Motherhood Re-Considered: A Survey of World Literature

By Ketaki Datta

Mother/Matr/Mater – all these words refer to that graceful and kind figure that gives birth to a ball of life on earth. A mother is she who unconditionally loves the child she has given birth to. The new-born believes in the protection and support its mother proffers. In this essay, we are going to talk about the mother, who is caring and loving, the mother who is ruthless and destructive and the mother, who is not the genuine birth-giver to the child but is the true mother in every sense. Mostly the references are drawn from literature across the world.

Do you remember how Mother Courage [Anna Fierling] had to give up her three children while putting motherhood and business on an even keel, while going round to sell her wares in a strife-torn scene of thirty years’ war in Europe? She had three children from three different men of war. She loved all the children madly, even her dumb daughter Kattrin who had a kind heart and who tried to stand beside the Protestants from an abrupt attack of the Catholics during the still hours of the night. She beat the drum and cautioned them though she was gunned down by the ruthless Catholics. Mother Courage lost her children one after another, only the wagon she used to sell her things on, stayed back. Her motherhood was something she clung to till the last, though hardly to any avail. Bertolt Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children was our matter of discussion here.

How can we forget Pelagiya Nilovna Vlasova, the undaunted mother, who putting up with the drunken beatings of her husband, and ultimately his untimely death, decides to live only for her revolutionary son, Pavel Vlasov, who though had gone astray for some time, transforms into a revolutionary and lands up in the prison? Yes, I am talking of Maxim Gorky’s Mother. Yes, I am driving home the point how Pagalueya Nilovna Vlasova, the mother of rebel Pavel, was striving hard to preach the ideas of socialist realism to all. The mother worked till her last breath to reach the core message on behalf of her son, Pavel, to all and sundry.

And there is Lady Macbeth who incites Macbeth in a wrong way to ascend the throne by slaying King Duncan who had been there at the Castle of Inverness as their honoured guest. A mother of virtues would never advise her husband to grab the knife and plunge it into the loving king’s bosom. She must have lost her child after its birth or she just imagined giving birth to a child when she said, “I have given suck and know / How tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks me.” Was she ever a mother? The play has no mention of Macbeth’s children at any point, though.

Another mother, Medea (Euripides, 431 BCE) who never thought twice to wreak vengeance on her betraying husband by killing his new wife, Glauce, her father, King Creon and even both of her sons, begotten of the union of herself and Jason. She could not put up with such betrayal by her husband, who she helped to win the Golden Fleece and come to Corinth to settle. Even after having a caring wife like Medea, who had magical powers and two sons, how could Jason dare marry Glauce? Hence, Medea deliberately caused the massacre to happen and leave the place on a chariot sent by her father, Helios, to start a new life with Aegeus. It might be because she wanted her husband to suffer the chill of loneliness, losing his second wife, influential father-in-law and his two sons born of his conjugal union with Medea. But what kind of mother was Medea, who did not think twice to hack her dear sons to death? This motherhood is something which does not reason while it comes to revenge! This is another Lady Macbeth who does not have the same context to share, but as mother, both are ruthless, violent and revengeful! In the case of Lady Macbeth, it was to help with her husband’s vaulting ambition; in the case of Medea, it was sheer revenge to fight against injustice! As mothers, both are glaring failures, in their own ways.

The 1978 film, Autumn Sonata, starring Ingmar Bergman and Ingrid Bergman, again narrates the story of the hurt feelings of a mother, Charlotte Andergast. After seven years she had been invited by her elder daughter, Eva, who used to play piano passably, though was not so talented like her. She travelled all the way to Sweden to find to her utter amazement that Eva had even brought home her debilitated sister Helena to take care. Their mother understood how she neglected her daughters by pursuing her career as a pianist and lastly motherhood stands supreme, and she confesses. Every mother can never be a loving, responsible, dutiful mother, we all know.

In contrast, we can find a mother, an Indian rustic mother, portrayed by Nissim Ezekiel (1924-2004), an Indo-Anglian poet, in his celebrated poem, “Night of the Scorpion”. The mother had been stung by a scorpion, who had entered a rural household on a rainy evening. The neighbours came, chanted incantations, the father rationally tried to alleviate the pain through medication, and it subsided after a certain length of time. But the most striking fact was that the mother was happy only because her children had not been stung by the poisonous insect. The concluding lines of the poem speak volumes of a mother’s concern and unconditional, selfless love for her children:

“My mother only said
Thank God the scorpion picked on me
and spared my children.” (“Night of the Scorpion”)

A few mothers are there who love to teach their children the significance of truth. For them, the teaching of values to their wards is the ultimate aim of imparting education. And, of course, thus only the children get value education to grow into responsible individuals. If the foundation-stone of honesty is laid since childhood, the children can surely grow into harbingers of Honesty and Truth. Rabindranath Tagore was inspired by a tale of a boy from Chchandogyoponishad, who knew not who his father was but introduced himself to sage Gautam as the son of his mother. All Brahmin boys had assembled there as worthy disciples of the sage, but this boy was not at all ashamed of telling the truth. The sage was so impressed by his love for veracity that he could not but accept him as a disciple like others.

