Phoolsunghi Read online

  PANDEY KAPIL

  PHOOLSUNGHI

  Translated from the Bhojpuri by Gautam Choubey

  The First-Ever Translation of a Bhojpuri Novel into English

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  Preface

  Introduction

  1One Life, Two Chance Encounters

  2A House for the Drifters

  3The Cage by Saryu

  4A Priceless Gift

  5O’ Beloved, Remember Me

  6The Pet and the Patron

  7An Unexpected Guest

  8A Secret Pact

  9She Is No Harlot

  10Parting Lessons

  11Friends, Foes and Heirs

  12A Brief Stopover

  13The Forgotten Ones

  14The Past and the Future

  15For your love

  16A Champak Tree for the Lovebirds

  Footnotes

  Introduction

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Penguin

  Copyright

  Advance Praise for the Book

  ‘Based on real life-characters who quickly acquired legendary status, this lyrical novel plays out in a part of Bihar now considered remote, which, in its heyday, was considered the very centre of pulsating life and creativity. The first full-fledged foray into Bhojpuri literature, sensitively translated, we have before us the prospect of the kind of pleasure derived from slowly reading and savouring a tale of love and romance, joy and suffering, but most of all, of celebrating song and music.’

  —Vasudha Dalmia, Professor Emerita of Hindi and

  Modern South-Asian Studies, University of California, Berkley

  ‘Phoolsunghi’s greatest triumph lies in bringing the pulsating soul of an artist to life. Gautam Choubey’s English translation succeeds in encapsulating the subtleties of the Bhojpuri worldview so endearingly expressed in the original. I hope that this translation draws the mainstream’s attention towards the long-neglected language, literature and culture of the Bhojpuri-speaking people of the world.’

  —Manoj Bajpayee, two-time recipient of the National Award

  ‘This brilliantly lively first translation of a Bhojpuri novel dramatizes the intertwined lives of characters that never cease to fascinate and surprise us. Led deftly beyond familiar clichés and stereotypes, we experience the layered richness of a fictional world in which the mundane and the magical are unforgettably blended.’

  —Jatindra Kumar Nayak, veteran literary critic and translator

  ‘Probably the first book from Bhojpuri to be translated into English, this charming tale captures very well that quintessentially rural territory whose two defining urban poles are Banaras to the west and Calcutta to the east, both of which this novel visits. Charmingly told, the tale has an old-world setting when opium was still the main cash crop, there were no railways, the British and the Indians interacted on a level that became impossible after the “Mutiny”, and no zamindar felt complete without his resident tawaif (courtesan) who, however, having her heart in the right place, would fall for the local poet. This deftly plotted novel is well served by an apt translation and enhanced by an “Introduction” in which the translator provides a rich background to the Bhojpuri region and its nascent literature.’

  —Harish Trivedi, former professor of English,

  University of Delhi

  ‘After the iconic Umrao Jaan Ada, this is by far the greatest novel around the charisma of a nautch girl. Originally in Bhojpuri, Phoolsunghi evokes the ineffable mystique and romance of a lost culture which, for all its political and perhaps “moral” incorrectness, has lost none of the poignancy and poetry underlying its platonic eroticism and romance. In Choubey’s inspired piece of translation, this popular and modern Bhojpuri classic is reborn as if were an original masterpiece in English, recapturing a significant bit of cultural history. This book alone might serve the cause of Bhojpuri as no political clamour for reclaiming its classical status can.’

  —Sumanyu Satpathy, former professor of English,

  University of Delhi

  ‘It is only fitting that Pandey Kapil’s Bhojpuri novel should trace the careers and adventures of celebrated Bhojpuri folk poet Mahendar Misar and famous singer Dhelabai. Sparkingly translated by Gautam Choubey, it is truly a delight to read and will transport you into a thrilling world of music, poetry, and love against the backdrop of colonial rule, the opium trade and nationalist politics.’

  —Francesca Orsini, Professor of Hindi and

  South Asian Literatures, SOAS,

  University of London

  Preface

  I don’t have much to say about Phoolsunghi. Its plot must not be mistaken for history, events described in the novel aren’t historically accurate, and its characters are fictional; this, I wish to clarify. It is beyond doubt that Dhela, Mahendar Misir, Haliwant Sahay and Revel Sahib were real people. However, since no verifiable account of these characters have come to light, their stories remain full of rumours and legends. Emboldened by a bunch of such legends, the plot of this novel has been invented. Nonetheless, its portrayal of a particular period, a certain region and a specific society is indeed correct.

