Malevolence

You may or may not have heard of (or used) the word “malevolence”, but it seems to be a condition that resides in most human beings. A gentle synonym for the word could be “wickedness”, but to be malevolent is to exhibit the passions of evil, malice, spite, nastiness, meanness, ill-will and unkindness. To go further, malevolence also includes cruelty, mischievousness and animosity. But underlying all this is hatred, pure and simple, the kind Satan (aka Lucifer) had—and still has—for God.

From there, it is just one small step for man to practise the “motiveless malignity” of Shakespeare’s Iago, but it is a giant leap—for mankind—into the abyss of negativity, when it pertains to human relations, in general. The dagger goes deeper when you realize that you have been mowed down by one of your own (or so you thought), and so you too can say Et tu Brute, and to hell with “honour”; and honourable men, too. Have they ever existed, I ask, in all honesty?

A name like “Mulk Raj Anand”, makes it easy to pinpoint the writer as Indian. In a country like India, which is actually dozens of countries rolled into one, the slightest difference makes a huge difference—creed, caste, customs, colour (of skin, I mean); language, lineage, leverage and linkage (to this, or that, or the other manifesto, I mean). Just one tiny detail and—if you have it or if you don’t—you may find yourself “beyond the pale”. And with those small, insignificant details—of often unnoticeable human differences—are spun many tales. And when the victim of such callousness cannot seem to defend himself, vulgar writers are able to take advantage and cry themselves hoarse about the descent of this man (or men and women, or communities, and nations). And that is where the fictional AngloIndian has found himself; up to now!

In the novel Coolie, republished by Penguin after a gap of over 50 years, Mulk Raj Anand forgets that the protagonist of his story is the teenager, Munoo, for the concluding part is just a tirade against a nondescript Anglo-Indian woman who goes by the name of May Mainwaring. The details of her birth are murky and so it follows, naturally, that her life is sullied, too. By the time we get to know all the sordid details of Mrs Mainwaring’s prurient life, the author/narrator has already damned her, by indicating, without much ado, that she had become “a bitch to all the dogs that prowled round her bungalow”, in the hill-station of Simla. How did Anand come to such a conclusion? My guess is that dogs, big dogs or puppy dogs, have the unique ability to sniff out the heat. Mrs Mainwaring is the chosen scapegoat and she must be taken down, at all costs.

It does not matter that May Mainwaring had had a convent education, it does not matter that she is a much-married woman, it does not matter that she is the one who carries Munoo away to Simla, there to allow him to recuperate. It does not even matter that young Munoo even fancies a jig with his benefactor, though his clumsy adolescent efforts are spurned by the woman. Anand—the writer, the narrator, and the man, all rolled into one—is so overtaken by his malevolence and irrationality, that he justifies his stance by saying: “There was no racial attack intended.” False, fatuous, hypocritical, words that anyone with a modicum of common sense would discern. And to think that all his novels were supposed to be paragons of “humanism”.

In any piece of writing, the author is definitely allowed to call a spade a spade; but this is the stock-in-trade of the hack, the flunky and the lackey. The better writer allows you, dear Reader, to sift through the material he makes available; he provides the pros and the cons to any argument put forward; and he is very wary of being intrusive and omniscient. Even the best—or better—writers stutter when they employ an all-seeing, all-knowing narrative style—John Milton comes to my mind. Compared to that epic poet, who, indeed, is Mulk Raj Anand?

It is always good to know: what? Bite off only what you can chew.