“Kālīpuja Reversed: Gopinath Mohanty’s Rewriting of Tradition in Postcolonial India”

Mauricio D. Aguilera Linde

University of Granada, Spain
aguilera@ugr.es

In an article about the figure of the body in Gopinath Mohanty’s High Tide Ebb Tide Kerstin
W. Shands and Himansu S. Mohapatra (2003) analyze how its protagonists view their bodies and
other people’s as the obstacle that precludes them from reaching the desires of their mind. Ageing,
transient, ever-demanding and ailing, according to the moment, bodies are perceived as perishable
moulds of their owners’ alienated existence. Both Tarun and Kantimoyee’s biography is not a story
of growth and fulfillment but a story of “self-preservation”. Enthralled to an “pre-ordained”
existence dominated by the arithmetic of profit and loss, they realize, through rambling thoughts
inspired by a spiritually illuminating ocean, that they have never been “free to adopt their own
course” (149). “This body will perish some day. And with it will perish all ties forged by the body,
the entire net of illusions”, muses Tarun, convinced that his life in the city has been invariably led
by the preposterous need to conform and obey. “I am submissive; I have no disagreement with
anyone. I consent to everything. Only let me live! I wish to survive” (12).
Alienation, a term that Karl Marx defines in his Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of
1844 is a complex term that involves a wide range of emotional responses and physical effects in
the worker. Since labor is no longer an activity that pursues the satisfaction of a natural want but a
means to fulfill “needs external to it”, i.e., needs related to the producer alone (2007a: 72), the
worker experiences a series of negative transformations. Deprived of willpower and creativity, man
loses his own individuality and freedom, and becomes “a mere fragment of his own body” (Marx
2007b: 396). Although it is indisputable that Gopinath Mohanty transcends the Marxist political
orientation in the quest for a spiritual meaning, his writings bear stark testimony to the debilitating
effects of alienation on his fellow citizens during the turbulent decades after Indian independence.
I have bent down to examine public latrines [Mohanty confesses] to see the pitiable condition of the
female sweepers as they lift night soil by hand; wading in ankle-deep night soil, I have seen its impact on
their skin, eyes and ears. (qtd. in Mahapatra 1993: 43)

In the following pages, I aim to focus my attention not on the dalits’ appalling living
conditions but on the more bearable tribulations of the mass of powerless urban workers. From
1941 to the mid-1960s, the decades when he writes most of his city stories, the urban population
increases up to 18 million, out of which 12.2 million are the result not of natural growth but of the
non-stop rural exodus (Nath 2007: 3-4). This unprecedented growth inevitably causes a shortage of
housing and meager salaries. The theme that looms in the background is the emergence of the
megapolis and the parallel destruction of rural India; the inordinate development without respect for
the beauty of the environment and, in Manoj Das’ words, the “diabolical hunger of a false
prosperity” (qtd. in Raja 1993: 54). Mohanty’s ideological position in relation to the capitalist
transformation of India launched by the so-called Nehru-Mahalanobis Plan (Guha 2007)1 is largely
determined by the plight of the new generation of city migrants who live hand-to-mouth, and by his
conviction that the urban civilization of post-independence India is anchored to the Kali Yuga, the
fourth age of Indian cosmogony, dominated by falsehood, sin and discord; a dystopian world
defined by “the breakdown of proper boundaries, with Shudras and women on top” (Sarkar 1996:
278).2 “The ending of Kali Yuga, according to the ancient epic texts, will be marked by the
confusion of classes, the interruption of established norms, the abolishment of religious rites, and
the government of foreign and cruel rulers” (Basham 1954: 321).3
Upendra, the protagonist of “Light and Shadow”, the young man who seems to have lost his
mental sanity, prophesies, perched on a mango tree, the fate of a world where man is unable to
“recognise his soul”:
The world, intoxicated by violence, is full of deceit, hypocrisy, black marketeering, dishonesty, murder
and thievery. It’s a selfish, utterly selfish world. How long will a world like this last? It will go up in
flames in atomic war, and be reduced to ashes. What has man done? (“Light and Shadow”, Dark
Loneliness 119).

