside the academy. Further, the academy appeared to be focused on ancient poetry, especially the romantic poetry in translations to the detriment of fiction.

I was convinced that there was a dire need to present Telugu fiction in English to the global audience, especially those who had not been familiar with our language and culture. With that in mind, I launched the website, thulika.net in June 2001, creating a platform exclusively devoted to modern Telugu fiction, and introducing the broader spectrum of the intellectual richness and the talent of several writers from Andhra Pradesh to the global audience.

My next step was to examine the readers’ preferences. I understood that people read stories from another culture not only to appreciate the intellectual perceptions prevalent in that country but also to draw parallels from everyday lives and comprehend how the problems in question were dealt with in other cultures. Suffering is universal; happiness is universal; so also a host of other issues in human life. One good example is marriage. Americans are curious about arranged marriages and our media plays up to their curiosity. Sad but true is the fact that most of these stories make no attempt to explain the underlying principle of the arranged marriages or why the custom was put in place to begin with, how it plays out in times of adversity and the recent metamorphosis of the custom in modern times. After watching the wedding process in America, I have concluded that, in a marriage, the most important aspect is not how you arrive there but what you would do to make it work. In both the cultures, keeping a marriage together is hard work. Thus, my primary goal has not been to criticize one culture or the other but to draw the analogues and highlight the commonalities in human psyche.

Translations are hard. Crosscultural translations are harder. There is no translation, certainly no word for word translation, which permits us to switch back and forth with mechanical precision. In my interaction with some of the readers, I have noticed that the native speakers and writers often tend to retranslate, unconsciously I might add, when they read a translation. Usually it shows in their comments on the translation in question. In order to appreciate a translation, the reader must be willing to accept certain prerequisites. For a foreign reader, it is the need to leave his/her preconceived notions about the other culture and start afresh. For a native reader, in this case Telugu reader or writer, it is the willingness to beware that the translation has been done for a reader, who cannot read the original in Telugu and is unfamiliar with Telugu language and culture. Personally, I think crosscultural translation is transcreation and the translator is invariably a creative writer.

There are several elements to consider in translating for crosscultural audience. I will briefly discuss each of these aspects, namely, dialectal variations, native flavor, structure, phrases peculiar to Telugu, proverbs, and grammar comprising tense, pronouns, and proper nouns. Humor is one more element that requires close attention with reference to the target audience.

The first step would be to identify the peculiarities of the source language and the target language.Clearly, the language I have learned at Andhra University, Waltair, India, is not sufficient for translating for American readers. If I want the Americans to read my translations, I need to give the stories to them in American English. At the beginning, I started out with seeking advice from my American friends on my translations. One of them was Dr. Abbie Ziffren, who had been a great help in fine-tuning my language. In 1982, my first translation, man, woman, [Rachakonda Viswanatha Sastry, mogavaadu, aadamanishi] was published in the Journal of South Asia Literatures.

Soon enough, I realized that there was no consensus regarding the “correct” usage. Each time, I corrected the text according to one person’s suggestions, and showed it to another friend, there were more corrections. Sometimes, I would have to “do and undo” the same words back and forth. Finally, I realized that, while the American English had its distinctive features, there were always variations in the preferences of each person regarding how a word was used or how a sentence was constructed.

Selection Criteria

Initially, my selections were based on the premise stated above, namely, introducing the fundamental philosophy underlying our mode of thinking, lifestyles and customs. Therefore, I turned my attention invariably to the stories written in the nineteen forties, fifties and sixties – during which period Telugu fiction flourished. As my work progressed, I continued to redefine and fine-tune my criteria for selection. My second criterion has been the ease of diction, which is controversial in itself and which is explained by the translation process illustrated below. Third is the literary value and/or the author’s unique style. As stated earlier, I strongly believe that it is important to introduce not only the most prominent writers but also other good writers, in order to illustrate the breadth of our artistic accomplishment and for a better understanding of our cultural values.
I might as well mention that, from the start I did not care for the stories focused on specific ideologies. I feel that such stories have received extensive exposure in other journals and websites and there is no need for me to rehash the same. However, on occasion, I would make exception as in the case of the story “yajnam” [The Rite of sacrifice] (Rama Rao). Further discussion follows under the subheading Structure.

Dialectal and regional variations

In Andhra Pradesh, the dialectal variations are based on several aspects. They vary not only from region to region, but also, within a given region, there may be variations based on caste, calling, education and economic status. Some families may even develop their own language from a mix of a few dialects. The differences in regional dialects such as Chittoor, Telangana and Coastal Andhra are accepted as dialects. Then there may also be variations, which come into play, defying regional and caste practices.

There is no consensus concerning how to handle the dialectal variations in translation. A well-known dramatist and actor, Ravi Kondala Rao argued that the native flavor in the source language cannot be imparted effectively into another language and therefore translations are pointless (Kondala Rao. Aa sogasu vastundaa? [Can that beauty be achieved? (in a translation)]? Apparently, Kondala Rao missed the one point, which is, translations are meant for those who cannot read the Telugu originals. For instance, in the sixties, the translations of Hunchback of Notre Dam [ghantaaraavam] by Surampudi Sitaram, and A Tale of Two Cities [rendu mahanagaraalu] by Tenneti Suri were received by Telugu readers with remarkable enthusiasm because of the beauty in the Telugu versions regardless of the native flavor in the original versions. I am sure that a vast majority of the readers did not read the originals in French and English and did not care for what they might be missing.

In addition to the foreign readers, in recent times, there are two more groups of readers, who are enjoying the translations in English. First group consists of the educated Telugu people who have gotten used to using English almost as their first language, and thus enjoy reading Telugu stories in English. The second group is the current day Telugu youth who have attended English medium schools and cannot read the Telugu script. They, being knowledgeable in Telugu culture, are different from the foreign readers though. Nonetheless, they all enjoy the translations in English with the same fervor.

For the purpose of this article, the target audience is assumed to be unfamiliar both with the Telugu language and culture.

Language: Pedantic versus Colloquial

In modern Telugu fiction and literature, the language started out as the language used by the polite society, known as sishtajana vyaavahaarikam, which is translatable fairly well. Basically, it is the language standardized and adopted by magazines and other media. The underlying philosophy is stories written in sishtajana vyaavahaarikam would reach a wide range of readers across the state. In English, this is comparable to the British English I had learned at Andhra University. Of course, still there are variations such as spelling between British and American English.

On the other hand, the colloquial style consists of several dialects. They vary based on region, social groups, and even sophistication of the readers. To be honest, some of the dialects are beyond my comprehension despite my stay in those regions for considerable amount of time. In that sense, stories written in regional dialects and the dialects of rural communities pose bigger problems for me. In America, the colloquial forms include words spelled as spoken, contractions and ellipses. For example “I ain’t cummin’” for “I am not coming”, “Whaddyado” for “What do you do”, “bro” for brother, “ADD” for “attention deficit disorder” and so on. However, this implies understanding a completely new language, which is beyond my comprehension. For that reason, I have decided to stay with the language of the polite society and paraphrase it, where occasion calls for it. However, I have attempted to bring about some distinction between the pedantic and the colloquial styles in my translations. For instance, the difference is evident in the translations of two stories The Soul wills it (Satyanarayana. jeevudi ishtam) and Middle class complex (Mullapudi Venkataramana. janataa express). I used the pedantic style in the former and the colloquial style in the latter. Pavani Sastry, son of Viswanatha Satyanarayana’s son, and Mullapudi Venkataramana expressed their satisfaction with my translations. Venkataramana wrote to me, “People say my stories are hard to translate but you have done good job.” (Personal correspondence with the author.). I was able to do justice to Venkataramana’s story because there was a story to tell, and the humor in the story emanated from the incidents universal in nature. On the other hand, another story by the same author, Mullapudi Venkataramana, Radha’s debt [Raadhamma baaki] (Review by Malathi) was hard to translate since it contained humor and phraseology that would go beyond the pale of my language skills. That being the case, I chose, instead of translating, to write an analytical article, explaining the humor in the story. I believe I have succeeded in conveying to the non-native readers a taste of the humor prevalent in our society.

Native flavor

As mentioned earlier, the native flavor is a big problem in translations, possibly even within the context of Indian languages. For instance a phrase like katha Kancikee, manam intikee, [Literally, the story (moves on) to the town of Kanjeepuram and we to our homes] may have similar phrases in other languages possibly with the name of a town in their area. In such instances, the translator would have to decide whether he would keep the proper noun, Kanjeepuram, or choose an equivalent phrase in the target language. Personally, I would prefer the Telugu phrase and provide an explanation.
Second aspect of the native flavor is the sonorous quality of Telugu. The vowel-ending feature and alliterations contribute to the musical nature of our language. One has to be a poet to bring about that effect. Although I am not a poet, I will try my best to achieve that effect. I will remind myself that I was translating a story, not poetry. Stories by Rachakonda Viswanatha Sastry fall under this category. In his stories, there is a story to tell and poetry to experience the beauty of the language.

On rare occasions, I feel a story untranslatable because of its musical quality. Had I chosen such a story for a different reason, I would elaborate on the native flavor in the editorial. If the entire story is poetic in nature, and I am trying to translate it, I will alert the readers at the beginning itself of what they might be missing in the translation along with the high watermarks in the story. Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry’s stories are known for his command of diction. The traditional values, especially the manner in which he deals with the institution of prostitution, is not exactly my cup of tea yet his presentation is captivating.

Structure

Occasionally, I would select a story specifically for its historical significance and the details regarding the lives of the rural communities. One such story is “yajnam” (Rama Rao). This critically acclaimed and highly controversial story has been translated by more than one translator, I believe. I have not seen the other translations but I am positive that there are significant differences between my translation and their translations. In this story, apart from the author’s use of Srikakulam dialect and the farming community, there is a passage where the protagonist, Appalramudu, delivers a speech, which runs to about four pages. Additionally, the speech is interspersed with episodes from the past. That requires the reader to move back and forth in time, and grasp the speech at two levels—the past and the present. That puts a huge burden on the mind of a reader unfamiliar with our culture; it would be frustrating. Therefore, I have made some structural changes in my translation with, of course, the author’s express permission.

One more factor to remember is we have not outgrown the use of some of the elements of narrative technique in oral tradition. Telling a story to a live audience has its advantages and is hard to resist. Besides, Telugu readers have no problem with the elements of oral tradition such as switching between past and present and digression in a narrative. Nevertheless, it is a problem for readers from other cultures.

In a heartrending story of a working-class woman, aarthanadam (Ranganayakamma), the author, includes an episode containing a long humorous dialogue between a grandmother and her grandchildren. The episode has no relevance to the original story and the language she used is not easy to translate because of several forms of address and trivial phraseology. It is a structural flaw in the story. Further discussion of this episode is offered under Humor.

Dhvani [suggestion] and vakrokti [indirect communication] in translations

Dhvani [suggestion] and vakrokti [indirect communication] are common in literatures but problematic in crosscultural translation. While the concept is known in all literatures, it is not easy to comprehend the full meaning in the stories from other cultures. It makes the reader constantly worry that he might be missing something, being unaware of the nuance. That would be an additional burden on the reader, and subsequently discouraging to continue to read the story. In such instances also, I would add a brief note. For the same reason, long conversations involving too many phrases like “you know what I mean” are best avoided.

Grammar: Tense

In Telugu, we switch tenses freely. In English the tense needs to agree with the actual sequence of events within a given time-frame. If the story is told in the past tense, any references to the previous incidents should be told in the past perfect.

In some of our stories, we find long narrations of previous incidents, which require past perfect forms. The use of “had” in each sentence in a long passage is grammatically correct yet disruptive in the flow, especially if the previous incident runs to two or three pages. Added to the confusion is when the previous incident has references to another incident further back in time. Some of my friends suggested indenting or changing the font size in order to mark the change in tense, which means making it visible in long passages. Another suggestion is to add opening and closing lines at the beginning and end of the long narration of the past. The additional lines help the reader to move back and forth in time along with the storyline. In shorter sentences, I would avoid the use of past perfect tense sometimes. For instance, a sentence like “He had four children” seems to mean he “had children in the past but not now”. After consulting my American friends, I have learned one way to circumvent the problem is to rearrange the sentences. I could say, “his sons were helping him in chores” or something similar to that effect, based on the context. Implicitly, the readers would know that he had children at the time of narration

Non-finite verb forms

Another linguistic peculiarity in Telugu is the use of nonfinite verbs [asamaapaka kriya]. In English, it would be a series of short complete sentences or used in conjunction with a gerund, the -ing ending. A phrase like cheppi vacchaanu translates as either “I said and came” or “After telling, I came”. In either case, the actual verb for cheppu [to say] fails to convey the ease of diction, which the Telugu phrase carries. This example is the simplest in this type of construction. There are other instances where a series of nonfinite verbs may be used to build tempo. Native speakers appreciate the escalating tension as they read the sentence. In translation, we can hardly accomplish that pace with the use of gerunds or several short sentences.

The longest sentence I have come across is the first paragraph in “anavasara dampatyam” [Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma. Meaningless Union]. The very first sentence runs to 14 lines and contains 23 nonfinite verbs, not to mention verbal adjectives! In my translation, I broke them into shorter sentences. Also, of necessity, I moved the last part of the 14-line sentence to the fore. This is necessitated by the differences in the sentence structures in the two languages – Telugu and English

Pronouns

The abundance of pronouns in Telugu language vouches for the richness of our language. We have six forms for the third person singular, male, vaadu, atanu, aayana, veedu, ithanu, eeyana – all translate into one word “he” in English. In addition, we have a gender-free pronoun, tanu, which acts like a third person singular, which will be discussed later.

Consider the following sentence for translation and note the resulting confusion in translation.Aayana vaadini kaafee tecci ataniki immannaaru. Vaadu kaafee tecci ataniki iccaadu. The translation could be, “He told him to bring coffee for him. He brought it and gave it to him.” In this case, once again, it would be immensely helpful to the reader if the translator makes clear who is who, and who is doing what.

The use of the pronoun “those” for “they” may be grammatically correct yet looks odd at the end of a sentence. Translation for annaaru vaallu as “said those” does not look right for me at least. Probably, my translation would be “they said” or “said those farmers”, or, whoever the people were in the story.

The second person, singular and plural pronouns, meeru and nuvvu translate into English as the same word, “you”. There is no distinction between formal and informal, or singular and plural. In this case, the translation loses the cultural nuance.

One good example is a conversation between a husband and wife. In Andhra Pradesh, the husband-wife relationship is complex. The use of second person singular pronouns, nuvvu and meeru used by husband and wife calls for attention. I am aware that the usage varies depending on the region, caste, economic status and, in modern times, sophistication. Despite these variations, customarily, it is considered normal for husband to address wife as nuvvu and wife to address husband as meeru. This usage presupposes a shade of hierarchy in a familial context. Additionally, the verb endings change, which again are missed in the translation. In some stories, the author may be making this distinction to drive home a point. In the story, kavi gaari bharya (Nayani Krishnakumari), the narrator comments that the poet’s wife referred to her husband as meeru or nuvvu depending on what she thought of him as husband or uncle’s son at any given moment. In such cases, a brief note is needed.

Two vocative forms require special attention. In an informal setting, people of the same age group use the vocative forms, orei and osei, males and females respectively among themselves. The closest form in English would be “hey”. Probably, the use of “hey” is acceptable in a casual conversation but not when the author makes a point of it specifically. In the story, yajnam, the narrator comments that the village head, Sriramulu Naidu addresses the poor farmer, Appalramudu, as emoi but never as orei (Rama Rao, “Yajnam”). Native speakers would know that emoi is informal and respectful and orei is demeaning in this particular context. By “in this context”, I mean there are other instances when orei will not be considered offensive as stated earlier.

I have also noticed that long Indian names such as Sitaramudu and Sriramulu Naidu (Rama Rao.“yajnam”) will be confusing to the non-native speakers. Several forms of the same name like Erri, Errakka, and Erramma are also prone to be mistaken for the names of three people.
Proper nouns based on physical attributes:

In empu [Choices] (Somayajulu), the author used physical attributes as personal names—Kunti for a crippled man and Guddi for a blind man. Technically, these terms are not different from names like Visalakshi, meaning a woman with large eyes or Syamasundar for a man with dark-colored skin. These terms however are not considered offensive. On the other hand, the terms referring to physical limitations are derogatory and often accepted only by the people who are not in a position to protest. Perhaps, that is one of the messages the author intended to convey. However, the literal translations of these terms as “crippled” and “blind” would not do justice in my opinion. A non-heritage speaker would interpret them as insensitive. I am not saying they are not insensitive. That is not the cultural trait I would want to convey. I would rather keep the original terminology as is and explain them in a footnote.

Professional terminology as Proper Nouns:

Another habit in our culture is to use professional terminology as personal names. For example, Beena Devi used daactaru garu and jadjee garu in her story, ribbanu mukka [A Piece of ribbon]. My dilemma was whether to treat them as English words and follow the practice of the English language or treat them as given names, and follow the spellings the way they were written in Telugu. If I were to consider the words as professional titles, I should spell them as doctor garu and judge garu. Also, I would have to use the articles ‘a’ or ‘the’ appropriately. Then I would be failing to convey to the reader an important cultural trait in our culture, which is, forging close friendship with the professionals we come across in our lives and using the terms as personal names without reference to their professional status. As a translator, I think it is important for me to create an environment in the translation so the foreign reader would understand all these implications.

In this regard, I have consulted several Americans, both friends and strangers. Once again, there is no consensus since the concept is foreign to them. I have decided to treat them as personal names and explained in a footnote or in the editorial.

Relational terminology as Proper Nouns:

Relevant to our discussion are the forms of address prevalent in our society. We have different terms for the children of brothers or sisters (baava, maridi, vadina, maradalu) as opposed to the children of two sisters or two brothers. Terms like attagaru, tammudu, and akkayya tell immensely about our culture. I also would like to see these terms find their way into English across the world the same way karma and masala are incorporated into English. Maybe I am being naïve; maybe I am being ambitious, but certainly, I would like to work to that end!

In America, all these relational terms, including persons from different generations, are rolled up into a single term, “cousin”. If I translate chinnakka and peddakka, as “little big sister” and “big big sister”, it does not make sense and certainly hurts the flow. Further, in a dialogue, it is hard to use them as vocative forms; it would be jarring. It is also hard to let the reader understand that sometimes, the same term such as peddakka may be used by others even when the relationship between the two is not the same. Another contradiction is the standard MLA requirement that all foreign words should be italicized.For instance, in the story, hundaa [Tulasi. “My sister: A Classy Lady”], akkayya is known only as akkayya. In all, I have been treating the relational terminology as personal names, unless the story calls for a different interpretation. Additionally, I would suggest referring to the glossary for further explanation. Incidentally, I might add that the glossary on my site is the most frequently accessed file yet! A unique pronoun in Telugu language is tanu, which is technically third person singular pronoun. When the author uses tanu as narrator, the entire story is told from the point of view of that character as if tanu is a first person singular pronoun. Unlike the third person pronouns, tanu is not gender-specific. Sometimes, but not always, it is possible to deduce the gender by the verb-endings in a given sentence in Telugu. It is a long ride for the reader before he can figure it out on his own.

Writers may occasionally use this term loosely, giving rise to some confusion. In the story, soham [Ramakrishna Sastry. “He is I”], the narrator switches between the first person, “I” and “tanu”. This form of narrative, distinctive in oral tradition, is easily understood by native speakers but confusing to the readers from other cultures. Therefore I take it upon myself to be consistent even when it meant a departure from the original text.

Phrases and Idioms

We may classify Telugu phrases into three categories: 1. Phrases that allow straight translation; 2.Phrases and idioms, which may be translated with some effort; and 3. Phrases and idioms, which require considerable effort to make them comprehensible to the foreign audience. In the latter two instances, the question is to what degree we can make the necessary changes in the original. How do we find a meaningful phrase or sentence, which will capture the reader’s imagination and, at the same time, convey the cultural nuance? Second question is whether we should use the English equivalents wherever available or translate the Telugu phrases to highlight the Telugu nuance and provide the English equivalent in a footnote.

Phrases, which allow straight translation

There are not many but a few like pustakappurugu, which translates as bookworm easily. The phrase chevini vesukonakapovu is comparable to “turning a deaf ear”. On the other hand, a phrase like mannu tinna paamu has no equivalent in English to my knowledge. However, it is not hard to coin a new phrase like “a snake snacked on dirt”, working on the alliteration to give it a proverbial sense. There is no ambiguity in these translations.

One more note on this subject. When I first started my website, thulika.net, I did not provide the Telugu equivalents for these translations. Then, a young Telugu reader, who attended English medium school, suggested that I give the Telugu proverbs in a footnote so readers like her would be able to improve their Telugu language skills as well. That substantiates my claim that providing additional information does not hurt.

Phrases, which require some effort to make them comprehensible in translation

I am not enunciating a new theory but giving what has been my practice and I will explain why. Some phrases may not be translatable while others leave some room for us to be creative. For instance, the phrase, Kondaveeti chentaadu in trikonam [Seela Veerraju. “A Triangle,”] is one such phrase. I translated it as Kondaveeti rope. The phrase refers to the topographical significance of the village Kondaveedu in Guntur district, where water is scarce and the wells are dreadfully deep. For the villagers of Kondaveedu, drawing water from those wells is a long and laborious task. Implicitly, a task compared to kondaveeti rope is long and laborious. I thought, by translating the translatable part, chentaadu as jute rope, a foreign reader would have a better motivation to learn more about the implicit meaning. Additionally, the name of the village Kondaveedu, slightly id different from the oblique form, Kondaveeti, and that is another problematic area for a foreign reader. If I were to leave the entire phrase as Kondaveeti chaantaadu, the reader is sure to miss the entire connotation.

Untranslatable Phrases

We have phrases and idioms that are almost untranslatable. Just translating them alone would not suffice to communicate the spirit of the original to the readers. Two languages of two diametrically opposite cultures do not lend themselves to accurate translation one hundred percent. Culture-specific phrases and idioms belong in this category. Let us take a culture-specific phrase like lempalesukonu (Bhanumati. Attaakodaleeyam [A Story of a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law]). No matter how we translate it, it would be impossible for a foreign reader to visualize the actual scenario. I translated it as “She tapped on her cheeks lightly and reverently.” One young writer asked me why not translate it as “she slapped her cheeks”. My explanation is the phrase lempakaaya iccu in Telugu means slapping another person and in anger. On the other hand, lempalesukonu is an act to express his/her remorse. or respect like in temples, and there is no force. The person touches lightly her/his cheeks. It refers to a socio-religious, cultural practice and apologetic in spirit.For a reader who is not familiar with this practice, “slapping” invokes a completely different imagery in his mind. This is not one of the instances, a foreign reader can understand from the context, without some explanation.

Proverbs, which have corresponding proverbs in the target language

Proverbs or adages are time-honored, time-tested facts. They are the props that come in handy for a writer when the language fails or is inadequate. Proverbs often contain a rhyme or an alliteration either to capture one’s attention or as a mnemonic device. This is one aspect the translator must remember while translating the proverbs. When I translate, I try to bring about similar effect in English. That explains some of the digression from the original in my translations of Telugu proverbs. The following examples illustrate my point.

