Along with the Sun (Stories from Tamil Nadu's Black Soil Region)

My memory takes me back to a time in 1975, when around fifteen of us, in our youth then, would get together at an appointed place every day. We neither worked together, nor did we gather to play any sport; we weren't even some wealthy lot, indulging in expensive hobbies. What bound us then, you will ask, to have made this getting together a regular practice to the extent that it didn't feel peculiar to any of us in any way? Literature: that was the force that drew us close. The literature we read, and talked about when we met, didn't adhere to any geographical boundaries. Our conversations included everything from regional to world literature.

Eventually, the members of this group would go on to become significant artists - poets, short-story writers, novelists, painters; some would also form writers' associations. And so the saying goes: 'If you fling a stone in Kovilpatti, it will fall only on a writer's head!'

In the southern districts of Tamil Nadu, I believe that three writers were instrumental in creating a whole generation of authors. The first among them was Sundara Ramaswamy. Anybody who was a lay reader, a writer, or a dedicated literary enthusiast could visit him any day. Both Sundara Ramaswamy and his wife, Kamalammal, who were known for their hospitality, would welcome them all like friends. The second was Thi. Ka. Sivasankaran (popularly known as Thi. Ka. Si.), who, along with his wife, Theivaanai Ammal, extended the same kind of hospitality. Then came Ki. Rajanarayanan (or Ki. Ra.), whom we fondly call `naina', meaning father.

Kovilpatti is twelve kilometers from the small village, Idaiseval. There were no communication facilities at the time; we didn't even have enough money to afford bus fares, and bicycles were the only means of transport. Two or three of us aspiring writers would set off to Idaiseval whenever we wanted, and there they would be, Ki. Ra. and his wife, Ganavathi Ammal, greeting us with a warm smile. They treated us like their own children.

Devadhatchan, Vellaththurai (Vidhyasankar), Ramu, Abbas, Gowrishankar, Cho. Dharman, Sa. Tamilselvan, Konangi, Thidavai Ponnuchami, Udhayasankar, Maaris, Samayavel, Jothi Vinayagam, Sivasu, Murugan, Naarumbunaadhan, Paalvannam, Suvadi, Saarathi, Raaji, Yuvan Chandrasekar, Loyal Mill Murugesan, S.S. Thiyagarajan, Neelakuyil Annamalai, and Kirushi, among others, could be considered the offspring who were nurtured in the shade of that great tree called Ki. Ra. He groomed all of no until we grew wings; he taught us how to fly.

If you ask me whether one writer can produce another, I would say, it's not possible. It is in the field of fine arts, usually, that artists learn from a guru. In creative writing, a writer can only evolve naturally. And yet, it is an astonishing feat that Ki. Ra. was able to create so many writers.

Ki. Ra. would always write to anyone when they'd publish a poem or a short story. To me, for instance, he would write: 'How are you, Dharman? Read your short story. Pelt happy!' He would compliment me and then suggest, You put it this way... Why not say it like this? Better, right?' He would encourage everybody in this way. If ever there was a gap in our publications because we weren't writing for a while, he would personally enquire into the reasons and spur us on.

'Country' writing, as a genre in prose waiting, entered the Tamil literary scene only in the 1970s. It is a style in which there is an attempt to record in literature the everyday life of a people ha their natural habitat. R. Shanmugasundaram's writings marked the beginning of this genre. He brought to modern Tamil literature this mode of realistic writing, focusing on the lives and languages of the people of the Thanjavur region. To some extent, this style of writing appears in the works of Thi. ,lanakiraman too.

Art and literature have no boundaries; we set them for our own convenience.

If you were to ask if humanity is bound by the borders of its countries, the answer would be yes, it is. But art and literature go beyond such limits. No one has ever raised an objection to this belief. Yet, our ancients categorized our poetic literature based on the topography of its places of origin, such as forest lands, agricultural lands, coastlands, arid zones and mountainous regions.

Those researching the dynamics of language have studied different landscapes and their peoples, and identified sharp variations in the dialects they use.

Those belonging to the black soil area have no guarantee of water, either from natural or man-made resources. Like the mythical chataka bird, their lives and livelihoods depend on the raindrops that the sky chooses to shower on them.

If a man of this area decides to dig the soil and cultivate some food grains, Mother Earth treats him harshly too. Concealing potable water within herself, she gives him only brackish or salty water which, within a few years, spoils the very nature of the soil. Since, over a period of time, the soil becomes unfit for any cultivation, the wells dug in fields dry up, visible even now as nothing more than dead pits.

Livelihoods depend entirely on the skies. But the sky too deceives them. Either it ruins them by withholding the rains or it causes floods, which also spell disaster.

The farmer born on this soil is an unfortunate, born only to suffer. He has not had any kind of support from any source. Even to politicians and political parties, he is not their own.

The well-known story of Nallathangal, who, at a time of severe famine, went with her seven children to her brother's house and, unable to face her sister-in-law's ill-treatment, ended their misery by throwing her children and herself into a well, took place in this black soil area.

The grim cruelty of Nallanan's wife, Moolialangiri, was not hers by nature. It came from the skies and the earth of the area. It is its aridness that is responsible for the harsh nature of its people.

Yet, my people are by nature loving and caring. Even though the earth is dry, their hearts are filled with the moisture of love. Even if the veshtis they wear are blackened, their hearts are white and pure, their tongues clean, even when the bodies are dirty.

I wonder what this place would be like had we a great river like the Kaveri running through it. Scholars have spoken of the wonders that the waters of a river do to a region.

'Water comes through pipes as well; but when it flows as a river, its voice is heard as music, it manifests as temple towers, it sharpens intellects!' This is how the writer Thi. Janakiraman on his definition of a river, with awe.

From somewhere is heard the sound of the nadaswaram. Perhaps it comes from the evening prayers in a temple! Thirumarukal Natesan, Thiruvaduthurai Rajarathnam, China Pakkiri and names of other such great artistes come to mind. Festivals, tales and folk music nurtured by the Kaveri; innumerable Sivayogis right from the days of Thirumoolar; divine musicians galore the Thiruppanazhwar...' writes Janakiramm in Nadanthai; Vaazhi, Kaveri! (Keep Moving, Glory to You, Oh Kaveri!) The poet Kambar says that in places where such holy rivers flow, compassion and generosity are found in good measure.

Noted writer and critic T.KC. (Rasikamani’ T.K. Chidambaranatha Mudaliar), referring to the scene in the Ramayana in his Kambar Tharum Ramayanam (the Ramayana of the poet Kamban), says that after dispossessing Ravana of all his weapons on the first day of battle, Rama's compassionate and generous nature makes him release the demon king. 'Go today and come tomorrow for war/Said the generous prince of Kosala, the fertile land/Where the ribbon fish jump high to reach/ The tender young areca trees' (Third Section, 'Sundara Kandam-Yudda Kandam’, 376).