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`a' - S.C.Tamil Literary Society's literary magazine, December issue

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Sundara Pandian

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Dec 10, 1992, 3:21:14 AM12/10/92

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* oru kalai ilakkiya valai malar *
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* S.C.TAMIL *
* Literary Society Magazine *
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* December 1992 *
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========
Contents
========

Literary Profile: Mahakavi ... ... ... ... 1
Essay
B. Vigneswaran

siRupul ( Little Grass ) ... ... ... ... 5
Poem
Mahakavi

iruppu ( Being ) ... ... ... ... 7
Short Story
Sundara Pandian

suvai ( Taste ) ... ... ... ... 11
Poem
N. Gopalswamy

Tell me, what am I to do now? ... ... ... ... 12
Short Story
Jeyakanthan
Tr. C.P. Ravikumar

aindhu kavidhaikaL ( Five Poems ) ... ... ... ... 20
Poetry
Abbas

Punishment ... ... ... ... 22
Short Story
Punchihewa
Tr. Asokan

Letters ... ... ... ... 25

Announcements ... ... ... ... 27

-------
Essay
-------

===============================================
Literary Profile: Mahakavi Thu. Uruthiramoorthy
===============================================

B Vigneswaran

Thu. Uruthiramoorthy (1927-71), popularly known as "Maha-
kavi", is highly regarded as the father of modern Eelam poetry
(read : Sri Lankan Tamil poetry). His poems, written within the
bounds of Tamil prosody ('yaappu'), were aimed at reaching the
common folk. They touched a wide ranging aspects of daily life,
were easy to comprehend and instigated enormous interest among
readers. Mahakavi was also considered a pier, who inspired a rich
breed of young poets to follow his footsteps.

Born in a poor family of classical musicians and brought
up in Alaveddy, a birth place of a variety of artists, including
his childhood friends A. Na. Kanthasamy and A. Se. Murugananthan,
Mahakavi exhibited prodigious talent for creative writing. He
edited a tiny manuscript magazine `minnal' at the age of fourteen.

Mahakavi was influenced by Subramaniya Bharathi's poems
first. However, the poet who inspired him the most was Trichi
Kalaivanan (1940s-50s). Mahakavi was in close contact with Ci.Su.
Chellappa, founder-editor of `ezhuththu' (60s), a milestone in
the history of Modern Tamil Literature. His early works appeared
in two literary magazines published in Tamil Nadu: `kiraama
oozhiyan' and `ezhuththu' in 1950s and 60s respectively.

Uruthiramoorthy used many pen names (ex: `paNdithar'),
but `mahaakavi' was his last and the most popular one. He called
himself so, because he wanted to have a better pseudonym over his
childhood friend and "competitor", A. Na. Kanthasamy, who called
himself `kaveenthiran' (king of poets). Mahakavi was a proud poet
who characteristically displayed a sense of superiority in his
first book `vaLLi':

`.... anthap pazhang kampan emmidaiyE meeNduLLaan....'

`.... ponnaiyithu ponnenRu pOtRath theriyaathOr pOkaddum....'

`.... sirappukkoru puthiya sikaraththai naan amaippEn....'

[`vaLLi', 1955]

Mahakavi is noted for his reformatory role in modern
Tamil poetry during the 50s and 60s. Two early reformers,
Subramaniya Bharathi and Na.Pichamurthy had by then introduced
the use of simple words and liberal grammatic structure for Tamil
poetry, thus enabling the access of commoners to literary
appreciation and creation. The momentum of this reformative trend
was eroded enormously during the '60s, especially in Tamilnadu.
An off-shoot of the `kazhakam' emergence was an undue emphasis on
alliteration which affected spontaneity of expression in the
poetry. Mahakavi pioneered reforms in the rhythm of the Tamil
poems, within 'yaappu' with formatively structured work. From a
"poetic rhythm" the poems assumed a "colloquial rhythm", yet
vividly enhancing the beauty of spontaneous expression. Poets who
followed his footsteps were very successful in this trend. Eelam
poets led by Mahakavi were well ahead of their counterparts
across the Palk Straight in this regard. The following is a
typical poem by Mahakavi:

`chiRu naNdu maNal meethu padam onRu keeRum
chilavELai athai vanthu kadal koNdu pOkum
kaRi choRu pothiyOdu tharukinRa pOthum
kadal meethu ivaL koNda payam onRu kaaNum

veRu vaana veLi meethu mazhai vanthu cheeRum
veRi koNda puyal ninRu karakangaL aadum
eRikinRa kadal enRu manitharkaL anjaar
ethuvanthatheninenna athai venRu chelvaar....'

[from `puthiyathoru veedu', published in 1989]

2

The poetry in the Sangam age imparted clear visual images as
compared to the poetry of medieval age which was mainly concerned
with better rhythm and sound effects. Thanks to the efforts of
Mahakavi, poetry regained the visual imagery that characterised
the Sangam poetry. His poems `akalikai' and `oru chaathaaraNa
manithanathu chariththiram' are as good as snap shots.

Novelty being a part in Mahakavi's poetry, he conceptualized
that drama could be written using poems and colloquial rhythm.
He also introduced limerics, a poetry form in English used for
writing children's rhymes and humor,in Tamil. His Tamil limerics,
known as `kuRumpaa', spanned all sundry aspects of daily life.
Following is his `kuRumpaa' on bribery:

`muththedukka moozhkukiRaan seelan
munnaalE vanthu ninRaan kaalan
saththaminRi vanthavanin
kaiththalaththil paththu
muththaip poththivaiththaan pOnaan muchchoolan'

['kuRumpaa', 1972]

The best among Mahakavi's contributions was the inspiration
he instilled in writers of his and subsequent generations. M.A.
Nuhman and Shanmugam Sivalingam were the first to emerge in
"Mahakavi Tradition", followed by T.Ramalingam, M.Ponnampalam,
A. Yesuraasa, Sivasegaram, Cheran, Vijayenthiran and so on.

