Józef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski, born in Russian-occupied Poland and better known as Joseph Conrad, is hailed as a master storyteller worldwide, but precious little is made known or discussed in mainstream circles about his astounding ability to convert regular adventure tales into profound philosophical discourses.
Notwithstanding the stereotypical depiction of Africa in his ‘Heart of Darkness’ (‘merely as a foil to Europe’ as the great Nigerian poet-author Chinua Achebe aptly put it), there are few authors in the league of this mariner-turned-author who wrote probing fiction in an acquired language to underline the deep, dark truths of human existence and ambition.
Passing through Pimlico in Central London, Conrad’s home in London, I was instinctively reminded of his penetrative short story “An Outpost of Progress” about two shallow Europeans deputed to a remote African trading region, which most powerfully underlines the fraud and falsity of the far-from-civilised imperial enterprise, more so its golem-like hunger to invade foreign lands. Following the delay of their supply ship and amid depleting provisions, they agree to an immoral deal of trading local men for ivory. Later, one of them is shot dead by the other over a petty argument, and the slayer hangs himself in shame just as the supply steamer arrives.
This is uncannily similar albeit in a different context, to what happens to the two hedonistic and hypocritical landlord friends in Munshi Premchand’s iconic short story “Shatranj ke Khiladi” (The Chess Players), who are more than happy to shun family chores, marital duties, cheating wives, social pressures, and marching troops to reel in the hypnotic spell of chess. Fearing mandatory participation in the war against the Company in the light of the growing adversity, they flee to the outskirts and simulate their relaxed surroundings only to drown back in the game of chess. A trivial dispute in the game soon takes the shape of a war and all of a sudden, family honour is found at stake. Accusing each other of swindling, fraud, borrowed royalty and inferior roots, both lose their lives in a terminal combat, a mutual checkmate of sorts. Through the conflict of the two, Premchand highlights the irony of their beliefs - it was the false pride of individual honour, not the larger cause of their state that was found worthy of sacrifice.
A couple of lines from “An Outpost of Progress” have stayed with me, both for the style of the prose and the profundity it is lush with:
“Few men realize that their life, the very essence of their character, their capabilities and their audacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety of their surroundings.”
“To the sentiment of being alone of one’s kind, to the clear perception of the loneliness of one’s thoughts, of one’s sensations—to the negation of the habitual, which is safe, there is added the affirmation of the unusual, which is dangerous; a suggestion of things vague, uncontrollable, and repulsive, whose discomposing intrusion excites the imagination and tries the civilized nerves of the foolish and the wise alike.”
The more you read and reflect on them, the more timeless they become—and so do the story and its author.