Faces of the Dead

By Subrabharathi Manian

The Novel deals with a common prose familiar nowadays. The expressions are normal, sometimes poetic and have considerable banalities. In translation I have tried to neutralise all this which should help an English reader. I have retained culture oriented expressions in the same form as it is important for a Dravidian text. The moods and feelings of the characters are satisfactorily depicted yet he has used dramatic techniques like the body language. The speech these characters make has enough humour and local flavour

.

Ponnappan's character is sadly humorous. The fiction in a whole has been made out of four or five small narratives and all have been united. This is a kind of Steinbeckian technique that depicts a landscape its people and their way of living. Though sociological in portrayal the work leaves no clue for any ideology in the end. The title I have given to this work is ‘Faces of Corpses’. But it is somebody's wish to have it as ‘Faces of the Dead’ as it is official. Both mention a common fact that some faces are liveless, horror ridden and blank.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pustaka Digital Media
• Release date: May 26, 2017
• ISBN: 6580515102104

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FACES OF THE DEAD

Author:

SUBRABHARATH MANAN

Translated by:

R. BALAKRISHNAN

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FACES OF THE DEAD

SUBRABHARATH MANAN

Translation of Tamil Novel Pinangalin Mugangal

Translated by:

R. BALAKRISHNAN

Dedicated to

SAVE - Social Awareness and Voluntary Education, Tiruppur for their selfless work in the field of eradication of child labour

***

Translator's Note

Faces of Corpses

Subrabarathimanian has been writing in Tamil for more than three decades and I know him from the days of my stay at Hyderabad. This Novel, Faces of the Dead is a description of the space between the realities that most downtrodden children face and their dreams. Estranged from their natural avenues towards maturing, they tend to imitate elders, learn aggressive manners, bad habits and even accept sex abuse. The fine shape of an adult woman's body and its gentle process of maturation are thwarted, disturbed and guilt is imposed on it. This Novel comes into reality in open terms. There is only a small room left for an automatic discourse or stream of consciousness; yet the rustic landscapes of certain villages and places of worships bring enlightenment to us. May be there is an over dose of the calamities, brought on by the industrialisation. Infact, I myself is not against industrialisation but it should wear a human face. Subrabharathimanian is a leftist, a believer of socialism and a lover of democracy. His novels are constant scrutinies of human suffering and migration - from place to place - time to time and inner landscapes to landscapes. A woman child simply feels to become a nurse not a winner of a beauty pageant. The images are not sky high, and demanding but sadly pitiable.

The Novel deals with a common prose familiar nowadays. The expressions are normal, sometimes poetic and have considerable banalities. In translation I have tried to neutralise all this which should help an English reader. I have retained culture oriented expressions in the same form as it is important for a Dravidian text. The moods and feelings of the characters are satisfactorily depicted yet he has used dramatic techniques like the body language. The speech these characters make has enough humour and local flavour. Ponnappan's character is sadly humorous. The fiction in a whole has been made out of four or five small narratives and all have been united. This is a kind of Steinbeckian technique that depicts a landscape its people and their way of living. Though sociological in portrayal the work leaves no clue for any ideology in the end. The title I have given to this work is ‘Faces of Corpses’. But it is somebody's wish to have it as ‘Faces of the Dead’ as it is official. Both mention a common fact that some faces are liveless, horror ridden and blank.

- R. Balakrishnan

***

About the Translator

R.Balakrishnan is basically a poet and translates in Tamil and English. By profession he is an English Lecturer. He draws inspiration for writing poems from western poetry and Tamil modern and olden poetry. He has also done a considerable number of such translations. His translation focuses non Sanskrit text and modern syntax. He works on non linear verses and anti poetry themes, modern prose writings and here in translating Subrabharathi Manian tried his best to preserve the sociopolitical undertone. He nowadays offers consultancy for half a dozen MNCS and Government institutions in translation and web content. His works have also been published in The Deccan Chronicle and The Hindu and the Tamil writings, in most of the little magazines.