Several of Mahakavi's works have been published in both
Sri Lanka and India. His first anthology of poetry , `vaLLi', was
published by Varathar Publications in 1955. His `kaNmaNiyaaL
kaathai', based on caste problem, was published in 1965. His next
work `yaazhOsai', though completed in 1968, unfortunately remains
unpublished. But, in 1969, `veedum veLiyum',another poetry coll-
ection, was published. In his `kOdai'(70) Mahakavi successfully
experimented poetry-drama. This was the last of his works to be
published when he was alive. Later in 1972 `kuRumpaa', and in
1973 `oru saathaaraNa manithanathu sariththiram' were published.
`mahaakaviyin irandu kaviyangal' was published in India in 1975.
This volume carried two of Mahakavi's works: `kanthappa sapa-
tham,' in which he humorosly expressed his ecological concerns,
and `chadangu,' which captured the unnecessary and expensive

traditions and rituals among Tamil community of his time. In 1984
Annam Publications published `mahaakavi kavithaikaL',an anthology
of selected poems of Mahakavi with an introduction by M.A. Nuhman
in an attepmt to introduce him to the new generation readers in
Tamil Nadu. Later in 1989, a drama by Mahakavi, `puthiyathoru
veedu', was published by the Friends of Mahakavi.

Some of his unpublished manuscripts were lost when the
SriLankan army forcibly occupied his family house, `neezhal'.How-
ever, there are, still, quite a few of his unpublished works that
remain with his friends and family. Some of his friends are pre-
sently exploring the possibilities of publishing them in India or
Canada. His published works might also be republished in Canada
or Europe in the near future.

Mahakavi was a simple person in his personal life. He
started his professional career as a clerk in government service
and rose to the level of an officer in the Ceylon Administrative
Service, CAS. He was an avid ornithologist and founder of a local
club, `paRakkum chidduk kazhakam' (Flying Birds Club), spending a
lot of his free time bird watching. He was a collector of egg
shells and feathers of birds, with a variety of beautiful nests
hanging all over his living room.

There could be no doubt that Mahakavi is one of the best
Tamil poets of the twentieth century. "Mahakavi is the most im-
portant poet after Bharathi (paarathikkup pinthiyathOr periya
kaviyaaRRal)", described A. Yesurasa, in his dedication of his
`tholaivum iruppum Enaiya kathaikaLum'. Mahakavi defines poetry
in his preface to 'kuRumpaa':

`...... kavithai kadalaLavu paranthu paddathu. kadavuLaiyum
kaathalaiyum pORRuvathu madumanRu athan paNi. kOdpaadukaLai
vizhungi vidduch chemiththuk koLLa mudiyaathavarkaL mOnthu
muNumuNuppathaRkaaka ezhuthappaduvathumillai athu. athu
chaathaaraNa manitharkaLin uLLaththil paayap piRappathu...'

(Poetry is as broad as an ocean. Its purpose is not limited to
praising God and love. Nor it is for soothing of people who have
trouble with principles. It is born to penetrate the heart of the
and common people).

It is unfortunate that Mahakavi did not live long enough
to read the works of poets inspired by him.But, his contributions
to the development of Tamil poetry will be eternal.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Cheran for information and the
co-editors of `a' for suggestions.
_________________________________________________________________

----
Poem
----

========
siRu pul
========

Mahakavi

kalladukki mElE kanaththa uruLaikaLai
chellaviddu chellaviddu cheppanidda
nalla neduveethi
athanil
vekuNdOdum vaNdikaLil mOthi
nadappOr mudiveythum theethakala
idda nadaipaathai

ivaiyiraNdin Oram
muddukinRa kOddin mudukkinilE
padda vizhikku inpa virunthaay
iruLil
oLiminnal munpallaik kaaddi
muRuvaliththapin pOy Oyaathathu pOl
oru pul
irukaith thaLirneeddi ninRaaL.
thalaiyil miLirkinRa poovonRaikkooda
puthithaayp punainthirunthaaL.

kaavikkuyil vaayil kaaddidaiyE
paavonRu kEddathanai okkum
kidukiduththuk koNdirukkum
appaaddaiyidai appachumaiyE

naatham
piRavaakich chelkinRa
piththar uLaththOdu
uRavaadithth thanthaaL uvakai

iRavaathu vEril kidanthu vedukkenRu
maari vara
poorikkak kaNdaaL puLakam mey ooraathO?

aadipputhaintha aRam pOl muLaiththezhunthaaL
vaazha avaLukken vaazhththu.

['veedum veLiyum', 1966]

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Contributed by : B Vigneswaran (Vicky)
_________________________________________________________________

======================
Patriot Ko.Nadesayyar
======================

The editor of Sri Lanka's first Tamil daily, "dhEsa nEsan" was
Ko. Nadesayyar. While he lived in Sri Lanka (1920 - 1947). He
left his mark in many spheres: the trade unions, the political
arena, the newspaper industry and hill country Tamil literature.
Born in Thanjavur, Ko. Nadesayyar lived in Sri Lanka until his
death. Before the publication of "dhEsabakthan kO. nadEsayyar"
in the eighties by Charal Nadan, Nadesayyar was merely known as a
trade unionist.

==========
Mass media
==========

The press, radio and TV in Sri Lanka provide a fertile ground for
writers and their works. The sunday issues of newspapers are
veritable literary treats, containing short stories, poetry, es-
says and criticism. Radio and TV regularly feature interviews
with writers, criticism etc. Sri Lankan newspapers accord the
same privileged position to writers that Tamil Nadu newspapers
accord to movie stars.

