INDIAN WRITING IN ENGLISH.

IN THE FOREST -SAROJINI NAIDU

HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.

We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne

The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.

But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again

Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,
We will conquer the sorrow of life with the sorrow of song.

LOOKING GLASS-KAMALA DAS.

Getting a man to love you is easy
Only be honest about your wants as
Woman. Stand nude before the glass with him
So that he sees himself the stronger one
And believes it so, and you so much more
Softer, younger, lovelier. Admit your
Admiration. Notice the perfection
Of his limbs, his eyes reddening under
The shower, the shy walk across the bathroom floor,
Dropping towels, and the jerky way he
Urinates. All the fond details that make
Him male and your only man. Gift him all,
Gift him what makes you woman, the scent of
Long hair, the musk of sweat between the breasts,
The warm shock of menstrual blood, and all your
Endless female hungers. Oh yes, getting
A man to love is easy, but living
Without him afterwards may have to be
Faced. A living without life when you move
Around, meeting strangers, with your eyes that
Gave up their search, with ears that hear only
His last voice calling out your name and your
Body which once under his touch had gleamed
Like burnished brass, now drab and destitute.

MORNING PRAYER-NISRIM EZEKIEL.

A River-RAMANUJAM.
In Madurai,
city of temples and poets,
who sang of cities and temples,
every summer
a river dries to a trickle
in the sand,
baring the sand ribs,
straw and women's hair
clogging the watergates
at the rusty bars
under the bridges with patches
of repair all over them
the wet stones glistening like sleepy
crocodiles, the dry ones
shaven water-buffaloes lounging in the sun
The poets only sang of the floods.

He was there for a day

when they had the floods.
People everywhere talked
of the inches rising,
of the precise number of cobbled steps
run over by the water, rising
on the bathing places,
and the way it carried off three village houses,
one pregnant woman
and a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda as usual.

The new poets still quoted

the old poets, but no one spoke
in verse
of the pregnant woman
drowned, with perhaps twins in her,
kicking at blank walls
even before birth.

He said:
the river has water enough
to be poetic
about only once a year
and then
it carries away
in the first half-hour
three village houses,
a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda
and one pregnant woman
expecting identical twins
with no moles on their bodies,
with different coloured diapers
to tell them apart.
UNIT 2
UNDER ANOTHER SKY-PARTHASARATHY

Chandalika by Rabindranath Tagore Summary

As the name suggests, Chandalika is a story about a Chandal girl from the lowest
untouchable caste who falls in love with a beautiful monk after giving him some water.
She couldn't help herself; she forced her mother to recite the spells. The character of
Prakriti, who is engorged with lust and sensitivity, embodies the traits of nature; she is
aggressive, willing to make sacrifices, delightfully tolerant, and prone to excessive love,
much like our mother nature. The novel's protagonist is a highly sensitive girl born into
a caste hated and suddenly made aware of her exclusive rights as a woman rather than
a wicked girl inspired to lust by the monk's physical attractiveness.

Anand, a well-known follower of Buddha, is an actual monk who is pure, loves all living
things, spreads enlightenment, and unintentionally becomes ashamed and repentant
after being the victim of a girl's passion.

Another character in the play, Prakriti's mother, represents the pervasive social ills in
modern society. She had to pay a high price for her daughter's love by giving up every
nerve and cell in her body. She is just as protective as every other mother who has ever
existed. At the same time, stopping her from claiming Anand, such a pure soul, as her
own.

Summary
When Prakriti was presented to a person in town one day in Vaisakh while sitting in
the sweltering sun, she could only assume that this person was standing around 50
feet away from "a girl, as she." For many years, Prakriti had forgotten that she was a
human being. Anand, the monk, who is as pure as heaven, lovely, educated, and has
forsaken earthly amusements, comes to her to quench his thirst. However, as a
Chandal, Prakriti was obligated to decline his request for water from a well that was
equally impure as she was. He laments this and asks her, "What does it matter if the
black clouds of Sravana are called Chandals?" I

It doesn't alter their character or diminish the benefits of their water. Please don't make
yourself feel bad; it's a sin worse than killing oneself. At this point in the story's twist,
she realizes she has a new birth within herself and is determined to reunite with him
and cherish her new birth. When her mother overhears Prakriti saying this, she is
startled and believes a spell has been cast over her. She finds it astounding that she
would discuss humanism, caste, and the monk's needs. Prakriti is unwilling to listen to
her mother and is determined to get the monk back no matter what it takes, which she
may be able to do if she casts a spell over him and summons him to her home. We
merely stir up the mud; his strength is far stronger than hers, and she can commit a
huge transgression by casting a spell over him; the mother complains and resists this
thought.

The mother is compelled to chant the magic spells because she has an unquenchable
yearning to have the monk standing right next to her and because she is the only
lovable daughter she has. She orders her to prepare for everything needed to make
the words strong, giving her a magic mirror and warning her to pay attention to the
route Anand would take to get here. While Anand came to her house without
hesitation, his radiance withered, the shining, the purity, the beautiful glow, all gone,
faded, destroyed to bits. Magically, her spells did operate, but in a different way. As it
was a difficult chore to subdue such a majestic personality, her mother was exhausted
and lying on the ground counting her last breaths.

At this point, Prakriti became aware of her transgression and was redeemed for the
second time. She was also released from the pride and egoism that had caused her to
forget that love does not demand possession but instead grants freedom. In addition,
the holy monk is returned to his previous state by the Buddha's abilities.

Readers will enjoy the drama, a tragedy with many lessons and values to convey. Self-
redemption, obsession, realization, and rebirth are fantastic exchanges that draw the
reader in.

