by Dr. Gourahari Das
Address by Dr. Gourahari Das, writer and journalist, at Karnataka Sahitya Akademi Awards ceremony organized at Bengaluru on 7 Feb 2017
I am immensely thankful to the Karnataka Sahitya Akademi for inviting me to this function and making me a part of this august ceremony of Award Giving.
Kannada, one of the six classical languages of India has been actively vibrant all the time. The masters of this language have contributed enormously to Indian Literature. My humble tributes are to all these great personalities of letters who have made this soil proud.
When I was packing to come here, I was thinking of the genesis of the tradition of giving medals and awards in recognition of excellence. As we know, Vedas and Upanishads of our country are as old as 3000-3500 years. King Janaka used to arrange scholastic discourse of Rishis and seers. He used to organize debates among the saints and give away herds of milching cows with horns adorned with gold.
Once Rishi Jajnyabalka arrived at the venue and without being engaged in scholarly discourse, he looked at the prize – cows and asked his disciples to take away all of them to his hermitage. This sounded atrocious to other scholars present over there who had come from far off places. Taken aback by the awe and aura of Jajnyabalka, King Janaka too made a cursory glance at him.
Jajnyabalka humbly but firmly replied, “O King Janaka, I am sure of my victory which is a foregone conclusion. If my learned competitors still want a debate, I am all for it. But why should the cows wait under the sun and suffer”? This shows the level of confidence of Jajnyabalka who of course outwitted all other Rishis.
The same Jajnyabalka in his famous dialogue with King Janaka has discussed about the importance of human consciousness.
The King Janaka asked, “What is the light of man”?
:The sun, O King, is the light for; by its help man sees works and returns home.
“So indeed it is, O, Seer. But when the sun has set, what is man’s light,” asked the King.
“The moon is the light, O King, for by its help man sees, works and returns home,” replied the seer.
“So indeed it is O Seer, but when the sun has set and so has the moon, what is man’s light” asked Janaka.
“Fire is the light, for by it he sees, works and returns home,” replied the seer.
“So indeed it is,” agreed the king. “But when both the sun and the moon are not seen and the fire too has gone out, what can serve as light for man”, asked the king.
“Speech, for, by it man can see, can work and come home. O King, when one cannot see even one’s hands clearly, he can follow a voice,” replied the seer.
“So indeed it is, O Seer. But when the sun and the moon have set and the fire has gone out and speech too has been hushed, what serves as the light for man”, asked Janaka.
“The self is his light, O King,” replied the Seer, Jajnyabalka.
To me literature plays the role of our ‘self’ or the inner voice which is our conscience. That is why poets and scholars of this country have been hailed as the second God. A writer does not belong to a particular time or a particular place. He can look much ahead of his time and look back to distant past. May be, all this does not suffice for his imagination as Vali’s offering was to the third foot of Lord Baman. Since he moves between past and future while staying in present he is called a trikaldarsi.
For me, literature means one word – empathy or compassion. Unfortunately, today all of us realize the dearth of compassion in our lives. Poets and scholars of this country need to replenish it.
There are thousands of definitions of literature and I am afraid if I can add any more to it. But for me, literature means one word – empathy or compassion. Unfortunately, today all of us realize the dearth of compassion in our lives. Poets and scholars of this country need to replenish it.
Let me share with you a story which I read a couple of years back before the mobile phone became an essential part of our daily existence. It is about how excellently this small story dealt an important matter with empathy. The local power supply office of a colony of a small town in India received as many as twenty calls in two days. The calls were made to complain that the street light which was out of order had not been replaced. The junior engineer was perturbed to find out that all the calls were made by one and the same person.
He was at his wits’ end. So he deputed a worker to replace the bulb. The workman reached the spot carrying a tall ladder and got the old bulb replaced. After the job was done he wanted to inform his JE and move on to attend to other complaints. He did not have a mobile phone. So he got into a telephone booth across the road. He rang to his JE and told him that the bulb had been replaced.
A teen aged boy, in charge of the phone booth, overheard the conversation of the workman with the JE. He conveyed his gratitude to the former. In reply, the workman said, “Don’t thank me. You should thank the mad man of your locality who called my office 20 times over the last two days”.
The boy smiled and said, “Sir, I am that mad man”. A little embarrassed, the workman now wanted to pay the phone bill and quit that place as soon as possible. He tossed a two rupee coin at the boy and was about to leave when he found that the boy was trying to locate the coin and pick it up. With a shock, the workman realized that the boy was blind.