-----------
Short Story
-----------

======
iruppu
======

Sundara Pandian

Venkatram grinned. He is too early to visit the Bhuvaneswari
temple today. He need not hurry. He can walk slowly. Dressed in
a blue polyester shirt and a dhoti, he had applied `vibuti'
(sacred ash) all over his forehead and on his hands as well. It
was another usual morning in Madurai S.S.Colony with
Dr. Seerkazhi Govindarajan invoking Lord Vinayaka in a
loudspeaker in a distant Mariamman temple. The SBI Arasaradi
branch manager Jayaraman greeted Venkatram when he stepped out
of his house to collect the newspaper from the newspaper boy.
Venkatram grinned. The manager knows too that he is the president
of the Bhuvaneswari temple committee. A few women were selling
vegetables in their baskets and someone was selling flowers in
his bicycle.

"President Sir! Namaskaram."

Venkatram turned at this greeting only to find the secretary
of the committee, Rajam, walking with a few kids a few yards from
him. Rajam, young and clean-shaven, was dressed in North Indian
kurta, pajama. He was carrying a bag on his right shoulder.
Venkatram grinned. He recognized the kids also. The kids who
chant Sri Rudram in the temple. He saw `vibuti' all over their
body. Kids well-raised, he thought, as Rajam joined him with them
on his way to temple, who take interest to chant vedic mantras in
the temple and bathe in the early morning. Isn't chanting vedic
mantras a duty of a Brahmin kid? But his son is at his house
listening to movie songs on a cassette player. Venkatram sighed.
Venkatram thought whether Sastri would be there at the temple. He
doubted that. Sastri will come in about half-an-hour, he guessed.

They neared the temple. When they just made a turn at the
Valluvar street to enter the temple through its only entrance at
the Bharati street, an old beggar greeted them. He was sitting in
front of the temple entrance, near the gate.

Venkatram sighed. What a nuisance! What misfortune will this
sight at the beggar bring forth to him in this good day? They
stopped. Venkatram looked at the beggar uneasily. Bare chested he
was, wrapping a single dirty and torn loin-cloth around his
waist. He smelled awful and his face was in dark clouds. His hair
was coiled like a dove nest and his eyes lacked life. He almost
looked like a corpse, but he moved from his sitting posture when
he found them looking at him. He moistened his dry lips. He
pleaded in a dry, pale voice.

"Sir! Noble men! Please take pity on this poor, old beggar who
hasn't eaten for months and donate some alms. May you all be
prosperous!"

Venkatram took his eyes off him and glanced at Rajam. Rajam
caught the cue and took charge atonce. He shouted at the beggar,

"How often have we told you to move to some other place in
this S.S.Colony for begging? Why are you being such a nuisance to
the devotees who visit this temple? We've heard many complaints
from them that their slippers are getting stolen. Get the hell
out of here before we call the police to throw you out! Get
lost!"

Rajam opened the lock in the gate and let the kids enter the
temple first. They left their slippers near the gate and walked
in. The temple was quiet but for a few crows sitting on the top
of one sannadhi (inner sanctuary). They cleared their place
flipping their wings when a boy threw a stone at them. Rajam led
them all in that small temple with many sannadhis for various
gods and they sat in front of the Siva sannadhi. The sannadhi,
a small room actually, was locked. Rajam opened his shoulder bag
and distributed one Rudram book to each boy. Venkatram accepted
the Rudram book that Rajam gave to him, but he didn't open it. He
stared at the locked sannadhi. All sannadhis were locked. Only
Sastri can open them. Venkatram turned to Rajam.

"Is it the usual time for the committee meeting on today
evening? Have you informed Gandhiram?"

"Usual time, of course. Gandhi also told me that he could
probably join us for the Rudram chanting today."

"You have to wait for your lifetime, if you wait for Gandhi.
You may begin."

They started chanting Rudram and Venkatram placed the closed
book on the floor. He need not worry about the committee meeting
today. Rajam and Gandhiram would take care of everything. He just
has to preside by sitting and listening to them. May be, he could
propose something. Yes, this chanting. In the divine language
Sanskrit. He could propose Sanskrit classes in the temple. He
could get that old astrologer Balu Iyer to teach young kids who
like to learn Sanskrit. Or he could take one big step forward and
propose vedic classes in the temple. Balu Iyer may not know all
that. But he could try that young headmaster Sushmaparameshwarar
to conduct vedic classes. Young scholar, proficient in all the
four vedas, Venkatram thought. He turned and looked at the
Hanuman sannadhi. It was modelled after a chariot and Hanuman's
flag was on the top of it. Venkatram saluted the flag. The
temple needs white-washing also. He should ask the treasurer
Hari Menon to set up a trust for this and the Sanskrit classes.
Responsible man, Hari Menon. Venkatram grinned. He has built a
new house also and invited him several times to visit his new
house with his family. He should visit his house one day..

Sastri parked his bike on the street and locked it carefully.
He smiled as he entered the temple. Rudram chanting. He took no
time to find out that they were in the first verse of the
Chamakam in the Rudram. He joined them in their chanting in his
bronze voice. Venkatram turned when he heard Sastri's voice.
Sastri walked in carrying a plastic bag. Rajam greeted him.
Sastri opened the Siva sannadhi first with his keys. Chanting
Rudram, he took a coconut from his plastic bag and broke it open
on a stone inside. He emptied the coconut water on a stainless
steel bowl and added `tulasi' leaves to the water in the bowl.
Then he emptied the `vibuti' and `kumkumam' packets into their
respective bowls. When Rajam and the boys finished chanting
Rudram, Sastri started chanting Sukthams. Venkatram turned to

the entrance. A few housewives entered the temple and started
circumambulating the sannadhis one by one. Shortly, a few more
men and women entered the temple. The temple began its life.