My translation for the proverb mundu nuyyi, venaka goyyi is “a well in front and a trench behind”. In English, the corresponding proverb is, “between a rock and a hard place”. Nevertheless, I would prefer to give a translation of the original Telugu phrase instead of using the English proverb. My aim is to highlight the commonalities in different cultures and perhaps the topography.

Culture-specific Proverbs, which have no equivalents in the target language.

Some proverbs, which are culture-specific in terms of beliefs and lifestyles, are equally open to more than one interpretation.

I translated kadupu cincukunte kaallameeda padutundi as “You tear your guts and they fall on your feet” in yajnam [Rama Rao]. In the Telugu sentence, the subject is not stated explicitly but the verb cinchukonu is a reflexive, meaning one is doing something to oneself. I supplied ‘you’ in the conditional clause and ‘they’ [the guts] in the principal clause. The translation is fairly literal and thus imparts the implied meaning—“when you hurt your children, in turn, it hurts you”.

Another angle in these proverbs is lack of a subject or subject without a given name. In such cases, it is necessary to improvise a subject for the purpose of clarification. English language will not permit sentences without subject as illustrated above. The translator needs to pick the correct subject based on the context.

Another proverb I translated is gati leni manushulu taguvukedite matileni peddalu teerchevaaraa ani as “like hapless men seeking justice from brainless men” (Rama Rao. yajnam). Here again, I tried to coin a new adage based on the original text loosely.

Let us examine the proverbs or phrases, which are not translatable. For example, a phrase like adugulaku madugulottadam carries deeper cultural nuance. I think the word madugulu refers to madatalu (folded clothes). I understand the phrase refers to spreading a sheet for the guest of honor to walk on. In everyday usage, it has come to mean something similar to the red carpet treatment. However, I would prefer coining a new phrase as opposed to using the English phrase “red carpet treatment”, in order to emphasize the slight differences in the two cultures.

Distinctive and Culture-specific Phraseology

Culture-specific phraseology requires more than the use of a dictionary to translate. For instance, mancimaata chesuku vaccu is an archaic phrase referring to an old custom. In the old days, poor brahmin women used to run what is known as poota kuulla illu, where the woman serves food for money in an informal setting. The phrase, mancimaata chesuku vaccu has come to mean discussing food arrangements with a homeowner. Another example is vaaraalu chesukonu, also refers to an erstwhile custom. It is also food arrangements young Brahmin boys would make with seven families for seven days of the week while they pursued their education. Whenever I come across phrases like this, I would like to keep them in the story and explain in a footnote. From my perspective, that is important for the story to keep its cultural nuance.

Other concepts peculiar to our culture are engili, antu, madi, and dishti.The corresponding English words, which have gained some currency, are saliva pollution [engili], touch pollution [antu], quarantine-like condition [madi], and evil eye [dishti]. I hope one day these Telugu words will be incorporated into the English language. The word karma has gained currency in America to mean divine ordinance. In Telugu, it has several shades of meaning. Based on the context, I may use the term karma or translate it into English. That helps the reader to move forward without wasting too much time guessing what the meaning might be.

I am aware that some writers and some readers feel that these distinctions overburden the reader or undercut his/her imagination. I would rather prefer to think that these concepts are important in setting one culture apart from the others. It helps the readers to understand how these concepts play out in the source culture.

I translated sodi manishi as village psychic (Prabhavati.) with some hesitation. I am aware that telling sodi is not the same as predicting future by a psychic. My point is the sodi practice is culture-specific. There are other terms like fortuneteller, occultist, medium, and spiritualist. None of them exactly means the same as sodi manishi. When two cultures do not have the same practice, vocation, or lifestyle, we need to choose just one term in the target language based on comparable practices. A psychic invokes spirits to predict future events; the sodi woman invokes goddesses for the same purpose. The spirits and the goddesses are not the same but both are unverifiable sources. In that sense, I thought sodi woman would be comparable to a psychic or fortuneteller. Frankly, this is one of the instances no matter what word I had chosen there would always be a question. I chose psychic since it rolled easier on my tongue. Nevertheless, I was aware that the term did not import the complete cultural nuance and therefore I provided further explanation of the sodi tradition in the glossary at the end of the book.

Culture-specific Humor.

Unquestionably, humor is hard to translate, since it is deep-rooted in a given culture. Bhanumati narrates an incident in attaa kodaleeyam, in which she describes her mother-in-law’s madi, a temporary, quarantine-like condition, one creates for oneself. And her husband makes fun of the smelly pickles his mother was eating. In both the cases, the son and the daughter-in-law were not being polite to the older woman from a westerner’s standpoint. Thus translating the paragraph as is without paraphrasing is not sufficient to convey the humor in the story.

In the same passage, the daughter-in-law also comments about her mother-in-law sitting on the floor facing the wall to eat. The narrator’s reference to the Lord Narasimha in this context once again is hilarious for those who are familiar with the mythological character. For those who are not familiar with the story of Narasimha, an explanation is necessary.

In aartanaadam (Ranganayakamma), there is an episode in which the grandchildren visit their grandmother, after they were informed that she was dying. As it turned out, she was not ready to die and the grandchildren seized the occasion to tease her. The episode has no relevance to the story, except the storyline calls for the female protagonist’s absence from home for an extended period of time.

In a personal letter addressed to me, the author agreed that the episode was irrelevant and gave me permission to delete it at my discretion (Ranganayakamma. Personal Correspondence). I however chose to keep it in order to drive home a point—the free exchange of almost irreverent words between adults and children in a family. Grandchildren asking grandmother whether she would really want to die at all, or where she kept all her money, what she was going to do with it, and the tone in the conversation—all would be considered rude at one level and entertaining at another level. This is in direct contradiction of the custom of showing respect to the elders by the young people. Nevertheless, it is normal in some families and the story highlights that point. I discussed this topic in detail in my book, Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975 (Malathi).

English words in Telugu stories:

Various writers use English words in Telugu stories to serve different purposes. If the English words are used simply as a reproduction of current colloquial style, probably, the translator may take them as they are and incorporate them without thinking twice. However, if it is part of the author’s narrative technique as in the case of Rachakonda Viswanatha Sastry, they need to be interpreted appropriately. It is necessary to examine if the author is using the English terminology to shift gears in the flow of the narrative or to invoke ridicule of an existing practice. Viswanatha Sastry uses this technique superbly. Also, if the author is simply reproducing the English words from the original, the translator needs to see if the actual words used in India are comprehensible to the global audience. For instance, “far relative” for “distant relative”, “long hand shirt” for “long sleeve shirt” and “time pass” for “passing time” are some examples, which do not go very well in a translation for global audience. In fact, only recently, I have learned that the phrase “giving a hand” in Andhra Pradesh, does not mean giving help but “not keeping one’s word.

Working with the Authors

In general, my practice is to translate first line by line, then go over the translation, and make the necessary changes for smooth reading. In the process, I may change the order of the sentences, add a word or two in some places, and even move around sentences to make it readable. Then I send it to the author, with a note about the changes I have made. The authors suggest one or two changes. I would accept their suggestions, if appropriate. Or explain my translation. That has been my practice for the past seven and a half years. On rare occasions, if the author is not with my translation, and keeps suggesting alternative forms, I may decide not to proceed with that project. In short, working with writers has not been a problem for me. The only problem is locating the writers or copyright holders for permissions.

CONCLUSION

To sum up, the translator needs to remember who the target audiences are. Even as we tell children’s stories in a language intelligible to the children, and women’s stories in the diction with which women are comfortable, we, translators, have a moral obligation to honor the language behavior of the target audience. Leaving it to the readers to deduce the meaning from the context may work fine when the readers are from within the culture. As stated at the outset, an important goal of the translations is to serve as an educational experience for the readers from other cultures. In that sense, we are obligated to focus on the cultural nuance. The reader may still choose to skip the explanations. In my experience, a translator is a writer also. He works at three levels: 1. the source work; 2. target audience, and 3. the vocabulary he has at hand. Often, readers, writers and critics tend to miss this angle. He will draw on the diction at his command and produce a translation, while striving to make it appealing to the target audience. In that attempt he may lose some of the native flavor of the original yet he will succeed only if he has the freedom to be creative and present story in a language he is comfortable with. If the author disagrees, there is no meeting of the minds and there is no translation. He just moves on to the next translation.

[End]

Originally published on ICFAI Journal, Hyderabad, and reprinted on thulika.net, 2009.]

Sources
Books
Malathi, Nidadavolu. Telugu Women Writers. 1950-1975. A Unique Phenomenon in the History of
Telugu Fiction. Madison, Wisconsin: Author, 2008. 123-136.
Tulasi, Chaganti. “My Sister: A Classy Lady” [hundaa]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. A Spectrum of My People: A Collection of Short Stories from Andhra Pradesh. Mumbai: Jaico Publishing House. 2006. 139-154.
Prabhavati, Vasa. “The Village Psychic.” Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. A Spectrum of My People. Mumbai: Jaico, 2006. 283-297.
Ventaramana. Mullapudi. Middle Class Complex [Janataa express]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. A Spectrum of My People. Mumbai: Jaico, 2006. 69-102

Journals
Kondala Rao, Ravi. a sogasu vastundaa? [Can the translation get that beauty?]. Andhra Jyothy. Vividha. 15 October 2003.
Viswanatha Sastry, Rachakonda. Man, Woman [mogavaadu, aada manishi]. Trans. Nidadavolu
Malathi. The Toronto South Asian Review. Summer 1987. V.7. No. 1. 1-12. Reprint. Rachakonda
Viswanatha Sastry. Values & Other Stories. Srinivasavanam, Kuppam: Dravidian University, 2007. 88-103.

Internet sources:
Krishnakumari, Nayani. The Poet’s Wife. [Kavi gaari bharya]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi.

Malathi, Nidadavolu. Radha’s Debt [Raadhamma baaki] by Mullapudi Venkataramana”.
Rama Rao, Kalipatnam. The Rite of Sacrifice [yajnam]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. 3 March 2009.
Ramakrishna Sastry, Malladi. He is I. [soham]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. 3 March 2009.
Satyanarayana, Viswanatha. The Soul Wills It [jeevudi ishtam]. Trans. Nidadavolu Malathi. 3 March
Subrahmanya Sarma, Puranam. Meaningless Union [Anavasara dampatyam]. Trans. Nidadavolu
Malathi. 3 March 2009.

Other sources.
Ranganayakamma. Personal correspondence with the author. 17 January 1983.
Venkataramana, Mullapudi. Personal correspondence with the author. 15 February 2003.

A historical perspective of Women’s writing in Andhra Pradesh

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by Nidadavolu Malathi.
Dog wonderedWhy are there so many poems

About dogs

Pink chalk wondered

Why there are none

About him

Here, pink chalk,

a poem about a dog.

–Anonymous.

I saw this poem on the sidewalk during my evening walk one day. I stood there memorizing the lines. Next morning I went back to read again. Last night’s rain washed away the poem. For me the pink chalk became a metaphor for women writing.

Here follows my perception of women writing in Andhra Pradesh.

–Malathi

ORAL TRADITION:

In cultures like India where oral tradition is predominantly a mode of tutelage and dissemination of knowledge, the short story continues to be another important medium. Colossal works like Katha Sarit Sagaram (The Ocean of Stories) and Panca tantram (The Five Strategies of Polity) are series of never-ending stories with several layers of embedded stories. In books like these, the narrator starts a story, branches off into another story within the story and leaves only to pick it up the following night. The listeners have time to ruminate on the story and make mental notes. Dakshinamurti, a prominent fiction writer stated that, “not only Indians but even foreigners agree that India is the first to explore short fiction. … Our Vedic literature possesses stories in their rudimentary form.” (3).

For centuries, Telugu mothers have been telling stories to children, in the time-honored spirit of oral tradition, while doing chores–stories about handsome princes, wicked witches, and mean step-mothers as well as stories of national heroes. The story of Dudala Salamma of Quila Shapur in Women Writing in India (Tharu and Lalitha 216-224) is an excellent example of stories in oral tradition. The narrative highlights some of the important features of oral tradition: [1] a woman, with no formal education narrated the story. For centuries, while formal education for women was substandard, their lore, cognition and aptitude to tell a story remained unquestionable; [2] It reflects the narrator’s strength of character as an active participant in a people’s movement (Telangana Movement 1946-1951); and, [3] Humility, not showmanship, has been one of the telling virtues of Hindu philosophy, and by extension, that of Indian women. Possibly for the same reason we have no biographical details of the narrator, Salamma. Telugu women had no problem in telling a story. The question of recognition and reward was a moot point even in 1960s.

WOMEN’S EDUCATION IN UPPER CLASSES:

Oral tradition imparts knowledge. Over the centuries, women have acquired knowledge while staying within the confines of their homes. There is evidence of scholarship among women from upper classes, Brahmin [scholars], Kshatriya [royalty] castes, and other economically advantaged classes.

Utukuri Lakshmikantamma (1917-1997), a highly respected female scholar in Sanskrit and Telugu, poet, and literary historian, listed more than 200 female poets extending over ten centuries in her monumental work, Andhra kavayitrulu [Andhra female authors] (1953)[1]. Some of the acclaimed female authors were Leelavati, 11^th century, Tallapaka Timmakka, 12^th century, Gangadevi, 13^th century, Mohanangi, 15^th century, and Muddupalani, 18^th century, to name but few.

The females in the upper classes have received support and encouragement from male family members in acquiring knowledge as well as in their literary pursuits. Bhaskaracharyulu, a famous mathematician, 11^th century, taught his daughter Leelavati mathematics. Leelavati authored a textbook, Leelavati ganitamu which is considered a valuable contribution (Lakshmikantamma 42-43).

Mohanangi, 16^th century, daughter of emperor Krishnadevarayalu, received unequivocal support from her father in her literary venture. Following passage affirms the father-daughter relationship in the medieval period. The original text is in poetic form.

One day Krishnadevarayalu noticed that his daughter was perplexed and asks what was troubling her. Mohanangi replied that she was considering writing not “a few silly lines” but “a kavya [epic] much to the chagrin of those who ridicule female writing.” Krishnadevarayalu expressed immense pleasure at her decision and said, “I have been telling you, and you didn’t listen to me. Please do let me have the pleasure of your poetry.” He also assured her that her scholastic excellence was superior even to male writers (Lakshmikantamma 30-31).

It is evident that female scholarship in royal families existed and male family members were supportive of female scholarship. This tradition of receiving support from family members continued in modern period. The story of Bhandaru Acchamamba’s (1874- ?) is a classic example of such support. In fact, her story provides arguments on both sides of the question—whether and how the family members responded to females acquiring knowledge. Acchamamba’s brother Komarraju Lakshmana Rao, a famous activist and respected journalist, encouraged her to learn to read. Some members of her family were opposed to the idea. Acchamamba was indifferent at first, and later decided to go along with her brother’s advice. Then she took upon herself to convince the other family members. Eventually she became a scholar not only in Telugu, but also in Sanskrit and English, and authored a book, Abala Saccharitra ratnamala in 3 volumes [1. histories of women in classics, 2. women in history and 3. biographies of foreign women] (Lakshmikantamma. Andhra kavayitrulu, 105).

Lakshmikantamma cited several instances in her book where the family members have actively supported women’s education and encouraged women writing. It would also appear that by this time the female scholarship extended beyond brahmin and kshatriya castes, to other economically higher classes. Acchamamba belonged to Vaisya caste (business community).

WOMEN IN LOWER CLASSES:

Speaking of the females from lower classes in the previous centuries, Atukuri Molla belonged to potters’ caste/class and is commonly referred to as kummari [potters] Molla. Unlike the female writers from upper classes. One critic raised the question how could Molla, a woman of lower caste, acquire the writing skills (Radhika Gajjala. Personal correspondence). I could only take a wild guess based my limited knowledge of the heirarchy in India. Within each community there is an internal structure. For instance, within the kummari caste, Molla’s father could be the head/chief [kulapedda] in which case she was entitled to the privileges of the higher status women. I remember seeing in my younger days this kind of imitation of the upper class customs in the lower class communities. Yet the question remains how a person from lower classes, male or female, could acquire the reading and writing skills?

Coming back to the known facts, Molla did not hesitate to appear in public or approach the royalty (Further discussion in the later part of this article). Molla was acclaimed for her Ramayanam, written in pure Telugu, brimming with cultural nuance and native idiom, unadulterated with long winding and heavily Sanskritized phraseology. She was the second[2] female poet to write in pure Telugu. Arudra’s comment is pertinent here, “Molla’s Ramayanam enjoys popularity to this day while several other Ramayanams written by highly regarded male scholars of her times were lost in history” (Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 110).

Molla belonged to the 14^th or 16^th century. Lakshmikantamma established authoritatively the dates as 1320-1400 or 1405 (Andhra Kavayitrulu 25) while Arudra determined it to be the 16^th century (Samagra Andhra sahityam 8: 114). Let’ note that this kind of discrepancy however is not peculiar to female authors only.

Women started receiving formal education in public schools in the late 19^th century. Kandukuri Veeresalingam (1848-1919), a prominent social reformer and activist, pioneered the women’s movement in Andhra Pradesh, and for that reason earned the title “the father of modern epoch” [yugapurushudu or yugakarta] in Andhra Pradesh.

VEERESALINGAM (1948-1919) AND WOMEN’S MOVEMENT:

Kandukuri Veeresalingam took up women’s cause in the late 19^th century. Among his major accomplishments, the most notable were women’s education, widow remarriage and eradication of prostitution. Veeresalingam believed strongly that “the country can not prosper unless women are educated.” (Venkatarangayya 37). He started with educating his wife, Rajyalakshmamma who later became an active participant in his reform movements.

An important issue of this period was the controversy among the male elitists regarding female education. While some were supportive of female education, there were other activists who opposed it vehemently. Kokkonda Venkataratnam pantulu (1842-1915) was one of the staunch opponents of education for women. In his magazine Andhra bhasha sanjivani, Venkataratnam pantulu was publishing articles on the negative effects of women’s education at the same time Veeresalingam was striving to advocate the positive factors.

Narla Venkateswararao, better known as V. R. Narla (1908- ), an eminent journalist and western-educated scholar, reported the debate as follows [original in English] as “The biggest and the most long-drawn-out of his [Veeresalingam’s] battles were for the right of a woman to education and of a widow to remarriage” (36) … and “In its [his magazine, satihita bodhini] columns, he serialised his stories of Satyavati and Chandramati, his biographical sketches of famous women, Indian and foreign, his popular guide to health, his moral maxims in verse, and his many other writings meant exclusively for women.”(37).

The above passage highlights two points: The controversy surrounding women’s education in Andhra Pradesh was not so much gender-specific as society-specific—meaning the issue was not one of males versus females but between two groups of males, supporters and opponents of education for women. This trend continued well into the modern period.

Secondly, Veeresalingam’s course content for females—what subjects women should be taught—was not as progressive as his views on the need for education. He started the magazine exclusively for women, satihitabodhini, the first of its kind in 1883. His views were made clear in one of his articles entitled “Uneducated women are the enemies of their children,” Veeresalingam wrote, “If women were educated, they will stay away from using foul language, will not get into brawls, and behave sensibly and quietly. We have the proverb, ‘children take after their mother.’[3] If women behave, the children will learn good behavior. … If the mothers were stupid and petulant, the children fail in their studies, become irascible, take to evil ways and hurt others and hurt themselves.” (Quoted in Potturi Venkateswararao. 86). Veeresalingam’s views on female virtue raised some controversy in his later years. This is discussed further on page 8 of this article.

SOCIAL CONDITIONS DURING VEERESALINGAM PERIOD:

The prevailing social conditions of women during Veeresalingam’s period are discernable from the story of his wife, Rajyalakshmamma. Kanuparti Varalakshmamma (1896- )[4], an acclaimed poet, lyricist, and fiction writer, wrote about Rajyalakshmamma as follows:

After her husband [Veeresalingam] started the widow remarriage movement, her relationship with her natal home became a struggle. There was no way she could keep her relationship with the two families—her natal home and the in-laws. … After much thought, she decided to stay with her husband, as was appropriate for an Indian woman. …

Due to their excommunication[5] by the local community, Rajyalakshmamma suffered several hardships. Household help was not available anymore. She had to cook, clean, fetch water from the river Godavari … the list was endless.

For the same reason [excommunication], she was not invited to festivities at her natal home, or by the neighbors … She had to put up with ridicule from the other females silently and with tears welling up in her eyes… In addition, her husband was terribly short-tempered, would not give her the time of the day. If she tried to talk to him, he would say, ‘If you can’t take it, just go back to your home.’ Therefore, she had no other recourse but to keep quiet. God only knows how she had endured such hardships. … (42).

Narla also had expressed similar view in regard to Rajyalakshmamma’s position at home.

In a way, she [Rajyalakshmamma] bore greater burden than he [Veeresalingam]. It was easy for him to offer protection to every child widow that had come to him seeking help. But it was Rajyalakshmamma who had to feed them, clothe them, and take care of them like a mother. …women from different areas, with different backgrounds and personalities. … And she had to deal with several child widows with several heartrending stories. … (Yugapurushudu 17).

For centuries, Hindu philosophy has been preaching one’s duty to family and society, and selfless service. In familial context, compromise is a cultural value. The title of the article, dharmapatni Rajyalakshmamma, reinforces those convictions. Literally, dharmapatni is the woman who carries out her duties, consistent with her husband’s role in society. Rajyalakshmamma lived according to these principles. One example of her fortitude was in regard to the will Veeresalingam had created. While contemplating to donate his entire estate to Hitakarinisamajam [his organization for women’s welfare] he was unsure of the amount he should set aside for his wife. Rajyalakshmamma heard about his dilemma and told him that between the two of them, she would die earlier and so there was no reason for him to worry about her share of the property[6] (Varalakshmamma 44).

The two comments (of Varalakshmamma and Narla) point to the anomaly between Veeresalingam’s preachings and practice. The freedom Veeresalingam was advocating for women had its limitations. However, even in his times, towards the end of his era, women began showing signs of independent thinking.

Two female writers who were children during the last two decades of Veeresalingam throw light on the social change that was taking place almost imperceptibly in the early 20^th century. Battula Kamakshamma (1886- ), a teen child widow at this time gives us a touching account in her autobiographical essay, a short 4-page paper, smruthulu, anubhavamulu [memories and personal experiences] of how women lived with grace under trying social conditions[7]. The gist of it is as follows:

She was a child widow, about 15 years old in 1901-1902, and was living in her relatives’ home. During those days the well-to-do families were observing rigid traditions and customs. Women couldn’t show their faces in public. Kamakshamma was always dedicated to reading books and public service. She was interested in Veeresalingam’s writings and evidently was inspired by his writings. When her family members and other disciples of Veeresalingam tried to encourage her to remarry she resisted. She devoted her life to public service. ..

Her family members did not object to her reading since she was also reading epics and gathering other women in her neighborhood for religious discourses [emphasis mine]. Evidently she had to circumvent possible opposition to her reading the controversial books (69-72).

