|
Sunday, August 13,
2000 |
|
Books |
|
|
|
|
A close look at
"Godan" man
Review by
Akshaya Kumar
Prem Chand:
Novelist and Thinker by Govind Narain Sharma. Pragati
Publications, New Delhi. Pages 182. Rs 395.
IF
branding Prem Chand as a progressive writer was lop-sided,
labelling him a moralist or a sage is no less a critical
blunder. The ideological slotting of a writer of his calibre
and range, cannot be undone by raising him to the level of a
"sage" or a perennial "moralist". Govind
Narain Sharma’s monograph under review has a critical
imbalance as it tends to place Prem Chand in a didactic frame
— a frame which instead of redeeming the Hindi novelist in
the eyes of contemporary readers, smitten as they are by the
literary flamboyance of Salman Rushdie, Vikram Seth, Arundhati
Roy, etc., renders him all the more archaic and traditional.
This propensity of the Indian critic to elevate the novelist
or, for that matter, any creative writer to a full-fledged
thinker rather a moral thinker, has done no good to the
reputation of the writer or the critic.
In Hindi
criticism, the literary journey of Prem Chand is defined in
terms of his progression from being an exponent of idealistic
realism (adarshatmak yatharthvad) to one gravitating
towards realistic realism (yatharthadi yatharthvad). In
"Godon", hailed as a watershed in Hindi fiction, he
does away with categories and easy essentialisations. In short
stories like "Poos ki Raat", "Qafan", and
"Boori Kaki", he breaks free from the binary
paradigm of creativity as his characters defy stereotypical
slotting, and situations take unconventional turns. Far from
being allegories of a proletariat India, these stories are
highly self-reflexive and self-critical.
The later
Prem Chand almost undoes the earlier one or positively
speaking, the later Prem Chand grows out of his narrow
ideological/moral self as he begins to delve deep into
existence. The problem with Govind Narain Sharma’s monograph
is that it almost reverses the very evolution of Prem Chand.
Instead of any happy moral resolution, one discovers a subtle
dialectical sensibility in operation in later Prem Chand,
which does not allow the writer to pontificate or sermonise on
the complex human scenario.
The monograph
has a conventional structure as it correlates the fiction of
Prem Chand with his life history. It begins with a
chronological account of the great writer. Such a linear
account holds worth if the writer is introduced, for the first
time, to the outer market. With already six or seven
monographs, biographies, etc. available on Prem Chand, the
present monograph is only an exercise in repetition.
The first
chapter does furnish interesting details on the life of Prem
Chand — namely, his extramarital relationship, his second
marriage, his flirtation with the film-industry, ect. but
nowhere does Govind Narain problematises biography with Prem
Chand’s creative output. Does a writer exceed his biography?
Or does he remain shackled to it? The second chapter does
bring out various cultural pulls which Prem Chand was
subjected to, but instead of underlining the simultaneity of
these pulls, Govind Narain presents them in a chronological
order.
The third
chapter entitled "A novelist’s vocation" deals
with Prem Chand’s perspective of story-telling, but again
due to Govind Narain’s own moral commitments, it sounds
rather reductive and one-sided. The emphasis is on "the
moral temper" of Prem Chand who "like, Arnold,
believes that the role of catering for the moral and spiritual
life of man which in the past was fulfilled by religion is now
to be performed by literature". The Arnold hangover of
the monographer distorts the rather open-ended vision of Prem
Chand’s art. The fact that Prem Chand held each story to be
an aspect of some psychological truth is an evidence enough of
his modern-mindedness.
The next four
chapters are devoted to four phases of Prem Chand’s literary
span: the first phase, 1905-18; the second 1918-26; the third
1926-28; and the fourth phase,1929-36. In the first, while
describing the merits of "Seva Sadan", Govind Narain
discovers in Prem Chand "a powerful social critic who can
embody his message effectively in a moral fable".
In the second
phase, despite acknowledging Prem Chand’s weak and wishful
endings of novels like "Premashram" and "Rangbhumi",
the monographer condones the writer on purely moral grounds:
"The utopian ending weakens it, but ‘sages’ have
their problems and Prem Chand undoubtedly had his. After
condemning the elite of Indian society so savagely, he could
not leave them to think that they were beyond
redemption".
In his third
phase, Prem Chand produces artistically mature works like
"Nirmala" and "Ghaban ". For the first
time, the monographer grows out of the miasma of morals to
accept the rise of "new realism" in the fiction of
Prem Chand, but the tendency to spiritualise remains
irrepressible: "Prem Chand’s deep humanism made him
derive genuine pleasure ... experience the spiritual renewal
through love and friendship". "Godan", the
product of the final phase, hailed for being "a classic
account of the shattering of the Indian farmer’s
dreams" does not receive Govind Narain’s unqualified
approval. Guided by moral instincts, he continues to rate
"Premashram" and "Karmabhumi" as better
works. "Godan’s" complex open-ended structure does
not fit in the moral scheme of the author.
The
opportunity to evaluate afresh the phenomenon of Prem chand
has simply been squandered. For instance, the writer could
have undertaken a detailed analysis of dalit consciousness of
Prem Chand, a debate which could have bearings on the hotly
argued issue of the representation of dalits in the writings
of non-dalit writers. Also, another pertinent issue —
namely, "the representation of women" in Prem Chand
— should have been discussed exclusively. Does "Dhania"
in some measure not anticipate a modern Bhanvari Bai? Does
Malti not approximate the new Indian woman? There would have
been no "Mitro Mar Jani", had there been no "Nirmala".
Moreover, an analysis of Premchand in the light of Gayatri
Spivak’s pressing interrogation "Can the Subaltern
Speak?" has the potential to challenge, if not alter, the
image of Prem Chand in the popular imagination.
The chapter
on short stories does bring out the heterogeneity within Prem
Chand’s short fiction. But the emphasis of the writer is
more on the chronology in which various short stories appeared
rather than on the various configurations that these stories
take and hinge on. The thematic shifts have been referred to,
but these shifts do not explain the complex architectonics of
Prem Chand, the story-teller.
Stories like
"Poos ki Raat", "Qafan", "Bare Bhai
Saheb", "Shatranj ke Khiladi", "Boori
Kaki", etc. have a distinct modern topology which defies
any easy slotting of Prem Chand’s stories in a monologic
ideological frame. The so-called "idealistic hero"
of Prem Chand is conspicuous by his absence in these stories.
Also there is no romanticisation of the agricultural labour,
usually associated with the proletarian leanings of Prem Chand.
Instead of
choosing just two stories, "Boori Kaki" and "Shatranj
ke Khiladi", Govind Narain Sharma should have taken up at
least three of four more stories for a detailed analysis. The
"Conclusion " does not have any insight to offer. In
fact, it begins more in the fashion of
"Introduction" thus: "Of the various critical
evaluations of Prem Chand’s creative achievements, Nagendra’s
is perhaps the most challenging." It goes on to catalogue
other critical estimates of Prem Chand which instead of
folding the argument (if there is any) threaten to open it
once more. Without having undertaken a systematic comparative
analysis in the preceding chapters, the monographer makes
sweeping comparison with the Scott, Dickens, Hardy, and, with
certain limitations, even the Tolstoy world."
