IN a boyhood spent without radio or even electricity, books and magazines were our armour against tedium and time. Every Saturday evening when the popular magazines Kalki and Anandavikatan were delivered, my sisters and I scrambled to get hold of them first.
p>During the late '40s when Kalki's (R.K. Krishnamurthy) historical novel Sivakamiyan sabatham (The Oath of Sivakami) was being serialised in his eponymous magazine, the scramble included my parents too. They loved the novel's historical resonances. My sisters went weepy-eyed over the ill-fated romance between the Pallava prince, Mamallar, and the dancing girl, Sivakami. I was thrilled to read about the battle scenes, the siege of Kancheepuram by the Chalukya king, Pulakesi, the spy networks and the secret passages escribed in the novel.
Later, I read similar romances in English-the celebrated works of Scott, Dumas and Anthony Hope. I even taught Scott's Talisman to literature students. But these classics, I felt, paled before the three great historical romances of Kalki-Sivakami, Parthipan Kanavu (The Dream of Parthipan) and Ponniyin Selvan (The Darling of Ponni). Kalki started Parthipan Kanavu as an experiment. When it clicked, he worked on Sivakami, originally planned as a play for All India Radio.
This feeling of Kalki's superiority was confirmed as I re-read Sivakami some weeks back. The old magic was still there. As I went through chapter after chapter, I saw before my eyes, the magnificent sculptures of Mahabalipuram, the great flood which enveloped kancheepuram, the classic dance postures of Sivakami and the savage war between the two kingdoms. At the end of the novel, when Sivakami realises that her lover, the Pallava prince, can never marry her and decides to become the bride of Lord Shiva, I had tears in my eyes. Sivakami was Kalki's masterpiece and arguably, the best historical novel written in India. Intensely proud of Tamil Nadu and its rich language, Kalki wanted to recreate its glorious past. A meticulous researcher, he'd spend months visiting historical sites in Tamil Nadu and Ceylon collecting material for his novels.
A historical novelist must present history without distortions, and though like most romantic historians, Kalki's fictitious characters are often more fascinating than the historical ones, he never took liberties with history. As Dr R. Chidambaram, chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, pointed out at a recent Kalki entenary celebration in Mumbai, students of history often turn to Kalki, whose novels are more accurate and readable than history books.
Wielding Tamil masterfully, Kalki evoked joy, tension, love and fear in his novels. But the iconoclastic writer was also very witty and satiric. Former Indian president R Venkataraman, a fervent admirer, calls him the 'Father of Tamil humour'.
Journalists are seldom good writers, but Kalki was one. As editor of ndavikatan, he was urged by its owner 'Gemini' S.S. Vasan to fight for Independence through fiery editorials. But Kalki plunged into politics and went to jail three times. The heady events of those years and the trauma of Partition resonate in his social novel Alai Osai.
I was too young to have followed Kalki's writings in the Vikatan but his editorials and reviews of dance, music and cinema in Kalki-started with the help of close friend Sadasivan (late husband of M.S. Subbalakshmi)-were legion. Kalki also wrote many wonderful songs. Many of the popular songs from M.S. films, Thyaga Bhoomi and Meera, were penned by him.
Despite his hydra-headed genius, Kalki is hardly known, even within India. I hope this year which marks his birth centenary will rectify that.
