The rural and tribal life in our country still revolves around the elemental forces of nature. Myths and legends formed around such a beautiful life – the oldest of which in the course of time had gone into the making of our itihasas and puranas – play a central part in the belief systems of a vast majority of our people.
On the other hand, climate change, the latest in the list of extreme natural phenomena spawning disasters, on the lines of what is described in Amitav Ghosh’s non-fiction work The Great Derangement and his novel Gun Island, and the recent upset in the pattern of the arrival and duration of our traditional seasons, speak to us of the disharmony visa a vis human life and nature that is rampant in our country. This is an inevitable corollary to modern “development.” Such modern concerns are also brought up importantly in When the Wind God Fell Sick and Other Folk Tales.
Here, we must remind ourselves that our country has an unbroken tradition of worshipping nature as represented in our literatures from the earliest times to the present, and through our folk performance arts and oral traditions. Our rural culture, where grandmothers narrate mythical tales and legends to their grandchildren, keeps this collective folk imagination alive.
Making children aware citizens
The translation of the Jnanpith award winner Kannada playwright, poet, and fiction writer Chandrashekhar Kambar’s book is a collection of folktales and a play meant for children and young adults and also for adults. Krishna Manavalli, the illustrious translator, selected the tales (including the one about the flower queen which was later adapted into the play) from Kambar’s Kannada collection Marave Marmarave (Trees Whisper).
The book begins with Kambar’s “Author’s Note”, which conveys the essential ethos of this work. The opening paragraph gives the reader a taste of this folk ethos: “In folk literature, environment simply means trees. Of course, there are also stories about rain, wind, and clouds. What is more, there are stories that see trees as gods on Earth.” Then, Kambar describes how these folktales shaped his imagination from early childhood. He strove to forge his own indigenous style during the otherwise Westward-looking Kannada “Navya” (modernist) movement. Although the well-spring of his creative imagination is his North Karnataka folk tradition, he “respond[s] crucially to the contemporary global contexts of our existence.” Therefore, Shivapura – Kambar’s Wessex, Yoknapatawpha or Malgudi – is not isolated from the changes that are taking place all around.
This sense of relevance, a connectedness with the present, and a deep awareness of the past are at the core of his writing. Besides, Kambar believes that his work must reach not only the academics but even ordinary people. This aim is most pronounced when he writes for children. He takes special care to introduce children to social, cultural, and even political concerns.
What comes next is the “Translator’s Note.” Krishna Manavalli begins by opening up the concept of cultural translation. She expands the idea by referring to some recent research in translation studies, such as Valerie Henitiuk’s notion of a “translated reader”. This notion of a translated reader throws up visions of many exciting and explorative cross-cultural journeys that a reader of a translated text embarks on. The travel across time, space and language afforded through translation to a young reader waiting to experience the adventurous and unknown worlds would be unique and new. “In fact, these fascinating myths and folk tales of Karnataka speak importantly and urgently to the smartphone-savvy and social media-connected younger generation of our times,” she feels.
Further, Krishna goes on to point out how the environment and folk culture are closely connected. The violence and urge for self-destruction humans are prone to are countered by the “creative and life-giving forces” of folk literature. Her choice of stories represents this primary concerns in Kambar’s work, “[to] reach this crucial message to children from multiple cultures and places.”
In Kambar’s tiny village, Ghodgeri in northern Karnataka balladeers, drama companies, bayalatta troupes and parijatha groups often visited. His mother Chennamma was “a storehouse of folktales” She narrated tales from the epics and folklore involving trees, animals, gods, and fairyland-like places. He grew up to be a young writer here and sharpened his skill of storytelling in this rural folk land. Krishna’s translation seeks to “bring all these splendid elements of Kambar’s work to the global English readers of the younger generation and to all who are young at heart.”
In this instance, Krishna highlights two challenges that she faced in the translation. First: Kambar’s folk Kannada, replete with rich native rhythms. Second: the need to adopt a target language that is simple and accessible to children. She avoids using detailed endnotes and a lengthy glossary which would mar the reading experience. Instead, she wants the young readers for whom information is available literally at their fingertips now “to actively participate in the meaning-making process.” In addition, they must “translate themselves into the Kannada folk worlds.”