One wonders
what critical purpose is served by pure rhetorical comparisons
such as "His resignation from government service was in
its own way a step as momentous as Tagore’s renunciation of
the knighthood in 1919, his letter to the Maharaja of Alwar as
significant as Dr Johnson’s famous letter to Lord
Chesterfield." If Prem Chand is to be compared at all, he
should been compared with other native Indian writers like
Gopinath Mohanty, Manto, Mahasveta Devi or Vaikam Basheer.
This would have given the reader an opportunity to locate the
phenomenon of Prem Chand in a wider national perspective.
Govind Narain Sharma in his
prefatory remarks regrets that not many books written on Prem
Chand are critical in the real sense. But has he not added to
the pile of the non-critical material already available on
Prem Chand? In no way does the monograph mark a breakthrough
in Prem Chand studies. The very purpose of bringing native
literature to international limelight through English is
defeated, rather betrayed, if the study undertaken does not
match international standards. The onus of reputation is as
much on the critic as it is on the creative writer himself.
|
|
A Serbo-Croat
Tolstoy? Not
really
Review by
M.L. Raina
The Bridge on
the Drina translated from Serbo-Croat by Lovett F. Edwards.
Chicago University Press, Chicago. Pages 314. $15.95.
Bosnian
Chronicle or The Day of the Consuls translated from Serbo-Croat
by Celia Hawksworth and Bogdan Rakic. Harvill Press, London.
Pages 415. $19.95.
The Damned Yard
and Other Stories translated from Serbo-Croat by Celia
Hawksworth and others. Forest Books, London and Boston. Pages
x+219. $15.95.
— All by Ivo
Andric
"While
river banks are quarrelling, water flows quietly/We have
suffered so much. Now the domesticated hell sings"
— Branko
Milkjkovic
WHEN
the Bosnian novelist Ivo Andric (1892-1975) received the Nobel
Prize in 1961, he was compared with Tolstoy. Now that much of
his work is available in new and recent translations, it is not
foolhardy to say that the comparison is only partially valid.
There are none of those "silent chords playing behind the
scenes" that Forster found in Tolstoy. You at once recall
Maslova being driven to Siberia in "Resurrection",
Dolly visiting Anna for the first time in "Anna Karenina"
or the lively soiree at the beginning of "War and
Peace".
Also, you do
not see the perfect blend of the historical and the personal
that made Tolstoy an exemplary novelist and endowed the simple
domesticities of Pierre’s household, the easy contentedness of
the Kitty-Levin relationship or the ironies of "The
Kreutzer Sonata" with significant historical purpose.
And yet, if
Tolstoy is a Jupiter among major world novelists, Andric is no
mean asteroid. He shares with his fellow Slav a sense of history
as inexorable and irreversible and his pessimism about the grand
flourishes of historical personages. Just as the omniscient
narrator at the close of "War and Peace" broods over
the futility of heroes manipulating history, so do the community
elders in both "Drina" and "Chronicle"
ruminate over the uselessness of grand viziers and counsels
imposing their will on ordinary humanity. In "Drina"
the changeability of human fortunes in political turmoils is
signalled by the "great flood" in the river and the
toll it takes.
"Their
town had been into a hell, a devil’s dance of incomprehensible
works, of smoke, dust, shouts and tumult," says the
narrator. In the title novella of the collection "The
Damned Yard", the Ottoman rulers turn their Bosnian colony
into a prison yard and in "Chronicle" the Ottoman and
Austro-Hungarian empires bring nothing but ruin to the ordinary
people of Travnik, falsifying the claims of successive rulers to
establish order.
The other
quality Andric shares with the Russian master is an ability to
see history in broad strokes rather than in small detail. It is
not that he is unaware of how it affects individual lives. What
matters is how the forces of history such as the Ottoman and the
Austro-Hungarian empires swamp all individual self-expression.
So that in an Andric novel, even though there are occasional
expressions of individual assertion (as in Radisav’s fatal
revolt in "Drina" or Kalim’s claim in the
"Yard" to be prince Cem, or sporadic romantic tumbles
of De Fossets in "Chronicle"), it is history,
particularly the history of conquest and rapine, that has the
upper hand.
If Tolstoy sees
all individual acts suffused with historical nuance, Andric sees
large historical forces dwarfing individual efforts as freedom.
Apart from Radisav’s abortive revolt, "Drina"
records the doomed brief eruptions of Fata (in love), Milan (in
gambling), and Fedun (in soldiering) as instances of
helplessness before the larger machine.
Similarly, in
"Chronicle", Hamidy Bey and Mrs Daville, wife of the
canny French counsel, appear puny as do the towns people in the
story "Vizier’s Elephant". Reading these works, one
is saddened by the spectacle of uncontrolled and uncontrollable
tyranny eclipsing individuals in their feeble attempts to break
through the Schwabes, the sultans and the minor bureaucracy,
whose wayward behaviour blights private lives as much as it lays
waste entire territories. The fact that most of the time Andric’s
characters act as representations of and participants in history
goes a long way in determining their existential status.
Since many of
his major works — the two above novels in particular — are
about actual historical periods, the general leitmotif of these
novels is the material nature of human experience. Andric
grounds his stories in specific geographical locations, mostly
in Visegrad and Travnik in what is today Bosnia-Herzogovina. As
he returns to these locations time and again, they acquire the
quality of legendary and mythical places. The experiences thus
presented become rediscoveries in new forms of the relationship
of the conqueror and the conquered or, in the fashionable jargon
of today, the coloniser and the colonised. These works show
Andric as a mythmaker at his most fertile.
This way of
looking at reality as mythicised but recognisable is a signature
technique in some representative non-western writers. One thinks
of Nurudin Farrah’s trilogy, the Indonesian writer Pramodeya
Ananta Toer’s celebrated "Buru Quartet", Mahfouz’s
"Cairo Trilogy" and, nearer home, the wonderful
Bengali novel "A River Named Titash".
These books,
Andric’s novels included ("Titash" is closest to
"Drina" in both conception and design), are mythical
in the positive sense of the word. They are social chronicles
but not in the manner of textbooks of fact and event. They are
not documentary details of what actually happened, but emblems
of how the course of violence arising from the sadistic impulses
of the conquerors would shape the everyday lives of the
conquered people.
As we carefully
read Andric’s work, we notice a recurrent pattern of behaviour
(such as the not-so-concealed arrogance of the conquerer towards
the conquered displayed by several provincial governors in
"Drina" and "Chronicle"), and of the
relationship of the coloniser and the colonised that forms the
substance of myth and legend, fostered by the fear-driven rumour
mills in semi-literate societies.
The fact that
not many of his characters have private lives of their own lends
substance to their being parts of a design, even of a game, in
which their destinies are decided by people outside their power
to regulate. Games, intrigues and machinations of one sort or
the other subordinate the individuals to a larger political
destiny, larger, that is, than their own subjective lives.
