I could not write a single line many times over, when I tried to pay a tribute to Madhavikkutty, the genius story-teller of India.
Whenever I felt like writing something, her smiling face with beautiful eyes, filled with an ocean of love flooded my mind. I tried to recollect her passion-filled literature of love and lust. Even the very thought of her stories make this desert life fertile. That transformed the night dust wind into a cooling fresh breeze. How could she go alone, leaving the most beloved readers here?
When my thoughts wandered, I could only pray for the soul of the angel of love, the dear Ami of her friends and dears. Did she feel the extreme loneliness? She had said in her autobiography, “Ente Katha” (My Story) when death comes near, the loneliness would be so heavy.
As she said, she has flown to the most beautiful world of supreme soul, leaving the “doll-like life” here. She may be smiling to her admirers with her usual charming face from the new world of freedom. She has left this small home of restrictions and moved to her new mansion, of universal freedom.
I wish I had her books with me.
But I never thought of getting one, quite unexpectedly. I got her autobiography, “Ente Katha” (My Story) from my colleague. I borrowed that book without anybody’s notice since many had booked for the same when they saw the book with him.
Her autobiography was like a stimulant to every reader. If one starts reading her story, the reader can’t stop until the end of the book. I thought reading her story was the best tribute, I can give to her along with my prayers. Reading that book at the time of lamenting was not like as I read that before.
Madhavikkutty (Kamala Das), later converted to Islam as Kamala Surayya (75), the name for immaculate writing, died on 7th June in Pune. Her style of writing shocked the orthodox society with lots of taboos.
Pakshiyude Manam, Neypayasam, Thanuppu, and Chandana Marangal are her famous stories. She wrote a few novels, among which Neermathalam Pootha Kalam stands apart with wide recognition from readers as well as critics. She was honored with many awards like Asian Poetry Prize Kent Award for English Writing from Asian Countries, Asan World Prize, Ezhuthachan Award Sahitya Academy Award, Vayalar Award, Kerala Sahitya Academy Award, and Muttathu Varkey Award [4] Kamala Das was short listed for Nobel Prize for literature in 1984 along with Marguerite Yourcenar, Doris Lessing, and Nadine Gordimer.
She questioned the conventional views in life and writing throughout her writing. She penned whatever she thought sublime with child-like innocence and passion. She had no mask for writing or genius periphery. But her unique style and affection in writing made her genius. Her fame reached across the world. Her style of presentation touched every reader’s heart. Her crisp and powerful words would haunt readers with unknown rapture. Born in Nalappat family with literary background, she had developed a habit of asking strange questions since childhood, surprising elders. Her father was V.M.Nair, former Mahrubhoomi Managing editor and mother, famous poetess Balamany Amma. Kamala was married while she was 15. Her husband was Madhav Das, who had been an inspiration for her writing.
She had uplifted the message of love to new heights of divinity. Her theme of love had no limitations. It was not only bondage with two bodies. It was a union of two souls to reach new world of immortal bliss. Kamala Das longed to take and receive boundless deep love. To her, love is like asceticism. The ecstatic end of asceticism also is love. “His body was like rhythm and mine, beat. Is it possible to estrange a river that streamed into an ocean blue?” She asked in her autobiography. In her world, love was like a beautiful poem. She was flying on a world of fantasy. She wanted to be free like a bird for many years.
But later she said I don’t want freedom. I need a protector. But she experienced the terrible forms of loneliness and constrains. She had been searching for the true, divine, blissful love. She made a world of her own for that blessing. She cried like a hornbill for love of rain. She was addicted to the world of books since her childhood. She liked the stories of Dickens. She read tragedies and cried.
While writing, she prayed Lord Krishna to help her to complete the writing. Whenever she faced any difficulties in life she appealed Guruvayoorappan to make things better. To her, SreeKrishna was everything, until she embraced Islam. Whenever she imagined Krishna, tears had wiped out from her, showing the true and unique devotion. She didn’t like the world of life and death. She aspired to go to a new world of hallucinatory images. According to her, the first duty of every writer is make himself or herself as a guinea pig. He should not try to escape from life experiences (Ente Katha).
One of her handsome friend said to her; “Amee I love you”. She replied: “You do whatever you like since you own me”. But his reply was strange; “You are a goddess in my eyes. Your body is also very pure to me. I won’t abuse it.”. She wrote with amorous passion and divine love. She expressed strange loneliness and immortal desire in her writings. She had an inconsistent mind that led her life into many controversies.
While she was buried in Thiruvananthapuram Palayam Juma Masjid, her ambition was getting fulfilled. “I hate being cremated as a Hindu. I love being buried as a Muslim,” Surayya had said. When lamenting the death of Kamala Surayya, the great writer, who penned her soul into words, does she smile to give us love from the world of stars and Moon?
