Barrier

(First published in hākārā, a bilingual online magazine for creative expression, on 22/12/2024)

https://hakara.in/barrier-original-telugu-story-beena-devi-english-translation-jyoti-kiran-pisipati

Original Telugu Story: Beena Devi
English Translation: Jyoti Kiran Pisipati

Nobody saw Chalapati Rao so angry and restless before. He was generally known to sport a perpetual smile on his face. At times his smile was like that of an innocent child; at other times condescending and overbearing…but a smile nevertheless. He was also known for his humility among his peers, patience with employees and modesty in public. He was not someone who worried about an impending cyclone or an election outcome. Income tax officials or even Lord Indra himself could never arouse any dread in him. When he drove through the city in his car, even animals moved out of the way respectfully. Sparrows which fluttered about the cobwebs sat still and listened to his conversation when he presided over a panchayat meeting. And he seldom worried about his life.

But today Chalapati Rao was a picture of restlessness; a worry that bordered on irritation and anger.

*

Chalapati Rao came from humble beginnings. His father, Simhachalam sold lime soda outside cinema theatres. Like all other vendors there, when the show was in progress, Simhachalam would sit on the threshold of the hall and watch movies every day. He was fascinated that the poor potters, farmers, cooks, daily wagers on the silver screen worked very hard and made their children rich, educated and successful! He wondered how poor fathers in the movies made their sons collectors and police officers. It seemed like a very good idea to Simhachalam. He was convinced that he could make reel life into reality. So, he worked hard, dreaming that one day he would make his son an accomplished man. He didn’t want Chalapati to become a street vendor.

But Chalapati’s plans were far from his father’s dreams. School was not his favourite place. He completed Std 5 with difficulty and much to Simhachalam’s disappointment, decided to quit school forever. He followed his father’s footsteps and started selling lime soda. Not that he liked selling lime soda; he simply didn’t know what else to do. After a few years, life took a turn and Simhachalam left for the heavenly abode and Chalapati found no other livelihood but to continue selling soda for a few more years. But he was not satisfied with the money he earned. So to make ends meet, he worked as a daily wager in a factory. During his free time, he also sold lottery tickets.

Life taught him bitter lessons. He decided that money ruled the world; that education neither fetched a decent livelihood nor status and fame in  society. That education gave you employment, but if you had money, you could ‘buy’ whatever job you wanted for yourself. With such quick conclusions, he erased the guilt of not completing his basic education.

Since then, there was no looking back. A daily wager may not become a collector, but he could definitely become a trade union leader. And he became exactly that. With his newly acquired position, he managed to build a house, bought a few trucks for his business, became the ward member and climbed the ladder quickly. He married his childhood friend Venkata Lakshmi, and as years rolled by, he became the President of his panchayat. Now he was addressed and revered by people as  ‘Nobleman Chalapati’.

If his life could be compared to a game of snakes and ladders, he was fortunate to have just climbed the ladders but never been devoured by a snake. Such was the success that he tasted all his adult life…and so he thought there was no looking back.

Fate had other plans though. Years rolled by but Chalapati Rao and his wife did not conceive a child. They prayed, implored and pleaded with all the Gods that they could think of, but to no avail. They poured milk in every snake nest that they came across, walked up the seven hills to appease Lord Balaji of Tirupati, went on a pilgrimage to Mantrālayam and Mangalagiri, offered a pearl nose-pin to Goddess Sita in Bhadrachalam, presented a diamond armlet to Goddess Lakshmi in Visākhapatnam. But neither the Gods nor the Goddesses bestowed them with a child.

When they were on the verge of losing hope, their wishes were finally fulfilled by a wandering mendicant. This ascetic was highly revered for his spirituality and divine gifts; he had a radiance about him that was at once reassuring and calming. He was known to have mastered many world languages and believed to have cured untreatable illnesses with holy ash.

Now it was a custom of the town that any passing mendicant, a movie celebrity or a politician, should stay in Chalapati Rao’s house. The wife and husband thought it was their good fortune that this holy man should visit their house at such a sombre phase of their life. They invited the mendicant to their abode with wholehearted reverence. Venkata Lakshmi served the holy man with utmost devotion – a service that surpassed that of Subhadra’s towards Lord Krishna. If Subhadra pleaded for Lord Krishna’s hand in marriage, Venkata Lakhsmi implored this holy man for a son.

