Making a bigger world - physically, intellectually and morally

By Carl Muller

As I mentioned in one of my previous articles we can now deal with the Renaissance - a century of expansion - from 1500 to 1600. Three essentials brought this about: the new age of discovery, the Renaissance and the Reformation. As you know, Renaissance stood for the Revival of Learning, and that made a good beginning in the reign of Henry VII in the 15th century.

Then came Henry VIII, Edward VI and Mary in the 16th century, and from 1509 to 1559 arose the war of English religious independence. It was under Elizabeth, however, that the period of literary achievement took off, unequalled in the annals of man.

We had the 15th century Greek scholars who fled to Italy when the Turks captured Constantinople. In Italy, these scholars became tutors, telling of and teaching the literary masterpieces of Greece that Europe seemed to have forgotten for a thousand years.

Suddenly, the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey”, the works of Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Pindar, Theocritus, Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato and Xenophon were “rediscovered” and it launched the Renaissance - also known as the “New Birth” in Italy.

From there it spread to become the mark of every well-educated person to read, write and speak Latin and also know Greek. What is more, the scholars also brought to Italy the Greek Testament, and that started off the translation of the Scriptures, becoming a powerful aid to the Reformation. All the old medieval forms of university education came apart.

Who pioneered the Renaissance in England? Among many others, there was Thomas More - and they all wrote in Latin. John Colet founded St. Paul’s School.

Thomas Linacre wrote a Latin Grammar that is still referred to as the “Eton Latin Grammar” and Sir Thomas More wrote a Latin book on sociology that is among the world’s classics. He modelled it on Plato’s “Republic” and told of an ideal state that was given the name “Utopia” - meaning “No Place”.

It was the great Dutch scholar Erasmus, who was teacher and leader of these pioneers who began to call themselves “humanists”. Erasmus, you must remember lived for several years in England. By 1520, almost 90 percent of all the books sold in Oxford were written by Erasmus and they included a religious treatise, “Enrichiridion” in the 1540s and a Latin book for beginners, “Colloquia” in 1546

So what did we have? All of cultured England was turning to Italy, and I want to tell you of two men who gave to us the birth of the English sonnet and blank verse. Sir Thomas Wyatt discovered the sonnets of Petrach and introduced their form into English literature.

The sonnets were poems of 14 lines of iambic pentameter, divided into two parts of eight and six. Wyatt also introduced a personal note, something that had never been previously considered in English poetry.

Together with Wyatt, there was Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who also made an important contribution by writing blank verse in iambic pentameter. It was this measure in which, later, Shakespeare’s plays, Milton’s “Paradise Lost”, Wordsworth’s “Excursion” and Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King” were also written.

Surrey (as he is called) translated Virgil. He was a soldier, was once arrested for eating meat during Lent and for using his crossbow to break windows.

Henry VIII had him beheaded because he feared that Surrey might wish to seize the throne, but it goes deeper than this for, as we know, Henry VIII married Surrey’s cousin, Catherine Howard.

The joint work of Wyatt and Surrey was an inspiration. Other great poets followed, and there were so many that the England of queen Elizabeth was said to be “a nest of singing birds.”

We will run through this new wave of literature next.

Beyond the greener pastures

By Don Dayapala Wijewardana

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When the phone rang at 2 am I knew it was either a cranky insomniac pressing random numbers on his phone or some urgent news from home. Half asleep, I grabbed the phone. It was my sister Nita from London. “Is that you Neal? I just had a call from Uncle Walter in Sri Lanka. I have bad news”, Nita burst out with her voice breaking.

I realised then this may be the dreaded telephone call I hoped I would never receive. “Is it mum?”, I asked with my hands trembling. I knew she was admitted to hospital earlier that week. Without answering Nita burst out sobbing. The next ten minutes, perhaps more, we spent without many words but each one taking the blame for leaving Sri Lanka allowing mum and dad to spend their sunset years helplessly alone.

Nita left for London with her husband many years ago. She was able to do so without a sense of guilt leaving the parents as I was still there. But several years later when I was offered a position in New Zealand I was faced with a dilemma.

In every respect it was a great opportunity. And as my wife Tania took pains to explain, it was even more important for the sake of our children. I didn’t need any convincing: but I did not have the heart to leave my parents.