  Pandey Kapil

  26 January 1977

  2 East Garden Road, Patna: 800001

  Introduction

  Phoolsunghi (1977) is arguably the most loved of all Bhojpuri literary works. A historical novel, it traverses a period of ninety years in colonial India, roughly between 1840s and 1931. The novel’s two protagonists, Mahendra Mishra (hereafter, Mahendar Misir, 1886–1946) and Dhelabai (d 1931), have been drawn from real life. The former was one of the most enigmatic folk poets of Bhojpuri and the latter a tawaif, who rose to prominence in a militantly patriarchal society of Bihar. The story of Mahendar and Dhelabai remains one of the most celebrated legends of Bihar and it has attracted three other novel-length explorations.1 Pandey Kapil (1930–2017) is himself often hailed as the protagonist of Bhojpuri literary movement in post-Independence India. His rendition of the story is an empathetic portrayal tawaifs, patrons and the perpetually rootless folk poets. For these reasons, Phoolsunghi calls for attention to a sizeable portion of Bhojpuri’s literary and folk heritage.

  The Story

  Haliwant Sahay, an ageing zamindar from Chhapra, gets Dhelabai abducted and holds her captive at the Red Mansion; she had irked him by spurning his advances, and he wanted to avenge an injured pride. It is at the Red Mansion that Dhelabai meets Mahendar Misir and falls in love—with the man and his music, both. However, her love remains unfulfilled, in spite of Mahendar’s quiet reciprocation. With time, Dhelabai rises in social esteem, and when Sahay renounces the world, she inherits half of his property. The inheritance leads to a series of crisis, both legal and personal, eventually triggering Mahendar’s departure from Chhapra. After a rewarding short stay in Banaras, Mahendar goes to Calcutta, gets involved in a banknote forgery, and upon his return to his ancestral village, gets arrested for his crime. When Dhelabai learns of his arrest, she mounts a gallant legal defence to secure his release from prison, surprising many with her tenacity. However, Mahendar confesses to his crimes and is sentenced to ten years in prison. The two only manage to meet when it is almost too late.

  The phoolsunghi or flowerpecker that gives the novel its name is a tiny bird known for its noisy bustle around flower plants. However, if trapped in a cage, it loses its liveliness and withers away quickly. Phoolsunghi, therefore, is a metaphor for free-spirited creatures, striving for survival and meaning beyond their respective cages. There is, of course, the Red Mansion—the physical cage—where Dhelabai lives, locked away from the world of music that she once reigned over. But there are other cages too: gender, morality, wealth and even ‘feeling’
hearts. These cages trap the characters of Phoolsunghi in social roles and obligations they feel inadequate to fulfill, igniting a desire to break free. It is this desire to rescue a trapped-self that drives most of the action in the novel.

  The Author

  For close to seven decades, Pandey Kapil championed the cause of Bhojpuri with an indefatigable zeal—leading literary associations, editing periodicals and bearing with grace the burden of being a Bhojpuri author, consigned to anonymity outside the Bhojpuri belt. Kapil did everything by himself: from collecting write-ups to editing, and from raising money for publication to carrying copies of his periodicals to the nearest post office.2 It will be apt to say that the career of Pandey Kapil mirrors the career of Bhojpuri literature.

  He was born into an affluent Kayasth household in Sheetlapur, a village located in Saran, Bihar. Devotion for art and literature ran deep into his family. His grandfather, Pandey Damodar Sahay ‘Kavi Kinkar’ (1875–1932), was an acclaimed poet of the Dwivedi era (1893–1918).3 Sahay had established a Hindi library in his village and named it Hindi Mandir, signifying his devotion to the then fast-growing language. It was here that Kapil spent most of his formative years, reading books and staging plays. His father, Pandey Jagannath Prasad (1905–88), was a distinguished storyteller who wrote in both Hindi and Bhojpuri. Prasad’s best remembered work is Gaon Ghar Tola (1979), a Bhojpuri novel which narrates the history of Sheetlapur, traversing nearly three centuries from the reign of Emperor Jahangir (1569–1627) to the 1930s. It is widely regarded as the finest specimen of the ‘aanchalik’ or regional novel in Bhojpuri, in league with Nagarjun’s Balchanma (1952) and Rahi Masoom Raza’s Aadha Gaon (1966). Kapil’s two younger brothers, P. Chandravinod (b.1935) and Pandey Surendra (b.1945), sculpt, paint and write in Bhojpuri.