Themes
1. Caste and Social Hierarchy:A major theme of "Chandalika" is the condemnation of
India's severe caste system and social inequality. The play casts doubt on the idea that
a person's value is determined by their social class and questions the discrimination
people experience based on their place of origin.
2. Identity and Self-Worth:A central theme is exploring one's identity and sense of
worth. Prakriti, the primary character, is a low-caste girl battling her identity and social
position. Through her journey, the play explores how societal expectations impact
one's identity and the value of accepting one's authentic self.
3. Liberation and Empowerment:The emphasis of "Chandalika" is on the liberation
and Empowerment of women. When Prakriti meets the Buddhist monk Ananda,
she begins to see the value and potential she already possesses. The drama
emphasizes the significance of emancipating oneself from external social
limitations.
 4. Compassion and Equality:The drama revolves around Equality and compassion.
Regardless of a person's social status, it undermines the idea of superiority and
promotes empathy and understanding. According to the play, a more harmonious
society can be achieved by using compassion to close gaps between the castes.
5. Spiritual Awakening:Themes of enlightenment and spiritual Awakening are explored
in "Chandalika". The interaction between Prakriti and Ananda serves as a spark for
her spiritual development and change. The drama examines how spirituality can bridge
social divides and promote personal calm.
6. Breaking Stereotypes: In "Chandalika," Tagore questions prejudices and
preconceptions. Ananda, portrayed in the play, is a loving and enlightened monk who
defies social norms, challenging religious clichés and promoting a more complex
concept of spirituality.

Silence! The Court is in Session Summary

The Sonar Moti Tenement (Bombay) Progressive Association is gathering to put American
President Lyndon B. Johnson on mock trial for his role in the proliferation of atomic
weaponry. The SMTPA is composed of socially committed activists who try to raise
awareness of issues of significance affecting members of their Indian community that might
be overlooked in favor of more pressing concerns. As various members of the association
arrive, important information about their backgrounds, present circumstances, and
interrelationships are conveyed: there is Mr. Kashikar, a social worker, and his wife, who is
doting but unable to give him children; the pretentious actor, Karnik; the lawyer, Sukhatme;
the science student, Ponkshe; the vibrant and free teacher, Benare; and the ward of the
Kashikars and errand-boy of the troupe, Balu Rodke. Two members of the
group, Professor Damle and Mr. Rawte, are not able to make it to the
performance. Samant, a local village man, is there to help them into the hall they’ll be using
for their evening show.
Performance time is still a few hours away, so those who have made it decide to pass the time
through improvisation; this is also done to help Samant, who has to help fill in tonight,
understand a courtroom’s proceedings. Though the roles that most of them are slated to play
remain essentially unchanged, there will be one very great change: a new defendant will be
put on trial. Since Benare happens to have left the room at this time, the others decide she
will be placed on trial. When she returns and discovers what is taking place, she suggests
thievery as a replacement for the crime they have chosen for her: infanticide. The crime was
not chosen randomly: the vivacious, early-30s woman is routinely criticized behind her back
for her “unconventional” lifestyle. Soon enough, it becomes pointedly apparent that there
may be little about this trial of Benare that is purely random.

The very purpose of the SMTPA is indicative of the collective opinion the members hold of
themselves. They have ordained themselves as an entity charged with educating the more
ignorant members of the community; more than just educating them, they see themselves as
guiding them to a more elevated understanding of social causes. In reality, they seem more
interested in being judgmental of others than in bringing them up to equal standing.
When Balu Rokde offers the enticing information that, in reality, he did once see Benare
inside the home of Professor Damle, the "mock" part of the trial begins to blend with real life.
Samant fabricates a theory to explain what Rokde actually witnessed that day: Benare was
having an affair with Damle and wound up pregnant, a scenario which, of course, would
naturally end with the infanticide with which she is charged. The only problem is that
Benare’s response to Samant’s entirely constructed fiction is too emotionally overwrought to
be acting: in fact, Samant has, entirely by accident, hit upon a real-life truth.

At that point, when it seems that an unexpected and ugly truth has inserted itself too deeply
into the proceedings to turn back, the mock trial takes on an increasingly dramatic tone.
When Benare attempts to flee the room, she finds it has been locked from the outside,
trapping her in the role of criminal defendant. The trial continues with testimony from two of
the men that Benare pleaded with them to marry her and help protect the child from being
raised illegitimately, but that both men rejected her.

Sukhatme takes on the role of the prosecutor in the mock trial—he was the one who
suggested that Benare be put on trial in the first place. He goes overboard in painting Benare
as the very embodiment of the corruption of the institution of motherhood. Presiding over the
trial is the status-conscious Mr. Kashikar, who, in addition to being judge, breaks with
precedent, tradition, and convention by temporarily putting aside his judicial robes and taking
the stand as a witness. He explains he feels free of duty and impartiality to the extent that he
castigates all adult unmarried girls as a “sinful canker on the body of society” before
providing yet more damning evidence about Benare.

The prosecution having rested, the trial is turned over to the defense to call witnesses. There
is just one problem: all three witnesses who could possibly be called to refute any of the
allegations being made against Benare just so happen not to be present. The prosecuting
attorney goes on to give his closing argument and then, at the judge’s request, goes on to
present closing arguments for the defense. Judge Kashikar inquires if Benare has anything at
all to say in her defense.

There is an imagined scene (the lights change and the others freeze in place) in which Benare
proceeds to give a long, passionate speech. She details how she never quite fit into society
and how she once tried to end her life but did not succeed, consequently having a greater
appreciation for life. Her failed love affair with Damle meant she was once again in trouble,
but she would raise the child anyway. She laments how people cannot mind their own
business and stay out of others’ private lives, and she resents that even though she’s given her
all to her job, the administration wants to remove her for being an unwedded mother. At the
conclusion of his emotionally intense monologue, the action of the play resumes as normal.

Kashikar reiterates how grave her crime is for society as a whole, and he delivers a guilty
verdict as well as punishment: the illegitimate fetus growing inside Benare is to be aborted.
Benare collapses to the floor.

