Monday, August 28th, 2006


In Amitav Ghosh’s The Shadow Lines (SL), the issue of identity is linked to his critique of nationalism. It is a much commented upon subject, so I won’t pretend to say something new. But, however, I have a case to make, and towards that let me push my argument. The story of the unnamed narrator’s growing up in SL takes in the theme of nationalism by probing the problems confronting the development of a sense of identity. The three frameworks here, as mentioned in the previous post, are represented by Tha’mma, narrator’s grandmother, a die hard nationalist; by Ila, narrator’s desire image, a claimant of cosmopolitanism; and Tridib, narrator’s relative and role model, a ‘man without country’.

In exploring his relationships with these characters and their bearing on the way he views the world, and in cross stitching narratives of war, riots and mass mobilizations, the narrator brings the discourse of nationalism under the scanner for its exclusive claims on the identity of its subjects; the violence across time and space – world war II, communal riots in Calcutta and Dhaka – is made to speak of the divisiveness inherent in the ideology of nationalism. Tha’mma’s shrill exhortations to the narrator to not love Ila as she has deserted her mother land, Robi’s chauvinistic attempts to enforce the cultural code of ‘our country’ on Ila when she tries to dance in a hotel, the easy manner in which even small children internalize the division between us and them during a riot, the commonality of daily lives and people’s aspirations across borders – and a number of such narrative units are accumulated in the novel to weigh against the ‘shadow lines’ that nationalism draws between people; on the contrary, it brings out the bond of human (!) empathy that overcomes divisions to form relationships as between Tridib and May. And contrary to the violence that nationalist emotions unleash, it offers a kind of merciful violence and sacrificial violence that are based on ethics (as when May puts to death a suffering dog and Tridib enters a violent mob to save the old man) rather than ideological hatred.

The narrator’s negotiations with the past, his evaluation of the public history through private memory and his reconstruction of his own coming of age story expose the role ‘nationalism’ plays in the process of identity formation. The novel presents three aspects of the nationalist discourse in the Indian sub-continent: nationalism’s construction of the ‘other’, communalist character of nationalism, and exclusionary principle of ‘national’ category. The narrator’s expostulations on this issue reveal the anxiety about how the ‘other’ makes real borders in the imagination of the people – both within and beyond a territorial polity – and releases ‘terrifying violence’. The rhetoric of nationalism conceals on the one hand, transnational connections and on the other any other forms of collective identity.

However, this critique of nationalism in Ghosh follows a familiar course. That it is one which fits in with some of the postmodernist and post colonial theories have provided this novel much currency. What is seldom talked about is the unsaid aspects of nationalist discourse in the sub-continent. Ghosh’s comprehensive critique of nationalism in SL by remaining silent about the caste dimension of the constitution of nationalist discourse evades a major aspect of it. The nexus between dominant groups and the nationalist politics has achieved a hegemony that for long has rendered invisible the underlying contestations of it through history. Hence, when we read in SL a critique that feigns ignorance on the level of cultural fissures that inform the nationalist discourse, we cant help becoming a little suspicious. It would appear Ghosh’s critique of the grand narrative of nationalism is only a part of another grand narrative of critique of nationalism as it  ignores very important dimensions of the politics of contestation in the nationalist discourse as it embraces the transnational theoretical positions on nationalism.       

Dr. Vijayasri Sabarad is a well known feminist writer and an activist. This poem written in 2005 still has the anger that characterized the feminist poetry of the 80’s. Again, we see the references to myths. The urge among the feminists writing from within Hindu communities to critique the injustice meted out to the mythical women is a double edged sword – critiquing the past as well as debunking their present value. This poem is much more open about the present prevalence of the value system that has constructed femininity as submissive in myths. The patriarchal exhortations that stealthily aim at imbibing servility of women through cultural symbols are frontally attacked here by pointing to its prevalence today.

The strategy of discursive engagement with the mythical symbols in feminist writings in Kannada is well established. The problem with this strategy, though this sounds like nit picking, is that there is a danger of these cultural symbols that are community (caste) specific to be seen as societal.

The present poem picks on many symbols of patriarchal brutality. What I liked about it is its outspoken anger and subversion. In
India today there is super sensitivity regarding certain cultural symbols, such as Ram. This poem does not hide behind indirectness but lambastes these figures for the unjust patriarchal value encoded in them.

It is however the last stanza that interests me. Here are references to symbols of equality in the same cultural field. Kudalasangama and Kalyana refer to the history of Basavanna, leader of an egalitarian movement in the 12th century. I don’t know

 

the reference to Madahavi (shame on me). Do let me know if anybody has any info on her.

About the translation: there is no point in repeating that I have taken liberties in a couple of places to retain the sense of the lines. I have also attempted to dare the English phraseology at times, so that some of the effects of intensification that the Kannada poem achieves through a mode of repetition are carried across. This however is a provisional translation.  

 

They are still here

(Dr. Vijayashri Sabarad: ille iddaare)

 

 

Pervasive darkness,

nakedness all around

sightless eyes and blighted vision

in an endless night.

 

Where are they!

Those that spoke of stars,

those that beckoned

only to lead beyond the habitats

and vanish from sight;

Those who sold the honour,

cursed Ahalye and turning her into stone

became gods to lift the curse!

 

Nude,

naked fields, naked space.

Why this darkness between the earth and the sky?

Where are they –

those who denuded us,

those who paraded our nudity,

those who disrobed in the court?

 

The Dushyasanas of the world

are mere mortals jeering the naked;

What of these great souls, the gods

who bid for disrobing

who begged for nakedness?

Lecherous eyes on the nude body!

Raring to see the body curves

restless lust!

 

Mother Anasuya

didn’t make the triumvirate wait,

breastfed them and put them to sleep

in the cradle!

 

The ones who slept

the ones who disrobed

the ones who forced out of home

the ones who dragged in…

they haven’t disappeared

the ones who should be nowhere,

they are here

as father, as brother, as uncle, as in-law

as assorted figures of maleness,

dancing before our eyes

with the same conceit, same wrath!

 

Moon is bleached

stars are befogged

Kudalasangama has drowned

in the sacred pond of Kalyana

lotus blooms no more

Madhavi, Sky’s creeper is already dead.