In 1958, one year after the establishment of the Royal Nepal Academy, Laxmi Prasad Devkota led a delegation of Nepali writers to the literary conference in Tashkent. This was the first significant cultural encounter between Russia and Nepal. The impact of this conference, and of Russia as a more developed nation than Nepal, which had just opened itself up to the world in 1951, remains a culturally phenomenal event because of the perspectival tilt that it created in the vision of the poet who was versed in Western literature and civilization. At a time when the intellectuals of the world were involved in discussions about the East and the West, Devkota was thinking about the North and the South, about Russia and Nepal, and trying to understand the cultural and economic disparities between these two nations. Devkota's English prose is eloquent on this Russian experience, which is expressed in bold and rational appraisal of communism that applies science to life rather than depend on fate for human fulfillment. This paper attempts to understand some of the essays he wrote originally in English in the light of his foreign trips, especially the one to Tashkent.
There is no doubt at all that Devkota's travels outside the country contributed to his growth as a writer, to the refinement of his thought, and to the reinforcement of his conviction that modern literature has a powerful utilitarian function in the life of the society and the nation. Three trips to foreign countries made between 1953-1958 are of special importance in this context. First, Devkota attended the Fourth World Youth Festival in Romania in August 1953 and had the opportunity to exchange views with youths of many nations. During this tour, he also visited Switzerland, Hungary, and Bucharest. On the 24th of August 1953, he visited Russia, where he stayed in Moscow for two days. From there, he travelled by train to Eastern Russia. On October 1, 1953, he went to Peking, China. Then, on October 5, he went to Hong Kong, Uhan, Nankin, and thence to Calcutta. He returned to Kathmandu in the last week of October 1953. His second important trip was to Delhi in 1956. There, he led a delegation of Nepali writers to attend the Asian Writers' Conference and gave a speech to the effect that all literatures of the world are one in essence. Finally, in 1958, shortly after the removal of his cantankerous duodenum in Calcutta, he led another delegation of Nepali writers to attend the Afro-Asian Conference in Tashkent, the former capital of Russian Turkistan. After that, he went to Moscow via Azarbaijan. He stayed in Moscow for twenty-eight days. He was physically examined in a hospital in Moscow where he stayed for some time and wrote several essays in English, which Mr. Ilya Redko helped publish and obtain remuneration with which he bought gifts for his children at home and paid other expenses.
L. Aganina, a Russian scholar of Nepali literature, records a few titles that were published in Russian translation during this time: "Mountain Cataract" (pahadi nirjhar), "Crossroad" (dobato), "Rice, Lentil Soup, and Mustard Stems" (dal-bhat duku), "Rest-plinth" (chautaro), and "In Moscow" (maskoma) (316). "We Nepalese" was one of the poems published in the collection of literature by writers who attended the conference in Tashkent.
There is little in Nepali literature that narrates the Tashkent experience. Madhav Ghimire's article titled "Those Days of Ours Are Gone!" makes a point worth noting:
As soon as we arrived in Tashkent, we were busy attending the conference and meeting writers from various nations. In front of the conference building, among many flags of Africa and Asia, our national flag with its emblems of the sun and the moon was fluttering. In the conference hall, we were treated as equals to all the representatives of other nations. In that flag, Nepal was as big as other countries; in that conference, Nepal was equal to the rest. Nepal was certainly not small. In what was Nepal inferior? (186)
In his article titled "A Noble Mission," Mao Tun, the editor of the monthly Chinese Literature, recalls the Navoi Theatre where the flags of more than forty nations fluttered on the roof. In Navoi Square, the newly built Tashkent Hotel was imposingly grand, he recalls, and reminds us that Tashkent was once a stop on the Silk Road (148).