Tagore writes:

“Bhagobon, nahi jani ki gotra amar, puchchilam
Jananire, kohilen tini, Satyakaam,
Bohu paricharya kori peyechchinu torey
Jonmechchish Bhartrihina Jabalar krodey
Gotra taba nahi jani”…
Uthila Gautam rishi chchadiya asan,
Baahu meli balakerey kori alingon
Kohilen, “ Abrahman naho tumi Tato,
Tumi Dwijottam , tumi Sattyakulojato.” (“Brahman” from Chitra) 

“Oh Lord, I am unaware of my lineage,
When asked my mother said, ‘Satyakaam
I gave you birth with much pain and urge,
To the lap of husband-less Jabala you came,
I know next to nothing of your lineage!’…

Leaving his seat, got up Hermit Gautam,
Taking the boy in a deep embrace,
Said he, “Who says you’re not a Brahmin,
My boy, you are the best of the race,
You are born of a Truth-abiding clan!” (Translation mine)

Such intrepid, truth-revering mother can only tell the Truth and initiate her son in the world of the Truth only, which is the real Brahmajnan (Knowledge of the Ultimate, i.e., Brahman)! Ancient India had seen a few such daring souls who were the embodiments of sterling virtues.

Tagore had again taken stock of the deeds of a mother, who did not accept the responsibility of her son after his birth, with Sun-god being his father. As mother Kunti was unmarried at that time, she did not dare keep the new-born with her. She put the baby in a vessel and allowed it to float on the Ganga, in the hope of getting the baby his foster-parents. A ruthless act, no doubt! Can a mother ever do so? However, Karna was lucky enough to be adopted by his foster-parents, Adhiratha (a carpenter, by profession) and Radha.

Strangely enough, when the Battle of Kurukshetra was around the corner, mother Kunti had gone to seek a favour from her valiant child, who she had abandoned aeons ago. As she learnt of his coming of age and his mastery in acts of heroism like archery, she had gone to meet that once-abandoned son, staking a claim to her motherhood. But Tagore’s pen ran harsh while that son added more importance to the selfless love and sacrifice with which his foster-parents reared him up than the lately opportunistic approach of his biological mother, Kunti.

Kunti: Torey lobo bakkhey tuli,
Shey sukh-ashay putra, ashi nai dwarey!
Phiraatey esechi torey nijo adhikaarey,
Sutoputra noho tumi, rajar santaan—
Dur kori diya batsya, shob apomaan
Esho choli jetha ache tobo panchabhraata!

[…]

Karna: … Mata mor, bhraata mor, mor rajkul
Ek muhurtei korechcho nirmool

Mor janmakkhane I Sutojanani re chcholi

Aj Jodi raj jananire mata boli…

Tabe dhik morey!

 

Kunti: I am not at your door, son,

Hoping for that happy moment

To hold you on!

But I am here to take you back

With all the rights you lack,

To remind you of your royal birth!

You are not a carpenter’s son

But a King’s, instead-

Spurning all insults, come here to unite

With your five brothers, with all your right!

[…]

Karna: My mother, you negated all at the moment of my birth

My kingly descent, my birth-giver, my siblings,

Betraying my carpenter-mother, who hadn’t given me birth,

If I call the regal mother as ‘My Mother’, [in life’s new innings]

Then fie on me!” (Translation mine)

Kunti had been driven by a mean objective which Karna readily declined. Motherhood has to be earned; it cannot be taken for granted – once again this stands proven! A real mother may not be respected as one’s mother, if she ignores all her responsibilities to the baby, during/after its birth.

An example of a righteous mother, who talked for justice, at the cost of his own son, was Gandhaari. Tagore’s facile yet powerful pen ran,

“Gandhaari: Tyag koro eibaar!

Dhritarashtra: Kaare , hey Mahishi?

Gandhaari: Paaper sangharshe jaar

Porichhey bhishan shaan

Dharmer kripaney, shei murhey!

