Sunday book pick: RK Narayan’s autobiographical novel ‘The English Teacher’ mourns his wife’s death

“Death and its associates, after the initial shock, produce callousness…”

RK Narayan is the master of nostalgia. It is hard to come out of his novels without feeling an intense longing for the small-town life and its slow, predictable rhythms. Malgudi, his fictitious town, is unblemished by the world at large – its residents are only occasionally troubled by their own lives and doings, with more serious tragedies safely at bay.

His 1946 novel, The English Teacher, perhaps his tenderest one, is a rare offering. It dives deep into its author’s most tragic heartbreak by creating a moving picture of the author – a young man trying to make sense of his wife’s death by putting it into words. Narayan met his wife, Rajam, in 1933. They got married and six years later, in 1939, he lost his wife to typhoid fever. Narayan was suddenly the sole parent of their three-year-old daughter, Hema, and was determined to give her a normal childhood. He refused proposals of remarriage and remained a widower till his own death.

Life and death

Krishnan, a college lecturer of English, lives a bachelor’s life in the men’s hostel till his father and father-in-law insist that it is time for him to bring his wife Susila and their baby daughter Leela to Malgudi so he may start assuming the duties of a family man. Krishnan is nervous at first but throws himself headfirst into making provisions for his family, starting with finding an acceptable house to rent. The house is as idyllic as the town of Malgudi – the husband and wife exist in complete harmony with each other, Leela is spoiled silly by her father, and the arrival of an elderly aunt lightens Susila’s workload and proves to be of great help in bringing up the child. The tightfisted Susila controls the family finances and frowns upon all kinds of indulgence – Krishnan is annoyed at first but later commends his wife’s foresight when the couple embarks on a mission to buy a home for themselves.

Krishnan hopes this new house will be a very picture of his dreams – spacious, airy, a room each for the husband and the wife, a study, and an expansive view of the Malgudi vista. The home is a place of happiness and the couple is uncompromising on that – they envision a future of more contentment, a peaceful cocoon hidden from the aggressions of the real world.

The domestic bliss is a pleasure to read. It was refreshing to witness Krishnan’s frank affection for his family and his genuine respect and admiration for his wife – a rarity in novels set in the domestic space from a certain time. Susila’s insistence on having just one child is seen as a practical decision, and her wishes are respected by not just Krishnan but the rest of the family too. The couple’s modern outlook and their feminist beliefs must have felt rather novel in this early Indian English fiction – and the lessons on a happy marriage are not to be ignored!

The long, meandering section where Krishnan and Susila venture into town on a Saturday morning feels like a movie scene. The young couple’s happiness is infectious and I was smiling ear to ear as the two discovered Malgudi anew, awash in a similar joy and anticipation of a new future. However, the hunt for a new house turns out to be an unpleasant enterprise when Susila suddenly takes ill after accidentally locking herself in a dirty lavatory of a house which is otherwise perfect for their small family.

After love

Thus begins their trial. Misdiagnosis and a prolonged fever result in typhoid, and before long, the happiness, which had come so easily to the couple, forsakes them. Susila’s death casts a heavy gloom on Krishnan, who makes no attempts at misplaced masculinity and openly grieves this terrific loss. His practicality abandons him and everything in life, including poetry, which he so loves, feels worthless following his wife’s death. Narayan’s description of this loss is reminiscent of WH Auden’s incomparable poem “Funeral Blues”. Narayan writes,

“There are no more surprises and shocks in life, so that I can watch the flame without agitation. For me, the greatest reality is this and nothing else … Nothing else will worry or interest me in life hereafter.”

The only “worry” and “interest” that preoccupies Krishnan is their daughter. Oblivious to death and its finality, Leela infuses the home with life, something that seems to have sapped out of her father. The child’s innocent enquiry into her mother’s absence and Krishnan scrambling to delay her heartbreak are deeply affecting. Especially, when the reader realises that this was perhaps the cruellest effect of Rajam’s death – it’s “maddening conundrum” that a helpless Narayan had to solve for the sake of their child. Krishnan is alone and vulnerable, and he makes no show of being an all-knowing patriarch – like his daughter, he is also learning to survive and like her, he too craves Susila’s warmth and easy affection. Her memories become their lifebuoys, more so for Krishnan, who is not above indulging in metaphysical mediums to communicate with his dead wife – an endeavour that leads to some interesting adventures.

While it is easy to see the autobiographical similarities in the first section of the novel (featuring Susila’s death), the second section, involving communications and Krishnan’s turn towards a new way of life, is perhaps more difficult to attest to Narayan’s own life. Nevertheless, it is unnecessary. Narayan’s writing, fresh as a breeze, is a joy to behold and even in a novel so coloured by his own grief, is not devoid of humour and brevity. The high drama of the initial section gives way to quiet contemplation on living and the after, and a grateful acceptance of the various shapes and shades that love might be reborn as.

The English Teacher, RK Narayan, published by Indian Thought Publishers, and Penguin Vintage.