Bava asked me if I could edit Ruins of the Night when I met him during his tour to the United States in the summer of ‘23. I’d read a few of Bava’s short stories a few years earlier, when I read literature exclusively in Tamil, and I’d been blown away by Bava’s ability to create magical scenes out of ordinary happenings. Suffice it to say that his story, Swings Made of Vine (Onan Kodi Sutriya Rajambal Ninaivugal), inspired me to write one of my own, The Golden Cave Secret (Porkugai Ragasiyam).
In Ruins of the Night, a collection of short stories, Bava Chelladurai carves with his alluring narrative abilities and captivating voice the purity and nobility of the human spirit that shines through overwhelming calamities. With tenderness, compassion, and a profound insight for human condition, he leads us to a precipice with each of his stories, presents us with a unique world of his own, and transports us to a place where the epiphany happens not only to his characters, but to us readers as well. One of his perpetual themes has been to investigate how the individual could be complemented with the community—the impassable disparities that separate oneself from another. Bava writes in tune with the rhythm, and everything he portrays is propelled by the frenzied motions of something clinging to life. Though I don’t consider myself a literary reviewer, I’d like to dwell a little on the stories from this book and give my perspective here.
In Faces, A young man reminisces over his recent marriage, prompted by the sighting of his marriage album, and wonders if the smiling and happy faces of his relatives he sees in the album bear their true nature. He was hoping his marriage could bring happiness to the people around him. But on the contrary, it helped him realise how small minded people are. He notices that the only face that looks the same on the photo album and in reality is Ammu Kutti’s, his little niece.
The Teacher talks about a retiring school teacher who hopes to marry off his daughters and have a testicular surgery with his pension money. The teacher, who tells enthralling anecdotes from his past, is everybody’s friend in the school. He obtains a lesser pension because of various errors in his service record and this shock causes him to go insane. His wife now hopes to get him back to normal, if the money owed to him comes in time.
In Godown street, a young man, who has grown up with his father in the Godown Street, running errands for the street people, eating the same stale parota and salna everyday, and sleeping on godown grounds, asks his Appa a few pertinent questions. The young man is now well educated and a school teacher. Yet he is still unable to erase the haunting memories of his past and the violence of his father’s love, which has rendered him incapable of appreciating life’s insignificant beauties, because he was too preoccupied with becoming a government official, just to prove point to one person, his mother - the whore, as his father calls her. His humiliations in the past have driven him to retreat within himself, like a snail within its shell.
In Ezhumalai Theatre Troupe, a koothu performer returns to his village after a hiatus. It was his village that had driven him to the City, forcing him to abandon his dancing troupe, of which he was the teacher, because the village had been bewitched by the arrival of video movies. His troupe members, who played Bheema, Dharma, and Panchali, were all compelled to work on farms, dig wells, or drive rickshaws. Ezhumalai alone stands firm, and leaves his village. When he returns, the situation for his career remains unchanged, with his troupe still advising him to take up minor jobs for livelihood. But the artist and the artform are inextricably linked, and hope can always be found in his love for the art. I couldn't help but think of Ashokamitran’s short story, Puli Kalaignan, and his Tiger fight (tagarfait) Kadhar.
When discussing caste disparities, Bava is careful not to adopt the tone of a revolutionist or social activist. In The Beautiful Pond, he simply paints a picture, taking care not to leave any details out, and presents the reader with his observations. Readers with a keen eye will be able to deduce the story’s message and its implications. This, I believe, is the mark of a true genius. Even the story’s title, The Beautiful Pond, is ironic in light of the horrific events that unfold around it. Again, even in the most dreadful of circumstances, the eternal optimist in Bava sees hope.
Prapanjan notes in his prologue to this book that this collection has at least four stories that could be considered among the best in the world, and he leaves it up to the readers to decide which of the stories they might be. I believe The Hunt is one of those four, while I also believe there are more than four stories in this book that can be ranked among the best. In its own subtle manner, The Hunt depicts the never-ending conflict between Man and Nature.
While each of Bava’s stories are dealt with in distinct ways, the way it evolves, as an expression of yearning, shares characteristics with the issues he investigates. In The King Rat, Pachi Irulan, whose nocturnal exploits had made him fearsome among the village people, is captured and put inside a cage. Lured by the green light of the Zamin’s lingam, he frees himself and the tiger, who is locked in another cage, and follows the light to Poraiyathamman hill, where he’d buried the stolen things. In Ruins of the Night, a young boy meets Vijaya, the local prostitute, in the middle of the night and is invited to the school grounds by her. In The Womb Where the Stars Hide (The corresponding Tamil title, Natchathirangal Olinthu Kollum Karuvarai, is equally poetic), Mary, a pregnant woman in her final month, is horrified that her baby will be a still born.The local Santa Claus hands her a handful of chocolates and tells her, "Last night our Virgin Mary gave birth to a child.” “Without any loss?” Mary asks, “Without any harm to the baby?” “The mother and child are perfectly healthy,” comes the reply.
Bava’s prose is moving, heart-warming, and rich in stupendous vocabulary -lucid and resplendent at once - and my effort as the text editor was to ensure those same qualities reflect in the translation as well. Despite his acute and compelling impulses, his efficacy and clarity are typically based on elegance and his adept handling of language, rather than philosophy or ideology. Janaki Venkatraman’s translation is meticulous and true to the original, and I am grateful to have edited her work, a process which helped me learn a lot about translation in particular and English prose in general.
Jegadeesh Kumar
September ‘23.
Walterboro, SC, USA.
