Temptation and Fear

I`m strongly tempted to leave
The claustrophobic exam-hall,
As one by one,
My fellow candidates stream out,
Across the vast hall,
With their answer-scripts,
Lying on their vacant desks,
‘Don`t take your answer-scripts with you;
Or else you`ll get zero marks!’
I`m amused by the wise, ironic words,
Of the genial invigilator,
Counseling humorous caution,
To the early leavers.

‘Why can`t I follow them out?’
I ask myself,
Feeling smug at the knowledge,
That I`ve already answered,
The whole question-paper,
To my heart`s satisfaction,
But fear re-slips into my heart,
Spoiling my sense of self-complacency,
And impels me to doubt myself,
‘What if I`ve made more mistakes?
Why shouldn`t I stay a little longer
and recheck it?’

And I re-examine my answer-script,
And kill my time,
Between many a temptation,
And many a fear….

Teaching English at Government Schools

While I was schooling, I remember, it was when I had entered the third grade that I began to study English at the school. Of all that I was taught then, all I can remember now is Muru, the Nigerian lad, and Taro, the Japanese lad and Mr.Wolf, the time-keeper(or was he Mr.Wulf?) At the very beginning, now I see, it was a monumental failure. Our English teacher could hardly inspire us to learn English, the foreign subject, with enthusiasm. I am not certain whether it was her fault or mine that I started to hate studying English almost as soon as I had begun to learn it. At the time, I think, none of my peers was genuinely interested in studying the damned subject, either.

What I want to emphasize here is that it is easy to begin with the beginning only if a particular English teacher is equipped with sound teaching skills and the ability to inspire the beginners in addition to adequate academic qualifications. Bungle it all at the starting point and the forty odd students in the classroom would squander years before they are able to grasp the basics of English language they are supposed to understand at the outset itself. If the worst comes to the worst, some of them would never really be able to make it to the required level.

The challenge is then up to those who train government school teachers at various training colleges and academies. Given the English language skills of the majority of children from the outstation schools, and the ever rising failure rate of students at the G.C.E. O/L English paper, I really doubt the effectiveness of those training programmes/courses designed to equip the teachers with sound pedagogical skills. Also, a great many of English teachers from government schools I know are only really interested in sticking to the text books and cover the syllabi within the pre-determined time frame. The last thing they seem to want to accomplish is to inspire students to learn this beautiful language. New teachers, I am aware, are only too willing to follow the ways of their senior counterparts. Or it is also possible that they reserve their teaching skills for the tuition classes conducted by them in the after-school hours. In Kuliyapitiya, my home town, I know there are a couple of guys who continue to practise this apparently under the aegis of the principals of the schools. I suppose so because whereas it is public knowledge that they continue to engaged in this little action has been taken against these fellows.

Getting back to the beginning, I must admit that I picked up something from all those who taught me English up to my O/Levels. And it would be both incorrect and unethical for me to say I learned nothing from them. Also, what I had gained from them was certainly helpful to me when I started to study English in depth and more systematically. But, I remember, while at school, my peers who had some English background ie. children of teachers and of other white-collar professionals were at a definite advantage over me when it came to learning English probably owing to the fact that neither of my parents knew the superior tongue. Had my English teachers been able to convince me that I had to study English as a language and not as a subject and there was a great deal more to it than just to score higher marks at the term tests, I would have learned English much sooner than I did, in reality.

It is not that I bear the pessimistic view that all the English teachers of all the government schools are perfectly incapable of teaching English, but that I see the majority of them only really aim at completing the syllbi in time. They do not seem to mind whether students learn English or not. However, my letter will hardly be impartial unless I admit that there are teachers who are really doing a great job. But the sad fact is that they are very rare and constantly run the risk of relegating themselves to the position of their more practical counterparts. Therefore, it necessary to teach all these teachers to teach students and also to learn from the latter to teach them better.