Sastri turned and smiled at them as if he was ready. He
swiftly opened the camphor pocket from his plastic bag, took
about ten to fifteen small camphor buttons from the pocket and
placed them on the camphor plate. Chanting a prayer in Sanskrit,
he lighted them and showed it all over the Siva idol. Venkatram
stood up. A boy went to the temple bell and rang it repeatedly.
He stopped when he saw Rajam signaling him that it was enough.
Sastri brought the camphor plate to Venkatram first and Venkatram
touched the flame very reverently as a sign of respect and
veneration. He put a new five rupee note on the plate. Rajam
venerated the camphor flame and he also put a five rupee note
on the plate. Others put coin change on the plate and they all
venerated the camphor flame. Sastri picked all the money from
the camphor plate and went inside the sannadhi. After giving
`tulasi' water to everyone, he brought the `vibuti' and
`kumkumam' bowls outside and all took some `vibuti' and
`kumkumam' from the bowls. Venkatram applied `vibuti' on his
forehead and then pressed `kumkumam' on its center.

There was a sudden commotion in front of the temple
entrance. Venkatram sighed. Now what? He walked to the entrance.
Rajam hurried with him. They found some men and women gathered
around the place where they saw the beggar sitting. Venkatram saw
doctor Raghunadhan answering someone in the crowd. Raghunadhan
paused when he saw Venkatram.

"President Sir! The beggar.."

"Yes. What about him?"

"He.. he is dead."

"The nuisance is over. The corporation garbage van will pick
him up."

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translated from Tamil by the author.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

------
Poem
------

=====
suvai
=====

N. Gopalswamy

cinimaach chOkaththukku
nijak kaNNeer aruviyena...
theemaikaNdu kothikkum
kathaanaayakanin kuruthi alaikaLaaki
kodumaikaL azhipadum...
nijakkodumaiyai nizhalaakkum kaNkaLil
cinimaak kaNNeerkoodach churakka maRukkum!
kaathalar muththangaLilum
veLLiththiraiyin eeram.

________________________________________________________________

===============
Small magazines
===============

The role of small magazines in the development of Sri Lankan
literature is important. Like "maNikkodi" of Tamil Nadu, a small
literary magazine called "maRu malarchchi" has made a significant
contribution. From time to time, there have been several small
magazines. In the last quarter century, the small magazine that
has been published continuously is "mallikai". The editor of
this magazine is the well-known Domonic Jeeva. The silver ju-
bilee edition of "mallikai" was published in 1990, which included
contributions from writers in Tamil Nadu. Apart from this, there
are other small literary magazines like "alai", "kozhundhu", and
"munaippu".

-------------
Short Story
-------------

=============================
Tell me, what am I to do now?
=============================

R. Jeyakanthan

It's been forty years since I entered this house as a
bride. My father carried me in his arms. I was carrying my rag
dolls in my hands. Mother was alive then. When I say mother, I
really mean mother-in-law. My own mother died when I was five.
Father put me down gently and sat down on a chair. And then, to
my surprise, he covered his face in his towel and wept. I still
cannot understand why he did that. Then there was this boy play-
ing with a top and thread; it took me a long time to understand
that this boy was indeed my husband. I would play with him, fight
when he cheated, call him names, even beat him up in a fit of
anger.

"Good lord, how can you beat your own husband!" His mother
would come running. She was never sure whether to laugh or to cry
on such occasions. Then she would embrace me in her arms and ex-
plain my relationship to her son. When I returned a blank stare,
she would pat my head and say, "It will make sense to you in due
time!" And it did. Now when I think back, I am perplexed; since
when did I begin to fear him? Fear may not be the right word.
Fear in the good sense of the word. Fear mixed with respect. A
sort of devotion, may be. This feeling has existed ever since.

I have seen men and women grumble about their spouses. I
have nothing but pity for them. Look at me, I have nothing to
complain about. Honestly. I could stand inside a temple and swear
in front of the deity, I have nothing to complain about. But some
people won't keep their big mouths shut. They talk behind my
back. Poor lady, she does not have children. I have overheard
them, that is how I know. Indeed I was once depressed about not
having children. But soon I learnt it was foolishness to nurture
such a thought. Not that the realization came to me; he explained

it to me. When he begins to talk, Lord, he makes even the
buffalo understand. He quotes from the Vedas, the Puranas, the
Shastras. And what splendid answers he would give if you asked
him a cross question! I don't want to brag about my own husband,
but he is very learned, believe me. I am not good enough to
praise him. I am just an old fool married to a scholarly man. I
said that to him once and he gave me a long speech about how app-
ropriate it was for us to be married and how happy he was to be
married to me. I cannot tell you everything he told me that day,
but all I say is I am not even qualified to talk about his scho-
larship.

It's not just me. Everyone in Madras knows how big a
scholar he is. His students are now employed in big positions, as
collectors and all. I did not give birth to them, I admit, but
played in my house when they were children. I fed them and they
called me mother. Even as I speak, I hear his voice teaching a
group of children in the porch outside. The children are repeat-
ing after him. What a voice he has! It fills me up with a feel-
ing of awe. The children are trying to imitate his voice, but the
infant quality of their voices makes their rendering so different.
A certain feeling stirs me up when I listen to the voices of
children; wonder if it is something to do with a mother's feeling
they all talk about.

He would say often. "It's no big deal to give birth to
children. It's no big deal to feed them either. What is diffi-
cult is to educate them, make them knowledgeable. We may not have
had our own children, but look at how many we educated." May not
be his exact words. I am not smart enough to remember all the big
words he uses. But I certainly can appreciate his feelings.