SUBRABHARATI MANIAN

Published 30 books including including 7 novels, 13 short story collections and a travelogue.

‘Katha’ award for ‘best short story writer’ from President of India 1993. Best Novel Award for ‘Sayathirai’ (The coloured curtain) by Tamil Nadu State Government.

Winner of best novelette City 90 Air India- Kumudam Literary competition, Trip to UK, European countries.

Coimbatore Kasthuri Srinivasan award for best novel of 2002-03 for Pinankalin Mukangal – ‘The faces of corpses’.

Various state organizations awards.

Stories translated in various Indian regional languages, English and Hungarian.

Editor, Tamil Literary Magazine ‘Kanavu’ Since 1986.

‘Sayathirai’ translated in English ‘The coloured curtain’, Hindi ‘Reng Reng the Chadher Mehili’

Two short films : Thiruvizha, Sothupottalam (Save), Sumangali (TPF).

Sahitya Akademi Advisory Board Member (2008-12)

The City of Kabul is full of Skeletons now

Skeletons drinking tea

Skeletons walking on pavements

- from the film Kite Runner'

The Handest times are the noblest my dead child

and the torch passed its flame to Your Tongue

Your Face bronzed in the darkness

and fires of your finest sweat.

- Derek Walcott

***

The cloth bag that was thrown above the head reached the dust with a thud and created a small storm. Kanagu receded two steps and sneezed as wild as he could. When Senthil got the bag back into his hands and raised it above head- red soil started falling unprompted.

Crazy, youhave thrown thebaglike this?

I wanted to see the leaves in the bag alighting one by one, as it happens in the films.

Did you also expect white clad ladies to follow you singing a chorus? You're a freak.

Today's the last day of our annual exams; forthcoming days would be full of fun and frolic.

The writing pad meant for the examinations and the Geography book, which had lost its first fifteen pages in the initial and the back were seemingly looking like crushed food packets. The front wrapper of the Tables book was blameless and untattered. He was keeping a yellow bag other than the one usually kept by him. The bottom of it was full of red dust.

The bag seems to be new.

It was given when clothes were purchased in the City mall. Amma had kept it safe in the cupboard. When my appa makes visits to occasions he would like to take this. It will be dignified to keep such ones. The dress purchased for this Diwali was so attractive with a lot of flowers filling the designs and the black trousers. I like them.

I too want to have these kinds of trousers. My amma has promised one when promoted to next class.

A trekker was crossing with a buzzing whir with loads of fabricated materials. It is scrambling on the road with the heaviest load and the dark smoke was rising above it camouflaging the big wagon. The smoke was smearing the Delhi crops slowly. The road was pretty ugly with a number of potholes. There was also a big hosiery-manufacturing unit that encroached the road.

It is looking like a donkey troubled with its load

Where did you find donkeys in the town, where's the bundle of unwashed clothes... nowadays...?

I have seen donkeys at my sister's village. The ass shit is so large and it will urinate in dark colours, hot... and will shout in big. My father used to scold me as donkey... even for too small deeds. Donkeys are quite unforgettable. While they open their mouths their nostrils will also expand, seemingly looking so ugly... the isn't it?

But in its tender age the donkey calf also looks beautiful.

My appa used to say. When my amma once remarked I was so beautiful as a child, my father retorted even donkeys would be so. I would not understand it yet. When I happened to see donkeys in real I felt sad.

Oh, donkey, yourself a donkey like being!

Oh, the donkey calf!

Oh, you're the offspring of the same!

Kanagu was running hard. Senthil was found chasing him rolling his bag. At the end of the Paventhar Street, Kanagu stopped for a while and turned back. Senthil was trotting slowly. He was watching the rolling bag in his hand carefully.

The metal stones of the road created pain on the feet of s of Kanagu. His running became gradually slower. While running most of the stones were crushed under the feet and created freakish noises. He was influenced by the sound a bit. When he pushed the stones in the left they fell in to the nearby pit rolling down. The madar plant was bleeding in white as a huge stone crushed it. White drops were dripping down on the earth from the plant. He extended his hands to receive the drops. His eyes got closed by that time by some one.