Suddenly, the drama is broken by the sound of the locked door opened by the villagers who
have come to the mock trial of President Johnson. As if coming out of a dream state, the
actors on stage slowly remove the trappings of their “characters” and become their real selves
again. As Benare remains unmoving on the floor, they try to persuade her that it was all
nothing but a game and not to take it seriously, but she remains lifeless. The others leave her
there as they wander off to prepare for the scheduled performance. Finally, the only thing left
on stage is her body crumpled on the floor, along with a little stuffed bird from Sama
Fire and the Rain by Girish Karnad Summary
Girish Karnad's translation of "Agni Mattu Male," a Kannada play based on the
Mahabharata's Yavakri Myth, into English, is titled "The Fire and the Rain."

The play depicts the struggle between good and evil, focusing on desire, passion,
retaliation, and betrayal. The drama depicts the main characters' daily activities while
contrasting Yavakri's revenge with Arvasu's humanity.

Origins of the Play

Karnad uses the story of Yavakri and Indra-Vritra in his drama The Fire and the Rain to
explore the exploitative priestly class, human impulses, and negative traits. The
Prologue and Epilogue are the story's points of departure between the play's three
acts. The main themes include human nature's weakness, misleading information, and
retribution.

Bhardwaja and Raibhya are revealed to be brothers and cousins, and the play departs
from the events of the previous episode by introducing new characters, including
Nittilai, tribal people, and actors. Vishakha, a lover of Yavakri who is converted into a
female ghost from Raibhya's hair, is also introduced in the drama.

The character of Paravasu is portrayed in The Fire and the Rain as a killer who
purposefully kills his father out of passion, suspicion, revenge, and jealousy. The drama
transforms his identity from a scholarly monk to an artist and centers on his love for
Nittilai, a tribal girl. Through their genuine love, the narrative addresses the problem
of caste. The narrative of Nittilai and Arvasu with the theater is told in conjunction with
the parallel stories of Raibhya and Vishakha in the hermitage, the sacrifice site with
Paravasu serving as the Chief Priest, and Nittilai and Arvasu. The most significant
contribution to the myth is the tale of Indra and Vritra from the Rigveda.

A play-within-the-play starring performers Aravasu and Paravasu depicts the

deception of brothers against brothers. The inclusion of the Indra-Vritra story
highlights the concern with fratricide in India. The Prologue, which describes the fire
sacrifice ceremony, is where the play starts. The ruler of a territory experiencing a
drought decides to worship the rain deity, Indra. Raibhya's eldest son, Paravasu, carries
out the seven-year process. Following the offering, the actor-manager of a troupe
formally requests permission to conduct a play in remembrance of the fire sacrifice.

The Prologue emphasizes the protagonists' inner lives, represented by flaming

impulses and longing for ultimate emancipation through fire. The first act centers on
Nittilai and Arvasu's love marriage, with Andhaka referencing Yavakri's penance and
accomplishments. Karnad criticizes Brahmins' propensity to want knowledge for selfish
reasons. Yavakri discovers Vishakha's union with his rival cousin Paravasu and discovers
her husband's intentions. To exact revenge on Yavakri, Raibhya creates the "Kritya"
ghost.

Yavakri knows her father-in-law's malicious intent when Vishakha warns him, but he
feels confident in his security. By pouring holy water from his kamandalu, Vishkha turns
around on Yavakri using this knowledge.

Hermitage keeper Paravasu tries to flee to his father's hermitage to preserve his life.
Brahma Rakshasa uses a trident to murder him when Andhaka stops him. Despite his
wife's seduction by Yavakri and his father's anger, Paravasu is furious when he goes
home to visit his wife in the second act. He uses an arrow to kill his father. Paravasu
eventually finishes the fire sacrifice, but Arvasu accuses him of killing his father.

He is attacked by the King and Brahmins and wounded. The play The Vultures by Vijay
Tendulkar and the tale The Fire and the Rain by Karnad both stress the intrinsic evil
that is part of human nature, and this narrative does the same.

In act three, a married woman named Nittilai visits Arvasu to help him recover. A fierce,
emotional world defined by greed and evil is contrasted with a delicate, sensitive world
marked by love and kindness in play. Nittilai and Arvasu symbolize love and goodness,
whereas Raibhya Paravasu and Yavakri represent evil, malice, and ill intent.

Arvasu receives guidance from the actor-manager on proper mask acting. Arvasu
portrays the demon Vritra in the play-within-the-play Indra Vishwarupa and Vritra,
where the epilogue leads the audience. Due to his jealousy, Indra attempts to murder
Vishwarupa, but he stops himself because of Vritra's status as a demon. As a result,
Vishwarupa is knocked unconscious, and Indra is forced to back down.

Through the fratricide incident, Karnad's play inside play examines the reciprocal link
between theater and life. The rising sounds and motions on stage, such as Indra's
laughing, Vishwarupa's screams, and Paravasu's terrified outburst, confound the
audience. As Paravasu refers to the demon Brahma Rakshasa, replicating his brother's
acts, the similarity between Paravasu and Arvasu is complete. Arvasu assaults Indra
while still acting, but Nittilai removes his mask and restores him to normality. But as
soon as her brother and husband arrive, her husband brutally stabs her to death.

When Arvasu brings her body to the site of sacrifice, Indra's voice instructs her to
request any blessing which will be given. Arvasu requests that Indra free Brahma
Rakshasa after recalling Nittilai's kindness.

Rain symbolizes the heroic self-sacrifice of Nittilai and Arvasu's human sacrifice as the
play comes to a close. The play-within-a-play device popularized by Shakespeare
bridges the gap between the main narrative and the subplot and causes an unexpected
turn of events.

Summary
A tiny area of India had gone ten years without Rain when the events of the drama The
Fire and the Rain took place. The monarch suggested offering fire sacrifices as an act
of worship to the Gods. God should be delighted; then the dry country would get Rain.
Paravasu, the son of the knowledgeable Brahmin Raibhya, was the chief priest for this
fire sacrifice.

This appointment and some other characters' disappointments are discussed

throughout the play. One thing that disappointed us was how much stress was placed
on seniority based on age, which has always been honored about the father according
to traditional Indian culture. Because they have had more life experience, older
individuals have traditionally been seen as wiser.