He stopped for a second and asked the boy, “I see that you have no eye sight. So it makes no difference to you if the street is lit or dark. Why were you so worried about this? It is of no use to you.
The boy replied, “Sir, you have a point. But as I am a blind I know better than anyone else the kind of hardship that darkness creates for someone. I understand the problems the pedestrians have faced while crossing the road in darkness for the last two days. This is why I pestered you that much”.
Human civilization is indebted to written words of literature to a great extent. Dear friends, Sometimes a single sentence or a few words can change the perception of the most arrogant and indomitable individual.
Human civilization is indebted to written words of literature to a great extent. Dear friends, Sometimes a single sentence or a few words can change the perception of the most arrogant and indomitable individual.
Most of you perhaps know the story “King Solomon and his magic ring.” I have read another version of the story. The king Solomon once asked for some words of wisdom which would help him overcome the sorrows and keep him calm at the hour of happiness.
His Ministers tried a lot but in vain. One day an old man arrived at King Solomon’s Court and presented him a ring. He said, this is not an ordinary ring but a magic one. I have engraved four words on it and covered with a stone casement. Please do not look at these words until and unless you realize that you have reached the most crucial hour of your life. Having said this, the wise man left the court.
The king put on the ring in one of his fingers and soon forgot all about it. After few months he invaded the neighboring state as he was over confident of his victory. But to his surprise, he was defeated. Soon realizing the consequences, he made a hasty retreat on his horse back. In the fast thickening darkness of the evening, the king fell down into a deserted well but somehow managed to survive holding the roots of a tree. His horse was gone. He could hear the galloping of the horses of his enemies who were searching for him to kill.
The King Solomon was a deserted stuff. He cursed himself and wanted to commit suicide rather than being caught at the hands of enemies which was humiliating. He had forgotten about the magic ring. But that day when he was wiping his sweat from his fore-head the cover opened and the king could read those four words in the dim light of afternoon. All on a sudden, a sense of consolation reinstated him. He gave up the idea of committing suicide and waited silently. Hours passed by. The enemy soldiers went back. In the darkness of the night the king came out of the well and walked on to safety. Finally he reached his palace unhurt.
The king Solomon was a brave man. He could not have taken his defeat lightly. Next year, he once again, made adequate arrangement and invaded the same kingdom. This time he won the battle. He returned to his capital victorious. Each one of his soldiers wanted to celebrate the victory. There was a huge celebration where the people gathered to dance and sing in praise of Solomon. The king set out for the venue of celebration riding his horse. He was just approaching the venue. He wanted to set his crown straight. While he was combing his long hairs with his fingers, the cover of that ring slid and the king could read those four words again. It had an immediate effect.
The king became subdued and graceful. He got off his horse and walked up to the dais. With folded hands he greeted his people and then with much humility he dedicated his victory to the soldiers and generals and to the people of his country. There was a great applaud and lingering clapping. Yet the king was unmoved. Before leaving the venue he said that this victory is not of his alone but of the people of his country.
Now the question arises, what were those four words written in that magic ring that helped the king to endure the humiliation as well as to ignore the jubilation. These words were ‘This Too Will Pass.’ Neither this hour of defeat, nor the moments of jubilation and celebration will stay forever. Everything is transitory and short-lived. So it is of no use clinging to something for all the time. If only four words can change one’s perception, what would be the magnitude of the effect of the enormous bulk of literature, the collective consciousness of human civilization!
Literature rejects the geographical boundary and limitation of politics. It is difficult to draw lines in literature since its appeal is universal. In every drop of tear and each drop of blood that is shed, humanity is wounded and Literature does not or need not recognize geographical boundary or political affiliation
Literature rejects the geographical boundary and limitation of politics. It is difficult to draw lines in literature since its appeal is universal. In every drop of tear and each drop of blood that is shed, humanity is wounded and Literature does not or need not recognize geographical boundary or political affiliation. It rises above caste, creed, religion, sex and every other consideration that denies him universal humanity.