To me, the article was interesting since it showed how she had noticed the unfavorable conditions, and circumvented the objections in subtle ways. Her account gives us some of the notable details as to how, during and after Veeresalingam period, women managed to process the information they had received and put it to their best use while keeping good relationship with their families. Wisdom lies in working things out. Kamakshamma was a good example. She decided not to remarry but had no problem in helping other widows who wished to remarry. The hurdles from her family did not prevent her from following her heart—that was reading Veeresalingam’s writings and taking only whatever suited her mental disposition.

Another female writer, Nalam Suseelamma, wife of Nalam Krishna Rao[8], also expressed similar sentiment:

She was not interested in her husband’s activities at first. She was hesitant even to talk to Rajyalakshmamma [Veeresalingam’s wife]. But she was following her husband … only to please her husband but not because she believed in his them. Suseelamma added that she was not ashamed of her lifestyle during those days. ‘I am saying this to point out the hold the traditional values had on us during that period.’ In retrospect she felt there was nothing to be ashamed of, she was only sorry but not ashamed. …

“I could not step outside past the front door in those days. Now I am running this Andhra Mahila gaana sabha [Andhra women music society]. I owe it to the incessant teachings of Veeresalingam garu. ….” (95-96).

Evidently the males allowed women to read books but within the norms set by the society. And individual women found ways to circumvent the hurdles. That was and has been the spirit and character of Telugu women. This spirit of compromise or conformation rather than of confrontation has been evident even in the female writers in 1960s. Kamakshamma and Suseelamma reaffirm the evolutionary nature of social values. Change does not happen in one quick move but takes place imperceptibly.

NEWSPAPERS AND MAGAZINES

By 1930s, the women’s education movement gained momentum. The nationalist movement needed an educated woman. National leaders found women to be of valuable asset not only for their strength but also in terms of numbers. A little later, Ayyanki Venkataramanayya started the library movement, once again with educating women as one of its primary goals. As a result of the combined efforts of all these three movements, several women’s magazines came into existence.

Several magazine exclusively for women started appearing soon. Telugu janana was started in 1894 and published from Rajahmundry, the central part of the state with rich literary history. Hindusundari was another magazine for women, started by S. Sitaramayya in 1902. Potturi Venkateswararao quoted the mission statement of the editor:

“Considering that [Telugujanana] is the only magazine currently available for women, and there is no other to compete with, I decided to start this [hindusundari]… hoping to educate women, encouraging to express themselves freely, and without fear. I contacted our sisters who were sending their contributions to my other magazine, desopakari [guardian of our country]. They all expressed great enthusiasm at the prospect, promised to help me to make it a useful magazine for all women. Some of them offered to write and publish themselves, while a few expressed concern. For fear of ridicule by their female neighbors, some of them preferred to use pseudonyms … For all these reasons, we tried to make the women take up writing and running the magazine themselves, but the country has not reached that level yet, I suppose.” (87)

And Venkateswararao commented that,

This rather long editorial is indicative of the educated women’s interest in writing, of their fear of ridicule by female friends, and also, the determination of the publishers and magazine editors to promote the women’s education, to encourage women to act as magazine editors. At the request of Sitaramayya, two women, Mosalikanti Rambayamma and Vempati Santabayamma became editors. In all possibility, these two women were the first female journalists and magazine editors. After a few years, some 7 or 8 years, Madabhushi Chudamma and Kallepalli Venkataramanamma took up the editorial responsibilities of the magazine. It was about this time that the term “sampadakulu” [Telugu term for male editors] came into vogue, and the two women announced themselves “sampaadakuraandru” [female editors]. The magazine was moved to Kakinada in 1917 and later was dissolved.

The first issue of Hindusundari included articles on traditional duties of wives [pativratadharmam], the tenets for married women, skills required in the performance of their daily chores, women’s songs, cosmetics, hygiene, biographies of foreign women, and also fiction for diversion. The stories that were supportive of women’s education and literary interest were given priority (87-88).

Notably women were invited to participate in running the magazine and they responded zealously. Interestingly they had expressed their concern that they might face ridicule from their female cohorts [emphasis mine]! Another noteworthy point was that Hindusundari did not differ in its views from Veeresalingam’s on female education.

Tirumala Ramacandra, (1913- ) mentioned two female writers in his book, Telugu patrikala sahitya seva (1989) –Racamalla Satyavatidevi as the first female editor of a magazine, not for-women-only, Telugu talli, 1938-1944 (61), and Jnanamba as an essayist. Ramacandra quoted almost one page from one of Jnanamba’s article [non-fiction] on the delicious nature of sitaphalam [winter apple] and its benefits for one’s health (44). Potham Janakamma who wrote an article, “videsi yatra” (traveling abroad) in 1874, published in Andhrabhasha sanjivani, could be the first Telugu female essayist (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana 58).

Significantly, the magazine Andhrabhasha sanjivani was run by Kokkonda Venkataratnam pantulu, who was a staunch opponent of education for women. The magazine was a “platform for the traditionalists of the old school to revive the long-established social norms, and also to oppose all social and cultural reform movements. The magazine was publishing articles opposing widow remarriage and women’s education” (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana 57-58).

K. N. Kesari, a nationalist leader, noted philanthropist and journalist started Gruhalakshmi in 1928 providing a viable platform for women to express themselves. Kesari’s mission was to “improve the health and welfare of women.” Venkateswararao commented that, “although this is intended for women only, the magazine was publishing highly informative articles useful for everybody. There are several articles of lasting value.” Probably this was one of the significant moments when the ‘exclusively for women’ idea started fading. Venkateswararao further elaborated that “Gruhalakshmi provided platform for several female writers… worked for women’s education, women’s voting rights and was keen on encouraging women to work on the spinning wheel at home. Encouraged women to conduct conferences, seminars, etc. and published the news in its pages. In this magazine, the national activist Gummididala Durgabai [later came to be known as Durgabai Deshmukh] published her serial novel, ‘Lakshmi’. The story was about an orphan named Lakshmi who suffers several hardships and later becomes a teacher. At the end of the novel, Durgabai addressed the readers and said, ‘if even one woman learns from this story and improves her life, I will feel blessed.’ … Gruhalakshmi has a special place not only among women’s magazines but all the magazines of that epoch” (P. Venkateswararao 90-91).

In the same context, Lakshmana Reddi observed that, “Several women who had no knowledge of even alphabet, worked hard to improve their reading skills and rose to the level of becoming eminent scholars.” (Telugu journalism 306). … Kanuparti Varalakshmamma ran a column entitled ‘Sarada lekhalu’ [letters from Sarada] in which she discussed important women’s issues like Sharda Act [Government Act prohibiting child marriages] (307).

Kesari also set up an annual award, “Swarna kankanam” (golden bracelet) to honor female writers of eminence, and this award continues to present times.

Pulugurta Lakshmi Narasamamba was also an active contributor to Gruhalakshmi who later started her own magazine, Savitri in 1904, “challenging Veeresalingam’s position on widow remarriage and declaring war on several other movements of Veeresalingam. Although she opposed widow remarriage, she was a great advocate of women’s education” (Lakshmana Reddi. Telugulo patrika racana. 121). Venkateswararao noted that, “Although it is not clear how long this magazine existed but evidently has published valuable articles. The articles were published later in anthologies” (P. Venkateswararao 90).

I would like to relate an anecdote that adds another dimension to Lakshmi Narasamamba’s character. One of her granddaughters was my friend and classmate in Andhra University, 1956-1959. My friend had mentioned that her grandmother Lakshmi Narasamamba garu was progressive in numerous ways; and, when my friend wanted to marry a man of her choice the family opposed. Her grandmother however supported and encouraged her to follow her heart. Like Kamakshamma (see page 6 of this article), women in those days made choices on a case-by-case basis. Their choices might look like a contradiction on the surface but are indicative of the strength of their characters.

While the movements were focused on “educating women”, women with hardly any schooling were writing and publishing in the 1930s and 1940s. One classic example of their success was a scholarly work by Burra Kamaladevi (1908- ), Chhandohamsi (A study of meter). The book was prescribed as a textbook for post-graduate students in Telugu Literature and bhashapraveena diploma (attestation of scholarship in Telugu language studies) in schools. The notable factor was that Kamaladevi received no formal education, and that the academy did not consider it an obstacle to consider it a scholarly work.

These magazines for women published poetry and fiction by female writers. Men openly encouraged women to write. There was no stigma in writing. There was no stigma in publishing their writings in their own names. Women writers in Andhra Pradesh did not hide behind pseudonyms to conceal their identity

THE SHIFTS IN MALE SUPPORT AND FEMALE EDUCATION

Veeresalingam had stated his goals of female education in no uncertain terms. After the declaration of independence, there was a shift in the attitudes of males at least on the surface. The ‘magazines exclusively for women’ were replaced by special sections for women in magazines for general public. For instance, Pramadaavanam in Andhra Prabha, vanitaalokam in Andhra Patrika, and later vanitaajyoti in Andhra Jyoti with female columnists were and have been such replacements. The topics dealt with in these special sections however remained the same—cooking, sewing, female hygiene and beauty tips. Unlike Veeresalingam the social activists in later period did not spell it out though. The attitudes have become much more subtle. There was no movement like that of Kokkonda Venkataratnam opposing female education in public.Yet, the reality women faced in day to day life on the home-front was a different story. The double standard some of the male activists evinced, the contrariety between their preachings and practice also went unrecorded.

The women took it upon themselves to make that shift to social issues that seriously affected women. The dissent started to surface in other ways like movies and in real life situations. This is evident in the 1960s female writing.

Statistically, the names of female writers appeared only sporadically in critical works. Potturi Venkateswararao devoted one chapter, “acchamgaa aadavaallakosam” [exclusively for women] in his book, naati patrikala meti viluvalu (the high standards of the magazines in the past] (86-91) in which he briefly commented on the magazines for women and female writing in the early 20^th century. Poranki Dakshinamurti listed over 200 short story writers, as prominent fiction writers between 1910 and 1975 in his book katha vanjmayam [history of short story] and 30 of them were females. Most of these 30 writers were from the 1950s and 1960s decades.

RECOGNITION AND REWARD

It would appear from modern day criticism that the two important questions regarding women writing are recognition and reward. Attempting to put these two questions in a social context in India is a complex task. The complexities arise from the caste-oriented social hierarchy as well as multi-layered familial relationships. My intent is to show, not how women were ridiculed and spurned, but how they handled themselves in literature and in society. Human nature being what it is, there is always room for conflicts and confrontation. Wisdom lies in dealing with the conflicts, and, I think, Telugu female writers handled themselves beautifully.

Let’s first examine the aspect of recognition. Historically, women writers were not appearing in public. Several biographies in Lakshmikantamma’s Andhra Kavayitrulu included comments on the extraordinary talent of female authors, but did not refer to their reception by the public. This custom of not seeking recognition was evident even in the 1960s, to a much lesser degree though.

Women in upper classes have written but did not seem to have sought royal patronage like male writers. During Veeresalingam’s period females began showing interest in publishing articles in the women’s magazines as well as books. This could be considered the first departure from tradition. Lakshmikantamma has stated that she owed her interest in the female writing of the past to Veeresalingam’s works (98). The content and the views expressed in these writings however remained the same as in the past. The works by these female writers carried Veeresalingam’s philosophy—Ahalayabai [story of Ahalya, a chaste woman in mythology], bhaktimargam [the rules of devotion], satidharmamulu [the duties of wife], and such.

Among those who deviated from this norm, Molla was prominently featured in the history of Telugu literature. Molla did not hesitate to go to the court despite her caste status. The following passage from Pratapacaritra by Ekamranatha, an early historian throws light on Molla’s stature in society [translation mine]:

Molla offered to dedicate her work Ramayanam to king Prataparudra. The scholars present in the court objected, calling it sudrakavitvam [poetry of a lower class person] and so was inappropriate. The king, in deference to their objection, invited the male brahmin scholars to write Ramayanam. Molla came to the court and read verses from her Ramayanam. The king, being knowledgeable, and appreciative of her [Molla’s] talent, yet afraid he might offend the brahmin scholars, rewarded her appropriately and sent her to the queen’s palace… (quoted in Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 113-114).

This account raises questions like how could Molla, a woman from lower class, gain access to the royal court in the first place? How could she read her poetry if her writing were considered objectionable? Why did the poets in the court waited until Molla recited her poetry, and then raised their objections? What prevented the King from overruling the objections of the poets in his court? To me, it appears the issue here is more than male versus female.

On the same lines, I would like to discuss another story about Molla, prevalent in Andhra Pradesh. A word of caution is needed here. Both Lakshmikantamma (Andhra kavayitrulu 19) and Arudra (Samagra Andhra Sahityam 8: 113) made brief references to the story but would not go into details. Lakshmikantamma dismissed it as irrelevant. I am, however, inclined to give here one story, for a couple of reasons. I will get to my reasons after giving the story.

One day Molla was returning from the market carrying a chicken and a puppy in her arms, and ran in toTenali Ramakrishna, a contemporary poet and prankster. Ramakrishna saw Molla, and as was his custom, saw an opportunity for a good laugh. He asked Molla if she would let him have the chicken or the puppy for a rupee. The question was a double entendre. At one level, it was a simple, straightforward question—whether she would sell the chicken or puppy to him for a rupee; and, at the other level, it was an obscenity.

Molla saw where he was going with his question, and replied that she would not sell him anything at any cost. Her response was also a double entendre matching his wits—at one level, her response was a straightforward answer—that she simply would not sell anything to him, and at the other level, her response meant, ‘Whatever your intentions are, you know I am like a mother to you’. The story continues to state that, then on Ramakrishna treated her with respect, like a mother.

The story raises several questions in regard to the status of women in society, in general, and of women poets, in particular. Was this a story of humiliation or success? How could a lower caste woman claim to be a mother-like figure of a brahmin? Wouldn’t that be preposterous? Does this story mean that women poets were subjected to ridicule? Or did it intend to show that women equaled men in a battle of wits? Ramakrishna was known to pull pranks on his male contemporariesll as we, and at times, ended up at the receiving end himself. In that sense, could we say that he treated Molla like he would any other poet, irrespective of gender? In my teen years, I read this story as an example of battle of wits.

My reasons for quoting the story are: In Telugu literature, there is a genre called tittu kavitvam [poetry of slander]. For centuries, it has been common practice for Telugu folks to ridicule each other. Personal attacks and defamation of character have been national characteristics. What would be considered an offense in the west would be a trivial matter for Telugu folks. Comments like “scribbling women” (Lawrence), or comparing women writing to “a dog walking on his hind legs” (Johnson) are easily forgiven or brushed off in our culture. Regarding the outrageous attacks and insults Venkataratnam Pantulu and Veeresalingam poured on each other in the late 19^th centuries, Krishnakumari, a respected scholar and critic commented that only persons of their stature [Veeresalingam and Venkataratnam pantulu] could entertain such ferocious personal attacks (Yugapurushudu 173). This trend of personal attacks is widespread in Andhra Pradesh and continued in to 1960s and 1970s. Such sarcasm did not stand in the way for women to write and publish.

The second female writer to make history in the past was Muddupalani (1730-1790). Muddupalani was the first female writer, I think, to cause the scholars raise gender related questions. While Molla’s story was often quoted as an example of battle of wits, Muddupalani’s work was associated with her caste, courtesans.

Muddupalani was a granddaughter of Tanjanayaki, a courtesan in Tanjore court during Pratapasimha rule (1730-1763) (Arudra Samagra Andhra Sahityam 12: 172). Muddu Palani wrote Radhikasantvanam, a poetic narrative of how Krishna set out to pacify incensed Radhika. She included several intimate details and erotic notes on woman’s modus operandi of satisfying a man in the process.

From the recorded history it would appear that questions regarding the authorship of radhikasantvanam were raised and dismissed (Samagra Andhra Sahityam. 12: 171-176), but the details are not relevant for the purpose of this book. What is relevant was the controversy surrounding its publication a century later. In 1910, when Bangalore Nagaratnamma, a scholar and poet in her own right, attempted to publish the book, met with strong opposition. The opposition and banning of the book came from the British government.

Among the Indians, Veeresalingam, a champion of women’s movement was one of her harshest critics. He condemned Muddupalani’s descriptions of love-making. Here is the account of Veeresalingam’s objections and Nagaratnamma’s rebuttal:

Veeresalingam commented on Radhikasantvanam as follows: “Several references in the book are disgraceful and inappropriate for women to hear or write about.”

Bangalore Nagaratnamma questioned Veeresalingam’s integrity: “Does the question of propriety and embarrassment arise only in the case of women, and not of men? Is he [Veeresalingam] implying that it is acceptable for this author [Muddupalani] to write about conjugal pleasures in minute detail and without reservation because she was a courtesan, but it would not be so for respectable men? Then my question is: Are the obscenities in this book [radhikasantvanam] worse than the obscenities in vaijayantivilasam, a book which pantulu garu [Veeresalingam] personally reviewed and approved for publication? And what about the obscenities in his own work, rasikajanamanobhiranjanam?” (Quoted in Arudra. preface. xx).

Apparently, women did not hesitate to rise to the occasion and register their protest when the occasion called for it. Radhikasantvanam was eventually published, as a result of an appeal to the government by some male scholars. They claimed that, “It is unfair to ban the entire book simply because it contains a few, some two dozen, objectionable verses.” The ban was not lifted until after the British rule ended though.

Some of the Andhra elite considered the book deserved to be published and got it published. Yet the stigma continues to this day, as is evident in some of the comments in the 20^th and 21^st centuries. Lakshmikantamma paid a remarkable tribute to Muddupalani’s poetic excellence and her command of language, and then said in her final note, “With her explicit descriptions of sexual acts, however, she [Muddupalani] made it impossible for scholarly discussion of her work in respectable company. … However, we should not put the blame entirely on Muddupalani for her explicit descriptions [pacci srungaram]. … The country was under military rule. It was a chaotic period.” (Andhra Kavayitrulu 67). Another comment posted on the Internet, as recently as July 2001 is equally subjective: “She [Muddupalani] wrote “Radhika Santvanamu” to prove that women can write lust and sex as well as or even better than men! Being a Vesya (concubine or prostitute) it was not difficult for her to write about lust and sex.”[9] (Vepachedu Srinivasarao Homepage)[Original in English] . There is however a noticeable difference in these two comments. Lakshmikantamma stayed with her subject while Srinivasarao took a jab at the author’s profession and personal life!

SUMMARY:

In summary, historically education was available to women in upper and middle class families. Questions like how and why this happened, and whether it was selective are open for debate. After declaration of independence, and the abolition of zamindaries and princely states, the middle class came into prominence with renewed vigor. Women from royal/ruling class became part of the middle class. Almost all the female writers in post-independent Andhra Pradesh belonged to middle class in terms of social strata. Their values represented the values of the new emerging middle class. The women started writing about the values of the middle class families, which were changing dramatically because of the social and political changes in the country.

Secondly, the controversies surrounding women’s education was not gender-specific. The dissent was between two groups, each group consisting of males and females, rather than separate groups of males and females. And strangely, the division continues to prevail even in modern times.

A third distinction was between the academy and the public–a modern concept. With the popularization of adult and women’s education, the non-scholar readership has increased exponentially, and it was responding to fiction with enthusiasm, irrespective of academic assessment of women writing.

Final note: I am examining Telugu female writers of 1960s era against this background. I am looking forward to readers’ comments, suggestions, and stories. I am inviting readers to share their comments and stories that have a direct bearing on this topic. You may email your comments to me or mail to my contact in India. I am planning to visit India briefly and will be happy to meet with readers and writers.

(End)

(Originally published on thulika.net, September 2002. The suggestions and comments from Radhika Yelkur, India, and Radhika Gajjala, US, are gratefully acknowledged. – Nidadavolu Malathi.)

The complete book for personal use may be downloaded. Click on Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975: Analytical study of women’s writing in Andhra Pradesh.

WORKS CITED:

Arudra [pseud]. See Sankarasastry, Bhagavatula.

Dakshinamurti, Poranki. Kathanika vanjmayam. Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Academy, 1975.

Kamakshamma, Battula. “Smruthulu, anubhavamu [Memories and experiences].” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 69-72.

Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham. Yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d.

Lakshmana Reddi, V. telugulo patrika rachana. Vijayawada: Lakshmi Publications, 1988.

— telugu journalism. Vijayawada: Gopichand Publications, 1985.

Lakshmikantamma, Utukuri. Andhra kavayitrulu. Hyderabad: Author, 1953.

— “Naati Vidusheemanulu.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 97-102.

Narla, V. R. See Venkateswararao, Narla.

Ramachandra, Tirumala. telugu patrikala sahitya seva. Hyderabad: Visalandhra Publishing House, 1989.

Ramalashmi, K. Comp. Andhra racayitrula samacara sucika Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, 1968.

Sankarasastry, Bhagavatula. [Arudra, pseud.] Samagra Andhra Sahityam.V.8. Madras: Seshachalam &Co., 1965. 110-118.

— Samagra Andhra Sahityam, V. 12, Madras: Seshachalam &Co., 1968 168-176.

— “pravesika [preface]” Muddupalani. Radhikasantvanam. Madras: EMESCO Books, 1972, xi-xxiv

Salamma, Dudala. “Dudala Salamma of Quila Shapur.” Tharu, Susie and Lalitha, K. ed.: Women Writing in India, V.2. New York: East-West Books, 1998. 216-224

Suseelamma, Nalam. “Pavitra smruthulu [Ennobling memories].” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 93-96.

Varalakshmamma, Kanuparti. “Dharmapatni Rajyalakshmamma.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 41-44.

Venkateswararao, Narla. Veeresalingam [English]. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1968.

— “Yugapurushudu.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 11-18

Venkateswararao, Potturi. nati patrikala meti viluvalu. Hyderabad: Rachana Journalism Kalasala, 2000.

Venkatarangayya, Mamidipudi. “sarvotomukha sanghasamskarta.” Kandukuri Veeresalingam Smarakostavamula Sangham: yugapurushudu Veeresalingam. Hyderabad: Author, n.d. 33-40.

Vijayalakshmi, Arepudi. navala racayitrulu-navalaa udyamaalu. Hyderabad: author, 1996.

[Internet sources]

Vepachedu, Srinivasa Rao Home page. 7 July 2001 <http://members.iquest.net/-vepachedu/Women.html>.

[1] The book received Madras Government Literary Award in 1953, and went into several reprints. To this day it remains a valuable research tool.

[2] Tallapaka Timmakka was the first female poet to write in pure Telugu.

[3] Telugu original: talli chaalu pillalaku vacchunu.

[4] Swarnakankanam recipient in 1934, the best female writer award of Sahitya Akademi in 1966 (Ramalakshmi n.pag.)

[5] Due to Veeresalingam’s movement for widow remarriage, they were treated as outcastes..

[6] Rajyalakshmamma died nine years earlier than Veeresalingam She died in her sleep, painlessly (Varalakshmamma 44).

[7] Translation of complete article is available on my web site, Thulika (https://thulika.net/), September 2002.

[8] Kamakshamma’s uncle’s son, she had mentioned earlier.

[9] http://members.iquest.net/-vepachedu/Women.html.

Dr. Arudra by Nidadavolu Malathi

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Arudra, a relentless researcher and poet, devoted his life to write for the ordinary people without compromising his integrity. He proved successfully that poetry in classical meter could be written in colloquial Telugu and produce valuable literature. He did not believe in academic degrees. He researched incessantly and brought valuable information on a wide
variety of topics to the public.

