67 Chapter Two Tradition versus Modernity After the impact of imperialism a new kind of subjectivity and society emerged in India. Indian modernity was not just a copy of western modernity. The components of Indian modernity included enlightenment, rationality, science and western knowledge. To quote Makarand Paranjape: Indian modernity marks its own distinct path. This path consists in taking critical aspects of western modernity and trying to combine them with India’s usable past. But because both western modernity and Indian traditions have multiple possibilities and processes, the self-constitution of India’s modernity becomes a plural and diverse adventure rather than any simplistic supplanting of tradition with modernity or the revival of tradition at the expense of modernity. Indian modernity is thus neither anti-traditional nor necessarily pro-western. It is, instead, a complex interplay of multitudinous forces which are sometimes complimentary and sometimes contradictory. Reform, revival, resistance, conflict, collusion, collaboration, capitulation, compromise, adoption, adaptation, synthesis, encapsulation, hybridity and multiculturalism are all a part of India’s experiment in modernization. (173) Narayan’s novels help define what is especially different about Indian modernity. His books not only reflect the course of India’s recent social and cultural evolution, but actively articulate and arbitrate its various attitudes and stances.
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67
Chapter Two
Tradition versus Modernity
After the impact of imperialism a new kind of subjectivity and society emerged in
India. Indian modernity was not just a copy of western modernity. The components of
Indian modernity included enlightenment, rationality, science and western knowledge. To
quote Makarand Paranjape:
Indian modernity marks its own distinct path. This path consists in taking
critical aspects of western modernity and trying to combine them with
India’s usable past. But because both western modernity and Indian
traditions have multiple possibilities and processes, the self-constitution of
India’s modernity becomes a plural and diverse adventure rather than any
simplistic supplanting of tradition with modernity or the revival of
tradition at the expense of modernity. Indian modernity is thus neither
anti-traditional nor necessarily pro-western. It is, instead, a complex
interplay of multitudinous forces which are sometimes complimentary and
sometimes contradictory. Reform, revival, resistance, conflict, collusion,
collaboration, capitulation, compromise, adoption, adaptation, synthesis,
encapsulation, hybridity and multiculturalism are all a part of India’s
experiment in modernization. (173)
Narayan’s novels help define what is especially different about Indian modernity. His
books not only reflect the course of India’s recent social and cultural evolution, but
actively articulate and arbitrate its various attitudes and stances.
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The western impact on Indian life and society is very well depicted in Narayan’s
novels. The East-West theme is thus unavoidable in his novels. But Narayan has not
presented this theme in terms of a vast social, economic or political conflict, nor in terms
of a philosophical confrontation. Its dimensions are ethical, so deep and unobtrusive that
one might easily miss it altogether. To quote O. P. Mathur from his essay “The Guide: A
Study in Cultural Ambivalence,” “Narayan gives us the feel of life itself which is neither
all white nor all black but the grey, twilight world of contemporary life quivering
hesitatingly between tradition and modernity, East and West, inextricably mixed up in the
minds of individuals . . .” (90). Narayan seems to ridicule the exclusive orthodoxy of
Indian conservatism and is clearly sympathetic towards modernity. His ironical attitude
itself is largely western; it has few parallels in Pre-modern Indian authors.
The Guide, Narayan’s masterpiece, was written between 1956 and 1958 when he
was in the United States. It was first published in Great Britain in 1958, its 61st reprint
appeared in 2006. That reveals the popularity and greatness of the book. The
circumstances which led him to write this novel were described in his memoir:
At this time I had been thinking of a subject for a novel; a novel about
some one suffering enforced sainthood. A recent situation in Mysore
afforded the setting for such a story. A severe drought had dried up all the
rivers and tanks; Krishnaraja Sagar, an enormous reservoir feeding
channels that irrigated thousands of acres, had also become dry, and its
bed, a hundred and fifty feet deep, was not exposed to sky with fissures
and cracks, revealing an ancient submerged temple, coconut stumps and
dehydrated crocodiles. As a desperate measure, the municipal council
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organized a prayer for rains. A group of Brahmins stood knee-deep in
water (procured at great cost) on the dry bed of Kaveri, fasted, prayed, and
chanted certain mantras continuously for eleven days. On the twelfth day
it rained, and brought relief to the country side.
This was really the starting point of The Guide. During my travels in
America, the idea crystallized in my mind. I stopped in Berkeley for three
months, took a hotel room and wrote my novel. (qtd. in Sundaram, P. S.
“The Guide” 73)
The Guide is the autobiography of Raju, who is in turn a rail road station food
vendor, a tourist guide, a sentimental adulterer, a dancing girl’s manager, a swindler, a
jail-bird and a martyred mystic. It follows Raju along a curiously braided time sequence.
After describing the early life and education of Raju, the author shows how Malgudi
became a railway station and how Raju became the owner of a railway stall and came to
be tourist guide. Trying to help a rich visitor, Marco, the archeologist, in his researches,
Raju is involved in a tangle of new relationships. Rosie, Marco’s wife, becomes Raju’s
lover. Abandoned by Marco, Rosie realized, with Raju’s help, her ambition of becoming
a dancer. But Raju’s possessive instinct finally betrays him into a criminal action, and he
is charged and convicted for forgery. Coming out of the jail, he cuts off all connection
with the past and sets up as a sort of ascetic. Once again he is caught in the coils of his
own self-deception, and he is obliged to undertake a twelve-day fast to end a drought that
threatens the district with a famine. In vain he tells his chief ‘disciple’ Velan the whole
truth about himself and Rosie, and about the crash and incarceration. But nobody believes
that he is anyone other than a saint. He has made his bed, and he must perforce lie on it.
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The reader is free to infer that, on the last day of the fast, he dies opportunely, a martyr.
Does it really rain, or is it only Raju’s optical delusion? Does he really die, or merely
sinks down in exhaustion? Has the lie really become the truth, or has it been merely
exposed? The reader is free to draw conclusions.
The story of The Guide develops along a bewildering succession of time shifts.
Since Narayan was in touch with South Indian film industry he applied cinematic
techniques of jump out, flash back, flash forward and montage in his plot construction.
Thus the novel has an episodic structure rather than the linear plot of the more usual kind
of novel, where the story moves in a singly cohesive curve from the beginning through
the middle to the end. The unconventional plot of The Guide circles freely in time and
space, both within and between chapters, moving from the past to the present and back
again, and from Malgudi to the Mempi Hills to Mangal in a seemingly random way (Sen
15). Modern European and American novels influenced the Indo-Anglian novelists and
Narayan was no exception. Thus the Western fictional paradigms of bildungsroman and
picaresque narrative are evident in The Guide. In fact The Guide is a bildungsroman of a
rogue.
Narayan’s concerns as a citizen-writer are voiced in a complex manner through
his characters and their conflicts. Narayan writes:
This is how Narayan’s novels show Indian society negotiating the
complex terrain of the modern. Malgudi, in that sense, becomes a
laboratory where various possibilities and positions are tried. The Guide,
undoubtedly Narayan’s best-known novel, as a narrative of modern India .
. . is about the nature of an ancient Indian institution, that of the guru,
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which indeed has no exact English counterpart. R. K. Narayan’s use of
slightly lighter, slightly more frivolous and certainly more ambiguous
word, “Guide,” is therefore telling. (174)
In his essay “The Reluctant Guru” Narayan recounts his constant resistance to the
role that seemed to be foisted on him—the role of an authentic exponent of the mystic
East, a guru or a sage, a role that he was most uncomfortable with, but which he could
not entirely shake off. Going by the flimsy evidence of texts like The English Teacher
and The Guide, his audience often demanded doses of Indian spirituality and mysticism
from him. Narayan confesses “I felt myself in the same situation as Raju, the hero of my
Guide who was mistaken for a saint and began to wonder at some point himself if sudden
effulgence has begun to show on his face” (Paranjape 175). Narayan is even telephoned
by enthusiasts in the wee hours of the morning because it is assumed that he would be up
and meditating at 4: 00 a. m.; he is asked if he can communicate with spirits; he is asked
to predict the future; he is even importuned to help an earnest diasporic devotee attain a
vision of the Goddess Kali!. In response to such mistaken adulation, this is what Narayan
had to say to his class: “Your search is for a Foundation Grant. The young person in my
country would sooner learn now to organize a business or manufacture an atom bomb or
an automobile than how to stand on one’s head” (Paranjape 176). One cannot be in any
doubt as to what Narayan meant: the “realities” of India were quite different from the
images that the Americans had of them. Narayan himself was also quite different from
what Velan and others projected on him.
The title “Reluctant Guru” is also well-suited to Raju, the protagonist. Raju, like
Narayan, is a most reluctant Guru. Raju has been called a guide, not a guru, because
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Narayan wishes to underscore, even problematize, the very difficulties of such a
traditional appellation and function. “Indeed it would almost seem that Narayan wishes to
tone down “guru,” which etymologically conveys the idea of heavy, to something lighter,
or Laghu in calling Raju a guide. But the crucial question is whether the slighter, lighter,
or more ironic title of guide makes a real difference in the end” (Paranjape 176).
Rosie, Velan, Raju’s mother and uncle, Gaffur, the driver, Joseph, the steward of
the bungalow where Marco stayed are all characters exhibiting the traditional Indian
culture and ethos. Raju and Marco, on the contrary, bear features of Western or Modern
culture and manners. Thus the conflict between tradition and modernity or influence of
one over the other is evident in the behaviour and conversation of these characters
throughout the novel. It was customary or traditional among the Hindus to bow low and
touch the feet of elders and venerable persons. But Raju, after his release from the prison,
and sitting lonely on the river steps, did not allow the villager, Velan to do so. To quote
from the text: “Velan rose, bowed low, and tried to touch Raju’s feet. Raju recoiled at the
attempt. ‘I’ll not permit anyone to do this. God alone is entitled to such a prostration. He
will destroy us if we attempt to usurp His rights’” (G 16).
Rosie, though a post-graduate, is not corrupted with modern materialistic values.