Looking for wisdom rather than spectacle in the tragic history
of his country, Andric foregoes the historian’s urge to
discover causality and focuses on the imaginative world that he
creates out of history’s changing tableaux.
Which brings me
to Andric’s status as a historical novelist. In his novels
there are no great heroes but only tyrants, oppressors and
bullies. Considering that Bosnia was a centre of European power
play in the 19th and early 20th centuries and continues to be in
ferment today, it is natural that for Andric colonialism and
conquest should expose the human capacity for unrelieved evil.
This accounts
for the fact that the voices of those who see glimmerings of
good in the midst of evil are either suppressed or are too weak
to make themselves felt. One thinks of Radisav in "Drina",
of De Fosset in "Chronicle", the small group of
younger prisoners who question authority in the "Yard"
or of the faceless masses outside the courtly intrigues who
continue to live with total resignation in the face of evil.
Unlike in
Tolstoy or Stendhal ("Charterhouse of Parma"), history
in Andric is an elite business in which the ordinary people have
no role but to suffer. Characters such as Daville’s wife and
Alihodja represent the silent majority who, though affected by
the pain that rulers inflict, remain mute witnesses all through.
As the narrator says in a passage in "Chronicle",
"Fear lay over Travnik like a fog, weighing on everything
that breathed and thought. At such times many people, blinded
and maddened, forget that there are such things as reason and
courage, that everything in life passes… deluded by the
temporary magic of fear, they pay far more dearly for their bare
life than it is worth, doing base, contemptible things."
And in "Drina":
"It was not thousands of fools like that Osman Karamanli
who could do anything or change anything… What was the use of
all that hullabaloo when, here and now, there had come for a man
a time of disaster in which he could neither live nor die, but
rotted like a stake in the earth and belonged to whomever you
wished but not to himself".
Such pessimism
from a former diplomat and communist (Andric was Tito’s
favourite), may hurt socialist-realist hacks, but is a salutary
reminder of his superior talent. He did not look at history
through the class-tinted Marxist spectacles. Not surprisingly
then that the bridge on the Drina did not bridge the gap between
the Turks, the Serbs and the Bosnians, but accentuated it
further. The river banks of the poet’s epitaph above kept
quarrelling and still keep quarrelling today, while the waters
get muddied and the stories of suffering of the people emerge
from the hells of Kosovo, Sarajevo and other Balkan states, UN
peacekeepers notwithstanding.
The events
described in "Drina" cover the centuries after the
first Serb revolt against the Ottoman empire. The bridge is a
choral presence ironically symbolising permanence amidst drift
and devastation brought on by successive rulers. The waters of
the Drina suggest timelessness, calling into question the
bravado of the colonisers.
The story
develops as a series of vignettes of successive rulers who leave
their evil impress on the soil of Visegrad. This is the reason
there is no plot in the traditional sense. Andric refutes the
colonial boast of an orderly growth and civilised evolution and
sees colonialism as a deliberate eruption into the age-old
traditional life represented by the river.
In
"Chronicle" he is more concerned with the colonisers
themselves and their psychological predicaments as rulers.
Daville, De Maistre, the Austrian Counsel and their hangers-on
(there are long descriptions of their history) are presented
from the inside and studied from the point of view of themselves
as well as of the local people.
There is a
psychological complexity in this novel not present in "Drina",
for this novel looks inside the characters and makes a statement
about how it feels to be a coloniser. Given Andric’s
anti-colonial predilections, the colonisers turn out to be more
vulnerable than the colonised, deserving not our total hostility
but our understanding. Even as a Communist, Andric does not fail
to see human nature in all its contradictions.
What roots
Andric’s works in folk ethos is his skill in telling stories
and letting people tell theirs. In a sense, the stories in the
"Yard" are about telling stories. That he can listen
to the others indicates the communal character of his art. Even
though a story like "The Climber" ends painfully, as
do the novels, there is a sense of ongoing life that remains
intact in the face of calamity.
This is folk wisdom at its best
and allows Andric to stand apart from the western tradition of
novel writing. He becomes a chronicler in the manner of Mahfouz
or of his own Serbian tradition about which Albert Lord wrote in
his classic "The Singer of Tales".
|
|
The built-in gender
bias in society
Review by
Surinder S. Jodhka
The Gender Gap
in Education: NGOs as Change Agents edited by Rekha Wazir. Sage
Publications. New Delhi. Pages 286. Rs 225.
IN
developing societies of the Third World, education is not just a
matter of individual learning. It is viewed as an important
aspect of the process of social transformation. The literacy
rates and the educational attainment of the population are, for
example, seen as crucial indicators of social development.
Launching literacy programmes, opening new schools, colleges and
universities and making education easily and cheaply available
to all sections of the populace have been among the important
priorities of the state policy in the developing countries.
In any
assessment of the achievements of development planning,
questions such as who gets educated and who is left out assume
critical significance. The available evidence indicates that the
spread of education during the last five decades of independence
has been far from even. One of the most important dimensions of
this unevenness has been "the gender gap". In 1995,
the female literacy rate for India was 38 per cent as against 66
per cent for males. This is obviously a reflection and a
consequence of the prevailing gender bias in society at large.
The problem is further exacerbated when gender disadvantage gets
combined with class, caste and religious discrimination.
Despite their
best intentions and well-formulated policies, the
state-initiated programmes have largely failed to address such
problems. It is in this background that the role of
non-governmental organisations (NGOs) assumes importance. Being
small in size, closer to the people and non-bureaucratic in
functioning, the NGOs are more likely to be open to new
initiatives and experiments than the state agencies. The NGO
movement in India gained momentum during the 1980s and by now
there are a large number of organisations working in diverse
fields in different parts of the country. They have been
particularly active in the relatively less developed regions of
the country and among the marginalised sections of the rural
population.
As evident from
the title of the book, the eight essays put together by editor
Rekha Wazir highlight different aspects of the problem of
education in general and that of the gender gap in particular.
The book also critically examines what is being done by the NGOs
in this field. Making an overall assessment of the
"problem" in the opening chapter, the editor claims
that the NGOs have made significant gains at the level of
educational innovations and in the design and delivery of
programmes. For example, considerable amount of expertise was
available in areas such as community mobilisation, use of
participatory approaches, training techniques and teaching
materials.
Gender
sensitive strategies have also been developed for teaching adult
illiterates and for improving access and retention of girl
children. However, the NGOs have not yet been able to translate
this success in "laboratory" situations into practice
on a large scale. They have rarely been able to find viable
partnerships and collaborators to institutionalise such
innovative techniques.
In her paper on
"Educational status of girls and women: the emerging
scenario", Ratna M. Sudarshan offers an assessment of the
prevailing situation through a historical survey of the changing
attitude of development planners towards women’s education.
She also provides a quantitative profile of the prevailing
scenario. Reiterating the point made in the introductory chapter
by the editor, Sudarshan reminds us that the educational
inequalities are not the only or even necessarily the best
indicators of discrimination. "Domestic violence, stress
and cultural practices of seclusion were all recognised as
having a basis in unequal gender relations and a gender
differentiated impact on development outcomes".
