Two things stand out in this English translation of Othappu: the choice of the translator and his employment of the English language. And that proves Valson Thampu is fit for the job. A theologian-priest and teacher, Thampu has been able to capture dexterously the underlying — and sometimes apparent — biblical intonation in author Sara Joseph’s narrative, stunningly fusing the diabolic and the divine into one in order to portray arguably the most important feminist novel in India today.
If an omission of Thampu’s has been careful, there has been a brilliant addition while dealing with this Malayalam novel. He has (apparently, deliberately) left out the apparent colloquial character of the original. The novel takes place in central Kerala’s Thrissur, famous for its distinct dialect. And most of the characters in the story speak this colourful cockney, like those in Sara’s earlier novels such as Alahayute Penmakkal and Mattathi. But Thampu is creatively deaf to this dominant vernacular bend in Othappu; instead, he has successfully injected a disturbing universality into the translation. That’s where the Bible helped him. Had he tried to fiddle with the Thrissur dialect, Thampu would have met with the same sorry fate that many faced while translating a Malayalam work into English. His deep understanding of the Bible and the English language adds more value to the novel. Wherever it is demanded, he oversteps the original to make the narrative more lucid and visible.
This novel is the story of Margalitha, a nun who breaks away from her congregation, protesting against its order and herself. She leaves the convent “in search of God.” Virtually ostracised, she becomes an outcast. Yet, she finds solace in the company of Roy Francis Karikkan, a priest. The novel traces the fluctuating contours of their selves and photographs the trembling details of their conflicts. Both Margalitha and Karikkan break away from the order of the Church. For these souls, the spiritual becomes something that also negotiates the sexual, and their hapless lives get enmeshed in a tormented journey of lust and living with a scent of nervous sincerity. Othappu’s plot is a minefield you are not allowed to avoid. The novel takes on Christianity, the ugly shades of patriarchal prejudices existing in Kerala, particularly towards the lives of nuns and those who choose to drop the nun’s veil. Through her revolts against the Church and her own body, Margalitha creates a new manifesto of love and womanhood. The novel vividly illustrates the impatience and intolerance of patriarchy with intelligent and democratic women.
Karikkan is a superb portrayal of all that makes up, and breaks up too, a priest in Kerala today. In the middle of the novel, Karikkan, troubled over his love for Margalitha, writes “feverishly”: I am struggling desperately to overcome the three forces: the world, the devil and the body. Sleepless, smouldering nights... Do I have the right to touch the girdle that symbolises celibacy and self-control?... How dare an unstable, dithering celibate girdle himself? Why doesn’t the girdle become a snake in my hand and bite me? At another juncture, Margalitha avers, “I will seek God through my body.”... “I cannot separate the perishable body from the imperishable soul.” She realises that when she loves a man, she is ‘at joyful peace with the whole of creation.’
Othappu is a must-read for those who yearn to learn about women, Church and patriarchy in Kerala. Plus, it’s unputdownable for its aesthetic and literary values. It throws open a kaleidoscopically surrealistic literary geography where the mundane meets the sublime through a turbulent coup of ‘the biblical.’ Then in a flash, in a burst of youthful energy, Karikkan grabbed her and drew her to himself in an intense embrace. Words became flesh. That’s quintessential Sarah Joseph.
— The writer is a journalist based in Delhi. jinoyjose@gmail.com