Lazarus of literature
Having declared himself dead following the controversy over his novel One Part Woman, the iconic Tamil writer tells Uttaran Das Gupta how he was resurrected by poetry
In T S Eliot’s “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock”, the narrator-protagonist declares: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, / Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all —” In the Gospel of St John, Lazarus is the subject of Jesus Christ’s miracle, who brings him back to life four days after his death. In the uneven landscape of Indian literature, the only writer who can claim to have performed such a miracle is the icon of contemporary Tamil writing, Perumal Murugan. “He is like Jesus Christ,” declared his publisher Kanan Sundaram in a recent conversation with me.
We were sitting in Murugan’s room at the India International Centre, New Delhi. He was in the national capital for Penguin Spring Fever 2017 — an event organised by the publisher to mark its 30th anniversary in the country. It brought together some of the best writers published by Penguin Random House for days of literary discussions and readings. It is also the publisher of One Part Woman, the English translation of Murugan’s novel Madhorubagan, which was the cause of all the controversy. We order coffee and begin talking; as Murugan prefers to converse in Tamil, Sundaram performs the task of being the linguistic bridge between us.
“How does it feel to be born again?” I ask. “It’s not every day that a writer performs such a feat.” “I’m happy and sad,” says my interlocutor. Happy, of course, one can understand, but what is the cause of sorrow, I want to know. He replies: “I’m not really fond of being in the focus of all this attention. I cannot really cope with the frantic schedule of being a well-known writer, being invited to deliver talks or attend a literature festival. Till all this happened, I was happily writing in my village.”
Christ took three days to resurrect himself, but Murugan has taken a year and a half. He claims he spent this time rearing goats, listening to music and reading. In the introduction to his new book of poems, Songs of a Coward, Murugan has written: “I am familiar with dryland agriculture. I know how to take cattle to graze. I also have some experience running a soda-drink shop. And I have done some magazine publishing work as well. For twenty years now, I have been a full-time teacher. However, writing is my true vocation.”
Yet, such were the pressures on him barely two years back that Murugan was forced to declare his writing persona dead. For the uninitiated: Trouble began soon after the publication of the English edition of Madhorubagan. (Both Sundaram and Murugan, however, claim they are not sure if it was the English or Tamil version that had caused the outrage.) The novel narrates the story of a childless couple who takes part in the chariot festival at the Ardhanareeshwara temple in Tiruchengode, during which sexual taboos are relaxed. In 2014, caste-based groups in the town started protesting against the depiction of the rituals at the temple. Murugan was forced to sign an apology and withdraw all copies of the book.
In January 2015, the writer declared on his Facebook page: “Perumal Murugan the writer is dead. As he is no God, he is not going to resurrect himself. He also has no faith in rebirth. An ordinary teacher, he will live as P Murugan. Leave him alone.” But very often, writers’ predictions about their own careers are false. After the Madras High Court dismissed all cases against him, Murugan the writer was reborn with the new book of poems, Songs of a Coward, earlier this year. (I had reviewed it for Business Standard.) In the introduction to its English avatar, also published by Penguin, Murugan describes the importance of poetry for him: “Poetry, to me, is a vehicle to recover from anything.”
But even as I read the 200-odd poems in the book, I was struck by the strange title. Murugan is no coward! So I ask him to explain. “When he decided to not write anymore, many saw it as an act of cowardice,” says Sundaram. “This is his response to that.”
The title poem of the book reads: “Misery befalls no one / because of a coward / Riots break out nowhere / because of a coward / Nothing is ever ruined because of a coward / ...A coward / never turns into a murderer / But / he does think about suicide / and does it, too.”
Two persistent leitmotifs in the book are that of a cat and a dog. While the feline is described with affection, the canine is very often malevolent, baring its teeth and nails, rabid. Take this poem (“The Howls”): “Piercing through / the dense midnight dark/ ...came a rabid dog/ ...Men grew fearful / Those who ventured out / curious to know the conditions / rushed back in with bloody wounds / After a silence of a few days / one person bit another... / Drooling tongues / Howls / Packs of rabid dogs.” Murugan also writes that his first poem, at the age of eight, was about his pet cat. So does he, like Eliot, have a special relationship with cats?
“I grew up with all sorts of animals as my father was a farmer,” he says. “But since you ask specifically about dogs and cats... Dogs are always part of a farmer’s house, not as a pet but really as a watchdog to protect goats and other farm animals. Cats are needed to kill rats in the house. Unlike urban areas, dogs are never allowed in the house but cats are. They used to sleep in my bed, eat from my plate.”
As the conversation progresses, we start discussing his process as a writer. Is it different as a poet and a novelist? “Though my novels have been translated and have become more famous (than my poems), I have always been more a poet than a novelist,” he replies. “For a novel, I plan at length — it can take even a decade. Then, I can sit down and write it out in a month or so.” If he is writing in the normal course of life, he tends to go to sleep early, wake up at midnight and write till dawn. Else, he might write through the day.
“Poetry, however, is more of the moment,” he continues. “If you lose the moment, you might lose the poem.” He says he always uses free verse, like much of contemporary Tamil poetry.
Murugan has also claimed that poetry is the source of his rejuvenation so I inquire if writing was therapeutic for him, as it is for so many others. “Poetry is something that has always cured me. But I was not aware it is therapeutic,” he says. “After declaring myself dead as a poet, I did not write anything at all for a few months. Then I started writing these poems. None of these (in Songs of a Coward) have been edited at all; these were published as is. This is rare, because I often write and rewrite all my poems.” He adds that he did not edit these because he was not planning a book at all. Returning to One Part Woman, I ask if Murugan had expected trouble. “If I did, I wouldn’t have written it,” he says candidly. In contemporary times, state and non-state actors are becoming more and more aggressive towards any writing they perceive to be critical. So how does he think writers should negotiate the growing climate of censorship? “There are many ways in which writers can write — through fantasy, allegory, metaphor,” Murugan replies. “They should find different ways to write.”
Murugan definitely has found these ways; since his resurrection he has published a novel in January this year. Its English translation will be available soon.