Similarly it is difficult to have a clear demarcation between young and old and; modern and traditional in the field of literature. The element of modernity in traditional and that of traditional in modernity is indeed always overlapping. To quote Prof. Manoj Das, ‘By recasting tradition we mean something belonging to past. There is a chronological calendar, calendar of time. But there is another calendar, the calendar of consciousness. The human emotions have not become radically or qualitatively different from the emotions prevailed thousands years ago. The sunrise and sunset have always amazed us and continue still to surprise us with every passing day. The Ramayan and Mahabharat continue to be traditional and modern simultaneously.
Before I conclude, I want to quote the French Philosopher Roland Barthe who had said, “Literature is the question minus the answer.” There are so many things which remain unanswered forever. Human life is one such enigmatic phenomenon. If all the questions about human life are resolved, there would be no room probably for either philosophy or poetry.
Literature is no form of entertainment nor is it a platform for narcissism. Literature should not be an opaque glass mirror for the writer to look at his own image all the times but a transparent one so that each one can look through that and get the image of the rest of the world. Literature is the parallel history of civilization. While the history is the chronicle of kings and emperors ascending the throne and fighting the battles it is the literature that carries the stories of common men and women, in short the story of human life.
Some of my friends ask me, “Why do you write”? I try to answer their question by quoting Amrita Pritam. As you know, Amrita Pritam was born in Punjab of undivided India which is now in Pakistan. There was a popular belief in that part of Punjab, the Gods slept for six months and remained awake for rest of the months in a year. Rainy season was the time of God’s sleep and Amrita Pritam was born in the rainy season. That is why her grandmother always chided Amrita that she could not get any wisdom from Gods since they were all asleep.
When she became famous, got Jnanpith and Padmabibhushan, some journalists asked her. “You Amrita, who was born while Gods were sleeping, what did you try to do through your writings? Amrita answered, “Throughout my life I have tried to make the Gods wake up from their deep slumber”.
Amrita was a different type of woman. She was progressive and radical. When she became famous, got Jnanpith and Padmabibhushan, some journalists asked her. “You Amrita, who was born while Gods were sleeping, what did you try to do through your writings? Amrita answered, “Throughout my life I have tried to make the Gods wake up from their deep slumber”.
But where is God? Is there a heaven really where He resides.
A troupe of fifteen soldiers headed by a Major was moving towards the impassable Himalayan region to guard it for a period of three months. The soldiers on duty there would be relieved by them to move to another post.
The up-hill road was rough, undulated and dangerous. Each one of them was exhausted. “A cup of hot tea in the cold weather would give life to them” the Major thought.
The soldiers had already marched non-stop for three hours.
In the faded afternoon- light something of the like of a hut appearing like a tea-shop came to their view. The soldiers coming close to it saw that it was closed.
They halted there for some time. One of them looked through the chink of the wooden wall. It appeared containing tea, sugar and a stove. They sought the permission of the Major to break the lock and to enter.
The Major was in a fix. What would he do? At last, he said, “Be it like that.”
The soldiers made tea. There were three to four biscuit packets to their good luck.
Life came to them indeed! Then they were to start their journey. Giving the command to march on the Major got a thousand rupee note from his pocket and put it under the sugar container. Then he moved on.
Three months elapsed in the camp. Now they were retreating on the same route. The Major marked that the shop was open. They took tea paying for it. One of the soldiers asked, “How do you do”?
: Oh, I’m fine by the grace of God.
The soldier said, “Where is God, Uncle”? If he were there, would He put you in such an out of the way hill top”?
: Don’t say like that, the old man protested. It happened three months back. The army took away my son falsely suspecting him for an extremist and beat him. Closing the shop I went to buy some medicine for him but I had no money. The neighbours would never lend money to a person whose son was arrested by the army on the charge of being an extremist. I was at my wit’s end. Out of frustration I prayed Him frantically with all earnestness. On my return to the shop in the evening, to my surprise I found that God had put a thousand rupee note under the sugar container.
The soldiers were about to tell what had happened that day. But, the Major giving an indication told, “Don’t say anything”.
They took tea. Footing the bill while taking leave of the shop keeper the Major said, “Yes, indeed God is there”. While saying this, his eyes had water. By that time the soldiers had also realised that there is God. They had the feeling of a greater truth than that- that each one of us has the potentiality of becoming the God for others. And for this we need compassion.
Friends, having said all these I don’t think I have been able to say what I was supposed to. I once again thank the president, Karnataka Sahitya Akademi for her generous invitation; I congratulate the Award Winners and thank you dear audience for giving me a patient hearing. Thank you.