In Kannada, ‘Kathege Kaalilla’, is an age-old way of recognising the endless possibilities of a story. Mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and uncles fulfilled a child’s insatiable thirst for stories, the ‘kathege kaalilla’ way. The story told yesterday had new twists today and tomorrow new characters entered with new journeys. The same old story sounded fresh and original every single day of its narration.
The translation of Jnanpith award winner, Chandrasekhar Kambar’s stories for children, When the Wind God Fell Sick and Other Tales (translated from the Kannada Marave Marmarave by Krishna Manavalli) has this refreshing quality. Kambar, a fine storyteller with language and narration that is unique to him, keeps making additions — the magical, the fantastical, the mythical and the mystical. For instance, in one of the stories, there is a raging storm and the grandmother knows how to calm it. Following her grandmother’s instructions, the young granddaughter walks through the storm to the banks of the river, a driverless boat takes her across where a chariot awaits her, which takes her through several ethereal landscapes…. to eventually find the wind god who is sick because of all the pollution in this world.
The lovely story crosses over to different worlds to tell the story of pollution, bad air quality and the need for us greedy humans to heal the sick wind god. He says, through the story, that a beautiful world is like a beautiful marriage where you must care for each other. This is also the magic of Kambar, where, without much ado, he can tell you how (in both the mythical and the real) there were people in this world who lived in harmony with nature and could therefore ‘see and tell’, alongside disharmony. To understand life through the world of stories, Kambar finds it imperative for the coming together of the real with the folk, the mythical and the magical — one that is beyond what the world values as ‘sense’. To see sense, one must make these mythical departures.
Kambar, in his Author’s Note, begins with a bunch of stories; he narrates a story that tells us trees are children of the gods Shiva and Parvati, and another which narrates how human greed destroys nature. An incorrigible storyteller, Kambar says he listened to plenty of stories as a child and they were a part of the “rich folk imagination of his culture”.
While the native north Karnataka folk tradition remains at the core of his creativity, the microcosmic Shivapura that figures in his writing is not shut off from the changes in the outside world. “Shivapura mirrors the whole world to me,” he says. In this collection of captivating stories, it is evident that “social, moral, and ecological values are already instilled in folk culture”, connecting the animate and inanimate worlds, portraying an inseparable bonding between humans and nature. Hence, as Krishna Manavalli rightly notes: “The urge to save the environment is not modern or something we have imbibed from the West.”
The collection has seven stories and all of them are equally mesmerising. Pushparani (Flower Queen), is an enchanting story of a wood nymph who marries the king. She speaks the language of birds, can turn into a flowering tree and is innocent about the world of riches and power. Her strong commitment to nature and animals and how she influences the king and his people to view nature ethically form the crux of the play. The Bamboo Bride is a wonderful story of a tree spirit who falls in love with a basket maker. The Coal King’s Wedding is yet another heartwarming story celebrating the love of an innocent young man, facilitated by the guardian demon of the forest.
Kambar’s world is full of ghosts, demons, supernatural elements, and magical powers… keeping you entirely hooked to this supernatural world.
The translation by Krishna Manavalli is delightful, easy to read and bound to interest young readers. For children of today who are unaware of this rich world of folk characters, where gods rub shoulders with humans, this book is a treasure.
INTERVIEW
'The child in me is very much alive!'
In a quick chat with Krishna Manavalli, Chandrasekhar Kambar spoke of folk culture and ecological awareness, matters closest to his heart. Excerpts
You maintain that folk cultures were eco-conscious. Did they feel this concern with such immediacy as we must?
Our folk people also lived through the vagaries of Nature. They looked at the skies and sensed a storm brewing. They foresaw the rains fail by the way the winds blew, they knew when the river would be in flood — folk people had to understand and live as a part of their natural ecosystem. Such anxieties made them value their environment. Besides, they also had some visions. They were trying to warn the future generations of what was coming. Above all, they were trying to teach us to cherish this environment and relate meaningfully to both the human and non-human worlds around us.
What made you write this for children in particular?
As a writer, I feel this sense of responsibility. I want to talk to the young adults. What's more, the child in me is still very alive, even today, at the ripe-young age of 86! I think that it is imperative to shape the minds of our young people. Many of us writers begin writing young. Therefore, my aim is not only to make my young readers become ecologically aware but to also stimulate their creative energy. I offer them dreams, memories, and the fund of folk wisdom embedded in these stories. I am overjoyed that this translation reaches out to young adults of all regions and cultures. It will pass on to them the delight, instruction, and above all, the flavour of North Karnataka folk literature.