And the virtuous saint could not deny her request.

Two months after the holy man left their house and the town, Venkata Lakshmi became pregnant and soon delivered a son.

They named him Chiranjeevi Vara Prasad – an eternal divine gift.

Chalapati Rao’s happiness knew no bounds.

Vara Prasad grew up in that house with the best possible affection and luxury. His bath soaps and toiletries were imported from France; toys came from America. Anticipating his many future needs, Chalapati Rao ordered a luxury car for his son to go to school in; the best tennis racket came from England; the stroller for his evening walks was imported from Switzerland. Chalapati Rao appointed an Anglo-Indian nanny to expose his son to English right from his childhood.

Such was the care and comfort with which Chalapati Rao nurtured his beloved child.

                                                                       

*

Chalapati Rao paced up and down the drawing room. His wife Venkata Lakshmi stood there, watching him; the household staff forgot their duties and stood motionless. Nobody in the house had witnessed Vara Prasad cry this past year and half of his life. It was a miracle that when he was born, he did not wail like the other babies. When the doctor slapped his bottom to make him cry, the staff was taken aback that instead of his first cry, Vara Prasad smiled. This story was immortalised by the doctors and nurses who birthed him that day.

But what made him cry now!

The parents were beside themselves trying to pacify the wailing child. Attempts at offering him his favourite food were futile. His wails became louder by the minute.

“I have money, fame and an army of attendants ready to help! Yet, I am not able to help my child stop crying! What is this misfortune!”

Since his birth Vara Prasad has never been left on the ground. He was always made to play on the softest mattresses or the warmest laps of the parents and the household staff. But never on the cold, hard and inhospitable floor.

But today was not like every day. Despite Venkata Lakshmi’s efforts, Vara Prasad refused to stay in the clasp of his mother. He was adamant on climbing down to the floor. His mother looked helplessly towards her husband.

“Leave him down!” Chalapati Rao growled.

Freedom!

As his feet touched the ground for the first time in his life, Vara Prasad’s eager legs moved fast. His inept, immature feet made his walk unstable and wobbly. But there was a purpose and assertiveness in his walk; a sense of worth and freedom.

The entire household walked behind him with bated breath as he toddled towards the main door.

And then he stopped at the main entrance and gazed at something in the garden outside.

The household was dumbstruck at the spectacle in front of them. Chalapati Rao stood there furious. Paidamma, the domestic help, looked on helplessly.

Next to the gate, under the tree, oblivious to the attention that she had attracted from the onlookers, was a little girl bent over her toy, immersed in her world. A foot and a half tall, naked to the bone, covered in dirt, the girl was playing with a ragged doll as dirty as she was. Her face was smeared with drool and sweat and she kissed her doll fondly again and again.

She was Paidamma’s baby girl. Every day, Paidamma left her daughter to play under the shade of the tree, and picked her up again after she finished the household chores.

Incidentally, today was not like every day. 

To Chalapati Rao’s utter dismay, Vara Prasad resumed walking towards her with renewed enthusiasm. Horrified and embarrassed at the scene in front of him, he turned and walked quickly up the stairs, into his room.

His wife and staff stood there rooted, unsure whether they were expected to stay on or get back to their work.

Venkata Lakshmi broke the silence finally.

“Paidamma, take your girl home.” she ordered.

Before Paidamma responded to her mistresses’ orders, Vara Prasad continued walking towards the girl. As if she was expecting this, the girl turned and ambled towards him too, carrying her precious doll with her. The mothers just stood there motionless, watching their children advance towards each other.

The girl stopped in front of Vara Prasad, and with sparkling eyes and an unadulterated smile, gazed for a few seconds into his face.

After what seemed like ages, Vara Prasad stopped crying. His face broke into a radiant smile. An expression of pure joy, untainted and carefree.

She lent him her ragged doll and picking up his hand, she led him to her corner under the tree to continue her play time.