The city becomes then the best arena to examine the effects of the disruptive forces of the
conflicting age. Despite Gandhi’s affirmation that “India lives in her villages” (qtd. in Guha 2007:
201), it is the mass of anonymous, nondescript white-collar clerks, the new generation of lonesome,
self-centered Indians harrowed by “hurry, tiredness, worry and boredom” (Mahapatra 1992: 16-18)
that take up the central position in his short fiction. “The Shelter” illustrates the trials and

1 In 1944 the Plan of Economic Development for India (the so-called Bombay Plan), based upon state control, and
power and steel as the main springs of the new planning, aimed to industrialize India as rapidly as possible. Nehru’s
dream to make science the spirit of the age and dams the temples of the new India postponed an agrarian reform so
badly needed in a country where peasants continued to be the backbone of the nation. See Ch.10, “The Conquest of
Nature” (201-225) of Ramachandra Guha’s monumental work, India after Gandhi (2007).
2 Gandhi also held the deep-rooted belief that India “was caught up in a vast cyclical process, with the present age, the
Black or Kali Yuga, some five thousand years old”. However, he was not a pessimist and did not subscribe to the view
that there was no hope for social improvement. On the contrary, he was convinced that the ending of the Kali Yuga and
the advent of the Satya Yuga, the age of Truth, could be precipitated with the aid of social reforms (Copley 1987: 14).
Mohanty, however, believed in the individual’s power to counteract the ill effects of the Kali Yuga.

3 See Ishita Banerjee’s thought-provoking essay (2001) for an understanding of the malikas in the Oriya literary
tradition. Malikas were apocryphal texts, centered upon Kali, which prophesied the dissolution of the Kali Yuga and the
reestablishment of the true faith.
tribulations of Sadasiva, the government employee transferred to Cuttack, a greenhorn who cannot
find a place to live in the capital of Orissa, and who can hardly recognize the old village of his
youth during his house hunting: what emerges now is “a veritable concrete jungle” (108) with
traffic-congested roads where pedestrians get often run over and “a bustling slum” where there used
to be “a swamp with wild plants and flowers (112).
The average city worker is “a homeless sparrow in a rented cage” (High Tide, Ebb Tide 12)
struggling to make both ends meet in one of the “beehives that throng the city and are called ‘flats’”
(8):
So it has been for two hundred years past, ever since the first Englishmen came masquerading as traders
and his forefathers forsook the land and picked up a smattering of English in order to become the
Englishmen’s slaves. Ever since they have been flying from one birdcage to another. The children are
born in rented premises. When they find jobs they fly away to other nests. (High Tide, Ebb Tide 12)

Since the Kali Yuga is defined by the confusion, dislocation and suspension of the religious
precepts, Mohanty’s short fiction pursues two major objectives:
(i) To diagnose the anonymous city worker’s growing sense of alienation and loss of self as
one of the clearest symptoms of the punishments brought along by the ending of the Kali Yuga.
(ii) To provide a remedy against the ills of capitalism so that man can overcome his
submissiveness and paralyzing fear before exploitation and abuse, and some moral justice can
eventually be reestablished.
Marx believed that alienation could be overcome through a process of self-affirmation of the
workers’ own individuality and needs whereby labor was no longer a means of self-preservation and
supply of food, and man could recover his long-lost union with nature. In Max Horkheimer’s words,
“the history of man’s efforts to subjugate nature is also the history of man’s subjugation of
man” (1947: 105). Although nature and individuality plays a fundamental role as empowering
instruments to counteract alienation in Mohanty’s stories, the fight against exploitation is not the
Marxist struggle of classes but a “part of the universal endeavour of man to free himself from the
tyranny of fate, the endeavour to understand the ineluctable laws of chance and change”. In Sitakant
Mahapatra’s words, his method is one in which “the social situation is lifted up to the level of a
metaphysical situation” (1993: 43). Insofar as he believed that the goal of writing was to illuminate
readers so as to move them to action, his short stories become the vehicle of a transcendental
meaning through which it is possible to achieve a spiritual union with the misfortunes of the
neighbor, which are not very different from one’s own disgraces after all. Mohanty defined his short
fiction experiments as attempts at recreating the traditional kavya, a self-contained poetic narrative
which makes no distinction between the natural and the supernatural with the aim of conveying
more than one meaning:
At times, when thoughts, feelings and imagination become intense, unified and concentrated in the
writer’s mind and he is writing in a mood of complete absorption in his vision, as in a trance, his
language, trying to mould itself to the state of his consciousness, may itself become the language of
poetry, condensed, evocative, revealing, concentrated, unified, and even rhythmical, and may even
produce assonance of sound. (Mahapatra 1992: 22-23)

