The sculptor’s Hell (Sirpiyin Naragam) by Puthumai Pithan

  

This is an English Translation of “Sirpiyin Naragam”, a short story written by Puthumai Pithan. This story has been translated by Mr Shanmuga Sundaram, a retired software professional based in Chennai. (Guest Translation). My sincere thanks to him for taking interest in translating this short story. This is 28th English Translation in Classic Tamil Short Stories Series.

Puthumai Pithan 

It was sun set time. The port of Kaveripoompattinam was more crowded than usual. Black-skinned and wiry Egyptians, white-skinned and sinewy Burmese, black-skinned Africans who appeared an epitome of muscularity, pale Greeks, Tamil from south India, and Prakrit from north India – all these mixed and contrasted with each other. The customs officials were inspecting the goods and servants brought in the ships looking like swans and crocodiles, with the prudent use of their gold crested canes. White elephants had been brought from Burma for the king. Just to have a glance of them, such an unusual crowd had assembled there.  

The rays of a setting sun are always a tragic tale. The manner in which the rays reflected, not only on the towers of temples and the heights of palaces, but also on the top of flagpole standing on black rock on the shore and the back and tail of the gilded bronze tiger erected in a pouncing posture towards east, gave that place a surreal atmosphere.

Phylarchus, the Greek was sitting on the steps to the bathing area built for the people attending the Indira’s Festival, looking at the sea. The long toga he was wearing was fluttering in the wind. It sometimes pressed his beard to his neck. Occasionally, bigger waves soaked his woven leather sandals. In spite of all that, there was not even a movement in his body. If the mind is engrossed in something, the wind and waves can do nothing. Can they?”  

Phylarchus’ thoughts, like the waves, piled up, fell and scattered. Dreams made him stare like a lunatic.

Suddenly, someone called out to him ”Siva!”. A Tamil ascetic!

“Greek! Your mind has engrossed in the barren expanse of nothingness you like. Hasn’t it? Did you understand what I said yesterday? Everything is the divinely spectacle of the primal power and its image! Kollip pavai1  too; Lord Kumaran2 too! If everything is focused on that one thing...?”

“A goblet of wine is far better than your philosophy. That too, wine from the island of Cyprus... See that African over there, he too believes in a dream. If I accept your first axiom, then there could be no flaw in your construction... But how can I accept it? Philosophy designed to suit each one’s fears... I do not want that. The Carnatic girl loitering in the market and a goblet of wine will do for me”.

“Oh God! Even the Jain3 devils and Kapali4  fanatics are better. Who has asked you to come here carrying this stupid dirt bag from Greece?”

Phylarchus laughed and said ” It makes sense only when guys like me are there around people like you. Doesn’t it? Your Lord Kanthan’s5 nonsense is no less than the nonsense of our Jupiter”.

“Siva! He made me feel affectionate for you! That is also His grace”, said the ascetic, took out some sacred ash from the casket and applied it on his forehead.

“I am going to the market. Would you like to come?” the ascetic asked again.

“Yes. At least we can meet Saththan if we go there. There is meaning in talking to him….as he knows the secret of creation...”

“Ah! The old sculptor? He is also as mad as you are. Wait. There he comes!” said the ascetic.

Phylarchus stood up and greeted him with a Grecian bow.

Saththan was really old, he must have been at least eighty. But his strength had not waned; the sharpness of his eyes hadn’t diminished. He looked as if Brahma6 had taken a human form. He too greeted Phylarchus and cried ”Phylarchus. I was also searching for you! Will you mind coming to my house? My vow has taken its shape finally only today ...!” with a child’s enthusiasm.

“Do you know him? From Pandiya country, your ascetic... He tried his philosophies on me... He couldn’t succeed with Phylarchus. Could he?” The Greek laughed mockingly.

Saththan prostrated before the ascetic and said ”Swami. Please come and have food in my humble hut”.

“What? You too?” said Phylarchus.
“Phylarchus! I am not sad that you deny God; don’t ridicule others...”
“I was born only for that, friend. That’s my job...”
“Alright, let’s go. Swami. Please come!” said the sculptor and led them to the bullock cart.

The cart could move only slowly. It was rather difficult to drive the cart, navigating through the crowd of people marching with torches in their hands at the time when the elephants, load laden mules and bulls were coming towards the port in the opposite direction. If a government official’s chariot or elephant came, there would be chaos in the street for sure. Even if there were drums, what was the use? That woman driving a salt laden cart would have been run over by the chariot had she faltered a little. Saththan’s cart almost collided with that cart.

“God’s grace!” said Saththan.
“Your power of creation” said Phylarchus, thinking about something else.

“Phylarchus! Your praise may satisfy my ego. Are you aware how many days I had suffered?  You are just a novice. Dance...! The depth of meanings in it, is the one all men knew and ought to know... The universe, Phylarchus, as you think, is not a barren expanse and a meaningless chaos. I was about twenty years old. I once went to the Pandiya country... If you want to see a great sculpture, you must see Kolli Pavai.  There a warrior, Nagan, in a dance, struck a pose. That bent of his leg, I captured it there... The meaning of the world... It progressed step by step... I found the peaceful expression, that rare smile, meaningless meaning in the face of an actress from the hills – Phylarchus, you are a jester – I searched it in the Upanishads... in the Himalayas... I found peace that night... that night when my wife Angayarkanni died... Then how many experimentations for the mixing of metals! How many disappointments!... It was the desire that showed me the way. To get that beautiful visage, how many people I have searched!... The shade of it - remember the tyrant of the blue mountains, who was beheaded ten years ago - found it in the sway of his hip... There is a God... It is the reward for the good deeds in my past lives that my sculpture is able to express the meaning of God. … With these hands, if something meaningful is not pushing me from within, we can’t achieve it. Can we?”

