Munshi Premchand : Aim of Literature

Born 137 years ago on July 31 in Lamhi, a village near Varanasi, Premchand (1880-1936) wrote about things that have always existed but had hitherto been considered beyond the pale of literature — exploitation and submission, greed and corruption, the straightjacket of poverty and an unyielding caste system.

Son of a post office clerk, he was named Dhanpat Rai (literally meaning the ‘master of wealth’), yet he waged a lifelong battle against unremitting genteel poverty. Reading and writing, always the stock in trade of a good kayastha boy, coupled with acute social consciousness and an unerring eye for detail turned him – with a literary career spanning three decades which included 14 novels, 300 short stories, several translations from English classics, innumerable essays and editorial pieces —into a qalam ka sipahi, a ‘soldier with the pen’.

In simple but powerful words, the greatest storyteller of his time told his audience how good literature can only be founded on truth, beauty, freedom and humanity, and that his definition of literature was simply ‘the criticism of life’. And since literature is nothing but a mirror of its age, its definition, scope and contents just as much as its aims and objectives must change with time. Given the turmoil and change in the world, his reader – and theirs – could no longer be content with the wondrous tales of love and escape that had been the staple fare of the fasana and dastan of yore.

“Currently, good literature,” he maintained, “is judged by the sharpness of its perception, which stirs our feelings and thoughts into motion.” The main aim of literature, then, was to ‘refine’ the mind of the readers. And while undoubtedly the aim of art was to strengthen one’s sense of beauty, art too must be weighed on the same scale of usefulness as everything else in life. The time had come, he declared with the quiet assurance of a messiah, to redefine the parameters of beauty: “Hamein khubsoorti ka mayaar badalna hoga.”

Calling language a means and not an end, and while conceding that a writer is born, not made, Premchand stressed that a writer’s natural gifts could be enhanced with education and curiosity about the world around him.

“Literature,” he said, “is no longer limited to individualism or egotism, but tends to turn more and more towards the psychological and social. Now literature does not view the individual as separate from society; on the contrary it sees the individual as an indissoluble part of society!”

Deeming “a quick mind and a fast pen” not enough, a writer must also be abreast of the latest scientific, social, historical or psychological questions — as was the case in international literary conferences. In India, Premchand maintained, we conversely shy away from such matters and thus the need for far more socially-engaged literature had become more urgent than ever:

“We will have to raise the standard of our literature, so that it can serve the society more usefully… our literature will discuss and assess every aspect of life and we will no longer be satisfied with eating the leftovers of other languages and literatures. We will ourselves increase the capital of our literature.”

Speaking not merely as president of the inaugural session, but identifying himself completely with the aims and objectives of the PWA (the address is replete with references to ‘our association’, ‘our ideal’, ‘our aim’), Premchand spoke about opening centres in ‘each province and in each language’: “To water them and to strengthen their aim is our goal.”

He urged writers to discard individual and personal concerns and, instead, speak in a collective voice taking upon themselves public and political roles. Literature, which had hitherto been content to entertain or at best educate, must now, given the exigencies of the times, advance human knowledge and freedom.