Seems like ages ago, I think it was in 2002 that I met Vijayans for the second time. P.K.Uthaman, the cool wild life photographer, who knew O.V.Vijayan from his Delhi days, was with me. Sitting on the floor for hours, without uttering a single word, Uthaman went on working with his camera. The copyright of these photographs rests with P.K.Uthaman.

o.v.vijayan/photo: p.k.uthaman

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Double Talk at last

Manjula Padmanabhan's Double Talk has recently been published by Penguin India. She is brilliant. Get a copy asap, ask your library to get one as well.

Here is a link to her blog.

Understanding Vijayan - the tale of karma

...Long before the lizards, before the dinosaurs, two spores set out on an incredible journey. They came to a valley bathed in the placid glow of sunset.

My elder sister, said the little spore to the bigger spore, let us see what lies beyond.

This valley is green, replied the bigger spore, I shall journey no further.

I want to journey, said the little spore, I want to discover. She gazed in wonder at the path before her.

Will you forget your sister? asked the bigger spore.

Never, said the little spore.

You will, little one, for this is the loveless tale of karma; in it there is only parting and sorrow.

The little spore journeyed on. The bigger spore stayed back in the valley. Her roots pierced the damp earth and sought the nutrients of death and memory. She sprouted over the earth, green and contended...A girl with silver anklets and eyes prettied with surma came to Chetali's valley to gather flowers. The Champaka tree stood alone - efflorescent, serene. The flower-gatherer reached out and held down a soft twig to pluck the flowers. As the twig broke the Champaka said, My little sister, you have forgotten me!

The Legends of Khasak, page 53

O.V.Vijayan's book 7

O.V.Vijayan's book 6

O.V.Vijayan's book 5

O.V.Vijayan's books 4

O.V.Vijayan's book 3

O.V.Vijayan's books 3

O.V.Vijayan's books 2

O.V.Vijayan's books 1

Understanding Vijayan - Liberation

'We went round the township. We came to the old mosque which had not changed these 40 years. As a child, I had imagined djins in the form of grey parrots zooming in to perch in its attic. I fold Fazl about the djins. He called me in to see them.
There were four or five boys with Fazl, and as we went in, it was time for the evening prayer.
"Would you mind sir?" said Fazl, as they went to a little tank inside for the ritual washing of hands and feet. I went in after them and washed too; it was unpremeditated, the most natural thing to do. I followed them into the prayer hall, stepping with freshly washed feet on ageing mats of rush.
"Would you mind," I asked, "if I prayed with you?"
It is not often that I pray, but I prayed that evening. Fazl and his boys swayed and bent and rose, while near them I sat cross-legged and with my prayer dug for that spring of love that lay beneath Mecca's great black stone and the stone figures of my own pagan gods. It was compact with something which was there for Fazl and his boys and me, a trust which I knew will not fail my country.'

.....

'Liberation, dear Fazl, is much more complex than the books would have us believe, and we, both you and I, are in need of it. I can still hear your chanted prayer, a prayer in which, in affection and generosity, you let this pagan merge his sense of the incarnate Brahman, a celebration of your Prophet in which you let me experience the immanence of my Gurus. Let us not split the God of that prayer or ethnicise prophecy.'

O.V.Vijayan, 1986