Sunday book pick: A marriage made in hell in Jibanananda Das’s 1970 novel ‘Malloban’

Involving a female in his life – dirtying himself with the meaning invested in this involvement, in soured milk and slime and stupidity, in disgorged bile and fire and dissatisfaction,  what has he become?

Jibanananda Das (1899-1954), often considered the greatest Bengali modernist poet, was best known for his bleak poetry. He was an introvert and did not publish much of his writing while he was alive, and his novels were published posthumously. Das died at the age of 55 in a tram accident. Eyewitness accounts state the tram had sounded its whistle but it appeared the poet had chosen to ignore it. Some even claim the accidental death might have been a suicide.

Das’s most well-known novel Malloban was published in 1970, and translated recently by Rebecca Whittington.

Utpala and Malloban

Set in the winter of 1929 in North Calcutta, the eponymous protagonist is a low-income office worker at an unnamed company in the city. He lives in College Street with his moody, foul-mouthed but beautiful wife Utpala and their daughter Monu. Malloban, who has “never managed to mould himself into the proper object of his wife’s affection and esteem”, is reminded every day of the ways he has failed to be a good, manly husband. He is banished to the ground floor by his wife, Utpala, who sneers and chastises him whenever he expresses his desire to share the bed with her and their daughter. His section of the house is in complete disarray and rarely visited by his family. Meanwhile, Utpala prefers to spend the pleasant winter afternoons sunning on the terrace and practising her singing. Malloban cannot stand her singing voice but exercises prudence by keeping this opinion to himself.

Timid and keen to avoid any confrontation, Malloban has no choice but to accept the house rules put down by Utpala. Monu, by design, stays within her mother’s reach and has little to do with her father. Utpala’s frustration – and anger – are always high, but it’s difficult to discern the reasons for it on a particular day. The basic complaints remain the same: there is never enough money, Malloban leaves much to be desired in terms of masculine prowess, and if given a choice, she wouldn’t have married him at all. As far as Utpala is concerned, it’s a match made in hell.

Independence is in sight and Utpala has gained a romantic view of the men who fought for nationhood, the ideals they lived and died by, and the raw masculine energy that they oozed. Malloban’s role in the freedom struggle is unstated – he has no moral right to criticise his wife’s nationalistic sentiments.

The rift, which has well and truly set in, in their few years of being married cannot be denied by Malloban. He knows he’ll never “get along” with Utpala but her gentle face asleep under the mosquito net makes him more keenly aware of what he has committed to – he would have to accept her companionship (or lack thereof) till death does them part. The only consolation to this lifelong misery is Malloban’s conviction that nearly “ninety per cent” of Bengal’s married couples bear this “fruitlessness” all their lives just like Utpala and him.

In fact, he feels the “fruitlessness” of his family life so deeply that we do not read about his workplace or social life at all. The nucleus comprising Malloban-Utpala-Monu is so stifling that even Utpala’s in-laws do not make an appearance. Almost every conversation between the couple takes place during mealtimes and in the presence of their child. Though a “Thakur” has been employed to cook the family’s meals, the food often goes uneaten when in a fit of rage Utpala or Malloban abandon the plate or simply decide to skip eating to avoid further bickering.

More often than not, it is Malloban who foregoes his food and tea. Instead of keeping the food for later, Utpala either throws it away or distributes it among the poor. The sordid hours of mealtimes paint an especially striking picture of an unhappy marriage. In a culture where affection, respect, and obedience are expressed through food and feeding, Utpala’s disregard for her husband’s hunger conveys the intense resentment she feels for him. An unconventional wife by all means, refusing to cook and serve is the firmest refusal of his role as a “guardian” in a traditional Indian marriage.

Utpala also feels bold enough to say she would feel less “stifled” in the marriage if she could share him with a prostitute. She hates being “Lakshmi’s goody-basket” and cannot imagine why she should impart love, affection, care, and respect to Malloban when she doesn’t feel any. Malloban has rarely been able to make his disapproval or distress known. The most he can do is think to himself of the “porcupine impertinence, cockatoo-mischief, civet-aggreviedness, cat-grimaces, cobra-fangs, and tiger-claws” his wife has.

A modern marriage

Disaster strikes Malloban when his wife’s elder brother proposes to stay with them in Calcutta. Only, he’ll be accompanied by his wife and their children. Utpala will not pack them like sardines in the house – the visiting couple will take her room while she and the children will relocate to Malloban’s. And as for him, he’ll have to vacate the house and move to a men’s mess. Not just the lack of space, Utpala starts to fret about their financial situation. Malloban has not received a raise in years and now, the guests will suffer because of it. His brother-in-law and his wife’s harmonious relationship adds insult to injury to Malloban’s homeless status.

The affection that Utpala lacks from Malloban is replenished by Shrirongo. A young man, he flirts freely with Utpala, calls her by many old-fashioned endearments, and most importantly, shares her love for music. When questioned about his intentions, Utpala either ignores Malloban or doubles down on him with viciousness.

Malloban is entirely alone in his grief and loneliness. The physical proximity to Utpala does little to soothe his distress. He realises that “in the essential moments of his life, his wife is of no use.” Cohabitation does not result in companionship, and Monu’s existence proves to be of little value to either of her parents.

Utpala’s assured self-righteousness, Malloban’s naïvete and disinterest in addressing his wife’s frustrations, and Monu’s helplessness create a crudely funny, uncomfortable depiction of modern marriage. The acceptance of liberal values and deep commitment to orthodox values play a strange role in unhappy Indian marriages – and despite obvious unhappiness, neither wife nor husband considers parting ways. A satire on marriage, Jibanananda Das’s Malloban has been a perennial literary blockbuster because along with marriage, it addresses the larger discontents of the Indian family traditions and the strictly assigned roles of a husband and wife.

Rebecca Whittington’s translation sparkles with Das’s humour, wit, and despondency. She emulates his style – lots of em-dashes and stream-of-consciousness narrative – with flair. The English language does not blunt Utpala’s motormouth cattiness, and the heart goes to Malloban as one witnesses his failure to win a woman’s affection.

Malloban, Jibanananda Das, translated from the Bengali by Rebecca Whittington, Penguin Modern Classics.