Arudra [Bhagavatula Sadasiva Sankara Sastry] was born in Visakhapatnam in 1925. He moved to Vizianagaram in 1941 for college studies. During this period, he met with literary stalwarts Chaganti Somayajulu and Ronanki Appalaswamy who became powerful forces in molding his literary pursuits and helped to define his literary values in the years to come.

Early in life, Arudra became involved in the political movements. He left college and joined the Air Force in 1943. He moved to Madras in 1947, where he served on the editorial board of a popular magazine Anandavani for two years. Then returned to Visakhapatnam where he was a photographer for a short period. In 1949, he returned to Madras. He always believed that journalism had “adventure value.” He tried for a job in journalism and ended with script and lyric writing in the movies.

Arudra did not care for academic degrees but his incessant thirst for knowledge and acquiring it in the traditional method was notable. When he wanted to learn the fundamentals of Telugu grammar, he went to the highly reputable grammarian, Ravuri Doraiswamy Sarma. Interestingly, at the end of three years, however, Arudra changed Doraiswamy Sarma’s perceptions of the importance of colloquial Telugu. He proved to be a rare student who could convert the teacher and a staunch classicist into an advocate of colloquial language.

Arudra pursued his interest in literature and fine arts on his own and with unusual fervor. He studied not only classics in Telugu literature but also in other languages, and other fields such as dance, music, magic and palmistry. Top ranking artists in music and dance would consult Arudra for interpretation and explanations. He was well versed in the games of chess and bridge. Sri Venkateswara University, Tirupati, conferred an honorary doctorate of letters on Arudra in 1978. Andhra University honored him with Kalaprapoorna title. Arudra’s works had been subjects for several doctoral dissertations and M. Lit. Degrees.His sixtieth birthday was celebrated on a grand scale in Chennai in 1985. Marking his seventieth birthday, East and West Godavari districts organized huge literary meets. He was truly a people’s poet in every sense of the term.

Arudra met Ramalakshmi, a well-known writer and critic, while she was working at the Telugu swatantra office as editor of the English section of the magazine. They got married in 1954. They have three daughters and one adopted daughter.

Arudra’s first poem, lohavihangaalu [Metal Eagles] written in 1942 caught the eye of the elitists. During the Second World War, the Japanese airplanes dropped bombs on the Visakhapatnam harbor and people dispersed in panic. Arudra wrote the poem depicting the horrific scene.

Arudra strongly believed in two principles: First, literature must be able to stimulate people, and secondly, it must be written in a language that is intelligible to all the readers, the elite and the ordinary readers. In a personal letter written to me in 1981, Arudra said, “Our ancient poets said people’s tongues are the palm leaves that safeguard the literature. Now the hearts of the people are the tape recorders that preserve literature.” Arudra had experimented and produced valuable works in every literary genre—several techniques in poetry, literary history, short stories, detective novels, stage and radio plays, essays, lyrics and scripts for movies. Several of his lyrics and poems are still fresh in the hearts of the people.

The two most important works that gave him a permanent place in the history of Telugu literature are Samagra Andhra Sahityam [A Comprehensive Literary History of the Andhra People] and Tvamevaaham, [You are I –an aphorism from Upanishads]. The two works left an indelible mark on the minds and in the hearts of Telugu people.

His voluminous literature may be categorized into three areas: 1. works based on research, 2. creative writings (poetry, fiction, etc), and 3. lyrics and poetry written in a lighter vein. Further, his articles fall into the following categories: articles [1] related to the ancient and modern literature; [2] on fine arts and folk arts; [3] social reformers and others worked in the area; [4] movie industry; and, [5] miscellaneous.

Arudra mentioned in one of his essays an incident that led to working on his major work, Samagra Andhra Sahityam. It was triggered by a brief conversation the author had with B. N. Reddy, a prominent movie producer. Arudra casually suggested to Reddy to make a movie on the famous poet Tikkana. Reddy asked Arudra to see if there was enough material to make a movie.

Arudra, as his wont, started researching the subject, and was fascinated by the enormous amount of material he had come across in the process. The movie did not happen but his research, which extended over a period of sixteen years, resulted in the said volumes. “The information useful for the race [of the Telugu people] must not be put away,” he told himself, and set out to publish it in a series of volumes. The set of twelve volumes speaks of not only Arudra’s thirst for knowledge and tenacity but also his commitment to the Telugu race. Arudra’s commitment is evident from his comment that he quit smoking in order to continue his reading in the library uninterrupted.

The history of the publication of his monumental work, Samagra Andhra Sahityam [Comprehensive Literary History of the Andhra people], is worth mentioning here. In the sixties, M. Seshachalam &Company created a project under the banner “intinti granthalayam [Library in every home]. Under the project, subscribers received books on a monthly basis. The company agreed to publish Samagra Andhra Sahityam in 12 volumes between 1965 and 1968. Arudra worked day and night incessantly to meet the publishers’ guidelines, sometimes modifying the content to fit the size. After the 12th volume, the author realized that there was information for one more volume to cover the modern period. His health however held him back for a while. The first edition of 12 volumes sold out quickly. In 1988, Prajasakti publishers, Vijayawada, undertook to reprint the set. This time the author had the opportunity to include the details he had left out the first time and the volume on the modern period (volume 13). The second edition was published in 1991. Once again, the books were sold out quickly. In 2002, Ramalakshmi approached Telugu Akademi, and they agreed to publish the entire work in four volumes.
At this writing, volume 1 of this set is out of print.

Samagra Andhra Sahityam covering the period from the early Chalukya period (the eighth century to the British rule (the mid-nineteenth century) is not just a laundry list of authors’ names and their works. In his preface, the author mentioned that history of any country encompasses the literary history as well as social history. To that end, Arudra included umpteen particulars about the authors, their works, critiques and the minutiae of daily life in the period under discussion.

An important characteristic of these volumes is the language. Arudra wrote in colloquial Telugu in accordance with his belief that literature is for the people. kavisamrat Viswanatha Satyanarayana was strongly opposed to this view. It would appear that Satyanarayana was disappointed that Arudra did not write them in classical Telugu.

The second book, tvamevaaham [You are I, an upanishadic axiom] is one of the most widely received poetry volume in the history of modern Telugu literature. It is a powerful statement on the atrocities committed by the Razakars under the Nizam regime in 1948. While the people protested against the Nizam rule, the razakars committed unspeakable crimes. It was a hell let loose.

In his preface, the author stated that he was inspired by a news item published in krishnapatrika, under the banner naakaa siggu, naa stritvam enaaDo poyindi [Me, ashamed? My femininity was long gone]. It narrated the story of a woman who removed her clothes in a third class railway compartment in a leisurely fashion. One of the passengers asked her if she were not ashamed to do so. She replied, “Am I ashamed? How can I be? I was tied to a tree for twelve days in this manner by the razakars, the cronies of the Nizam, and was raped repeatedly. You did nothing. You should be ashamed”. Several poets of Andhra Pradesh responded to the appalling incident and the atrocities. Arudra’s poem set him apart from the others for his technique and its commanding tone.

The technique Arudra developed to write his poetry included rhyming couplets and extensive borrowing freely from Sanskrit, English and Urdu to make his point. Unlike other poets, Arudra did not use Sanskrit phraseology to impress the elite. He used them to create a stronger sense of the milieu.

The book in several cantos using the clock-related terminology such as hours, minutes, seconds, water clock, and sand clock, depicts in analogous meter the atrocities and violence that had occurred during that period.

In the preface to the book, Arudra said he originally called it Telangana. When he showed it to Sri Sri for his opinion, Sri Sri said he was very pleased with the poem. Regarding the title, Sri Sri said, “Giving the title Telangana to a book on Telangana is like drawing a picture of an elephant and call it elephant. It does not convey the essential message of the poem.” Arudra then changed it to the current title.

Let me digress here for a moment. Possibly the above incident could be the last when Arudra sought Sri Sri’s opinion. In terms of ideologies, Arudra moved away from Sri Sri soon enough. While Sri Sri remained strictly adhered to his Marxist principles, Arudra studied the Marxist and other ideologies and imbibed the spirit of those principles. He then developed his own philosophy and remained a man of his own convictions.

The book, tvamevaaham, was published in a biweekly magazine, Telugu swatantra, in 1949. I read it in the early fifties. I was not aware of the connotation and I did not understand every word of it, yet I was taken by the ambiance. It was one of my favorite readings at the time. The book has become an important part of history for its political and social context. That I came to know much later.

The public reception of the book was not immediate though. Nearly four years later, in a letter to Dasarathi, Arudra stated that he [Dasarathi] was the first to make constructive comments on the book. Dasarathi praised it as unique for its style and content. The review was published in Bharati monthly in 1953.

Arudra’s second daughter, Lalita, is a writer in her own right. She commented on tvamevaaham and translated one of the poems from the book. I was glad to note that her appreciation of the book was similar to mine. There is a notable difference of course. She is Arudra’s daughter and thus has a better sense of the poetic quality in it. You can find Lalita’s comments and the translation on her blog, http://lalitalarking.blogspot.com. Click on the October 2007 folder and scroll down to The Train You Intended to Take.

Among his other anthologies of poetry, koonalamma padaalu deserves special mention. In his preface, the author mentioned that he had come across an article by Veturi Prabhakara Sastry on the eight poems with the caption O Koonalammaa! In Bharati monthly in 1930. Arudra stated, “When I first read them, I was excited; the poems moved me and provoked me. The divine skill imbibed in these poems mesmerized me. … I scrutinized them closely and, after understanding the depth of meaning in those poems, decided to write similar poems and bring them to light.”

Arudra researched further and found that the time when these were written could not be established with certainty. He was however certain that they were being sung in the 17th century. Arudra arrived at two premises: 1. they were probably not written by Koonalamma herself but written by someone else as a tribute to Koonalamma, 2. they followed a particular type of meter that included rhyming the first three lines and ending with the caption, O Koonalamma as the 4t line. He discussed the meter in detail in this preface to this book. (I would not want to go into that area, since it is all Greek and Latin to me.)

Here are a couple of poems I translated. Of course, the original poems are more fascinating.

Andhra folks’ passion
O ghosh, is a load
That never lives to see the end
Oh Koonalamma.

The debt keeps growing
The shoe keeps stinging
It is a flame unavailable for viewing
Oh Koonalamma.

Arudra’s poetry in lighter vein is equally captivating. His poems under titles, intinti pajyaalu and America intinti pajyaalu illustrate the humorous side of events in our daily lives—his comments on the everyday realities and lifestyles. His humorous side is obvious even in the spelling of the title. His spelling was in step with the prevalent pronunciation at a time when it was not common in written texts.

Arudra is a great juggler of words. It is not an exaggeration to state that his rhyme brought him closer to the vast majority of readers. In his preface to the book, he mentioned that he modeled these poems, intinti pajyaalu, on the poetry of Ogden Nashe. Aptly, he stated,

American poet, Ogden Nashe
Had made plenty of cash,
As for me, all I wish for
Is a nod of sehbash

Here are a couple of poems from intinti pajyaalu.

Cricket match
To tell the truth, I cannot play cricket
Yet, for every match, I buy the ticket
Between Umrigar, Bordey and Desai, I cannot tell the difference
Not even when I’m close by.

That’s why, when our team is fielding
I shout aloud, “Milka Singh”
He wears a turban and a beard
That’s how I remember him well.

History on the move:
The hare and the tortoise made a wager
I’ll tell you how the tortoise won the race
He walked the one hundred miles
While the hare switched two trains

The book, America intinti pajyaalu [Poems in homes in America] depicts similar incidents in the homes of Telugu people in America. Personally, I think the real Telugu humor did not seep through in these poems as well as its precedent. Again, it could be my frame of mind.

Arudra wrote another book of poems, madhyakkaralu, to prove his argument that writing metrical poetry need not be laden heavily with meandering Sanskrit phraseology. Earlier, Viswanatha Satyanarayana published a volume entitled viswanatha madhyakkaralu, which received Sahitya Akademi award. Arudra called his book suddha madhyakkaralu, highlighting that his technique was the pure form and yet intelligible to all readers. His intent was to show that the ancient principles of poetics were just as suitable for colloquial Telugu as the classical Telugu.

In addition to his Samagra Andhra Sahityam, Arudra had written numerous essays over a period of fifty years.Most of them were published in anthologies such as mahaneeyulu [Great Personalities], vyaasapeetham[Articles on a wide variety of topics including history, classics, society, journalism, and movies], Ramudiki Sita Emavutundi [How Sita is related to Rama], temple sculpture, and prajakalalu and pragativaadulu [Folk arts and Freethinkers]. The book, Ramudiki Sita emavutundi is one of his works that explains his mode of thinking. In this book, he takes a popular adage, which implies that the question, how is Sita related to Rama, is idiotic since the answer is obvious; a question nobody in his right mind would ask. Arudra however takes the question seriously, and gives numerous examples from various texts in other cultures and other countries to show that the answer is more complex than appears to be. The book clearly gives a lot for the reader to wonder about and think.

In 1999, Ramalakshmi has decided to publish all the works of Arudra. One of them is a collection of critical essays on a wide variety of topics, entitled vyasapeetham the second imprint. The essays range from Vedic times to the beliefs and practices in modern times—legends and facts surrounding various mythological characters such as Krishna, Sita, Draupadi, various issues as described in Vedas, women’s position in society, customs at various times, persons of importance in the movie industry, the state of today’s journalism, and so on. The volume speaks of Arudra’s tenacious pursuit of knowledge on one hand and his ability to present the topics in a language that is appealing to the widest audience. Arudra excels in capturing his audience’s attention.

In some case, the articles clarify some of the popular notions. Others provide additional information and educate the readers. In his article on what the word putrika meant, Arudra points out that the word was originally meant to refer to the daughter who had no brothers. He quoted ancient texts such as Manu dharmasastra, Vedas, and modern Vedic authorities (Panchagnula Adinarayana Sastry) and western scholars (Sir Moniere Williams) to support his view. He also quotes from Women in the Vedic Age by Sakuntala rao Sastry, wherein Mrs. Sakuntala rao comments, “After the male domination came into play, the woman without brothers was labeled putrika and declared unfit for marriage. Sayanacharya who had written commentary on Vedas attributed the 14th century A.D. mode of thinking to the Vedic period”. Arudra would append his own
views wherever he felt strongly about the issue on hand. For instance, in the above article, he asked why today’s traditionalists accept the Vedas as authoritative, yet would not allow the same rights to women that had been allowed in the Vedic period (p.58).

Vemanna Vedam is another valuable work of Arudra. Vemana, a 14th century poet, is highly respected for his keen insights into the customs of society and pungent remarks. Arudra interpreted these poems, quoting extensively from the Vedas and other scholarly works. His commentary adds immensely to the study of Vemana’s poems.

Arudra has written books on palmistry, hand gestures in bharatanatyam, people and folk arts, and on chess among several others.

The book, hastalakshanam, is a small book in which Arudra wrote poems illustrating the hand gestures in classical dance. He worked closely with Padma Subrahmanyam, a famous dancer, to explain the underlying philosophy.

In the early eighties, I started working on Telugu writers for a doctoral dissertation (never finished). In that context, I contacted several writers. Arudra was kind enough to respond to my questions. I am happy I could share his thoughts with you at this late date.

Arudra in his own words:
In a letter dated July 28, 1981, Arudra wrote:

1.        Prior to entering the movie industry, I have gained the knowledge of writing good lyrics from the standpoint of literary technique. After getting into the movies, I understood the technique from the standpoint of music. I understood specifically how to use the rhyme and assonance. My technique improved because of the movies, but not hurt.
2.        The movie industry is only a business in the world of capitalist society. Producers make movies only to make money. If a competent director has good taste, he will be able to create a movie that does not fall below the standard. Writer is a part of this team. This is a collaborative effort.
3.        When a writer writes a lyric and publishes in a magazine, a reader reads it, sitting at home. Between him and a moviegoer, there is a big difference. These differences are inevitable in today’s society. As long as there is a difference between the literature that is read and the one that is heard, there will also be a difference between literary technique and the literature of the movies. For example, once, I read a poem aloud in a literary meet. It opens on the lines, “Is this the country where Gandhi was born?” Later, there was an occasion where I had to write the same as a lyric for a movie. The views were the same but the way it was expressed had to be changed. I did it myself. One of the trade secrets of the artist is to be able to change the technique according to the medium. The difference between the stage play and the screenplay is the same as the literary technique and the movie technique. It is just as crucial.
4.        I have written numerous movie songs. I was never ashamed of the songs I have written for the movies. On the other hand, I am proud of them. I have been working in the industry for 32 years now (1981) that is about 3200 over the years. On average, I have been writing one hundred songs per year, maybe more. Some of these songs have become very popular. A few dozens of them are still being heard from individual singers, and broadcast on radio and television even now. Our ancient poets said that we might call them lyrics only those which act as the palm leaves for the tongues of the people. I am content that I have written songs that are tape recorders for the hearts of the people.
5.        I will not be disappointed if a producer or director asks me to change the lines. Movie songs require fixing. The song must be suitable for the episode and the presentation of it in the movie. Without thinking about the episode, the writer might imagine it in a different way. Then one of them would have to change his mode of thinking. It is appropriate for the writer to modify the song. How can a writer satisfy hundreds and thousands of audience, if he cannot satisfy the producer and the director?
6.        There was no occasion I had to write songs that were not consistent with my outlook.
7.        There were occasions when the storyline was changed based on my song. Director Tilak used to change the storyline based on the songs I had written. Once I wrote a song, raayinaina kaaka pothine [Why I have not turned into a rock at least?] for a private recording. Bapu heard it and was so pleased he created a scene in his movie goranta deepam. They do ask for my suggestions as well.
8.        To entertain the public is also one of the functions of literature. I think this can be attained through movie songs to a greater extent. I was very pleased when I heard one of my songs from the movie premalekhalu, sung by workers at the railway station by coal lines. Same way, when people, whom I’ve never met before, would approach me on the railway platform or some other place and congratulate me for the song muthemanta pasupu. Where is greater joy than knowing that my song has given them on the spot respite for a few minutes? [Sadyah eva nivruthi.]
9.        My ideology is scientific equality. I am including this in the movies whenever possible in an easily understandable, colloquial Telugu and using popular adages, but not with stock phrases. Nevertheless, the producer would allow the premise of equality only if it fits today’s business framework. In today’s template movies liberalism is nil. The views in the songs make an impression only when the entire movie resonates with liberalism. Otherwise, it will be like the juices and solids remain separate

My answer to the question you [Malathi] did not ask:
In the Telugu movie industry, numerous literary stalwarts such as Veluri Sivarama sastry, Viswanatha Satyanarayana, and Viswanatha Kaviraju, have written lyrics. So also progressive writers like Devulapalli, Sri Sri, Dasarathi, Si.Na.Re, and Atreya. Before the formation of Abhyudaya Rachayitala Sangham in 1947, we used to argue that we should write in a language that is intelligible to all the people. Yet we filled our writings with phrases built on Sanskrit phraseology [tatsamabhuuyishtamaina] that was incomprehensible to the people. After joining the movie industry, the language has taken the forms of desyam [native], aicchikam [random], and graameenam [rural]. Nowadays, nobody is writing lyrics filled with Sanskrit phrases, unless it is a purana movie. This is a linguistic revolution.

Second letter dated October 21, 1981:
Writing for the movies is my vocation. Literature is my passion. It is morally untenable to yield to shameful acts in the name of one’s work. For that reason, I will never do anything that is dishonorable voluntarily.

In literature, a disparity between the writer and reader leads to communication gap. That happened at the time of tvamevaaham was published. Even a great poet like Bhartruhari despaired that jeernamange subhashitam. [Good words are lost in oneself for want of receptive audience.] Kalidasu lost heart and said that puraanamiteva na saadhu sarvam. [Not everything is commendable because it is old]. Bhavabhuti had to tell himself vipulaa ca prithvee [The world is expansive] and be content with it. Chemakura Venkanna was annoyed that ee gati raciyincireni samakaalikulu meccharu gadaa [Contemporaries do not appreciate regardless in whatever style you write].

For those who introduce innovative trends, this problem is inevitable. For the writers who think that they are right and the people are idiots, there is no problem, none whatsoever, for instance, Viswanatha. I am people’s writer. Real writer is a person of the society he lives in [sanghajeevi]. The purpose of literature is inherent in the society’s activities. The elite may hold the same disrespectful view towards the movie writings as their view towards folk songs. The epics live on paper. Lyrics live on the tongues of the people. Songs sung along with pestle and mortars are the songs. Now I am very happy that my writings are within the reach of the ordinary people.

To conclude, I would like to quote the last lines in the volume 13 of Samagra Andhra Sahityam. Arudra stated that in recording any literary history, the modern period begins but does not end. … In a continuing tradition, the details of movements and the episodes are only comas and semicolons … but there will be no full stops.”

Arudra left his legacy for Telugu people to continue. As long as the history is in the making, the legacy of Arudra will remain in the hearts and on the minds of Telugu people.

Source list.

Arudra Abhinandana Sanchika. Madras: Arudra Shashtipurti Celebration Committee, 1985.

Works by Arudra.

1. Poetry.
Sinivaali. Madras: M. Seshachalam &Co., 1960.
Suddha Madhyakkaralu. Chennai: Stri Sakti prachuranalu, 1999
Tvamevaaham. Secunderabad: Chanda Narayana Shreshti, 1962.

2. Critical works (Books and anthologies of essays)
Mahaneeyulu (pen portraits). Chennai: K. Ramalakshmi, 1979
Prajakalalu, Pragativaadulu. Vijayawada: Prajasakti Book House, [1986]
Ramudiki Sita emautundi. Vijayawada: Navodaya publishers, 1978
Samagra Andhra Sahityam. 4 vols. Hyderabad: Telugu Akademi, 2002.
Vemana Vedam. Vijayawada: New Students Book Center, 1985
Vyasapitham. Vijayawada: New Students Book Center, 1985.

3. Fiction
Arudra kathalu. Vijayawada: Vijayasarathi prachurana. 1966

*Complete list of Arudra’s works is available at http://en.wikpedia.org./wiki/Aarudhra.

This article by Nidadavolu Malathi has been published on thulika.net, June 2008.

Telugu short story from early times to 1930s by Dr. K. K. Ranganathacharyulu

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(A review by Malathi).In the past nine years, well over one hundred Telugu stories have been translated and published on this site in an attempt to introduce the intellectual richness of Telugu writers to the non-Telugu readers. But for the two stories by Bhandaru Acchamamba, all of them have been written in the later half of the twentieth century. Additionally, a few articles discussing the nature and peculiarities of Telugu story have been published. Nevertheless, up until now, the origin and the development of modern Telugu story have not been expounded. The present monograph, tolinaati Telugu kathaanikalu: modatinunchi 1930 varaku. Telugu kathaanikala pariseelana [Telugu short stories from early years to 1930s: A Study] by Prof. K. K. Ranganathacharyulu fulfills that gap.

This 120-page long monograph is a meticulous study of the origins and the development of Telugu short story in Andhra Pradesh. The author walks us through the significant elements of the short story in its nascent state during the first three decades specifically.