She is a traditional Indian wife, longing for affection and care from her husband. She
cannot cope up with the archeological interests of her husband, Marco. He dislikes being
disturbed by any one, even by his wife in his studies and professional activities. Rather he
longs for appreciation from his wife. This difference in wave-length is the cause of
quarrel between Rosie and Marco. Joseph, the steward of the bungalow where Marco
stays for his professional work, reads Marco well and has all praise for him. He tells Raju
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when Raju asked him if Marco bothers him in any way, “Oh, no, he is a gem. A good
man; would be even better if his wife left him alone. He was no happy without her. Why
did you bring her back? She seems to be a horrible nagger’” (G 129).
When Marco deserted Rosie and took train to Madras, she came to Raju’s house
for shelter. Seeing her coming to the house alone in the evening Raju’s mother was
wonderstruck. The novel reads:
The very first question she asked was, ‘Who has come with you,
Rosie?’ Rosie blushed, hesitated and looked at me. I moved a couple of
steps backward in order that she might see me only dimly and not in all
raggedness. I replied, ‘I think she has come alone, mother.’
My mother was amazed. ‘Girls today! How courageous you are! In
our day we wouldn’t go to the street corner without an escort. And I have
been to the market only once in my life, when Raju’s father was alive.’
(G 141)
The difference in attitude, as well as the temperament is seen here. Raju’s mother is a
traditional Hindu woman who is denied public exposure. She was prohibited and hence
afraid to go out alone, whereas Rosie is a modern woman. The western influence is
evident in her attitude, behaviour and temperament. She is not at all afraid to go out
alone.
Is Raju a holy man or is he a fake? This question has exercised many readers of
the novel ever since its publication. Sally Appleton in the review titled “The Ambiguous
Man,” which appeared in Commonweal Magazine, a few weeks after the novel’s
publication observes: “The author must decide whether or not holiness will work . . . the
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author abandons the reader to choose arbitrarily whether or not, as Raju sinks into the
muddy river bed, he is dying, whether or not, as the water rises to Raju’s knees, it rises
because “it’s raining in the hills” or because Raju himself is sagging into it (cited in
Pontes and Ezekiel 92)” (qtd. in Paranjape 176). It is not surprising that critics are
divided on this question. C. D. Narasimhaiah considers Raju a transformed man in the
end, a saint, whereas G. S. Balarama Gupta believes that Raju is a selfish swindler, an
adroit actor, and a perfidious megalomaniac (Paranjape 177). To quote Paranjape again:
The question is not so much whether Raju is a willing saint or not because,
like all of us, every one within the novel notices Raju’s reluctance, even
his unfitness for gurudom. But does that really change who or what he
ends up becoming? So what we have here is a real problem, one that leads
us to the crux of Narayan’s artistry and to his relationship to Indian
modernity. Because if Raju is a fake, Narayan is putting into doubt not just
an individual but the institution of guru itself.” (177)
It is the belief of village people of Mangal that it will rain and thus put an end to the
drought if a true sanyasi does genuine fasting for twelve days. It is a belief prevalent
among the Hindus as such in India. Whether that people have direct experience of this
miracle or not, does not lessen their faith in it. It might be only hearsay, something
popularized by the Brahmin priests for their exploitation of the people. Narayan only
wants to portray such beliefs and rites prevailing among his people. He does not want to
glorify or condemn such beliefs. There is no clear hint at the end of the novel whether it
rained or not. Rather one has to doubt it, based on the description of the topography. The
last paragraph of the novel describes Raju’s last moments:
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. . . He got up feet. He had to be held by Velan and another on each side.
In the profoundest silence the crowd followed at a solemn, silent pace. The
eastern sky was red. Many in the camp were still sleeping. Raju could not
walk, but, he insisted upon pulling himself along the same. He panted with
the effort. He went down the steps of the river, halting for breath on each
step, and finally reached the basin of water. He stepped into it, shut his
eyes, and turned towards the mountain, his lips muttering the prayer.
Valan and another held him each by an arm. The morning Sun was out
now; a great shaft of light illuminated the surroundings. It was difficult to
hold Raju on his feet, as he had a tendency to flop down. They held him as
if he were a baby. Raju opened his eyes, looked about, and said, ‘Velan,
it’s raining in the hills. I can feel it coming up under my feet, up my legs.’
He sagged down. (G 247)
The description of the eastern sky as red, the apparition of the morning Sun and the great
shaft of light which illuminated the surroundings do not match with raining in the hills.
Paranjape writes:
Again, we are invited into what seems to be a terrain of endless
indeterminacy: does it really rain? Does Raju survive to see the miracle?
Or does he die with the delusion that his sacrifice has paid off? Again,
while the novel offers us no conclusive evidence to answer these questions
satisfactorily, it definitely compels us to examine our own wishes and
hopes for Raju and the villagers. Are we people of faith, those who believe
that the sacrifice of a well-intentioned individual can solve social
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problems, even change the course of natural events? Or are we modern,
“scientific” people who refuse to yield to such superstitions? To frame the
choices offered by the novel in an even more complex manner, do we
want to believe even though we might be unable to? (180)
Though Raju was a fake guru, on whom the status of guru has been thrust, he does
seem to grow in stature to fit its mantle. He was willing to sacrifice his life. Since the
villagers believed that his fasting would bring rain he had no alternative but continuing
the fast to the twelfth day. Raju understood that he could not correct the villagers’
misconception about him. They considered him a true sanyasi and hence his genuine fast
would bring rain. Thus Raju was trapped. He has no existence other than a sanyasi’s. He
could have saved himself as the doctors and Velan requested him to stop fasting. But
once he stopped fasting what would the hundreds of people assembled there think about
him? Wouldn’t it be a betrayal of faith laid on him by the people? So he might have
thought that it was better and nobler to die a martyr than live an ignoble life, despised by
others. Narayan wants to tell the readers that there are many Rajus or fake sanyasis in our
society. Despite being so aware of the dangers of shamming such a serious thing as being
a guru, Narayan actually comes out in favour of the institution in the end. He is unable to
show the villagers rejecting Raju, or Velan abusing and unmasking him. He does not
want the novel to be a propaganda tract against superstitious villagers and unscrupulous
charlatans. “The Guide is far from being an expose of phony godmen exploiting the
gullible masses.” (Paranjape 181).
Narayan does not endorse tradition in a loud or sententious manner. He does not
reject or condemn it but rather creates a space for it. He points out that in the struggle
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between tradition and modernity, tradition wins though in a reluctant manner. Raju’s
penance and his ultimate sacrifice are real no matter how painfully flawed his motives
may have been earlier or how ineffectual their outcome. There is ample textual evidence
to suggest that a gradual but sure alteration in Raju’s inner being does take place. “In
other words, the irony strengthens the “Hindu” world view, not weakens it, though at first
it appears as if the opposite is the case” (Paranjape 182).
R. K. Narayan portrays a South-Indian conservative society in the village,
Mangal. Though the contact of Western culture brought many changes in the village,
castes and traditional occupations continue to exist. Marriages are still arranged.
Astrology is accepted there. Washing the feet before visiting a temple or a saint as a ritual
of purification, pulling the temple chariot along the streets on festive days, smearing holy
ash on the forehead, reciting all kinds of sacred verse, consulting an astrologer for
auspicious or sacred time, lighting the lamp in the god’s niche, reading the Bhagavadgita
are some of the minor rituals appearing in The Guide. Touching the feet of the saint,
making offerings in kind or prostrating before god, are other ritualistic forms. Raju’s
fasting to appease the rain gods and to bring rain to save the people is the most significant
ritual in the novel. The people of the village had a clear idea of the ritual and it is
reflected in Velan’s words. “Velan gave a very clear account of what the saviour was
expected to do—stand in knee-deep water, look to the skies, and utter the prayer line for
two weeks completely fasting during the period—and lo, the rains would come down,
provided the man who performed it was a pure soul, was a great soul” (G 109). Referring
to the fasting ritual by Raju to appease rain-god, Narayan writes: “He felt suddenly so
enthusiastic that it gave him a new strength to go through the ordeal” (qtd. in Rani 67).
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Ritual is depicted as an ordeal because this is forced on the reluctant Raju who has no
faith in it. However, the drought and the plight of the villagers have a persuasive effect on
him and so he prays to heaven to send down rain to save the villagers. Narayan does not
glorify the superstitious rituals. Similarly he does not deny the existence of a strong strain
of faith among the villagers in the native rituals.
Malgudi is a microcosm of India. Just as British India sought the leadership of
Mahatma Gandhi, the post-Gandhian Malgudi looks up to Raju as a saviour. As Gandhi
fasted for matters of public interest or concern, Raju also fasted for the redemption of
Malguid from drought. The Guide is a brilliant illustration of Narayan’s artistic talent in
creating inner and outer landscapes balanced by a set of traditional values. There are four
major symbols that constitute the basic structure of the novel. They are: the temple, the
village, the town of Malgudi and the river Sarayu. To quote A. V. Krishna Rao:
The temple’s influence on the democratic consciousness is so profound
and efficacious that it results in the ultimate transformation of Raju. It
enables the establishment of the identity of the mask and the man. The
second symbol of the village, Mangal as well as Malgudi, signifies native
strength, continuity of tradition, the ecology of a whole race with its
inescapable influence on the individual consciousness and elemental
determinism of individual destiny. . . . Thirdly Malgudi is the symbol of
modern India caught in the throes of change under the impact of western
civilization. Its faith and resilience are effectively affirmative of the root
of a changing tradition. . . . Lastly Narayan’s invention of Mempi Hills is
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paralleled in his creation of Sarayu River, thereby completing the image of
a whole country as a structural symbol for the Universe itself. (170-171)
The coming of the Railway to Malgudi may be seen as the impact of an industrial
and urban society on a predominantly simple, agricultural community. The cherished
values of life give way to the modern ways and their attendant evils. Raju who grew up in
a decent home has now picked up terms of abuse from the Railway men and his father’s
words ‘Just my misfortune!’ sound ominous in the light of the impending disaster. As
Narasimhaiah opines in “R. K. Narayan’s The Guide”:
The Railway meant the undoing of Raju and his old mother—a small shop
keeper’s son becomes a Railway guide who starts living by his wits and
runs into Rosie and Marco, two tourists, gets emotionally entangled,
neglects his old, honest means of making a living, and brings ruin upon
himself as well as a married woman. (132)
In The Guide one finds a clash between castes, classes and their old values on the
one hand and the weakening modern social and moral structure on the other. Marco only
paid lip-service to a casteless, conventionless society that was slowly taking shape before
him by advertising for a good-looking educated young lady regardless of caste. Old
prejudices die hard and Marco, for all his erudition looked upon dancing as just street
acrobatics and he killed Rosie’s instinct for life and love of art by denying her both of
them (Narasimhaiah, “R. K. Narayan’s The Guide” 132).
