The Telugu Women Writers achieved a phenomenal success in the first quarter of the post-Independent India. This book examines the historical, familial and sociological conditions which contributed to their never heard before success.
This book has been published originally in 2008. The current version includes several revisions, based the new information which came to my attention.
– Nidadavolu Malathi.
Review by Veluri Venkateswara Rao here
Malathi Nidadavolu
January 25, 2023
In the nineteen sixties, women writers dominated the field of fiction in Andhra Pradesh. Visalakshi is one of those writers, who have captured large readership because of their ability to tell stories with charismatic elegance.
Historically, as a part of social reform movement and the country’s reorganization plans, women were encouraged to learn to read and write. And the women made the best of it by addressing contemporary social issues in their stories. The impact of western civilization on our values, women’s education, newly developed problems facing the educated women, their transformed status within the families and society, and the newly arisen challenges in arranged marriages—figured into the literature created by women writers at the time. Weekly and monthly magazines proliferated and the editors encouraged women writers with great enthusiasm. In that environment, a few women made their mark in literature, rightfully, I might add. Dwivedula Visalakshi is one of them.
Normally, there are two ways for writers express their views in their writings. Some writers present the issues as manifested in real life. Their goal is to highlight the inherent problems in society, which everybody knows yet ignores knowingly or unknowingly. They attempt to highlight the issues in order to create an awareness in the public. There are other writers, who identify the problem and position it in the environment of a hopeful future. They may not offer solutions yet present a positive vision nonetheless. Visalakshi belongs in the latter category. Her stories and novels leave the reader with a satisfaction that he has understood something about our society or human nature.
Dwivedula Visalakshi started writing short stories probably in the late forties. Her first novel, vaikuntapaali, won first prize in an annual competition held by a prominent weekly magazine, Andhra Prabha. It was serialized in the same magazine in 1963 and published as a book in 1965.
The core theme in the novel is adoption. In general, the word adoption carries a vague sense of suspicion. If the child is raised by a family without going through the ritual of adoption, it may create latter. Additionally, if the mother gives birth to another child after the first child is brought home, matters precipitate. I discussed this novel previously. (Click here for the full text.). It would suffice to say the novel illustrates the ensuing problems when a child is not legally adopted and the manner in which some people rationalize their actions.
In her second novel, maarina viluvalu[1] [Transformed values], Visalakshi delineates the status of educated women in our society in the face of changing values both at home and in society.
Janaki is the eldest of five children—three boys and two girls. The novel opens with the second daughter Santha announcing that she passed the Intermediate exam. Mother is not happy however; she is sad since her third son, Sambu, failed the same exam. In her opinion, education for women is not important. Ironically, there is one educated woman in the family and they are enjoying the benefits from her education. Yet, mother does not see it that way. In our society, while the social reformers, both male and female, scream for education for women, there are also some who remain deep rooted in tradition.
A second angle to this theme is the use of women’s property called stridhanam by her family. In the old days, it was the money given to a woman as gift at the time of her wedding, and meant exclusively for her use when a crisis strikes in her life. Using that money by other family members is considered deplorable. In modern times however, this opinion has changed significantly. Families now allow educated women to go out and earn much the same way a man does. However, son continues to command higher status regardless of woman’s earning power. All these variations in the relationship of woman and wealth are built into this novel, providing the readers with a piece of history in the making.
In the next chapter, the pivotal incident, which led Janaki to take up a job, is explained. Previously, her marriage had been arranged and aborted in the middle of the ceremony due to her father’s failure to come up with more money to give to the groom. Since it happened after tying the tali around her neck was over, she was technically a “married woman.” Later at night, Janaki went to the railway station to persuade the groom to return to the wedding arena but to no avail. Eventually, she obtained a job in an orphanage and started supporting the family both economically and emotionally.
The eldest son, Surya Rao, is spineless and constantly worried about public opinion. He does not have the guts to encourage his brother, Prakasam, in his business venture, fearing it might hurt their social status. He cannot accept that his youngest brother, Sambu, is not up to the demands of education. He does not know how to handle the situation. He cannot allow his sister, Santha, into the house after she ran away, and returned home, deceived.
Janaki is the female hero in the novel. She takes on the responsibilities, which should have been Surya Rao’s. She understands Prakasam’s abilities to go into business, Sambu’s inadequacies to grow as an individual, and Santha’s daring spirit.
At the end, the man, who had left Janaki on the wedding day, returns, asks her to go back to him and take care of him and the children of his second wife, now deceased. Janaki tells him that taking care of the children at the orphanage is more satisfying to her than going back to him.
A striking element in this novel is the author’s portrayal of women as strong characters. They are confident and determined to achieve their goals. In contrast, men are portrayed as weak and ineffectual. Prakasam, the second brother, is portrayed as successful but not without plenty of support from Janaki, and his sister-in-law, Kanakam.
Second daughter Santha may have made wrong choices in life yet she is shown as having the courage to pursue what she thought was right for her. In that, she is not the typical naïve young girl, commonly known in our society.
There are two incidents in this novel that need scrutiny. In the first chapter, Janaki goes to the railway station alone in the middle of the night. Recently, a young woman asked me, “Would such act on the part of a woman not be considered inappropriate in the sixties?” From what I know, the readers of the sixties did not raise this question. Secondly, to answer this question, we need to consider the social conditions of the times.
As I mentioned at the outset, the society was swarming with social reformers and political activists who encouraged women not only to learn to read and write but also to participate in the movement. In fact, the active participation by women in all the social and political movements had started even before we achieved independence. Thus, while majority of the women were still rooted in tradition, there were also women, who showed independent spirit. And several writers of the sixties depicted those women in their fiction.
Janaki’s independent spirit and progressive views have been established with the incident at the railway station. Possibly, the elite created strong-willed female characters in fiction by way of providing comfort to the feeble women in our society, even to provoke them into action.