Prof. Ranganathacharyulu has taken great pains to study the subject objectively and it is obvious in these 120 pages packed with valuable information. Even the title so carefully crafted vouches for his commitment. It says “from the beginning” but gives no specific date. The reason for doing so becomes obvious in his discussion on identifying a given story as the first modern Telugu story. I will come to this later.

During my last visit to India, Prof. Kethu Viswanatha Reddy gave me this book. I found it not only interesting but valuable for anybody interested in studying Telugu short story as a genre. While I was in Hyderabad, I asked the author for permission to publish an abridged version of this book in English. However, as I started working on it, I found it impossible to shorten the text. Hence, I decided to quote a few arguments from each chapter in order to give the readers a glimpse into the nature of Telugu story in its early stages. I earnestly hope that those who can read Telugu will read the original in order to benefit fully from this monograph.

The author opens with a brief history of Sanskrit texts. He states that, initially, the short story has been taking brief accounts from the longer Sanskrit texts and retelling them in the form of kavyas and plays. In the process, it progressed through various stages such as adaptations, translations, and finally settled as modern stories, which is narrating current events and occurrences in colloquial language. The topics discussed in this monograph include a preface giving the background, the Telugu short story (magazines, identifying the first short story, the bloom of Telugu story, anthologies, translations, diversity of themes and variations in styles), famous writers of the early times, and a few more notable stories and writers, and critiquing short stories.

The monograph also includes notes, source list, and a 28-page long appendix of the stories examined by the author, with complete bibliographical data for the purpose of this study.

Here is a brief account of Prof. Ranganathacharyulu’s study.

***

Normally, in a given culture, the short story and the narrative technique would have as long a history as the existence of language itself. In the past, stories had been prevalent in the form oral literature across the world.

In modern times, the changes in production, the industries, and the businesses brought about significant changes in the nature of our lives. Now we have greater latitude in human relationships, experiences, and in our mode of thinking. Printing facilities and magazines made it possible to reach wider range of readership. As a result, the short story attained greater variation in themes, narrative technique and complexity. We refer to the modern story as fictional story because it is a product created by a writer based on his observations of the people and incidents in real life, which have happened repeatedly, and after finding a commonality in his observations.

Like the short story in the other cultures, Telugu short story also has a long history. According to scholars, short story in India has been in existence since the Vedic times. The Bruhat katha written by Gunadhya in the Paisachi language is the first notable writing in Indic languages. Along with Ramayana and Maha Bharata, Bruhat katha also provided writers with anecdotes for kavyas and plays in Sanskrit.

In Sanskrit literature, some stories are entertaining while others are didactic. Vikaramarka charitra, Salivaahana charitra and similar other works are focused on royal families and are imbibed with rasas such as excitement, bravery, and amazement. Stories like Panchatantra and Hitopadesa belong in the category of didactic stories. Usually, they include animals and birds as characters. Most of these kavyas gained circulation in the form of oral literature.

In the Telugu country, there are umpteen stories prevalent only in the oral form. Several scholars such as Gurajada Sriramamurthy, Komanduri Anantacharyulu, Madhira Subbanna Dikshitulu, and Nandivada Chalapati Rao rendered them in the print form. Some of the writers, who are known for their scholarship, put them in pedantic style. A few wrote them in semi-classical style while others wrote in colloquial style. The stories containing romance and ethical values are intended to entertain readers.

In the early years, adaptations from Indian stories into other languages and vise versa are undertaken freely. For instance, chitra ratnaakaram by Gurajada Sriramamurthy is based on Arabian nights. Taking the incidents or events from the original, he modified the names of the people and places as appropriate for Telugu readers.

Whether modern Telugu story has evolved from the ancient works progressively or is it a newly developed form is open for debate. Modern scholars and critics claim that it is not evolved from the ancient works.

The stories mentioned earlier are oriented towards narration. All the incidents and events centered on a single hero. Authors took the story and repositioned it in their own milieu, languages and peculiar styles. On the other hand, modern story is anchored in one theme and also structured. It contains the peculiar characteristics such as opening, organization or scheme, ending, and a distinctive style. Each writer has a style of his own and each story has a form of its own. Also, the importance of the incidents he creates, the characters he depicts, and the dialogues he develops change according to his point of view and his perception of his audience. The structure in modern short story has no room for expansiveness. Variation in themes, realism, depiction of contemporary life, and human psyche are vital. They belong to the written culture in their entirety. Modern short story is an invented story based on realism. The stories adapted from the oral literature do not belong in this fictional category.

In ancient times, the stories are rooted in the tradition of invoking a sense of amazement in the readers as a whole and taking them into an imaginary world or teaching them the righteous path. The modern story, on the other hand, helps the reader to understand one dimension of truth in real life. Whether the topic is taken from history, oral literature, or mythology, if it contains an awareness of modernity in essence and in perception, it becomes a modern story.

Kolluri Dharmarao identified this distinction between the modern story and the ancient story in his article, “kathaa parinaamam” [evolution of story] published in Andhra Bharati in July 1928. He comments that the stories containing ideas of social reform are harmful to the society. Notably, he believes that the English kept retelling the old stories because they could not give up the didactic nature of the old stories and that the fabricated stories in our society started only after the desire for social reform caught on. Modern story is defined as a story illustrating today’s realism in today’s language as opposed to retelling the old stories in modern language.

Although the modern story belongs to modern times, the name itself is not modern but taken from old times. Ancient grammarians classified the genre of story into five categories: Akhyaayika, katha, khanda katha, pari katha, and kathaanika. Based on the nature of the theme, topic, length, and scheme, each is shown as having a different set of characteristics.

A kathaanika has been defined as:

bhayaanakam sukhataram garbhe cha karuno rasah

adbhuto[a]sthe sukluptaarthaa no daatthaa saa kathaanikaa.

These characteristics may be redefined in the context of modern short story as follows:

Bhayaanakam in the modern sense is to create interest in “what next”, suspense, and amazement in the opening. garbhe cha karuno rasah may be interpreted as including a little sadness, conflict and internal struggle in the scheme of narration. Ending the story with an unexpected twist is adbhutam [Amazement]. Presenting it in a language easily comprehensible to the readers is sukhataram [uncomplicated]. sukluptaarthaa [brevity of diction and meaning or unity of theme] is the same as making the topic brief, and keeping all the elements (the characters, incidents, events, illustration, underlying thought, and conflict) focused on the core theme.

In general, a short story may be defined as one that contains the opening, which can draw the reader in, maintains suspense and curiosity in the reader by describing the internal or external conflict of the characters powerfully, and finishes it with either an unexpected twist or which provokes the reader into thinking. This is only a general statement. Modern story contains more breadth and depth. The critics of the first generation Telugu short story have discussed this subject in great detail.

In modern literature, prose literature has a special place. In the early days, terms such as vachanam and gadyam had been current for some time. In course of time, vachana sahityam became the accepted term. Several terms such as chinna katha, kathika and kathaanakam were in vogue for a while. Other terms found in magazines are navalika, pitta katha, kalpita katha, and kalpanaa katha. Detective fiction was referred to as nirupaka katha and detective as nirupakudu. Eventually, kathaanika has been accepted and katha became a shorter form for the same genre.

Akkiraju Umakantam is one of the early critics to discuss short story in this period. With his knowledge of English critics like Hudson, and French and Russian writers, he accepted Telugu short story as a separate genre. He adds that Hudson’s theory that the short story originated in order to cater to the readers who are hard-pressed for time is not tenable in our case (Andhra Bharati. July 1918). He further comments that, “A short story gives the same, inclusive pleasure and satisfaction as a play or a novel to the reader. … After reading a story, the reader experiences a suggestion (dhvani). Suggestion is important in a short story. All the elements in the story are anchored in this suggestion.” Umakantam’s validation of Telugu short story, in the light of his scholarship in classics and poetics, is notable.

Andra Seshagiri Rao deserves special mention as a critic from the same period. He comments that, “Readers now live a fast life in cities and have no time to read huge volumes and lengthy novels. Therefore, their interest turned to the short story which can be finished in a short period of time.”

D. A. Narasimham encapsulates the characteristics of a short story. He states that books such as biographies, rajasthana kathavali and Arabian Nights, do not belong in the category since they are not focused on one theme. In his opinion, the important element in a short story is a single topic, which should fill the reader with suspense and imprint itself in the reader’s mind deeply. He makes a special distinction between a short story and a novel and suggests six principles that writer should observe when writing a short story.

1. Short stories also may contain a variety of unusual topics the same as novels.

2. A short story is not a short novel. There is no rule regarding the length for short story.

3. Characterization through dialogues is more difficult than descriptions. However, the best way is to let the reader understand a character through dialogues. With that, the reader understands the story’s environment by himself.

4. Reading a story puts the reader to work. It makes him think. The reader feels satisfied after reading a novel.

5. The reader, who has read a novel, reminisces over it. The short story does not constrain the reader’s thoughts. They (the thoughts) leap forward, and are anxious to befriend new thoughts.

6. Unlike novel writer, story writer gives very little to the reader. He gives ten times more work to the reader than what he has given in his narrative.

Kolluri Dharmarao does not approve of short stories offering social reform messages, although he does comment on short stories favorably. He states that, “There is no other gadget that could goad a reader better than a short story.” Also, he prefers colloquial language as a better means to serve the intended purpose in a story. Regarding the subjects for a short story, he says, “the purpose of a short story is to narrate a topic, taken either from history or fictional social event, and narrate it in a manner that reinforces the traditional Aryan values.”

There are definitive proofs to show that Telugu short story has acquired an independent and significant stature even in its early period.

Magazines:

There is no need to state specifically that magazines have been particularly instrumental in promoting the short stories. Umakantam published his stories in his magazine, Trilinga in 1913-1914. Rayasam Venkatasivudu published his stories in Telugu janaana. Achanta Venkata Sankhyayana Sarma published his notable stories in Kalpalata. Other magazines, which provided platform for short stories during this period, are Suvarnalekha, Sahiti, and Bharati. Between 1916 and 1920, after the First World War, printing magazines slowed down due to the high cost of paper and printing materials, commented Andra Seshagiri Rao. His comment underscores the close relationship between magazines and the progress of short stories. Sujatha is credited with publishing stories by prominent writers such as Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry, Madapati Hanumantha Rao, Oddiraju Sitaramachandra Rao, and so on. In the same magazine, some of the early stories of Chalam appeared. Some critics seem to wonder if other magazines hesitated to publish Chalam’s stories. Along with the stories, the magazines published essays also.

Which one is the first short story in Telugu?

For a long time, critics have been insisting “diddubaatu” by Gurajada Apparao as the first modern short story. Vallampati Venkatasubbaiah states that modern short story should be studied with the assumption that diddubaatu is the first short story. He posits that modern Telugu short story has no infancy and that the short story has come about with full stature, like a well-developed, beautiful figure. And, he believes that diddubaatu contains all the elements of a good story such as brevity, feeling, unity, conflict, and strong structure. However, recent studies indicate that there are other stories published prior to diddubaatu, even though they may not contain all the elements mentioned by Venkatasubbaiah. If we search magazines published in the last two decades of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth century, it is possible to find several other first short stories.

Whether diddubatu is the first story or not makes no difference to Apparao’s status. There are stories before his story is published but there are no models from which he could develop. Notably, in terms of his philosophical perceptions and choice of topics, there are no stories comparable to his stories in the latter years either. That is the peculiarity of Gurajada Apparao’s stories. Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry comments on Apparao’s stories only on their remarkable qualities but not its status as the first story.

Some of the stories published before Apparao’s story, and may be claimed as the first story, are:

Lalitha by Achanta Sankyayana Sarma was published in November 1903 in “Kalpalatha” and is named as the first story by Puripanda Appalaswamy. Setti Iswara Rao states that “the style and the language in Lalitha are classical but not modern. Nevertheless, the short story elements such as opening, development, dialogues, the muse [sphurti], and the narrative technique are modern.” Several others have quoted Sankyayana Sarma as the first writer. In another story by the same author, Apoorvopanyasamu, the author depicts the speeches of social reformers and their associations and the tone is one of sarcasm.

From the sources recently made available, Bhandaru Acchamamba’s name came to the fore as the first writer. Her story, strividya, narrated in the form of dialogues, is taken into consideration as the first story. It was published in Hindusundari monthly. Another story, dhanatrayodasi [The Lakshmi puja Day] also has been considered for the same claim. The story was published in November 1902 in Hindusundari. Rayasam Venkatasivudu stated that Acchamamba had been publishing short stories since 1898. His article was published in 1902 in his magazine, Telugu janaana. According to his article, Acchamamba’s stories, Prema pariksha, was published in July 1898 in Telugu janaana, Eruvula sommu baruvula chetu in September 1898, and Lalithaa Saaradalu in September 1901 in the same magazine. Another of her stories, Beeda kutumbamu was published in February 1904 in Savitri magazine.

Apart from the language in these stories, dhanatrayodasi and beeda kutumbamu are noteworthy in terms of structure. The opening scenes in these stories are completely modern. Until we find other evidence to prove otherwise, we need to state that the stories written by Bhandaru Acchamamba are the first stories in Telugu. If we compare her writings to the activities of the social reformers who had undertaken the women’s issues, we will find Acchamamba’s writings as advocates of women’s individuality. ***

Additionally, Prof. Ranganathacharyulu discusses the early stories in other Indian languages and points out the similarities and dissimilarities between those stories and the early Telugu stories.

In the period under discussion, not only the writers with originality but also people in other fields such as social, political and reform movements and research, have written stories. The list of stories published in this period is indicative of the recognition, the status and the importance of the short stories. Akkiraju Umakantam, Andra Seshagiri Rao, Seshadri Ramana kavulu were all scholars of repute. Sankhyayana Sarma was not only a traditional scholar but also knowledgeable in art, music and dance. He was editor of two magazines, Sujanapramodini and Kalpalatha. Famous short story writers like Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry, Veluri Sivarama Sastry and Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry were well-read not only in Sanskrit and Telugu but also several other Indian and foreign languages. Writers like Panuganti Lakshminarasimha Rao, Adivi Bapiraju, Kavikondala Venkatarao wrote short stories in addition to writing in other genres.

Madapati Hanumantha Rao, Kanuparti Varalakshmamma, and Gummididala Durgabayamma, among others, are known for their participation in politics and social reform, and also as writers of short fiction. Famous story writers Chalam and Chinta Dikshitulu were associated with the field of education. Among others who wrote short stories, Gidugu Sitapati was an activist in the language movement and Giri (Nandagiri Venkatarao) was a judge at the district level. Sri Vasudevarao declared himself as belonging exclusively to Hyderabad, wrote stories, which should be labeled as modern in all aspects such as language, style, and themes.

During this period, we also see several writers writing under pennames. Komarraju Lakshmana Rao wrote under the pseudonym, Ramanujarao (brother of Rama), says Adiraju Veerabhadrarao. Other pseudonyms are Bhasudu, Samgha samskari, rasapipasi, okaru, nenu, oka mitrudu and several others.

Approximately, two hundred writers are found in his search. Fifteen of them are women. More than five hundred stories have been discovered by Ranganathacharyulu. Stories written by such writers as Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry, Chalam, and Minimanikyam Narasimha Rao, who became famous later, were published during this period. In this period, the number of stories written by Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry is the highest, up to forty. Stories by Rayasam Venkatasivudu, Chinta Dikshitulu, and Munimanikyam Narasimha Rao ranged from fifteen to twenty-five. Among the writers who wrote from five to fifteen are Chilakamarti Lakshminarasimham, Kanuparti Varalakshmamma, Abburi Ramakrishna Rao, Viswanatha Satyanarayana, Bhamidipati Kameswara Rao and others. It is hard to state that all the stories under consideration meet the criteria of modern story. For instance, most of the stories written by Abburi Ramakrishna Rao were published in 1923. Among them, Suryarao cheppina kathalu [Stories told by Suryarao] are not stories focused on one topic. Most of the writers wrote only two or three stories yet their stories show the characteristics of modern story at an advanced level. Counting the numbers is meant only to show the extent to which the Telugu story has developed in the first two or three decades of the twentieth century. In the magazines, meant exclusively for women such as Telugu janaana, Anasuya, and Savitri, the stories are woven around the characters from mythology and famous historical women. They are not taken into consideration for this study.

Literary organizations and associations also contributed to the dissemination of the story extensively in this period. Sahiti samiti, Kavita samiti, Sodarasamiti, Kavikumara samiti, Saraswata samajam, and Andhra geervana sahitya sammelam are prominent in this period. Writers suffixed their membership status of these organizations to their names along with their educational qualifications. Some writers developed a separate nomenclature for parts of their stories. One practice was to break the story into rangaalu, adhyaayaalu, prakaranalu, and chinukulu. Giving names to each part was another practice. We can also see including verses at the beginning, in the middle and at the end of a story, as deemed fit. Those who could not do away with tradition followed these methods. Among the places that were featured extensively in these stories are Chennapatnam, Calcutta, Bombay, Hyderabad, Poona, Visakha, Rajahmundry, Bezwada, Nellore, Anakapalli, Bellari and Konaseema. Some of the cities in Burma and Rangoon are also featured in these stories. (The names of some cities have changed since. I believe the author kept the original spellings as appeared in the stories and I followed the same pattern in this article.)

Anthologies

The fact that there are already notable anthologies in this period vouches for the advanced status of short story at the time. Some of them are anthologies of one writer, Chalam, Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry and Munimanikyam Narasimha Rao for instance, and others included stories of several writers, edited by one writer.

Translations

Several critics stated that modern story entered Telugu field, following the introduction of English literature in our country. During the period under discussion, along with original stories, numerous translations also came into existence. Numerous stories are translated not only from English, French and Russian but also from Bengali, Urdu, Hindi, and Marathi. At one point, Krishna patrika published stories under the name of the original author but without the translator’s name. In the early stages, the information regarding the original story or writer was not given in full. Some mentioned the original title while others mentioned the name of the original author only. Some said it was a translation but provided no other information. Several terms such as anukaranam, etti raasinadi, grahimpabadinadi were used to identify a translation. Some called it anuvadam. Among the stories in Indian languages, most stories were translated from Bengali and most of them were the stories by Tagore. In the anthology, trilinga kathalu by Akkiraju Umakantam, six of them were from Bengali. Umakantam does not mention the name but they are Tagore’s stories. Since 1912, several stories of Tagore have been translated without mentioning his name. Among those who translated Tagore’s stories in great numbers, the name of Karumuri Vaikuntarao stands foremost. He and Sobhadevi translated several stories and published under the title, katha guccham. Among the stories translated from Marathi, only Sri Vasudeva Rao’s name appears.

Among the translations from foreign languages, Russian stories appear prominently. Jayanti Brahmanandam (Pseud. oka haindava yuvati) and Kurma Venugopalaswamy in collaboration with Seshubai translated several Russian stories. Ponaka Picchireddy wrote some stories based on French writer, Balzac, and called them anukarana.

Multiplicity of themes

Telugu story has gained strength in structure as well as in the range of themes in the first three decades itself.

In the early stage, the stories mostly featured woman-centered themes and women’s reform movement. Among the woman-centered themes, widow-related issues are prominent. Child marriages, their consequences, problems faced by widows, their status in the family environment, their experiences, and remarriages are themes for many stories. We see quoting ancient works such as smruthi in order to rationalize the widow remarriage and the Sarda Act opposing child marriages in the stories written by female writers. Some stories depicted parents as coming forward to arrange marriages for their widowed daughters, or widows themselves getting married under the auspices of Veeresalingam or Brahmo samaj of Calcutta. Another important aspect relating to women is education. Promoting women’s education, Bhandaru Acchamamba (women’s education) and Gurajada Apparao wrote stories. Another theme is the identity of prostitutes and their marriages.

Muslim women, women as ideal individuals in a family, women subjected to oppression, suppression, deception, and those who put up with the oppression silently, their tragic lives—all are portrayed in the stories at this time. The names of Muslim women are used as titles for some stories. Bhandaru Acchamamba portrayed women as cherishing self-esteem, strong will, and also capable of mending the moral weaknesses in their husbands. This kind of portrayal of women is not evident in the stories that came after Acchamamba. Chalam’s stories show women from a variety of social strata. Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry depicted courageous and worldly-wise women, wiser than their husbands. We see widows dreaming about motherhood and the conflict between motherhood and love in Chalam’s stories. There are also stories depicting women as ideal housewives. In some stories we see educated, self-disciplined women carrying themselves on equal status with men liberally. We need to make a special note of women in zamindar families, their poise, determination, ego, and their sense of self-worth as depicted in some of the stories.

Several stories depicted the hardships of individuals from several angles within the family and the marital status of couples. Husbands suspecting wives and wives suspecting husbands are treated rather lightly. Often, the suspicions of the wives turn out to be unfounded. The problems arising out of marriages with considerable age difference, subsequent suspicions in the man and his mental struggle are the themes in some stories.

Many stories depicted the conflict between generations. In these stories, we see the youth questioning child marriages and exposing the dishonest attitudes of adults, who claim to be upholding tradition. This appears to be a struggle between the tradition and the modernity. Several stories depicted modern educated youth as ideal. The bridegrooms insisting on meeting the prospective brides is a new trend in these stories. Another new trend is the young men marrying a girl of their choice and without their parents’ intervention. Young men, who go abroad for education, return home with new values, and their altered attitudes—all these figured into the stories. Writers’ own values also are worked into the choice of topics.

Stories of unusual love and romance are also numerous in this period. They included both categories—happy endings and tragic endings. Some of them featured platonic love, successful love, and poetic element in the romantic tradition, while a few others dealt with failed love and broken hearts.

Most of the stories illustrating the economic problems and the changes in the economic world are limited to the middle class. Some of the female writers depicted the families once rich and later ruined, ensuing problems because of their penury and the manner in which the women handled their situations. So also, the problems relating to jobs, loss of jobs, preference of starting a business and living independently as opposed to working for somebody, the high style of zamindars and the lazy lifestyle of the men in Agraharams [endowments bestowed on worthy Brahmins by royal families] are depicted.

Many writers included literary discussions in their stories whenever possible. The works of Kalidasa, Shakespeare, and other English novels found their place in these stories. Stories also take a shot at romantic poetry. Women in these stories appear to be well-read in classics. There are husbands who encourage their wives to read English literature. Similarly, the language issues are also discussed in the stories.

At some point in this stage, self-delusion seeped into the stories. Especially, we see this aspect in Gurajada, Chalam and Sripada. After Gurajada, no writer dealt with the folly of religious beliefs. There are stories with World War I, national and non-cooperation movements as background.

Very few stories discussed politics. Also, stories depicting farmers, their relationship to the land, and the land ownership issues are not found. The only story found by the author is chacchinanta kala gante … There are no stories featuring the oppressed and their issues, not as much as expected at least. In short, the stories published up until 1930, represented only the middle class. At this stage, stories illustrating the delicate angles relating to human nature, their depth, and their inner struggles are next to none.

Variations in structure

The diversity, multiplicity, and the signs of structure, which are common in modern stories are prevalent even in the first two or three decades. In this period itself, the stories have acquired the modern form in language and style. Even when the language is classical, the narrative technique is modern. In course of time, some of the writers developed their individual styles as part of their creativity. Chalam, Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry, Veluri Sivarama Sastry, and Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry developed their own styles. Gurajada Apparao’s stories illustrate density in expression, depth (nirbharata), brevity, and simplicity blended with gravity. We should make a special note of the writing based on pronunciation by Gurajada and Chalam.