A Magnificent Tale of High Adventure and High Seas

Fiction: Birds of Prey
Author: Wilbur Smith
Macmillan/Pan Books
Price: £ 5.99

“The boy clutched at the rim of the canvas bucket in which he crouched sixty feet above the deck as ship went about. The mast canted over sharply as she thrust her head through the wind. The ship was a caravel named Lady Edwina, after the mother he could hardly remember……….”

”The scope is magnificent and the epic scale breath-taking…Wilbur Smith is one of those benchmarks against whom others are compared…”, says The Times. And having read this splendid story, certainly, I cannot help agreeing with what it says in spite of its high flown language.

Sir Francis Courtney, a Nautonnier Knight of the Temple of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail, is an English privateer carrying a Letter of Marque signed by Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, the Lord Chancellor of England, in the name of His Majesty King Charles II and authorizing him to hunt down the ships of the Dutch Republic, with which England was at war; his crew in the caravel, Lady Edwina, comprise Hal or Henry Courtney, his only son and Aboli, a remarkably loyal black slave, and Ned Tyler, the boatswain and some ruffian, belligerent tars.

After about 65 days of waiting in the high seas, they capture ‘De Standvastigheid’ or ‘The Resolution’, a galleon belonging to the Dutch East India Company and navigated by Colonel Cornelius Schreuder. She carries in her holds a rich cargo of spice, of oriental timber and of bullion. Further, the Governor Incumbent of the Cape of Good Hope, Petrus van de Velde and his nymphomaniac young wife Katinka happen to be among the passengers on board the opulent galleon. Having confiscated the entire cargo, Sir Francis Courtney then goes on to hold them to a whopping ransom of two hundred thousand guilders in gold coins. Colonel Schreuder is dispatched with the letter demanding ransom money back to Holland on board Lady Edwina, now stripped of all her fire-power…

The story running into 774 pages is a magnificent tale gripping the readers` attention with its vivid descriptions of blood-curdling sea battles, of exotic landscapes, of African wildernesses teeming with ferocious beasts, and of erotic encounters between Katinka and her numerous lovers including Hal.

And Smith writing in the third person never spares his readers of the most gruesome details of ruthless killings and savage executions. The heroes, however, are but a little less evil than the villains. Clearly the legitimized piracy leads to justifiable blood-shed from which the civilized people recoil as they do from an adder or a mamba.

However, in Birds of Prey, as in all other Wilbur Smiths, what surprises me is his use of English language. His remarkably lucid and almost lyrical writing reflects an extraordinary command of English language backed by the limitless word-power of a very rich vocabulary. With metaphors and similes coming naturally to him, he writes so easily, so effortlessly that I almost begin to envy his talent for writing fiction. And we see him switching among the role of correspondent, of historian, of philosopher, of barbarian, and, most wonderfully, of poet. The novel is as much about love, loyalty, trust, glory and friendship as it is about insatiable greed, distrust, virulent hatred, gross betrayal and barbarism.In fact, this wonderful mélange of disparate and/or contradictory natures with which the novel is shot through from the first page to the last one is vintage Smith. The following passage from the novel certainly bears irrefutable testimony to Smith’s extraordinary talent for writing.

“The fabled flat-topped mountain seemed to fill most of the blue African sky, a great cliff of yellow rock slashed by deep ravines choked with dense green forest. The top of the mountain was so geometrically level, and its proportions so pleasing, that it seemed to have been designed by a celestial architect. Over the top of this immense table-land spilled a standing wave of shimmering cloud, frothy as milk boiling over the rim of a pot. This silver cascade never reached the lower slopes of the mountain, but as it fell it evaporated in mid-flight with a magical suddenness, leaving the lower slopes resplendent in their clothing of verdant natural forest…..”

If you prefer to improve your vocabulary through reading fiction, then this is a novel you cannot resist; or if you have a natural penchant for gutsy adventure stories, you will be tempted to read it for hours on end. Certainly, without a rich receptive vocabulary, it will be a little difficult to comprehend Smith’s writing. But what I am even more certain is that once you read Wilbur Smith, you begin to love his writings!