An original Telugu-English translation of the short story “Sarihaddu” first published in “Swati” monthly magazine on 1/5/1981 by BeenaDevi

Beena Devi:

Bhagavathula Tripura Sundaramma (1935) and Bhagavatula Narasingarao (1924) started writing together under the pen name BeenaDevi in the year 1965. Recipients of the prestigious Telugu Sahitya Akademi Award in 1972, their poignant introspection of the lives of the marginalised, their unpretentious writing style, focus on unethical practices in the society, family dynamics, gender roles and social barriers, made their narratives realistic.  In 2011, MaNaSu Foundation, Bangalore, published BeenaDevi’s collection of short stories and essays under the title BeenaDevi Samagra Rachanalu.

Love has the power to dismantle patriarchy, exclusivity, structural inequality and oppression. ‘Barrier’ demonstrates this truth through the world of children. Their love knows no boundaries, cares for no hurdle. It thrives on unadulterated friendship.

Life in Death

(A short story, first published in Kitaab on 4th February 2023)

https://kitaab.org/2023/02/04/short-story-life-in-death-by-jyoti-kiran-pisipati/

He bent over her face to dab a little more foundation. His fingers glided over her eyebrows, moving nimbly past her eyes down her left temple, adjusting the shade to the hue of her skin. He applied the powder over it, brushing away the extra dust. The formaldehyde has done its work, giving ‘life’ to her sallow face. A little bit of lip colour, and she is ready for the viewing in the afternoon. He stopped for a moment to assess his handiwork and contented, he let out a long sigh. Dressing the body requires patience and a lot of respect for the person in front of him. The body is not soulless but one which is in eternal sleep, ready to awaken in the nether world.

Anthony finally stood up and stretched his legs after two hours of solitary work. Whatever the accident has caused to her face could hardly be seen now. The skin on the side of her face turned dark almost instantly after the mishap. Cleo will be heartbroken to see her like this. He has to conceal the skin as well as he can.

Francisca Gracias E Branganza, her name read on the obituary that he put in O Heraldo that morning.

Anthony thought of his own mother; she would have been 90 if she was alive today. She died of TB when he was too young to remember her. Belonging to a banjāran community in Karnataka, Anthony’s fore-fathers were nomads, constantly on the move looking for greener pastures for their cattle. They adopted Roman Catholic Church when a father visited their village three generations back. He gave them a place to live, provided education and most importantly, gave them the dignity of life. The story was narrated to the children by the elders in the family and Anthony felt proud of his lineage. His family was hardworking and well-respected in their community. He dreamed of having his name in this world too one day and he came to Goa when he was just 10 years old, armed with ambition and big dreams. He helped a kashaukar Clemento Dias with digging graves and making coffins, learnt the art of embalming and as he grew older, even drove the hearse van. Treat the cadaver with respect and dignity, Clemento taught him. The day you stop feeling that, look for another job. Anthony’s perspective about life changed after this. Everyone dies one day – rich, poor, Brahmin, Christian, women, men, children, farmer, potter, executive, a minister – everyone. Life is just too precious to fight over petty things. And death is an equaliser. That’s his simple philosophy.

He looked at Francisca, once a beautiful belle of the village of Aldona, now a helpless body, a victim of fate. Anthony did not know her well but he knew the emotions of people. Francisca looked as dignified as she was when she was breathing. Anthony made sure she did. Cleo will be happy with his presentation for the family viewing.

Cleo came from Muscat last year to see his mother. He lost his job during the pandemic and struggled for a year before he found an opening in a biscuit factory. The pay was not much but enough for his basic needs and to send home to his mother. Francisca expected her son to take care of her during her last days. Though at 90 she was energetic and cooked for herself, she needed a companion. But she knew that Cleo needed his job in Muscat to pay off family debts that he could not manage staying in Goa. Guilty but helpless, Cleo convinced his mother to shift to an old-age home in Mapusa. Mrs Patricia Lola Barreto moved there too recently and you will have someone to talk to. You will probably make more friends of your age there. See, maybe you will not miss me after all. So saying, Cleo pushed away any traces of guilt and went back to Muscat. At least he would not feel worried that his mother was alone in that huge ancestral house in Aldona.