The second incident in this story is the husband’s reappearance. Janaki refuses to go back to him, which again is in step with her character. In those times, this also could be viewed as improbable yet the readers did not raise this question in the sixties.
Last August, I met with the author. She told me of another incident, which possibly happened much later. Visalakshi said that a prominent movie director, C. S. Rao, approached her for permission to make the novel into a movie. He was interested in making the movie but asked her to change the ending. Per his suggestion, Janaki should ask for her husband’s forgiveness and go back to him.
Visalakshi refused to make the change and the director the movie idea. Here I see the traditional mode of thinking in the director and the author’s progressive views in her refusal to change the ending. Strangely, the director had no objection to Janaki going to the railway station alone in the middle of the night.
In the novel, grahanam vidichindi [The Eclipse Ended], written in 1967, the author addresses two issues—firstly, a young woman, Bharati’s psychological trauma after her husband’s sudden and untimely death, and secondly, the ensuing complications brought by the money she had acquired after his death. All her family members, on her side and the husband’s side, offer to help her and protect her money through investments in the products of their choice. Bharati starts suspecting their ulterior motives. While struggling with her emotions, she gets involved with her husband’s best friend and, in course of time, finds out that he also is interested in putting her money to work according to his own preferences. Disgusted, she decides to go to Hrushikesh, where she finds Babaji consoling at first, and later as a man with suggestions to invest her money. Once again, she feels betrayed and packs to leave. Babaji gives her a note on the eve of her departure, which explains the real problem in her mode of thinking. While living in the constant fear of being cheated by everybody, she is doing the same, which is clinging to her money. She realizes that she should consider the alternative possibility—that all the people around her might be genuinely interested in her welfare as well as her money; genuine affection and their interest in her money need not be mutually exclusive.
In her preface to this novel, author made it clear that the argument for widow remarriage in this novel should not be construed as an argument that all widows must remarry necessarily. In her opinion, one may remarry if that contributes toward one’s personal growth and only if that is her choice. In other words, it should be the choice of an individual, and not a rule to be honored by all widows categorically.
In Visalakshi’s short stories, we find an unusual flair in her choice of themes and her narrative technique. She chooses the language and the milieu appropriate for her narration.
Two stories, ittadi binde [brass pot] and teerani korika [unfulfilled wish] illustrate two different angles in the psychology of the rich. In the first story, a wealthy woman goes shopping in her car, just to kill time, and buys a six thousand rupee necklace. On her way home, the car breaks down and she decides to take the bus “for fun.” In the bus, fellow travelers are fascinated by a brass pot, a working class woman bought for thirty rupees. The rich woman is surprised by their fascination of the pot. Eventually, she learns that the young woman is her servant’s wife. Almost impulsively, she invites the couple to live in her outhouse. The story revolves around various emotions the rich woman goes through while watching the couple express their love for each other. The crux of the problem is her inability to sustain her generosity. It is an interesting twist.
In the second story, “teerani korika”, we find a different angle, once again, in the generosity of the rich. The protagonist, Rangaraya Bahaddur is a wealthy zamindar, whose generosity knows no bounds. He never says no to anyone who comes to him with an appeal. A new gentleman, by the name Potti Pantulu, arrives in town. Potti Pantulu needs help but does not go to the zamindar. Zamindar waits since he does not extend his help unless the person comes to him. People around him notice that the zamindar is troubled about something but do not know what it is. While zamindar is waiting for Potti Pantulu to appear at his door, Pantulu wins a huge sum in a lottery. Thus the zamindar’s wish is never fulfilled.
In both the stories, the author did a good job in depicting the psyche of the haves. In both the case, the issues appear to be small for most of us yet of consequence to those who would have to face them.
Normally, a lazy person, who squanders away his life, does not admit he is squandering away his life. In the story, kadalika [The Change], narrated in first person, the protagonist has no problem admitting that he is wasting his life like a branded bull. In Andhra Pradesh, a branded bull carries a ritualistic significance. In some families, as a part of death ritual, a bull is branded and let go on the streets to roam freely. Traditionally, people are not supposed to stop the bull in any manner for any reason.
The young man aware of the resemblance between his conduct and that of the branded bull on the street yet has no will to change his ways. He whiles away his time at the bus stops watching beautiful girls getting in and out of buses. One day, he sees an old man in stinky, tattered clothes getting off the bus. Being old and clumsy, the man reels off the step and falls on the ground. Another bus hurries through the street, running over the old man. The young man notices a medicine bottle and a prescription slip on the ground. He debates for a while in his mind and decides to go out of his way and pick up the two items. He learns from the prescription slip that a girl named Malli is waiting in some hospital for that medicine. He goes to the hospital only to find that Malli is a little girl and she died the night before because the medicine was not delivered in time. The doctor tells the young man that the body will be thrown into the municipal cart if he does not take it. The young man, despite his carefree lifestyle, is moved (the change) for some unknown reason. He takes the girl’s body to the outskirts of the town, buries it and returns home.
At home, his older brother yells at him for returning home late and slaps him. For the first time in his life, his older brother punished him. He notices the change in his brother’s demeanor and is surprised. Both his brother and sister-in-law never punished him, not even so much as raise their voices as long as he acted like a wild, branded bull. Now, for the first time in his life, he acted like a human being, did a good deed and in return, was slapped. The older brother did not know of the young man’s humanitarian act yet instinctively, he acted as if he had recognized the human element in him at that point in his life.
Annayya lifted his hand and slapped me a few times. “I am being so patient but there is no use; your behavior is getting worse each day. Tell me, where you’ve been? What did you do with the money Vadina gave you for books?”
Annayya pulled all the strength in his body and beat me.
I did not reply. I was surprised. I stood there watching him.
This is the first time Annayya has ever laid a hand on me. He did not have the heart to lift a finger as long as I sported the signs of a branded bull. Probably, he was scared that I might squash him with my horns and make a mush of him. Now, the branded bull within me has moved away and I am showing the signs of a human being, he has gotten the strength and the interest to punish me.