According to this custom, the knowledgeable Raibhya should have been chosen as the
head Priest, but the King chose Paravasu, the older son, instead due to longevity
concerns. The senior was dissatisfied and in agony about this appointment.

The temple's head priest, Paravasu, is eager to conduct a ceremony to induce Rain. In
the first line of this The Rain, a representative of a company of actors declares their
wish to produce a dramatic play for the Gods' amusement. After considerable
deliberation, the group is allowed permission to participate in the fire sacrifice. This
ensemble of actors is performing two audiences for the play: the survivors of the
drought-stricken kingdom and the first group offering the fire offerings.

The play's real audience makes up the second group. It means that the play presented
by the ensemble is part of the more significant work entitled "The Fire and the Rain."
Aravasu, Paravasu's younger brother, is now seeing Nittali. She belongs to a lower
caste than Aravasu, and there are differences between Brahmin and tribal practices.

Aravasu is a Brahmin. Tribes can propose to someone or declare a marriage more freely
and openly. According to tribal rules, a declaration of being healthy and ready for
marriage had to be made in front of the entire community. Being a Brahmin unfamiliar
with the concept, Aravasu felt anxious and ashamed to observe this tribal tradition.

Aravasu fully knows his place in his family and understands that everyone views him
as inferior and useless. Additionally, he is unambiguous about the one thing he truly
desires: to dance, sing, act, and be with his beloved Nittilai. As a result of leaving
Vishaka, who is having an affair with Paravasu's first cousin Yavakri, Paravasu has
marital issues. Yavakri, who has just returned after ten years of meditation, believes
that Paravasu is unfit to be the high priest. He does not behave or communicate in a
pure or enlightened way.

Even after all his penance and sacrifice in God's name, he still gives in to lust and craves
wrong things for an enlightened monk. As a result, Yavakri is similar to the person he
was ten years ago. Despite all the apparent "knowledge" he seems to have gained, he
remains as ignorant, unruly, and crude as he was before. He cannot masterfully restrain
his emotions and impulsive behaviors. Despite his expertise, he cannot recognize when
his comments or actions are improper. Through this, the writer brings out the contrast
between knowledge and wisdom.

The father of both Paravasu and Aravasu, the blind Rabiya, attracts a demon to murder
Yavakri, and he begs Vishaka to spare her beloved by requesting that he spend the
whole day inside his home.

When Vishakha overhears her father-in-law's remarks, she turns to Aravasu for
assistance. Yavakri is already dead when Aravasu arrives to save him from the demon.
After concluding Yavakri's burial ceremonies, Aravasu arrives at the location of Nittilai's
village.

That day, Nittilai's father would meet with Aravasu to ask permission to get married.
Aravasu's father loses patience and gives her marriage to the first volunteer because
of the delay in her arrival at Nittilai's village caused by cremation tasks and other family
issues.

Father and son are different in the choice of Paravasu for the fire sacrifice as opposed
to the father, who is more senior in knowledge, experience, wisdom, and age. After
witnessing his son's behavior upon returning home when there is still one month till
the sacrifice ritual, the father's view of the King's choice is either highly negative or
worsens.

In response to Rabiya, Pravasu said that no one would be aware if he returned to the
ceremony in the morning. The father was astounded by this reaction because the
sacrifice ceremonies were performed more for one's benefit and the benefit of God
than for the benefit of the community.

The monarch frequently claims that he would have chosen you as the Chief Priest.
However, it was a seven-year ritual. A younger man, they reasoned, would be safer.
Indignant and resentful at the King and son's behavior, Raibhya tells you to send that
fool somewhere else if you want some alone time with your woman. I do not require
him.
One must be on the lookout for people rather than wild animals. As a result of
Raibhya's disruption of the sacrifice by killing Yavakri and his inappropriate behavior
with his daughter-in-law Vishakha, Paravusu murders him shortly after.

Raibhya's father thus deserved to die, in Paravasu's opinion. He tells Aravasu that he
must go back to look over the yojana and cannot leave the sacrifice's grounds before
the appointed period has passed. When Arvasu carries out his brother's instructions,
he is falsely convicted of murder and nearly killed by beatings. The acting manager
saves a dying Aravasu, revived by his devoted Nittilai.

Arvasu, who had been hurt emotionally and physically by his brother, is given a healing
touch by Nittilai's compassion and concern in his time of need. Arvasu believed that
the recent series of events occurred because he would reject his caste by getting
married to Nittilai, and he intended to get retribution for the betrayal by his brother.
He left Nittilai because of the two fatalities and what happened. By denying him
permission to carry out his duties and by creating a situation in which he cannot wed
Nittilai, Paravasu exacts revenge on his brother in two different ways.

Nittilai, who came from a hunter tribe that lived close to nature, was a practical
common sense expert. Since she believed that Arvasu's attempt at retaliation would
result in more violence, she discouraged Arvasu from the proposal. More grief and
suffering would result from this. The bloodbath of vengeance had no power to repair
or modify anything that had gone wrong. She suggested leaving things as they were
to lessen pain. In front of Paravasu, the priest, and the people, Aravasu performs while
wearing a mask after regaining his power.

At a pivotal moment in the play, Aravasu departs from the plot to destroy the temple,
murdering Paravasu, and the Nittilai villagers discover her in the audience and kill her.
Aravasu is holding a dying Nittilai when the God Indra unexpectedly comes and offers
to give him one desire. Aravasu may request that it Rain, but it is apparent that he
wants Nittilai to live.