Further, she
points out that the limitation of education as a tool for change
arose from the fact that it essentially targets an individual
attribute, while the underlying determinants of inequality are
more often structural in nature. However, there still is a sense
in ensuring educational equality. It is likely to lead to
equality in access to resources and opportunities to men and
women. Raising the level of education is closely associated with
higher productivity, lower levels of fertility, better child
nutrition, higher levels of self-esteem and better management of
domestic relations.
In another
essay of a general nature, Malvika Karlekar identifies three
sets of factors that affect girls access to schooling: the
pedagogical, institutional and familial. In the pedagogical
factors she includes things like the structure, environment and
ideology of the school; teacher commitment and teaching methods;
the contents of education and the nature of curricula made
available to girl students. The availability and cost of
schooling, distance of school from home, presence or absence of
separate schools for girls, the availability of women teachers,
incentives such as midday meals and scholarships are the
institutional factors that determined the education of girls.
The parental
attitude towards girls education, the access girls have to
resources within their homes are among the familial factors
affecting girls education. Karlekar argues that the NGOs have so
far concentrated on the pedagogical and institutional factors
while the familial factors have mostly been ignored.
Through a broad
survey of the literacy and adult education programmes, Vimala
Ramachandran discusses the relationship between education and
women’s empowerment. She argues that unless there was an
initiative from below, from the women themselves, the official
campaigns are not likely to produce a radical change. The
official campaigns tend to fade away as quickly as they shoot
into prominence. She also underlines the need to link education
and literacy to the ongoing struggles of women and creating
opportunities for women and girls to acquire technical skills.
Perhaps the
most fascinating paper in the book is by Shantha Sinha who looks
at the link between "child labour and education". She
offers a refreshing critique of the prevailing understanding of
child labour in India.
Child labour is
generally explained by two sets of arguments. The first is known
as the "poverty argument" and second the
"irrelevance of education argument". According to the
advocates of the "poverty argument", the practice of
child labour was directly linked to the economic status of the
family. Poor families were compelled to make their children work
because they could not survive otherwise. Sending the child to
school was a luxury that they could rarely afford.
The other
argument — irrelevance of education — emphasises the
futility of school education for children of the working class.
It is argued that "the kind of education that is provided
in most educational institutions is of little relevance to the
children and does not in any way prepare them for the challenges
that lie ahead. Work, on the other hand, can in many
circumstances prove to be more educational than the irrelevant
education provided in formal schools".
Sinha strongly
contests both these arguments for they, in a sense, tend to
justify the practice of child labour. She counters such theses
by referring to the available evidence that showed that there
were many families with incomes below the normally defined
poverty line sending their children not to work but to schools.
"The real danger in blindly accepting the poverty argument
was that every case of a working child tended to be seen as one
more instance of the harsh reality of child labour".
Many NGOs had
in fact been able to motivate a good number of parents to send
their children to formal schools without providing any specific
input to increase their income. Poverty was not always the
crucial limiting factor. Non-economic factors too played
important role in influencing the decision of parents to send a
child to work or to school. The need therefore was to focus on
motivating the parents and mobilising the community at large in
favour of education of children.
In another
interesting paper, Geeta B. Nambissan looks at the problem of
education among the tribals in relation to their distinct
identity. Historically, the sense of "community" or
the larger identity as "tribe" among indigenous groups
was, to a large extent, a consequence of the colonial government
which used "tribal" as an administrative category.
However, the tribals’s cultural distinctiveness was an
important fact that needed to be recognised while working out
policies and programmes for their education.
There was need
to explore the pedagogic possibilities of languages and cultures
of tribes, inculcating sensitivity among the teachers to tribal
identity as well as making schools more attractive. This
required partnership between the NGOs, the state and the tribal
communities.
In another
paper, Atreyee Cordeiro too emphasises the need of building
partnerships and collaborations among different agencies for
evolving more effective programmes of education.
In the
concluding chapter, the editor of the volume, Rekha Wazir goes
back to the question of strategies that the NGOs needed to adopt
to make a difference to the existing state of affairs and the
role that they could play in reducing gender disparities in
education.
On the whole, the book is an
interesting collection of essays that not only conveys
information about the manner in which those active in the NGO
sector are thinking about education but could also provide some
guidelines for positive action.
|
|
Eminent but ailing poet
Review by R.P. Chaddah
Nissim
Ezekiel: The Authorised Biography by R. Raj Rao. Viking, New
Delhi. Pages 401. Rs 495.
THE
book under review is the supposed tell-all of the first
recognised hero of modern poetry (Indian) in English in the
second half of the 20th century. Raj Rao has known Ezekiel for a
long time, was Ezekiel’s student at Bombay University, then a
fellow poet and a writer and, above all, a close friend. At
present, Raj Rao is a Professor in the department of English,
University of Pune, and he is actively engaged in producing
gay-poems and he is about to bring out an anthology "BomGay".
This "authorised
biography" is the record of hard work put in by the
biographer during the past six years and during that time, there
came many "downs" in the life and times of Nissim
Ezekiel. In 1998, it was finally declared that he was suffering
from Alzheimer’s disease, which is a form of premature senile
decay and which requires all time attention and hospitalisation.
In a recent issue of Time magazine (July, 2000) the findings of
research at the World Alzheimer’s Congress in Washington has
given some hope to the victims of this disease. It is possible
that scientists could be on the verge of stemming the wasting
disease. Till that happens, important people like Ronald Reagan
and Nissim Ezekiel have to suffer.
This 400-page
biography is divided into 12 chapters. Raj Rao tries to cope
with and arrange the material at his disposal (of course,
supplied by Ezekiel) and he supplements it by getting detailed
comments from Ezekiel’s old friends and almost negligible help
from the members of Ezekiel’s immediate family. Despite this
handicap, Raj Rao has been able to sift material from the
criticism already available on the body of his work. When one is
writing on Ezekiel it is but natural that the "Bombay
School of English Poetry" should get a detailed "look
in". Raj Rao obliquely refers to the work of a host of
"Bombay Poets" — Dom Moraes, Adil Jussawalla, Gauri
Deshpande, Tara Patel, Gieve Patel et al.
A brief
bio-data of Ezekiel reveals to the reader how he had to struggle
quite a bit to achieve whatever little he could get with active
help from friendly quarters. Quite early in his life he met the
famous theatre director Ebrahim Alkazi who was instrumental in
sending him to England to study philosophy under C.E.M. Joad.
And once there he had to survive on philosophy, poverty and
poetry in a London basement.
And attempts at
journalism, publishing and advertising, before he settled down
as a university teacher back in the "bitter native
city" of Bombay.
His first book
is "A Time to Change", and Ezekiel could not have been
unaware of the aptness of the title. After 1952 the book became
a touchstone for modern Indian poetry in English.
In that year
itself he got married and he immersed himself in a lot of
activities — theatre of Alkazi, editorial work at the Indian
PEN Centre, and his deep involvement with the emerging poets
(the present reviewer was one of them).
