The Wind from the Plain Trilogy by Yashar Kemal

First published:Ortadirek, 1960 (The Wind from the Plain, 1963); Yer demir, gok bakir, 1963 (Iron Earth, Copper Sky, 1974); Olmez otu, 1968 (The Undying Grass, 1977)

Type of work: Social realism/folktale

Time of work: The 1950’s or early 1960’s

Locale: The Cukurova region of Turkey, in south central Anatolia

Principal Characters:

• Halil Tasyurek, an elderly man, probably in his seventies
• Memet Tasbas Efendi, an old and venerated man from the area
• Memidik Delibas, a young man from the region
• Sefer Efendi, the Muhtar or local headman
• Meryemce, an older woman
• Zalaca, another older woman from the area
• Zeliha, a younger woman
• Adil Efendi, an official who supervises the local tax collection
• Sevket Bey, an important functionary from the region
• Muttalip Bey, a major landowner

The Novels

This sprawling saga of village life in the cotton-growing region of Turkey is held together largely by its sequential handling of events that affect the lives of several major characters. The series as a whole may be said to revolve about the fates of Old Halil Tasyurek and Memet Tasbas, aged but oddly venerated vagabonds, and Memidik Delibas, a younger, much more serious sort. Arrayed against them are various local officials. Their most persistent opponent, Sefer Efendi, the Muhtar or headman, tries to arrange matters very much in his own way. Although time and dates are not discussed specifically, changing seasons, notably the transitions from winter to spring and summer, are awaited as marking new periods in the villagers’ lives. In this manner, about one year passes during the sequence of three novels, as such matters are formally reckoned. Some events are recorded alongside memories or flashbacks, and a vaguely illusory atmosphere attaches to some occurrences. All the while, situations affecting various people are carried forward from one novel to the next. In particular, acts of vengeance or defiance against arbitrary power and authority lead to prolonged complications, which unfold during the later portions of these works.

The Wind from the Plain begins with the cotton harvest at a village on the plains of southern Turkey; the autumn winds that blow across the region seem to herald another cycle in the local people’s migratory activity. Recollections of past escapades are summoned forth; most of these involve Halil, who perennially has been regarded as the instigator of mischief and trouble in various forms. In addition, there are some squalid little arguments about whether he or Meryemce, an older local woman, should ride on an aged horse; in time, the woman’s son puts in his claims as well. Before the matter is resolved, the horse falls over dead, and all of them arrive late at their destination. Rumors circulate that the Muhtar intends to benefit from the discrepancy between the villagers’ low wages and the income expected from the harvest. Other odd events take place when Halil disappears for a certain period, and it is thought that he has died or been murdered. An unpleasant interlude of another sort takes place when a local woman comes before the Muhtar; she alleges that someone from another village took her away, seduced and degraded her, and then left her at the mercy of the elements. Halil, who seems to reappear as mysteriously as he has vanished, approaches the others with a scheme by which they may appropriate that part of the cotton crop which the Muhtar seemingly wants to reserve for his own enrichment. Toward the end of the novel, it ironically turns out that weeds predominate in much of the land that they are to work.