Had he punished me like this before, I would have thrown my head indifferently and walked away. But, his chiding today got the better of me completely. With that whack, my stupor has gone completely. They would not believe me even if I tell them what happened. Annayya knows me only too well to believe my words; I would not stand a chance!
“I lost the money. I was searching for it all this while,” I said.
Annayya knew that I was lying but he did not have the strength to beat me anymore. I knew I lied to them. There was no point in telling the truth. The old man’s soul would know that it was a lie. Malli, who was lying alone in the tamarind grove, knew it was a lie. But, they are not in a position to show up here and say that it was a lie.
This is what I liked about the story. The author’s keep perception into human nature. Self-analysis in a self-centered person is not an everyday event. However, it is not completely unlikely. That is what stories do—bring out the corners in huma psyche that is ignored in everyday lives.
As long as he acted like an unfettered bull, his brother and sister-in-law treated him just the way they would a branded bull -feed him and let him roam on the streets. After he imbibed a bit of human quality—kindness, they viewed him as a human being. Implicit are two perceptions: First, one may sense the change in another person intuitively. Second is the human value, which is to acknowledge that there are consequences for one’s actions. If a person is considered a human being, the other valuses such as discipline follow. Discipline means reward for good deeds and punishment for bad behavior. In this instance, the young man came home late and for that reason must be punished. He has done a good deed but the brother is not aware of it. Maybe the young man will be rewarded after the elder brother learns of it.
On a slightly different note, I must say I ran into some glitches while translating this story. It is filled with long, meandering sentences, and, at times, too much information is packed into just a few lines. There are inconsistencies in a couple of places. For instance, the narrator says the stores were closed because it was Sunday. If it was Sunday, why did the young man go to the bus stop to watch the college girls get off the bus. Are not the colleges closed on Sundays?
This is one of the traits we see in the sixties’ stories. In the story, “Travelling in a Ladies’ compartment”, published in March 2010 on this site, the narrator switches between the first and third persons in a couple of places. When I pointed out the inconsistency to the author, Subbalakshmi, she did not mind my changing the lines to make the narrative consistent.
“The first sale” is a short short story (3 pages) woven around a single incident. In the wee small hours of dawn, a graveyard watchman is losing hope because he has not had even one sale in the entire night. Unless he receives one dead body and collects the fee, he will not be able to buy medicine for his sick child. In the last minute, he sees a man approaching him with a bundle in his hand. Much to his dismay, it is his child, for whom he was hoping to buy medicine. It is time for the next guard. The next guard comes, looks at the dead body and is elated that he has a sale even before he started his shift!
I believe this is one of the few stories where burial ground is used powerfully as background. The story should remind the native speakers of the story of Harischandra, who also is forced to insist on receiving the fee for burying his own son. The guard is aptly named, Veeri gadu, which reminds us of Veerabahu in the story of Harischandra.
Like the wealth, death has several angles and the author succeeded in highlighting those angles which are usually not noticed or noticed but ignored. Visalakshi possesses a remarkable skill in crafting her stories. Her narrative oozes the native flavor.
She has traveled Malasia, America, Britain, and Switzerland. She has working knowledge of Hindi and English.
To her credit, she has 13 novels, 4 anthologies of short stories, and an anthology of essays, Malasia: then and now. Some of her novels have been translated into Kannada.
She has reviewed about 200 books, under the pseudonym, Sumana. Her works have been subjects for several Ph.D.s and M.Phil. degrees.
Visalakshi has received the prestigious Gruhalakshmi Swarnakankanam award in 1966, Andhra Pradesh Sahitya Akademi award in 1982, and honorary D. Litt. from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University in 1998 among several other awards.
I met her in August, 2009. She was willing to meet with me but no interviews she said. She further explained her reasons for not giving interviews. “These days, I am unable to recall the details. It would not be right on my part to give wrong information. Therefore, I decided not to give interviews”
I asked for permission to translate her stories. She said, “I can say I have no objection. However, it is not appropriate for me to do so, since I have donated all my books with full rights to Visakhapatnam public library. You should contact Bhamidipati Ramagopalam and Varahala Chetty, members of the board of trustees of the public library and obtain permission from them. I am sure they will have no objection but you should contact them.”
Accordingly, I met with Bhamidipati Ramagopalam and Varahala Chetty in the next two days. Both of them assured me it was not a problem. Mr. Varahala Chetty jotted a line on a piece of paper, which said “With the kind permission of the copyright holders, Visakhapatnam public library” and gave it to me.
After I returned home, I translated the story kadalika and mailed a copy to the author as a matter of courtesy. She wrote back to me that the story in question was not her choice for translation and that I must not publish it. Probably it was one of those instances of memory lapse. Regardless the copyright holders have given me the necessary permission, I discarded the translation.
[End]
Published on thulika.net, June 2010
[1] This novel is discussed at length in my book, Telugu Women Writers: 1950-1975 (a critical study). Author, 2008. (Available at Amazon.com.)
I took the train from Delhi to Bezwada, my hometown. It was a second class ladies compartment. All kinds of people were getting in and out of the compartment. Right away, watching them became my pastime. There was no conversation with anyone but for an occasional “move, please,” or “where to?”
We were only four women in the compartment. One woman was sleeping on the upper berth. Another woman occupied one entire corner with her children and the luggage. From her clothing, I assumed she was an Anglo-Indian. Another woman had been buying snacks and eating them without break to her mouth, and assigning the job of throwing out the leaves, the skins, and the wrappers to those whoever happened to look in her direction. Her clothes appeared to be that of a south Indian. She wore a sari with horizontal stripes, and a pair of shiny earrings; she had large lips; her hair was shabby and curly; she was short; and, her face shone whenever she laughed. Ah, I forgot to tell you about the woman who sat next to me. She was tall and skinny; her skin was a kind of discolored white; she had small eyes, long nose, and lips like a sketch of straight lines; her hair was straight and smooth—each feature by itself looked okay, but on the whole, her face was lifeless. We could tell she was a Gujarati, based on the clothes she was wearing; and then, of course, me, sitting in another corner.