Narayan’s treatment of the English language in the novel is Indian in its restraint,
particularly where sex is concerned. Sex, though pervasive in the novel, is implicit
always. Even when Raju decides to enter Rosie’s room and stay alone with her for the
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night, how characteristically Indian and different he is from his western counterpart! He
‘stepped in and locked the door on the world.’ “The only time it is explicit, the utmost he
has permitted himself on such an occasion is: Marco, the kill-joy is walking towards the
cave swinging his cane and hugging his portfolio and Raju snaps: “If he could show half
the warmth of that hug elsewhere!”” (Narasimhaiah, “R. K. Narayan’s The Guide” 144-
145).
Narayan’s novels are written in a bi-cultural perspective. The clash between the
ancient Indian traditions and values on the one side and modern western values on the
other side is visible in many novels. The three major characters in The Guide are
concerned with the revival of indigenous Indian art forms. In the words of John Oliver
Perry:
Marco, Rosie’s soon deceived husband, obsessively studies ancient cave
art and thus loses his wife, but ultimately his work illuminates older
culture for present audiences; Rosie betrays her husband in order to foster
what she vaguely calls “cultural traditions” through her inbred, caste-
decreed dancing profession, and she is quite successful aesthetically,
personally and socially. Raju’s more irregular successes as a guide to local
cultural sights and to Rosie-Nalini’s traditional dancing lead directly to his
virtual apotheosis as god-man fasting to death to bring villagers’
desperately needed rains. (173-174)
Raju seems to be the psychological projection of the typical individual in Indian
social set up. In the social behavioural pattern, Raju is critical of the age-old institutional
values, albeit he himself is deeply rooted in the family tradition. Rosie’s caste affiliation
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is attacked by the general people as ‘public woman’ but Raju negates the prevalent mode
of thinking and asserts that Rosie’s caste is ‘the noblest caste on earth.’ To quote
Gajendra Kumar from his essay “R. K. Narayan’s ‘The Guide’: The Vision of Indian
Values,” “Time is changed and continuously changing. Now, there exists no caste, class
or creed. Marco too demonstrates his modesty and embraces Rosie as his wife” (174).
In The Guide, Narayan seems to be particularly fascinated by the ubiquitous
presence of swamis and saints, gurus and guides, charlatans and philistines, cobras and
concubines in India’s colourful society. With his characteristic humour he is able to
capture the spectrum of Indian life, with its superstitions and hypocrisies, its beliefs and
follies, its intricacies and vitalities, its rigidities and flexibilities. The action of the novel
proceeds in two distinct streams, presenting two different aspects of Indian culture.
Malgudi, a miniature of India, presents the rich traditions of classical dances by Rosie-
Nalini and the breath-taking paintings that embellish Marco’s The Cultural History of
South India. Mangal, the neighbouring town village presents the spiritual dimension of
Indian culture presented through Raju’s growth into a celebrated Swami. “Thus Raju,
Rosie and Marco become temporal symbols of India’s cultural ethos” (Goyal 143). While
Marco’s aspiration seek their fulfilment in unearthing the buried treasures of India’s rich
cultural past, Rosie’s longing seeks satisfaction in the creative channels of classical
dancing in the midst of an ever-present, live audience. Raju is all the time dreaming of an
elusive future till a time comes when he is irrevocably committed to a definite future by
undertaking a fast in the hope of appeasing the rain-god. “While Marco is cultural
historian of the past, Rosie is a cultural ambassador of the present, and Raju is a cultural
prophet of the future” (Goyal 143)
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The Guide displays many of the structural devices and thematic concerns of the
Hindu epics and puranas. In having a rogue as the hero, there is an element of the folk
tale also. Krishna Sen is of opinion that
we have the idyllic opening scene, the dramatic dialogue format, the
layered narrative, the multilateral structure compressing time shifts and
interwoven digressions, and the final penance for a divine boon to save
humanity. Some elements have been parodied or ironically subverted by
bringing them from the mythic past to the imperfect present, elements
such as the guru being superior to the shishya, or the dialogue leading
spiritual illumination. (22)
Another indigenous pattern working through the novel is the linear progression or
varnasrama, or the Hindu belief in the four stages of the ideal life—student, house
holder, recluse and ascetic (brahmacharya, garhasthya, vanaprastha and sansyasa). This
pattern, too, is parodied. Raju is successively a ‘student’ preparing for life in the railway
platform as a vendor and then as a guide, a ‘house holder’ and man of affairs in his illegal
union with Rosie and as her corrupt business manager, a ‘recluse’ during his days in
prison, and an ‘ascetic’ in his role as the fake guru. Raju’s fasting for the rain, the
denouement in the novel, is a travesty, reminiscent of the story of the sage-king Bhagirath
who conducted severe penance to bring down the goddess Ganga. This story is found in
both the Ramayana and the Mahapurana (Sen 24). The entire ritual by Raju may or may
not have brought rain, but it did help bring peace to the strife-torn Mangal and turn the
community back to religion. Thus The Guide can be triumphantly called a Hindu novel.
“The denouement is neither a rejection nor a defense of the Hindu faith—it gestures
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towards the complexity of life, in which there are no simple solutions. It is this
ambiguous and open-ended denouement that raises the novel far above the level of a
mere moral fable, or a story with a simplistic happy ending” (Sen 25).
The only minor character in the novel who may be said to exist solely for the plot
is Mani, who was Raju’s secretary during his days of glory. He is like a prop used by
Narayan to move the plot forward and communicate necessary information. He is neither
characterized in any distinctive manner, nor is he representative of any familiar social
type. He remains a somewhat indistinct figure, a name without a face. All the other minor
characters, with the exception of Velan who has an important part to play, fall into clearly
defined slots, and their typical traits are sketched with Narayan’s characteristic sureness.
“Socially the novel charts the transition in India from an old-fashioned way of life to a
modern and urbanized one, and the character groupings roughly correspond to these two
spheres” (Sen 66). Raju’s parents and uncle, and the old pyol school master represent
tradition, orthodoxy, hierarchy and conservative values. The peripheral character who is
crucial to the progress of the plot is Velan. His personality is not drawn in detail, nor is it
required. Velan would not be a credible character in a western setting. Velan was the sole
person responsible for the final plight of Raju. But Velan’s contribution is not merely to
oppress Raju. It is he who builds Raju up into a ‘saint,’ and it is Velan’s unshakable faith
that finally enables Raju to rise above himself. “Velan is a catalyst for Raju’s apotheosis”
(Sen 71)
Narayan is acclaimed as a Regional or Social novelist. The locale of The Guide is
the small town of Malgui where Raju has his home, the village Mangal from where Velan
hails, and Madras (Chennai) and other big cities where Rosie is invited to dance. This
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semi-urban and largely rural setting is typical of the places in which most Indians live.
Thus the locale is almost the microcosm of India. Through the social portrait of a single
region, Narayan succeeds in presenting the larger picture of Indian society, both in its
general features as well as in its specifically post-independence lineaments. The world in
The Guide is “structured along simple binaries—Malgudi and Mangal, the town and the
village, urban sophistication versus rural simplicity, modernity versus tradition, cynicism
versus faith” (Sen 86).
Raju’s father does not follow the traditional Brahmin calling for priesthood. Thus
it becomes ironic that Raju comes back full circle to his caste occupation as a performer
of sacred rites in a most ambiguous way. His father is a worldly man who takes the full
advantage of the colonial world trade and commerce. Perhaps his father’s worldliness
may be the source of Raju’s worldliness. It is the railway which brings the outside world,
with its modernity and hybridity to Malgudi. It bifurcates the world of Malgudi both
literally and metaphorically. Western notions of individual choice and self-expression are
thoroughly out of place among the people of Malgudi. The locale that opposes tradition
are the westernized parts of the town where Raju and Rosie carry on their assignations—
the cinema hall, the Taj restaurant, and the hotel. “This fast moving, individualistic,
opportunistic world is as familiar to post-colonial India as the centuries-old traditions”
(Sen 88). Paradoxically, it is this newly urbanized rich world of Malgudi, and not the
traditional world that Raju’s mother and uncle inhabit, that fosters the renaissance of art
by encouraging Rosie to express herself as an artist and classical dancer. The same Rosie
who was shunned as a devadasi by those who swore by their traditional norms (people
like Raju’s mother and uncle), is reborn Nalini, the respected classical dancer, because of
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the emergence of affluent and cosmopolitan people in Malgudi. Yet it is the villagers of
Mangal who show the quintessentially Indian emotional response—the spontaneous,
implicit, unquestioning faith in a person perceived to be a holy man. The holy man or
ascetic is an integral part of traditional Indian society. He is respected for representing the
heritage of Indian values and wisdom, and it is not customary to question his authority.
“Orthodox Hindus believe that there is no spiritual salvation without a guru, and the
guru-shishya relationship is considered to be one of the closest and most sacred ties in
Indian society” (Sen 92).