Another feature peculiar to style of this period is moving away from the straightforward narration and toward complex narrative technique. We see a wide variety of characters from simple to complex in this period. Also, some stories are told in the first person while others are told in the third person. That the writers are able to narrate the story in the first person even in this period indicates that the Telugu story has developed to a great extent by then. In this period, most of the stories with strong structure are told in the first person. The narration in the first person allows the reader get closer to the writer. We see this first person narration in the stories written by Bhandaru Acchamamba and Kanuparti Varalakshmamma. At times, we see the writer interfering in the narration to comment on the relationship between two incidents or events; so also to comment on the characters. Some writers like Acchamamba and Sripada have used dialogues exclusively to narrate a story.

In terms of opening, construction, and ending, the stories display as much diversity as possible. Also, during this period, we see the titles given to the stories indicative of the nature of the theme and the narrative technique. Some of them are single words like darjaa, bolta, veli while others are two correlated words such as nenu-jonna rotte, aame-eeme. Some of the titles are complete sentences. For example, karmamitlaa kaalindi, menarikam tappaledu. Such descriptive and expressive titles indicate how the story proceeds and how it is going to end. They vouch for the writers’ talent.

***

Further elaborating on these insights, Prof. Ranganathacharyulu discussed some stories by following writers individually under the caption “Prominent writers of early times [tolinaati pramukha rachayitalu].

They are: Bhandaru Acchamamba, Achanta Sankhyayana Sarma, Gurajada Apparao, Madapati Hanumantha Rao, Akkiraju Umakantam, Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry, Gudipati Venkata Chalam, Chinta Dikshitulu, Veluri Sivarama Sastry, Rayasam Venkatasivudu, Kanuparti Varalakshmamma, Viswanatha Satyanarayana, Adivi Bapiraju, Munimanikyam Narasimha Rao, Mokkapati Narasimha Sastry, Bhamidipati Kameswara Rao, Vempati Nagabhushanam, Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry, Sri Vasudeva Rao, Nandagiri Venkatarao, Oddiraju Sitaramachandra rao, Oddiraju Raghava Rangarao, Siriguri Jayarao, Panuganti Lakshminarasimharao, Chilakamarti Lakshminarasimham, and Abburi Ramakrishna Rao.

Critiquing stories

Akkiraju Umakantam has enunciated the importance of the genre of prose in literature in no uncertain terms. He stated that the genre of fiction has the same important place as novel and drama in literature. Andra Seshagiri Rao is the one critic to study a single story of a single writer and analyze it thoroughly. In his criticism of Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry’s stories, he wrote a comprehensive review of the story in which he gave a brief note about short story as a genre, commended the book and the writer, and the purpose of the book. Then he proceeded to analyze the various elements such as classification of themes, structure, and the improprieties in a couple of places as well. While paying tribute to the writer as a social reformer and preacher, Subrahmanya Sastry’s themes are classified into four classes—widow remarriages, post puberty marriages, promoting the idea that business and farming are better than working for somebody, and family life.

Modern critiquing techniques are present in Seshagiri Rao’s analysis. He balances the positive and negative aspects while analyzing the author’s complete understanding of all the elements, his taste in good writing, and his technique. He then summarizes the elements of a short story. He ascertains the relationship between an author’s personal life and the writer contextually. He points out the impropriety of the setting in one story. He believes that variation in the settings in general contributes towards authenticity for readers.

In 1928, an article on the specifics of a short story was published in Bharati. D. A. Narasimham wrote some articles discussing the structure and the nature of short story extensively. He states that literature changes along with the environment, time and conditions, and that, among the literatures, which evolved after the introduction of English literature, the gadya kathaanakamulu [prose fiction] gained in popularity. He also admits that he became knowledgeable after reading short stories published in Bharati and Andhra patrika magazines. Based on his extensive reading of the contemporary stories, Narasimham postulates six tenets. He believes that a short story should be able to penetrate into the reader’s mind deeply as a veritable fact. He also believes that a good writer will have the skill to stay behind the characters and make them narrate the story.

Notably, by 1930, Narasimham studied all the elements and explained them with examples supporting his conclusions.

In reviews of the time, Chalam’s stories stood second to Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry’s stories. His story, Sasirekha (1921) is written in pedantic language yet the theme has created a sensation. Thallavajjhala Sivasankara Sastry wrote the preface to the book dwelling on its philosophical and rational aspects. Arikapalli Lakshminarasimha Rao and others criticized both Chalam and Sivasankara Sastry for their position in 1926. Kolluri Dharmarao is another critic who rejects the modern progressive views prevalent in the stories and criticizes Chalam in strong terms for promoting uninhibited love. He, along with a few other critics, set Munimanikyam Narasimha Rao as a deliverance from the literature created by writers like Chalam. Narasimha Rao’s Kantham kathalu did not receive the status of serious literature during this period, it would appear.

The monograph includes source list, notes and, a list of the stories with complete bibliographical details, the author has reviewed for this study (28 pages). This is a remarkable work.

It is published by Dr. Madabhushi Rangacharya smaraka sangham, Hyderabad. 2008.Also available on avkf.org.

(Review by Nidadavolu Malathi and published on thulika.net, April 29, 2010)

Putting an end to the boilerplate literary history by kalpana Rentala

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(See note at the end.). We have one thousand years of literary history. Up until now, there had been an effort to portray women’s literature only as a part of the mainstream history; women writers were mentioned only sporadically, one Molla or one Timmakka. Our history is a male-dominated record that has been accustomed to record women’s participation only as a measly strand.

Ever since westernization started influencing our culture, women’s awareness also started changing. That is reflected in the fields of literature, science, and sociology. The massive changes, which are taking place in men’s perceptions, are noted; but there has been never a systematic attempt to note the changes that are taking place in the perceptions of women, the mode of development in their participation in the academy, and their mode of thinking.

Today, a concrete attempt to question this boilerplate documentation, and rewrite a different kind history has begun. This is not limited to a handful of persons or books. They are examining the women’s consciousness from several angles and in various fields. Until now, women’s contribution has been recognized only partially, and limiting to a few writers or a specific period. A few responsible writers however departed from this tradition in an attempt to study women’s writings in a larger context. Nidadavolu Malathi is one of them.

In this book, Malathi examines the history of Telugu fiction and women’s fiction from a completely different angle and from the existing records.

In general, whenever women’s fiction is mentioned, the writers are invariably presented either as novelists or feminists, who came to be known in the 1980s. But there has never been a better, comprehensive discussion on the subject. The number of female short story writers was much higher during the time the freedom movement and women’s education movement peaked; but it was not so after the declaration of independence.

This is particularly obvious, when we consider the availability of printing presses, awareness of women’s identity, and other several amenities available for women to write; the number was however much less comparatively speaking. A famous critic, Racapalem Chandrasekhara Reddy raised the question, “Should we attribute this decline in the number of female writers writing short fiction to their preference such as writing novels instead?” (Telugu kathakulu – kathanareetulu, part 3. 111).

Contradicting that stance, Malathi has shown, quoting several examples, that women writers have not written only novels but also several excellent stories; she has also discussed at length their themes and technique. Malathi’s detailed analysis of their themes and technique in this book can be considered a milestone in the literary history of Telugu women.

Malathi did not use the term “feminism”; yet she has pointed out clearly that women’s awareness of identity did not start with the feminists in the eighties; but it was evident even in the nineteen fifties fiction. Her detailed analysis of stories like eduru chuusina muhurtam by P. Saraladevi, depicting women’s awareness of identity enhances our respect for writers of the past.

The history of Telugu fiction, which often quotes diddubaaTu by Gurajada Appa Rao as the first short story in Telugu gave very little importance to women’s writing. The histories speak extensively of Gurajada, Malladi, and Sripada, and very little about Bhandaru Acchamamba, Kanuparti Varalakshmamma, Kommuri Padmavati, Illindala Saraswatidevi, P. Sridevi. Adimadhyam Ramanamma, Sivaraju Subbalakshmi and several others. Nobody discussed the works by these women writers.

As far as the discussion on the fifties writings is concerned, reference to women’s writings appears naamke vaasthe [nominal]. If we see the books and articles written so far on Telugu short story, we find only one or two unqualified sentences limited to three or four women writers and an all-inclusive phrase “and others”. We have no evidence of anybody paying serious attention to these women’s stories, their themes, and techniques; much less critiquing them in detail. On rare occasions, we might find a complete article on women writers. But nowhere have we seen a complete analysis of women writers’ contribution as a part of mainstream literary history. I have no doubt that Gurajada, Malladi and Sripada are great writers. But, my question is: Don’t we have to study the women’s fiction in detail and in the same light in order to assess their works, and to see how they stack up?

When we examine the story, diddubaaTu of Gurajada in juxtaposition with the stories, strividya and khana, written by Bhandaru Acchamamba, we will understand that the latter two stories are in no way inferior to Gurajada’s story. Acchamamba, who had been educated as early as 1900, had written women’s biographies and several stories; yet her writings are ignored. No literary historian of Telugu fiction bothered to make a note of Acchamamba’s stories.

One of her stories, khana, for instance, narrates the social conditions of her time and her ill-fated life. Khana was wife of Mihira, an astrologer in king Vikramaditya’s court. The story vouches for the women’s awareness of their conditions as early as 1900s.

Yet another example is the story kuteera Lakshmi by Kanuparti Varalakshmamma. The story depicts the aftermath of the Great War, the manner in which large-scale industries such as the Manchester Company caused the ruination of the local handloom industries, and the significance of our nationalist movement. Once again, very few literary historians made a note of this story.

It sounds harsh but the reality is throughout the history from the earliest to date, the literary historians stated women’s writings as “by women and for women only” but made no serious attempt to give it its due place in history and examine it as an intrinsic part of the mainstream literature.

Women have always been perceived as a part of the movements—women’s, social and education—but there is no other attempt to place them contextually. History made a special note of women’s education only for the purpose of women’s role at home, for their contribution to the family’s well-being, but not for assimilating them into the mainstream. The social reformers intended women’s education only to make her a better housewife. There is no evidence to show that they wanted women to become better persons. Malathi pointed out this biased view of the reformers in her book.

The period immediately following the achievement of independence, namely 1950-1975, was a significant period. That was the time when major changes were taking place in all the fields—political, sociological, and literary. And most of the literary historians dismissed that significant period, labeling it the age of novels or romance fiction.

During that period, several significant novels have been written. Several novels have illustrated sensitive issues relating to man-woman relationships, and important familial issues.

Yet even a senior critic like Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma could not make a valid comment on this fiction. In his article, “telugu katha, samaajika spruha” [Telugu story and social consciousness], he wrote, “Many women writers were able to depict a woman’s life to the extent it was correlated to a man’s life. However, one can see from their writings that women knew absolutely nothing about the man’s world. There is no brainpower. They are hopelessly poor in their command of language. They do not read at all. They are lifeless cutouts submerged in self-aggrandizement, slandering others, and egos. This confounding state, which the women have created, pulled down the level of Telugu readers, and turned the clock back to fifty-years.” (Telugu katha: vimarsanaatmaka vyaasa sampuTi). Strangely, the same Subrahmanya Sarma registered his protest in 1976, when Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi eliminated the fiction category from their list of various genres for presenting awards.

On the same lines, a famous fiction writer and notable critic, Kethu Viswanatha Reddy commented, “Women writers did not care about short story as much as novels. … Even writers like Sridevi, Saraladevi, Turaga Janakirani, Kalyanasundari Jagannath, Vasireddy Sitadevi, Achanta Sarada Devi, Pavani Nirmala Prabhavati, Nidadavolu Malathi, Ranganayakamma, have not developed any notable technique in short story writing, the reason being women are still lagging behind in their perception of the modern day consciousness. And what is even worse misfortune is they cannot write even in simple Telugu [bhashaa saaralyam kuda ledu].” (Viswanatha Reddy. p. 73).

These few examples should suffice to show how the criticism in the field of Telugu fiction has been changing, based on the perceptions of individuals during different periods. Up until now, Telugu people have gotten used to seeing only this kind of literary criticism, which is subjective.

Malathi’s book, for a change, takes up a significant part of the contributions made by Telugu women in the field of fiction for a period of twenty-five years and presents it from a refreshingly new angle. Malathi, positioning them in their social and historical context, analyzed the themes, genres and their technique effectively.

I have no doubt that this book will be a valuable contribution to the true history of Telugu literature.

Kalpana Rentala

September 27, 2004

Madison, Wisconsin.

Editor’s Note:

This is foreword by Kalpana Rentala for the book, Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975, a critical study. published by Malathi Nidadavolu, author in 2006. Later this book has been published by Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh, under the title, Quiet and Quaint, Telugu women writers, in 2010. – Nidadavolu Malathi

The book may be downloaded for personal use only. Click on Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975

Women in Telugu Folklore by Dr. S. Saratjyothsna Rani

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If you say, “I’ll tell you a story,” nobody is going to say “I’ll not listen.” Folktale captivates everybody’s heart. Primordial man contributed to developing the story while sharing his experiences with the people around him. He kept adding minute details to make his experiences more enchanting and thus developed the technique of storytelling. The rustic folks sat in the yard at night and listened to the stories for relaxation after the day’s tough grind. A skillful narrator tells the story in a manner that captivates his audience. For that reason people used to gather around and lsiten to him.

References to aphorisms such as katha kanchiki, manam intiki [The story returns to Kanchi and we to our homes[i]] and kathaki kaallu levu, munthaki chevullevu[ii] [story has no feet, pot has no ears] only reaffirm that story has been around for a very long time.

We may find storytellers and listeners even in the remotest corners of the world. There is not a soul in India who is not interested in stories. For that reason, India is considered the natal home for story. We have evidence of the seeds of story even in the Vedic period. Folktales prevalent among the populace are included contextually in the epics of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavata purana. Pancatantra told by Vishnusarma also includes a few folktales. Bruhatkatha by Gunadhya can be termed an anthology of folktales. Jataka stories of Buddha contains stories of birds and animals. Ancient texts on poetics such as kavyadarsa and sahityadarpanam define story as a fictitious or made up account. Manusmruti defines ‘katha‘ as dialogue.

Evidently, ‘katha‘ meant an account and includes a few real-life incidents. Folktale belongs to the genre of prose. Janapada katha, folktale in English, may be defined as a mode of communication from mouth to mouth, and from one ear to another in a set tradition and down the generations.

Spith Thompson defined the term “folktale” broadly and stated it as tradition-bound, prose narrative. We however need to make a distinction between a folktale as defined above and the folk epics and folk histories (chronicles). When we talk about a folktale, we must seperate these two genres. From the perspective of themes, the three genres appear to be comparable. However, the folk puranas and the chronicles are different from folktales, if we take into account the time, the place, and the individual perspectives of the narrators. Fictional literature features two traditions:

1. that of the elitists, and,

2. that of the folks in general.

In the case of folktales, it is hard to establish the date and the author. The written literature on the other hand is made available necessarily keeping in mind the criteria of its patrons, regardless from which part of the world they came. In that, oral literature has greater freedom than the written literature. For the same reason, oral literature has the capability to obtain the approval of all the people in a given society. They all are in a position to share the same experiences as narrated in those folktales. Folktales are based on the people whose lifestyles also enhance the amount of its freedom and become even more influential in creating that literature. For instance, the day laborers possess economic freedom as well as individual freedom, and freedom to live their lives as they pleased. Their stories reflect that freedom in the expression of their thoughts and mode of thinking.

Story is a mechanism that projects the social set up from the past into the present and from the present into the future. We may classify folk tales into the following categories: epics, chronicles, classics, humor stories, long stories, issue-based stories, stories of crooks, fantasy, parables, and social stories.

The story that grew out of a society is capable of molding that society. Therefore, the individuals in that society, their mentalities, religion, beliefs, customs, and minute details of their daily lives are featured in those stories. For that reason, they would say, “The folklore is a mirror of culture”. Society is the basis for ideal life. Men and women play important roles in the prosperity of that society. And family is the primary basis for individuals. Woman plays a key role in the prosperity of the family. Man participates in social activities while woman is more rooted in family matters.

There is no story without a female character whether it is a folktale or modern day story. Even when the society in general respects women, stories often depict woman as a weak indiviudal. There are also writers who depict woman as an incarnation of sakti while in real life abuse and humiliate them in every possible way. Also we read stories where the message is no woman deserves independence. Today, we still read stories, which emphasize that chastity is important for woman, and chastity is valued higher than beauty. We must admit that these stories are actually undermining woman’s position in our society today.

Netheless, there are a few writers, inspired by the progress taking place in the society, present stories that drum up woman’s greatness.

Woman appears in a variety of forms in folktales. She is portrayed as a mother, daughter, younger sister, daughter-in-law, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, co-daughter-in-law, co-wife, aunt, niece, cousin, queen, maid, and/or witch. The entire literature of folktales may be divided into three categories:

1. Folktales depicting domineering mother-in-law;

2. Folktales depicting domineering daughter-in-law; and,

3. Folktales depicting woman’s situation at home and in society.

1. Domineering mother-in-law.

In family environment, mother-in-law’s role appears to be an important one. There are numerous folktales depicting mother-in-law’s dominance. Some of them depict the mother-in-law as cruel towards her daughter-in-law while a few other stories show her as kind-hearted. Let us first review the stories, which validate the popular proverb, woman is woman’s enemy. These stories invariably present mother-in-law as domineering and her role as central to the story.

i) Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law stories.

Once upon a time there was a mother and a son. The mother got her son married and brought the daughter-in-law home. She was a wicked person. She would give the daughter-in-law only a glass of rice broth for food while she and her son had sumptuous meals everyday.

They had a strip of land on which they were growing eggplant and enjoying the profits from the produce. And also they had an palmyra tree in front of their house, from which they were making arrack[1] and drinking.

One day, the daughter-in-law told the old lady living next door about her hardships. Following the neighbor’s advice, she waited until the next day when the mother-in-law climbed the palmyra tree to extract sap. While the mother-in-law was on the top of the tree, the duaghter-in-law removed the ladder. Then she went inside, helped herself a plate full of rice and eggplant curry, and said three times, taunting, “Attaa, the food, the food.”

The mother-in-law saw the daughter-in-law with the food plate, was upset, and threw down the pot she was holding at her. While doing so, she slipped, fell down and died. The son was sad for his mother’s death. The daugher-in-law was glad, thought that her mother-in-law deserved it for all the suffering she had caused to herself (daughter-in-law).

This story describes the bad things that could happen to mothers-in-law who ill-treat their daughters-in-law. This story is a lesson for every mother-in-law in our society.

ii) The mother-in-law who became a donkey.

There was an old kaapu woman in a village. Her husband died and she was living with her son. She arranged his marriage with a young woman from the next village. After the daughter-in-law moved in, she wanted to get rid of the mother-in-law one way or the other. She told her husband, “Your mother is getting old. She has a good appetite but is no good with the chores around the house. You send her away or else I’ll go back to my mother’s house.”

The son was hurt by his wife’s remarks and he told his mother the entire story. His mother was a smart one. She told him to take her to the forest and leave her there. He found a place by a well, put up a hut for her and left her there. He also gave her provisions enough to last for a while. And then, returned home and told his wife that he had left his mother in the forest. His wife and her mother were happy. They both started ill-treating the son. The son took their abuse without complaint.

A war broke between the three gods, god of rain, god of fire and the god of wind. They were fighting to determine which one of them was the greatest. They saw the old woman in the forest and asked her the same question.

The old woman told them that all the three were very important for the world. They were happy to hear that response, and they blessed her with a life of a twelve-year old girl forever.

The son went to see his mother, found her to be young girl, and conveyed the same news to his wife. His wife wanted her mother also turn into a young girl, and so, asked him to leave her mother also in the forest. He did so.

The three gods came to her (wife’s mother) and asked the same question again. They became angry with her answer and cursed her to turn into a donkey. The son brought the donkey back to their home, and tied her to the pole in front of their house. The villagers suggested that it was appropriate only for washermen to have a donkey in front of their house but not a kaapu person. Then he sold the donkey to a washerman.

The message in this story is that good befalls those people who live examplary lives and uphold the path of truth and dharma. On the other hand, those who follow the path of evil will come to their downfall as is evident from the wife’s greed and the unfounded wish for her mother’s transformation as a young girl, which resulted in the woman turning into a donkey. In this story, the son’s devotion to his mother and the plausible attitude towards his mother are also portrayed well. Some incidents in the story appear to be far-fetched but they are necessary to convey the message of common good. Also, this story includes two mothers-in-law, one portraying the admirable qualities in a woman and the other suggesting that greed is inappropriate for a woman.

iii) Mother-in-law’s statue.

A mother was living with her son in a village. After the son came of age, she married him to a girl from the neighborhood village and brought her home. The daughter-in-law was very obedient, was always seeking her mother-in-law’s permission for everything. After her mother-in-law died, she could not live alone and told her husband so. Her husband made a statue of his mother and gave it to his wife, and told her to consider it as her mother-in-law. The wife was happy. One day, she wanted to go to the village fair in the neighborhood village and as usual she asked the statue for permission. She did not get any response from the wooden statue, and so she took it along with her. On the way, she saw a Hanuman temple. She left the statue by the temple and went to the fair. People passing by saw the statue, mistook it for a goddess, and left gifts by the statue. The daughter-in-law returned from the fair, saw the money, and she returned home with the money cheerfully.

Next day, the entire village came to know that the wooden mother-in-law went to the fair and brought plenty of grains and money.

The next day, the daughter-in-law went to the fair again and did not return until it was very late. Therefore she decided to stay in the temple for the night. That night a few robbers came to the temple for disbursing their loot among themselves. The daughter-in-law was scared and cried and called out for her mother-in-law. The robbers thought that the statue might be sanctified with some mantra and gave it a part of their loot. The woman took the money, came home and told her husband about the money.

Her neighbor heard about it and asked her husband also to make a similar statue for him. Then, she went to the fair, and spent that night on a tree with the statue. She saw the robbers who were sitting under the tree, got scared and dropped the statue. The robbers saw her, became angry for dropping the statue on them, beat her up and robbed her of her possessions.

In this story, one daughter-in-law proved her love for her mother-in-law whereas the second daughter-in-law was greedy, wanted to earn money by unfair means, and lost everything in the process. We also find comparable mother-in-law characters in the stories such as etthuki pai etthu, and illarikam alludu. These stories highlight folk woman’s psychology through the mother-in-law characters.

2. Daughter-in-law in folktales.

Let us review woman’s position as depicted in the daughters-in-law character in folktales.

i. Smart daughter-in-law.

A father performed his only son’s marriage with a young woman from a neighborhood village. His father however was not happy. He thought that the woman was not taking good care of his son and so decided to test her intentions. The woman failed the test and was sent away to her mother’s home. Now the father and son were alone again. Father decided to teach his son a few tricks of his trade. He gave a sack of sesame seeds and told him to sell in it in the next village fair.

The son asked him, “At what rate?”

Father said, “Use the same measure to sell the sesame seeds as to buy the oil.”

“You mean cup for cup,” he said and went to the fair and sat down to sell his goods.