Each time the train stopped, somebody or other was asking “What station?” in Hindi, and somebody else was replying accordingly. In between, whenever the fat lady leaned toward the window to buy snacks, her massive body was smothering the child, and the child was screaming; then the mother yelled at her in English. After a while, both settled in their own seats, making ugly faces and taking sneaky peeks at each other without one noticing the other until more new faces popped up in the compartment. They stopped bickering and started watching the newcomers.
I was by the window buying whatever I felt like. Unlike the fat lady, I did not have to bother anybody. I sat there watching the trees as if they had come to say goodbye to me; I craned my neck to peek through the window. I was sad to leave them behind; their shadows seemed to be waving to me and saying, ‘take care’.
Several stations had come and gone. People were getting in and out, a few at a time. Some of them were cursing us, each in their own language, because we stuck to our seats without budging, not even a bit. They seemed to be hell-bent on finishing the fight and asserting their rights; instead, they remained at the door waiting for their destination. They got off when their station arrived but only after throwing a nasty look at us, as if they were saying, “we’ve to go, or else, we would’ve seen the end of you all. Our bad luck!”
I was not sure when I’d fallen asleep, not sure how many stations had passed. I woke in Nagpur station; my eyes were still shut though. Two women got in with a little girl, who looked like a baby rat, seven or eight boxes, two rolls of bedding, four or five baskets, and a few other sundry items, and started shoving them around. A man, who came to see them off, kept pushing my legs with the bedding until I turned into a bundle myself.
I was annoyed by their attitude. I kicked the bedding and busted all their hard work.
Whatever they thought, they did not start an argument but moved their bedding to another side … One of them laid the kid down and made room for the other woman to sit. Her eye landed on the space in between. “It’d be nice if this ‘chariot’ moved a bit and made room for us”, one of them said and they all giggled at their own sense of humor.
That “chariot” woke, gave them her invaluable opinion in her language, which was, they must not put their luggage in her space; they’d better put them in the corner where all the other pieces were kept. She returned to her sleep. The newcomers took her advice, moved the two boxes to the corner. In the process however, one end of the box hit one woman, who, in turn, kicked the box with all her might. The woman with the box fell on the “chariot”, cracking her bangles in the process. She said sorry and got off of the “chariot”. The “chariot” cursed them in her polite language and in a high pitch.
My ears were nearly blasted off by what had followed—the guard blew the whistle, the man, who came to send them off, panicked, turned around, slipped and fell on the platform.
The two women inside the compartment started hollering, “Oh! No, no. Are you hurt?” We must be crazy for starting out this morning of all the days; should’ve picked the first class compartment. Then, we wouldn’t have all this hassle,” and so on.
“I’m fine, you be careful,” he said. The train started to move.
“We’ll wire you as soon as we got there,” the women inside shouted.
The train honked. The guard whistled. The entire hullabaloo pierced through my ears.
The second woman stood for a while, no guts to go elsewhere, I suppose. Then she lifted my sheet a little, sat down, and pulled the sheet over her lap.
It was quiet for a while.
By the time I woke again, the Anglo-Indian woman and the other two, who had gotten in last, were bickering loudly. I sat up, mechanically. The train stopped at some big station. I understood the real problem finally—the Anglo-Indian lady’s hand hit the other woman’s water jug and broke it. The squabbling started thus.
The guard came. The Anglo-Indian lady was whining. The guard said something to both of them and left.
The squabbling subsided. Two more women got in, looked around, laid their eyes on the woman in the middle, tapped on her shoulder, and woke her. The woman looked at them as if she wanted to fight them, opened her mouth, looked at their sizes, changed it into a yawn, moved and made room for them. Within a second, we could see that their attitudes were a notch higher but not lower than hers.
The women, who had gotten in before, were jealous since this woman lying on the seat did not make room for them. They said to the new arrivals, admiringly, “She gave you the space only because you are YOU. Do you know what a rumpus she’d raised with us earlier! She is acting like she owns the compartment”.
The new arrivals kept eyeing us—the woman across from them, the one lying down, and me—and kept grousing. The woman across from me told the one next to me how she could make herself comfortable. Taking her advice, the woman next to me stretched her legs across my body to the window, and settled down to sleep.
I wiggled restlessly. Her legs slipped slowly from my chest to my waist and into my lap. I was ticked off. I whacked her rudely.
She was pretending to be asleep. She jerked, woke, and said grumpily, “Why whack so hard? You can say it gently, can‘t you?”
“You’re sleeping like a log; you don’t even know your legs are in my lap. How can I wake you gently?” I said.
“I was asleep and my legs slipped. What’d you suggest I do?” she said.
“I suggest you keep your legs to yourself,” I said.
“Oh, you think you’re smart. You keep your mouth to yourself and talk.”
The other two jumped in and supported her.
This went on for a while. The woman on the upper berth, probably out of pity for me, started arguing with them. She looked frail but the words from her mouth were flying with full force. The other two were thrilled, supplied a few more choice words to her to their hearts’ content.
I noticed more people were on my side and I raised my voice too. Other travelers were getting in and out of the compartment in between. They looked at the two women and us, and were flabbergasted. The squabble spread into several other totally irrelevant areas. Each one said whatever came to her mind, making fun of everything—from the clothes to the jewelry one was wearing. It went on for a while.
Then, it was time to eat. The train pulled into some station. Everybody tried to move closer to the windows and the door. Somebody stumbled on one of the boxes and kicked it effortlessly, as if it was a small ball. The box’s owners could not assault her. They looked at each other; one of them said to the other, “Oh, no! It’s full of glass items. I’m worried, thinking what could’ve happened to them.”