All these
activities kept him so busy that the first seeds of discord with
his family were sown quite early in his married life. Whatever
the reasons, he had to first suffer separation, indifference,
callousness and now neglect at the hands of his immediate
family.
One needs guts
to give such a statement as the one given by his only son,
publicly, "Daddy will remain at the nursing home till he
dies." Raj Rao has not been able to fathom the reason for
all this, but he thinks that the presence of the "other
woman" in the life of Ezekiel and I think it is the
celebrity status of Ezekiel among the literati that the family
could not adjust to.
Raj Rao has
very critically examined the work of the famous critics on
Ezekiel — Bruce King, Inder Nath Kher, Darshan Singh Maini,
Vilas Sarang, Arvind Krishan Mehrotra and others. In better and
saner times, Ezekiel once told Rao, "I stand only by my
poetry and the real source of my literary sensibility was my
mother." When Rao pointed to the adverse criticism of his
work Ezekiel very candidly said, "A man of no enemies is a
man of few friends".
Ezekiel’s
oeuvre in the field of modern Indian English poetry is
considered one of the greatest achievements and it consists of
seven books of poems, 500 book reviews, numerous literary
articles and a number of plays. Ezekiel’s major themes are
love, personal integration, contemporary Indian urban scene,
spiritual values, but basically his poetry is something that
grows out of his own life and experience.
To him life
itself is a journey, a pilgrimage consisting of departures and
arrivals. The journey and quest motif is all too apparent in his
work. There is also a curious blending of the sensual and the
spiritual, the believer and the sceptic, which finds
articulation through ironic modes of expression.
Art and the
artist is yet another theme to which the poet, who goes with
"a Cezanne slung round his neck" returns time and
again alongwith the alienation theme which is central to Ezekiel’s
work. There are two other aspects of his poetry — namely, the
confessional element and the devotional element.
To a large
extent his poems have an autobiographical dimension and what is
personal and autobiographical often borders on the confessional.
I have a grouse
against the biographer who is not able to know the real Ezekiel,
the poet and the man from his poems when help from all other
quarters (including Ezekiel, because of that dreadful disease of
Alzheimer’s) was not forthcoming. Whomsoever the biographer
met, he asked him one and only hackneyed question: "Was
Ezekiel a womaniser?" This is no way to treat the subject
of your book.
Raj Rao has
also a dig at the Indian poems of Ezekiel which are, of course,
written in Bombayia English. What is wrong with that? Salman
Rushdie also hints at that language which he calls hug-me
(Hindi, Urdu, Gujrati, Marathi, English) in his latest book.
Raj Rao has
adopted different styles in the same book. Correspondence with
friends in early chapters, a straight narrative style in the
middle chapters and the last part in the format of a diary to
avoid monotony. In the last part of the book, the lack of
interest in the subject is not even concealed. It is well said,
"Unless a man writes with his whole nature concentrated
upon his subject, he is unlikely to take hold of another
man..."
In spite of his delving deep
into the Ezekiel memorabilia, the fascinating personal life of
Ezekiel will continue to remain a rumour-ridden mystery. While
Ezekiel is ailing in a hospital, living a life of severe
solitude, he will continue to live, in his poetry, says Ms
Nilufer Bharucha, an editor of the book on Nissim Ezekiel
("Essays in Honour of Nissim Ezekiel").
|
|
The stilled voice of women
Review by Shalini Kalia
It Was Dark by
Shashi Deshpande. Writers Workshop, Calcutta. Pages 185. Rs 150.
YOU
can enjoy fiction like this while travelling to an understanding
of self and women and the subtle politics of men and women, that
is. Defining new parameters calls for verbalising inequilibrium.
This kind of fiction draws on the reality of existence, of the
existence of those around us and reconstructing stories around
images of ordinary women in everyday India. Using broad details,
the stories dramatise particular facets of existence in an
effort to dynamically understand how events and images recur in
the lives of disparate women, merge and flow so that women
retain traces of "colonisation" by men over the
centuries whether in the garb of honour or tradition.
The stories
focus on the lives of people, especially women who are never in
the headlines. They are not even straight biography. It is their
obliqueness that is paradoxically directed, and startling. They
talk of the pain that women go through from childhood to dotage
and which those outside the gender can never know of. It is the
pain here that is talked about without parenthesis.
Much has been
written to the "condition of women" question since
1986 when this slim volume first appeared. More complex
interpretations have been attempted since then. But these
stories discuss the elementary situations that reiterate
themselves in the life of the female down the ages.
From Amba, the
"dispossessed one" in the first story, who struggles
to find coherent "voice" of her own moaning, "O
God, to be and not to be seen, to speak and not to be
heard", the voice finding an escape from its reverie and
finally moksha in silence to the rest of the stories
which continue this reaching back and groping "in the
dark" record events that impact on the collective female
subconsciousness. This continual repression makes them sensitive
and vigilant like rats, rats of the sewer, rats always foraging
around for leftovers, trying to "only survive", maybe
"only connect" and forever aware of the malevolence of
men.
The darkness is
spread out evenly on the pages with a butter knife. It is a wall
which is both a woman’s armaour and the only defence as well
as her doom. In the story "It was dark", which is the
title of the book, a 14-year-old rape victim rescued from the
pimp, is barely a survivor. She lustily gorges on food but only
when it is offered and also speaks little or nothing, like a
drought victim. The rest of the family are confused about the
consequences. She only knows for sure that "It was
dark" and on these words hinge the images of brutality,
which are only a part of the minefield. The father and the
mother can tread no further.
The narrator’s
access to language and to presence is mediated through such
characters. N. Glazener in "Dialogic subversion: Bakhtin,
the novel and Gertrude Stein" and quoted in Ken Hirshckop
and David Shephard of "Bakhtin and Cultural Theory"
states that "if desire is misplaced, the site where it
finds expression is itself a contested zone, mediated by the
discourse of the ‘propre’, the relationship between property
and propriety".
In the next
story "The valley of shadow", a physically disabled
woman narrator pins all her hopes on the hands that appear on
the railing of the hotel room next to hers. Snatches of
conversation with the owner of those hands grow into a hope in
her mind. "Mote by mote, like sunshine", the hope
engulfs her but is finally crushed as questions of property and
propriety come in. Therefore there is a necessary dispersal at
the heart of the narrative, a multiplication of overlapping
codes and images of darkness and submission and a
"no-looking-forward-to" crowd in.
This travel
from a unified linear history in Shashi Deshpande’s work
creates a fundamental urgency — a shifting of subject
positions and of voice and a crumpling of the texture as if the
narrative deals with erasure. Resistance takes the form of
submission which re-enacts the symbolic dismemberment of the
female body, its enforced contortion into other roles than that
of the natural self and the subsequent loss.
The strand of a
displaced individual’s cultural silencing, absence and exile
runs through the collection. Deshpande’s prose in interstial,
shifting on borders of meaning and concerned with the problem of
finding a voice as a sexually, and in one instance even
racially, inscribed "other".
