A very enriching mosaic
A Lankan Mosaic (translations of Sinhala and Tamil short stories) edited by Ashley Halpe, M.A. Nuhman and Ranjini Obeysekere. Reviewed by Vijita Fernando.
This is one of the first publications of the Three Wheeler Press, an initiative of Michael Ondaatjee to bring to the English reader a selection of Sinhala and Tamil writing of the past two decades in the country. As Ranjini Obeysekere so succinctly puts it in her introduction to this volume, "the Three Wheeler Press bears Michael Ondaatjee's choice of logo to provide a vehicle of communication as much as transportation - into a saner, less fractured world."

Lankan Mosaic is thus a vehicle to bring to the English speaking public the important body of Sinhala and Tamil writing by young writers in these two languages, which has for the most part failed to get exposure because of their being confined to the vernacular languages. The project began rather ambitiously with plans to produce six volumes of translations each, beginning with a collection of short stories. Eventually it took almost a year to produce this one volume which is a collection of thirty three stories in Sinhala and Tamil translated into English. There are plans to bring out two more volumes of Tamil stories into Sinhala and Sinhala stories into Tamil, hopefully in the near future.

It has been argued recently that translations cannot be classed as creative writing. Translations are a different activity which entails much more than a sound knowledge of the two languages. The creativity comes with the facility to recreate the finer points of one language to the other and not from mere linguistic competence. A certain depth of response, emotional and intellectual, is needed as well as a knowledge of the culture and nuances of the two languages. A translator is not a mere interpreter, but needs an empathic skill to capture the tone and tempo of one language to give it validity in the other.

I am commenting here on the worthwhile project undertaken by the Three Wheeler Press rather than on the individual stories in the volume. The editors have confessed to the unevenness of the translations. This cannot be helped when many hands are at work dealing as they are with an immense variety of themes and interests. The editors have also selected mainly from younger writers of the last two decades and left out more recognized writers as they felt that it was the younger writers who needed a forum for their work.

Even a cursory reading pinpoints the varied themes and interests of the writers. The Tamil stories were written after 1980 and deal with the traumas of the twenty-year-old conflict, of violence and displacement. Victimization both by the armed forces and the militants and the resultant suffering are realistically narrated in two of the stories that moved me - Their Anguish by K. Saddanathan and Dawnless Nights by Francis Xavier, both translated by A.J. Canagaratna.

Not all the stories in the selection are of war or ethnic differences. There are the references to the position of women in a backward Muslim community in The Purdah's Laments by M.L.M. Mansoor translated by S. Pathmanathan. In his comments, editor Nahuman is thankful for the opportunity given by the Three Wheeler Press which enabled a number of Tamil short stories to be included in a single volume for the first time.

In the Sinhala section with its wide variety of themes and interests there is just one direct reference to the civil war. For the rest the writers deal mostly with everyday events, the dilemmas and emotions of daily living. Some of them, such as The Bond by Anula Wijeratne are outstanding portrayals of the human condition. Or the unusual treatment of the all too common tale of children in Homes in The Buried Past by Piyaseeli Wijemanne ably translated by Ratna Handurukande.

The story dealing specifically with the events after the 1987 India-Sri Lanka Pact, Don't Open the Door Parvathy by Asoka Handagama, makes it the only Sinhala story which touches on the ethnic conflict. I mention it here for the innovative translation by Gamini Haththotuwegama where he has keenly preserved the original colloquial rendering of the story.

The Three Wheeler Press is to be commended for this effort which places before the reader a collection of literary work by both Sinhala and Tamil writers in English for those who do not read them in the local languages. The time and effort taken by the three Dons responsible for this production certainly give those writers their due place and for the rest of us, especially those who have long felt that fiction in the indigenous languages never reaches the English educated reader, this production is certainly an expression of hope.

A treasure trove of poems
The Tamarind Treasure and Other Poems by Felicia Ranchitham Ernest. Reviewed by Nirmala Louis.
This collection of poems by Felicia Ranchitham Ernest is published as a 'tribute of love' to a beloved wife and mother by her devoted husband and children. It is a miniature Taj Mahal in print, reflecting the many moods and moments of the poet's life which began in Jaffna, where she was born, educated and married, till she became a globe-trotter, accompanying her husband wherever his postings took him.