Their looks annoyed the woman who kicked the box. She let them have it, “What do you want me to do? Who asked you to bring so much baggage? You kept them in the way. Who can put up with that stuff? If they’re broken, throw em out.”
Her attitude made the two women scowl. They remained quiet though.
They started ordering whatever they felt like eating. I took chappati. The two women with the luggage brought food in carriers. They said, showily, “we don’t eat all kinds of stuff you get everywhere.” They looked at me, and said, “We can’t eat those chappatis, they’re like leather.”
The women sitting across from me also brought chappati, I believe. They said, “These chappatis taste lot better than that stale food. Who knows how old that is.”
***
We reached Bezwada early in the morning, still swapping a few small words but no huge bickering.
I was looking for my husband through the window. I saw our servant Guravayya at a distance. He was coming toward my compartment, rubbing his eyes. I was ready to leave but had to wait until the two women unloaded all their luggage. Does the train wait that long? It’s in the hands of god only! I thought I would not have the time to say goodbye to my fellow travelers later. I said, “Goodbye” to them, while still on the train.
They said, “You get down. We’ll pass the luggage to you.”
I looked around for a way out.
They suggested, “Step on the boxes and walk out.”
Another woman suggested, “Why walk on them? Just kick them out. We’ll have more room.”
The boxes’ owner grumbled, “What do you’ve got to lose?”
I did not have much luggage. I took one box in my hands. The woman next to me handed me my bedding, the small basket and the carry on bag.
I saw Guravayya and told him to take the luggage.
He said, “Ayya garu didn’t say anything about you coming, ma’am. He said he’d got some telegram, some ladies are coming with luggage. He told me to bring them home. Now I can’t see ayya garu anywhere. .. I’m looking for ayya garu.”
“All right. Let’s go. The train’s here for quite some time now. Maybe they’ve left.”
“Don’t I have to look for them one more time? Maybe, it’s okay since you’re here. If you tell ayya garu, he’ll not yell at me. Let’s go,” he said.
I looked at the women in the compartment again, waved goodbye, and walked outside.
“Amma garu, our car is here. I’ll put the box here, you can sit on it,” he said.
“You bring two rickshaws. We don’t know how many of them are coming. Is the house locked?”
“No Amma garu. The cook is home, you know,” he replied.
I came home, finished the chores, took bath, and had Guravayya sweep the rooms and tidy them up. It was past 7:00. No sight of “he”, or, “those who are supposed to be coming.”
Guravayya said he wanted to go home and left.
The kanakambaram plants wilted. I squatted to hollow around the roots.
The cook came and said, “I’ll do it, Amma!” He heard the car honking and went to open the gate.
The luggage filled one half of the front room. I heard my husband’s voice, “Are all the pieces in?”
“Abbha! One should never travel in a ladies compartment, I must say. I’ve learned my lesson. One half of the luggage has been ruined,” one of the guests was lamenting.
My husband called the cook and asked, “Is Guravayya back yet? Where’s he?”
“He came back with amma garu and went home.”
“Amma garu is back? Where’s she?”
“By the plants in the backyard,” the cook said.
“What is this? You’re home, no letter, nothing?” my husband said to me.
“I’ve written, maybe, you didn’t see it. Even if you’d seen it, you’ll send only Guravayya to the station. I saw him in the station and came home with him,” I said.
He turned pale, stared at me, and said, “Rani garu is angry, I suppose. Look, my friend’s wife and his sister are here. See if they need anything. They are chewing me up since morning.”
“How would I know what they want. You take care of them yourself.”
He grabbed my hand and started walking, pulling me along with him, “You’re sweet, please, come.”
I pulled back my hand, saying, “What’s this? Monkeying around?”.
I peeked into the front room. Guess what, It was the same two women, my fellow travelers in the train. They were sitting on the sofa with their legs up and relaxed. They put the little girl on the carpet and gave her something to munch. She was crushing the food and splattering it all over the carpet, and on top of it, dabbing her hands, covered with her drool, on the carpet. It was nauseating.
My husband introduced me to them.
They stared at me, probably they also were annoyed. They had that look on their faces—the same “SHE! Do we have to put up with her here too?” look.
“They’re here too,” I was thinking. The older woman collected herself and started lecturing on the friendship between her husband and Rama Rao (my husband) in great detail. She said her husband had sworn that he would not attend Rama Rao’s wedding if the bride had not been his sister, and it had not happened only because the horoscopes had not matched; or else, it would have been impossible for anybody to stop the wedding, and for that reason, she had had full rights in this house … She went on like this for a while.
The cook brought coffee and served to them. She, sipping coffee, continued to tell how crazy Rama Rao had been about her husband’s sister. She said to Rama Rao, “She still has the saris you’d sent to her from Benares. She keeps them as precious.”
Rama Rao, changing the subject, said, “There’s a lot see in this town. You may want to get ready quick. Or else, you will not have time to see all the places.”
”What’s there to see here, anyways? We’ll just go to the temple and be back,” she said, leaning back in the sofa. He might be thinking that she would not stop if she started on her pet subject again. He left the room saying, “I’ve to take bath.”
By the time they were ready to go, it was past 10:00. He asked me to go with them.
“I’m not feeling well, I can’t go,” I said.
“Since you’re staying home, I can leave the child here. What’d you say?” the younger woman said.
I was boiling inside for all their talk. I said, “I’m no good with kids. Take her with you.” Then, I added, “He’s there to carry the baby, if she cries,” thereby settling the score with my husband.
They were back by 2:00 in the afternoon.. Rama Rao was used to eating early; late meals would give him headaches.
They sat down to eat. “Amma, saapada ille (did not eat),” the cook said in Tamil.
“Call amma,” Rama Rao said.
The cook came to me and said, “Ayya garu is calling you.”