The Chinese perspective on the Tashkent Experience is recorded in Chinese Literature 1 (1959), which devotes fifty (143-193) out of a total of 246 pages to "The Tashkent Spirit." This section of the magazine contains the "Appeal of the Asian and African Writers' Conference to World Writers" (143-146), which was unanimously passed at the plenary session of the Conference on Oct. 13, 1958. The goals and visions of the conference are spelled out clearly to writers and intellectuals who represented 1,500 million people all over Africa and Asia:
We have met in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbek SSR, inspired by our faith in the future of our people and our literatures, inspired by the lofty ideals of peace and friendship among the nations of the globe. We are unanimous in our conviction that literature is closely linked with the destinies of our peoples, that literature can flourish only in conditions of freedom, independence and national sovereignty and that the elimination of colonialism and racialism are a prerequisite for the full development of literary creation. (143)
The appeal goes on to explain that the themes of "our" literatures are human right, freedom, and dignity. It also declares, "literary and cultural creation is possible only in conditions of freedom" (145). Its stance against imperialism and colonization is firm and lucid:
While we the writers of Asia and Africa wish to strengthen our cultural contacts with all countries in the world, including the western countries, we reject the division of culture into superior and inferior, eastern and western. We shall strive, therefore, for the inter-relation of all cultures and for the preservation of the entire precious store of world culture. We repudiate the attempts of imperialists and colonialists to divide and disrupt our ranks and affirm our unity on common ideals and common aspirations. We call upon you the writers of the world to raise your voice against all human wrongs, against wrongs done to individuals and wrongs done to peoples—the wrongs of injustice, colonialism and exploitation. And we wish you to sing of the lofty qualities of man, of freedom, and of hope for the future of all our peoples and the peoples of the rest of the world. We writers are the conscience of the people. We are responsible for the fate not only of contemporary humanity, but of the future generations as well.
It is clear from this declaration that the Tashkent Conference was a step against imperialism and colonialism. Writers and intellectuals (from Burma, India, Indonesia, Uganda, Senegal, and elsewhere) had found a common enemy in imperialism and colonialism, which they denounced. They were there to raise a voice against racism and exploitation, against discrimination of all sorts, and against the ravages of war. They were in quest of world peace.
And that is why individual writers and intellectuals of all nations fully agreed with this appeal. S. Ousmane, a writer from Senegal who attended the Tashkent Conference, writes:
Before the conference met, the Western capitalist press said that it would attack and depreciate Western culture whether English, French or Italian. But the truth is no hostile feelings were shown at the Tashkent Conference to any national culture, Western or otherwise. All were regarded with equal friendliness. ("From Our Guest Book" 192-3)
He also informs us that writers from Italy, Turkey, Brazil, and France attended the Conference as observers (193).
This was the spirit of unity among writers and intellectuals at the Tashkent Conference. On October 22, 1958, the Soviet government gave a reception for the delegates in the Kremlin. N. Khruschov, the then Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Soviet Union, defined the Tashkent Spirit in the following words:
By this term you mean friendly mutual understanding and collaboration among the masters of culture of the various peoples in the struggle for the great aims of mankind, the firm link between the writers and the lives of their peoples, the active participation of literature in the struggle for the freedom and independence of your countries and in the building of the new life where freedom and independence have already been won. (Tun 150)
Thus, the Tashkent Conference was "on the path of the development of world literature" (150). Responding to this notion, Ananta Toer from Indonesia, defined the writer's function: "The writer is the engineer of the soul. I hope the decisions of Tashkent will be a starting point in the shaping of the soul of Asia and Africa" ("From Our Guest Book" 189).
Devkota had already been shaping the soul of Nepal. Some of the ideas that floated in the Tashkent Conference reinforced his belief in universal humanhood and in the necessity of fighting injustice not only in one's own country, but also all over the world. A serious question Devkota faced was how writers, who continue quarreling among themselves, could lead a nation to its intellectual dawn. In several of Devkota's essays written originally in English, he compares and contrasts Russia with Nepal and studies what is missing at home. Impressed with the technological and scientific development of Russia, he compares the Nepalis with the Russians, wonders why such differences exist between human beings, and suggests that Nepali writers unite to improve the quality of life in Nepal.
Let us now take a closer look at some of Devkota's English essays.
An essay titled "The Sputnik" is about the Russian satellite 2 b launched in 1957. It celebrates human victory over physical forces and interstellar space while rejoicing in human potentialities. In Nepal, Tenzing's conquest of "terrestrial altitudes" once created a sensation. In Russia, the launching of the satellite has excited "expectation of future miracles of science." It has generated "shocks to [Nepali] priestcraft" because man's "thaumatergic brains" has shown a capacity to compete "with the mystic symbol of Infinite Intelligence." The poet sees
the gates of a new world and a new age fly open for the living and the on-coming generations to enter into…. Lunar estates; astral holidays; space marvels; cosmic phenomena; miracle rays; Space Travel Guides and agencies; neutral zone charts; firmamental aerodromes; and what not!