During her travels, Felicia was no doubt stimulated by various aspects of her environment and enriched by her academic experiences at universities in USA and New Zealand. Her poetic fancies had found a suitable cultural soil to flourish in. The result was the poems selectively presented in this volume by her family.
The poems are divided into sections dealing with her homeland memories, religious reflections, human problems, philosophic musings and random topics. They reveal her insight into homely experiences.

She is at her best in the poems of nostalgia for her native homeland and its environment. The imagery of the Palmyra palm is vividly expressed.
"I still remember the tender, protected leaves
Unfolding from the centre
Then with a sudden gust of wind,
And a sweep of the swirling breeze
The palms rush forth to perform
Their theatricals with a swish and a sway
The sound of a myriad castanets"
(The Palm Route)

The tamarind tree in the schoolyard evokes tender memories of school days.
"Oh Tamarind Tree, O Tamarind Tree...

We sigh 'neath you, we laugh, we leap
Sing, read and understand".
Her longing to return to childhood haunts can hardly be contained.
"When can I see you on that soil
Feel the breezes through your boughs
When will I see your smiling toil..."

Her poems on religious subjects reveal a spiritual maturity which kept her tuned to the divine, especially towards the latter part of her life. Crucifixion, Seasons and A pebble at the window are indications of her communion with her maker and her preoccupation with spiritual values which found utterance in poetry. They encapsulate personal prayers.

Father's walking stick and The snake charmer bring us down to earth into the charm of everyday life; and show us that a poet does not live always on the crest of a wave; but in the mainstream of life. Simple happenings also make up the stuff of poetry.
The poems on human problems and pain and the solutions suggested show that Felicia believed in the dictum ‘No man is an island’. She writes of conflict and violence in Tell-tale Time and Despair.
"Too hard, too harsh, too hurtful
Is this what life is all about"

(Despair)
This is not a critical appraisal of the techniques, structure and diction of Felicia's poems, but an attempt to highlight the facets of her creative expressions, her sensitive awareness of life and human relationships. As the title of the book suggests, her heart was in the people and the places she loved and could never forget. Her love and laughter echo through the lines of this book. And that should give a deep sense of satisfaction and fulfillment to her grieving family who have published her work as a gesture of remembrance.

Accounts of troubled times
Colombo Diary by U. Karunatilake. Reviewed by Tilak Gunawardhana.
Samuel Pepys, who wrote the "Diaries" that made him a famous literary figure in the early part of the 19th century, perhaps never expected to see them in print. He wrote them in cipher, and though written between 1660 and 1669, they were finally decoded and published only in 1825, almost a hundred and fifty years after they were written. It came to be accepted as 'literature' and became his claim to literary fame.

Karunatilake's is the first published diary of a Sri Lankan writer and if it has something in common with Pepys' work, it is his preoccupation with the political life of the period between 1971-1975 as much as with his own personal affairs. But while Karunatilake has not resorted to an immediately incomprehensible cipher, he has written a most enjoyable, and thought provoking account of his daily dramatic encounters. As he admits in his preface, he has not been either a regular diarist noting everything of significance to him, nor filled the pages with idle chatter.

He has brought alive ordinary experiences of an ordinary middle class professional, who was at home in Colombo, Kandy, Wanniyakumbura (a small village near Boralanda near Ohiya), and who has brought within its territorial sweep some of the more important areas affected by the insurrection.

For the general reader who had experienced disconnected incidents of the period, and who would have been glad that it was brought to an end, even though thousands lost their lives and property, for which no compensation was paid, this book is of enormous significance.

Karunatilake has brought to bear on the material, the sensitivity of a keen political observer and a poet, but also the analytical attitude of a student of social development. Some readers may not agree with his interpretation, his political point of view, but then he has not attempted an academic study. He was writing a diary, a rather unusual one at that, and perhaps not meant for a specialist academic readership. But with his background as a poet, he has made history interesting and eminently readable.

