Why she renounced the world

The Marathi translation of an explosive Hindi novel fearlessly critiques the identification of Jainism with fasting, self-denial and induction of bal sadhvis into a life of extreme frugality

Nine months of phone conversations and WhatsApp exchanges between Thane-based Marathi translator-writer Vasudha Sahasrabuddhe and Dhaka-based Hindi novelist Madhu Kankaria have ultimately paid off.  Both are happy about the Marathi novel Divya Saare Jeevghene, which stems from Kankaria’s path-breaking Hindi work Sej Par Sanskrit (2008). The original work revolves around the travails of an impoverished Jain bal sadhvi whose circumstances force her into an unfair monastic order. The translation, published by Anagha Prakashan of Thane, does justice to the narrative of bal sadhvis, who are knowingly-unknowingly trapped in an ascetic life of someone else’ choice. In fact, the Marathi novel’s title, as against the Hindi one, articulates the central theme much more sharply—the grand Divya idea turns life-threatening (Jeevghene) for a little girl, who wrongly associates safety with holy precincts. The Hindi title, however, points to a nun’s sexual exploitation in a supposedly pious environment. It equates Sanskrit with the piety of the Jain faith, which is debatable. 

“Except for the titular catch, I could read Madhuji with supreme clarity. The translation was my opportunity to understand her radical take on Jainism.  She has minced no words while portraying the duplicity of a Marwari family,  which glorifies a school girl’s deeksha [vow of celibacy and renunciation of material possessions],” 
says Sahasrabuddhe, who along with co-translator Madhavi Jog, deliberated for hours over the Marathi equivalents for faith-based terms like samayik, gochari, paryushan, chholakji etc.  

In fact, Sahasrabuddhe was worried about negative reactions from the large and influential Jain presence in Maharashtra. “Madhuji boosted my confidence at every critical juncture of the translation.” The cross-country distance between the author and the translator didn’t matter because of their intellectual bonding and a common goal, which was to contribute to the depth of regional Indian literature that disapproves of dogma and rigidity.

Madhu Kankaria, whose novel Sej Par Sanskrit has been translated into Marathi by Vasudha Sahasrabuddhe, has another book in the pipeline. The central idea behind her new work emerged from her interactions with families of farmers, who had committed suicide in the Marathwada region

Like Sahasrabuddhe, 71, Kankaria, 62, also values linguistic exchanges, which are at the core of Divya Saare Jeevghene. The Hindi writer has been in Dhaka for the last two years. It is a transit stop, owing to her son’s marketing job. But she is essentially a writer raised in a Marwari household in Kolkata. The novel portrays a set up that’s close to the one she was born into. “Women in my family were married off at 17.  My marriage at 28 and my return to the maiden home after a few years defied many norms, more so because I was supported by my mother and siblings.” Kankaria recalls her initial opposition to the Jain concept of deeksha. She remembers several adolescent girls whose renunciation was a matter of pride in her larger community, which she spoke against. “I felt that those who glorify such practices or those who remain silent about it are equally guilty of pushing impressionable girls and boys into a forced ascetic life.” 

Jainism is the sixth-largest religion practised in India with Maharashtra housing the largest segment of 1.5 million. Kankaria’s novel is deeply personal and political too, a fact acknowledged in two literary awards won by the work.  “It was appreciated in literary circles, also embraced as part of the syllabus in Kerala. However, the fact remains that I did not meet any honest readers who acknowledged the contradictions in their practices in my community.  That culture of introspection and critique is sadly missing,” informs the littérateur.  It was imperative on her part to ensure that the Marathi translator identified with her perspective and recreated the content in the correct tone and texture. “I am aware that Marathi readers are a force to reckon with. They appreciate true-to-life subaltern voices, like the trapped women I present from far-off Azimganj of West Bengal.”  

She says her translator’s fears about a possible backlash over the novel’s in-your-face treatment of Jain religious rituals, are not unfounded.  The moot questions posed to the Jain thought leaders in her novel by a 20-something rational Sanghamitra are courageous. The protagonist openly declares that the restrictive code of conduct in the Aagham treatise cannot be the foundation of Jainism, because the text—on the basis of memory—was written 943 years after founder Lord Mahavir’s salvation.  She tells a senior Muni that Jainism cannot be all about not eating fermented food or avoiding sprouts and root vegetables. For her, moksha cannot be attained by merely denying human pleasures. In fact, she goes a step further to suggest that a visionary revolutionary Tirthankara deviated from the Hindu religion not for creating another hierarchical spiritual order. Lord Mahavir wasn’t thinking of narrow tidbits, when he advocated ahimsa and asteya, she says. Also, how is it that men from the super-rich land-owning capitalist class are the strongest advocates of Jainism? Do they follow aparigraha (detachment from material possessions) in their lives?  

Kankaria’s novel is unsparing. It doesn’t sugarcoat the criticism of a religion, which is obsessed by the idea of protection of  microbial life-forms in garlic, honey and figs; but why is it unaffected by the practice of denying basic life experiences and joys to full-bodied human beings.

Her story unfolds in a small Azimganj township, six hours away from Kolkata, where a middle-aged widowed mother of two young girls sees deeksha as the ultimate escape from poverty, unemployment, hunger and the male gaze.  Armed with examples of vulnerable weak women, who faced sexual advances of lecherous men, the mother decides to plunge into a sadhvi’s life, along with her daughters. While younger Chhutki has no clue about what the future looks like, elder Sanghamitra revolts; she cites the lack of logic in closing other options  in favour of deeksha.  But the mother succeeds in her indoctrination of the young mind. Despite fierce opposition from the elder daughter, she cuts down on carnal pleasures—disallows food consumption after sunset, stops walking on the green grass to avoid hurt to insects, disallows incense because of the impact on mosquitoes and spiders, mixes lime/alum with water so that no microbes are generated,  discards the electric fan as a prep step for the sadhvi life.  Little does she know the dangers and uncertainties lurking on her chosen path; never can she visualise Chhutki’s end in a red-light area of Kolkata. As a writer, Kankaria does the unpopular, but fitting job of pinpointing the scary not-so-apparent exploitative future reserved for bal sadhvis.  

Kankaria’s book emerged from her proximity with Jain practitioners.  She has also visited the Shikharji pilgrim precinct located on the highest mountain in present-day Jharkhand, a site crucial to the lives of the sadhvis in her novel.  Similarly, her work Pattakhor is a peep into the world of drug addicts; and Sookhate Chinar taps into the restlessness in the Kashmir valley.  “In my initial years, my mobility was restricted.  I was doing odd jobs to keep afloat.  But as I found my own bearing,  I took every chance to travel. That brought a real-life edge to my writings.  Not all fiction writers are able to visit the locales they depict in their works.” 
Her upcoming novel is set in Marathwada.  When her son was posted in Mumbai, she had the privilege of experiencing Maharashtra’s ruralscape. From her 2017 tours of Aurangabad and Jalna, the stories of suicide-prone resource-crunched farmers of Marathwada became part of her consciousness. Some of them sprung to a second life in her new novel Dhalti Saanjh Ka Sooraj. The title conveys a sense of gloom in farmers’ lives, symbolised in the form of the setting sun. It is another fact that this Sooraj signals rich sunshine in the world of books that mirror contemporary realities.

Sumedha Raikar-Mhatre is a culture columnist in search of the sub-text.  You can reach her at  sumedha.raikar@mid-day.com

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