                                                                        ***

Francisca was not very fond of Patricia. She talked too much and asked too many questions about Cleo. Is he seeing someone in Muscat? Hasn’t he turned 40 this year? Doesn’t he want to get married and have children of his own? Money is not everything, family is important too. Francisca did not have answers to such probing questions. Even if she had, she was not keen on sharing them with this old hag! Why doesn’t she leave her alone and think about her daughter who has been eating off her mother’s property? She could have studied further and fetched herself a job rather than running behind young boys in the locality. The gall she has flirting with Pedro who is married and has children of his own! But Francisca was a quiet woman and ageing has turned in her favour, leaving her auditory senses to her discretion.

After her rosary every day Francisca walked in the garden. She missed her house in Aldona and the rose bush she prided over. Braganza House was an eyesore to her friends who did not have gardens like hers. What did Kashilkar say to her husband one day? If ever you want to sell your property, first let me know. Like they are ever going to leave the place and go anywhere else! This is Cleo’s property. No Kashilkar, Mashelkar, Gonsalves or Pereira is going to stay here. She missed Cleo, her son, but she also knew that it was not his fault that he was taken to foreign shores.

Francisca walked around the garden that day for some time, keeping to the concrete path among the trees. The warmth of the mid-morning sun made her sleepy. A brief nap before the lunch gong is what she required. She hobbled back into her dorm across the corridor, past Fiona’s bed. The maid who cleaned the dorm must have left the bucket of phenyl water in her path. Before she realised its presence, she tumbled the bucket over, slipped in the water and hit her temple against the corner of Fiona’s bed.

And she blacked out.

                                                                        ***

Anthony worked through the night to finish the coffin. Teakwood coffins are custom-made as very few could afford them. Cleo insisted on a teakwood coffin for the funeral. Reparation for his absence during his mother’s last days? Here, take this and get the best make-up kit that money can buy. Don’t skimp on money. The funeral has to be grand. Cleo was beside himself when he heard the reason for his mother’s death. A freak accident! If I were there next to her, she wouldn’t have met with such a fateful end. Death is in nobody’s hands, Uncle Joe consoled him today morning. You were a good son, taking the burden of the family debt. Think about getting married now and settling down. At least you will have companionship. You can name your daughter or son after your mother.

                                                                        ***

Anthony heaved a sigh of relief when Govind came on time. Anthony wanted help to take the coffin to Braganza House and then to the church for the funeral mass followed by burial. There was no time to waste. They carefully lifted the body to place her in the decorated coffin. She was a petite lady, so light to carry. Govind was a quick learner like Anthony was when he was a young lad. His lean muscular body is fit to lift heavy coffins and help with digging graves. When Govind came to him for work, Anthony didn’t keep anything secret. Seeing a lifeless cadaver is not everybody’s cup of tea. Govind was taken aback when he saw a body for the first time. But he soon learnt the skills of the trade and gelled seamlessly into the routine. Anthony was proud of his tutelage.

The hearse van was cleaned and readied for the funeral. Anthony asked Govind to drive the van while he quickly washed and dressed in formals for the funeral service. Formalities should be meticulously followed. Another lesson taught by Clemento.

The evening unfolded mechanically. Anthony stood next to the coffin, making sure that the funeral proceedings went by seamlessly. Cleo was happy that the mass was well-attended – after all, the family lived there for several generations. Appropriate words were spoken of his beloved mother, tears were shed, experiences shared, Cleo’s absence was debated, and Francisca’s fateful death was analysed one last time. And finally the burial.

As the last fistful of soil sealed the traces of Francisca Gracias E Branganza on this earth, Anthony ensured that he nestled Francisca in the womb of mother earth – her last resting place before she embarked on her eternal journey.

At sunset, the hearse van briefly stopped at Joseph Café, and then headed home.