A smart woman came to him, and used an item as a measure which could hold plenty of sesame seeds but not oil. Father was impressed with her brains and made her his daughter-in-law. After that, he handed over the jewelry business to his son. The son went and gambled away all the jewelry to a woman and became her slave per terms.

His wife came to know about it, put on man’s clothes, hid two rats in her pocket, and went to the other woman’s house and challenged her to gamble with her. While the game was going on, the wife let the rats out slyly. The gambler-woman’s cat ran after the rats creating a commotion. The lamp went off, and the gambler lost in the game. She had to let go of all the men in her custody.

Thus, the wife saved her husband and brought him home. The father was convinced that his daguhter-in-law was smart and capable, and handed over the family matters to them, son and daughter-in-law.

The message in this story is a smart woman is always patient, clever, courageous, and also capable of taking on any challenge. The story also depicts a folk woman as a strong character, despite her lack of education, and capable of running the family; she is up to any challenge.

ii) What kind of authority a daughter-in-law has?

Neelamma was walking on the road hiding her hands behind her saree palloo.

Sangamma saw her and asked her wherefrom she was coming.

Neelamma said, “I am coming from your home to borrow buttermilk.”

Sangamma asked, “What happened there?”

Neelamma said warily, “I don’t know. Your daughter-in-law said it was not ready yet.”

“What right does she have to say that, let’s find out. You come with me,” Sangamma said.

Neelamma followed her to their home. As they approached the house, Neelamma stopped at the porch steps.

Sangamma said, “Come in. Did you bring a dish for the buttermilk?” So saying, she took the dish from Neelamma and went into the kitchen and returned.

Neelamma was about to thank her kindness and say, “May god bless you and your family for umpteen years.”

Before she could open her mouth, Sangamma said, “Here’s your dish. The buttermilk is not ready yet,” and handed her the empty dish.

Neelamma was disappointed and left, telling herself, “I’ve heard it before, that was true.”

Mother-in-law believed that the daughter-in-law had no right to say even the obvious, that the buttermilk was not done yet. This story is realistic and a good example of everyday events in our homes.

iii) Your actions may not always yield the results you have hoped for.

In the following story, we find a folk woman in the character of a daughter-in-law, who would not accept her mother-in-law’s dominance.

A mother got her son married and brought the daughter-in-law home. From the minute the daughter-in-law set foot in the home, the two women were wrangling with each other. The young woman wanted to get rid her mother-in-law with the help of her husband.

One day her mother came to see her. After supper, they all went to sleep. The mother noticed her daughter-in-law’s evil thoughts and was watching her. The young woman (daughter-in-law) tied a rug to her mother-in-law’s foot, and told her husband to take the woman in the rug and throw her in the river.

In the meantime the mother-in-law untied the rug from her foot and tied it to the foot of the daughter-in-law’s mother. Unaware of this swap, the son wrapped up the woman, from whose foot the rug was hanging, took her out and threw her in the river. Both husband and wife were happy that their problem had been resolved.

They returned home and saw the mother sweeping the front yard. The son was surprised to see his mother. He could not figure out what had happened.

This kind of stories illustrates that if one tries to hurt someone out of malice, he or she could end of losing one of her own. The story also conveys the message that negative thoughts like anger and jealousy, which are so common in women, can be destructive to one’s own life. Mother’s character illustrates qualities like worldly wisdom, cleverness, and timely action in folk women.

iv) Settling the score:

A mother-in-law decided to kill her daughter-in-law and told her son about her plan. The son agreed and told her to carry out the plan herself.

The mother-in-law got angrier and decided to burn the daughter-in-law alive and the son agreed to that too.

She set up the pyre in the graveyard and laid the daughter-in-law on the pyre. She forgot to bring matchbox and so returned home to fetch it. In the meantime, the son felt sorry for his wife, untied her, and told her to climb a tree and abide her time. In her place, she put a rock, and covered it with a sheet. His mother returned with matchbox, set fire to the pyre and, they both left.

A few robbers came there to share their loot and sat under the tree on which the wife was hiding. They heard the rustle from the top of the tree, were scared that it might be a ghost and ran away leaving their stolen goods. The wife came down, took all the money and returned home. Her mother-in-law saw her, was scared at first mistaking her for a ghost. The young woman said that she in fact had died, gone to the heaven and found her father-in-law there. she said he had given her the money and jewelry for their use, and promised more after they had been used up.

The mother-in-law believed her story, decided to go to the heaven herself and bring all the money her husband had. She went to the graveyard, set up a pyre, and set herself afire and died in the flames.

Thus the mother-in-law’s greed led to her own death.

3) Woman in folktales.

In today’s world, women appear on the surface to have achieved progress in all fields, including positions in legislature. Yet several women are being driven to suicides and deaths arising from disagreement over dowry amounts. The reason for such atrocities is woman herself; one woman is the adversary of another. The second reason is in our country we still have parents who consider “being born as a woman” is a curse. I think it is despicable that a mother should despise her own daughter, and set different standards for sons and daughters. It is also reprehensible that, on one hand, woman is respected for all appearances, and at the same time allow the conditions demeaning to women to exist. In today’s society it is a reality, and the same conditions are reflected in folktales as may be seen. The folktales, passed on to us as fiction, do clearly illustrate the dominance of men over women in those days. Let us review some of such stories. Stories such as Mynavati, Abheda, Four daughters, Pativrata Sangamma, and Daughter of a thief are cases in point.

The story of Abheda goes as follows:

A couple had a son and a daughter, Abheda. In those days, religion, devotion, trust, and beliefs were deep-rooted and the folks gave in to those debilitating tenets and lived accordingly. They all believed that there were powers beyond the scope of humans, and people lived their lives anchored around those customs and beliefs.

Abheda’s parents were told that a single daughter would bring bad luck to the family, and so, they left her with a drifter and went away. Abheda grew up, submerged herself in a life filled with pujas and bhajans. This went on for twelve years. The drifter noticed that Abheda’s way of life would do no good to her and so he sent word to her parents.

Her brother came and convinced her to go with him to a forest. In the forest he tried to kill her but could not. He left her there alone and went away.

Abheda stayed under the tree and continued her meditation. In course of time, a sandhill formed around her. A king passing by heard her bhajans and had the sandhill dug up. He found Abheda and married her.

The point is although her parents had left her as an ill-fated woman, she got married to a king because she was blessed.

The next story about a king who was about to beat up his wife:

A king saw a young woman and noticed that she was very smart. He put her to a test. He put a jasmine garland around her neck, told her that that she should dig up a tunnel and a well, grow a garden of coriander and fenugreek. He said all this should be done before he returned and before the garland in her neck withered. The young woman agreed.

She dug up the tunnel and well. And then, she put on man’s clothes and went in to the city. She heard that the princess proclaimed that she would marry a man who could make a horse walk on the water. The woman took up the challenge and succeeded in making the horse walk on water. According to the condition, the princess was supposed to marry the man. However, since the woman was not a man, she got the princess married to a sword, per custom, and returned to the king’s palace. There she danced in the court, and spent two days with the king. She took a ring and a sheet from the king as tokens of her being there and returned to her place.

The king returned to her place and was surprised to see that the woman had completed her assignment. However he was not sure the child was his; he was about to beat her up for lying. The woman produced the ring and the sheet she had obtained from him. The king was impressed with her ingenuity and took her to his palace.

This story once again proves that women in folktales were depicted as intelligent, courageous, and capable of carrying out their mission.

In a vast majority of folktales, we see importance given to woman and her conditions. Some stories depict woman as inferior to man. Folk women, even though illiterate, are portrayed as perceptiive of their social and familial conditions and shared their experiences with each other through stories and songs. Folk women believed in religious traditions, worshipped village goddesses, and were keenly drawn in to irrational beliefs and customs.

In addition, they were also afraid that, if they had not followed tradition, bad luck would befall them. Some of the stories such as maaruti kuuthuru and Padmavati’s story indicate that not only they showed shrewdness in resolving their problems, but they also showed enormous amount of patience. But for a few stories which depicted women as capable of heroic deeds, most of the stories depicted the woman’s position as inferior to that of man.

[End]

***

(Paper presented at the National Conference on Folk literature at Osmania University, Hyderabad, November 2000, and included in the anthology of essays, Vyasa jyothsna, by Dr. Saratjyothsna Rani, 2002.

Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi, and published on thulika.net, October 2006.)

[1] Cheap liquor made of palmyra sap.

[i] The proverb appears to have its origins in dasakumara charitra. Since most of the stories had originated in the town of Kanchi, it had become common to end the story with the line that it went back to Kanchi. Possibly, it was also the time when poeple would gather under a tree and listern to the stories and then return homes..

[ii] A proverb implying stories are not often logical.

Dr. Nayani Krishnakumari: A Distinguished Scholar by Nidadavolu Malathi

In the post-colonial Andhra Pradesh, Dr. Nayani Krishnakumari stands out as an exceptional scholar, poet, researcher, speaker, and academic. There are very few women who have attained the stature of scholarship as Krishnakumari in modern day Andhra Pradesh.

Nayani Krishnakumari was born in Guntur in 1930. She is the eldest daughter of Nayani Subba Rao, a reputed poet and historian, and mother Hanumayamma. She has four siblings (one brother and three sisters. The brother passed away in 1968).

Krishnakumari did most of her schooling in Narasaraopet except the one year in Srikakulam. In Guntur, she finished Intermediate in flying colors. Originally she thought of going into medicine but did not pursue though. Instead, she went to Andhra University, Visakhapatnam in pursuit of Telugu literature studies.

The three years, 1948-51, in Visakhapatnam, played a decisive role in her life and literary pursuits. There, she met several writers, poets and scholars, and participated actively in many literary and cultural events. She was the first woman in Andhra University to act and direct a play in 1948, wrote his close friend Antati Narasimham, whom Krishnakumari addresses fondly as annayya [older brother]. During that time, Narasimham and a few other students were running a hand-written monthly magazine called azad hind. Narasimham saw one of Krishnakumari’s early poems, brundagaanam [group song], was impressed by the poem and her handwriting, and invited Krishnakumari to be the scribe for the magazine. Her poem, visakha naa neccheli [Visakha, my Best Friend], written in 1977, speaks of the special place she holds in her heart for the city.

Krishnakumari married Canakapalli Madhusudana Rao, a distant relative and polite young man and choice bridegroom of both the families. He is a lawyer by profession. They have three children—one daughter and two sons. Regarding her marriage, her friend Narasimham has an interesting story to tell. Being a vocal advocate of inter-caste marriages, he told Krishnakumari to have an inter-caste marriage. Krishnakumari replied that she would not mind but she preferred to marry per wishes of her and the young man’s family.

Narasimham has mentioned in the same article that Krishnakumari believes that the caste system is vocation-based, despite her education. Regarding he personality, Narasimham writes that she is good-natured, respects all–young and old, the famous and the ordinary alike. She has taken after her father as much in character as in physical traits.

Krishnakumari’s father, Nayani Subba Rao, was an esteemed poet and historian, which might have contributed to her interest in the cultural and literary history of Telugu people. While she was studying B.A. (Honors.), she took a course on the History of Andhra Pradesh and she noted down the lessons after each class. These notes were published as a series of articles in a popular magazine, Andhra Prabha, and later as a book entitled Andhrula katha [The Andhra People’s story]. The book was prescribed as a textbook in schools—an attestation of her writing skills. She was just 18 years-old at the time.

Krishnakumari has always been surrounded by caring family members and literary stalwarts of her time. Impressed by her poetry written at a very early age, Jnanapeeth awardee, Kavisamrat Viswanatha Satyanarayana nurtured her as he would his own daughter. She used to call him as pedananna [father’s older brother.

Krishnakumari originally began working on Tikkana’s use of language for her Ph.D. dissertation but never finished it. Later, with a little nudge from her husband Madhusudana Rao and friend Antati Narasimham, she worked on the ballads in folklore and received her Ph.D. in 1970. She also has master’s degree in Sanskrit.

In 1951, Krishnakumari started her teaching career as Lecturer in Ethiraja College in Madras. The following year, in 1952, she moved to Osmania University Women’s College in Hyderabad, where she started as Lecturer, became Reader in 1967, and later Professor in 1983. She served as Principal of Padmavathi Mahila University, Tirupati, for one year, 1983-84, and returned to Osmania University as Head of the Department of Telugu. She retired in 1990 after serving as Chair of the Board of Studies in Osmania University for three years. Krishnakumari served as Vice Chancellor of Sri Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, Hyderabad, from 1996 to 1999. Currently, she is professor emeritus at Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University.

Marking her sixtieth birthday and retirement, several scholars and the elite in Andhra Pradesh honored Krishnakumari as an esteemed scholar in modern Telugu literature. The festschriften volume, vidushi, features several articles from eminent scholars. (It has been a useful source fir this article).

Krishnakumari has participated in numerous conferences, seminars, organized writers’ conferences and traveled extensively in India and abroad. She has served on reputable literary and progressive organizations in various capacities. By 1990, the list of her accomplishments extending over a period of 38 years is six-page long according to the festschriften volume. (Email me for a copy of the list).

Krishnakumari is a recipient of several prestigious awards such as Gruhalakshmi Swarnakankanam, Best Woman Writer of Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi, Best Writer from Telugu University, and Telugu University Award in the best Literature produced by women.

Krishnakumari is a pioneer in the fields of Folklore and women’s literature. She entered the field at a time when even male scholars were scarce in the study of folklore. Only a few names such as Biruduraju Ramaraju, Nedunuri Gangadharam and Hari Adiseshu were known at the time.

While she was professor, Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, Krishnakumari prepared the syllabus for M.A. in folklore. It was later published as telugu janapada vijnanam: samaajam, samskruti, sahityam. The book includes several chapters by several scholars in folklore with topics for discussion and further research. It could serve as a model or a valuable tool for students looking for guidance in the field.

Under her guidance, a total of twenty students worked for their M.Phil. and Doctoral degrees. One of her students, Pulikonda Subbachari, mentioned that, “students consider it a blessing to have her as their guide. … With her dissertation, the scientific study of Telugu folklore took a new turn. The elite agree that she broke the ground and laid the path by shifting the research methodology from the descriptive mode to the analytical mode.” It would appear that the research in folklore has been conducted in three phases: In the first phase, the characteristics of a specific aspect of the folklore are identified and defined; In the second phase, scholars accepted it as literature only half-heartedly or condescendingly; and, in the third phase, scholars started to recognize it as a form of literature that needs to be studied with a different set of rules. Krishnakumari laid the path for this third phase. In her own research, she adopted the same method she had established as the best for our folklore, which belongs to anthropological school.

In fieldwork, she welcomes the methodology of the western scholars but does not encourage accepting it in its entirety or without questioning. She differs especially in regard to the contextual data collection. In collecting and presenting data, Krishnakumari says that the scholars must make a distinction between the material needed for native scholars and the western scholars. Presumably, there are details that need to be furnished to those who are not familiar with our culture.

Krishnakumari puts greater emphasis on field work as opposed to reading published works, “armchair research” as she puts it. In gathering data, advises students to focus on meta-folklore—the concepts underlying the words the folks speak. It is important for the researcher to ask questions tactfully and draw the causal beliefs and convictions of the subjects.

Her students speak fondly of her. She is not just a guide who walks them through to their degrees but is also a good friend and mentor.

One of her students, Ravi Premalatha, commented that, “Usually researchers pick one topic from several established categories such as collecting data, classification, analysis, comparative studies, and construction for their study but Krishnakumari has worked in all these areas and proved her multifarious talent.” (vidushi. p.25.).

Premalatha continued to say that Krishnakumari applied the straight line equation from mathematics to the storytelling methods in folklore and proved her unparallel talent. This is a new experiment in the studies of folklore in Telugu literature and a mark of Krishnakumari’s knowledge of mathematics and her erudition in research methodologies.

Krishnakumari’s articles on Telugu people’s customs, lifestyles, and culture also attest to her comprehension and knowledge in the areas in question.

Krishnakumari publications include two anthologies of her poetry Agniputri [Daughter of Fire, 1978] and Em cheppanu nestam! [What Can I Say, My Friend!, 1988]; history books: Andhrula katha [The Story of Andhra People], and telugu bhasha charitra [History of Telugu language], ; two collections of short stories: Ayaatha (A Collection of short stories), Gautami (novel), manamuu, mana puurvulu [We and Our Ancestors], Aparajita (A collaborative novel with three other writers), pariseelana [An Anthology of reviews], parisodhana [A Collection of research papers], kashmira deepakalika (A travelogue, recounting her experiences of a tour in Kashmir with a group of students), and Telugu Janapada geya gaathalu (Ph.D. dissertation on ballads in Telugu folklore) and several others. To date, she has published about 20 books.

Krishnakumari’s publications do not speak sufficiently of her erudition. And that does not bother her. Mr. Narasimham mentioned a brief conversation he had with her regarding the paucity of her publications and suggested that she should spend less time on speeches in schools and colleges and more on writing and publishing. Krishnakumari replied, “These students spend so much time and energy on organizing these events. It is not fair for us to take a ‘high and mighty’ attitude and snub them.”

Her views on poetry are well recorded in her foreword to her book, agniputri. Therein, Krishnakumari stated not only her reasons for writing poetry but also for writing her own preface. Krishnakumari believes that works by a writer possess insights only the writer can explain. As an example, she remembers her own study of Tikkana’s usage of language and the moments she wished the poet was here to explain. It is not uncommon for a critic to misconstrue or misinterpret the original author’s message, she adds.

Krishnakumari believes that it is important that the reader be aware of the author’s echelon of the psyche, confidence, empathy, and discipline. Readers’ awareness of the measures the author uses for evaluating the good and the bad, the light and the shadows and the author’s perceptions through his experiences– they all contribute towards the reader’s appreciation of the poetry on hand. She speaks from the heart and in no uncertain terms. For her, poetry is a means to express oneself, it must be sincere. In her preface, she took a jab at the writers who just in a corner in their rooms and write provocatively. She is a person of action.

Krishnakumari also says she is not writing for fame or fortune. She writes only when she is inspired. Speaking of inspiration, mention must be made of two poems, intensely personal. First one was written when her mother had fallen seriously ill and Dr. Sridevi, a good of friend of Krishnakumari, saved her mother’s life. Second was the title of her second book, em cheppanu nestam. which was written at the time when the same friend, Sridevi passed away. The two poems are even more touching for the fact that one incident brought them together and the second tore them apart. Krishnakumari was shaken both times. The two poems eloquently describe the heartrending pain she had sustained.

Krishnakumari is a protester without labels. She welcomes change but not like a militant rebel. She believes in the kind of change which penetrates deep into the lives of people unobtrusively. She likens the change to a seasoned housewife who defies the world without a bang and takes care of her family with inimitable dexterity.

Krishnakumari wrote only about a dozen or so. Some of them were published as a collection entitled ayatha.[1] The stories reflect her personality and attitude towards family and society. In stories like ayatha, kavigari bharya, pushpalata tecchina kakarakaayalu, the author illustrates the endearing relationship between a husband and his wife. The stories also identify the finer details in the interaction between cousins[2] (children of a brother and sister.). In kavigari bharya, the wife addresses husband as nuvvu [informal singular] when she feels close to him and meeru [formal, respectful] when she is displeased.

In literature, her travelogue, kashmira deepakalika, is unique for its style. It is an account of her experiences, her response to the beauty of nature in the Kashmir valley, during a tour she had undertaken with a group of her students. Chekuri Rama Rao, a reputable critic and scholar, stated that the book, unlike usual travelogues, is a literary masterpiece brimming with poetry.[3] (See the article on Krishna Kumari’s poetry by Vaidehi Sasidhar).

Krishnakumari traces the history of oral literature in her book, janapada vanjmayam. Some of the premises in the book are:

1. The oral tradition existed from times immemorial. Rhythm is inherent along with sound in all the entities in nature. In course of time, man might have developed the dance technique in an attempt to give form to the sound and rhythm. It is hard to establish when the story element was woven into the folk art.

2. There are no definitive answers for questions such as “What did he accomplish by incorporating storyline into his singing and dancing. Psychologists profess that man’s unfulfilled desires manifest themselves as fulfilled dreams in art. For instance, a poor man may write about riches, and a feeble person may write stories about courageous heroes. In every art form, we can see the elements of lifestyles of the primitive man. Probably this is one of instances of the level of sophistication of the primitive man.

3. In this [folk] literature, music was secondary; the general populace enjoyed the presentation by watching the physical gestures, facial expressions, and the skilful rendering. Probably, it was the dramatization and musical quality that shaped into an attractive art form.

4. The masses appreciated this form for their own reasons. But there is a need for scholars to study it for a different reason. It is not fair to dismiss this art as free verse, some cock-and-bull stories fabricated by simple folks, and they are devoid of linguistic merit. This literature, studied in the appropriate manner, will no doubt reveal numerous aspects that could contribute to the understanding of anthropology, sociology, ethnography, ethnology, and mythology.

5. It is also important to evaluate the variance between the folk literature and the traditional [elitist] literature.

6. The characteristics of folk literature are: 1. Unknown authorship; 2. Untraceable timeline; 3. Spontaneous evolution from circumstances and out of necessity; 4. Most of it has musical quality and lends itself to gestures; 5. It is not correlated to contemporary scholarship and its conventions; and, 6. It is disseminated exclusively orally and would accept changes and additions freely.

7. The folk literature can be divided into two groups as [1]1 with and [2] without storyline. From a different perspective it can also be classified as melodic or pure text without melody. In all these cases, the folk literature includes children’s stories usually told by grandmas at home—tales of puranas handed down from generation to generation, parables, moral stories, fantasies and ballads singing praise of national heroes. Riddles also fall into this category not because there is a story but they are interesting for the charming imagination that is spread around in a question-answer format.

8. The melody-based folk literature is classified in several ways such as caste-basted, calling-based, or deep-rooted in religion.

9. The religion of the simple folks seems to have evolved from the values dictated by ancient matriarchal society. Various Mother Goddesses in villages were the source of power for people’s religious beliefs. They were also the springboard for practices like self-immolation, sacrifice, and sorcery. So also the women’s traditions in which women wielded powers, sacrificed their lives and became minor goddesses [perantrandru]. In course of time, the women’s songs at weddings and other rituals also became important parts of the same oral tradition.

I quoted the text at length in order to emphasize the work of Krishnakumari in the field of Folk Literature. Krishnakumari devoted major part of her literary career to collecting the material and studying, organizing the data and publishing them.

An important work of Krishnakumari is her Ph.D. dissertation Telugu Janapada Geya gaathalu, [Telugu ballads]. In this dissertation, published in 1977, Krishnakumari discussed elaborately the origin and the development of Telugu ballads in the context of Telugu folk literature. She identified the folk literature as a separate and valuable part of our literatures, compared it to similar literatures in other cultures and countries, and produced a systematic classification chart of ethnology, ethnography and sociology. Further, she has shown how other branches such as songs and stories included physical gestures and other theatrical paraphernalia in course of time. In this, she also noted that the inclusion of terminology from other languages happened with educated singers of the ballads.

Other chapters include the story elements in the folk songs and ballads, hero-worship, and the linguistic aspects. About seventy ballads she had collected across Andhra Pradesh, from Visakhapatnam to Nellore and Kurnool, vouch for her hard work, particularly when we remember that it was a time when the tape recorders had not come into vogue yet. The glossary at the end of the chapter must be valuable for researchers in the field of folklore.