The forest and the city
First in this collection is the play The Tale of the Flower Queen followed by the folk tales. The Flower Queen follows the typical plot of a folktale. Besides, it is heavily accented towards the protection and preservation of trees, This modern trope blends smoothly with the general tone of the tale. There is a kingdom in which trees are treated as national treasures. When the enemy king attacks, our king defeats him. On his way back finds a forest nymph who can turn into a tree. Pushparani (Flower Queen) is the daughter of a wood nymph whom the old forest guard had picked up as a foundling infant and given foster care. The king falls in love with her and seeks her hand in marriage. He returns to his palace with her. The Senior Queen who is cruel, artful, as well as barren, takes an instant dislike to Pushparani. When the latter becomes pregnant with an heir, the Senior Queen plots her death.
The play is an exhortation to stop felling forest trees and desist from killing animals. Unlike Shivapura city, where the palace is situated and also houses cruel and vicious people like the Senior Queen, the manservant Gunavanta and the Senior Queen’s confidante maid Kanishta, the forest has kind people like the guard, benign birds like the mother parrot and the five-coloured parrot and thousands of concerned and caring birds and animals who rush to the rescue of the Flower Queen when she is in danger. In the end, the change of heart brought about in the Senior Queen illustrates the unique human capacity to change and reform and leave evil behind.
All the stories here establish a link between the forest and the city. In addition, Kambar stresses the necessity of collective living as demonstrated in this play. For example, the story, “The Coal King’s Wedding,” is again about cutting trees. Lazy Boy, who is too lazy to remember his real name and is too kind to fell trees, is ordered by his father to fetch wood for making coal. However, an old woman/She-demon (in reality the goddess of the forest) appears to help this boy at every step. The idea of the preservation of trees is extolled through this story. In “The Bamboo Bride”, a young man who makes a living by weaving baskets attracts the love of a lovely female tree spirit. There is a twist involving a wicked priest in the end who is defeated by this Bamboo Bride.
On the other hand, “Daughter of the Kino Tree”, is about Lucky, a kino tree sapling turned into a girl. Brought up by the Curd Granny of the village she brings happiness and plenitude wherever she goes. She marries the ruler of the region, Desai. But when a great disaster strikes the kingdom of Desai, the reasons for this turn of events must be investigated by the Curd Granny.
Two brothers in a poor family living together grow up, with the elder marrying a rich woman, while the younger one marries a poor orphan in another story “The Mystery of the Third Pumpkin.” A sparrow builds its nest on the roof. When it is thrown off by the monsoon wind, the nestling sparrow falls to the ground injured. The couple nurses it back to health and lets it go. In this story, the kindness shown to the bird leads to rewarding the righteous younger brother.
“Gullavva and the Lord of Rain,” begins by informing us that it is a “true-life” event that happened ages ago in the village Shivapura and even to this day the villagers worship the heroine and hero of this story. The beautiful Gullavva weds the Lord of Rain, who brings prosperity to the village and makes crops flourish. But trouble brews when Bhupathi, a ruffian with a retinue of a thousand thugs, wants to marry her. To prevent the Lord of Rain from descending to Earth, Bhupathi has all the trees of the Earth felled. A severe drought ensues. The story is about the consequences of this act. Do not cut trees, lest rains cease to shower; preserve the forests and the environment. This is the strong message in the story.
“When the Wind God Fell Sick,” begins as an exchange between a grandmother and her two granddaughters, Kashi and Kanagale. The conversation is centred around a storm raging at that moment. The granny tells her grandchildren that the Wind God, who blesses them with gentle breezes, has gone horribly sick owing to the wickedness of man. Man reduces lakes and rivers into sewers. The Wind God turns mad and sweeps up all this rubbish that we heap up, gets infected with the pollution, and gets sick. The granddaughters set off to this god’s palace to nurse him. The moral stands out plain and simple: do not poison your environment and foodstuffs with chemicals and pesticides. Do not pollute rivers, lakes, and water sources. When you volunteer to take care of someone, do not shy away from pain and difficulty. Be caring, forthright and fearless
The stories, told in a simple and direct narrative style appeal to children from anywhere in the world. The fairy-tale mode and the leap of creative imagination it calls for, and the vibrant language all come alive in these works. Krishna Manavalli’s spectacular success as a translator is evident in the way this magic is recreated in the idiom she has fashioned for this purpose. Indeed, I feel that she has successfully invented a special idiom to communicate with the target audience – young readers – working out equivalences between the rhythms and resonances of north Karnataka’s folk Kannada in the verses, especially in the play. At the same time, she succeeds in keeping the prose parts in the stories as simple and as idiomatic as possible.
When the Wind God Fell Sick and Other Folk Tales, Chandrasekhara Kambar, translated from the Kannada by Krishna Manavalli, Rupa Publications.
