Opinion: Can Indian systems of thought be assimilated into the universal canons of literature?

In the matter of literary, social, or political criticism, Europeans are at an advantage over us because the so-called international literary discourse is conducted in their languages. The fact is that every culture’s post-modern thesis emerges essentially from its own brand of modernity, rather than as a universal discourse; but this has been overlooked by most Western thinkers. Apart from the famous magical reality writer Jorge Luis Borges, no one had recognised that what is celebrated as magical reality today appeared powerfully in Indian epics like the Mahabharata. The nomenclature of mythology for its text and subtext is a case in point.

The totally inappropriate nomenclature of “gods and goddesses” given to life-sustaining natural elements like water, fire, vegetation, rain, energy, etcetera showed how the application of Christian concepts to pagan precepts distorted a system of thought or philosophy. For Hindu pagans, god was a trinity of creator-preserver-destroyer, denoting the cycle of life. Devi-devtas were natural forces, that gave life, preserved it and recycled it. So “anna” or grain was Brahma, as was a tree or a guest or a mother, father, guru, or book. These life-giving powers were both male and female.

Considering that India’s system of thought was distinct and holistic, there is no way it could be assimilated into the so-called universal brand of criticism or discourse.

We need to ask if all non-European, cultural paradigms were similarly marginalised by European critical establishment.

Not at all. Take the totally unique tenets of Japanese culture and reflection. It is studied separately because the West is in awe of Japan. The same is true, to a lesser extent, about China. This willingness springs from the simple fact that both these nations are in positions of military and economic power and dominance. The Islamic world cannot be ignored for a different reason. Because of the fear of terror that Europe might have to fight on its own turf.

In other words, it is a quotient of both affluence and political stratagem.

We in India will be studied in the West when we become powerful enough to dictate terms. We could, of course, simplify matters by living and thinking in English, according to Christian/universal precepts. We might then leap from the periphery to the mainstream, but in a way to be completely swallowed by it. The way we are going, I’m afraid that is likely to be our destiny. We will cease to exist even as a glorified margin. The fact that post-modern Western discourse, having borrowed heavily from the tomes of ancient Indian grammarians and theorists, has nevertheless glibly declared itself the universal discourse, should leave us in no doubt.

Let’s look at feminism, a cornerstone of the current discourse. The discussion on feminism or the need for a feminine principle to reconstruct major precepts arose out of the West’s need to redefine both male-centred religious discourse and male-dominated ethical-psychological-social order. This male-centred phobia did not apply to pagan cultures, which had a feminine face of godhood as a matter of course. But with the West projecting it as universal, we in India mindlessly equated the fight for social and economic equality between genders with feminist discourse and made it a literary canon.

What we need to do is study our own works of literature and devise our own canons, which could abet or deconstruct existing ones.

For example, Manohar Shyam Joshi’s novels dealt with a milieu which was totally Indian, both traditional and modern. Then they went on to satirise and critique it in a way it was done by the age-old vidushak in Sanskrit works or the jester, in Shakespeare. He did not imitate them, the ideas he ridiculed were the Indian precept of modernity, such as the Marxist interpretation of social and literary reality, divorcing it from poetic vision and craft.

He did it with great aplomb in his Sahitya Academy award-winning novel, Kyap. In Kumaoni, kyap means “whatever” or a shrug of the shoulder. And that’s exactly how the once sacrosanct Marxist posturing ended in India; with a whimper. We can call this writing post-modern because it deconstructs our own brand of modern literary formulations.

Or we can take another path and deconstruct the cult of nostalgia about rural India, which has zero facilities for organised industry or agriculture. Though it was not planned any better, the fact remains that the urban sphere controls all means of production, offering only contractual work to the unemployed fleeing from the villages. At the same time, we have a banking system, ready to offer loans to farmers, though fully aware that they will not be paid back. They know that crops will not bring enough returns because of a lack of basic amenities – irrigation or proper warehouses to store the harvest or a market within easy reach.

Modern banks, unlike the age-old “mahajan” or money lender, do not offer the option of bonded labour. So farmers have two options. Become migrant labourers or commit suicide. This being our modern social scenario, our post-modern one can only articulate utter chaos. How can we even dream of accessing universal literary canons?

But we can most certainly add another dimension to them. That requires guts and literary aplomb. Something sadly lacking in the imitators of the so-called universal literary canons.