Touched with fire

by Doris Lessing

I would like you to imagine yourselves, somewhere in Southern Africa, standing in an Indian store, in a poor area, in a time of bad drought.

There is a line of people, mostly women, with every kind of container for water. This store gets a bowser of water every afternoon from the town and the people are waiting for this precious water.

The Indian is standing with the heels of his hands pressed down on the counter, and he is watching a black woman, who is bending over a wadge of paper that looks as if it has been torn out of a book. She is reading Anna Karenin.

She is reading slowly, mouthing the words. It looks a difficult book.

This is a young woman with two little children clutching at her legs.

She is pregnant. The Indian is distressed, because the young woman's headscarf, which should be white, is yellow with dust. Dust lies between her breasts and on her arms. This man is curious. He says to the young woman. "What are you reading?"

"It is about Russia," says the girl."Do you know where Russia is?" He hardly knows himself.

The young woman looks straight at him, full of dignity though her eyes are red from dust, "I was best in the class. My teacher said, I was best."

She is bending again over the book. She reads slowly but the paragraph fascinates her and she reads it again.

"Varenka, with her white kerchief over her black hair, surrounded by the children and gaily and good-humouredly busy with them, and at the same visibly excited at the possibility of an offer of marriage from a man she cared for, looked very attractive.

Koznyshev walked by her side and kept casting admiring glances at her. Looking at her, he recalled all the delightful things he had heard from her lips, all the good he knew about her, and became more and more conscious that the feeling he had for her was something rare, something he had felt but once before, long, long ago, in his early youth.

The joy of being near her increased step by step, and at last reached such a point that, as he put a huge birch mushroom with a slender stalk and up-curling top into her basket, he looked into her eyes and, noting the flush of glad and frightened agitation that suffused her face, he was confused himself, and in silence gave her a smile that said too much."

This lump of print is lying on the counter, together with some old copies of magazines, some pages of newspapers, girls in bikinis.

It is time for her to leave the haven of the Indian store, and set off back along the four miles to her village. It is time... outside the lines of waiting women clamour and complain.

But still the Indian lingers. He knows what it will cost this girl going back home, with the two clinging children. He would give her the piece of prose that so fascinates her, but he cannot really believe this splinter of a girl with her great belly can really understand it.

Why is perhaps a third of Anna Karenin stuck here on this counter in a remote Indian store? It is like this. A certain high official, United Nations, as it happens, bought a copy of this novel in the bookshop when he set out on his journeys to cross several oceans and seas.

On the plane, settled in his business class seat, he tore the book into three parts. He looks around at his fellow passengers as he does this, knowing he will see looks of shock, curiosity, but some of amusement.

When he was settled, his seat belt tight, he said aloud to whoever could hear, "I always do this when I've a long trip. You don't want to have to hold up some heavy great book." The novel was a paperback, but, true, it is a long book.

This man is well used to people listening when he spoke. "I always do this, travelling," he confided. "Travelling at all these days, is hard enough." And as soon as people were settling down, he opened his part of Anna Karenin, and read.

When people looked his way, curiously or not, he confided in them. "No, it is really the only way to travel." He knew the novel, liked it, and this original mode of reading did add spice to what was after all a well known book.

When he reached the end of a section of the book, he called the airhostess, and sent it back to his secretary, travelling in the cheaper seats. This caused much interest, condemnation, certainly curiosity, every time a section of the great Russian novel arrived, mutilated, but readable, in the back part of the plane.

Altogether, this clever way of reading Anna Karenin makes an impression, and probably no one there would forget it.

Meanwhile down in the Indian store, the young woman is holding onto the counter, her little children clinging to her skirts. She had put on the heavy woollen skirt, part of traditional garb of her people: her children can easily cling onto it, the thick folds.

The young woman is smiling as she moves on, the dust blowing in her face. I am clever, she thinks. Teacher said I am clever. The cleverest in the school - she said I was.

My children will be clever, like me. I will take them to the library, the place full of books, and they will go to school, and they will be teachers - my teacher told me I could be a teacher. They will be far from here, earning money. They will live near the big library and live a good life.

On goes that poor girl, held upright by thoughts of the water she would give her children once home, and drink a little herself. On she goes ... through the dreaded dusts of an African drought.

You may ask how that piece of the Russian novel ended up on that counter in the Indian store? It would make a pretty story. Perhaps someone will tell it.

We are a jaded lot, we in our world - our threatened world. We are good for irony and even cynicism. Some words and ideas we hardly use, so worn out have they become. But we may want to restore some words that have lost their potency.

We own a legacy of languages, poems, histories, and it is not one that will ever be exhausted. It is there, always. We have a bequest of stories, tales from the old storytellers, some of whose names we know, but some not.