It is a diary in the broadest sense, embracing not only an account of his private and family life, but also the overarching descriptions of what was happening in the political arena of the time. In fact the book starts with his attending Maud Keuneman's funeral at Kanatte, where for the first time he gets little snippets of information about an insurrection that has been just launched.

5th April (1971). "Here and there, from among the people among the gravestones I could catch traces of conversation I could make nothing of, worried conversation, unsure talk about some incidents and casualties. Knowing nothing about what had been brewing that day, I little knew that I was hearing the first reports about the insurgent attacks". 6th April. "The morning 'Daily News' carried the headline, 'Dusk to Dawn Curfew in five areas".

"We waited for morning radio news, whih referred to a surprise attack on about 25 police stations in widely scattered areas... There was an announcement that schools would be closed all over the island. This, Jayangani (daughter of the author) could not and would not believe, as it was the morning of her term exam. So we set off up Dickman's Road on foot: Savitri, Jayangani (two daughters) and myself. The roads were strangely empty of school children..."

The diary continues touching on various aspects of home and office life. The 'Daily News' of April 7 under the headline Firm action taken to crush the insurgents emphasizes the action on the state side. Insurgent activity goes on. "The Armoured Corps had cleared the Colombo-Kandy Road". Reassuring no doubt!

"Port was being worked round the clock" another news item. Karunatilake weaves into this fabric the activities of his working day, in 'a city under siege'. Turning to his family, "we dropped into see uncle A and aunty R at Kirulapone... Aunty R as usual gave us a bit of the news. Most of the terrorists involved in bomb-throwing in the city and suburbs were young boys of fourteen or fifteen." Key incidents and movements are recorded and the heightening momentum of the description keeps the reader glued to the book.

April 14 New Year's Day and no crackers! Kegalle is pronounced unsafe, and bus and rail services curtailed. There is humour too in Karunatilake's observations in the heat of the bomb throwing. "Kusuma getting the New Year breakfast ready for the auspicious time" and daily papers giving prominence to astrological formalities like auspicious colours, day to set out for work.

The author sounds depressed, as he could not be in Wangiyakumbura with his parents and children. Maithripala Senanayake's (as a Minister) New Year message comes over the radio attacking the insurgents, and claiming how people have been deprived of their fun and frolic.

From ’71-’73 there is an interruption of two years, and when he starts again the continuity of the narrative is maintained. In ’74, he goes back to the times when he went to school at Guruthalawa when his father bought a block of land at Wangiyakumbura, and settled down for good.

The year ’75 concludes the diary with the author looking for a house around Colombo, his brother being transferred to Galle from Mahiyangana from where he had looked after their father, who had a brush with cancer, and finally died in Boralanda. The news reached the author in his office when the Post Master at Guruthalawa had rung him up. These accounts make moving reading.

Karunatilake has attempted a kind of creative work though it is less demanding than a novel in the act of writing. Here the events are predetermined, and the skill of the writer is displayed in the presentation and style he adopts. This may be the first example in Sri Lanka of this genre.

That indelible mother and daughter bond
The Legacy by H. Ramakrishna. Reviewed by Carl Muller.
Even if a thing of beauty is a constant joy, I beg to differ. This particular thing of beauty I hold in my hands is a slim, wonderful book but the joy? No, there can never be joy... but if joy is the sharing of the author's pain, her jewelled memories, her life vacuumed of a mother's love, let it be so accepted. Hema Ramakrishna has bared her heart and indeed, told her readers: "This I give. Treat it gently, I pray you, for it is swollen with sorrows past and bursting with tears I still need to shed."

Reading her at one sitting was a revelation. The book excels in the manner of approach, the narrative cutting back delicately to the person it is all about: her mother. It tells us, poignantly, that a mother's love is godly in nature, unwearied and all embracing. It also reminds us that we are in a world grown so blasé and material where love actually counts for so little.

Death, it is said, is a great leveller, but to Hema, her mother's sad and painful death is a great disheveller. Remembering the dismembering, so to say, but the rhapsody of the writing is a leveller of sorts as well, bringing together life and death, mother and daughter. They now travel together, one a ghost of many pasts; the other a teller of the tales of a ghost.