The Guide can be called a postcolonial novel. Looking at India from the Indian
perspective, it may be be felt to be a postcolonial deconstruction of colonialism. Ellek
Boehmer is of the opinion that
the comic pastorals of R. K. Narayan . . . [which] emphasise the continuity
and harmony of small-town India, are actually an instance of the Empire
writing back. Referring to the fact that there are hardly any British
characters in Narayan’s early pre-independence novels, she observes that
‘through the simple device of ignoring the British presence,’ these novels
effectively dramatise a world ‘that existed quite independently of the
colonial power’ (qtd. in Sen 107-108)
Narayan’s post-colonialism in The Guide is revealed neither through rejection of
Westernisation nor through celebration of tradition. In the politics of representation, his
position is that of the critical insider who is alive to the need to negotiate the
contradictions of the post-colonial predicament. Narayan is not only aware of the
inevitability of change, but also of the problems that attend the processes of change in a
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traditional society. “The interface between traditions and modernity is mediated with
characteristic irony. Narayan is interested in looking at the extent to which the cultural
life of the past can be viably integrated with the post-independence reality of India” (Sen
1117).
From the social point of view The Guide not only depicts Indian society, its
customs, traditions, culture, ostentations, superstitions, religious faith but also presents a
conflict between the traditional and modern values which are symbolised by Raju’s
mother and his maternal uncle on the one hand and by Raju and Rosie on the other. In
such conflict old values have to give place to new values and thus Raju’s mother leaves
her home for Raju and Rosie. “The novel also presents a conflict between the Eastern and
Western culture and synthesises the two through their assimilation which has been
symbolised by Rosie’s transformation into Nalini. Like Anand, Narayan points out that
one has to go to the West in order to come back to the East” (Yadav 28).
When Raju dissociates himself from society and pursues Rosie he has moral
degradation and he faces unpleasant repercussions. When he returns to society as a swami
he achieves redemption. In the words of Arun Soule:
Thus, it is seen that in the Western context, the individual can grow and
develop, if he dissociates himself from society and becomes
individualistic: whereas in the Indian context if an individual dissociates
himself from society, he comes to grief, but if he takes society along with
him, then he will be at peace with himself and his surroundings, and will
be able to grow and develop. (33)
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The ending of the novel is very Indian. The main character narrates his own story
to an acquaintance overnight and by the time he concludes, the cock crows. In this
traditional way of story-telling, the story-teller, Raju, holds the listener, Velan, in his grip
as the ancient mariner had held the wedding guest. Thus Narayan achieved a supreme
triumph through this narration. To quote C. D. Narasimhaiah from his essay, “R. K.
Narayan’s ‘The Guide,’” “It is not surprising when we know that at all times Narayan
writes not merely with an intense social awareness of his own age but with the past of
India in his bones. Thanks to him our social sympathies are broadened and our moral
being considerably heightened” (198).
The Guide can be read as a “complex allegory satirising the process by which
gods and demi-gods came to be established within the religion, wherein through the
centuries’ myths and stories came to be built around a man until he gradually attained the
stature of a god and joined the ranks of celestial beings as a divine incarnation”
(Sankaran 129). In this view The Guide would be a satire, albeit a gentle one, about the
system of worship within Hinduism. Raju is in a sense, the distillation of a type of
character that has existed in Hindu mythology for nearly five centuries—‘the trickster
sage.’ In Hindu mythology the sages and even the gods are shown to be fallible, and one
is considered perfect or lying so low as to be incapable of reaching great spiritual heights.
Similarly in Hindu mythology transformation can occur to a person due to an out side
agency without the volition of the person. “Raju would, in this light, be eminent ‘sage’
material” (Sankaran 135).
The characters in The Guide can be reducible to symbolic meanings. Velan is a
valid positive average Indian representing in particular the psychological reality of the
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rural ethos. Velan is the spiritual guide of Raju, the professional guide. Raju remains
professional even in his mask. Raju, Velan and Rosie are the central characters in the
novel. In the words of U. P. Sinha from his essay, “Patterns of Myth and Reality in “The
Guide”: Complex Craft of Fiction”:
Their implicative or metaphoric roles in the novel make a mythic triangle
which is a triangle with three points, one indicating the height of spiritual-
cum-moral triumph. The point indicating the low, the deep is represented
by Rosie, and the vertical one is represented by Velan. The third point at
the level, which seems to be vertical but is not obviously so, represents
Raju. The first two points act upon this one so that the whole triangle
becomes mythical—man facing two opposite-worlds; facing always with
very little chance of a smooth and painless arrival here or there. (80)
The character portrayal in The Guide can be interpreted in terms of gunas. In the
words of Rama Nair, “Gunas can presuppose the question of basic predisposition called
Samskaras and fate (Karma). . . . In Hindu thought, a mental or physical act is called
Karma. Karma is the sum-total of a man’s past actions, in the present and the previous
lives, which determines his life now. One can achieve liberation only through spiritual
self-realization” (44). In Hindu philosophy names of individuals do not matter. Actions
determine one’s individuality and character. The names of central characters in The
Guide are not individualistic. They are vague and impersonal. The reader is never told
either Raju’s or Marco’s real name. Raju’s spiritual triumph at the end of the novel is a
reaffirmation of the satwic potential that is innate in every individual. The same critical
frame work can be applied to Rosie’s character also.
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The clash of ideas of the East and the West is the major theme of the novel The
Vendor of Sweets. It is the conflict between a genuine Indian or Eastern father and his
Western-bred son. Jagan, a college-educated man in the late fifties has made a success of
his sweet shop. Though he grew quite rich as a sweet-vendor, his main interest and
concern was his only son, Mali. Mali’s mother had died of brain tumor several years
back. The barrier between the father and the son came into being the day the mother died.
It might be that Mali, a little bewildered and dismayed, felt obscurely that in some way
his father was responsible for his mother’s death. Jagan was an advocate of nature cure.
Jagan’s love both for his wife and his son was deep and unwavering. The tragedy was
that when he lost his wife, he also lost also any affection that his son might have had for
him. Jagan’s love for the son was so much that he hastened home from his shop in the
evenings thinking that the boy would be lonely. But Mali did not rise to his expectations
and he preferred to be alone and detached. It led to a total estrangement between the two.
Even after having lived twenty years with his son Jagan knew very little about him. Jagan
was very proud of his son but had no control over him. Mali gave up his studies and went
to America. Mali’s letters from America only added Jagan’s worries. Jagan could not
think of his son eating beef. He was a true Gandhian and a vegetarian. During India’s
freedom struggle he had been arrested for hoisting Indian flag. He lived a very simple
life. He ate food cooked by his own hands. He never used sugar or salt since he believed
that they were detrimental to health. As recommended by Gandhi he spun on his charka
and used clothes made of khaddar. Jagan could not use tooth brush as he feared that its
bristles were made of pig’s tail. The Bhagawad Gita was always in his hand and he read
it whenever he was free. Thus Jagan was a model of traditional Indian values whereas his
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son was the other extreme, a spokesman of modern Western values. Spirituality in him
gave way to materialism. After three years of education in America, Mali returned home
accompanied by a Korean-American girl name Grace. When Mali announced to Jagan
that the girl was his wife, Jagan was shocked. Still he loved them, gave due respect and
allowed them to stay in his house. He accepted Grace as his daughter-in-law. She also
behaved admirably towards him. But soon cracks developed not only between Jagan and
Mali but also between Mali and Grace. Jagan was unwilling to finance a huge amount of
money for Mali’s establishment of story-writing machine. It was too much for Jagan
when Grace announced to him that Mali and Grace had been living together without
being married; nor was Mali willing to marry her. The ever-growing tension in father-son
relationship reached its climax when Mali was caught red-handed for breaking the
prohibition laws. Then there came in Jagan’s life the moment of self-realisation and also
of decision. He managed to break away from Mali and his scheming and vicious world
which he could not approve. He escaped from the chains of paternal love. Jagan
abandoned the world and retired into a life of spiritual devotion. He was altogether
unaffected to hear that Mali was in jail as the police had caught him with liquor in his car.
He thought that a period of jail might be good for the young man.
Jagan is the most vibrant character of the novel from the first page to the last.
Mali, his son who returned from America with a half-American half-Korean girl whom
he reported as his wife and later said he never married, had been something of a sensation
disturbing the placid waters of Malgudi. But Mali is insignificant when compared to his
father. To quote P. S. Sundaram:
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Twelve of the thirteen chapters of the book deal with Jagan, a widower
nearing sixty. He is not likely to celebrate his shashtabyapurti as no one
seems to care. The last but one of the thirteen chapters in a flash-back
deals with Jagan’s boyhood, youth and marriage, his begetting Mali after
years of waiting and prayer; and this, with other references in the course of
the book to Jagan’s relationship with his elder brother and the tragic way
he lost his wife, completes the picture telling us all we need to know of
him. (“The Vendor of Sweets” 91)
Differences of opininos occurred between Jagan and Mali, Mali and Grace and
Jagan and Grace. Jagan felt very proud and even crazy to narrate his son’s letters to every
one he met with, even strangers. But the only letter Jagan rigorously suppressed was the
one in which Mali had written, after three years of experience in America:
“I’ve taken to eating beef; and I don’t think I’m any worse of it . . . Now I
want to suggest why not you people start eating beef? It’ll solve the
problem of useless cattle in our country and we won’t have to beg food
from America. I sometimes feel ashamed when India asks for American
aid. Instead of that, why not slaughter useless cows which wander in the
streets and block the traffic?” (VS 56-57)
Jagan felt outraged when he read the letter. The shastras have defined the five deadly sins
and the first in the list is the killing of cows. Jagan was an orthodox Hindu, a pure
vegetarian and a Gandhian, who believed in ahimsa.
Mali, Jagan’s son returning from America arrived at the railway station. There
was a girl with him. Jagan was worried at the sight of the girl. “Matters became worse
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when Mali indicated the girl at his side and said, “This is Grace. We are married. Grace,
my dad.” Complete confusion. Married? When were you married? You didn’t tell me.
Don’t you have to tell your father? Who is she? . . .” (VS 58). Mali was influenced by the
modern, western civilization and as a result he did not find it necessary to ask his father’s
permission to get married. The selection of his spouse was also done by himself, alone.