Who's that?

It's me, the Messenger of death.

Means...

Yaman, the lOrd Of death.

Traveling with your wagon, the bison?

All of a sudden the hands those held his eyes withdrew and a verdurous object with its leaves glittering in sunlight emerged in front of his eyes. It was an insect knotted with a number of tiny stems and leaves. It was a Cricket.

Hey, look at this insect. The stomach, legs, hands and all are like sticks. Doesn't it have a stomach?

This may be the stick insect.

Some kind of a name.

Narayanasamy was found coming pushing his bicycle. The undergarments found in the carrier were neatly packed and kept. The mixed package with various colours made it looking like a big toy. The carrier was so large that it could accommodate Senthil along with the bundles. The creaking noise of the cycle was horrible. From the heap of undergarments, Senthil kept raising his head.

Oh, the small one of the donkey.

Oh, the big one of it.

Where had you gone, all of a sudden?

Gone for the Pothaiyal Street.

Ok, join me, you donkey.

Narayanasamy got irritated and queried, What you are doing hailing each other as donkeys, oh you donkeys? He laughed loudly.

Oh, uncle why don't you offer a pair of underwears to us

Donkey's will never wear undergarments, even elephants will not wear the underwears.

Why, what will happen when the elephants will happen to wear clothes stitched?

The mahout has to be bankrupt. The cycle was going forward with a Creek.

Are the exams going on?

Yes, it's the last one.

What, won't you get exams in next year?

For me, it's the last exam. From next year I am not going to attend the school. I'll join a hosiery unit. Appa has confirmed. May be Kanagu will continue his studies. Kanagu was carefully watching the terrain and trotting that he should not be slipped off from the road because of the pointed stones.

Yes, Kanagu will go to school, even to college.

***

He did not know which dream exactly made him waking up from sleep. Kanagu was originally thinking to sleep for a long time in the last night. ‘Long time means what, eight hours or ten hours?' He was fed up of getting up earlier around six. He wanted to have a long sleep. Suddenly the feeling of doing the homework flashed into his mind. Oh, he shook his head by the thought of it. Let's forget about 'homework' for sometime. Let's hereafter go to school a bit delayed. Let's wear a bit dirty clothes even if it brings some cane treatment. It happened so often that. While playing in the evening at the playgrounds the dirt would overlap the attire. Nevertheless, mother used to say, Is it a family of Kuber to change the robes daily? The right ear would become a cherry as twisted often by teacher Venkatachalam. It would in fact lose its reddishness like the left one during this vacation. All these feelings were warm in him.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking about the last night's dream but I am not exactly getting it.

The feet of his mother were pale, emaciated and shrunk. The dampness of the lowest part of her saree was severe. While stretching the right hand the fingers that were moisture ridden could be felt cold. The body was also seemingly getting cold. When the neighborhood sister Indira died, the feet of her were also anemic like this and felt cold. Amma's hands were also pale and anemic and bloodless as she could be quite often found in the damp due to her work.

I don't know anything about sleeping and waking. I would lie down like a corpse. Of course, there would be dreams. Still I have no idea or whatsoever about the type of it. Suddenly I will wake up at 4.00, which demon would make me like that I don't know. Suddenly I would lose sleep at four.

Amma, I am going to sleep till 10 today.

Sleep... my son! Hope others will not disturb your sleep and give you some unwanted work.

The edges of the mat had all been damaged and it was looking like a flat big rag made out of sinewy lines. He had placed his body on the lotus found in the middle of the mat. He shrunk his body to the plinth of the lotus and tried to view it. The lotus was looking deformed and he felt like laughing about his wild imagination. We should buy a matlike the one found at Karim's house, which has been made by plastics, he often repeated it with his father. But his father would nevertheless become angry when mentioned like that and the reason for that was unknown to him.

"In their house all excepting his mother are employed. Jahangir who's equal to your age is employed in a hosiery unit, takes care of packing. His