The storytellers go back and back, to a clearing in the forest where a great fire burns, and the old shamans dance and sing, for our heritage of stories began in fire, magic, the spirit world. And that is where it is held, today.

Ask any modern storyteller, and they will say there is always a moment when they are touched with fire, with what we like to call inspiration and this goes back and back to the beginning of our race, fire, ice and the great winds that shaped us and our world.

The storyteller is deep inside everyone of us. The story-maker is always with us. Let us suppose our world is attacked by war, by the horrors that we all of us easily imagine.

Let us suppose floods wash through our cities, the seas rise ... but the storyteller will be there, for it is our imaginations which shape us, keep us, create us - for good and for ill. It is our stories, the storyteller, that will recreate us, when we are torn, hurt, even destroyed. It is the storyteller, the dream-maker, the myth-maker, that is our phoenix, what we are at our best, when we are our most creative.

That poor girl trudging through the dust, dreaming of an education for her children, do we think that we are better than she is - we, stuffed full of food, our cupboards full of clothes, stifling in our superfluities?

I think it is that girl and the women who were talking about books and an education when they had not eaten for three days, that may yet define us.

Courtesy: www.nobelprize.org

Saga of a Revolutionary: Santiago Fernando

Name of the Book: Warnakulasuriya Santiago Fernando

Author: W. T. A. Leslie Fernando

Publisher: International Book House

by Professor A. D. P. Kalansuriya

Mr. W. T. A. Leslie Fernando, former High Court Judge, with an aptitude for literary taste, this time brings out an anthology of 18 well-written authoritative papers and articles relating to interesting themes that cover the career of Santiago Fernando (W. A. S. A. Prananda) his father.

The writers are but eminent scholars, administrators, politicians, academics, Catholic fathers, editors and journalists. The discourse is about the Marxism-oriented rebellious Roman Catholic Sinhala teacher from "Little Rome" or Negombo whose "forthrightness is manifested in his teaching life, political spectrum, writing skills, religious affairs and social activity" (p. 41). Former S. L. A. S. officer, Merrick Goonaratne writes an admirable foreword to this work.

It is said that "to live in the hearts of those who love is surely not to die". This well-known saying is logically appropriate only to men of stature characteristic of Santiago Fernando.

Today we appreciate and pay tribute to him owning to this unique degree of eminence. Every chapter in this worthy book makes explicit at least one such unique characteristic.

Now our attempt is to follow this methodology. On p. 30 Vernon Boteju JPUM comments: "Santiago Fernando carved for himself a niche in the political history of Sri Lanka by his commendable and dedicated service for more than half a century to the people of Negombo in particular and to his motherland at large. (p. 30) His service, very specially, was to the downtrodden which in turn immortalised his name.

Santiago's noble service began in 1935. After studies in USA Philip Gunawardena arrived in England and joined the Marxist movement there. He had to face some serious obstacles form the British government as well as from the colonial regime in colonial Ceylon because of his revolutionary activities.

When the atmosphere was rosy, Philip arrived in colonial Ceylon in 1935 and formed a Marxist political party, namely, Lanka Samasamaja Party. "Santiago Fernando", writes Minister Dinesh Gunawardene, "though a Roman Catholic to the bottom of his heart, was committed to the indigenization of the church" (p. 18) on the one hand and on the other a passion for the Sinhala language, Sinhala literature and poverty alleviation of the downtrodden in Sri Lanka.

The last item became Santiago's central aim and he was one of the pioneers of this noble struggle. This commendable noble service ran for half century. To take refuge in the Marxian revolutionary ideology, Santiago was plagued by the steady drift of the Catholic Church in favour of the rich landlords and industrialists who exploited labour and the poor masses of the country (p. 34).

So observed Vernon Boteju. Although Marxism preached that "religion is the opium of the masses". Santiago from "Little Rome: (or Negombo) answered this uncomplimentary remark from the Church by rightly quoting the words of Jesus Christ: "Come unto me all ye that labour and heavily burdened. I shall give ye the rest."

Not only was Santiago Fernando a revolutionary but he was also an illustrious teacher as exposited in various papers of this worthy book compiled by Leslie Fernando.

He was nick-named "Shanthi Gurunnanse", most probably for his magnanimous quality as a glorious teacher. It is said that the Catholic Church resented Sinhalese at the beginning.

Over this issue, Santiago sarcastically remarked in his articles to "Lakmini Pahana," "Dinamina" to the effect that "the Catholic Church performed the Holy Mass in Latin because God cannot understand Sinhala." In this connection there is a timely piece of information in this anthology. For instance in 1937, it was the practice of the members of the State Council to speak in English. Santiago assorted seven bundles of grass and sent out by train as a Christmas gift from Negombo to the 07 ministers of the then State Council. "It was reported that the Ministers disclaimed them, each saying they were for the others" (p. 50). Calistus Jayamanne, SLAS officer confirms this point in his essay (p. 46).