“You only have achieved it! You are the Brahma! This is your achievement. Creation! Don’t vacillate! Don’t fear! You are the Brahma! The god of creation” Phylarchus went on and on.

The ascetic was looking out with a smile.

The cart went past the market, the lower square, turned into a lane and stopped in front of a house.

All the three climbed down and went up the stairs at the entrance. A Greek maid came out and washed their feet. An African wiped their feet respectfully with a piece of cloth.

“Swami. Please come! Phylarchus, come here!” Saththan led them both to a room. His vigour was surprising, considering his age!

 “Mbango, light!” he shouted. The African entered with a lamp. There was a gentle breeze like a silken thread, even though there was no window in the room, captivating the mind and the body.

“No light here too! Open the curtain! Swami, Phylarchus, this is my life” saying so, Saththan drew aside the curtain.

Both stood stunned. In the muted light, with a leg raised in a dancer’s pose, a statue the height of a human being! Sprawling mane, a crescent moon on the crown, open hand with the gestures of wisdom and benediction, and a sublime smile on the lips exploded waves upon waves of thoughts in their minds. The three became the statue themselves. Life pulsating in every curve and every part of the statue!

The ascetic started singing, oblivious of his being.

"With arched eyebrows lips like Kovvai fruit bubbling laughter
dew laden hair, skin like coral
white sacred ash on his forehead benevolent golden feet.
If one is blessed to see them,
it is good to be born as a human being in this world."

“Swami. You should not utter such words!”

“Saththan. He is right. Is this art? This is creation! What are you going to do with it?”

“To the royal temple... What kind of question is that?”

“What? Don’t do such an idiotic thing... At least it will have meaning if you keep this next to the nude statues in the king’s seraglio... Or if you break this into pieces and throw them on the hillock, even those pieces will have meaning. They will have life...” Phylarchus screamed like a man possessed.

“Ugh, Phylarchus! Your maniacal ideas suit only Greece! Augustus! – your king – he is only fit for your prattle”.

“Saththan! For your ambition, the king’s request is the apt one. Why would these Jains raise again...!” said the ascetic.

“Compared to these lunatics, the sea has more sense...” said Phylarchus with anger and left.

2

It was the consecration day. The day the statue was installed. The entire Chola country was in a celebratory mood. Saththan’s dream had been fulfilled. Saththan was immensely sad as Phylarchus was not alive to share his joy.

By the time he reached home from the new temple, it was very late at night.

He felt old age creeping upon him for the first time. He laid down his tired body. He fell asleep...

Oh, my God! What a brilliant effulgence! An infinite expanse of space! There, Saththan’s achievement, the smile that was meaningless yet full of meaning! A dance, with the gentle rhythm of heart. What soul! What creation!

Suddenly, all went dark. A deep impenetrable darkness! An empty darkness like a bereft heart!

Then light... Now a golden temple! Brightness that hurt the eyes!... The doors open spontaneously with the clanging of bells... Inside, again the same old darkness!

Saththan goes inside. It is like the heart of darkness. In it, there appears an anaemic light! What! Is this the statue! No life! No enchanting smile!... Everything was ignorance!... Ignorance...!

At the dark entrance, shadow like beings come, with heads bent. With heads bent, they pray.

“Salvation for me! Salvation for me!” echoes around. In those innumerable shadows, not even one looked up the statue. Every day went like this...

Days, years, centuries pass on like waves – in those millions of years, shouldn’t even one shadow raise the head and look up!

“Salvation for me...!”, this was the refrain, song and everything else!

Saththan waits...

How many eons! He is agitated. “Lifeless statue! I will break you into pieces! Oh, God! Will you not crumble! Break into pieces! Or let your axe destroy me. Meaningless dance...!” As if thunder has struck, the statue turns – in Saththan’s embrace, it soaks in his blood ... Is blood so sacred! That old smile!...

Saththan woke up, startled. The morning star had risen. His confused thoughts collide with the sound of conches from the new temple.

“Ugh. What a nightmarish vision!” saying so, he applies sacred ash on his forehead. “Phylarchus – Pitiable fellow! If he were here...” Saththan’s heart didn’t find the peace.

                                                               ***End***

Notes:

1 Goddess of the Kolli hills, an ancient Mother Goddess. Pavai means image.
2 & 5 Kumaran/Kanthan is a God in Hinduism’s pantheon of Gods, popular primarily in southern India. He is considered the son of Sivan and the God of youth and valour. Kumaran literally means a youngster. Another name of Kumaran is Kanthan.
3 Jainism, an ancient religion, is considered an atheistic religion. The followers are known as Jains.
4 Kapalika is a heterodox sect within the Sivan’s followers. A Kapali is a follower of the Kapalika tradition.

6 The God of creation in Hindu mythology.
7 Upanishads are texts of Hindu philosophy.

 

Translated from Tamil by Shanmuga Sundaram (Guest translation)

Source: Puthumai Pithan’s Short story “Sirpiyin Naragam”