I went into the kitchen, sat in front of a leaf, away from the rest, and started eating without speaking one word.
The older woman was hassling the younger one. “You two would not leave the temple. It was such a struggle for me to keep the kid quiet. Had you gotten out early, we would have visited them (other friends) too.”
Her words jabbed me at my heart. Whenever I asked my husband to go to the temple with me, he would say, “you go.”
The younger woman said, crossly, “Ha, like you don’t take time to get ready, you’re pointing fingers at me. Anyway, me traveling with you, why on earth did I do that?”
It was 4:00 by the time they were done arguing. “We’ll take the night train, not this one,” they said. They sat on either side of Rama Rao and continued to blabber again.
They got ready to leave after finishing the supper at night. I kept avoiding them—saying I was not hungry to eat, not feeling well to go to the station …
The train was late, I suppose. It was very late by the time my husband returned home. I put the cot in the yard and lay down, dozed off
He came in, brought another cot, put it next to mine, and lay down. He fell asleep soon enough. Earlier, I was thinking of what I wanted to say to him, had he asked. Now, not only he did not wake me, he slept without a care in the world. It made my blood boil. I wanted to jump and dig my nails into his skin. I kept rolling on the cot as if I was rubbing off my anger on the bed. Finally, he pulled his cot closer to mine, gently patted me and laughed. I fell asleep, not sure when.
It was quite late in the morning. I woke. He was not on the bed. I fell asleep again. I heard a horse-drawn cart in the front yard, raised my head to see who it was.
The two women were back with their luggage. My mind was empty, not a single thought in it. After a while, I started thinking clearly—how come they’re back?
They both started cursing and screaming at the cart-driver because he asked for more money. He too was firing back. With all the noise, my husband woke and looked at me, puzzled. I pointed toward the guests. He was also confused, wondered how this could have happened—they showing up at our door again? He lay back on the cot.
The older woman came in gasping, and told him, “See how he’s talking! No manners at all. Kick him out.”
The younger woman managed to pacify the cart-driver and send him away. She came in, walking daintily like a movie star. She said only she could send him away and that nobody ever listened to the older woman. That set off the older woman into a fit of crying. Both started bickering again.
I went into the kitchen. My husband followed me, trying to say something.
The older woman came in, ranting as always, “The baby’s crying for milk. Tell the cook to bring some milk.”
The cook brought coffee for all of us.
Then, the older woman told us what had happened earlier. They had met another man on the train. He asked them where they were going. The two women told him that they were going to attend a wedding; they told him the name and the surname of the groom’s father. The man said, “Oh, no. They all had left for Tirupati yesterday. The wedding will take place on the hill. Don’t you know?” The two women were worried, what now. Then the same man suggested that they could get off this train, and go back to Bezwada on the next train and go to Tirupati the next day. With his help, they moved from this train to that train and suffered quite a bit in order to get back to our house.
My husband said,“Had you taken the passenger train, you would’ve reached Tirupati by night.”
The younger woman said, “No way I can travel again. If she wants, she can go”, and lay back in the sofa and closed her eyes.
The older woman said,“What kind of talk is that? We came here for the wedding. It’s not nice to go back without attending the wedding. Isn’t that right, Ramu?”
My husband said, “You must go. It wouldn’t be nice if you don’t go.”
The younger woman was stubborn. She said, “Whether it is nice or not, I’m not going.”
Rama Rao said with a faint smile, “If you don’t feel like going, okay, cancel it.”
I pretended as if I had something to do in the other room, went in, returned with an invitation and asked my husband, “You didn’t tell me about Venkatesam’s wedding.”
“Oh, I forgot. It is not too far. We can go by car,” he said.
The older woman said, “She can go,” pointing to me.
Rama Rao said, the bride was actually his relative, and so, he must attend the wedding. He said to me to pack for the trip.
“If you’re gone, what is the point of our staying here? Let’s go,” the older woman begged the younger one. She asked Rama Rao to put them on the passenger train first and then go to the wedding.
The younger woman turned to Rama Rao and suggested that they could leave some luggage here, and that would allow them more time to straighten their boxes.
Rama Rao looked at his watch, “No time. Even otherwise, your luggage is not much compared to the boxes the wedding party will have. I’ll help you with loading here, and on your way back, the wedding party will take care of it.” He called the cook and asked him to bring a horse-drawn cart and help load the boxes.
Rama Rao came in. I was sitting on a box, thinking what I should say if the two women asked, “May we come again?”
“What are you thinking? Come, get up,” he took my hand and pulled.
“You go with them. After you return from the station, we can go to the wedding from here,” I said.
“Come on,” he seized my hand and pulled again.
“Wait. Let me change into another sari,” I said.
By the time everybody was ready, it was time for the train. We rushed to the station. My husband ran to the counter, bought the tickets, and put them in the ladies’ compartment. He said there was more room in it.
“Orey,, Rama Rao.” We heard somebody call from behind.
Parvatamma came to us, gasping.
“Where are you going, kodalaa[i]!” she said, addressing me.
“You get in first. There isn’t much time,” my husband held Parvatamma’s hand and helped her into the compartment.
“Son, this is upper class, I think. Here, look, my ticket is not for this compartment.”
“You get in. We can pay the difference and change it to this. There is no time to find another compartment,” my husband said and took the ticket to the guard for exchange.
“Why aren’t you aboard?” Parvatamma asked me.
I told her that we were not traveling, and that we came only to send off our friends, and asked her whether she was attending Venkatesam’s wedding.
“I am coming from there only. I went there last week. The wedding has been canceled. The bride’s grandmother died suddenly. I think your husband knows about it too. Venkatesam said he had told him.”
“I don’t know. I was out of town, returned just yesterday. The train is moving. Be careful,” I said.
My husband came rushing and handed her the ticket.
Parvatamma would not keep quiet. “You do know that Venkatesam’s wedding has been canceled, don’t you?” she asked him.