Dhritarashtra: Key shei jon?…

Gandhaari: Putro Durjyodhan.

Dhritarashtra: Taharey koribo tyag?

Gandhaari: Ei nibedan tabo padey!

…

Dhritarashtra: Dharma taarey koribe shashon

Dharmerey je langhan koreche—ami Pita!

Gandhaari: Mata ami nahi? Gorbhobhaar jorjorita

Jagroto hritpindotoley bohi nai tare? …

Tobu kohi Maharaj,

Shei putro Durjyodhan e tyag koro aaj!” (“Gandhaarir Abedon from Kahini”)

 

“Gandhaari: Abandon him now.

Dhritarashtra: Whom, oh Queen?

Gandhaari: Whose sins are in dire conflict

With the sharpness of the blade of Righteousness

That nincompoop, I mean.

Dhritarashtra: Who can he be?

Gandhaari: Our son, Durjyodhan!

Dhritarashtra: Am I to abandon him?

Gandhaari: My earnest entreaty at your feet.

…

Dhritarashtra: Righteousness will take him to task

As he dares flout its norms, I am his father!

Gandhaari: And mother, am I not?

Didn’t I bear him beneath a heart, vigilant

With the gravid womb, below, bursting at its seams?…

Yet Oh King of Kings, I implore you today to disown

Durjyodhan,

The son of ours!” (Translation mine)

In Shesh Namaskar: Sreecharaneshu Maake, Santosh Kumar Ghosh writes:

The first letter that he penned was: “I bow down to your feet, oh mother”! For one who has gone deep into the game of repaying all debts through an epistolary endeavour, it is best to start with a letter to one’s mother. She who happened to be his origin, who toted him within, who brought him to this world, who nestled and fondled him! To whom he owed his existence, his rearing up! She who used to cocoon him with her blood, her milk-laden breasts, her secured nest, kept an eye on him, ran behind him in love, concern and fear! Thinking deeply of his well-being, day in, day out. (Translation mine)

Here the protagonist on his deathbed expiates for losing his mother for his harsh behaviour and false accusations. Since his childhood he thought her mother was drawn towards Sudhirmama, a trusted family friend. Even after the demise of his father, he thought that his mother would now have no inhibitions to hobnob with Sudhirmama. But such a thing never happened, and the narrator found some other attraction Sudhirmama was interested in. Still, he doubted his mother and one evening, he behaved rudely with his mother and that was the last day he had seen her. The mother walked away, where none could tell and till the date he was penning the letter of remorse, his mother remained untraced.

In Mahasweta Devi’s short story “Stanadayini” (The Breast Giver), Yashoda, the wife of crippled Kangalicharan, mother of not less than twenty children, took up the calling of a professional breast-giver to the new-borns of the rich Halder family in the locality, who revered Kangalicharan for being a Brahmin by caste. In lieu of the rice and eatables the Halders sent to her household, she kept giving suck to all the newborns of their family. She took all the children as her children, herself being their ‘milk-mother’[dudh-maa]. Later when she was a victim of breast cancer and was about to breathe her last, she mumbled a few words addressed to the doctor treating her, “You grew up into a man by drawing my milk and now you are giving me such pain?” She thought all men of the world were nourished by her breast milk! Universal mother was Yashoda. “Yashoda was God, in human form” (Translations mine), writes Mahasweta Devi.

Lastly, let us say a few words about “Dolna”, a short story by Ashapurna Devi. Sumana went to Simultali for a change with her parents, where she got a newborn, left in the lurch. Sumana took her up with a vow to rear it herself. All her family members opposed it; her father, Kantikumar rued his decision of coming to Simultali. Sumana had a compassionate heart, she sheltered a puppy at a tender age but unfortunately, it died in a few days. But what had she done? She was trying to bring a smile to a child, abandoned for some unknown cause by its mother. She was keen on bringing up the foundling. At last, when her lover, Siddhartha, took the newborn as his own and won Sumana’s hands in marriage, they decided to buy a cradle together for the baby, after their wedding.

Motherhood has its appeal to all, in many forms and ways. But the heart of all mothers across the globe throbs in the ribcage for their children. Motherhood is the other name of humanity, of unconditional love, of compassion!

Bio:
Dr. Ketaki Datta is a W.B.E.S, West Bengal. She is a novelist, poet, translator and reviewer. She has two novels to her credit and one of her translated novels has been published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. Her latest publication is on Toto tribe, published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. She has quite a few academic books to her credit. She went to Lisbon, Oxford and Santa Barbara, California, to present academic papers in international conferences.

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