A path to literature thanks to Radio Ceylon and Dostoyevsky in 1954
In around 1954, Radio Ceylon, in its Sinhala broadcast, serialised Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. I was a nine-year-old at the time. The reading of a translation of Dostoyevsky’s classic, partly dramatised with accompanying music, was, even for the child in me, riveting.
We had in our home one of those HMV Valve Radios, housed in a Bakelite case with cloth cover in front and ivory coloured dialling knobs and connected to an aerial strung up on a tree. I listened to every episode, although I don’t remember whether they serialised the whole book. The narrator was so good, he actually created a visualisation through his voice and tone, to bring up just the right atmosphere. Even seventy odd years on I still remember the part where Raskolnikov, the impoverished student in old St Petersburg, stealthily climbs the wooden stairs to the old woman’s apartment, that of the money lender, with an axe hidden inside his greatcoat. One literally felt the tension building up, skipping heartbeats, goosebumps tingling down the spine, just listening.
That programme was my first introduction to Dostoyevsky. At that time, I didn’t know anything about Russian literature. Or, for that matter, any literature or literary appreciation. I was far too young. Yet, it made an indelible mark. Then, when I was 15 or so, I became a member of the Kandy Municipal Library, which those days was housed in a lattice-fronted building opposite the old cooperative store on Trincomalee Street. From that library, I borrowed the English translation of Crime and Punishment. The book was translated by Constance Garnett, who wasn’t Russian. Consequently, it lacked a certain authenticity, which later Russian translators managed to inject into their translation of the book. The Sinhala rendition of the book by Radio Ceylon was better than Garnett’s translation because the reader brought into his reading the nuances and subtleties that Dostoyevsky may have had in his original.
I discovered more authentic translations by Russians at the People’s Publishing House (PPH) bookshop in Kandy about the same time. PPH was the official publishing house of the old Soviet Union. In Kandy it was located in a tiny corner of the Communist Party branch office, which wasn’t very spacious either. The Party office was on the upper floor of an ill-lit dingy old building between Gilbert’s Store and Lazarus’ Studio on Castle Hill Street. None of these survived the ravages of time. All dead; all gone.
PPH sold English translations of Russian and Chinese books. This was before the great Sino-Soviet split, when the Russians and the Chinese were still ideological friends. Among the Chinese books, there was one titled Mother, written by Pa Chin. It was a moving account of a family going through the privations of pre-revolutionary China. The book was something similar to Pearl S. Buck’s Good Earth, without the irritating proselytizing touch. Some of the books I remember I bought at the PPH are, Mother by Maxim Gorky, Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy (which I still have with me), Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev, several of Dostoyevsky’s (of which I still have, Insulted and Humiliated) and some unreadable translations of Bulgarian books, and such assortments. They were cheap, dirt cheap. Hardbound copies were fifty cents or a rupee at most.
As I write, I am transported to these old haunts, so much so, fragments of memories come to mind. Like a broken windowpane with cobwebs in the Communist Party office, the flimsy creaking door that led to the bookshop section, the posters and placards stacked in the corner used by the party’s Trade Union.
The power of that Radio Ceylon reading of Crime and Punishment in Sinhala perhaps planted a seed in me to go in search of great literary works. Listening to Radio Ceylon, however, waned after teenage years having outlived the very popular Sunday Choice.
Radio can play a great role in tempting youngsters to delve into world literature as they grow up. So, here is a suggestion. Some national minded publisher should get into developing audiobooks in Sinhala and Tamil (perhaps, Tamil Nadu already does this). These could be popular Sinhala books like Gamperaliya, Ape Gama, and indeed, the rich Sandesha Kavya in Sinhala literature. Going one step further, such audio books and broadcasts could include critical discussions within the reading itself.
Today’s younger generation does not read as much as earlier generations did. This, of course, is due to TV and smart phones and the rapid pace of life in the present day. But if audiobooks in national languages are popularised, and even broadcast by radio, perhaps on a dedicated channel, or on YouTube, it might influence the young not only to read, but also broaden their reading to world literature. It will also dilute the current narrow-mindedness among some due to the lack of a worldly outlook; the stagnant islander mentality of the Sri Lankan, even if he/she lives overseas. Further, it will also be a boon to the oldies who are too feeble, with diminishing grey matter, to read.
Radio Ceylon’s animated reading of Crime and Punishment in Sinhala set me on a rewarding path of literature. And to that anonymous reader at the Radio Ceylon in 1954, I am deeply indebted, for all the many joys of reading and for enriching my life through the seven decades on this earth.
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