This western style is in contrast with the traditional Indian style of arranged marriages.
Love marriages are rare even at present in India. Jagan had none in the world except his
son for whom he devoted his life. He thought it improper and impolite to ask his son why
he had married without his permission. That showed the intensity of his love towards his
son. Imagine his agony when his son did not return that love and reverence to him.
Grace, though American, wanted to be a true Indian daughter-in-law to Jagan.
Hence she wore sarees and did all household works. She started cleaning Jagan’s room
and washed the vessels in his kitchen. Jagan’s protests were unheeded. “She clutched the
broom and raked every corner of the floor saying, “Father, you think I mind it? I don’t. I
must not forget that I’m an Indian daughter-in-law” (VS 62). In order to please her father-
in-law, Grace had to struggle and take much pain. She was not used to kitchen work in
her own country.
Jagan wanted to know the whereabouts of Grace. Hence he told her, ““It is a
custom in this country to inquire where one was born and bred and who is who generally,
and then we go on to other things.”
“Only the passport and income-tax people ask for such details in other countries.
However since I am also an Indian now, I might as well get used to things, and tell you
something”” (VS 65). The conflict of two cultures—traditional Indian and the modern
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Western--are expressed in this dialogue. Since Jagan was educated he showed enough
courtesy in asking her whereabouts indirectly and not bluntly as most Indians do.
Mali’s use of socks in India can be treated as modern western influence. The
traditional Indians do not wear socks and they have their own reasons for not using it.
Jagan, a professed Gandhian dislikes his son’s use of socks in his house. But he does not
dare to speak it out to Mali. The novel reads:
He noticed that Mali wore socks under his sandals, and wanted to cry out,
“Socks should never be worn because they are certain to heat the blood
through interference with the natural radiation which occurs through one’s
soles, and also because you insulate yourself against beneficial magnetic
charges of the earth’s surface. I have argued in my book that this is one of
the reasons, a possible reason, for heart attacks in European countries.”
(VS 68)
Jagan’s argument against socks is ridiculous and not scientifically proved. Narayan has
deliberately made Jagan speak such unreasonable things to make the character humorous
and comic. The novelist wants to speak out truth through comic situations and
conversations. In South Indian climate socks and shoes are not necessities, as they only
cause discomfort. But Narayan tells this truth in an absurd manner.
Mali approached Jagan at night with a telegram. As the light was dim he could not
read out the content; instead he briefed him. Mali was asked in the telegram to cable the
status of their project. Jagan wanted to entrust the shop to his son. But Mali did not want
to take up that responsiblity. He insisted on his manufacturing project which cost a huge
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sum. Jagan was unwilling to give him that much amount. As Grace was not with Mali to
instigate him, Jagan asked him where she was. Mali replied that she had gone out.
“Where, at this time of night?”
“She can go where she pleases. Why should anyone question her?” . . .
“Where does she go? Why does she go? Is she unhappy here?”
Mali rose to his feet and said, “Who are you to stop her from going where she pleases?
She is a free person, not like the daughters-in-law in our miserable country” (VS 126-
127). There is a clear conflict between tradition and modernity here. Jagan, a tradition-
bound Indian can not think of a woman, especially a wife, going out alone at night. Mali,
a modern man who spent three years in the West believes that women are as free as men
and they can go anywhere at any time as men do. Wives in India were given less
freedom. The relation of the husbands, and in-laws to the brides were based on power
rather than love. Thus in Indian society women were never treated as equals to men.
Justifying the absence of Grace at night, Mali tells Jagan that Grace is free to go
where she wishes. Narayan writes:
Mali announced, “She came here for the project, to work with me; didn’t
you see her name in the notice?”
. . . “If she has nothing to do here, she goes back, that’s all. Her air ticket
must be bought immediately.”
“But a wife must be with his husband, whatever happens.”
“That was in your day,” said Mail, and left the room (VS 127)
The confrontation of traditional Indian values regarding a wife and the modern western
values is evident in this dialogue. Jagan, a representative of traditional Indian values
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believes that a wife should be with her husband whatever happens to her. This male-
dominated value is in contrast with the modern feminist values held by Mali. Mali
believes that a wife is never inferior to her husband but is equal to him. She has equal
rights in her husband’s house. She should not be subservient to him. A husband has no
right to give orders to his wife.
The visit to Chinna Dorai’s garden and the spiritual discussion with him made
much transformation in Jagan. He took the Chinna Dorai, the bearded man as an angel
sent to him. After the visit when he reached home his mind became perturbed again. He
took the charka and started spinning. To quote the text: “. . . the slight whirring noise of
the wheel and the thread growing out of it between one’s thumb and forefinger were very
comforting, stilling the nerves and thoughts. Gandhi had prescribed spinning for the
economic ills of the country, but also for any deep agitation of the mind” (VS 121).
Jagan’s cure of worries is the traditional one done and recommended by the sages. But
modern man when confronted with stresses, finds consolation.
Jagan used ten-watt bulbs in his room and so there was only dim light inside. Mali
who came to Jagan’s room with a telegram from the associates, complained, ““Why can’t
you have brighter lights?”
Jagan replied, “Light rays should soothe the optic nerves and not stimulate them””
(VS 124). The present generation, both Indian and Western, never thinks like Jagan and
their use of light and sound is highly detrimental to the sense organs. Similarly, under-
light, as Jagan uses, is also harmful to the eyes and health.
When Jagan complained to the cousin that his son was living with Grace without
getting married, the cousin replied:
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“Our young men live in a different world from ours and we must not let
ourselves be upset too much by certain things they do.”
. . . Jagan said, “This sort of thing is unheard of in our family. Even my
grandfather’s brother, who was known to be immoral never did this sort of
thing. When he was not married he never claimed that he was married,
although . . .”
“I have heard my father speak about him. He was certainly married to
three wives and had numerous other women. He never shirked a
responsibility.”
. . . “I can’t understand how two young persons can live together like this
without being married,” said Jagan.
. . . “I feel my home is tainted now. I find it difficult to go back there.” (VS
137)
Jagan, a traditional Indian who believes in values can not imagine his son living
immorally with a woman in his house. He believes that his house is defiled and hence he
can not go back and live there.
The protagonist or the narrator of the story is only ‘the listener.’ In the
conventional manner of story telling, comedy is reinforced here. Barry Argyle writes:
To refer to a protagonist simply as ‘the listener’, and to enlarge on him a
little later only as ‘a cousin’, though how he came to be called so could not
be explained, is to create in the reader’s mind an echo of the comedy of
humours. But the echo is inexact. The ‘listener’, even when he becomes a
‘cousin’, is described by function not attribute. His function in the novel is
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defined by his relationship to Jagan: ‘His role was to help Jagan crystallize
his attitudes in crisis. He is referred to as ‘practical, ‘clear-headed’,
‘rational’. (15-16)
The cousin’s name is deliberately hidden by the novelist. Jagan shares his sorrows and
happiness with him and seeks advice whenever needed. The cousin visits Jagan’s shop
every afternoon and checks the taste of each item. Jagan and the cousin spend several
hours in the shop speaking. But it’s very strange that Jagan has never called him by his
name. Why his name is concealed is known only to the novelist. Unlike the Quixotic
Jagan, the cousin is very mature, rational and practical. The only flaw in him is that he
flatters Jagan now and then. Of course it is justifiable since it serves his purpose.
The Vendor of Sweets deals with the trials of relationship and the generation gap
between a father and his son. It is also a modish tale of the east versus the west. When
one reads these obvious contrasts, he should not fail to notice the similarities. In the
words of Barry Argyle:
Narayan is interested in the similarities, in states and feelings that might
have been the same; but by using a modish vehicle he not only disguises
his true concern . . . but also creates a tension between the apparent and
the real. This tension duplicates the novels theme, which is the search for
real values among many that are spurious or outworn. (35)
Thus this novel may be treated not only as a ‘generation novel’ or a ‘national novel’ but a
‘universal novel.’
Jagan is an orthodox Hindu who tried to live according to Hindu belifs and
traditions. He professed to live by the principles of the Gita and Gandhi, but had to live in
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the particular requirements of his own condition. “He makes and sells sweets, makes a lot
of profit, partially evades sales tax, but at the same time he claims to be a follower of
Gandhi and the Gita” (Nanda 89). Jagan is a representative of thousands of Indians who
outwardly appear to be very pious and straightforward, but their actions prove otherwise.
To safeguard their selfish interests they find justification in their congruities as Jagan did.
Narayan accepted the Hindu world view. To quote an example, when Mali told
his father that he had never seen a more wasteful country than theirs, the author made
Jagan retort that they found it adequate for their purpose. Commenting on this D. S.
Philip says, ““The purport of all this is clear: The West, enchanting as it may appear,
threatens to destroy that given traditional life its values. The West, Narayan, says, is not a
model Indians must imitate indiscriminately. This results in disruption rather than
contentment”” (qtd. in Nanda 92-93).
Mali’s story-writing machine, when viewed from Indian tradition, is the ultimate
profanity in the realms of art. “Mali tries to introduce the final depersonalization in an
Americanized, mechanical concepts of art. Even the critical and evaluative process is to
be mechanized with “a little fixture, by which any existing story could be split up into
components and analysed”” (Nanda 93). Jagan refuses to invest his money in such a
perversion of art as well as his tradition.
Towards the end of the novel the sculptor, Chinna Dorai, tells Jagan about the
dancing figure of Nataraj which was so perfect that it began a cosmic dance and the town
itself shook as if an earthquake had rocked it, until a small finger in the figure was
chipped off. To quote Nanda:
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This story of the dancing image gives an account of the Indian view of the
perfection of art which partakes of the divine nature. The contrast of this
view of art with the western conception of art propagated by Mali is
instructive. In the Indian view, one had to strive for perfection in art. In
the process one may transcend the illusory world of individuation and
discord and achieve Nirvana suggested by the cosmic dance. (93)
Unlike many other novels of Narayan The Vendor of Sweets focuses attention on a
limited number of people: Jagan, the protagonist, his son Mali, Mali’s companion Grace,
Jagan’s ubiquitous cousin who is not given a name, Jagan’s wife Ambika, his parents,
Chinna Dorai, the hair-blackener and sculptor and a few others. As the number of
characters is limited it presents greater psychological subtlety and depth of feeling than
many other novels of Narayan (Jayantha, “Gandhi” 62).