A request like that, according to Indra, would turn back time, but eventually, the same
things would keep happening. The demon that killed Yavakri then appears and begs
Aravasu to request Indra for his liberation from a condition that prevents him from
living normally or passing out peacefully. Aravasu then petitions Indra for the demon's
release, claiming that Nittilai would have chosen the same decision. There is a lot of
rainfall

The Essence of Poetry

In order to get a firm clue which we can follow fruitfully in the retrospect
and prospect we have proposed to ourselves, it will not be amiss to enquire
what is the highest power we demand from poetry; or,—let us put it more
largely and get nearer the root of the matter,—what may be the nature of
poetry, its essential law, and how out of that arises the possibility of its use as
the mantra of the Real. Not that we need spend a vain effort in labouring to
define anything so profound, elusive and indefinable as the breath of poetic
creation; to take the myriad-stringed harp of Saraswati to pieces for the
purpose of scientific analysis must always be a narrow and rather barren
amusement. But we do stand in need of some guiding intuitions, some
helpful descriptions which will serve to enlighten our search; and to fix in
that way, not by definition, but by description, the essential things in poetry
is neither an impossible, nor an unprofitable endeavour.
We meet here two common enough errors, to one of which the ordinary
uninstructed mind is most liable, to the other the too instructed critic or the
too intellectually conscientious artist or craftsman. To the ordinary mind,
judging poetry without really entering into it, it looks as if it were nothing
more than an aesthetic pleasure of the imagination, the intellect and the ear,
a sort of elevated pastime. If that were all, we need not have wasted time in
seeking for its spirit, its inner aim, its deeper law. Anything pretty, pleasant
and melodious with a beautiful idea in it would serve our turn; a song of
Anacreon or a plaint of Mimnermus would be as good as the Oedipus,
Agamemnon or Odyssey, for from this point of view they might well strike
us as equally and even, one might contend, more perfect in their light, but
exquisite unity and brevity. Pleasure, certainly, we expect from poetry as
from all art; but the external sensible and even the inner imaginative
pleasure are only first elements; refined in order to meet the highest
requirements of the intelligence, the imagination and the ear, they have to
be still farther heightened and in their nature raised beyond even their own
noblest levels.
For neither the intelligence, the imagination nor the ear are the true
recipients of the poetic delight, even as they are not its true creators; they
are only its channels and instruments: the true creator, the true hearer is the
soul. The more rapidly and transparently the rest do their work of
transmission, the less they make of their separate claim to satisfaction, the
more directly the word reaches and sinks deep into the soul, the greater the
poetry. Therefore poetry has not really done its work, at least its highest
work, until it has raised the pleasure of the instrument and transmuted it
into the deeper delight of the soul. A divine Ananda, a delight interpretative,
creative, revealing, formative,—one might almost say, an inverse reflection of
the joy which the universal Soul has felt in its great release of energy when it
rang out into the rhythmic forms of the universe the spiritual truth, the large
interpretative idea, the life, the power, the emotion of things packed into its
original creative vision—such spiritual joy is that which the soul of the poet
feels and which, when he can conquer the human difficulties of his task, he
succeeds in pouring also into all those who are prepared to receive it. And
this delight is not merely a godlike pastime; it is a great formative and
illuminative power.
The critic—of a certain type—or the intellectually conscientious artist will, on
the other hand, often talk as if poetry were mainly a matter of a faultlessly
correct or at most an exquisite technique. Certainly, in all art good
technique is the first step towards perfection; but there are so many other
steps, there is a whole world beyond before you can get near to what you
seek; so much so that even a deficient correctness of execution will not
prevent an intense and gifted soul from creating great poetry which keeps its
hold on the centuries. Moreover, technique, however indispensable,
occupies a smaller field perhaps in poetry than in any other art, first,
because its instrument, the rhythmic word, is fuller of subtle and immaterial
elements; then because, the most complex, flexible, variously suggestive of
all the instruments of the artistic creator, it has more infinite possibilities in
many directions than any other. The rhythmic word has a subtly sensible
element, its sound value, a quite immaterial element, its significance or
thought value, and both of these again, its sound and its sense, have
separately and together a soul value, a direct spiritual power, which is
infinitely the most important thing about them. And though this comes to
birth with a small element subject to the laws of technique, yet almost
immediately, almost at the beginning of its flight, its power soars up beyond
the province of any laws of mechanical construction.
Rather it determines itself its own form. The poet least of all artists needs to
create with his eye fixed anxiously on the technique of his art. He has to
possess it, no doubt; but in the heat of creation the intellectual sense of it
becomes a subordinate action or even a mere undertone in his mind, and in
his best moments he is permitted, in away, to forget it altogether. For then
the perfection of his sound-movement and style come entirely as the
spontaneous form of his soul: that utters itself in an inspired rhythm and an
innate, a revealed word, even as the universal Soul created the harmonies of
the universe out of the power of the word secret and eternal within him,
leaving the mechanical work to be done in a surge of hidden spiritual
excitement by the subconscient part of his Nature. It is this highest speech
which is the supreme poetic utterance, the immortal element in his poetry,
and a little of it is enough to save the rest of his work from
oblivion. Svalpam apyasya dharmasya!
This power makes the rhythmic word of the poet the highest form of speech
available to man for the expression whether of his self-vision or of his world-
vision. It is noticeable that even the highest experience, the pure spiritual
which enters into things that can never be wholly expressed, still, when it
does try to express them and not merely to explain them intellectually, tends
instinctively to use, often the rhythmic forms, almost always the manner of
speech characteristic of poetry. But poetry attempts to extend this manner
of vision and utterance to all experience, even the most objective, and
therefore it has a natural urge towards the expression of something in the
object beyond its mere appearances, even when these seem outwardly to be
all that it is enjoying.
We may usefully cast a glance, not at the last inexpressible secret, but at the
first elements of this heightening and intensity peculiar to poetic utterance.
Ordinary speech uses language mostly for a limited practical utility of
communication; it uses it for life and for the expression of ideas and feelings
necessary or useful to life. In doing so, we treat words as conventional signs
for ideas with nothing but a perfunctory attention to their natural force,
much as we use any kind of common machine or simple implement; we
treat them as if, though useful for life, they were themselves without life.
When we wish to put a more vital power into them, we have to lend it to
them out of ourselves, by marked intonations of the voice, by the emotional
force or vital energy we throw into the sound so as to infuse into the
conventional word-sign something which is not inherent in itself. But if we
go back earlier in the history of language and still more if we look into its
origins, we shall, I think, find that it was not always so with human speech.
Words had not only a real and vivid life of their own, but the speaker was
more conscious of it than we can possibly be with our mechanised and
sophisticated intellects. This arose from the primitive nature of language
which, probably, in its first movement was not intended,—or shall we say,
did not intend,—so much to stand for distinct ideas of the intelligence as for
feelings, sensations, broad indefinite mental impressions with minute shades