Take Srimachhu, for instance. That lad was a student of my hus-
band; he is now Professor Srinivasa Sastry in a city college.
My heart just swells up even thinking about it. It's not just
parents who can feel that way, you know. Talking of parents, they
are cursing Srimachhu behind his back for not talking good care
of them. The other day I met Srimachhu's mother in the temple
and she gave me a long story about her son running away behind
his wife. She cursed her son for having forgotten all she had
done for him. Lord, I thought. Lord, I was spared from all this.
I nodded my head, but wondered why she was all upset. She is

doing all right, really. She is well to do. She is just jealous
that others are happy thanks to her son.

I felt pity for Srimachhu's mother as I nodded my head. I
would not have felt that way had I not listened to the wise words
of my husband. He is able to analyze everything so deeply, God I
don't know how he does that! And he is so objective in his think-
ing - does'nt care if others will like it or not, doesn't care if
it would benefit him or not. If there is anything he disapproves,
be the whole world against him, he would denounce it. And if
there is something he approves, he would be ready to defend it
with the last drop of his sweat. I should know, I have been his
companion for forty years. Haven't seen a single soul leave this
house contradicting his opinion.

When people come to him for advice, I would listen to
their conversation from the kitchen. I cannot understand a great
deal of it. Good Lord, how fluently he can speak in English! He
learnt English twenty years after he met me. He learnt it from a
man who studied Samskrutam from him. Then we went to Kumbhakonam
to write that exam and this exam. Now I hear his books are used
as texts in Kumbhakonam.

Ten years ago. There was some big conference in Kashi. I
accompanied him. They awarded him big medals. I felt proud beyond
limits. I brought home the holy water from Ganga in a large sil-
ver pot and distributed the holy water to all our neighbors and
friends. I felt so full.

When returning from Kashi, we visited Srimachhu in Madras.
He had brought his car to the railway station. He and his wife
prostrated in front of us when we stepped out of the train. He
took us to the beach to show us the sea. He spoke to my husband
with the same respect he had when he was a student; he asked a
lot of doubts and got them clarified. The same Srimachhu, who was
dressed like a King in a suit and all. I was dumbfounded by his
car and his dress. My husband, on the contrary, made a joke of
Srimachhu's elaborate dress!

Then one day a large car pulled in front of our house.
Out of it descended a lot of big people -colleagues of Srimachhu,
I was told. They all sat down in our front porch. Srimachhu, the

kid that he is, came into my kitchen. I said to him, "Why don't
you visit your mother if you have a chance?" He said he is hard
pressed for time. "She won't listen to me if I say come home and
stay with me."

Then he explained the reason for his visit. They wanted
my husband to take up a prestigious position in Srimachhu's coll-
ege. But they were afraid to approach him directly. Srimachhu had
convinced them that he would act as the mediator. I was simply
charmed by all this.

When Srimachhu joined the rest of the men in the front
porch, I put my ears to the wall and listened intently to their
conversation. It went on and on, for hours. I could not under-
stand a word of what my husband was saying. But I could make out
the drift of the conversation. He was declining their offer. When
the visitors had left, I asked him.

"Why did you refuse to take up that job? You will have
similar students there too and you can teach whatever you teach
here. What difference would that make? Poor Srimachhu, he must
have been so disappointed!"

He laughed the kind of laugh that I have grown used to by
now. And laughing, he said. "What did you want me to do, wear the
kind of dress that Srimachhu wears? ... Don't you know education
should not charged for? If a student paid money to the teacher,
will he ever respect the teacher? Tomorrow, these people will go
on a strike holding a flag in their hands. We don't get enough
wages, they will shout. They may not ask me to shout, but they
will ask me to lead their team. Tell me, do I fit this picture?"

What could I say? I did not open my mouth. I tried to
picture him in a shirt and then the disparity became clear to me.
I too laughed and forgot the matter. I regretted that I even
asked him such a question, in spite of knowing him for all these
years. I felt stupid. I have remained stupid after forty years of
association with him. I keep saying something stupid like this
and he laughs at me. That is how I have spent my life.

Ten days ago, one of his students came to me with a lot-
tery ticket. It was for a lottery held by the state government.

"It's only a rupee, Auntie. Won't you buy one from me?" I did not
think much about it. I bought a ticket, just to please the little
boy. He gave me a little speech about the lottery. The prize is
a hundred thousand rupees, he said. I simply laughed at him.

The same evening I saw my husband tear the lottery tic-
kets into pieces in front of his students. I felt like being
slapped in the face. I detected an unusual wrath in his wife. He
was saying, "I cannot believe this is happening in this country.
Let gamblers gamble and sinners sin. But it is unbelievable that
a government -- people whose job it is to look after the country
-- would do something like this. This is proof that Kali will
overpower us and destroy us all. Just look at how the king
Yudhishtira fell? And he was a flawless king too. Wasn't it gam-
bling that destroyed him? What does Mahabharata tell us, that
those who gamble don't live a happy life, be they winners or
losers ... There are certain rules to gambling as well ... people
who are on the same social scale can gamble. Not that that make
it right... But look at this, the rulers are cheating the poor
folks by teaching them to gamble. It's all over. This society
will not have any order any more. Instead of poverty, gambling
will destroy the people. It's not enough to put up statues of
Thiruvalluvar in every nook and corner! Thiruvalluvar wrote an
entire chapter on gambling."

He then recited the poems from Thiruvalluvar and explained
their meaning. He recited from the Mahabharata and explained the
shlokas. "It's no use! Nothing good will come out for this!" he
added with vehemence.