The Vendor of Sweets is not merely an amusing story which depends for its
comedy on the improbable and fantastic, but it has more depth than the apparent on the
surface. To quote R. A. Jayantha, “While it seems to tell the amusing story of an
eccentric and obscurantist father and his upstart son, and the game of hide and seek they
play with each other, in point of fact it is built on a few inter-related themes of which the
most readily obvious is the father-son motif” (“Gandhi” 62). The other themes are: youth
versus age, the generation gap, tradition versus modernity, East versus West, and search
or quest. The quest motif in the novel encompasses all the other themes. “Jagan the
protagonist of the novel, by virtue of his circumstances of his life, engaged himself in
different kinds of search. But he is not a deliberate and self-conscious quester, nor is he
capable of sophisticated intellectual inquiry” (“Gandhi” 62).
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Narayan’s fictional world, Malgudi, is the microcosm of Indian society revealing
all diversity. “From the appearance of Narayan’s first novel Swami and Friends (1935) to
the recent, The World of Nagaraj (1990), we are made aware of the steady encroachment
of modernity and the resultant conflict between modernity and the traditional Malgudi
life” (Nanda 88).
In Jagan, the reader may note an autobiographical element of the author. He can
be called an alter ego of Narayan in some aspects. To quote Macdonald, “It may be that
Narayan had a special sympathy for Jagan, since they both married at an early age, had
one child (Narayan’s was a daughter) and lost their much loved wives at an early stage in
the life of their children. And more important, Jagan and Narayan were both sixty years
old at the time the novel was written. In Jagan, Narayan has created a character close to
his own image” (155).
Waiting for the Mahatama is an exceptional novel in the sense that the actions
strayed out of Malgudi—it came as far as Delhi—and the two central characters, Sriram
and Bahrati were engaged in politics. Several novelists in Indo-Anglian literature as well
as regional languages have exploited the magic of Gandhi’s name and presence. What
makes this novel different from others is that Gandhi plays a major role from the
beginning to the end. In Untouchable Mulk Raj Anand gives Gandhi a part towards the
end. K. R. Srinivasa Iyengar writes that, “Gandhi is too big to be given a minor part: on
the other hand, he is sure to turn the novel into a biography if he is given a major (or the
central) part. The best thing for the contemporary novelist would be to keep Gandhi in the
background but make his influence felt indirectly” (372).
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Waiting for the Mahatma told the story of two young people of Malgudi, Sriram
and Bharati. Sriram was the orphaned young man brought up without a care by his
pampering grand-mother, whom he called Granny. On his twentieth birthday his Granny
entrusted him a considerable amount which she had kept in her account. The money was
the pension from Sriram’s father who had been killed in the War. He came into contact
with Bharati and fell into love at first sight. He met her as she was making tin collection
for the freedom movement. Bharati’s father had been shot dead while offering Satyagraha
against the British during the first Non-cooperation Movement. She, who was just an
infant then, was adopted and brought up by the Sevak Sangh, a Gandhian institute, as a
foster daughter to Gandhi. The love of Sriram and Bharati went on in the background of
the struggle for independence launched by Mahatma Gandhi. Bharati’s first loyalty was
to the Mahatma and the marriage between Sriram and Bharati could be possible only
when Gandhi gave his blessings to it. Meanwhile Sriram, a pleasure seeking man, was
totally changed to a freedom fighter and a follower of Gandhi. He was imprisoned for
several years as punishment for derailing a train. Finally he is freed from the prison as
India won independence. Thus finally Sriram and Brarati waited for the Mahatama at the
Birla Mandir in New Delhi to obtain his final consent for their marriage. Having received
the consent they attended the prayer meeting of Gandhi, where a young man shot Gandhi
dead.
Gandhi was a modern man who was educated in the West. He bore values which
he received from Western philosophy. The very concept of democracy was derived from
the Western Philosophy. Gandhi’s weapon of Satyagraha, Non-violence and Civil-
disobedience were derived from American Transcendentalists like Emerson and Thoreau.
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Similarly Gandhi was influenced by the French Revolution. Hence the freedom struggle
of India is the effect of modern concepts of democracy. The people of India enjoyed little
freedom during colonialism. They were oppressed by the colonial government as well as
by local kings. Thus the novel throughout is a call for modernity—a fight against the
traditional suppression. Gandhi’s revolutionary ideas and practices are contrasted with
the views of the orthodox traditionalists. The freedom struggle in India under his
leadership was aimed at making India a free democratic country. The noble democratic
values of liberty, fraternity and equality were embodied in him. Malgudi, the setting of
Narayan’s novels, was a typical South Indian town inhabited by traditional Hindu people.
Naturally Gandhi’s values met with resistence in Malgudi.
Sriram’s mother died after giving birth to him. His father was killed in
Mesopotamia. He had his mother’s framed photograph which for years he has been
hanging on the wall for him to see. “. . . when he grew tall enough to study the dim
picture, he didn’t feel pleased with her appearance; he wished she looked like that portrait
of a European queen with apple cheeks and wavy coiffure hanging in the shop opposite
his house, where he often went to buy pepper mints with the daily money given him by
his Granny” (WM 5). Sriram’s admiration for the West is visible here. Fascination for the
West has been a common feature of the people of the Orient.
Sriram’s Granny took him to the bank to start an account for him and thus hand
over his money from her account. She had been a trustee to the money which was
accumulated in the account by virtue of pension from her deceased son. Her authorization
was made and a sum of thirty eight thousand, five hundred rupees, seven anas and six
pies got into Sriram’s account. Granny expressed triumphantly her relief of keeping the
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account for twenty years. Then Sriram said in a causal manner, ‘“If I had been you I
wouldn’t have taken all this trouble to accumulate the money.’
‘You are not me, and that’s just as well. Don’t say such things before this man
who has watched and guarded your property all these years’” (WM 15).
The conversation shows how careless and irresponsible Sriram is. This is one of the
negative characteristics of modernity. The exchanges between Sriram and his grand
mother show one aspect of the conflict between youth and age, change and tradition,
which is again a recurring interest in Narayan’s work. “The reader is often left with the
awareness that there is much to be said for the traditional virtues and the integrity of the
traditional way of life. Here, as in other ways, one is made aware that finally, at its
deepest level, the interest of the work transcends to narrowly parochial” (Driesen 368).
Having opened the account in the bank, Sriram was in a hurry to withdraw the
allowable amount of two hundred and fifty rupees then itself. To quote from the text: “He
seized the pen-holder, stabbed it into the ink-well, wrote off a withdrawal for two
hundred and fifty rupees, tore off the page and pushed it before the manger with an air of
challenge. ‘Let us see if I am really the owner of this money!’ The manager was taken
aback at the speed of his activity” (WM 15). This reveals the haughty character of Sriram,
a spoilt modern man. Since it was already past four o’ clock and the transaction time was
over by 2 o’ clock, the manger asked him to change the date and collect the amount the
next day. He then asked Sriram, “Are you sure that you want all that sun urgently for the
first draw?’
‘Yes, I am positive,’ said Sriram. ‘I would have taken more if you had permitted
more than two hundred and fifty at a time.’
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‘May I know why you need all this at this amount?’ asked Granny.
‘Is it or is it not my money?’ asked Sriram (WM 15-16)
Sriram’s selfishness, ingratitude and pride are revealed in his words.
As part of propagating Gandhi’s message, especially ‘Quit India’, Sriram came to
the village named Solur. He halted before a shop and bought two plantains and a bottle of
soda. The shop man told Sriram that he had nice biscuits and asked if he wouldn’t try it.
Sriram asked him if the biscuit was English. He replied, ‘“. . . Purely English biscuits
which you can not get for miles around. In these days no one else can get them.’
‘Have you no sense of shame?’ Sriram asked.
‘Why, why, what is the matter?’ the other said, taken aback, and then said, ‘Hey,
give me the money for what you took and get out of here. You are a fellow in Khadi, are
you? Oh! Oh! I didn’t notice. And so you think you can do what you like, talk as you
like, and behave like a rowdy.’
‘You may say anything about me, but don’t talk ill of this dress—it is—too sacred
to be spoken about in that way.’” (WM 116)
Sriram has transformed from a wayward selfish modern materialist to a spokesman of
traditional values, swaraj and nationality.
In Waiting for the Mahatama Narayan presented Gandhi not as a symbol but as a
character, who took part in the development of the plot. In the words of Prof. Gurugopal
Mukherjee, “The incidents of the novel were interwoven with such historical incidents as
Gandhiji’s struggle for Indian independence, the Quit India Movement and that fatal
evening of the 30th
January, 1948, when the great devotee of non-violence fell a victim to
the assassin’s bullets” (45). Narayan did not present Gandhi in terms of great political
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events, but in relations to ordinary events while retaining his historical authenticity. “He
showed how ordinary people with no pretence to any idealism reacted to this great man”
(Mukherjee, Gurugopal 48).
Gandhi’s modern views on democracy were in conflict with the traditional views
of the characters in the novel. Satish C. Aikant writes:
Much of the narrative rests on the divergence between Gandhi’s teachings
and the manner in which the people adopt these in practice. They have
their own individual motives for joining Gandhi. Sriram joins the
movement because he wants to remain close to Bharati in order to follow
her wherever the movement may lead them. The chairman entertains
Gandhi to show off his palatial house and exhibit his worldly wealth
against Gandhi’s spiritual wealth. Mr. Natesh wants to wear the halo of
Gandhi’s words by interpreting his speech to Tamil. (94)
Sriram’s Granny is sceptic about Gandhi’s principles. She fears Gandhi’s
undesirable influence on her grandson and feels concerned that he is weaning Sriram
away from her. “For her filial bonds are more urgent and important. She also ridicules
Gandhi’s so-called soul-force and satyagraha and his fasts which she thinks are nothing
extraordinary” (Aikant 95).