  Kapil’s literary sensibility bore other influences too. His professional engagement with Bihar Rajyabhasha Parishad, which he joined after completing his BA from Banaras Hindu University (BHU), brought him in close contact with writers from across India. Besides, the Patna of his youth was an electrifying place for writers and politicians. The coterie of authors, that met everyday at the Janta Hotel, and later at the Coffee House on Jail Road, showered his sensibility with perspectives of all shade—communist, progressive, orthodox and nationalist. With the establishment of Akhil Bharatiya Bhojpuri Sahitya Sammelan in 1973, the group shifted its base to Kapil’s residence. Over the years, his house remained an unmissable destination for writers who happened to be in the city, including the likes of Ramdhari Singh Dinkar (1908–1974) and Panishwarnath Renu (1921–77).

  He established two major literary forums, both based out of his residence, and served them till his last days. While Bhojpuri Sansthan (est.1970) oversaw the publication of nearly one hundred Bhojpuri works, Akhil Bharatiya Bhojouri Sahitya Sammelan brought together the entire Bhojpuri literati, scattered across India and overseas. As an organizer, he actively promoted young writers, supported efforts to establish Bhojpuri literary bodies throughout India, kept caste-factionalism away, campaigned vigorously to secure official recognition for the language, and strove hard to create a market for Bhojpuri books—one that could compete with the market for Hindi literature.

  His journalistic and editorial practices were liberal and accommodative. During his editorship of four major periodicals—Humkar (1951–1952), Ureh (1971–1980), Log (1976) and Bhojpuri Sammelan Patrika (1980–2001)—he promoted young voices, introduced new genres in Bhojpuri and kept a close watch on the direction of the language movement. Other than Phoolsunghi, he composed ghazals and poems in Bhojpuri, wrote a short memoir, and translated works from English and Sanskrit. His other published works include Bhor Ho Gayel (1971) Kah Na Saki (1995), Jeebh Bechari Ka Kahi (2004), Vividha (2011), Krishnarjun Samwad (Bhojpuri translation of the Bhagvad Gita, 2015) and Sans Chalat Jable Rahe (2017).

  Kapil started his career as a Hindi poet, inspired by the neo-romanticism of Nirala’s Chhayawad. From 1955 to 1963, he was associated with Bihar Hindi Sahitya Sammelan, and from 1966–1973, he was the president of Saran Zila Hindi Sahitya Sammelan. His early works—Abhaas (1956, a collection of poems in Hindi) and Ara Mein Do Maas (1961, a Hindi translation of John James Halls’ Two Months in Arrah)—were fairly well received. However, he forfeited his prospects as a Hindi author to take up the cause of Bhojpuri literature, even as many others, after dabbling with Bhojpuri for a while, turned to Hindi for greater fame and success.

  For all Bhojpuri authors, both established and aspiring, Hindi literature constitutes the primary fodder for their literary sensibilities. When Kapil started writing, Premchand’s literary realism was firmly established in Hindi, embellished further by the psychological-turn ushered in by Yashpal (1903–1976) and Jainendra Kumar (1905–1988). By the 1960s, ‘Nayi Kahani’ or the new story, pioneered by Mohan Rakesh (1925–1972), Rajendra Yadav (1929–2013) and Kamleshwar (1932–2007), had proudly announced its arrival on the literary scene. Their writings dealt with fractured urban life in a rapidly modernizing India, and the conundrums of women trapped therein. At the same time, a radical literary consciousness, fashioned by the experience of Naxalism in Bihar and the magnetism of Jay Prakash Narayan’s ideas—something which the Patna-based writers felt more keenly than others—added to the mix. However, having severed its ways with Hindi, Bhojpuri charted its own independent course, focusing more on rural idealism, patriotic reading of regional histories and issues of the village society, particularly marriage and dowry. It developed an idiom that resisted convenient clubbing with any major literary movements in Hindi, Renu’s ‘aanchalikta’ being the only exception. When Bhojpuri novels like Ramnath Pandey’s Bindiya (first Bhojpuri novel, 1956), Ramprasad Ray’s Tharuhat Ke Babuwaaur Bahuriya (1962), Jagdish Ojha’s Rahandar Beti (1966), Chandradhar Pandey’s Charkha Dai (1997) and Phoolsunghi explore questions of women, they do not borrow the themes or motifs from Nayi Kahani, nor their narrative style that focuses on a character’s interiority. This was necessary too; at a time when Hindi literature had shifted its settings to urban India, abandoning the villages, Bhojpuri writers continued to deal with the anxieties and aspiration of rural society.