of quality in them which we do not now care to pursue. The intellectual
sense in its precision must have been a secondary element which grew more
dominant as language evolved.
For the reason why sound came to express fixed ideas, lies not in any
natural and inherent equivalence between the sound and its intellectual
sense, for there is none,—intellectually any sound might express any sense, if
men were agreed on a conventional equivalence between them; it started
from an indefinable quality or property in the sound to raise certain
vibrations in the life-soul of the human creature, in his sensational, his
emotional, his crude mental being. An example may indicate more clearly
what I mean. The word wolf, the origin of which is no longer present to our
minds, denotes to our intelligence a certain living object and that is all, the
rest we have to do for ourselves: the Sanskrit word vṛka,”tearer”, came in
the end to do the same thing, but originally it expressed the sensational
relation between the wolf and man which most affected the man’s life, and it
did so by a certain quality in the sound which readily associated it with the
sensation of tearing. This must have given early language a powerful life, a
concrete vigour, in one direction a natural poetic force which it has lost,
however greatly it has gained in precision, clarity, utility.
Now, poetry goes back in a way and recovers, though in another fashion, as
much as it can of this original element. It does this partly by a stress on the
image replacing the old sensational concreteness, partly by a greater
attention to the suggestive force of the sound, its life, its power, the mental
impression it carries. It associates this with the definitive thought value
contributed by the intelligence and increases both by each other. In that way
it succeeds at the same time in carrying up the power of speech to the direct
expression of a higher reach of experience than the intellectual or vital. For
it brings out not only the definitive intellectual value of the word, not only its
power of emotion and sensation, its vital suggestion, but through and
beyond these its soul-suggestion, its spirit. So poetry arrives at the indication
of infinite meanings beyond the finite intellectual meaning the word carries.
It expresses not only the life-soul of man as did the primitive word, not only
the ideas of his intelligence for which speech now usually serves, but the
experience, the vision, the ideas, as we may say, of the higher and wider soul
in him. Making them real to our life-soul as well as present to our intellect, it
opens to us by the word the doors of the Spirit.
Prose style carries speech to a much higher power than its ordinary use, but
it differs from poetry in not making this yet greater attempt. For it takes its
stand firmly on the intellectual value of the word. It uses rhythms which
ordinary speech neglects, and aims at a general fluid harmony of movement.
It seeks to associate words agreeably and luminously so as at once to please
and to clarify the intelligence. It strives after a more accurate, subtle, flexible
and satisfying expression than the rough methods of ordinary speech care to
compass. A higher adequacy of speech is its first object. Beyond this
adequacy it may aim at a greater forcefulness and effectiveness by various
devices of speech which are so many rhetorical means for heightening its
force of intellectual appeal. Passing beyond this first limit, this just or strong,
but always restraining measure, it may admit a more emphatic rhythm, more
directly and powerfully stimulate the emotion, appeal to a more vivid
aesthetic sense. It may even make such a free or rich use of images as to
suggest an outward approximation to the manner of poetry; but it employs
them decoratively, as ornaments, alaṁkāra, or for their effective value in
giving a stronger intellectual vision of the thing or the thought it describes or
defines; it does not use the image for that profounder and more living vision
for which the poet is always seeking. And always it has its eye on its chief
hearer and judge, the intelligence, and calls in other powers only as
important aids to capture his suffrage. Reason and taste, two powers of the
intelligence, are rightly the supreme gods of the prose stylist, while to the
poet they are only minor deities.
If it goes beyond these limits, approaches in its measures a more striking
rhythmic balance, uses images for sheer vision, opens itself to a mightier
breath of speech, prose style passes beyond its province and approaches or
even enters the confines of poetry. It becomes poetical prose or even poetry
itself using the apparent forms of prose as a disguise or a loose apparel. A
high or a fine adequacy, effectivity, intellectual illuminativeness and a
carefully tempered aesthetic satisfaction are the natural and normal powers
of its speech. But the privilege of the poet is to go beyond and discover that
more intense illumination of speech, that inspired word and supreme
inevitable utterance, in which there meets the unity of a divine rhythmic
movement with a depth of sense and a power of infinite suggestion welling
up directly from the fountatin-heads of the spirit within us. He may not
always or often find it, but to seek for it is the law of his utterance, and when
he can not only find it, but cast into it some deeply revealed truth of the
spirit itself, he utters the mantra.
But always, whether in the search or the finding, the whole style and rhythm
of poetry are the expression and movement which come from us out of a
certain spiritual excitement caused by a vision in the soul of which it is eager
to deliver itself. The vision may be of anything in Nature or God or man or
the life of creatures or the life of things; it may be a vision of force and
action, or of sensible beauty, or of truth of thought, or of emotion and
pleasure and pain, of this life or the life beyond. It is sufficient that it is the
soul which sees and the eye, sense, heart and thought-mind become the
passive instruments of the soul. Then we get the real, the high poetry. But if
it is too much an excitement of the intellect, the imagination, the emotions,
the vital activities seeking rhythmical and forceful expression which acts,
without enough of the greater spiritual excitement embracing them, if all
these are not sufficiently sunk into the soul, steeped in it, fused in it and the
expression does not come out purified and uplifted by a sort of spiritual
transmutation, then we fall to lower levels of poetry, and get work of a much
more doubtful immortality. And when the appeal is altogether to the lower
things in us, to the mere mind, we arrive outside the true domain of poetry;
we approach the confines of prose or get prose itself masking in the
apparent forms of poetry, and the work is distinguished from prose style
only or mainly by its mechanical elements, a good verse form and perhaps a
more compact, catching or energetic expression than the prose writer will
ordinarily permit to the easier and looser balance of his speech. That is to
say, it will not have at all or not sufficiently the true essence of poetry.
For in all things that speech can express there are two elements, the outward
or instrumental and the real or spiritual. In thought, for instance, there is the
intellectual idea, that which the intelligence makes precise and definite to us,
and the soul-idea, that which exceeds the intellectual and brings us into
nearness or identity with the whole reality of the thing expressed. Equally in
emotion, it is not the mere emotion itself the poet seeks, but the soul of the
emotion, that in it for the delight of which the soul in us and the world
desires or accepts emotional experience. So too with the poetical sense of
objects, the poet’s attempt to embody in his speech truth of life or truth of
Nature. It is this greater truth and its delight and beauty for which he is
seeking, beauty which is truth and truth beauty and therefore a joy for
ever because it brings us the delight of the soul in the discovery of its own
deeper realities. This greater element the more timid and temperate speech
of prose can sometimes shadow out to us, but the heightened and fearless
style of poetry makes it close and living and the higher cadences of poetry
carry in on their wings what the style by itself could not bring. This is the
source of that intensity which is the stamp of poetical speech and of the
poetical movement. It comes from the stress of the soul-vision behind the
word; it is the spiritual excitement of a rhythmic voyage of self-discovery
among the magic islands of form and name in these inner and outer worlds.

