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One of the richest premises for comedy is a situation where two people discuss a very serious and urgent subject but fail to get anywhere because, for all their eagerness to understand each other, they are talking at cross-purposes. The gap between their backgrounds, beliefs and cultural reference points is so large that there is no way of finding common ground. (One might say they are suspended in limbo.)
The Prevalence of Witches contains an extraordinary passage of black humour involving just such a conversation. The participants are a Limbodian village headman and an English administrator named Catullus; the former is patiently trying to explain how a witch goes about her spiteful work, why she must be interrogated by hanging her upside down and beating her, and why she may “choose” to be either alive or dead (not that there’s much difference between these two states of being, as far as witches are concerned – they are very troublesome creatures either way). The funniness of this passage comes from the growing perplexity and frustration of both parties, and Menen’s ability to make us empathize (to a degree) with both. We are not privy to Catullus’s inner thoughts, though we can imagine what they must be. Instead, our perspective throughout is that of the headman. From the time he sits down to tell his story, he is conscious that these strange, overdressed men might not properly understand him, so he tries to anticipate their reactions and speak in terms that would be clear to them – as if he were explaining the facts of life to children.
“Our village has a witch,” he began. “She is not one of the ordinary dirty witches that you meet anywhere. She is a very clever woman and always wears as many clothes as she can. She keeps the top half of her body covered even in the hottest weather.” He was immensely pleased with this beginning, and paused to admire the way he could adapt himself to any company.And the conversation goes on, becoming more and more complicated. I wish I could transcribe the whole chapter here – it’s a masterpiece of deadpan humour. The headman is convinced his listeners will be sympathetic to the idea that he and his men had severely beaten a woman until she “got annoyed” and “decided” to die just to teach everyone a lesson (and wreak even more mischief). Or that they held another woman’s head under the river until she “abandoned” her current body and enter the body of a dog sitting nearby. These are, after all, basic concepts – why do these white men look so confused when they hear about them?
“What is her name?” Catullus asked him.
“Gangabai.”
“Have you brought her with you?”
“Oh no.”
“Where is she?”
“That is not easy to say.”
“Has she run away?”
“Oh no, not run away.”
“Very well, has she gone away?”
“No, in a sense, and then, yes, in a sense,” said the headman.
“Which? Yes or no?” asked Catullus.
“Both. She has been dead three years.”
“Please begin again, and at the beginning of your story,” said Catullus.
“Our village has a witch called Gangabai,” said the headman politely.
“Has? You mean your village had a witch,” Catullus corrected him.
“You are quite right,” said the headman, “Our village had a witch and she died, and now our village has a witch.”
“Another witch?”
“The same witch,” said the headman gravely, shaking his head.
Catullus leaned back in his chair.
“Perhaps you had better tell me the story in your own words.”
The headman agreed, but he privately told himself that he had no intention of doing so. It would be much too gross for these delicate (and, he was beginning to suspect, not very keen-witted) persons. He had to make the whole thing sound whimsical and gay, although it had really been very far from that. He wished these people could face the crude facts of living, but it was so clear that they could not.
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Later, when the villagers are told that their children must go to school to learn to read, and that the Englishmen will provide them with books to read, the response is a reasonable, “Is that not like the man who gave a village a tiger and then gave the village a gun to shoot it with?” By the time a fake Swami arrives, dressed in a flowing white blouse tucked into a pair of khaki shorts (so that “he gave the appearance of a Boy Scout carrying a stained-glass window adorned with a picture of an Old Testament prophet, in such a manner that the scout was visible only from the waist downwards”), we begin to wonder if it isn’t best to leave Limbo to its own devices.
Menen isn’t exactly quick reading – his humour demands full concentration if you really want to savour it. Also, my attention wandered during a chapter where Catullus, the narrator and a couple of others indulge in long-winded philosophizing about matters of theology, authority and art. This bit read like something out of a much-too-explicit Novel of Ideas – it reminded me of the duller stretches of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. But mostly, The Prevalence of Witches is a very pleasing reminder of the lush, literate and merciless black comedy of an earlier time.
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That conversation is so very Catch-22 like, albeit on a less cynical note. For example, the conversation between the immoral old man and Nately, who takes America, patriotism, nationality etc. for granted and is flustered by the old man's impudent posture towards such holy cows.
ReplyDeleteThere's an Aubrey Menen version of Ramayana! Looking forward to your appraisal of that one.
ReplyDeleteAnon 1: should really go and reread Catch 22, it's been so long. I remember that conversation vaguely.
ReplyDeleteAnon 2: yes, I know about it and wouldn't mind getting my hands on it sometime, given all the controversy it stirred up. Could be fun.
The version of The Ramayana is subtitled "A Mischievous Retelling of the Hindu Classic". It was published in 1954, and as far as I know, has been banned in India. The book is currently out of print, but copies may be available in old bookshops in the US.
ReplyDeleteI have read it about 45 years ago when I was a student. It begins with an introduction that goes somewhat like this:
"Rama was a great prince of India, who lived his life according to the best advice given to him by his gurus, the Brahmins, and did whatever they told him to. He learnt his morals from the best moralists, and politics from the best politicians. As a result he was ruined, exiled, and lost his kingdom. His wife was stolen, and when he did get her back he had to nearly burn her alive to uphold the highest principles. Despite following his moral and political preceptors with devotion, he finally managed to recover his kingdom, his wife, and his common sense".
It is a masterly political satire on how the Upper Classes, meaning the Brahmins, controlled and manipulated the people, made laws, dicated morals, controlled the temples, and terrified the king. Menen, in his retelling has taken full license to reinvent the entire narrative, and I recall that he had completely eliminated the character of Hanuman. Maybe a rereading of the book is called for to put it in the present context when the political scenario does seem somewhat like his Ayodhya of 2500 years ago.
Jai - I have finished 3/4ths of The Prevalence of Witches. It is so good, particularly those never ending discussions between Catullus, Bay, Swami and the narrator. My head was spinning last night and I had to stop reading it just at the point when Catullus has explained why world doesnt need genius and Swami has explained why he wants to be a partner in hat business. I was about to start Bay's response to that, but I thought its better to relax and read it later. And, besides the content, Menen is such an amazing prose writer...hopefully the three remaining novels in the collection will live up to my high expectations :) Thanks for introducing me to his writings...
ReplyDeleteRead Menen's "Prevalence of Witches" at age 15 some 65 years ago. These comments make me want to read them all over again.
ReplyDelete