“Being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher and the poet. The novel is the one bright book of life” said D.H. Lawrence, the famous English novelist, with an artist’s pardonable licence. If there is anybody who can repeat it with justifiable pride among the Telugu writers of this century, it is Sri Viswanatha Satyanarayana, who authored about three score and ten novels of different categories and types—the masterpieces and milestones, the classics and commercials.

The meaning of real, the nature of reality gained new dimensions in the novels of Sri Viswanatha—where life is not a series of gig-lamps symmetrically arranged. Life is depicted as luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope which surrounds man from the beginning of consciousness to the end.

The reality in the novels of Viswanatha is thus of a very different kind from that in many contemporary novels. Meeting it in prose fiction today (in Viswanath’s novels) one has to approach it as he approaches the reality of a poem; with a response to its rhythms, its imagery, its timeless flow of memories and impressions.

Beyond plot, story and theme the novels of Viswanatha contain something—the essence of all—which is his personal idiom, his statement outside logic or casuality a statement poetic in that it is always its own excuse of being.

Sri Viswanatha is not anti-progress. His respect for our ancient culture is not a blind admiration. He has not a closed mind — not jealous of the so-called modernists. Dharma Rao, the hero of Veyipadagalu, may look like arguing irrationally for some sophisticated modernists. His argument against the unauthorized trespass and erosion of our culture by the enemies and is totally intended to safeguard our own cultural interests and not at all intended to persuade others to embrace or accept it.

The communion of the story, the plot and the them, the characterization, the development of the story, the portrayal of the present day social circumstances and environs — or anything else is not against progress. Everything depends upon the spirit of love of national culture and patriotism. The author believes that large-scale industrialization of the country does not solve our problems. He projects the Gandhian view that village reconstruction is essential without losing the ancient village arts and crafts and the inherent rural charm.

by T. Ramalingeswara Rao

The novels

Among his novels, the formidable 1,000 page Veyipadagalu which is a sort of encyclopedia on the Andhra landscape, lifestyle, culture and institutions, and the short, suave and succinct Ekaveera, a novel set in the Southern country under the Madurai kings, are outstanding. His admirers rank his Veyipadagalu next only to Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The classics that Dr. Satyanarayana swears by are Nannaya’s Mahabharata and Krishna Deva Raya’s tough Amuktamalyada. No wonder that his style is like him: rugged, eccentric and intense. He has no interest in elegant or self-consciously elitist writing. The power of his poetry lies in its strong, scholarly base. At the state level, there is not a single major literary prize, honour or award that he has not received, and the Padma Bhushan, the Sahitya Akademi Award and the Jnanpeeth Award have exalted him to the status of a national figure. Maruthinagar, Vijayawada: This is his present address. He writes and publishes and as his own publisher, he is very successful. His creative urges are no doubt sound but his business instincts are also equally sound. He is fond of music, movies and card games with high stakes. He is also a trained painter. Once he had a brief flirtation with the then modernist group, the Bengal School.

He writes not only in Telugu but in Sanskrit and English also. He is a fluent speaker in Sanskrit. On the whole he is an exceptionally lucky writer. He has achieved fame, prestige and prosperity and throughout Andhra Pradesh his writ runs unchallenged in all academic and cultural organisations. He is not lucky in only one respect—speculative deals and financial transactions with his debtors who seldom pay back his good money!
One enjoys talking with Dr Satyanarayana who is expansive, erudite and entertaining. Satyanarayana Garu, what is your concept of tradition? Also, what is the scope for experimentation for a conformist? The question does not put Dr Satyanarayana on the defensive at all. He answers readily and spontaneously:

“Tradition is the consolidated wisdom and experience of our previous generations. Of course there is scope for experimentation within its frame. Must we not incorporate in it our own collective wisdom and experience? There is, however, a limitation to experimentation: you should not transgress the established law of the land.” What, according to you, are the social commitments of a writer? How does he reconcile these to his creative urges?

“A writer is different from a poet. There may be many writers. But poets are bound to be only a few. As men, they have their social responsibilities, but not as poets. A poet’s work is his own. He is the master of the correct word and the correct thought, the word being most chiselled and the thought, most profound.” How does a poet then serve the common man?

“Has Einstein’s Theory of Relativity not done immense good to the common man? Has Sankara’s advaita not brought great benefits to the common man? And yet, how many people understand Einstein’s theory and Sankara’s thesis? To return to your social aspect, the phrase ‘socialist realism’ is all right in the context of writing in general. But you cannot apply it to poetry which is the language of the soul. Poetry’s social purpose is secondary. Its primary objective is creative self-expression.”

I don’t agree with you. Poetry divorced from social purpose is, to me at any rate, irrelevant and irresponsible. I know you are a great admirer of the Victorians. Do you read modern writers of the West also?

“Writing that is clever, just clever does not appeal to me: in order to endure, writing must have a spiritual intellectual base.”

Do you read the Russians?

“Why not? I’m very fond of Chekhov’s work.”

What is your personal assessment of writing in English by Indians?

“When I was young it used to be said that Gandhiji could write the Englishman’s English; he alone could, I was told; and Tagore won the Nobel Prize for literature. Do you find the names of Gandhiji and Tagore ever mentioned in the 20th century English literature?”

Do you approve of poetry without metre?

“No. How can there be poetry without metre? It is like a man without his organs. Good qualities dwell in beasts also. For example, a lamb is docile, a lion is brave, a dog is faithful, an elephant is strong, a cow is gentle and so on. 

But these qualities have value only when man possesses them. Man is presentable only when he has all his organs intact. So there may be very good ideas in some writing, but it does not become poetry, unless it is disciplined into metre.”

What is it that holds good writing together? Style? Diction? Imagery? Theme?

“None of these, of course, in my opinion. Writing without ekavakyata—a central idea being maintained from the beginning to the end—never comes alive. I give prominence to the Western stories which are remarkable for their technique. The author I have in mind is Edgar Allen Poe. He is brief and most pointed, isn’t he?”

What about your own guru, Chellapilla Venkata Sastry? Let us leave the Western writers in peace for the moment.

“It is an embarrassing question. Let me answer your question with a quotation from Humbert Wolfe who says thus about Tennyson: ‘In the supreme house of verse there are many mansions, some great with turrets on seas forlorn and others open to the light and winds. Tennyson knocked at the great iron doors. They refused him..’ I’ also reminded of Bonamy Dobres on Dryden: ‘He does not unlock the mysteries of the soul nor provide a key to the universe nor legislate for the world. He is not profound’.”

Who are then major influences on your literary vision and technique?
CARAVAN 

by A.S. Raman