A Fascinating Tale of Tide Country

Book: The Hungry Tide
Genre: Fiction
Author: Amitav Ghosh
Price: Rs. 200.00

“They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?”
Robert Frost-Neither Out Far Nor In Deep

“Kanai spotted her the moment she stepped onto the crowded platform: he was deceived neither by her close-cropped black hair, nor by her clothes, which were those of a teenage boy-loose cotton pants and oversized white shirt. Winding unerringly through the snack-vendors and tea-sellers who were hawking their wares on the station`s platform, his eyes settled on her slim, shapely figure. Her face was long and narrow, with an elegance of line markedly at odds with the severity of her haircut. There was no bindi on her forehead and her arms were free of bangles and bracelets, but on one of her ears was a silver stud, glinting brightly against the sun-deepened darkness of her skin…..”

Piyali Roy, an American cetelogist of Indian parentage arrives in the Sundarbans, an immense archipelago of islands on the easternmost coast of India, between the sea and the plains of Bengal to do a survey of the marine mammals of the Sundarbans. Kanai Dutt, a sophisticated Delhi businessman too happens to visit the same area for personal reasons. The two protagonists are joined by a third Fokir, an illiterate but proud local man whom Piyali hires to guide her through the backwaters, as she is on the track of rare river dolphins. It is Kanai who becomes the translator between them. And here the tide begins to turn…..

Amitav Ghosh, the author, was born in Calcutta and spent his childhood in Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and northern India. He studied in Delhi, Oxford and Egypt and has taught in a number of Indian and American universities. He has also authored The Circle of Reason, the Shadow Lines, In an Antique Land, The Calcutta Chromosome, Dancing in Cambodia, At Large in Burma, Countdown, The Glass Palace, the Iman and the Indian.

The main characters in the novel are Piyali Roy, the American cetelogist; Kanai Dutt, the Delhi businessman and Piya`s translator; Fokir, Piya`s guide; Nilima Bose, the social worker and the founder of Badabon Trust; Moyona, the ambitious worldly-wise wife of Fokir; Tutul, the child of fokir and Moyona; Horen, Fokir`s uncle; Kusum, the late mother of Fokir; and Nirmal Bose, a political radical and the late spouse of Nilima Bose. The last two are perhaps the most important characters of the novel, because, although they are both already dead, in the flashbacks, they are frequently referred to. Also, Nirmal`s notebook, bequeathed to his nephew Kanai shortly before his death threading through the same plot sheds light on the political history of the Sundarbans even if it appears to be an insignificant personal account written by a failed revolutionary in his senility.

Blending imagination with myth and embellishing fiction with poetry from Rainer Maria Rilke, a great German poet, Ghosh in lucid, poetic, if a bit formal Indian English narrates a superb story. Quite unlike a Dan Brown, The Hungry tide flows as slowly and as rhythmically as water on a river. But, it has its own tides and ebbs, rises and falls, and peaks and troughs. The languid fury of water whose outburst causes destruction beyond imagination is masterfully depicted throughout the novel. The last message/warning is both sharp and clear: no matter how intelligent, how industrious, how ingenious man is. In his dealings with Nature, it is damned foolish of him to seek to have the upper hand. Man is but a miniscule, utterly insignificant part of Nature. Or a mere strand of one gigantic web. If Nature wills it to happen, it will happen whether man likes it or not.

In the novel, obviously, the pathetic lot of humanity is in sharp contrast to the all-powerful Nature, the destroyer and the preserver. It is the tides and the ebbs that rule the tide country. It is the flood that makes or mars it. That is why Ghosh writes:
“……At low tide, when the embankment is riding high on the water, Lusibari looked like one some gigantic earthen ark, floating serenely above its surroundings. Only at high tide was it evident that the interior of the inland lay well below the level of water. At such times, the unsinkable ship of a few hours before took on the appearance of a flimsy saucer that could tip over at any moment and go circling down into the depths…...” Can anything else be more eloquently symbolic of the vulnerability of Man and all his inventions with which he tries to defy the Nature?