Well known writer and journalist Basil de Silva in his paper says that Santiago was an enthusiastic member of the "Hela Haula" of Munidasa Cumarathunga. Santiago preferred to call himself "Wa. Sa. Pranada." (p. 52). To Rev. Fr. Ernest Poruthota, Santiago is a "Samasamajist saint" who reacted to his opponents in a calm disposition like a saint" (p. 14). Norbert Manatunga, award winning Catholic writer notes as to Santiago Fernando strongly advocating Sinhala and Tamil be made church languages and not Latin and English. Again "he called for Sinhala hymns, prayers and liturgy at Holy Mass so that the spiritual services were intelligible to the masses" (p. 94).

His thinking as well as activities were well ahead of his time which proved the superior vision he inherited. Basil de Silva writes; "The determination of the Vatican council II (1962-1965) which brought about far reaching changes in the Catholic Church, and later events proved that Santiago was far ahead of the church in Sri Lanka and that his stand was the right one" (p. 59).

Ven. Horathapola Palitha Thero, Incumbent, Ariyabodhi Viharaya draws our attention to this point very logically: "Santiago was destined to be a man who inspired revolutionary changes in the political arena, social field and the Catholic Church in our country" (p. 03). However the Church turned around to apologize for the unfair treatment of Santiago, much later in his life. To my own view, this is certainly noble and magnanimous on the part of the Roman Catholic Church in Sri Lanka.

For instance, firstly "in 1987, Rt. Rev. Dr. Nicholas Marcus Fernando, Archbishop of Colombo conferred the honour 'Kithu Nandana Pranamaya' on Santiago in appreciation of the services he had rendered for over half a century as a Catholic writer towards the resurgence of national culture and its development establishing his identity in the field of politics and social development" (p. 84). Secondly, Leonard R. Mahaarachchi, Editorial Staff 'The Sunday Times', takes notice of Santiago as a "rebel ahead of his times" (p. 86). Thirdly, the last funeral rites were performed at St. Sebastian's Church, Sea Street, Negombo by Fr. Oscar Abeyrathne, though Santiago was a conspicuous critic of the Roman Church.

Santiago Fernando was characteristically a fascinating, enchanting and compassionate father to the compiler of this estimable book, Mr. Leslie Fernando (pp. 98-109).

He takes the opportunity to narrate with pinpoint accuracy how this good father managed the family with a meagre salary from the teaching profession. Although he was a Catholic, the children were taught not only Christian hymns but also pure Sinhala songs. A special mention is needed to exposit Santiago's selection from revolutionary Buddhist monk, Ven. S. Mahinda (p. 98).

Last but not least, the paper entitled "Reminiscence of a son" written by Santiago's illustrious son, W. T. A. Leslie Fernando, Former High Court Judge and prominent literary figure needs honourable mention. At p. 109 Leslie Fernando Observers: "Father, if I were to be born again in this sansara, let I be your son over and over".

Expressly noted here is the boundless affection of a son to his loving father. This is an enterprising statement because a Roman Catholic himself from "Little Rome" enweaves sansara and rebirth which are but key Buddhist concepts.

Fragrance of rural life

Title: Kavuma and Kokisa

Author: C. Abhaya Tenne

by D. G. Sumanasekera

Kevuma is a popular nickname among the Sinhala children for somebody with an unusual or unpleasant face with a protruding nose. But, of course, in the book Kevuma has got his nickname through one of his pranks.

Kokisa, perhaps is a coinage by the author taking a cue from the coinage Kevuma. The first two short stories relate how Kevuma and Kokisa earned their nicknames. The incident depicts true rural life, fast vanishing, yet surviving in the deep rural Sri Lanka.

The first story also gives a vivid picture of how people enjoy the Sinhala New Year. It is not written as a mere description of the celebrations but rather as a chain of events that highlights the cultural values on which traditions perpetuate.

The characters depicted in the stories other than those of Kevuma and Kokisa too are in some respects similar to them, in that they too are living a carefree life roaming around the village.

One may have a critical view, in this respect, and find that this collection of short stories brings about only one facet of village life. On the other hand, the fast urbanization of the village has changed its perspective and this book brings out the beauty of the real village life.

A characteristic of the book, one has to admire, is the style of writing. It should be mentioned that the style of writing has made it effortless reading. The author who was born in the village, Tenne in the remote Matale District is still familiar with the traditional rural jargon.

In fact some of the words used by the characters in the book would be unfamiliar to the reader. Conscious of this fact the author has taken care to include footnotes to explain the meaning and usage of such words.

Kevuma and Kokisa, on the whole, is fascinating reading material with a lot of rural fragrance depicting the social relations of the carefree rural folk.