To put it briefly, Devkota sees in the sputnik not only a scientific miracle but also transformation of man's awe of God into "an awe of his own miraculous potentialities." This transformation can also be dangerous for humanity, says Devkota:
Yet God or Intelligence guard him on his perilous way! For he has angers and appetites, moods and morbidities, which, as habitually operative in the sphere of human or international relations, may lead to the battle of jealous giants resulting in terrific clashes. Even the natural instinct of Fear may lead to the most undesirable consequences.
In a way, these lines recall to mind the fate of Hiroshima and Nagasaki while almost foreseeing the cold war of the 1960s and after between the two superpowers of the world.
While the poet appreciates the materialistic humanism of Russia and speaks highly of the application of science to social organization and everyday life, in "The Philosophy of Silence and Inaction" he is very clear about his personal stance vis-à-vis Materialistic Philosophy.
But with all my appreciation of this applied Materialism, which implies more humanism than we know in practice with all our high-sounding principles, I have a personal belief in the existence of a human spirit, a non-material inner personality embodied in the physical frame, which is immortal and continues to live beyond the grave!
Instead of the materialistic West and the spiritualistic East, tilting the axis by 900, Devkota talks of the antipodes of the Marxist and materialist North and the spiritual South.
While the mystic fog of spiritualism has retarded scientific and technological growth in the South, the negation of spirit in the North is not acceptable to Devkota. He seeks a way to attain "perfect equilibrium" between science and religion, between reason and mysticism, within his own heart and writes:
From an eclectic standpoint, the fundamental essence of all existing Religion is Humanism, and it can be distilled by Reason out of all gospels and holy books! This element in practical application to social life must produce the highest culture and the ideal society!
Yet, this is exactly what religion has not been able to do and what scientific materialism has been able to achieve in Russia, he says.
As long as living is more important than dying, there is no problem in this. However, when faced with death, people do consider the possibilities of after-life. This is when liberation or emancipation of the soul becomes a major consideration and its conversion from geeba to Shiva, the Good of All, must be realized. Devkota writes:
The possibility of Liberation depends upon its nature, the degree of its refinement and its realisation of Godhood! The Spirit works through Silence: Mauna! It comes through Silence and passes away through Silence, leaving the material case aside, into the unknown, to attain its final peace in the Being of God…. And when the soul is in a perfectly correct mood, it flies like an invisible bird from its cage, liberated from all worldly desires and struggles! Your external actions must cease.
But he also admits that he does not know whether such things actually happen. Therefore, he says that he must "practically apply the principle of Silence to these questions! For they cannot be answered."
Devkota concludes by identifying two types of people. Given the possibility of returning to the world to go through the hardships of life once again, the philosophers of peace (the spiritual people) would not like to come back to this life again; but, the philosophers of struggle (the scientific materialists) would be willing to return. Devkota's choice is clear:
Up till now I feel I should like to come back through death to serve my people and my State! Only when all decide against my active presence here, I shall take the alternative, I believe!
Devkota is indeed a strong nationalist and the bulk of his literary oeuvre is informed by this sentiment. Aganina testifies to this: "I had seen him not as a detached observer but as a person who was very concerned for the future of his country, for the future of the whole globe" (317). In "The Muscovite and the Kathmandu Wight," Devkota compares the opposite poles of Kathmandu and Moscow, of the South and the North, of the Himalayas and the Urals. In Kathmandu, where spiritualism, Brahminism, and Buddhism prevail, monarchy tags on. Private entrepreneurs, landlords, and mill owners still exist. Moscow is the capital of a progressive materialistic state governed by the proletariat. Kathmandu is the "oldest of worlds" with its tantras and religious mystic arts. In this antique city religion flourishes, while science starves. By contrast, gods and priests have been eliminated in the gigantic modern state so that science flourishes and there is abundance of everything. Modern architecture presents beauty and utility. Here, the Nepalese are pale, wan, ailing, wily, morbid, sentimental, and lacking in the spirit of independence. They suffer from an inferiority complex and are servile and diffident. The Russians are well fed, robust, and healthy. They present "a perfect picture of independence of spirit and the full measure of confident individuality."