Despite the ostensible political theme of Waiting for the Mahatma, the novel
centres on a personal rather than a socio-political subject. “Narayan shuns the intellectual
and political debate of the times and saves his characters from getting involved in such
issues: and he does not demand such involvement from his readers. He is not a politically
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committed novelist like Anand, nor a principled Gandhian like Rao, but “simply the
novelist as a novelist”” (Aikant 97).
Waiting for the Mahatma is the most controversial novel of R. K. Narayan.
Though the title proclaims that it is a novel about Gandhi it is not a “Gandhi-Novel.”
Some critics argue that the readers, especially Indians are dissatisfied with the novel since
they do not find the warmth and glorification of Gandhi in it. People do not find in the
novel the same Gandhi who is seated in their minds like a god. Similarly Waiting for the
Mahatma is not a “political novel” properly called. “As is his wont, Narayan aims at
telling a straightforward story of some belonging to Malgudi, the town of his mythical
imagination” (Jayantha, “Portrayal of Gandhi” 57). Narayan only wanted to focus the
humane qualities of Gandhi in this novel. Jayantha writes:
What he does is to focus attention mainly on the humane qualities of
Gandhi, which had enthroned him in the hearts of his countrymen, in spite
of his towering far, far above them in other aspects. This device enables
the novelist to avoid any detailed discussion, debate or elaboration of the
politics of the day, which Gandhi guided. Thereby the chief interest of the
novel and of Gandhi in it remains human rather than political, and the
novelist feels free to allow his comic irony to play upon events and people,
as he does in other novels. (“Portrayal of Gandhi” 58)
Waiting for the Mahatma is the most misunderstood of Narayan’s novels. Those
who admire it express only a lukewarm appreciation. Many critics of the novel compare
it with Raja Rao’s Kanthapura and Mulk Rah Anand’s Untouchable. But in theme,
design and structure Waiting for the Mahatma is different from these novel. When Uma
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Parameswaran, A. N. Kaul, C. D. Narasimhaiah etc. censure the novel, William Walsh,
O. P. Bhatnagar, and R. A. Jayantha praise it. William Walsh suggests that Waiting for
the Mahatma is a rare piece of triumph. Narayan’s ambition in writing this novel is not to
produce a great political novel. As Tripti Tiwari says, “Gandhi is seen here in relation to
the life of an ordinary boy from a remote village in the deep South. The Mahatmahood of
Gandhi is seen more in the tender care with which he treats the common people than the
statesman-like decisions that he takes about the destiny of the nation” (84). Murthy, the
hero of Kanthapura is a typical Gandhian disciple, a kind of Mini-Mahatma. “While
Murthy is an idealised version of a village lad, Sriram is portrayed realistically as a half-
educated youngman, who is irresistibly drawn towards Bharati” (Tiwari 85).
The title of the novel is very apt. To quote P. S. Sundaram from his book R. K.
Narayan, “Waiting for the Mahatma is not like Waiting for Godot. Sriram waits on him
for permission to marry Bharati. Godse waits for his pistol in hand. A sub-continent
waited in the confident hope that he will bring swaraj for its millions. He did not fail any
of them” (88). It is not fair to say that Narayan has not brought out the greatness of
Gandhi. In the words of Sundaram, “He certainly has not “enlarged” that awareness in the
sense of painting the picture larger than life. But the picture is all the truer for the
restraint and fidelity with which it has been drawn” (88).
The journey of the quest for independence and identity on a woman’s part is the
theme of the novel The Painter of Signs. The heroine Daisy wanted to be free from all the
chains of marriage and social system. Daisy was a very young and ultramodern girl who
had left her parents’ house in adolescence since she did not want to get married and live
the life of a traditional married Indian woman. She completed her education in a
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missionary school and took up the profession of a kind of Ladies Health Visitor
cooperating with zeal for population control, abortions, contraceptives etc. in the interest
of the welfare of the rural folk. Raman, a young painter of the sign boards, with modern
ideas got attracted towards her and wanted to marry her. But Daisy did not encourage his
emotions but by and by they became good friends. They started living together in spite of
the opposition Raman had to face from his Aunt and other members of his community.
Raman proposed to Daisy for marriage but she was reluctant to accept that kind of
bondage as marriage frightened her. On their agreement to start living under the same
roof, which was Daisy’s concept of marriage, she outrightly told Raman that she would
not be cooking food at home nor would she bear any child for him. Raman outwardly
agreed to every condition laid down by her bur in his heart of heart he brooded over the
prospects of his married life with Daisy. He promised Daisy to let her go on living in her
own way. On the day when Raman went to take Daisy to his home, she communicated
her decision not to live under any kind of bondage, and departed for a life of her own
style.
The Painter of Signs is a novel teeming with clashes between tradition and
modernity from the beginning to the end. The cause for the conflict is no doubt, the
education which brought western values into the Indian minds. The elder generation of
Malgudi, the miniature of Southern India, is illiterate and hence conservative. Raman, the
hero of The Painter of Signs, is a graduate but he is not affected by the modern trends,
beliefs and practices
Raman’s aunt, who belonged to a joint family, is telling her story to Raman. She
wants him to publish the story as a novel. To quote from the text, “She continued her
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narrative, “I was one of the several children in the house. It’s not like these days when
people are afraid of children. The house was full in those days. But nothing bothered
anyone in those days—as long as there was a well-stocked granary and the bronze rice-
pot was on the boil”” (PS 19). The aunt is proclaiming how she liked the disciplined life
of a joint family. Indirectly she shows her displeasure at the modern ways of life—
nuclear family where there is lack of discipline and real happiness.
Raman could not digest or accommodate Daisy’s idea of family planning though
he was educated and knew the gravity of population problem in the country. Hence the
conversation between them on the issue often created conflicts. Daisy told Raman:
“I am going on a tour of the surrounding villages for an initial survey, and
to look out for places where we can write our message on the walls
permanently. The headquarters want a picture of a family—a couple with
two children, with the message ‘We are two; let ours be two; limit your
family’—in all the local languages.”
Raman could not share her seriousness and began to laugh.
She was offended and said, “I see no joke in this.” (PS 55-56)
As part of birth control campaign Daisy and Raman went to a remote village and
were welcomed by a teacher to his house. She told the teacher that their work had to start
before the monsoon began because the birth rate grows up during the monsoon. But this
notion was timidly contested by the teacher. Daisy proved through statistics that in that
village there was an increase of twenty percent population from last year. She continued,
“Our quantum of population increase every year is equal to the total population of a
country like Peru, that’s fourteen million.”
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“What if!” said the foolhardy teacher. “We have enough space in this country—
still so many undeveloped areas. . . .” She said quietly, “How many of the seven hundred-
odd in this village will be prepared to move over to new areas when their homes become
too congested?” (PS 67) Though the teacher is educated and ought to teach the pupils the
necessity of birth control, he is driven by the traditional concepts of family. Narayan here
attacks the teacher’s ignorance of the national problems.
Daisy came to Raman’s house after she had left him for several days. They had
parted earlier unpleasantly since he had behaved to her in an objectionable manner. They
went now to the river steps and sat there. To quote from the text:
He threw a look at her, and felt drawn to her. He edged a few inches
nearer involuntarily.
She did not move away, but said, “Don’t try to get into trouble
again.”
He merely said, “I like you, I feel lost without you.”
“Better than getting lost along with me,” she mumbled on. ‘“I love
you,’ ‘I love you,’ are words which can hardly be real. You have learnt
them from novels and Hollywood film perhaps. When a man says, ‘I love
you’ and the woman ‘I love you’—it sounds mechanical and
unconvincing. Perhaps credible in western society, but sounds silly in
ours. People really in love would be struck dumb, I imagine.” (PS 125-
126)
She is in contrast to the traditional Raman.
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Daisy started narrating her past to Raman. She spoke of her childhood in some
village home where her father owned fields, gardens and orchards; theirs was a large joint
family consisting of numerous brothers, sisters, uncles, sisters-in-law, grand-aunts, and
cousins. Of this population fifteen were children. ““I sometimes wished I could be alone;
there was no time or place to consider what one should do or think. Practically no
privacy. . . . But I did not like so much common living”” (PS 128). Her longing for
privacy and the concept of nuclear family was the result of her western education.
Raman told his aunt his wish to marry Daisy. She asked him what her caste was
and who she was. He replied:
“Who is she? It is immaterial. She is going to be my wife, that’s all that
need be known.”
“Isn’t she a Christian or something—a name which is . . .”
“Nothing more than name of a flower, that’s all. Daisy is a flower .
. . What is wrong with that name?”
“A Christian! How can you bring a Christian . . .”
Raman didn’t have the patience to launch on the oneness of all
religions, but merely said, “I only know that her name is Daisy. I have not
thought of asking whether she is a Christian or what. Never occurred to
me to ask, that’s all. I’ll ask you not to bother about it. She is a human
being just like you or me, that’s all.” (PS 147)
Though Raman is traditional in many other aspects, here he shows his modernity. Like a
true Western man he chooses his wife irrespective of caste or religion. His aunt, a typical
Hindu woman, cannot think of her nephew marrying a lady outside her caste. The conflict
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between the Eastern and Western values--between tradition and modernity is evident in
their conversation.
The social role of family is portrayed through Raman’s Aunt Laxmi. To quote
Carter:
What Narayan chooses as the most important element of her character is,
not surprisingly, her function as a symbolic narrator of the traditional
India(s) that both Raman and Daisy have turned their backs on. . . . Aunt
Laxmi is the cultural and temporal fulcrum of the novel, on which the
Western plane of Raman’s and Daisy’s lives precariously rests. (112-113)
The Western attitude to work and social changes is emphasized in Daisy’s
character. Like any western woman she is highly independent. Unlike many Indian
women, Daisy is courageous, adventurous, determined and industrious. She shows
superiority over men. Daisy is willing to take risks and confront dangers. She possesses
more masculine character than feminine. To certain extent she is even tyrannical. “Her
zeal acquires an obsessive, puerile quality that reflects no less pejoratively on Raman.