The broken
story-line of "The alien" announces the presence of
the absence in the title itself. It is written in the economy of
the in-between prose, conditioned by an arrival which
incessantly rewrites departure and where living "here"
(in this case London) means inscription on the margins of
"there" where solitude reigns and personal history
falls away. This narration is by an anonymous Indian woman and
her combat with estrangement in a concrete city landscape. Her
rented apartment constitutes a trope of fixity in the story,
establishing a chain of meanings as questions of ontological
boundaries and continuity provide and interface with the
development of her life in London.
Plot
development, however, collapses, increasingly concerned with
individual, especially a woman’s, double alienation in a city
dotted with empty spaces where "a fog would be better than
the nothingness...". It is a narrative in which boundaries
are both policed and disputed, in which the presence itself is
challenged. The apartment, in the story, is emblematic of the
simultaneous imprisonment in an exclusion from a middle class
scale of values. The other reality of a "home"
accessible only in dreams and fantasies, and therefore not
attaining referential status, also remains indeterminate.
The narrative
loses itself in the gaps, troubling the source of voice itself.
All the stories
register the questioning presence of an uncanny male — a
symbolic vector to an authorial desire, emerging in the
interstices of discursive play.
The richness, sensuality and
fluidity of this and other stories is increasingly the condition
for the retreat of the real — the woman falls back on silence.
There is no uprising, as in Kamala Das, little struggle within
the self as in Anita Desai, but only "submission... it’s
the answer" as one of the characters says. Deshpande,
however, in her own unique way, makes a "small dent in the
silence..."
|
|
Vastu, what it
really is?
Review by
M. L. Sharma
Mystic
Science of Vastu by N.H. Sahasrabudhe and R.D. Mahatme.
Sterling Publishers, New Delhi. Pages 180+xvi. Rs 150.
OF
late several useful books on vastu school of architecture have
come out as more and more people have become vastu-conscious
and there has been a constantly growing interest in
vastushastra as well as feng-shui. It goes to the credit of
the authors of the present work that they have provided the
fundamental principles and rationale behind the vastu tenets
and why various vastu flaws are unlucky for the occupants of a
house. They say these flaws can easily be corrected, if not
fully removed, once the principles are fully grasped without
doubt or confusion.
Spread over
17 chapters, the book covers various topics like cosmic
energy, yogashastra concepts in vastu science, vastu dosha
and yogic remedies, vastu jyotisha and energy
concept in temple architecture. The authors, who are
technocrats with post-graduate engineering degrees as well as
expertise in vastu, have made an in-depth study of vastu,
utilising ancient Indian as well as western scientific
knowledge. They have made a three-pronged attack on vastu
flaws by yogashastra, astrological rules and by
vastushastra itself. The book studies vastu from three angles
by providing guidance on astrological rules and the yoga
system besides architectural virtues to promote peace and
harmony in houses, temples and industrial establishments.
The basic
concept of vastu is that the north and east are the most
significant directions and sources of the most invigorating
and elevating cosmic energies. In yogashastra soma (moon),
presides over these directions, correlated with ida or
chander nadi (moon stream) as contrasted with pingala or
surya nadi (solar stream) which has a correlation with
south and west directions.
In astrology
the north and east directions are represented by the first and
the fourth houses while the south and west directions are
denoted by the seventh and 10th houses. The authors recommend
minimum side margins and openings to the south and west
directions and the placing of heavy loading in the south,
southwest and west zones. Pyramids outside southern entrance,
heavy stone pillars in the southwest corner, glass bricks,
lead chains in the west, copper plates in the south, and bhoumi
yantras can be helpful in warding off evil effects.
For boosting
the favourable aspects of the north and east directions, in
case there are blockages, the authors suggest use of mirrors,
exposed lunar shaped water surface, lower level of roofs, use
of marble, more windows, etc.. While a sloped and extended
northeast zone represents "divine sky full of positive
events", an unextended structure in the south increases
negative streams. Enhanced moon stream (ida nadi) connected
with the northeast zone is "a holistic gift" for
harmony and peace and increases "jaivik urja".
Chanting of mantras associated with specific planets ruling
the directions with vastu flaws will also mitigate evil
effects.
The unique
quality of the book lies in the useful remedial measures
provided by the writers in placating the planets by adjustment
in building and other mediums through vastu guidelines. The
bad effects of saturn in the seventh house of the horoscope
could be removed by placing a lead-chain in the western
direction and a copper plate in the south (10th house) ruled
by mars for domestic harmony and happiness. Exposed lunar
shaped water surface or fountain could be of great help since
the fourth house (north direction) in a birth chart is ruled
by the moon, which denotes water.
Crystals (sphatik)
to strengthen venus and precious or semi precious stones
could also be of great help. In the chapter "Vastu dosha
and yogic remedies", the authors have shed light on
the efficacy of several rituals, like arghyadan (cupping
of water in hands and offering to the sun), homa-havan (fire
worship), sudarshan kriya, shakti yoga diksha, pranayam,
vipasana, and soham sadhana.
In the
chapter, "Vastushastra and event manifest", the
authors observe: "The theory of event manifest as in
vastushastra says that the sky is full of events. If a person
locates himself in a flux of energy streams free of
impediment, blockages and friction, the effect of prarabdha
(past deeds) is substantially reduced and his life becomes
full of positive events. The two-stream theory as propounded
in the book shows there is an emerging constant north to south
flux, called jaivik or organic stream, while the other
opposite solar flux is termed pranik stream.
In the
chapter "Energy concept in temple architecture", the
authors have expounded eastern philosophy with special
reference to the five elements — the sky, fire, water, wind
and earth in the order of their finesse or superior virtues.
The higher one controls the lower element. The space or ether
(akasha) is reshaped in the temple architecture through
domes, pyramids, etc. for providing maximum rhythmic response
in order to achieve the desired results. The ether being the
finest of all elements controls the lower levels of existence.
Arti enables devotees to merge their minds with the
wind and the sky to ascend the nirguna (formless) state
from the saguna (with form).
The chapter
"Tantra, mantra and yoga in vastushastra" is quite
useful as there is an exposition of mystic qualities of vastu.
The corrective measures mentioned in the chapter include
recitation of mantras, sounding of bells, sprinkling of water
mixed with rock salt in the house, various tantra practices,
use of crystals and gems besides yantras. Crystals reinforce
the will power of those who use them. Feng-shui acknowledges
them as carriers of divine power.
Some of the
guidelines provided in the book are: the north-south axis
should be longer than the east-west axis, the south-west side
compounds should have stone construction, solid and heavy with
good height, multi-coloured fancy lamps should be fixed on the
north and east walls. These walls should be painted in bright
glossy colours and they should be decorated with paintings of
goddesses or wall papers depicting natural scenes, to increase
the virtues of the east side ventilation from the west should
be limited. Equal ventilation from the east and the west curbs
the flow of harmonious energy; staircases should not be
anti-clockwise and if they are anti-clockwise, make clockwise
arrow designs on the steps.
Grow plants
in the south-west. The planting of trees in the north,
north-east and the east should be avoided. Through reflector
mechanism light should be provided from the east.
Storage room
(where articles in disuse are kept) should be located in the
southwest corner, southern walls should be higher with no
window or doors; the maramsthan (central point) should
have no heavy constructions. Keep bowls or vessels filled with
water in eastern windows.