Untouchable By Mulk Raj Anand Summary

Mulk Raj Anand's classic novel, Untouchable, is a stunningly accurate portrait of
poverty and the trials of colonial rule in India. It follows the story of Bakha, an
'untouchable' who is neglected by society and is forced to live a life of servitude to his
caste and downtrodden by his circumstance. Anand vividly represents Bakha's life,
struggles, and oppression within a caste system, an all too familiar story of poverty and
social injustice in India.

The novel opens with the depiction of Bakha, a young twelve-year-old 'untouchable'
who is rejected by his peers and society for his social position. He is forced to live in
the city of 'Gulabdas,' which is the heart of his caste. He works as a sweeper for the
city, sweeping the streets, removing garbage, and hauling filth from upper-class
dwellings. He is deeply aware of the injustice of his position, and he laments his
situation: Oh, God! How long can I go on being a sweeper? How long shall I remain
an outcast, an Untouchable - despised by all?"

Bakha experienced hatred and humiliation from the upper classes, who saw him as an
impurity and despised him for his existence. Throughout his daily chores, he was
subject to verbal abuse, horrendous insults, and physical threats from the people of
Gulabdas. He was excluded from the public baths, so he was often dirty and forced to
endure a life of suffering in inadequate clothing that was barely suitable for the cold
and wet winter.

Despite his miserable life, he was fortunate enough to have the protection of two
young upper-class Hindu boys who took him under their wing. Unbeknownst to Bakha,
they often protected him from further harm and treated him kindly. The two were also
studying and opened up to Bakha about his unpleasant grade in school, which
indicated to him a lack of knowledge, as opposed to a lack of character or moral
capability. Bakha's teacher, Kadha, had also instilled a strong sense of self-awareness
in Bakha, whom he saw as more capable and thoughtful than most of his peers.

Bakha was also given a glimpse of freedom when he was sent to fetch water for his
family. He could look upon his surroundings with a newfound appreciation and
admiration for its beauty.

A chance meeting with a young 'untouchable' girl, Sohini, further opened his eyes to
the fact that they were all living under a system of great inequality and injustice. Sohini
was able to express and understand her oppression in a way that brought Bakha to a
greater understanding. She highlighted how caste prevented any possibility of
progress for 'untouchables' and that not even the educated were receiving an equal
chance in life because of caste restrictions.

The novel then shifts to a public meeting in which Bakha's plight is discussed. The
upper classes and officials discuss the harms that have resulted from the neglect of
'untouchables.' Bakha's father spoke about how a lack of education had resulted in a
lack of understanding of Indian culture, setting on their minds "the idea that, since
they had inherited the stigma of untouchability, nothing that was great or beautiful or
noble could be theirs."
Bakha was also able to challenge the colonial caste system in a revolutionary manner
when he refused to accept a mango a young upper-class boy offered him. Instead of
taking it, he boldly threw it back and asked the boy why he was offering it to him in
the first place. This scene symbolizes Bakha's newfound awareness and defiance of the
oppressive colonial rule and caste system.

The novel highlights how much Bakha grew and evolved through the course of his
struggles and his relationships. Through his conversations and interactions, Bakha
learned of alternate worldviews. With Sohini, he explored the idea of humanity as
something outside the boundaries of caste. This allowed him to realize that he was not
as different from the upper classes as he was made to believe.

The novel concludes when Bakha is offered a job as a teacher. This symbolizes how
Bakha has broken societal chains and has been elevated to power and responsibility.
He can now see the world with new eyes: "The small black pupil of his eyes dilated and
saw in the future a great promise, something majestic and glorious."

Mulk Raj Anand's classic novel, Untouchable, is a powerful representation of poverty,

social injustice, and the oppression of 'untouchables' under British colonial rule in
India. Through the story of Bakha, Anand paints a vivid picture of how villagers
experienced daily discrimination and mistreatment. He emphasizes how Bakha's
understanding of himself was shaped by his environment and how his spirit shone
through despite all his adversities. Ultimately, Bakha will learn that despite being an
'untouchable,' he can still make a difference in society and be accepted.

Mulk Raj Anand's novel 'Untouchable' draws us into the life of an Indian man named
Bakha, a sweeper belonging to the 'Harijan' caste - considered untouchable by other
castes. Through Bakha's eyes, we gain an intimate insight into India's caste system's
cruel and unjust reality, which subjects members of certain castes to terrible
discrimination and deprivation.

