Review: The Living Legend – Ramayana Tales from Far and Nearby Vayu Naidu
This retelling of one of India’s greatest epics highlights, among other things, the importance of Nature, and the need to develop an eco-friendly relationship with the earth
It is usually interesting to read a retelling of the Ramayana because the story never grows old and each teller brings something of their own to it. Vayu Naidu’s book The Living Legend – Ramayana Tales from Far and Near highlights the importance of Nature, and the need to develop an eco-friendly relationship with the earth. She divides her book into the traditional seven kandas or sections associated with the Valmiki Ramayana.
There are charming, inventive touches such as using lyrical South Indian names for flowers like ‘kanakambharam’, which means ‘golden ornament’. It is the less poetic ‘firecracker flower’ in English. There is also some contemporary language that seems written for children such as when Lord Shiva disconcertingly exclaims “Super!”; and some language written for young adults or foreigners as in Vishnu and Lakshmi “had just returned from a timeshare on the ocean-of-consciousness holiday”. The celestial payasam or kheer granted at Dasaratha’s son-seeking sacrifice is described thus: “It tasted like the organic nectar of goodness!” Now this is a magic, celestial drink. In epic terms, it has no earthly equivalent. To describe a celestial drink as ‘organic’ reduces it to a listing of kombucha juice in a health food catalogue. Again, it’s a writer’s right to choose. The point is that this may or may not work for every reader. I had to read the book twice over because I did not quite know what to make at first of such language choices.
Another point that may strike a reader familiar with the Ramayana is which parts are left out or dealt with minimally. The most noticeable of these choices is the space given to Hanuman. Not only in India but also in South-east Asia, Hanuman is recognized as an action hero, even more than Rama in places. It is his appearance that takes the epic forward. Such is his impact that Muay Thai or Thai boxing, for instance, has sequences of moves dedicated to Hanuman and he has the most dramatic action in Thai productions of the Ramakien, winging through the air like a trapeze artiste. So, it is surprising that his crucial meeting with Sita in the Ashoka Vana is not dwelt upon in detail and the burning of Lanka, too, appears hurriedly told. Hanuman’s meeting with Sita is one of the most touching points in the epic when Sita, who is about to hang herself in despair, finally receives word from Rama. That poignant exchange of Rama’s ring and Sita’s chudamani or hairclip via Hanuman can reduce people to tears when performed. So, it seems a pity not to share that scene with new readers.
Perhaps such omissions had to occur because Naidu has taken up a fair amount of space explaining things, the larger context or background, if you like, of Hindu philosophy and its spiritual concepts; and how Rama, and thereby, we, are supposed to own and operate them. This choice takes one back somewhat to the Ramayana as retold by C Rajagopalachari in the 1950s in which he too explains a great many things and offers his opinion in didactic terms.
‘Didactic’ can mean both these things. One is, ‘designed to teach people something, especially a moral lesson’ and the other is, ‘telling people things rather than letting them find out for themselves’. Naidu does a fair amount of both. Even Sita, when whirled away in Ravana’s flying chariot, before screaming for help, is first made to pronounce an eco-friendly lesson that may work in Eastern languages but sounds leaden-footed in English: “Oh, you creatures of the forest, I know now how it feels when a playful boy’s catapult dislodges a nest of birds; or music betrays the snake to its charmer for trade; or when the traveler’s cooking fire wreaks havoc in the jungle.”
When Jatayu appears, Naidu writes, ““Get out you irritating blimp of a fly!” (sic) cursed Ravana.” After Jatayu is killed, we are informed portentously, “This unforgivable violation of airspace had been perpetrated by disrupting the otherwise harmonious coexistence of human and avian species until this moment in evolutionary history.”
This retelling does seem to be about covering several politically correct bases. So, after Ravana’s death when Sita is led to Rama, she is made to assert feminist outrage even before she meets him and he acts cold and orders her trial by fire: “It was that day when I asked for the golden deer. I was tired of it all. I snapped. And that was it? Is this the way it is seen fit to be punished? Just because I’m a woman?”
By this time, the discouraged reader is resigned to a flat denouement and is not disappointed. After all, the omens have been generously dispersed towards that end. Rama holds out a hand to Sita in the forest and asks if she will return with him and their sons. Sita merely smiles and looks at the ground, and ‘Rama felt his heart sour’. A furrow appears and she disappears into it. Finis.
While we all respect the right to freedom of expression, story-wise it may be worthwhile to consider a couple of possibly useful points. This is not The Adventures of Pip by Enid Blyton but the Epic of Asia. A heartbreaking love story with everything in it; good people, bad people, gods, demons, talking animals, vivid descriptions of the Indian countryside, the overcoming of incredible odds. So, it may be a good idea to rethink the manuscript for a new edition, be one’s own strict editor, leave out the direct preachments or deliver them with a lighter hand, and, particularly, work on developing the story’s most gripping bits. The Ramayana is a tale that aims to teach by telling a good story well. To borrow an epic sentiment, that is a storyteller’s dharma. To heavily dose it with direct precepts is a risky business. Nevertheless, credit to the author for attempting it.
Renuka Narayanan is a journalist and author. Her latest book is Learning from Loss.