On a close examination of
various shrines like the Hazratbal in Kashmir, the Golden
Temple in Amritsar, the Haji Ali Dargah and the Mahalakshmi
Temple in Mumbai, the Balaji Temple at Tirupati, etc. the
authors have discovered various vastu virtues. The Golden
Temple is encircled by water which is auspicious. The square
foundation gives stability and strength. The presence of solid
rock on the south of the Balaji Temple with slops towards the
east and north is auspicious. The entrance from the north and
a water pond in the northeast is a virtue according to vastu.
In the Hazratbal shrine north-south length is much greater
than the east-west width which is auspicious.
|
|
Book
extract-II
Afghan break-up is
likely, its impact harmful
This is an
extract from "Security: India’s future."
WHILE
they are potential competitors for power and influence in
Asia, India and China also share common interests in
maintaining stability, exploiting economic opportunities,
maintaining access to energy sources and enhancing regional
cooperation. Many contend that they have far more reason to
cooperate than to collide. Some believe that China would come
to terms with India as a great power eventually (perhaps after
a decade or two of sustained economic growth in India) just as
the USA came to terms with China after decades of attempts to
isolate and contain China started yielding diminishing
returns. There is little doubt that future relations between
India and China, the world’s two most populous nations, are
critical both to Asian and to global security. A lasting
global and regional security structure cannot be built without
finding a place for both China and India. Is it possible to
build a relationship when the past remains so present in the
consciousness of each other?
Asia-Pacific
is not only big enough to accommodate both China and India, it
is in fact too big for any one country to dominate it without
that domination having repercussions at the regional and
global levels. If they cooperate, they can dominate the whole
world, not just the Asia-Pacific. Otherwise, they will keep
counterbalancing each other and might also be used as pawns by
the USA to pursue its own interests. Will China’s Asia
policy move away from the assumption that "one mountain
cannot accommodate two tigers". The vital question is
whether China (and India) will think in terms of cooperative
security and common security to guard its national security or
continue to rely on balance of power. Balance of power
politics is a double-edged sword; it cuts both ways. The net
result is more insecurity. Balance of power-based containment
strategy has led to repeated crises in Sino-Indian relations
(in 1959, 1962, 1965, 1967, 1971, 1987 and 1998).
It was China’s
attempts to contain Japan and India through its contribution
to accelerating the nuclear and missile technology race in
South Asia and Northeast Asia that helped create the context
within which India decided to unveil its nuclear weapons and
Japan decided to opt for the US-backed theatre missile defence
(TMD) in East Asia. Constructing a bilateral relationship
based on common security which jettisons the push and shove of
balance of power politics could be a way out of the security
dilemma. As Andrew Nathan and Robert Ross point out, "The
problem for both the Chinese and their neighbours is to find
the balance point of common interests where security can be
achieved for all." Otherwise, China and India will remain
locked in competition for political, economic and strategic
supremacy in Asia with all the potentially destabilising
consequences for regional security.
As we enter
the third millenium, we see that the relationship between
India and China is at crossroads. Historic rivalries and their
strategic cultures suggest that a fair amount of tension
between these continent-sized neighbours is inevitable. The
success of the ongoing economic reforms could transform India
and China as the economic powerhouses of the 21st century. In
the internatiional status stakes, it is China with whom India
wants to achieve parity. India and China share similar
aspirations towards status and influence, with China having
the lead.
And this
inevitably introduces a more competitive aspect into
Sino-Indian relationship. Asymmetry in international status
and power in Sino-Indian relations serves Beijing’s
interests. Any attempts by India to challenge or undermine
China’s power and influence will be strongly resisted by
China. Therefore, India and China are likely to remain
long-term, if not permanent, adversaries since they both
aspire to be great powers of the future. It is not so much a
clash of civilisations as a clash of the two "Middle
Kingdoms" which had historically dominated southern Asia
and eastern Asia respectively. However, these aspirations
appear to be manageable. Just as the USA and the Soviet Union
did not go to war to counter each other’s power or spheres
of influence, India and China need not resort to use of force
to neutralise each other’s aspirations.
— Mohan Malik
(Australia-based Sinologist) in "India-China
relations in the 21st century"
***
The lessons
for altering the security structures in South Asia today draw
more substance from the harsh reality that militarisation
alone cannot guarantee a nation’s quest to survive. Security
therefore assumes a new meaning for these countries, one that
inter weaves economic potentialities with the desire for
international stability. The individual, his rights and his
power to overthrow a system that denies all these things have
begun exerting their influence upon ruling elites across Asia.
Privatisation may be the buzz word that rings simultaneously
in Islamabad and New Delhi but more than the issue of the
rapid transition to a market economy, it underlines the fact
that the power of the individual to demand more from his
leaders is coming up front on the political agenda on either
side of the border. In an age of mass action and mass
democratisation, for the first, time in Southern Asia, the
chances of the individual being taken note of seriously appear
bright.
It is
axiomatic that India-Pakistan relations will have to reorient
to the changing reality. The old paradigms that governed their
bilateral contacts will have to be dismantled and a stable
working relationship forged if they are to prevent their
isolation from the rest of the world community. For India’s
foreign policy objectives, Pakistan and the sub-continental
affairs will continue to remain top priority items, but they
will have to be part of the global efforts to increase
intedependency in matters of trade, economics, technology and
ecology. India simply cannot get bogged down in
confrontational struggles in the region because cold war
notions of national sovereignty, economic exclusivity,
practices of de-stabilisation, incitement to terrorism, denial
of human rights and repression of democracy have become
outdated and irrelevant. In a world that increasingly becomes
more inter-dependent, the dangers and consequences of lagging
behind the pack far outweigh the advantages of continuing to
practise inter-state relations based on outmoded institutions
and beliefs.
In a fast
integrating world, where economics, trade and technology are
replacing military strength as the currency of international
power, Indian foreign policy has to take these new
"essentials" into account whilst looking for peace
in the sub-continent.
New
beginnings in India-Pakistan relations will have to be made if
the two countries are to take advantage of the unique global
situation in which peace and development have a greater
priority than before.
— Abha Dixit
a Hagne=based researcher on Indo-Pakistan relations
***
Some
description of Central Asian threat perceptions is worth
mentioning. The strategic importance of the region lies in the
fact that it has Russia and China, two nuclear-weapons powers,
as neighbours. Second, the region faces interference and
competition in reaching out to the Persian Gulf and Indian
Ocean through Iran and Afghanistan. Third, the desire to have
security arrangements of a political nature with the West will
be opposed by Russia and China. A summit of the Commonwealth
of Independent States in February, 1995, perceived a major
threat to the Central Asian region coming from the build-up of
military acti- vity in neighbouring countries, particularly
the training of insurgents and separatist forces. These
surrounding countries were also witnessing the creation or
generation of power conflicts and the intrusion of foreign
troops under the excuse of the UN or other peacekeeping
operations.