The narrative begins in Agra, near the river Jumna, where Bakha's daily life starts from
dawn. He works on the streets as a sweeper, clearing human excrement and cleaning
the public restrooms. All of this is done to the accompaniment of abuse and ridicule
from the public; no one dares to touch or even look him in the eyes.

Bakha's work makes him exhausted and depressed, but it also serves as a moral
reminder of his fate as an untouchable.

While at work, Bakha meets a Sikh missionary called Gurdit Singh, who expresses his
disgust at the treatment Bakha is receiving. The meeting causes a spark of hope in
Bakha and leads him to contemplate change and self-improvement. That afternoon,
Bakha comes across Narendra Singh, an upper-class member who is determined to
educate him and explains the immorality of the caste system.
This sets off a chain of events for Bakha. He decides to join the Mission school, which
Gurdit Singh runs. He even begins challenging some oppressive practices, such as
manual scavenging.

However, this doesn't sit well with his family, where his sister Sohini is still the victim
of discrimination, and his father drinks heavily in anger at the hopelessness of their
lives.

The novel follows its characters through a series of confrontations and tests that cause
them to reflect on their faith in humanity and presents the possibility of reform and
resistance to the oppressive traditions of the caste system.

Throughout the narrative, Anand powerfully conveys the unfairness and immorality of
the social structure. He does this by providing insightful details about Bakha's life and
the pain he experiences daily.

At the same time, Anand also goes beyond this to suggest that the system of social
discrimination is not just a matter of personal misery but a deeply entrenched and
complex political structure.

At a more significant level, Anand considers the potential for change, highlighting the
potential for reform and questioning the possibility of positive transformation. He does
this through Bakha's journey of change and education, where he overcomes his
ignorance and learns to question his place in society.

Ultimately, Anand suggests that lasting change must come from within, from the
individual's willingness to question and reject the unjust notions of caste. In this way,
Anand's 'Untouchable' is a poignant call to action that invites readers to consider not
only the problem of social inequality but also potential solutions and serves as a
reminder that the death of a society lies in its denial of reform.

The God of Small Things Summary

The events of The God of Small Things are revealed in a fragmentary manner, mostly
jumping back and forth between scenes in 1969 and 1993, with backstory scattered
throughout. The story centers around the wealthy, land-owning, Syrian Christian Ipe family
of Ayemenem, a town in Kerala, India. Most of the plot occurs in 1969, focusing on the
seven-year-old twins Estha and Rahel, who live with their mother Ammu, their
grandmother Mammachi, their uncle Chacko, and their great-aunt Baby Kochamma.
In the backstory before 1969, Mammachi was married to Pappachi, an Imperial
Entomologist who beat her cruelly. By 1969 Pappachi is dead and Mammachi is blind.
Behind her house is the Meenachal River and her pickle factory, Paradise Pickles &
Preserves. Baby Kochamma is a bitter, jealous old woman who unrequitedly loved an Irish
missionary. Chacko went to Oxford and married Margaret Kochamma, an English woman.
They had a daughter, Sophie Mol, and then Margaret left Chacko for a man named Joe.
Chacko returned to Ayemenem and took over the pickle factory. Ammu married Baba, trying
to escape Ayemenem, but Baba turned out to be an abusive alcoholic. After the twins were
born the two separated and Ammu moved back to Ayemenem. In the wider society of Kerala,
the Communist Party is gaining power and threatens to overthrow landlords like the Ipes. The
Ipes live near an Untouchable (an inferior caste) family that includes Velutha, a young man
who works for Chacko and is beloved by the twins.

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S.

The main action centers around Sophie Mol’s visit to Ayemenem. Joe dies in an accident, and
Chacko invites Margaret Kochamma to Ayemenem for the holidays. Estha, Rahel, Ammu,
Chacko, and Baby Kochamma make a trip to the airport, and on the way their car is trapped
by a Communist march. The family then goes to see The Sound of Music, and Estha is
molested by the Orangedrink Lemondrink Man, a vendor at the theater. The next day
Sophie and Margaret arrive, and the family returns to Ayemenem.

Estha fears that the Orangedrink Man will come for him, so he and Rahel find a boat and row
across the river to the “History House,” the abandoned home of an Englishman who “went
native.” The twins set up a hideout there. Meanwhile Ammu dreams about Velutha, and that
night she and Velutha meet by the river and have sex. They continue to meet every night for
the next two weeks.
Finally Vellya Paapen (Velutha’s father) comes to Mammachi and confesses his son’s
relationship with Ammu. Mammachi and Baby Kochamma lock Ammu in her room, where
she screams that the twins are “millstones” around her neck. The twins decide to run away to
the History House, and Sophie Mol comes with them. Their boat tips over as they cross the
river and Sophie Mol drowns. The twins reach shore and, terrified, fall asleep in the History
House, unaware that Velutha is there too.

Baby Kochamma goes to the police, telling Inspector Thomas Mathew that Velutha tried to
rape Ammu and kidnapped the children. Six policemen find Velutha and beat him brutally in
front of Estha and Rahel. When Mathew finds out that Velutha is innocent, he threatens to
charge Baby Kochamma. Terrified for herself, she convinces Estha to “save Ammu” by
telling the police that Velutha killed Sophie Mol. Velutha dies in jail that night. After Sophie
Mol’s funeral Baby Kochamma convinces Chacko to throw Ammu out of the house, and
Ammu is then forced to “return” Estha to Baba.

The twins are separated for twenty-three years, during which Estha stops speaking altogether.
When he is thirty-one Baba “re-returns” him to Ayemenem. Meanwhile Rahel is kicked out
of many schools, and Ammu dies when Rahel is eleven. Rahel marries an American and lives
in Boston, but then gets divorced and returns to Ayemenem when she hears Estha is there.

The twins are reunited in 1993. Mammachi has died and Baby Kochamma and the
cook, Kochu Maria, spend all day watching TV as the house falls apart. The History House
has become a five-star hotel. Rahel and Estha (who still doesn’t speak) sift through some old
trinkets and notebooks and end up reaffirming their closeness by having sex.

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