My husband looked at the two women, fearing they might hear this conversation. They were busy spreading the sheets so they would not have to get up when others got into the compartment.
My husband walked along the moving train, and said to them, “See you next time.”
“Many thanks. We’ll come again, and will not leave until we had spent a few days with you,” they said.
“Of course, you must,” said my husband and waved.
Parvatamma shouted, “Santha, see you later. Son, you must come to Bapatla to visit us.”
The train was gone. My husband and I did not speak to each other until we were outside the station.
He told the cook to go home and make supper for us, “We will be home later.”
“I’ll go home now,” I said.
He said, “Stop grouching. Get into the car.”
I sat in the car, a little away from him.
“It seems the wedding has been canceled, you know,” I said.
“I don’t know … I said that only to send them away.”
“That’s a lie. You’re acting like you don’t care about them. If you don’t, how come you walked along the moving train and talked to them. If you cared about her so much, you should have married her only. Why did you marry me?”
“To tease you,” he laughed.
“And they tease you?”
He burst into a big laugh.
***
(The Telugu original, Aadavaalla pettelo prayaanam, has been published and included in the anthology, Sivaraju Subbalakshmi kathalu. 1998 and originally published on thulika.net, March 2010.).
(Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi and published on thulika.net)
[i] Daughter-in-law.
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 20th 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 13th to 20th 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]
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Sahiti Rudrama [Autobiography]
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Sahitya vyasa manjari [Anthology of literary essays]
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(This article has been written by Nidadavolu Malathi and published originally on thulika.net, September, 2008.)
| 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, 11th century, Tallapaka Timmakka, 12th century, Gangadevi, 13th century, Mohanangi, 15th century, and Muddupalani, 18th 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, 11th century, taught his daughter Leelavati mathematics. Leelavati authored a textbook, Leelavati ganitamu which is considered a valuable contribution (Lakshmikantamma 42-43).
Mohanangi, 16th 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 14th or 16th century. Lakshmikantamma established authoritatively the dates as 1320-1400 or 1405 (Andhra Kavayitrulu 25) while Arudra determined it to be the 16th 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 19th 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 19th 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 20th 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 20th 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 19th 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 20th and 21st 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.
In the past, we have featured an analytical review of Bhandaru Acchamamba’s contribution to Telugu literature (written by Kondaveeti Satyavati) and two stories written by Acchamamba.
Recently, I have come across Acchamamba’s monumental work, abalaa saccharitra ratnamala [Biographies of Laudable Women], volumes 1 and 2. These two volumes however are not available for purchase. Only digital copies are made available to the public by the Digital Library of India, maintained by Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, India. I gratefully acknowledge their service.
The first volume included detailed account of Acchamamba’s life story which is no less interesting than her monumental work, abalaa saccharitra ratnamala [Biographies of Laudable Women]. Following is the gist of her biography as given by the publishers and her introduction as appeared in the first volume:
Acchamamba was born to Komarraju Venkatappayya and Gangamamba in 1874 in a small village called Nandigama in Krishna district, Andhra Pradesh. She had a younger brother, Komarraju Lakshmana Rao, who was a prominent scholar, literary historian, social reformer, and more importantly, significant figure in Acchamamba’s education and literary pursuits.
Acchamamba’s father strongly believed that woman’s place was at home and refused to let her receive education. After his death, mother moved with her two children to live with her step son Sankara Rao. Per custom at the time, Acchamamba was married at the age of six to her maternal uncle and widower, Bhandaru Madhava Rao. At seventeen, she was sent to live with him. Like her father, Madhava Rao was also against education for women. And Acchamamba, respecting his wishes, observed traditional sati dharma [the tenets prescribed for dutiful wife by Sastras] and the ghoshaa system [covering her face and staying out of sight of men]. Yet, she was equally determined to educate herself. She achieved her goal, after bringing her brother to her home for his education. She learned how to read and write Telugu and Hindi, sitting next to her brother while he studied. After Lakshmana Rao left for Nagpur for further studies, she continued to study on her own. She learned the local language Marathi in the same manner, by her own effort. Additionally, her brother used to visit her whenever he had vacation and helped her improve her language skills in five languages – Telugu, Hindi, Marathi, Bengali and Gujarati. She also learned Sanskrit, minimally though.
Regarding English texts, Acchamamba stated that she had no knowledge of English and therefore relied heavily on the Marathi translations of major English works like Mill, Spenser and Lubbock. She commended the Marathi scholars’ fervor to producing translations of the English originals and wished that our Telugu scholars would follow their example and undertake translations from English.
Acchamamba was a meticulous writer. She would take great pains not only to find material for her work but also double check her sources for authenticity. Sometimes, she would have to wait months and even years to find her sources and confirm she got it right. The publishers pointed out that it took four years for her to put together the second volume because of her diligence. For instance, 1903, she set out to visit her friends in Krishna and Godavari areas and then she went to Benares where she met with Sanskrit scholars and studied the Vedas in order to verify her stories of women in Vedic literature. On another occasion, she wanted to quote a sloka from Rutu samhita. She went to great lengths and found a copy of the Rutu Samhita [Vedic text] to borrow from Hyderabad.
She had a clear notion of her project. Her brother helped her to define her goals and create the layout for her project, she added. She described her objectives as follows:
Second, Some gentlemen opine that, if women are educated, and given freedom, they would take to bad ways, humiliate their husbands and destroy the pleasure of family life. My aim is to establish with examples that these accusations are meaningless, and that the education would actually help them to stay away from evil paths, not turn them into bad people. The country would only benefit from the freedom women would obtain through learning, not suffer loss. Education for women is extremely important.
My third objective is to write a book that is enlightening and interesting to my sisters in Andhra Pradesh. Everybody knows that real life stories yield better results than fictitious narratives. Therefore, I wish to convey the importance of pativratyam [unconditional devotion to husband], love of country, women’s education and other virtues to our Andhra sisters through these biographies.