  Although Phoolsunghi was written and published during the days of Emergency (1975–77), we do not see any major social conflicts, other than those of inheritance, broached in the novel. Instead, the work celebrates the deep emotional ties, empathy and camaraderie between the most unlikeliest of allies; between an ageing English opium agent and a young Indian orphan, between a memsahib and the natives; between a concubine-turned-wife and her aristocratic abductor; between an artless prostitute habituated to drinking and a Brahmin music maestro; between a paralysed tawaif, left to beg on the streets of Calcutta, and the man she had once insulted; between lovers who never confront their own feelings, never get intimate. The novel revels in its ability to portray these instances of affective intimacy and man’s capacity for compassion. Of course, Haliwant Sahay schemes to press the gullible Doms into his service, but it isn’t depicted as an exploitative arrangement; over the years, Bulakna grows to become an important member of the household, eventually earning enough money to start a promising new life in Calcutta. It must be emphasized that Kapil’s refusal to delve into the socio-political turmoil does not mirror the general mood of Bhojpuri literature of the time; it was a period of intense creative ferment and politically astute writings. For example, Chaudhary Kanhaiya Prasad Singh’s Geet Jingi Ke (1978), published a year after Phoolsunghi, attempts to rewrite stories from the Ramayana to capture the somber shades of the agrarian crisis, unemployment and class antagonism in Bihar. But Pandey Kapil had other ideas; he chose literary activism, staying clear of realpolitik.

  The Folk Poet

  Scholars believe that Mahendar Misir was born on 16 March 1886 in Mishrawaliya, a village near Chhapra. However, many others dispute the date, citing an almost twenty-year age gap between him and Bhikhari Thakur (1887–1971), the legendary Bhojpuri folk artist. But this is just one of th
e many uncertainties surrounding his life—one that has all the substance of a cliffhanger. Even so, stories about his life, conflicting as they are, have a few elements in common too. His platonic relationship with Dhelabai; his arrest for note forgery; Dhelabai’s attempt to save him: every account acknowledges these rudiments. Disagreements arise around motives ascribed to his actions. These motives, in turn, determine his public image. For example, stories that suggest he took to forgery to sabotage British economy celebrate him as an unsung revolutionary. By contrast, accounts like Phoolsunghi, which attribute the scam to his innocent wish to help courtesans in distress, depict him as an empathetic poet with strong urges, but not too keen to find a larger purpose in life.

  Growing up in Mishrawaliya, Mahendar was smitten with wrestlers and storytellers who flocked to a gymnasium near the village temple. The fascination often kept him away from the local school and the Sanskrit literature taught therein.4 His poetry, as a result, has only vague imprints of Sanskrit poetics; his verses echo popular themes and motifs culled from Kabir, Dharnidas and Lakshmi Sakhi—the saint-poets admired across the Bhojpuri belt. His years of creative spurt coincide with two major phases of Hindi literature: Premchand-led literary realism and the experimentalism of Chhayawad, both gushing with nationalist sentiments. Even in the Bhojpuri world, popular poems of Raghuveer Narayan (1884–1955) and the plays of Rahul Sankrityayan (1893–1963) expressed strong anti-British sentiments. Yet, only a single poem in Mahendar’s copious repertoire is explicitly anti-British.5 Is this proof enough that he wasn’t a revolutionary? I’ll return to that question later.

  In the accounts of his life, his relationship with Bhikhari Thakur is often a point of controversy; some project him as a guru-like figure to Thakur, advising the latter on ways to ‘elevate’ his art, while others reject this version and try to belittle Misir’s poetry. It must be emphasized that these disputes are often driven by extra-artistic concerns such as reputability and caste-antagonism. Ironically, neither Misir nor Thakur echo these sentiments. To many, Misir’s association with tawaifs and his indictment in forgery are crimes too grave for pardon. Yet, the songs of Mahendar Misir, which speak of love, longing, migration and faith, made him a household name among Bhojpuri speakers.