Put more simply, the sensory data give way to suprasensory perceptions. “Light [is] born out of
darkness, and in turn [loses] itself in darkness”, Upendra, the madman of “Light and Shadow”
reflects (Dark Loneliness, 132). What the eye sees is eventually transformed into a symbol or idea.
In an essay entitled “Why I write” Mohanty states: “I love the visible as well as the invisible world”
(Mansinha 1962: 255). “It is like approaching an island in a boat from a sheet of water, an outline
becomes visible, some landmarks appear, then gradually the rest gets into view (Mahapatra 1992:
14-15).
For brevity’s sake I am going to focus on a discourse strategy with the aim of laying bare
not only how Mohanty depicts the emergence of a world upside down but also how the individual
can challenge the threats posed by the disrupting forces of modernity. In a way the writer creates a
“reverse discourse”, in a Foucauldian sense,4 whereby the categories, ideas and values of traditional
Hinduism are rewritten and modified with a view to debunking the dominant ideology and helping
the city worker fight the oppressive world he lives in. This rewriting or reinterpretation of traditions
is not at odds with the internal mechanisms of the Hindu sacred image (murti), polymorphic and
ubiquitous by definition, one that must be destroyed and recreated periodically (Preston 2008: 137).
As U.R. Anantha Murthi brilliantly puts it, Indian tradition combines a static, permanent component
(sthavara) with constant changes and movement (jangama) in a dialectical relationship which
results in the creation of something “fresh and original” insomuch as it remains, paradoxically
enough, “deeply rooted” in tradition (2002: 107). If, as G. N. Devi argues, “tradition is postcolonial
societies is a means of recovering the nativistic self-awareness so as to be able to perform linguistic
kriti, creation which is action” (1998: 127), Mohanty renegotiates and reworks tradition so as to
counteract and critique the excesses and disruptions of modernity. Tradition becomes, in words of
Makarand Paranjape, “a refuge” since it is “a source of wisdom, of knowledge, of technologies of
survival” for “the marginalized, and the destitute, the scum and refuse of progress” (2004: 263).