Apart from
this, it has to be acknowledged that the armed forces and
defence establishments of the Central Asian Republics are now
fragmented after the break-up of the Soviet Union. Their
transformation into national armies is still taking place.
None of the countries has yet completed the setting up of new
command, control, communications and supply systems. They will
also have to put in place new procedures for mobilising
personnel and training them, and for defence production. Nor
have they yet formulated detailed military doctorines, force
deployment patterns and defence policies.
One threat to
the national state structures of the Central Asian Republics
could come from China if their territories were to be used for
"subversion" against it. Another threat could be the
advocacy of pan-Islamic or pan-Turkic solidarity by elements
wishing to challenge the existing socio-ethnic structures. But
this would only succeed if there is total failure in the task
of governance by the existing leadership in these countries.
There is the
question whether Iran poses a threat to the Central Asian
states or to South Asia. Despite all its handicaps, Iran has
the economic capability of becoming a major military power in
the region. It has also undertaken a large-scale programme of
rearmament, and is even reported to be interested in becoming
a nuclear-weapons power with the assistance of China. However,
it is not likely to pose a threat to the security of Central
Asia in the foreseeable future because it seems to be
concentrating on becoming a power centre in the Persian Gulf.
Iran’s interest in Central and South Asia does not presently
have expansionist or military overtones.
There is also
the possibility of the situation on the Tajik-Afghan border
getting out of hand if the civil war in Afghanistan continues.
In that case, ethnic politics of the region will take on
operational manifestations, destabilising the countries of
Central Asia and even affecting their territorial integrity.
There could also be a similar centrifugal impact on Pakistan.
The Central
Asian governments share an apprehension that they will be
inveigled by stronger powers into their areas of influence.
The President of Uzbekistan, Islam Karimov, articulated this
worry in categorical terms on February 24, 1995, in Pravda
Vostoka: "There are those who would like to drag us into
their spheres of influence. They could use any available
method, including military ones. Therefore we must have a
mobile, well-organised and equipped army capable of defending
our borders, our independence and sovereignty."
Another
factor impacting on Central Asian security perceptions is the
fact that Russian military doctrine still considers the
southern, eastern and western reaches of the region as an
integral part of its strategic defence planning. Therefore
Russia could theoretically intervene if it perceives threats
to its interests in this region emanating from any other
source.
— J.N. Dixit’s
"The role of Afghanistan, Iran in Central Asia"
* * *
This country
(Afghanistan) is at present the most volatile negative factor
affecting the security of both Central Asia and South Asia.
That the civil war continues is only the most visible
manifestation of the turmoil there. Its undercurrents in
Afghan politics and their negative implications for regional
security are also matters of concern.
The
objectives of the 1978 Left-of-centre revolution in
Afghanistan, backed by Soviet intervention from 1979 onwards,
would be accepted by many. The revolution sought to bring
Afghans into the 20th century by modernising the economic and
political institutions of the country. While giving due
respect to all important religions, it aimed at creating a
secular, socialist state. It was, however, flawed because the
Afghan people were not ready to accept the changes sought by
the leadership of the People’s Democratic Party of
Afghanistan. Second, these leaders made the mistake of trying
to push through their revolution with Soviet political backing
and direct Soviet military support, thus destroying their
nationalistic credentials.
However, the
present turmoil in Afghanistan is due not only to the failure
of the revolution but also its abrupt abandonment by Mikhail
Gorbachev. Once the PDPA regime led by the late President
Najibullah was overthrown (nearly three years after the Soviet
withdrawal from Afghanistan), the country descended into
anarchy and remains in that state. Afghan politics has lost
its national identity. The mujahideen and the government they
tried to establish in Kabul after Najib’s overthrow were
subject to ethnic contradictions and competitions and
continuing rivalries between the leaders of various factions.
This government was in turn overthrown in 1996, and now the
juxtaposition of forces in Afghanistan is on unabashedly
ethnic lines. The Taliban, backed up by Pakistan and Saudi
Arabia represent the Pushtuns; General Dostum’s forces
represent the Afghan Uzbeks; Ahmed Shah Masood’s forces
represent the Tajiks; and Khalili’s Wahadat group represents
the Shias and, by implication, the Hazaras. The conflict
continues, but peace efforts initiated by Iran are underway,
backed by similar initiatives on the part of the Central Asian
Republics and the UN.
India was
marginalised, as far as Afghan affairs were concerned, from
the end of 1988 to the middle of 1990, the period when Soviet
troops withdrew and successive mujahideen regimes were being
installed in Afghanistan. This was the consequence of India’s
involvement with the previous Soviet-backed PDPA regime. But
by the middle of 1991, India had re-established contacts with
practically all the significant mujahideen leaders,
culminating in a good working relationship between its
government and that of President Rabbani. The dislodging of
Rabbani’s regime by the religiously fanatical Taliban forces
backed by Pakistani militants is against Indian political and
security interests.
If the
initiatives of the UN and Iran do not succeed and the civil
war between the ethnically based military forces in
Afghanistan continues (a possibility which cannot be ruled
out), the likelihood is a break-up into three states. Southern
Afghanistan will become Pashtun, and northern Afghanistan will
break into two states belonging to the Uzbeks and the Tajiks.
Portions of the country can even get affiliated to Iran,
Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, generating tension and conflict in
Iran and Central Asia.
The existence
of a Pashtun majority state abutting Pakistan’s North-West
Frontier Province and Baluchistan can give rise to assertive
politico-ethnic movements in Pakistan, generating impulses of
fragmentation in the Pakistani polity also. The impact of such
a development on India’s stability and security needs no
elaboration. Basically, any success of ethnic, linguistic or
religious forces in fragmenting a plural society or state in
India’s neighbourhood would generate similar fissiparous
tendencies in the Indian republic, placing in danger the very
difficult experiment that India has been engaged in for the
past 50 years, that of sustaining India as a plural, secular,
democratic society. The impact of the break-up of Afghanistan
on Central Asia and Iran could be similar because even Iran
has its ethno-religious minorities concentrated in potentially
separable parts of that country.
India’s
long-term well-being hinges on a comprehensive national
security vision and strategy. India needs to remove a major
deficiency in its security planning by developing a clear-cut
strategic doctrine. The country cannot fully concentrate its
energies and resources on economic development if it is
constantly concerned about its external and internal security.
Nor can it play an important role beyond the subcontinent if
it continues to lack adequate defences against external
aggression, overt or covert. A unilateral desire for peace
cannot buy India security. That is the lesson of the 1962
invasion and of Kargil. Enduring peace can come only if the
nation is strong and has the required capabilities to deter
aggression.
As India
enters the new millennium, problems relating to governance are
haunting its future. Political stability and decisive
leadership have emerged as the crying needs of the country.
India has been wracked by a growing crisis of leadership,
underscored by rising cynicism at home and declining Indian
influence in international affairs. If India is not to be left
behind in the world, it will need to start taking hard
decisions. It needs leadership that provides vision with
courage and can help convince the nation that tough decisions,
even if they bring pain in the near term, are essential to
build a strong, prosperous India.
— Brahm
Chellaney, in "Looking ahead"
(Concluded)
|
|