Be that as it may, man should always count his blessings and does not have to be overwhelmed by the power and the force of Nature. Still, compared against the infinity of Nature, man has little to proud himself upon, either. I remember a few Shakespearean lines.
“….Man, proud man,
Dress'd in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assure'd –
His glassy essence - like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep….”

The power the flood wields over the Sundarbans reminds me of Shelly in ‘Ode to the West Wind’ which I have already alluded to:
“… Wild spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and presever; hear O hear!....”

The simple wisdom of the god-fearing, if illiterate, rustic, Fokir saves Piya`s life when the tsunami strikes home. His bravery and generosity, exemplified in the sacrifice of his own life to save a foreigner cannot help but touch the readers` hearts. Fokir, in his own way, that is by worshipping Bon Bibi, the protectress, he willingly submits to Nature`s will. Maybe he knows little about conservation of marine life. But, then, he knows how to live in harmony with Nature not against it. It might strike a chord of sentimentality to say that he transcends all others-Piya, Kanai, Nilima, Moyona and others in the ultimate sacrifice he makes in the end; nevertheless, it is obvious that an ordinary man can hardly do such a thing.

Also, in the novel, Ghosh places side by side the necessity for conservation of wild life and the human cost of it. The moment one side of the equation get smaller or greater than the other, the balance is tipped and the problems arise. Like the human-elephant conflict in our country, the dilemma is ever-lasting. Because of this conflict of interest, the situation worsens by the day. In conclusion, I believe, Ghosh has written a remarkable novel. I certainly feel privileged to have enjoyed it.

I stopped at the solitary summer-hut

I stopped at the solitary summer-hut
Beneath the large mango tree,
And waited for my friend to come,
My heart singing with glee.

With the soft rays of the morning sun peeping,
I felt no great heat;
Delighted was I over the thoughts of the friend,
Whom I was now going to meet.

Fancy nursed my heart’s sweet hope,
And set my passion ablaze;
The sequestered summer-hut, being so pleasantly shaded,
Was a splendid place.

Perched on a branch, I heard a bird sing,
A melodious murmur of love;
I asked myself over and over again,
‘Why`re you getting late, my dove?’

Up the road when I saw you come strolling,
Beaming at me with such pleasure,
I felt my heart stop for a moment,
With happiness beyond measure!

A Yell in Retrospect

For Gowri Pathiraja

“….If you are the wind`s leap,

I am the buried fire….”

Octavio Paz-Motion

I stared, frozen with terror,

As she spewed out,

A terrible torrent of invective,

And marked ignorant terror,

On the onlookers` faces.

Burning with rage,

At the public humiliation,

I walked off, I remember,

With a spiteful apology,

Muttered through the gritted teeth,

‘I`m sorry to have troubled you here!’

Swearing to myself,

Never to forgive her,

Never to look at her again.

But now your yell lies on my memory,

Thin, feeble, almost dying

Sans its inflammable venom:

The thickest cloud,

Can only obscure the Sun;

Only for a moment.

A Masterpiece of Sri Lankan War Literature

Book: The Road from Elephant Pass

Genre: Fiction

Author: Nihal de Silva

Vijitha Yapa Publications

The guerilla war waged by the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) for a separate state for Sri Lanka`s Tamil community against the government security forces and lasted for nearly three decades and dragged to a close on May 18, 2009 with the killing of the movement`s leader, Velupillai Prabhakaran is arguably the most significant event in our post-independence history.

No doubt, it led to unthinkable carnage both in and outside the battle-field and took the lives of many great men. At the same time, it wrought irreparable damage to the socio-political fabric of Sri Lanka. Its influence on our political landscape, economic climate, social discourse, education, culture and literature is remarkable more for worse than for better.