Western influence, in spite of the text’s accommodation of the Western reader, is being
critiqued quite rigorously through Daisy and Raman” (Carter 114).
Though Narayan has studied various relationships in his novels, the man-woman
relationships and family are the nuclei everywhere. The novels The Dark Room, The
Guide and The Painter of Signs “deal basically with the lot and concerns of women, and
the attempt made by three types of Indian women, a housewife, an educated wife, and a
determined working woman, to revolt against the taken-for-granted roles of a wife in an
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Indian system, and emerge as individuals having their own identity and recognition”
(Kaur 13).
In the treatment of the major heroines of Narayan’s novels, Savitri in The Dark
Room, Rosie in The Guide and Daisy in The Painter of Signs, the novelist has certainly
showed tremendous change and movement in the quest for women’s independence. To
quote Tejinder Kaur:
In an interview by S. Krishnan when asked how Narayan gave such “an
orthodox cast of mind to his heroine Daisy,” Narayan himself explained
that “. . . In The Dark Room I was concerned with showing the utter
dependence of woman on man in our society. I suppose I have moved
along with the times. This girl in my new novel is quite different. Not only
is she not dependent on men, she actually has no use for them as an
integral part of her life. (18)
Daisy is adventurous in spirit and haughty in manner. That she has the tenacity of
will is evident in the resistance she brings to bear on the Christian missionary
organization to foil its attempt to convert her. In return to the help she received from it
she agreed to change her name to Daisy. Trained in social work by Christian
missionaries, she espouses the cause of arresting the population growth by educating the
poor people like slum-dwellers and rustics about the need of having nuclear families.
“The choice of profession itself reflects her radical thinking. She does not do so out of
compulsion, but out of a desire to something unusual in life. May be, she wants to have
an identity distinct from others of her sex” (Mehta 85). Feminism which originated in the
West influenced Narayan, and through him Daisy.
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Malgudi, certainly, is not the place to welcome Daisy. “That is the reason why the
author gives her a ‘non-denominational name’ making her almost nameless; also he lets
her go away from Malgudi. He does this because he probably does not wish to defeat
Daisy by letting an able and fiery woman fall into the traditional rut” (Bande 107). Daisy
is a great force to reckon with. “She is not just a suave bureaucrat who got sign-boards
written and files completed and properly knotted with red-tape; she has ‘a furnace of
conviction (p. 47) and so she could not be trifled with” (Bande 107). Unlike the
traditional Indian woman portrayed so far in Indian English fiction, Daisy is “both cold
and warm, feminine and masculine. She has a ‘smiling side to her and a non-smiling one;
a talkative and non-speaking’ . . .” (Bande 110).
Ramani, the male protagonist of The Dark Room asks himself questions. This
does not make him happier in the end. He failed to realize the true meaning of women’s
lib which can only be achieved at the cost of family life. He is left on his own, having lost
both his Aunt and Daisy. To quote Pousse:
He incarnates a society trapped between two evils. On the one hand, he
craves (more or less consciously) for traditional comfort to which he is
sentimentally attached and on the other hand he intellectually understands
the need for change. Raman belongs neither to the past nor to the future
for which he is ill prepared. He belongs to the Boardless, where men talk
and argue but not act. (4)
While Daisy discards all history or tradition inimical to her rigid philosophy of
life, Raman is unable to face the kind of reality she is so bent on maintaining at all costs.
“Unlike her, he finds comfort in the very tradition he is trying to reject. He is deeply
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rooted in tradition as he is in his home, neither of which he can relinquish as easily as he
sometimes wishes” (Prakash 196).
Narayan, through this, points out that the Malgudi of 1972 is not the old Malgudi.
Young men are around. To quote P. S. Sundaram:
The fact that Family Planning is no longer a matter to be talked in
whispers but has an officer specially deputed to get it carried out—and
that, too, a young woman—shows how far the country, and along with it
Malgudi has advanced since the time Swami went to a Missionary school
to listen to contemptuous remarks about his country’s gods by a Christian
teacher.
But a single Daisy, in spite of her name, does not make either for
Europeanization or modernity. Even a name plate cannot be hung except
at the hour fixed by an astrologer, and the letters on the plate have to be
slanted to the left because that is what brings luck to one whose ruling star
is Saturn . . . Raman’s aunt is not the only one to go on a pilgrimage to
Banares; with her go women belonging to a younger generation. And
Daisy herself for all her modernity does not believe in the West and its
love and romance. (“The Painter of Signs” 99)
Narayan seems to dread the fate of the male in the new social order based on
rejections—Raman’s aunt rejects the new, liberated woman and opts for freedom to
pursue her God; Raman rejects his aunt’s God in his quest for rational approach to life;
and finally, there is Daisy rejecting everything for her freedom as an individual.
“Comically, Raman shrugs off all ties when he paddles toward the so-called stability of
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the ‘Boardless’, proclaiming it to be the only ‘solid, real world of sublime soul’s (p. 143).
But one wonders: will the ‘Boardless’ ever substitute the ‘solid, real’ security of a
home’” (Bande 102).
The issues of sexual politics, romantic love, marriage, family planning and
women’s liberation are sign-posted within a design of ironic humour in this novel. In the
words of Syd Harrex, “Three main characters—Raman, his aunt, and Daisy—surrounded
by vividly idiosyncratic minor players enact a drama of deflated romance and ironic
cross-purposes which compares and contrasts ideas of womanhood from India and the
West” (75).
Narayan has not placed the female protagonist, as is conventionally done, as the
guardian of tradition and culture in this novel. Still Daisy in the traditional sari embodies
the post-colonial tussle between modernity and tradition. In the words of Harleen Singh,
“In this novel, surprisingly, cultural gender roles are reversed. Unlike the usual
description of the Indian woman as the sentinel of culture, Narayan posits the educated
Raman as the one who is incapable of throwing off the yoke of tradition, and Daisy as the
revolutionary figure—though neither of them unproblematized” (199-200).
In The Dark Room, Narayan’s second novel, the central character is Savitri, a
typical Indian housewife who is the victim of patriarchy. Savitri is married to Ramani, an
employee of the Engladia Insurance Company. They have three children. Savitri is
dominated and neglected by her husband. There is a dark room in their house where
Savitri retires whenever her husband’s harshness seems unbearable to her.
The Engladia Insurance Company takes a decision to take in more women
probationers into its branches. Given the task of interviewing the applicants, Ramani is
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smitten by one Mrs. Shanta Bai, an elegant and independent woman recently separated
from her husband. Ramani strongly recommends that she be employed.
An intimacy develops between the two that puts a stain in the marital life of
Savitri and Ramani. Ramani arranges Santa Bai to be accommodated in the spare room of
the office, and in the process takes several pieces of furniture from his home to furnish
the room, including a bench, which was Savitri’s favourite piece of furniture. Savitri
eventually learns of her husband’s relationship with the new woman in his office. She
tries to win him back, but he pays no attention to her. All the suppressed frustration inside
her bursts out one night when Ramani comes home, surprising everyone, including
herself. She threatens to leave the house, and Ramani, thinking she is bluffing, taunts her
and tells her to go ahead. She packs the few belongings she has and leaves the house. She
attempts to take the children too, but was stopped by Ramani. Savitri attempts to drown
herself in the Sarayu river, but is rescued by Mari, the locksmith, umbrella-repairer and
blacksmith of Sukkur village, who is also a burglar at nights. He and his wife, Ponni take
Savitri to their home. Savitri is now obsessed with leading a self sufficient life, as she has
had enough of being dependent on her husband so far. For a short period of time, she
succeeds in doing so by taking up a small job as a servant in a small temple. She was
overjoyed with her own earnings for she no longer had to be dependent on Ramani. That
night when she had to stay alone in a small dingy room adjacent to the temple, strange
thoughts crept to her mind. She couldn’t believe how she had revolted against her
husband in this manner. As any mother, she was feeling guilty in abandoning her
children. She was worried how they would cope up and who would take care of them. In
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the heart of heart, she decided to gulp her husband’s insults and immediately set off for
Malgudi to return back home.
R. K. Narayan is not a feminist. Even then he has shown his sympathy for the
exploited and oppressed class of women in Indian society. The helplessness and
miserable condition of a Hindu housewife is brought to the forefront in The Dark Room.
Savitri is a victim of a particular social set up. Ramani, typical of many Indian husbands,
is authoritarian and chauvinistic. The happiness and unhappiness, and quiet and disquiet
of the household depend mainly on the mood and temper of the husband. In the house,
the servants, children and even the wife are certainly in a state of extreme fear due to the
domineering and cynical nature of Ramani
Savitri and Shanta Bai represent two types of wives prevalent in the Indian
society. Savitri is a traditional wife who is not affected by the modern Western education
or the liberated Western woman. She is a representative of the majority of Indian wives
who are docile, modest, gentle, religious and loving. Her only anxiety is the welfare of
her husband and children. Narayan has given twist to Savitri’s character in accepting that
life is meaningless without husband and kids. But on the other hand, Shanta Bai seems to
portray the fashionable and butterfly type of ‘liberated woman’ who leads a life
according to her terms without bothering about the society.
Narayan is a minute observer of society. His fictional world is circumscribed by a
traditional Hindu society where men rather than women hold a superior position. He
probes into the everyday incidents in Hindu household and exposes the predicament of
common housewives who are generally confined to home and hearth. The novelist’s
world of women is far removed from the modern lib movement. The heroine is all
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suffering housewife of Indian society who is exploited in her life. Narayan’s novels
depict the irony of modern Indian life where women on the one hand are regarded as
deity and on the other are bereft of their basic rights. That is why women characters in the
novels of R. K. Narayan present the true voice of endurance.
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