Interview | Tracing Maithili Writer Shivashankar Shrinivas’s Literary Journey

Shivshankar Srinivas is a Maithili author born on July 2, 1953, in Lohana, Madhubani district, Bihar. His notable works include the story collections Trikona, Adahan, Mati, Guna Katha and Gamak Lok, each highlighting deep social insights and cultural nuances. Recently, Srinivas spoke with The Wire about his literary journey, and on contemporary Maithili literature.

Can you share memories from your childhood in Lohana, Madhubani, and how growing up there influenced your literary journey?

I grew up in Lohana, Madhubani, where poetry and storytelling were deeply ingrained in our culture. I vividly recall a poetry gathering in 1965 when I was in the eighth grade; it sparked my desire to write. At Sarisab Lakshmi Eshwar Academy, we had a weekly class for poetry, and original compositions were especially celebrated. Encouraged, I wrote my first poem, which was warmly praised. That moment made me feel like a poet.

Soon after, I expressed to my father my desire to recite a poem at a nearby poetry reading. Though proud, he was met with scepticism from the organisers, who dismissed me as a mere child. My father comforted me, saying, ‘If you continue to write well, one day they’ll invite you with respect.’ His words have stayed with me, driving me to write, as though still striving for that stage.

Even after more than 50 years, and despite his absence, I often wonder if I’ve fulfilled his dreams. Perhaps my readers hold the answer.

I wish I could ask him if I’ve lived up to his expectations. But now, who is there to tell me?

Can you share insights into your creative process when writing a story?

When I write a story, the characters, who are the carriers of the plot, become a part of me. Their joys become my joys, and their sorrows become my sorrows. As the story progresses through their emotions, I write along with those feelings.

With each line of the story, I find myself both laughing and crying, but I stop at the point where my interest leads me to pause. So, while I may write a single story in one sitting, there are others that take me three or four sittings to complete. But the most fulfilling part of writing is the joy it brings me. It feels like I am creating a whole imaginative world through my story.

How do you develop ideas and characters in your stories, and what makes them feel authentic and impactful?

I draw inspiration from the unresolved and incomplete aspects of society, blending them with the moments of beauty I wish to share. My goal is to breathe life into barren lands, sweeten sour expressions, and rejuvenate dry trees. Each story begins with a thread – found in events around me or within my own mind – which I weave into a story, developed with characters and settings.

This process varies in time, taking days or even years, as I write each story until its essence feels complete. The words and settings come straight from my heart, and the more passion I pour into them, the stronger the connection with my readers. Often, unplanned lines emerge while writing, unexpectedly enhancing the depth and joy of the story for me and my readers alike.

What inspires your stories? Are there particular people or experiences that influence your writing?

My paternal grandmother, 'Budhiya Mai,' was my greatest inspiration. Her storytelling ignited my love for narratives, and her joy in hearing my stories still lifts my spirits as I write. Beyond her, the world around me and its love, envy, respect and even moments of humiliation continue to shape and motivate my writing.

How does Trikona delve into the interplay of diverse perspectives and experiences?

Trikona, my first collection of five stories, reflects the changing times and perspectives of my 45-year writing journey. Stories are usually arranged chronologically, but the title is chosen later to best fit the collection's essence.

The stories in Trikona span from 1980 to 1984. During this period, I was unemployed, and the way society viewed me, along with my unwavering self-confidence, is reflected in the story Apan Butta. At that time, I also stayed at a public school, where I witnessed the exploitation of teachers, which I address in Ekta Deg Lait Jingi Mein (Taking a Step in Life). Other stories in the collection explore themes like superstition and the socio-political conditions of that era.

What was your approach to creating a cohesive narrative from these diverse viewpoints?

Bringing together diverse perspectives into a creative harmony is an art. First and foremost, it’s important to create an event or situation that can serve as the central theme of the story. The storyteller must live through this event in their mind, internalise it, and then express it smoothly through the narrative.

At this stage, the storyteller needs to find not just narrative flow, but also artistic ease. If this balance is achieved, the story will undoubtedly connect with the reader!

In Adahan, you delve into various facets of Maithili society. What were the social issues or themes you aimed to address through the stories in this collection?

Adahan contains stories from 1985 to 1990, published in 1991. During this time, I got a job and experienced both the positive and negative sides of society. I witnessed the harsh exploitation that existed, whether based on caste or class. The exploitation of the poor was severe, and the oppression of women was often accepted as the norm in a male-dominated society.

As people from rural areas migrated to the cities, I tried to capture these changes in my stories, hoping to offer a vision for social reconstruction. Specifically, I encouraged women to become economically independent and stand on their own feet, so they could free themselves from exploitation.