Krishnakumari believes that the folklore must not be dismissed as the creation of a group of primitive people and thus lacks the skills of the elite. She has postulated powerfully that their folk songs and performances provide us with insights into the civilization of ancient times, a great tool for understanding the evolution of our customs, traditions, and immensely useful in the studies of ethnology, ethnography, religion and sociology.

In her article on the construction of idiom in folklore, Krishnakumari discusses the metamorphosis of language in folklore and the logic underlying such metamorphosis. Incidentally, she discusses the growth of Telugu language as a result of acquiring words from other languages and normalizing into Telugu vocabulary. She adds that Telugu is basically descriptive language. Arguably, we may obtain words from other languages because of the expansion of knowledge base, yet it is equally viable to coin new words from the available vocabulary we have, she insists. For example, aayakaram or varumaanam may be used for income tax and aDDu or taakaTTu for mortgage and so on. Krishnakumari insists that we must stop promoting the argument that we do not have correct words in our language. Developing a comprehensive dictionary of the entire literature of Telugu folklore must be undertaken first, she proposes.[4]

In an interview with Vanita monthly, Krishnakumari expressed her opinions on current day writing by women. In response to the question that most of today’s women writers are being criticized as “not reflecting reality, and advocating escapism,” Krishnakumari remarked, “That criticism is not too far from truth. For women writers, social consciousness is important. Whatever issue they choose write about, they should first think well, examine it from a scientific perspective, and write the story using their imagination and tell it in a captivating manner. To be able to do that, one must have detailed and scrutinizing outlook, real life experience, and creative skill. When those are in short supply, every small thing becomes an issue and a theme for the story. Many women writers are writing stories, with only numbers in mind, and, without a proper understanding of life, without thinking ‘what issue is and what is not’. They are writing without the logical basis of ‘how that issue had taken shape and what solution could be offered’. That is what rendering their writings poor and themselves the target for such criticism. Those writings only hurt the society, not help.”[5]

Basically, Krishnakumari believes that the feminists at present are not delving deep into the underlying problems of the society. They need to scrutinize the issues and find solutions; there is no point in blaming individuals.

A critical review of Dr. Nayani Krishnakurmari’s poetry by Dr. Vaidehi Sasidhar, is available at https://thulika.net/2008June/nkkpoetry.html.

[End]

Published originally on thulika.net, April 2008.

Source List:

Krishnakumari, Nayani. agniputri. Hyderabad: Author. 1978

… ayaathaa. A Collection of short stories.

… em cheppanu nestam. Hyderabad: Author. 1988

… pariseelana. Hyderabd: Author, 1977

… parisodhana. Hyderabad: Andhra Saraswata parishad, 1979.

— telugu janapada vijnanam: society, culture and literature. Hyderabad: Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University, 2000

Krishnakumari, Nayani. Ed. jaanapada saraswati. Hyderabad: janapada sahitya parishat, 1996.

Narasimham, Antati. “vinaya vijnana seeli Krishnakumari”. Hyderabad: Nayani Krishnakumari Sanmana sanchika. 1990. pp.12-24.

Ramaraju, Biruduraju. and Krishnakumari, Nayani. Eds. janapada vanjmaya charitra.

Vidushi: Nayani Krishnakumari sanmaana sanchika. Ed. Chekuri Rama Rao. Hyderabad. 1990.

[1] I translated one of her stories, cheemalu [Ants], which is not from either of the anthologies, and included in my anthology, A Spectrum of My People, published by Jaico, 2006.

[2] In Andhra Pradesh, marriage between children of different genders—a brother and a sister—is permissible while between children of the same gender (brothers or sisters) is not.

[3] Rama Rao, Chekuri. “kashmira deepakalika yaatraacaritra kaadu: vachana kavitvaaniki rasagulika..” vishushi. pp. 55-56.

[4] janapadabhasha – padanirmaanam. janapada Saraswati. pp.1-8.

[5] vidushi. goshti with vanita monthly. p.31.

Nonduality by Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma

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Life is a necessary ingredient for story; meaning, a writer must possess a sense of discernment about life. We will know an author’s potential when we pose the question: Did he write the story with a thorough understanding of life or not? That is the easiest way to decide whether a story is functional or not.

A second question a prospective writer must ask is: What is the writer’s role in writing a story? After reading a story, we must be able to establish whether the writer took a stand on behalf of the subject and was pleading its case or hid himself in the background and causing the story to move on, like God. Then we will know whether the author stayed outside the story or submerged himself in it. In some cases, it would appear as if the author put the story in a stroller, like a baby, took it for a walk, and brought it back carefully. Some stories appear to have grown up on their own.

Another important question is whether the story has captured the reader’s attention at the outset or is boring. A reader must have a good feeling after finished reading a story. If a story cannot capture reader’s attention at the outset, there is no question of good feeling. Without proper diction, style and narrative technique, the story fails despite its excellen theme.

We need to figure out for whom the author is writing, is it for himself or the public? Could he resonate the world through himself or is he just using the medium to rub his personal woes on the world? Readers resent the writer who writes to show off how difficult it is to write a story and how smart he is.

A good story must be able to send the reader into a rapture. He must experience bliss. A story must have a purpose and a goal. After reading the story, a reader must be provoked into reflecting on things such as how things should be; should it be like or that?

A good story develops only when imagination and reality go together hand-in-hand like two horses of a cart. Writing a story based on the superficial behavior of the characters is the old method. A story cannot be called “modern” unless it has also psychological insights and portrayal of human psyche. There is one more characteristic without which a good story cannot stand on its own—that is the native spirit. If a reader cannot feel that this is a Telugu story, and that only a Telugu person could write like this, then the ego of the entire race gets hurt.

However, one must be deluded to expect that a story should contain all these qualities. If one of the characteristics is predominantly presented, other characteristics fall into place equitably.

Fiction-writing also is like a great alchemy. A kind of chemical reaction takes place when one writes a story and again when it is read. Some commentators stated that a story must have nothing but the story. However if we examine carefully, we will notice that other characteristics of other genre do seep into the story. Some stories run like the strands of a top-rated lyric. In some stories, dramatization shows strikingly. A potent story erases all the demarcations and stands out on its own with its own peculiarities. A human being bound by the limitations, morals and tenets created by himself also breaks them occasionally. So also a story surpasses its own code.

Writing a story is a kind of social responsibility. We take the raw material along with inspiration from society and then return the same it back to the society through a literary genre as a finished product. That means the author paid his debt to the society through his writings.

In Recently times, a group of new writers started using the story as a powerful weapon to confront and fight back the injustices and atrocities in our society. Raavi Sastry said youth must seize swords, if not, sword-like pens. Literature has the power of not only desiring a change but also bringing about a change. Why not? A piece of paper, with an imprint of the government has the power to rule the world; that being the case, why can’t the writers, holding sword-like pens, have the power to fight the government and create a new system. Today’s young writers have recognized that the story has a responsibility of not just entertaining the readers but several other duties as well.

This anthology, under the editorship of Nidadavolu Malathi garu, contains eleven stories. All the important elements discussed above can be found in the stories in this anthology. Even as all the children of the same mother are not equally fortunate at all levels, all the stories in any anthology do not evince the same level of competency. Angara Venkata Krishna Rao garu depicted the naked exploitation in great graphic detail in his story “chettu kinda” [Uunder the Tree]. After reading this story and realizing that the person who bought a house was forced to sell the same house, we suffer a host of emotions—fear, pity, resentment, and anger—all at the same time, after reading the story and realizing that the man who bought a house was to become a seller, which was humiliating to him.

The story, “muudu kotulu” [Three Monkeys], reviewed from the perspective of Freudian theory of dreams, comes out as a writing which used psychoanalysis as a shield and tore apart human behavior and human relationships. There is enough satire in the story that could provoke a reader to go out and slap every human being on both the cheeks. In this anthology this one story stands out independently like a flagpole. This is a good story inspired by the movie, “Liberation of L.T. Jones.”

In the story, “Madhura Minakshi,” R. S. Sudarsanam garu states through the central character, “[at the sight of Goddess Minakshi], some unique feeling filled [my] heart as if time froze; as if I drowned into the depths of the ocean of time; as if I went back to some point in history.” He, the protagonist, met Minakshi, philosophy lecturer, at the Minakshi temple in Madhurai. Why the two statures cannot be one and the same? Dissociation means having no preference, that is maintaining an equitable view. Change is one characteristic of creation. Advaitam preaches that we must supersede this change and experience unity. The protagonist in this story came to visit the Goddess Minakshi in the temple and met with another Minakshi in person. This human Minakshi handed him the message—to experience unification of his feelings. She died the same night in a fire accident. In her death, she illustrated the variance between the permanent and transient. But the author states that the humans can attain unity of the permanent and the transient only through what is transient in this world. There is a danger of this story being ridiculed. Some readers might feel that sermonizing after meeting a woman in a temple and enjoying the pleasure of her company is ridiculous.

In Rajaram’s story, “Anamakudu,” [Unnamed person], the expectations of the readers and the characters in the story are baffled by an expected turn of events. The surprising end first brings up a laugh and then pity in the readers.

The story, “manchu debba” [frostbite] is a sad story of a childhood friend who sang the beautiful song dheerasameere at school and later wilted away by a frostbite. One would like to ask why women like Vakula should die? Why not elope with somebody? This story showcases how badly we are treating women and their abilities; and, how we are wasting them away. We need a change that stops murdering women like Vakula. After reading Malathi’s story, my afterthoughts were that our society is rotten and our institutions of family and marriage are screaming for repair.

Among the other stories, “akali”[hunger] by Kolakaluri Enoch stands out as one of the best stories. This one line is sufficient to demonstrate the author’s skill: “Money like a flag that illustrates the superiority of the ‘haves’ and inferiority of the ‘have-nots.” The author displays razor-sharp vengeance in this story. This is a “small” hunger story. In the entire anthology the three stories that maintained a uniform style are “chettu kinda” [Under the Tree], “muudu kothulu” [Three Monkeys] and “akali”[Hunger]. The other stories seem to show that authors’ individual voice and style are not developed yet.

Pulikanti Krishna Reddy’s story, “guudu kosam guvvalu” [Birds for their Nest] depicts the conflicts in the lives of Gurappa thatha who predicts future with the help of a parrot, the parrot, Ramudu, her cage and the son-in-law Rangadu. Krishna Reddy garu deserves compliments on his effort in weaving the meticulous details, local dialect, and his style which is filled with native flavor in his story.

Malathi garu called this anthology nithya jivithamlo vyasa ghattaalu. I must admit that at first vyasa ghaTTam sounded silly to me, like snanaghaTTam. Later, I found out that ‘hard-to-comprehend’ places in a book or a story are referred to as vyasa ghattaalu. Hard-to-comprehend items cause pain. Pain is a synonym for poetry. All activities—from giving birth to writing a piece—are painful. I believe that writing a story causes only pain, not pleasure. Therefore, I think there is a justification in giving this anthology a name that translates as “stories and sufferings.”

There is one more thing I would like to add. Usually we say, “Thus ended the story.” But, to speak the truth, no story really ends. Even when we think that the story is completed, it still leaves a lot more for us to think about. Just like life, stories are also incomplete. Life and fiction are equally unfinished. Each person has a story and that is never ending. Whether one writes or not, stories keep springing up. The unwritten stories are unborn children.

No matter who writes in which language and in what country, all stories contain an element of universality. Each story reminds us that there are no boundaries for literature. I can ascertain without hesitation and full conviction that people who say, “What can literature do? Who wants fiction and such nonsense?” are fools, no doubt.

– Puranam Subrahmya Sarma.

Vijayawada –10

June 25, 1973.

[End]

A brief note about this article: In the early seventies, I tried to put together an anthology of short stories and requested Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma, a noted journalist, to write preface for my book. The book never materialized but several authors whom I had contacted during that period kept asking me about the anthology for a long time.

The reasons for my failure are not relevant at this point. However, the preface is still relevant even today and may be helpful to our writers. Therefore, I decided to publish the preface here.

Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma (1894-1979) was one of the progressive editors who were supportive of women writing during the 1960’s and 1970’s. Sarma’s editorial practices were a mix of contradictions. On one hand, he encouraged women writers to write and submit to his magazine, and at the same time, published cartoons ridiculing women writers in the same magazine side by side. He also made statements that seem to contradict his position on women’s writing. Probably the only way one may justify this contradiction is to turn to our cultural values. Humor is an integral part of our daily lives. In our culture, friends and family members tease each other every which way all the time. No offense intended, none taken.

Title: I am not sure why Sarma garu called this preface advaitam. In Hinduism, advaitam is a branch of philosophy that professes unity of soul and god as opposed to dvaitam which differentiates the two. Possibly, Sarma garu meant the same kind of identification between the writer or his voice and the story. I am open to other interpretations.

It was written thirty years back. Thirty years is a long time and some of the references are not clear to me anymore. Therefore I presented only a few paragraphs that made sense to me.

I also need to mention that I am not sure either why I wanted to give the said title to the anthology. Probably, I just learned that word at the time and got carried away.

Elements of Oral Tradition in Telugu fiction by Nidadavolu Malathi

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In the case of an oral narrative, the audience gather at a specific place, away from other distractions, and are presumably in a receptive mood. The narrator addresses live audience. He has an opportunity to use visual tools like gestures, draw on local and from immediate occurrences for props. In print most of these details are replaced by other kinds of illumination.

In Andhra Pradesh, like in other parts of India, print became a medium for fiction just about a century ago. Custom dies hard in any walk of life and storytelling is no exception. While numerous experiments are introduced in rendering fiction in print, some traits of the traditional narrative style lingered on.

I am not sure exactly when Telugu critics embraced the western literary critiquing tools as the standard and began to evaluate Telugu fiction accordingly. Currently, it has become the rule. Our critics quote western fiction writers to as the benchmark for a good story. Consequently, our writers make a conscious effort to follow the same criteria in writing fiction. Workshops and seminar are being held to teach story-writing technique on the same lines. In the process however, the elements peculiar to centuries-old fiction, that are specific to Telugu, are ignored.

The story A Piece of Ribbon (Beenadevi) opens with a small group of individuals from affluent section of our society, who gathered on the lawn of a rich doctor to spend a leisurely evening. The main theme, a story of a poor girl’s longing for a piece of ribbon, as is evident from the title, comes up during their chitchat. The opening scene with a lighthearted exchange of teasing comments by the doctor’s wife and friends is consistent with typical Telugu chitchat among a group of friends. After a few minutes, the main theme is brought up with a typical line, “Oh, that reminds me …” This is very similar to a preamble in our harikatha in oral tradition. The casualness with which the main story has been opened belies the profundity of the central theme—a poor girl badly wanting to have a piece of ribbon to put in her hair. The tribulations of the doctor at the turn of events, first his satisfaction of being the benefactor, and later his failure, his insatiable thirst for revenge and, at the end, the punishment he was handed down for his mindless action were delineated in great detail.

Examined from the standpoint mentioned above, the criteria of the the western storytelling technique, this story lacks unity and compactness if it were to be read as a story of a little girl and her disappointments/hardships. On the other hand, judged by the stamp approval of Telugu readers on this story, we have to assume that Telugu readers and critics accepted this flaw[?] and appreciated the story as much for its traditional elements as for the core message which is the point of the title. That is evident from the award the story received in 1999. The story was originally published in 1965, and received Ravi Sastry award after 35 years of its publication.

Readers who are familiar with oral tradition are accustomed to ignoring embellishments and going straight to the core thought. For a majority of Telugu readers, this is a story of a poor girl who could not afford a piece of ribbon. I would read this story as an ego trip of the doctor (a prototype of our social reformers?) who was riding high on his generous nature rather than the poor child’s pathetic economic conditions. Against the backdrop of his self-indulgent journey into his past, the little girl’s agony fails to measure up.

Elements like humor (wife teasing husband) and irreverent comments by friends are all part of our daily lives, intended to establish the environment—again, something irrelevant to the little girl’s story.

One of the significant features in live performance is the delivery of dialogue. In a live performance, the narrator is a ventriloquist as well. He performs the characters on the stage and the audience will have no problem identifying which dialogue was spoken by which character. In The Ants, (Nayani Krishnakumari), the story was narrated as a reflection of the protagonist in his head; not only reflections of the past events but also his present responses to the past events. In print, in the Telugu original, the sentences were put in double quotes. In such instances, in English italics are used but Telugu language has no such feature. If this story were narrated in the presence of a live audience, the audience would recognize at once that the protagonist was addressing the other characters only in his mind. In translation this needed further elucidation.

Another important element is the use of metaphor. The story revolves around the main character’s ego, or, rather his inability to take charge of his own life. Ant is a metaphor for a small, insignificant life on one hand and a symbol of communal strength on the other. This story actually draws on both the angles. On one hand, the ants as a group could drag a piece of meat bigger than themselves into their hole. On the other, the protagonist sees them as his antagonists, the people who dragged him down, and so he crushed them under his foot, a symbolic victory for him. In translation, this again needed verbal clarification.

Long-winded sentences with adjectival phrases and nonfinite verbs are very common in Telugu fiction, particularly in older stories. This is interesting in the context of recent trends—courses being taught in short story workshops (Ramulu, pp.20-21). Here is a classic examples of traditional writing in the opening paragraph of Meaningless Union. (Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma). The first sentence runs to 14 lines. The original text, broken into individual phrases, reads roughly like this:

When Srihari got down at Howrah station with a suitcase full of suffocating ideals; when he saw buses running in all directions like rows of ants; as he walked with a renewed enthusiasm at the thought that this is my country, this is our wealth; as he saw the pure, cool, ennobling Ganga river flowing through the heart of the city peacefully; which was shimmering with a touch of the golden rays of the sun; the same Srihari who walked ostentatiously; after going around the offices in Garden Reach; as he was worn out after realizing the worthlessness of his recommendation letters; gritting his teeth; ate puffed peas and drank water; while trying to fret away the night; caught by the police and beaten with their canes; cursed the system; underwent hardships; went around dragging his suitcase; accepted the “Calcutta jute mills’ invitation”; the city that inhales people in the morning and exhales live corpses in the evening; Srihari moved on cursing the country.

In my translation, I moved the last part to the beginning of the paragraph for the purpose of lucidity and also broke the paragraph into several shorter sentences. Once again, like in the case of Piece of Ribbon, this long sentence was never a problem for Telugu readers.

Unlike adjectival phrases, a long sentence with several non-finite verbs like chuusi (after seeing or having seen), adigi (after asking or having asked) imply a list of sequential actions and could be used to bring about a specific effect. I used a similar long sentence in Madras to Tirupati to register the impatience of the travelers in a bus. The travelers were waiting for the driver to start the bus. Instead,

…the driver opened the door, got off the bus, closed the door, walked straight to the tea stall, took out the wallet from his pocket, took some money, put the wallet back in his pocket, drank coffee, returned the cup, walked back to the bus, took out a matchbox from his pocket, took a beedi, lit the beedi, held it tightly between his teeth, opened the bus door, sat in his seat, checked the door one more time whether it was closed tight or not, and started the engine. The passengers in the bus were waiting for that moment. They all heaved a long sigh of relief in unison as if it was pre-planned.

Additionally we must note that each of these phrases have only 2 to 3 words in Telugu as opposed 2 to 8 words in translation. That again contributes to the growing impatience of the passengers. Unlike in the earlier instance, I kept the last line to the last to create that sense of impatience in the passengers. I did not see any need to change the order in the latter case.

Flow of thought in Telugu stories is not always as consistent as in English. It could be confusing if translated as is. For instance, a passage from “non-duality” (Puranam Subrahmanya Sarma) ascertains my point.

Writing the story for whom, himself or the public? Could he vibrate the world through his writing or is [he] just using [it] to rub his personal woes on the world? Does he understand how strenuous writing a story is? If an author tries only to show off his brains to the world, readers resent him. Readers lose themselves in a good story, get carried away. A story must have a purpose. After finishing the story, a reader must be prodded into thinking—this should be like this or that.

In this passage, several views are stated, sounding disjointed at times. At the risk of repeating myself, I must add that the views are very clear for a person who is knowledgeable in our culture. For others, the translator need to reword/reorganize the structure.

Yet another aspect of sentence structure is the use of nonspecific subject. Generalization in Telugu is achieved by using a verb form like chuudaali [must see], cheppaali [must say] without specifically stating the subject. In such sentences, an all-inclusive ‘we’ is implied. Use of pronouns inconsistently also are in the nature of narrating a story in the presence of a live audience. When a narrator uses ‘he’ or ‘she’, or, totally ignores the subject, it does not bother the live audience. They place themselves mentally in the moment and visualize the setting. In print, the story loses part of this ability to carry the audience into the moment unless the author is very skillful and the reader is knowledgeable in the culture. For a foreign reader, it becomes that much harder to transpose himself /herself into the setting. For a reader who is willing to pick up on the nuance, it is educational.

In the story, He is I, [Malladi Ramakrishna Sastry], the author’s use of pronouns are not consistent. The story opens with one person, taanu, as the narrator. The pronoun, a reflexive, indefinite, third person, singular, and non-gender specific, is peculiar to Telugu language. After Swamiji is introduced, most of the story is narrated by Swamiji using the first person singular, nenu[I]. Towards the end, Swamiji says, “We [memu] were waiting for the other train to arrive.” Telugu has two forms of third person plural, manam [all-inclusive] and memu [excludes listener]. Significantly, in the story, the second term, memu is used. Thus implicitly the pronoun “we” includes the listener, the young man [taanu], and, puts the reader/audience in the shoes of a listener.

Usually figures of speech, proverbs and references to epics and mythology are built into a story as props. And Telugu fiction is no exception. Here are some examples of how they are manifested in Telugu fiction.

Proverbs are sometimes do not contribute enormously to the story in that the story moves on without the proverbs. However, they do reaffirm the author’s point. At other times, they just are introduced since they sound beautiful. For instance, notice the rhyme in atta meeda kopam dutta meeda chuupinaTTu. Atta and dutta rhyme. Translation closest to the phrase reads like “You are angry with your mother-in-law and taking it out on the bull.” To make it readable, I had to keep the term atta, which is used in the story Yearning [Kalipatnam Rama Rao] several times. I translated it as “Upset with attamma and so beat up the bull?” The original proverb is a rhetorical statement. In translation, I had to change it to a question in order to bring about the original spirit.

In short, there is a vast amount of cultural nuance in our language which requires special attention and care in transporting it to the translation. This article barely scratches the surface. Readers, writers and translators need to examine this area carefully.

[End]

(Published by Nidadavolu Malathi as editorial, September 2003 on thulika.net.)

REFERENCES:

Ramulu, B.S. kathala badi. Jagatyal, Andhra Pradesh: Vishala Sahita Academy, 1998

Venkatasubbaiah, Vallampati. Katha silpam. Hyderabad: Visalandhra Publishing House, 1995

Narayana, Singamaneni, Comp. Telugu kathakulu, kathana reethulu. V.3. Hyderabad: Visalandhra Publishing House, 2001.

Venugopal, N. katha sandarbham. Hyderabad: Swetcha Sahiti, 2000