What relevance could an early-20th-century Bengali novel have today? As soon as I asked the question, I knew it was rather silly. Universalism is what makes good literature. Which is why decades and centuries after they wrote, the works of those like Tagore, Rumi, Tolstoy continue to be read, much of it in translation. And that is precisely why Sanjukta Bhattacharya, former Professor of International Relations in Jadavpur University, chose to translate into English the Bengali novel Maa, written by her grandmother Anurupa Devi in 1920.
Anurupa Devi was almost a phenomenon, a trailblazer for women in her native Bengal. Belonging to the Bengali bhadralok, Devi's world was mostly restricted to the "andar mahal”, or the inner sanctum, of the womenfolk in a genteel Bengali family. She had no formal education, was married at the age of 10 and widowed by 14, yet her creativity and passion for the written word was such that her legacy remains alive even today. Her works are not feminist in the modern sense, but they are anti-patriarchy and echo a quest for justice. Women down the ages, no matter how cloistered a life they lived, used their agency in whatever way within whatever space was allowed them. Through her interactions with the ladies of the andar mahal, Devi realised that much of women's travails and problems were caused by men, who laid down all the rules. Yet, she was not anti-men. Through her shared life with the limited menfolk in her life—her husband, sons, brothers, nephews and the family help—she tried to understand the world through them too, their hopes, their aspirations, their sorrows and joys. She saw injustice there, too, and tried to capture them faithfully.
Love, Loss, Motherhood
This is what makes Maa relevant today. The plot revolves around the broad theme of love, class, duty, rejection, and, most significantly, motherhood. Aurobindo Basu is the handsome but rather unassuming scion of a rich, influential Bengali bhadralok family. He loves his wife, the beautiful but poor Manorama. His father, conscious of his wealth and privileged social status, is against the marriage. Soon, he pressures Aurobindo to marry the beautiful and wealthy Brajaranim, the daughter of his lawyer friend. The rather wishy-washy-charactered Aurobindo is unable to stand up to this, and ultimately, deferring to his duty towards his father and family, gives in. Manorama and her son, the infant Ajit, are sent away to live with the former's widowed mother, in penury. No maintenance is paid. But, by a twist of faith, Brajarani is unable to have children and the couple remain childless. She lives with Aurobindo in abundance as his legal and official wife, but in the shadow of the ghost of Manorama, who remains ensconced in Aurobindo's heart. Throughout his childhood and youth, Ajit, as also his mother, spend their lives in the hope that some day they would be reinstated in their rightful place, in Aurobindo's life and home. Alas, that does not happen. The story is set against the social and political churning of early-20th-century Bengal, where questions on dowry, the probity of having two wives, and social status are raised.
Devi wrote Maa more than a hundred years ago, but its theme is eternal. Its universalism is reflected in that what has happened in the novel can and has happened in different geographies for centuries, and even now. Interestingly, the much acclaimed and recently released film Anora, which swept the Oscars, broadly follows a similar theme even though it's set in 21st-century New York. Besides, issues of dowry and maintenance remain relevant in Indian society even today. Simultaneously, a quest for justice is also a sub-theme running through the book, though this ends on a positive note, with Brajarani and Ajit promising to take care of each other.
Beyond The Black And White
What is striking about Maa is its depth of emotion and the carefully crafted characters. How did the author, with no formal education and with little exposure to the outside world, have such a grasp over the sensitivities and sensibilities of such fraught and delicate relationships? Mritunjoy Bose, Aurobindo's father, is a patriarch and a tyrant. But his wife and daughter empathise with Manorama. Aurobindo lacks a spine but remains a dutiful son throughout his life. Brajarani is jealous of Manorama, who lives hundreds of miles away from her. Yet, Brajarani is not cast as a villain. Her jealousy is poignant, a woman who has everything yet yearns for her husband's love. The dynamics between Brajarani and Manorama are reminiscent of Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, a novel that came at least two decades later. There are, in short, no black and white characters. Each is well-rounded, reflecting the different shades of human frailty and strength. In turn, they reflect the ethos, the strength and depth of character of Anurupa Devi herself.
Sanjukta Bhattacharya's translation is also a labour of love. It is a touching tribute from a granddaughter to her grandmother, who, as Bhattacharya writes, "Broke glass ceilings when Bengali women were not even aware that glass ceilings existed.” The book holds one captivated. The language is light yet rich in imagery, poignant, with a pervasive sadness, but not heavy or dark. Not having read the original Bengali, one can only imagine the richness of the original text. Bhattacharya, through love for her grandmother, has done yeoman's service by bringing the book to a larger audience with her translation. Devi succeeded in carving a niche for herself in male-dominated Bengal in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Her legacy has now again been revived and remembered afresh. One only hopes that Bhattacharya will come up with more translations of her grandmother's rich literary work, something that belongs to all of us. This Women's Day, we remember such trailblazers with pride and gratitude.
(Aditi Bhaduri is a journalist and political analyst)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