Take these lines:
The thrill of reading the acclaimed Tamil author - Tamil Nadu's own Walter Scott - Kalki's great historical novel Sivagami's Oath, in the original Tamil years ago, is already fading from my mind now with the passing of time! For in the time that we shared our lives, the excitement of mutual likes and common pursuits kept me going. But now that you are gone, the flavour too seems to have departed.

And I'm left with only English, my mother, to mourn your going. Only English - and don'y let anyone say it's foreign - I need it, for it is simple and as strong as steel, surgical steel, on the cutting edge of science and technology... Only English, not least because I was educated in it, that being the path you'd chosen for me; and now, not only do I have promises to keep but miles to go as well before I sleep! For who decided I would study first in a convent school and later English Honours in Miranda House - it was no one else but you, only you, wasn't it so?

How much do we really owe our mothers? I go to an Elders' Home and find so many mothers who sit, wait, lips a-quiver for sons and daughters to come visit. I ask why, and the stock answers are no answers at all. Life to these unwanted ones is one of prayer and expectation. They, who loved so warmly and so well, are in turn, unwanted. Hema Ramakrishna's book is a searing reminder that we walk this world because of the mothers who brought us forth.

It was Hema's mother, Saroja, who introduced her "for the first time, to the unending delights of our English education", and Hema shares it all with her readers - the old Nelson's Classics, young Lochinvar, Ivanhoe, Dumas, Conan Doyle... Yes, as she says, "Ghosts, common perhaps to all childhood and all growing up, all running away from the shadows that refuse to fade when confronted. Ghosts of our former selves... But isn't that when they choose to return through the back door, coming back to lodge themselves securely in the mind, this time as memories?"

Adding its own lustre is the fluid manner in which Hema flits from one text to another, giving us a few lines here, a passage there - reminding us all of our own English education and reading of long ago. Conrad Aiken merits a wedge of powerful lines as Hema, growing up, strove to come to grips with herself. She is the Hema (Hemalatha) of the trio, the others Vasu (Vasudevan) and Raghu (Raghuna-ndanan). We enter her childhood, the war years, and always there is the mother who would attend to them, grim and perspiring. Now Hema can ask her the most perplexing question of all: "Where is paradise, my mother; is that where you are now or is that where you are not?"

Now Hema can talk so freely to the listening soul. This is what this book is all about - a daughter's tale of remembering. Everything matters. Nothing can ever be commonplace, and it is the elegance of her writing that makes The Legacy outstanding. Every chapter of this book tells us of Hema's own pilgrimage. She must live her life, yes, but with her mother's death, her own journey has begun in earnest. Is she the 'oft returning soul' who also seeks a journey's end? Is this book a daughter's plea to be with the mother she can never forget?

Remarkably, there is nothing over-dramatic in the telling of it all. We also get a so-like-Sri Lanka glimpse of India and can perhaps begin to understand how ‘Indian’ we really are: “We, the middle-class, believed likewise in marrying our daughters well along with the rest of India, didn't we? And marriage expenses were something that had to be saved for assiduously, over months if not years, especially in the case of the salaried working parent. There was the purchase of steel and silver vessels and jewellery that had to be planned for and budgeted, not to speak of wedding saris and gifts to one and all, including the in-laws to be.”

Even the most dutiful daughter must sometimes chide and remonstrate, but there is the helplessness of it all as she watches her mother begin to die, watching "Things start to unravel and come apart, allowing all kinds of matter to dribble out, grey, white and black". Is this what the end is all about? That "dark and lonely road to extinction... no light in the tunnel..." She can think of Wordsworth trailing clouds of glory and the words of Whispering Hope, but she also admits to her monomania, her constant dialogue with death.

Somehow, I feel this is not the truth. Hema's book is a constant dialogue with life, and be it past life or present, it is the fascinating saga of a family where life and death seem to have no dividing line. Love conquers, and makes the dead live. Hema tells us, in her acknowledgement, that her brother Vasu was too moved to read it all. Yes, the book moves. This is one of the few books of recent times that carries a resonance only the soul can hear and echo. In death, Saroja remains her daughter's living legacy - and The Legacy will remain a monument to life!

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