The collection Maati is known for its deep connection to the land and rural life. How does the portrayal of the earth and its people in this collection reflect your own relationship with the land?

The meaning of Maati goes beyond just soil. It represents the entire culture of life. Without culture, imagining life is impossible. The soil provides me with both foundation and nourishment. If I were to leave it, living would be impossible. I’ve always lived in the village, a place that was once thriving but gradually began to deteriorate.

I became concerned as the agricultural system collapsed, relationships began to fracture, and human sensitivity seemed to fade. It was as if the flourishing trees were beginning to wither.

In those withering trees, I tried to pour the water of affection. Because if the village disappears, the cultural identity of its people will also fade. That’s why I wish for the development of the village, but not at the cost of its essence. The village should evolve as a village, not transform into a city.

If any language or cultural foundation is destroyed, the very definition of humanity will be called into question. I could elaborate further, but I’ve kept it brief for now.

How does Gun Katha weave folklore and tradition, such as Mithila art (painting), into its storytelling?

A person who lives in the village naturally absorbs both the strengths and flaws of that society. In Mithila, even an illiterate person can tell a folk tale or recite a piece of folk literature with such eloquence that it will leave you amazed. This is because folk literature is so deeply woven into the fabric of society that the common people can easily use it to explain any event or point.

Mithila paintings, once a part of women's everyday lives, have now evolved into a form of livelihood. In my stories, especially in Guna Katha (the story of virtues), you’ll see an expression of that way of life.

Please also tell us what role cultural heritage plays in shaping the narrative within this collection?

Cultural traditions are an essential part of my life. In the enduring strength of these traditions, I see the potential for a society free from exploitation. I strive to maintain the significance of my role while working toward ending disparities and discrimination and creating a harmonious society. Through my stories, I hope to bring love and the light of joy to our land, which is rich in resources.

However, due to migration from Mithila, the region now carries a melancholic song of sorrow.

How can this song of sorrow transform into one of celebration, bringing joy to the people? This is the thought I reflect on as I write my stories.

In Gamak Lok, you focus on the lives of ordinary people. How do you capture their daily experiences, and what message do you want to share through these stories?

I am a simple person, living among common people. So, I haven’t had to experience the hardships of the lives of the ordinary. In the present day, those who live in the village are the people of the village. However, even those who have gone abroad are also part of the village. The story of their lives is what I have expressed in Gamak Lok.

I often say one thing to everyone, no matter where you live, do not forget your role. If you separate yourself from your roots, you will forget your own identity. It is especially important to preserve your identity, particularly in this age of consumerism.

If that doesn't happen, it will be like the disappearance of rivers, purity, and sweetness when they merge into the sea. This is the message I aim to convey through my story, which you read in Gamak Lok.

Are there any writers, friends or readers who have especially motivated or inspired you in your literary journey?  

My village community has always been very active in literature, and its influence on me has been significant. In the beginning, I wrote poetry and songs. Later, I started writing stories, and my friends and readers seemed to enjoy them. Some people, however, gave negative feedback, saying my stories were pointless, but my dear friend and fellow writer Kathakar Ashok encouraged me in a way that truly touched my heart. The renowned fiction writer Dhirendra and towering poet Harekrishna Jha were a big admirer of my stories. Great critic Mohan Bhardwaj even wrote an article praising my work.

The support and encouragement from senior writers and friends were invaluable. Today, I am deeply grateful to them. But the most important thing I want to convey is that the joy I feel while writing a story is beyond words. It’s something that can only be experienced, and it’s this joy that keeps me writing endlessly.

What is your view on the current state of Maithili writing, and what are the main trends or challenges that modern Maithili writers face?

The fading traditions and way of life in Mithila, as another dominant culture takes over, pose the biggest challenge for Maithili writers today. They must work to preserve the essence of Mithila's identity.

While I find sparks in some contemporary writing, many modern writers lack a strong cultural foundation. New narrative styles are emerging, but writers living in cities often write about rural life without truly experiencing it. Writers should focus on what they know – just as a writer from Kolkata writes about Kolkata.

The challenge grows as more Maithili writers move to cities and attempt to write about rural life they haven't truly lived. This disconnect is the core issue – how to capture and express what they've heard about, but not truly seen or experienced.

What advice would you give to young writers about developing their own creative process?

I believe that no writer should be confined to any set of ideas. The work I create evolves from where I am now. I would like to tell the young writers of the next generation: ‘Whatever genre you choose to write in, immerse yourself in it, enjoy the process, and keep moving forward’.

Ashutosh Kumar Thakur is a Bengaluru-based management professional, curator, and literary critic.

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