4A reverse discourse or counterdiscourse is one which uses the same vocabulary, categories and motifs of the
hegemonic discourse with the aim to question its validity, a powerful instrument of resistance (Foucault 1978).
 “The Solution” (1968)5 is a good case in point to illustrate this resistance to the hegemonic
establishment. The white-collar worker, overwhelmed with a never-ending mountain of paperwork,
is one more in the crowd, a non-entity whose absurd life comes down to a “meaningless,
mechanical, dehumanised existence” dominated by “hurry, tiredness, worry and
boredom” (Mahapatra 1992: 18). Ostracized in an urban setting, the protagonist, Dadhibaman, is a
Mr. Zero who is not emotionally or spiritually nurtured by the city (Jatindra Mohan Mohanty 2006:
445), and who needs to get back to nature to recover his own identity. Dadhibaman has returned
home after a tiresome day’s work routine. Sitting in the backyard he reflects on how little wages he
makes (below those of a pan seller or a rickshaw driver), the sterile work he is engaged on, his
boss’s harassment, and the feeling that little can be done to break the chains he feels in. The boss
has written him a letter containing accusations, complaints and a long list of questions he must
immediately answer. While holding the piece of paper in his hands, he only finds solace in the little
male goat he has bought as a pet for his children. Betu, carrying a red collar and a bell on its neck,
does not stop bleating “mein” while it frolicks about. For a minute Dadhi manages to shake off his
mood of despair. While lost in his thoughts, groping for an answer to his predicament at work, the
goat snatches the letter from his hand and chews it down before he can do anything. Betu’s eyes
staring at him are aglow with fire (“Betu’s round eyes seemed to have become bloodshot,” 104).
Shortly the clerk feels a surge of optimism: he is determined to confront his problems not by taking
on a submissive attitude as usual but by doing away with the oppressive work with Betu’s help. He
goes back in and gives the goat whichever files he has brought home in the hope of advancing
procrastinated work. The animal munches everything it is given, and Dadhi feels happier than ever.
Next morning he takes the goat to the office and the animal swallows everything his master throws
on the floor. When the head clerk repeats the boss’s threat that whoever lags behind at work will be
dismissed, he is glad to inform him he has disposed of all arrears (“All done, sir,” 106). In the
meantime, the colleagues constantly ask him if he has castrated the he-goat, for the meat of
uncastrated males has an unpleasant taste.
That “The Solution” easily yields to a symbolic interpretation related to the power dynamics of
Indian society is more than evident. The goat which eats the files away and frees Dadhi of the yoke
of tyrannical work also makes him return to nature: the paper Betu swallows is, after all, vegetable

5 Unless stated otherwise, all the quotes from “The Solution” and the rest of Gopinath Mohanty’s stories have been
taken from Dark Loneliness (2012). “The Solution” was first translated into English by Oriya poet Sitakant Mahapatra
in 1979. Leelawati Mohapatra and K.K. Mohapatra have done an unrewarded job in translating Oriya short fiction in
two seminal anthologies: The HarperCollins Book of Oriya Short Stories (1998), with Sudhansu Mohanty; and Ants,
Ghost and Whispering Trees (2003), with Paul St-Pierre. K.K. Mohapatra’s priceless translation project in Grassroots
was instrumental in launching the first Spanish edition of Oriya short fiction (2009).
matter which must feed us and not kill us. However, bearing in mind the double mechanism
Mohanty used in his composition method — the visible significant must always allude to an
invisible idea or symbol — it is not difficult to glimpse, through the careful choice of motifs, a
subversive reformulation of the goat sacrifice to the Goddess Kali. It would be advisable to explain
first what the traditional sacrifice to Kali (Kālīpuja) consisted of before seeing to what extent the
ritual has been modified in the tale.
Kali is the patron deity in Kolkata, the four-armed, long-haired goddess of Time, covered with
blood and garlanded with skulls. Holding a sword and a decapitated demon’s head, Kali, who faces
south, the direction of death ruled by Yama, protects against the dangers that lie in wait for those
dominated by the beastly or demonic side of their nature, or for those who have been deluded with
false signs. The traditional sacrificial offerings (bali) are vegetables and animals. If the goddess has
helped the sacrifier6 overcome a life crisis (be it emotional or economic) a male goat is mandatory.
The blood gives Kali new sap to give more birth, and the animal sacrificed guarantees the well-
being of the sacrificer and his family.
Sachitra Samanta (1994) explains that the male black goat symbolically represents the demonic
self (the asura) which we carry within ourselves, the degraded, base instincts that keep us apart
from the divinity: lust, anger, greed, egotism, envy and arrogance. By killing the animal the sacrifier
manages to shake off his animal fetters and achieves spiritual perception:

Sacrificial Destroyer:
offering or gift Kali
(Bali): Destruction of
Sacrifier
male black goat the demonic
(pāthābali) qualities of the
Self:
SELF-ANIMAL
ASURA SPIRITUAL
PERCEPTION

Kālīpuja

In “The Solution” the goat, like in the sacrificial offering to Kali, becomes the self-animal, a
surrogate of the sacrifier. Betu’s bleats — mein, mein, a word which means “I” in Hindi and Urdu
— establish the parity of their identities. However, the animal is never sacrificed, despite the
colleagues’ insistence upon how it should be cooked, and far from embodying Dadhibaman’s

6 Samanta distinguishes between “sacrifier”, the individual “who commissions the sacrifice and to whom its benefits
accrue”, and “sacrificer”, the officiant who performs “the rites, such as the priest”(1994: 780)
negative, demonic qualities, it gives him back the peace of mind to perceive the solution to his
problems in the office. In other words, the goat fulfils Kali’s goal: it destroys what must be
destroyed, i.e., everything that is negative (the files, the urgent-tagged papers) and helps the
protagonist overcome his crisis by instilling into his mind the enlightenment he needs to put an end
to the abusive working conditions. Dadhi is no longer submissive or sheepish. He confronts the
boss’s threat by destroying the letter and subverts the discipline at work by feeding the goat with the
procrastinated files. In a way, he becomes the priest of Kālīpuja: he decides what is to be destroyed,
and chooses the medium of destruction. In times that are abnormal, when social and economic
conditions become stifling, the only aim is to preserve oneself. Āpad-dharma, emergency conduct,
replaces dharma.

Sacrificial Destroyer:
Offering: The exploitative
Sacrificer: Submissive, capitalist system,
Dadhi’s boss will-less with the city as
(sS white-collar megapolis.
clerk
Dadhibaman

Situation 1: Beginning of the story

Sacrificial
Sacrificer or Offering:
officiant: Destroyer:
The files and
Dadhibaman Betu, the pet
paperwork at
goat
the office, the
(sS oppressive living
conditions of
capitalist India

Situation 2: Denouement of the story

Thus, Mohanty reverses the sacrificial worship to Kali in “The Solution”. Betu is no longer
the scapegoat, the symbol of the sins we must atone for, but the agent that guides the frazzled white-
collar clerk to perception and the destroyer of material fetters that enslave him to a miserable
existence. Instead of the decapitation of the goat, only redtape papers are given as the offering that
will be consumed by the Goddess. The fire that Dadhibaman sees in the animal’s eyes symbolizes
Kali’s destructive power which will provide the abused worker with the insight to overcome
delusion and thereby challenge his oppression. Unlike meek, submissive Balidatta (“the one who
chooses to be sacrificed”), the protagonist of The Survivor, shackled to the daily bread and obsessed
about getting a promotion, Dadhi discovers his true self by taking on an assertive, defiant,
empowered attitude.7
“Beyond the arithmetic of profit and loss, effort and gain, life exists,” affirms Tarun Roy, the
central character of High Tide, Ebb Tide (146). “This epoch will end too. All our trains, aeroplanes,
our houses of reinforced concrete, towns and factories, our visions of space exploitations will turn
into forgotten legends” (142). It is through the heterodox reinterpretation of many of the traditional
myths, legends and religious precepts that Mohanty manages to provide an answer to contemporary
man’s dilemma in a world where “everything is measured out, pre-ordained”, and to resist the
juggernaut of homogenizing modernity which short-circuits the freedom “to adopt one’s own
course” (High Tide, Ebb Tide 149). Only by rejecting cutthroat competition and overcoming fear,
the hordes of Indian workers can speed up the longed-for ending of the Kali Yuga: it’s as simple as
learning the symbolic lesson taught by the voracious goat.

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7 Not in vain, Dadhibaman, or Dadhi Baban in Sitakant Mahapatra’s translation, is a name rife with symbolic overtones.
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