Eventually it was my mother who persuaded us to go. “We are alright here Neal. We have very good neighbours and we have enough means for a

comfortable living. You have the whole life ahead of you and need to think of the future of these children”, and she noted somewhat cheerfully, “We can keep in touch regularly over the phone and could even visit you sometime”.

“Who knows, if the place is good, perhaps mum and I could come over to live there”, dad added. I knew that whether they meant these or not, they did not want to stand in the way if we wanted to leave. With that I could no longer muster any more counter arguments against Tania’s.

It is now almost ten years since we moved to New Zealand. In that time mum and dad have visited us twice. But the house we bought with a separate unit meant for them did not lure my dad to live up to his world. In a way I did understand them.

Plucking them away from their familiar environment and their friends could have shattered their lives. I thought it was cruel to push them to stay with us like birds in a cage. But often we do not see beyond the greener pastures when lured by the opportunity to live more comfortably.

Now I feel I have paid the price for abandoning them. Some say that parents in developing countries have children as an insurance against old age. I wasn’t so sure of the idea but now I think we had reneged on my parent’s insurance cover.

Both our families were in Sri Lanka for the funeral. After about a week Nita went back to London. Tania too left shortly after, as our elder children could not afford to miss school for long. But I did not join them which would have meant leaving dad alone.

At the same time I knew I could not stay away too long from my job and my family or persuade dad to come with us knowing his past reluctance. Perhaps out of guilt, but more due to lack of a solution, I decided to stay back a bit longer along with our three year old son, Sahan.

It is now more than two months since mum’s funeral. In that time dad has hardly talked to anyone. He sits all day in his usual chair in the lounge looking out of the window rolling his thumbs in a rhythm painful to watch.

Sometimes tears roll down his cheeks. He wipes them with his palms. I look the other way not to embarrass him. I see how much his body has deteriorated during these two months. He looks tired and hunched. I invited uncles, aunts, neighbours and even the monk from the temple to talk to him but none of it made any difference.

“We all feel just like you dad. But this is her karma. It is a natural process. Each one of us has to take that route one day. But in the

meantime life has to go on. You need to pull yourself together”, I berated him once in desperation. But immediately after I regretted it. After all it was his wife and companion that he lost. Although it was my mother too I lived thousands of miles away. Anyway all that was to no avail.

With a lot of persuasion I got dad to come along with us to a nearby playground which had become a favourite place for Sahan. There Sahan was able to ride on the swing, jump on the trampoline and slip down the slide. He loved every minute of it. But his favourite was the flying fox.

A big sign in red says it was for children over ten. At his persistence I lifted the tiny bundle on to it at the top end and give a slight nudge which carries him all the way to the other end. I run down following him to catch him half way when he returns from the rebound.

I noticed dad quietly watching all the manoeuvres of Sahan without any comment or involvement. And when we returned home it was straight to the same seat and the same routine.

Our walk to the playground has now become a daily routine. That was the only way I could keep Sahan happy. Dad also joins us often without much persuasion. Sahan sometimes walks with dad holding his hand talking incessantly and bombarding him with questions.

Dad hardly responds to them but that does not deter Sahan. One day I was busy and Sahan went to the playground with dad ahead of me. When I arrived around half an hour later I found Sahan on top of the slide urging granddad also to join him. I saw him initially reluctant but Sahan

kept egging him on. “Come on Seeya you can do it”, he was urging granddad using the only Sinhalese word he knew. Watching from a distance I saw dad slowly walking up to the ladder, grab hold of the top rung and gradually lifting his frail body up to the first tread. I was horrified what would happen if this 75 year old fell, but decided not to intervene. Sahan kept on encouraging him all the time as if dad was a younger sibling. “Be careful Seeya. Hold on tight. If not you will fall”.

After another five minutes or so dad lifted the other foot and climbed to the second rung of the ladder. From the grimace on his face it was clear arthritis was making the climb very painful. But he kept on, with long rests in between. All the time Sahan was guiding and praising him.

After about half an hour (it seemed much longer to me) he cleared the last step and climbed on to the top of the slide. Now there was only one way for both of them to come down - sliding down. I was even more worried about what could happen. Sahan was giving more instructions.

“Now I will go first and you come immediately behind me Seeya. If it gets too fast push your feet onto the sides and that will slow you down. Be very careful”.