Acchamamba further elaborated on her methodology. According to her plan, volume 1 would cover women in the history of India. By history, she meant the period from 1000 A.D. to the present, she added. This part would include women like Padmavathi and Samyukta, and righteous women like Anandibai. (While working on this volume however she discovered some stories of women who lived in the age of Gautama Buddha, putting the date a few hundred years back to B.C. Then, she realized that history meant the period as far back as we could unearth the stories reliably.). Volume 2 would cover the stories of women in the Vedas (Gargi, Maitreyi), Puranas (Parvati, Sita, Tara, Damayanti, Draupadi and others), and Buddhist women (no examples were given). Volume 3 would cover women from other countries like England.
True to her convictions, Acchamamba narrates the stories with equal fervor whether it is an out of the ordinary situation (e.g. in the case of Vengamamba, regrowing hair instantaneously after her head was shaved by traditionalists), or the unusual bravado of women in royal families to save their husbands from rival kings (e.g. Vimala pretends to be a man and helps her husband escape from prison in the enemy’s palace) or simply the remarkable tolerance for suffering in the hands of husbands (e.g. Komarraju Jogamamba). For her, the ancient tenets of pativratyam were as important as the modern notion of education for women. She proved that both the standpoints are not contradictory each other but complementary.
She stated that she had researched to the best of her ability to find women in each state and found a few in Kashmir, Punjab, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Bengal, Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh. Had she left any names, it was only due to her ignorance, she added and asked the readers to forward the information to her so she could incorporate them in her work.
Acchamamba also stated that her main sources were the old bakharies [documents?], prevalent stories, history books and several monthly and weekly magazines in Hindi and Marathi.
“When I said history, I had in mind the period from 1000 A.D. to the present. As the work progressed, I found stories of some Buddhist women existing in 300 to 400 years B. C. Secondly, although I was not knowledgeable in English, I gathered several narratives from the Marathi translations of English works. Marathi scholars are proficient in enriching their language. To me, English writers like Mill, Spencer and Lubbock appear in Maharashtra attire. Telugu people need to emulate their example. Because of the texts in Marathi language, I was able to write this book without learning the English language and I commend them for their service.”
Some of these accounts were published in women’s magazines such as Savitri, Hindusundari, and Anasuya, all popular at the time. Acchamamba also mentioned that her first volume was published in Chintamani, women’s magazine run by prominent social reformer, Kandukuri Veeresalingam.
Acchamamba added that, chronologically speaking, the entries in the second volume should go first but she could not do so. The availability or lack thereof, made her proceed with whatever she had on hand. She said she hoped her readers would condone this minor inaccuracy on her part.
Acchamamba also has written two books on knitting, one on crochet and the second wool, one satakam (a book of one hundred verses) and short stories. Except the short stories, the other works are not available now.
She traveled extensively not only to gather data for her work but also to meet with prominent women scholars and discuss women’s issues. At the end of her introduction, she suggested that these elite women should get together once a year and work towards educating other women. To that end, she provided a list of contemporary women working as journalists, educationists, and social reformers with the hope that they would at least get to know each other and keep in touch with each other.
I have mentioned at the outset that Acchamamba’s personal life is equally fascinating. The biography included in the first volume provides us with some interesting anecdotes.[i] As stated by the biographer, Acchamamba observed ghoshaa in step with her husband’s beliefs, and would not speak with men unless it was absolutely necessary and even then she would say as little as possible and leave quickly.
Following example is given to highlight Acchamamba’s strong belief in sati dharma [Prescribed tenets for a dutiful wife]. While the she, her husband and step daughter, Meenakshamma, came for a brief visit with the author. One evening, they all finished eating supper and sat in the front room, chatting and eating paan. He was rolling the paan leaves with betel nut and handing them over to her. Acchamamba took them but would not eat. He asked her why she was not eating the paan but got no reply. Then, Meenakshamma went to the partially opened door, returned and told him, “My father has not eaten his paan yet. Until he has eaten, she would not eat.”
In this story, what struck me as peculiar is the manner in which she managed her relationship with her husband and still achieved her goals in life. She was able to change her mind and stance on women’s education and her public activities. She educated herself, and pursued her literary and humanitarian activities, while living the life of a dutiful wife according prescribed tenets. Compromise is a great cultural value for Indian women. Several stories in the abalaa Saccharitra Ratnamala vouch for this tenet. Acchamamba followed what she preached by narrating these stories.
Another anecdote was about her ability to be calm in the face of pain and suffering. It seems at the age of five or six she was stung by a scorpion. Unlike other children who would throw a tantrum, the little girl remained calm and quiet until a family member found out about it and treated her! Even in her childhood, she was kind, generous and adroit. Whenever her parents gave her money, she would give it to the poor, but never spent it on herself. She never thought of her own needs or suffering.
In short, it would appear Bhandaru Acchamamba’s life and work epitomizes the Indian womanhood. She cherished traditional values, lived the life of a righteous woman and succeeded in making a difference in the lives of innumerable women remarkably.
Bhandaru Acchamamba passed on January 18, 1905, leaving behind her grieving husband, mother, stepdaughter, several friends and ardent supporters.
Relevant articles available on this site (s00n):
Bhandaru Acchamamba: First story writer in Telugu
Stories written by Acchamamba: A Review
Women’s Education (story) by Acchamamba
Lakshmi puja day (story) by Acchamamba
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Sources:
Acchamamba, Bhandaru. Abalaa saccharitra ratnamala available at archive.org in Telugu
Acchamamba’s picture couresy of te.wikipedia.org.
[i] From the preface in the second volume, the author of her life history appears to be Gadicherla Harisarvottama Rao. He claimed he was responsible for publication of the two volumes and appended his name to the preface in the second volume.
(© Nidadavolu Malathi)
April 7, 2013