I felt sick in my stomach. Why did I ever buy this devil
of a lottery ticket? But I could not understand his extreme re-
action. As a defense to my action, I said to myself. `He does not
like to wear a shirt and boots. But he can't expect the whole
world to wear a pig tail and recite the Puranas!'

For a moment I felt better. There's nothing wrong in buy-
ing a measly lottery ticket, I thought. But then what if my mis-
fortunes bring me a hundred rupees through this godforsaken tic-
ket? God, there will be a commotion. If people found out that I
had bought a ticket, they will suspect my husband's sincerity. I

I kept quiet. He continued,

"You stupid old thing. Desire is the enemy of respect-
ability. Even if we win this lottery, look at where the money
is coming from. From a poor man's pocket. I say it is a sinful
pot of gold that could have otherwise fed the poor. Now you
mentioned my forefathers. They got this house along with bless-
ings from the Maharaja. But they deserved the gift. I remember
my father and my grandfather both taught all day long on the
front porch of this very house. They held religious discourses
in evenings. In the early morning, they collected food from the
neighbors. Enough food to last a day. They would walk in the
street with a pot in hand, singing Shlokas. Children from the
neighborhood would bring them a handful of rice grains. Do you
know why a child had to bring a handful and not an adult? If an
adult were to bring a handful, the pot would get filled up in
four offerings! The others in the neighborhood would have to
wait. Their curse would burn those who gave too much. For the
same reason my forefathers will not accept from people once
their pot was full. They would simply bless the people and move
on. I was born in such a family. I cannot understand who could
be more lucky and what could be a better stroke of luck. Two
hundred thousand rupees cannot buy this contentment. One can
create a millionaire through a lottery, but can one create a
scholar who knows the four Vedas? You tell me!"

It has been ten days since this episode. I forgot all
about the lottery ticket since then.

The boy who sold me the ticket reappeared yesterday and
said in a fit of enthusiasm, "They have announced the winning
ticket numbers in today's paper. Bring me your ticket, Auntie.
Let us see!" My husband was not home then.

I felt dizzy. `O God, don't let me down' I prayed. I
thought of a way to evade the boy.

"I can't recall where I kept that ticket."

The boy was disappointed. He threw the newspaper on the
floor, made an angry face and left. My curiousity forced me to
open the papers. I cannot read, but I can understand numbers.

There was some writing in front of each number. I looked at my
ticket and matched the patterns. Good lord, the first two pat-
terns matched with the very first number in the list. I conti-
nued, my hands shaking. Three, Seven, Zero, One, One, and Six.
Does that mean a hundred thousand rupees have come my way? Oh
what am I to do now?

When my husband returned home, I placed the winning lot-
tery ticket near his feet and wept. "Please forgive me," I
pleaded. "I did it in pure jest. The boy who sold it to me was
persuasive. Only later did I find out your dislike for lottery.
I ignored the ticket, thinking I had no such luck as to win the
lottery. I even prayed in God not to be a winner. Now it has
turned out like this. You must forgive me."

He laughed and helped me to my feet. "Goodness, you are
a rich woman now! This wealth is your own, you earned it without
my assistance. Why are you giving it to me? When I told you I
don't want a hundred thousand rupees, I really meant it. Do you
know what my real concern is. It's been the same for twenty
years now. That fewer and fewer people are willing to learn the
Vedas. It's enough if I get ten children to teach. They should
not come to me with money. Nor should they come to me with the
intention of earning money. You don't follow, do you? Well,
this is something left entirely to you. I take the road of my
forefathers. I have neither the status nor qualification to be
the husband of a millionaire.''

He went on and on. I interrupted him. "Why are you tell-
ing me all this? Just tell me what I must do and I will obey. I
did not expect this to happen. Just tell me what I must do."

He laughed again, without feeling. "I must leave now, it
is already time for lessons." He said. "If you want to cash the
lottery ticket, it is your decision. Go ahead, get your photo-
graph taken and printed in the papers and live happily ever
after. But one thing, never let anyone know that you are my law-
ful wife ... Or else, if you don't want to be entangled in this
magical web, tear up that godforsaken ticket and throw it away.
Yes, that is the only solution. The cunning human mind can think
of alternatives. To give away the ticket to someone and collect
interest on it. Or give it as charity to someone. But all these

amount to the same thing. Take my word for it. Tear the ticket
and throw it away. You have two roads in front of you and you
have to choose one ... I must leave now, it's getting late."

With those words, he left. I stood there, dumbfounded.
What am I to do? I looked at the ticket. A value of a hundred
thousand rupees. How could I possibly tear it? If I hand it over
to him, he will tear it without hesitation. For someone as wise
as he is, such an act is simple enough to carry out. Not for me.

Thinking of how my husband had belittled the sudden
stroke of wealth, my heart filled with a sense of awe. A truly
great man, I am lucky to be married to him. I should be proud of
him. I am proud of him.

Which one is more valuable, money or knowledge? I cannot
comprehend all that. One can say wealth does not last forever.
But neither does a man of knowledge. I know this is sinful
thinking. But the times are like that -- even the chastest of
wives does not jump into the fire with her husband. What if I
outlive my husband? God! Forgive me ...

What is there for me in the life of a teacher? Poverty.
People are going to accuse my husband as well. They will say,
he is the foolish man who tore up his wife's lottery ticket.

Easy for him to say what he said. It may also be easy
for him to tear up the ticket. Do I have the courage?

I stood there, the winning ticket in my hand. It seemed
heavy in my hands. Tell me, what should I do now?