I rushed to the bottom end of the slide agonising over what was going to happen. It took some time for Sahan to persuade dad but eventually the two were ready for the plunge. Sahan came down first. He did not attempt to slow down and virtually crashed on to me standing at the end.

Dad followed with some delay, almost tumbling but reached the bottom safely. For the first time since mum died he was laughing along the way. “Seeya, did you also go on the slide when you were little?”, I heard Sahan asking that evening at home. Dad laughed and laughed. This was the second time for the day he laughed.

“During our time there were no slides like this, darling”, he replied. “The closest to a slide we had was to sit on a branch from a coconut tree and slide down hill slopes. It was very exciting and often we ended up with many scratches on the body” and they both laughed together.

I was amazed at how a three-year old accomplished something that adults have been trying unsuccessfully for months. During the days that followed dad and Sahan spent a lot of time together. They went for walks, worked in the garden and in the evenings, dad read stories to Sahan. Dad now hardly sat in his usual chair watching the road or rolling his thumbs.

All this time Tania kept on telephoning from New Zealand, almost on a daily basis, asking when we were coming home. My boss had been enquiring about me and I knew he was expecting me back at work. Sahan used the telephone opportunity to brag about his daily escapades to his mum and siblings.

I kept on assuring her it would not be long before we returned. But how long? I did not know. I was truly between a rock and a hard place. One evening it was dad who brought up the question of our return. “I love having you guys around but how can you stay here like this? You need to get back home.”

I was pleased that he was alive to what was going on. “I know dad we have to get back. But .....” I did not know how to complete the sentence. “Yes I know. Perhaps I could come with you and be with Sahan when you two go to work. I could take him to the playground too”.

Then only I realised the closeness of the bond that had developed between Sahan and dad.

Sahan captured my own sentiments when he responded to the suggestion: “It’s cool dad if seeya can come with us.”

Amrita Pritam - Ethical, didactic and romantic

Amrita Pritam was born in 1919 in Gujranwala, Punjab, now in Pakistan. She was the only child of a school teacher and a poet. Amrita’s mother died when she was eleven. Soon after, she and her father moved to Lahore.

Confronting adult responsibilities, she started writing poetry in her teens under the influence of her father and became the proud author of a collection of poems, Amrit Lehran in 1936.

Such was the grip of the muse in her soul that she churned out half a dozen collections of poems in as many years between 1936 and 1943. Amrita Pritam is an eminent Punajbi poet and a prolific writer. She has written twenty four novels, fifteen collections of short stories and twenty three volumes of prose.

She is considered the first prominent female Punjabi writer and poet. When the former British India was partitioned into the independent states of India and Pakistan, she migrated to India in 1947.

Amrita was not a highly educated woman, not exposed to good writing in languages other than Punjabi, nor sophisticated enough to add new dimensions to her own. She was besotted by Bollywood and believed getting one of her novels or short stories accepted by a film-maker was the ultimate success.

All her stories and novels were sob stuff and uniformly second rate. Her first collection was published when she was only sixteen years old, the year she married Pritam Singh, an editor to whom she was engaged in early childhood, but it was not successful.

After her divorce in 1960, her work became more clearly feminist. Many of her stories and poems drew on the unhappy experience of her marriage. Amrita Pritam was at her best in Sunehe (Messages) published in 1955 in which she mixes the romantic and the sentimental within with the progressive callings outside.

A number of her works have been translated into English, French, and Japanese and other languages from Punjabi and Urdu ,including her autobiographical works Black Rose and Revenue Stamp (Raseedi Tikkat in Punjabi).

The tone of her poetry was ethical, didactic and romantic, clouded in platonic overtones, with a degree of elasticity in form and diction.

Her works have been defined as a ‘woman’s lyric cry against existential fate and societal abuse’, and have been widely translated. She was conferred the D.Litt. degree by five universities. She is the first woman recipient of the Sahitya Akademi Award and was honoured with Padma Shree in 1969.

Two of her novels have been made into films. She received the Vaptarow Award and the Bhartiya Jnanpith Award. She was the voice of Punjabis all over the world.

Amrita Pritam lived the last forty years of her life with the renowned artist, Imroz. She died on 31st October 2005 at the age of 86, after a long illness, survived by her daughter, Kundala; her son, Navraj; and her grandson, Aman.

Compiled by Ishara Mudugamuwa

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