Skeletons in the Closet – Exploring Literary ‘Secrets’ in Select Indian Literature

(First published in Kitaab on 4th October 2022)

https://kitaab.org/2022/10/04/bookmarked-musings-skeletons-in-the-closet-by-jyoti-kiran-pisipati/

Every human story has an undisclosed, mysterious layer stashed away in its folds; its presence is central to the existence of humanity. Sometimes secrets are buried so deep that to fish them out needs a shrewd inner eye. Myriad reasons and complexities are associated with the act of secrecy – a writer’s nom de plume, a fake identity of a soldier or a witness in a high-profile case, a spouse in an extra-marital affair, family secrets, and religious/caste biases; there is no dearth for the diverse needs of maintaining confidentiality. Secrecy is as complex as the human mind. It is devoid of any spatial limitations. There are public and community-shared secrets; private and family-kept secrets.

While secrecy-as-privacy is generally appreciated and approved, secrecy-as-conspiracy is condemned and even feared.

A secret is defined as a piece of information that is known by only a small number of people, and is deliberately not told to others’. If the word ‘deliberate’ is used in the definition, does that mean it is conspiratorial?

Intra-textual and inter-textual devices like parodies, allusions, metaphors, personification, symbols and motifs, and idiomatic expressions are all covert forms employed by writers in their texts. A good reader enjoys unravelling these literary ‘secrets’, delving into the labyrinths and passages of the narrative, intentionally or unintentionally conceived by the writer and the joy of reading is in excavating these mines and interpreting the subtext.

In parallel, textual ‘secrets’ are vital to the organic sustenance of a narrative. They are often woven around family secrets, deep-rooted political ideologies and conspiracies, communities, personal lives, sex and sexuality, and personal loss and identity to name some. They run through the story threading the plot along with them, sometimes uncovering the underlying enigma or burying it deeper. But many a writer uses the multi-dimensionality of secrecy in different literal and metaphorical ways.  

POLITICS AND GOOD GOVERNANCE

Undisclosed names of political figures and geographical locations in Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance add an interesting and mysterious layer to his narrative. Set in the 1970s in the ‘City by the Sea’, the novel spans the social and political landscape of India from post-partition times, through the regime of one of the most popular political panjandrums of the 1970s, ‘the Prime Minister’ till her assassination. Mistry’s obsession with the Emergency of 1977 is too popular to ignore and he uses it as a template to highlight the effect of the political circuses on the common man. Conspiracies, government strategies, and manipulative plots in the name of good governance and public works weave around the lives of Mistry’s characters in A Fine Balance and Such a Long Journey, placing him amongst the increasing number of controversial writers of contemporary Indian fiction.

COMMUNITY SECRETS

Once a lazy and uninspiring young lad, Sampath Chawla, the protagonist of Kiran Desai’s Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard, becomes a seer overnight for casually reading through the letters which arrived from all over the world to the Shahkot post office. During his brief stint as a clerk in the post office, Sampath, out of pure boredom, one day opens the letters from places with strange names – ‘Bombalapetty, Pudukkottai…Koovappally, Piploo…’,  ‘envelopes filled with promise’  written by the townspeople to their family and friends across the globe. He reads about “family feuds, and love affairs, of marriages being arranged, babies being born, of people dying and ghosts returning” (34). The letters open up exotic lands with interesting people – ‘people who took bath only once a week and women who wore short dresses even when they are old” (34). Little does he expect that one day this benign act he is guilty of can prove to be a huge turning point in his life. Vexed with the monotony, one day, Sampath impulsively leaves the town and eventually makes the guava orchard, located on the threshold of the town, his home. Initially surprised and amused by this act, the townspeople flock around him waiting to see his next step But there sits Sampath all day, among the thick leaves and branches of the biggest guava tree in the orchard, and out pop the secrets of the people one by one. He asks Mr Singhji if his ‘jewellery still safely buried beneath the tulsi plant’, Mrs Chopra’s lump in her throat, the secret oil of the bald man in the crowd. The gullible residents of Shahkot are shocked to find out that he is in possession of all their secrets and soon Sampath is elevated to the position of a seer. Sampath’s lacklustre and mundane life transforms as he uses the personal yet harmless secrets of the people to his advantage. The detective on the other hand is also on a conspiratorial self-inflicted assignment as he discreetly follows Sampath and his family, trying to prove the real reason for Sampath’s stardom. He hides behind the bushes all day and makes a note of any secret ingredient Sampath’s mother Khushi may be adding to his meal, but his efforts turn futile. In Kiran Desai’s first novel, she orchestrates the curves and contours, the colours and shades of secrecy in her plot, embedding them strategically for the desired effect.

COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET

The invisibility of LGBTQA+ in mainstream literature is slowly changing, challenging the dynamics of heteronormativity. Conversations around gender politics now include LGBTQA+ and literature of and by queer writers is bringing in the visibility of the community. Hugely regarded as an ‘urban phenomenon’, works like Mohanaswamy by Kannada writer Vasudhendra have brought into light the fact that love has no geographical and societal limitations. In the words of Maya Angelou, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Personal identity and self-love are stronger than the challenges that come with divulging personal information. Mohanaswamy narrates the story of the protagonist with the same name, who asserts his sexuality in a gender-biased society. Deeply autobiographical, Vasudhendra, then an acclaimed Kannada writer, confesses that his coming out of the closet experience was relieving and challenging at the same time. The story initiates the dialectics of gay sexuality and social conflicts with stark revelations of the sexual tensions of the leading characters. Apprehensive about the public response to his sexuality, he published his initial works under the pseudonym Shanmukha. S. But his books were received with positive reactions and he observes “No matter what, Mohanaswamy unburdened me and gave me the wings. I would never trade that feeling with anything else,” (Hindusthan Times, July 1, 2017).

SHARED SECRETS AND ENSHROUDED ,PAST

A secret from the past entwines the lives of Jairaj and Ratna, renowned Bharatnatyam dancers and the lead characters in Mahesh Dattani’s play Dance Like a Man. Defying his father Amritlal’s s wishes, Jairaj chooses to become a dancer and along with his wife Ratna, pursues a passionate career. Several instances foreshadow the revelation of the secret from Ratna and Jairaj’s younger days. For instance, the relationship of the couple, though one that has seen the test of time, does not look fulfilling and happy. Their conversations are punctuated with their effort to keep their past a secret, which their daughter Lata is completely unaware of. Central to their relationship as husband and wife is their shared secret that has been buried under layers of guilt and ambition. When Lata’s career is on the threshold of taking off, their dormant displeasure erupts spilling out the tragedy that they both experience forty years back. Dance Like a Man is a play that exposes gender stereotypes and deep-rooted prejudices and weaknesses that can sometimes cripple relationships. Along with the shared secret of Jairaj and Ratna, the plot thickens when the reader is witness to the conversation between Ratna and Amritlal, when he asks her to stop Jairaj from dancing and ‘to help me make him an adult. Help me to help him grow up’ (51). Under the shadow of her misogynistic father-in-law, Ratna contrives and conspires a new path for her husband in which he would eventually be faded out of his career, thus staging and carving a successful career for herself.

 Shukumar and Shobha from Jhumpa Lahiri’s short story A Temporary Matter are civil to each other, with conversations restricted to work and managing the home. Ghosts of the past estrange the couple creating a chasm in their relationship. Their predicament of living life together ever since they experienced a tragedy together a few years back, finally seeps out, bringing their relationship to an abrupt halt. Their suppressed emotions make way when a chance power outage on four consecutive nights forces the husband and wife to have dinner together in the darkness. As they prepare to spend an hour every night in darkness, they decide to each tell the other one incident from their life that they have never spoken about to anybody. ‘Something happened when the house was dark’ and the ‘exchange of confessions – the little ways they’d hurt or disappointed each other’ momentarily brings them together and on the fourth night, they make passionate love. It seems for a few days as if the temporal void that they each settled into these past few years has brought them closer through these confessions. But the make-believe façade of their detached lives gives way and their marriage falls apart, as their last divulgence to each other brings about a finality to their marriage.

SECRETS – BOON AND BANE

Home is the most unassuming of places where secrets thrive. Restriction of personal freedom, fear of a family member, cultural prejudices, gender inequalities, skeletons in the closet, egos, and jealousies make domestic and familial spaces a cauldron of some very well-kept secrets. Clandestine relationships, surreptitious meetings, a teenager’s covert activities from prying eyes, family culinary recipes kept away from the public, squirrelling away small amounts of cash from the household expenses – all make compelling plots for great narratives.

