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Karruku is a poignant subaltern novel that speaks of the childhood experiences of the author. The significance of the novel comes from its social message. The author’s childhood is interspersed with events that repeatedly bring to the fore the harrowing experiences of a Dalit child.
The dictionary defines the word “militant” as being “aggressively active (as in a cause)”. In “Karruku” the militant aspect is lower than the autobiographical element. The novel comes across as a sincere attempt to tell a story that is matter-of-factly indignant about ill-treatment in the name of class, caste and religion. The story is that of poverty, pain and neglect more than that of anger or aggression. It is a story that creates awareness more than anger.
Constantly reproved for being a member of a lower caste, the Dalit children go through severe abuse and torment. The novel is not just the story of the author alone. It seeks to expose the plight of thousands of Dalit children. The author also finds that several of her own people have internalized the inferiority that is imposed on them by the upper classes. She wants her novel to be a “two-edged sword”. While on the one hand it challenges the oppressors who have enslaved and disempowered the Dalits, on the other hand it reiterates the need for a new society with ideals such as justice, equality and love.
The novel is not merely a militant kickback. It seeks to establish a better society for the Dalits apart from questioning the oppressors. It does not retaliate violently to injustice. On the contrary, it seeks to emphasize on the importance of education, moral values and unity. During severe oppression, her people hardly questioned authority or fought against it. They rather sought to dodge the law temporarily and escape punishment than work towards long-term solutions.
It is important to note that the author is a peace-loving nun who is disturbed by violence. Although she does not agree with the way the convents are run, she herself is religious and service-minded. She believes that a lack of unity among the Dalits will make it easier for the upper castes to subjugate them.
“A hundred times a second there are scuffles among them. Shameless fellows. Of course the upper-caste men will laugh at them. In stead of uniting together in a village of many castes, if they keep challenging each other to fights, what will happen to all these men in the end?” (Page 41)
She repeatedly talks about the importance of education for the Dalit child. She quotes her Annan’s words,
“Because we are born into the Paraya jati, we are never given any honour or dignity or respect. We are stripped of all that. But if we study and make progress, we can throw away these indignities. (Page 15)
She also stresses on the need for the Dalits to demand better wages for heavy physical labor.
The book talks about the cultural, social and familial life of Dalits. It does not confine itself to the oppression aspects or the militant stance. It elaborately describes the daily life, language, naming conventions, religion, culture, festivals, food habits, entertainment, games and kinship in the paraya community. The cultural significance of drumming is highlighted in the way they celebrated the “Pusai”. One must remember that the “parayas” are known for their exceptional talents at drumming on the “parai”.
“During the Pusai there was only one man who sang out loudly, while quite a few others accompanied him by beating out the rhythm on all sorts of objects.” (Page 56)
In this fashion, the book talks about Bama’s Dalit experience in different areas of her life. There are places where she is proud and happy the way she is but is angered by the treatment given to her.
“Are Dalits not human beings? Do they not have common sense? Do they not have such attributes as a sense of honour and self-respect? Are they without any wisdom, beauty, dignity? What do we lack?” (Page 24)
At the end of the book is an “Afterword” written by Bama, seven years after she wrote the book. She says, “It has been a great joy to see Dalits aiming to live with self-respect, proclaiming aloud, “Dalit endru sollada; talai nimirndu nillada”. You are a Dalit; lift up your head and stand tall”. This is probably what the author aimed for when she wrote her experiences down.
Thus, Karruku is not merely a militant voice seeking to liberate the Dalits from oppression. The language used in the book is that of the Dalits. This in itself is a form of overthrowing of established conventions for writing, as dictated by the upper castes. It also does the function of memoir that has great cultural value for its contents. The book gives an identity to the Dalits by proudly recollecting the cultural significance of being a Dalit in the remnants of memories. The very fact that the author is a Dalit who seeks to decentralize the established structures is proof that half their victory is won. The book therefore becomes the harbinger of an awakening and a reiteration of the Dalit’s freedom to question, rebel and reinterpret.
As Lakshmi Holmstrom puts it, “…Bama’s work is among those that are exploring a changing Dalit identity.”
Bama is not merely trying to politically influence the power structures but wants to communicate with the readers at a deeper level. As readers we are expected to travel into her reality and empathize with the condition of the Dalits.
“Karruku” is indeed the “two-edged sword” but only mightier.
I want to listen quietly
To your meaningless replies
And to the unwitting lies
I want that ruthless way
In which your mind denies
I want to capture truth
In your disapproving eyes
I want to want to want you
And want to accept love
That inevitably dies…
I will learn to analyze
Myself I’ll anesthetize
To dissect a little flower
And grandly theorize
On how it withers and dries
I’ll wear the conventional guise
And suppress my silent cries…
I’ll observe the twilight rise
Just punctuate it with sighs…
What happens to you if you’re not afraid of anyone or anything? Authority in any form does not scare me. I cannot be threatened or scared into submission by any power structure. This is usually because I give a damn for consequences or losses. However, I have my own standards. I have set these standards based on some ethical values and on my own need for perfection.
I care the least for how other people perceive me.
People have a certain image of me and they believe I deserve certain things and they give them to me. The same people also snatch things from me because they believe I do not deserve that particular thing. But the fact is that it does not make a big difference and I’m going to survive either ways.
The only insecurity I probably have is losing people I love. But that is entirely in my own hands and I have a conviction that I can always win back even the people I lose. That is only if I care enough to do that.
For someone who is neither ambitious nor materialistic, losses of the worldly kind hardly matter. In that way I’m gifted!
This fearlessness makes me arrogant and careless. Other people think that these characteristics are not good for me. They’re probably right! But then, who cares! 
The dog unwinds
In the evening dust
A day full of aimless trotting
Sniffing beetles
Chasing crows
Nipping at invisible squirrels
Scratching
Kicking up dirt
The dog runs in circles
Tired and panting
At twilight it lies down
On the warm tar road
With twitching eyebrows
And an automatic tail
It howls inaudibly
To dispel the silence.
Note: This work has been largely translated from meows heard during midnight’s witching hour at Sumeet Mazumdar Co-operative Housing Society.
This is Carla Ferguson howling from the eighteenth balcony in Block B. This is to warn you all that the territory in this block and beyond is entirely meant for myself and my minions. Anybody who dares trespass into our foraging limits shall end up with a half-chewed ear like our dear romance-stricken Romeo Rodriguez. We understand that he bravely attempted to retrieve a large helping out of Alley 4 garbage bin despite the presence of my trusted friends Clawhook and Mohawk. We also understand that he did this in a chivalrous move towards Madamoiselle Pamela Snow.
This final howl shall serve as warning for the other turncoats who ran with tails tucked between their legs a few minutes back.
Myowwwrrr!!
P.S: A better portion of this translation was lost in the background noises which largely consisted of groans from our protagonist, recently deprived of a better half of his auditory instrument.
Note No. 2:
Those who don’t understand head or tail of this post, please read Myowww…