----------------------------------------------------------------

Translation to Kannada from Tamil : H.V. Narayan
Translation to English from Kannada : C.P. Ravikumar
Contributed by : B. Vigneswaran

----------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------
Translator's note
-----------------
Here is my translation of a Tamil short story by R.Jeyakanthan.
I translated it from a Kannada translation of the original story;
the Kannada translation is by H.V. Narayan. I don't know a whole
lot about the Tamil writer R.Jeyakanthan,except that he is consi-
dered one of the leading Tamil writers; he began to write short
stories in the 1950s and made it a popular form of Tamil litera-
ture.

-------------------
Contributor's note
-------------------
This was posted by CP Ravikumar in S.C.Indian in April 1991.Ravi-
kumar was at University of Southern California then. He was the
editor of the SCI - Cultural Volume, an electronic magazine. He
was planning to go back to India to teach at IIT Delhi. Contri-
butor does not have more information about Ravikumar.
_________________________________________________________________

------
Poem
------

==================
aindhu kavidhaigaL
==================

Abbas

------
ulagam
------

enakku theriyaadhavargaL
ulagaththil vasikkiRaargaL
ennaip pOla.
enakkuth therindhavargaL
en ulagamaagiRaargaL.
idhil ninRu yOsikka nEramEdhu
sadhaa ciRagai asaiththapadi oru paRavai
nadandhu kazhiyavum dhooramEdhu
saalayin marangaL
vandha vaNNamaayirukkiRadhu.

-----
vazhi
-----

yaarO oruvan kavaNil
adipatta kiLi onRu
en kaiyil.
eduththu sigichchai seydhEn
solvadhiyE thiruppic chollum
azhagaana kiLi
kooNdil adaiththup pazhakkac
chonnaargaL aNdai veettukkaarargaL
siRagugaLai vetti padhthirappaduththc
chonnaargaL naNbargaL.
sigichchaikkup pin
paRandhu cenRadhu kiLi
than vazhiyil.

--------
eppOdhum
--------

Edhaavadhu onRai sollac cholli
nachcharikkiRadhu sadhaa oru manam
solvadhil vaLrndhu sollilEyE
pazhgip pOna enadhu kuzhandhamai
NYaabagangal keeRi vazhiginRan.
soRkaLai thaLLuvadhu pazhakkamillai
(porutkaLai nee kuRippaaga)
unakkum enakkum orE arththamthaan
vidudhalaRRu eppOdhum varum
soRkaLaRRa kaalai.

---------------
paRandhu mattum
---------------

marththiRkum, veLikkumaay
angum ingum
alaindhu thirindhu
idaiveLiyai nirappaadha paRavai
eppOdhum naan paarkkiREn
adhu paRandhu mattumE thirigiRadhu.

-----------
than pOkkil
-----------

cigappu pachchai ena
aatta aNigaLai niRam piriththuk koNdaargaL.
ovvoruvarum uLLukkuL
oru niRaththin pinnaal saayndhu koNdu
aattaththai than pakkam azhaiththu
gOshikka,
yaarukkum pidipadaadha aattam
maidhaanamengum than pOkkil
nadanamittuk koNdirukkiRadhu.

[From : 'varaipadangaL meeRi', saami veLiyeedu, Kovilpatti, TN]

----------------------------------------------------------------
Note: This is the debut poetry collection of Abbas, a native of
Kovilpatti. A fellow poet Devathasan says: "He (Abbas) has the
unique capability of pointing out the illusions that are mingled
with common real experiences and identifying real experiences
that are mixed with the illusions".
________________________________________________________________

-------------
Short Story
-------------

==========
Punishment
==========

S. G. Punchihewa

Last April, there was incessant thunder along with rain and wind.
Was it not enough if the sky just thunders? Lightning struck the
house of a poor man's hut. The walls caved in. Whatever was
left, was carried away by the raging winds. Anything soluble be-
came one with the rain water.

The poor folks of the hut had ventured out looking for a handful
of rice. Therefore, the only thing they lost was the hut. But
then, that is all they had.

I forgot to mention something in the beginning itself: a friend
of mine told me this story in a dream. He himself heard of it in
a dream. He told me in the same dream. Shocked, we decided to
go to Varna (the god of rain).

We wandered all over the skies and finally found Varna. He was
engrossed in his work. He was making thunders to stockpile so
that he can use them when needed. He asked us:

``Why did you come here?''

``Why did you strike that poor man's hut by lightning?'', we
asked.

``Poor or rich, a mistake is a mistake'', Varna replied.

``What mistake could that poor innocent man have made?''

``A mistake that invites lightning.''

``Did he do any corrupt deed?''

``I have not heard anything like that.''

``Is it because he accepted bribes?''

``No.''

``Did he come to power by lying?''

``No, no.''

``If that is not true either, then did he use the law and his
power to meet his own ends?''

``There is no evidence of that.''

``If not, is he a traitor who pawned his country to
foreigners?''

``No, no.''

At this point, our patience was slowly running out. We said, in
a stern voice:

``When there are so many people that deserve to be struck by
lightning, isn't what you have done is gross injustice?''

To this, Varna replied in an angry thunderous voice: ``Idiot,
when all the injustices that you described were taking place,
these people did nothing; Isn't that mistake enough to be pun-
ished by lightning?''

I fell off my bed on hearing this thunderous outburst. Only then
did I realize that it was a dream. Yet, now I am not sure if it
was a dream.
_________________________________________________________________
Translated from the Sinhala original into Tamil by M.H.M. Shums
and appeared in 'kanavu', Aug 91,

Translated from Tamil to English by N.Asokan
_________________________________________________________________
S. G. Punchihewa has been involved in leftist organizations and
trade union activities. This first work was "ahEththuwatta
hEthuwa" (reason of/for non-reason), a collection of metaphorical
stories, published in 1973. There has since been a second edi-
tion. He was the victim of political vendetta when he was a
teacher. Now he is a lawyer, who has made significant contribu-
tions to the human rights issue. He is the author of, ``The
masses and the newspaper'', ``Human right'' and ``Punishment''.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

[ Note: The tidbits in this issue in pages 6 and 11 are taken
from the `kanavu' magazine, Aug 91 issue translated by N.Asokan.
- Editors. ]

----------------------------------------------------------------

=======
Letters
=======

I read the story `golu' in the `a' magazine. It was extremely
good. I enjoyed it thoroughly. I have always liked stories which
don't state everything and make the reader get the meaning from
the piece ( in other words, symbolic ). This story was one such.
I liked it particularly because there was no bitterness in it but
still made one feel a bit sad realising the dull future of
Nidya..