Durga’s life turns around with one small personal victory that she wins against her oppressive husband in the short story Electoral Empowermentby Konkani writer Damodar Mauzo. Durga is the submissive wife of Ratnu and is dominated and bullied by her husband. “Do just as I tell you” is what is expected of her.

Despite being an educated girl, from the day she is married, Durga becomes an unpaid worker for Ratnu, going through the domestic drudgery of cleaning the house, cooking, and feeding the husband and his friends on time. She is ordered by Ratnu not to cook any of her favourite food which could even remotely remind her of her mother’s house.  Finally, Durga resigns herself to her fate and meekly decides not to oppose Ratnu’s orders anymore.

Until the day she has an opportunity for a small but sweet vengeance.

It was election time. Ratnu campaigns for Vassu, his cousin and was sure that the latter would win the elections. Despite the careful instructions of Ratnu,  on the day of the election, Durga chooses to do the unthinkable. She stamps every symbol except Vassu’s and “…smiling triumphantly, Durga turned homewards.” Durga’s triumph transcends the limitations set by a patriarchal society. Rather than submitting to the expectations of Ratnu, she uses that one power she has – the privacy of the ballot box.

PUBLIC SCRUTINY OF A PRIVATE LIFE

The most dangerous of all forms of secrecy, though, is the one that leaves behind a mutilated soul. When the roving, unpardoning public eye is curious to know a piece of sensitive personal information and it cannot be easily procured, it resorts to all forms of cruelty finally snatching it and leaving behind a wounded visceral soul.

Vijay Tendulkar’s play Silence! The Court is in Session centres around a group of amateur actors who come to the village to perform a play. A few hours before the show, some of the members, to pass the time, devise a mock trial and make Leela Benare, a young, unmarried female actor in the group, stand in the witness box. As the trial progresses, the intention of the male members of the group comes to light. They prod Miss Benare about her illicit affair with Professor Damle, her pregnancy and pleading with three men in her life to marry her to give legitimacy to the unborn child. What starts as a mock court proceeding, turns into scrutiny, a humiliating inquest into the personal life of Miss Benare. Neither is she given a chance to plead not guilty nor are the men, who could provide truthful testimony, are present at the trial, making Benare completely lonely and helpless. Judge Kashikar, in the absence of any witnesses to defend Benare, pronounces the verdict as guilty and orders for the abortion of the foetus as it is an illegitimate child of an adulteress. 

The word ‘Silence’’ in the title does not seem to attribute to the trial session in progress; rather it seems to impose on Leela Benare, whose identity and voice are permanently quietened. Though in the end, she forces herself to narrate her story, she is hardly heard and acknowledged by her colleagues as their ulterior motive of exposing her personal life has already been achieved. The play highlights the prejudicial treatment given to a woman when she is found in possession of a secret in her life.

Secrets are necessary ‘evils’ of our life; the stepsisters who we live with but seldom acknowledge and love. But love them or not, they are an integral part of every human story. Narratives provide a fertile landscape to experiment and explore these dark, mysterious crevices.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Calinescu, Matei. “Secrecy in Fiction: Textual and Intertextual Secrets in Hawthorne and Updike.” Poetics Today, vol. 15, no. 3, 1994, pp. 443–65. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/1773318. Accessed 28 Jun. 2022.

Dattani Mahesh. Dance Like a Man. Penguin Books India, 2006.

Desai Kiran.  Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard. Faber and Faber Ltd, 1998.

Kermode, Frank. “Secrets and Narrative Sequence.” Critical Inquiry, vol. 7, no. 1, 1980, pp. 83–101. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1343177. Accessed 28 Jun. 2022.

Lahiri, Jhumpa.  Interpreter of Maladies. E-book ed., Fourth Estate/HarperCollinsPublishers, 2000.

Mauzo, Damodar. Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa. (trans.) Xavier Cota. New Delhi: Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd, 2014.

Vasudhendra. Mohanaswamy. (trans.) Rashmi Terdal. Harper Perennial, 2016.