When it comes to the influence of this ethnic strife on our literature, two English novels stand prominent among a host of other books, both of which have been awarded with the Gratiaen Prize offered by the Gratiaen Trust established by the Sri Lankan born Kanadian author, Michael Ondaatje after winning the Booker Prize for his novel, ‘The English Patient’. Those two novels are ‘Sam`s Story’ by Captain Elmo Jayawardene and ‘The Road from Elephant Pass’ by Nihal de Silva. The latter draws even more on war and its influence on the individual as its plot is unraveled. Also, it was awarded with the State Literary Award in the same year (2003). Incidentally, it is a tragic irony that Nihal de Silva himself was killed in a land-mine blast at Wilpattu National park.

De Silva, the author is a product of St. Joseph`s College, Colombo and the University of Ceylon. He ran his own business dealing in the purification of water and the supply of mineral water. Starting with ‘The Road from Elephant Pass’, he delivered three novels in three successive years. Although this was his maiden novel, it earned him both the Gratiaen Prize and the State Literary award in 2003. In the words of Prof. D.C.R.A. Goonethilleke, an eminent scholar in Sri Lankan Literature in English, “….he (Nihal de Silva) is a phenomenon embodying the essence of recent efflorescence of Sri Lankan literature in English…..”

The novel starts with Captain Wasantha, the narrator of the story and one of the two protagonists of it waiting for a woman, a senior tiger activist, who, his boss Major Kiriella says, has vital information and wants to negotiate a deal with the government army. Reluctantly though, the former takes up the assignment of picking up her from a checkpoint at Palali and taking her to Jaffna. Kamala Velaithan, his charge, turns up but much later than he expects her to. Perhaps, it is her delay that changes their lives so dramatically. With her revelation that the tigers are to launch an all-out offensive against the army camp at Elephant Pass, it all turns darker, harder and more dangerous for both of them, for the woman soldier accompanying them and for Piyasena, their driver. Practically stranded in the hostile terrain, Captain Wasantha has little choice but to follow advice offered by Kamala to whom it is no alien landscape. But, is this woman tiger all that trustworthy? Is her information so reliable that he should undertake a perilous trek through the dense forests of Wilpattu National park to take her to Colombo via Puttlam?

Set against one of the darkest periods of our recent history, ‘The Road from Elephant Pass’ is a novel where the ruthlessness and the brutality of the ever-worsening conflict is in sharp contrast to the human values like love, forgiveness, kindness and compassion. It tells us how people forced by the irreconcilable circumstances take up arms against their brethren on the other side and imperil themselves to pursue the elusive dream of a separate motherland. In a sense, it manages to estimate and explain the human cost of conflict while occasionally hinting at the hypocrisy of the leaders on either side, which is totally discordant with the lofty ideals they pretend to stand for.

The author, it seems to me, has a comprehensive understanding of the reasons that stoked the burning conflict on either side. He is aware of the inevitable consequences of the riots in July 1983. He is aware of the upshot of dirty politics of the narrow-minded leaders from the South hell-bent on self-aggrandizement. He is aware of the difficulties encountered by the government armies as they fought the Tamil tiger rebels. In short, he is aware that, in the final analysis, the country`s ethnic problem has political roots.

With his thorough understanding of the nature and the scale of the country ethnic strife and with his remarkable ability to devise ingenious plots and tell marvelous stories, Nihal de Silva has a written a great novel, which, by any standard, is a masterpiece of Sri Lanka`s war literature. I am certain few readers will dispute the validity of the citation awarding it the Gratiaen Prize and delivered by the panel of judges-Shermal Wijewardene, Priya David and Lakshman Gunasekera:

“For its moving story, for its constant feel of real life, for its consistency of narrative momentum, for its descriptive power, for its dramatic use of dialogue to define social context, capture character psychology and trace the development of a relationship, for its convincing demonstration that resolution of conflict and reconciliation of differences are feasible through mutual experience and regard, and last though not least, for its eminently civilized handling of the last degree of intimacy between a man and a woman, our choice for the 2003 Gratiaen Prize for creative writing in English is, unquestionably, ‘The Road from Elephant Pass’ by Nihal de Silva.”