- Rajaraman Krishnan
(kris...@cs.unc.edu)

* * * * *

The name `a' is very suitable for this magazine in my opinion,
as it is optimistic.

I came to know of many writers across the Palk strait from
Askoan's translation of the essay on the relatively unknown
novels from Eezham. Vallikkannan's profile on Pichamurthy and
Sundaramoorthy's translation of the same were good. Some poems of
Pichamurthy are difficult to understand. But his simple poems are
thought provoking. I would like to know how to enjoy his poems
with some examples. I think that Pichamurthy's `Pettikkadai
naaraNan' is an example of his `kattatRu kavithai' (free verses).
Though the last line of this poem explains the whole poetry and
the author's thoughts, the reader has to go to the author's state
of mind to appreciate this poem. `Mannaasai' is a very nice and
simple short story by Pichamurthy. I noticed a typo in the trans-
lation - in the second sentence of the short story, it should be
contiguous' instead of `contagious'.

About the poem `enRaavadhu oru naaL' by R.Balaji, I suspect
that R.B. has been mistaught about poems by the cinema poets and
the popular magazines. Mere jugglary of words and sensational
verses alone cannot make a poem. No doubt, Tamil language is
known for its `ethugai' and `mOnai' but it does not mean that
they alone make Tamil poems enjoyable. By this time, one should
hate `ethugai' and `mOnai' by the monotonous platforms of Dravi-
dian political parties. Recently in the last two decades, the
name 'puthukkavithai' has become more convenient for everybody to

write poems because they think that 'puthukkavithai' does not
have `ilakkaNam' which is again wrong. I recommend reading a few
books, "inthakkaala kavithai uththikal" by Suba. Veerapandian
(Kanimuthu pathippakam) and "puthukkavithaiyum puthupprakNYaiyum"
by Bala.

I find the story `golu' by Sundara Pandian largely satisfying
the formula of a short story though its message is more explicit.
The conversations also dominate the short story and it is
unavoidable because we are all influenced by the innumerable
stories of the Tamil weeklies. I also like the symbolism handled
through the `marappaachi bommai' and the `chettiyaar bommai'. The
theme is not a new one and it has been beaten to death by
thousands of stories of the Tamil weeklies. Strictly speaking,
the literature or the writer in any society presents his equa-
tions with his society. The character and incidents express the
author's way of experiencing the traditions, relations, problems
etc. He may or may not suggest solutions ( this is not understood
clearly and there are a lot of differences among different people
on this). But one thing is clear. Anything should be recorded
in the form of literature only by one writer though many later
writers may have the same experience as the first writer. If
solutions are allowed, then there may be many short stories on
the problem. Mere recording of the same experience in a different
mould will not make a true literature.

The five poems by Janagapriya that Sundaramoorthy posted
reminds me of Vairamuthus's debut poetry collection and do not
seem to be distinguished ones.

- S. Sankarapandi
(ssan...@magnus.ohio-state.edu)

=============
Announcements
=============

Articles pertaining to Modern Tamil literature and related art
forms are invited for publication in this electronic magazine.

* The articles should be formatted to 65 columns.

* ADAMI transliteration should be followed wherever applicable.
For more details on ADAMI scheme, please contact the author of
ADAMI software, Dr.K. Srinivasan, sr...@ireq-num.hydro.qc.ca.

* The articles may be sent to any one of the editorial committee
members and will be scrutinised by all the members to decide
the suitability of the article for publication.

* If the articles are not authored by the contibutors, a proper
reference should be provided.

* The short stories may be submitted in translation. However, it
is suggested to submit poetry in Tamil in transliteration,
preferably accopmanied by the translation.

* When submitting a short story or a summary of a novel, it is
suggested to include excerpts for about a page from the
original Tamil work, such that the readers can have a feel for
the style, power of expression etc. of the original author.

* Articles received till 20th day of every month will appear in
the following issue.

* Comments about the articles are welcome.

* Jan 93 issue will be 'Mouni' special. Translations of his short
stories or critical essays on his work or any other piece about
him or his works are welcome.

This issue is contributed by:

Asokan, N. nas...@yoho.uwaterloo.ca
Gopalswamy, N. gop...@astro.umd.edu
Sundaramoorthy, M. sun...@indigo1.hsis.uci.edu
Sundara Pandian s...@cec1.wustl.edu
Vigneswaran VIGN...@ecs.umass.edu

and edited by:

Arul Suresh GR8...@SIUCVMB.SIU.EDU
Ramesh, Vaidhyanathan vaid...@ecn.purdue.edu
Sundaramoorthy, M sun...@indigo1.hsis.uci.edu
Sundara Pandian s...@cec1.wustl.edu
Vigneswaran VIGN...@ecs.umass.edu

Posted for SCTamil LITERARY SOCIETY by M. Sundaramoorthy
_________________________________________________________________
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in the articles of this issue
are of the authors of the respective articles and have nothing to
do with the institution it is posted from.

Note: This issue is partly prepared from the copyrighted
materials, reproduced without permission, and so may not be used
for commercial purposes.
_________________________________________________________________

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