After democracy in Nepal, Devkota says that some people changed their old habits. This does not mean, however, that equality in practice, which exists in Russia, has been realized in Nepal too. Devkota finds the Nepalese superior in art and imagination, and in poetic images to the Russians. Here, everyone is a poet, he says; nobody is scientific. Generally, all are god-imbued. Unlike the bright and optimistic Russians, the Nepalese are pessimistic in attitude and lack science and reason. They love luxurious inaction to the extent that they do nothing even against exploitation. Everyone is corrupt because people are starved. The Russians, unlike the Nepalese, are well paid, well fed, and properly disciplined.
To see the differences between two very different nations is one thing; to be able to do something to minimize the differences is a Herculean task. In "The Necessity of a Strongly Organised Writers Union for Nepal," Devkota suggests that intellectuals of the nation have to accept this challenge of diminishing the differences by shaping the soul of the nation.
He begins this essay by recalling the "perpetual sunshine" in the North and by bemoaning the "eternal darkness" in the South. He then hypothesizes that "Writers' fates are determined by the socio-political philosophies and the systems that evolve out of them." Comparing the writers of USSR and Nepal, he concludes: "Where Intellect is starved or neglected, we are conscious of the presence of a diseased system." The major symptoms of the disease are the lack of state encouragement for poets, writers, and artists whose stomachs are so starved that they cannot function as intellectuals should for the benefit of the nation.
Devkota then goes into a description of the state of the Nepali writers who are "the most unfortunate of human tribes." These writers are not paid their royalties, they are denied copyrights, and there are no laws in their favour. They are generally frustrated also because they have been "pushed back by a political tide, that started by ourselves, has rushed…towards exploitative heights." The result is that there is "a democracy without Enlightenment" in Nepal.
The writers themselves are to blame for the condition in which they are in at present because they resign too easily to their fate. They are unable to unite against exploitation because they fail to stand united. They weaken themselves by personal jealousies and wrangling. Their mutual distrust and disrespect works against their goals and ideals. They are unable to become "law breakers or iconoclasts." Instead, they become "pen-wielding criminals who preach life and practise the philosophy of Death." Writers will do well, Devkota argues, to remember the basics of social etiquette and acceptable conduct.
Besides writers themselves, the government too is to blame for their plight in Nepal. He writes:
What the USSR Government does to their Writer's Union there is a matter that should make our Cabinet Ministers blue for shame before our murdered Union of Nepalese Writers.
While the writer's union has governmental patronage in Russia, Nepalese writers are starved and subdued: "It is strange that the more you hunger, the more you feel the necessity of holding your tongue…. And relations among starved spirits tend to run to unpleasantness." However, writers have to struggle against unpleasant circumstances. That is why they should unite under a strongly organized writers' union.
Aganina recalls Devkota's address to the Tashkent Conference:
We are living in an age of great struggle against destruction in favour of the continuation of life, against colonialism and imperialism in favour of national sovereignty. Literature is not an item of luxury of any one class. Today's literature is a powerful tool of the people and of the nation. (317)
To use literature as a pro-life tool, writers must sacrifice illusory notions of their own glory and immortality and begin to speak against injustice of all sorts. To do so, they must practice just conduct themselves.
Works Cited
Aganina, L. "Mahakaviseeta Bhetghat." Mahakavi Laxmi Prasad Devkota. Ed. Bhavani Ghimire. Kathmandu: Vidhyarthi Pustak Bhandar. 316-318.
"Appeal of the Asian and African Writers' Conference to World Writers." Chinese Literature 1 (1959): 143-146.
Devkota, Laxmi Prasad. English Essays. Ts.
"From Our Guest Book." Chinese Literature 1 (1959): 184-193.
Ghimire, Madhav. "Those Days of Ours Are Gone!" Mahakavi Devkotaka Anibani. Ed. Ghataraj Bhattarai. Kathmandu: Laxmi Prasad Devkota Prathisthan, 1999. 180-187.
Tun, Mao. "A Noble Mission." Chinese Literature 1 (1959): 147-151.
The Kathmandu Post March 27-28, 2004
(Later collected in my book titled A Pond of Swans and Other Essays. 1st. Ed. New Hira Books and Other Essays. Kathmandu, Kirtipur: 2004.)
No comments:
Post a Comment