Capturing the cruelty of leprosy in a dark and merciless language
Leprosy is as old as humanity itself. The disease and those afflicted by it appear in the Bible, testament to its long and troubling presence
Leprosy is as old as humanity itself. The disease and those afflicted by it appear in the Bible, testament to its long and troubling presence in human history. For centuries, sufferers have been stigmatised, ostracised, and pushed to the very edges of society, condemned to lives of exclusion and silence. The Nazis branded them worthless and executed them. In Tamil, the disease is known as Peruviyathi — a term that encapsulates its reputation as the most dreaded of afflictions, even though it rarely claims the lives of its victims. The fear it evokes arises not from death, but from disfigurement, isolation, and the slow, relentless erosion of human dignity. The anguish and alienation associated with leprosy have long made it a potent subject in literature, inspiring some of the modern writing in Tamil. To this tradition, a Sahitya Akademi Award-winning author has now added Noiputtru, perhaps the darkest and most unflinching literary exploration yet of a disease that has haunted civilisation for millennia. Editorial | Taking the leap: on leprosy in India and discrimination The writer, Imayam, does not confine himself merely to depicting the squalid living conditions and loss of dignity imposed upon patients by society. In his characteristic prose — spare, relentless, and unsentimental — he chronicles the disease itself with minute precision: its progression, the methods of treatment, the institutions created to contain the afflicted, and the grim resignation with which patients ultimately confront their fate. “You will survive only if you feel the pain.
Otherwise, your story is all but over. Your face itself bears witness. The hairs of your eyebrows have fallen. Your ears have thickened. Your nose has flattened. There is no doubt — it is leprosy.” Thus begins Imayam’s novel, as a doctor explains Chinnasami’s condition to him. By juxtaposing Chinnasami’s condition with that of Ganesan, the protagonist of Pasitha Manidam, who is also afflicted by leprosy, it becomes clear that the disease respects neither social status nor privilege. Ganesan is a wealthy Brahmin, yet his suffering is no less brutal. “The disease had transformed his body and made his face unrecognisable. Ganesan intensely observed his older body die slowly and watched a dreadful one replace it. He vowed not to ask himself the usual questions: Why me? What is the meaning of this awful new form? How long will this ‘new me’ live? Is this hellish agony retribution for my indolent pleasures and aberrations of 30 years? If pleasure is to be experienced, then pain also has to be endured, isn’t it?” writes Karichan Kunju in Pasitha Manidam. Ganesan’s social descent is swift and merciless. “He was not respected in hotels and inns and was often denied rooms. He was not shown the courtesy of being served a decent meal, even when he offered to pay double. No one wanted him to stay in their homes, given how rapidly the disease had overtaken his body. Ganesan spent his days and nights wondering how to fix the problem,” Karichankunju records, laying bare the cruelty of everyday interactions.
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