The threads of these intertwined stories are taken up again in Iron Earth, Copper Sky. Icy rains signal the gathering force of winter; when no one can account for Halil again, the others are inclined to take hints of his demise more seriously. Indeed, a formal memorial service is read in his name. Shortly thereafter, it turns out that he was hiding in a corncrib, biding his time until the authorities had supposedly forgotten about him. In an odd gambit to bolster the villagers’ loyalties, the Muhtar announces his plan for the remission of taxes. As the winter snow begins falling, the local people spirit away their possessions. They hide livestock and other bulky items in caves to leave the impression for revenue purposes that they have few goods to declare. The whole scheme founders on the mutual suspicions and jealousies that trouble relations between the Muhtar and the older, more eccentric Memet Tasbas. When Adil Efendi, who is to supervise tax assessments, does not appear when expected, the villagers acclaim Tasbas as a virtual saint with his own mystical powers. In an odd response, he startles them with a stunning and thorough display of public self-vilification. Another rivalry of sorts commences during the middle segments of this novel, when Memidik Delibas, a solemn, unsmiling young man, makes his appearance. Almost from the outset, he regards the Muhtar as insufferably condescending. After the Muhtar has one of his hirelings beat Memidik, the younger man determines to seek his revenge. Their reciprocal enmity flares up repeatedly during the remainder of the saga and is resolved only at the very end. For the time, however, the Muhtar is forced to abandon his usual domineering ways when it is revealed that he has been secretly in communication with Adil Efendi; the Muhtar’s scheme for tax avoidance is exposed as a rather flimsy ruse. Angry villagers storm the headman’s house; his standing among the common people has fallen precipitously, while Tasbas is still held in open veneration. The Muhtar then plots with the police to have the other man arrested. Though the Muhtar pays them to make it appear that he resisted them, the local people quickly grasp the intent of the Muhtar’s ploy. They openly disdain him even as Tasbas is being led away by gendarmes. As the snow begins to thaw further, rumors arise that Halil has come back and is hiding out in one of his lairs.

While the Muhtar’s attempts to intimidate the villagers have made many enemies, it is Memidik who actually attempts to settle old scores. During the opening chapters of The Undying Grass, he stalks his nemesis, knife in hand, and comes away believing that he has accomplished his purpose. Shortly thereafter, in a neighboring town, Halil turns up and is recognized by some of the people there as a semilegendary brigand. After Halil returns to his own village, everyone seems confused and perplexed: Memidik is bemused by dark thoughts about the Muhtar’s fate; Zalaca, an older woman, believes that somehow Meryemce has fallen victim to foul play; fantastic stories about Tasbas also make the rounds.

After more stories about dark deeds circulate, Halil is almost arrested for the presumed murder of Sevket Bey, a prominent official. Halil is left again at liberty, however, when it is pointed out that in the absence of a corpse such charges seem implausible. Memidik begins to wonder more and more if he has somehow mistaken one man for another and thus struck down Sevket instead of the Muhtar. These bizarre and tragicomic interludes, in which, rightly or wrongly, the missing are supposed dead and every manner of dastardly deed is hinted, seem to bring into the open underlying tensions and resentments. This web of subplots, in which odd events are presented from the standpoints of different characters in turn, also increases the level of suspense as one village mystery is followed by another. As the novel progresses, these situations are resolved, each in its own way. During this last work, the most sustained romantic-erotic encounters in the series also take place: These adventures involve Memidik in some rather curious situations, first with a slightly deranged married woman, and then much more seriously with Zeliha, a graceful young woman of about his age.

All the while, murkier problems continue to haunt the young man; Memidik’s perplexity is compounded as he must deal with the Muhtar, an antagonist who is alive and doubly vengeful. For his part, the Muhtar schemes to have others implicated in the disappearance of Meryemce, but this ploy misfires once she returns nonchalantly to her home. In a vision, Memidik believes that Tasbas has appeared before him, resplendent in saintly vestments and followed by seven balls of light. Other villagers make similar claims, but visitation of this sort seems unlikely when the real Tasbas, who has escaped from the police and remained hidden in a cave, decides suddenly that he will return to the villagers.

As the older men come back, the aura that surrounds them fades briefly. Halil becomes involved in a scheme to pilfer cotton at night; when at last he is led away as a thief, the others turn out to spit on him. During this time, Tasbas’ preternatural powers are also called into question. Although the common people have virtually accepted him as a saint, he is unable to influence the elements; a destructive rainstorm takes place in spite of his incantations. Even worse, he is caught in a melon-stealing escapade that exposes him to ruinous ridicule; when he tries to get away, he is rather badly beaten as well. Evidently, the Muhtar hopes that once the village elders have been discredited, he will gain wider acceptance as the people’s leader.

At about this same time, Muttalip Bey, a wealthy landowner, appears at the front of a procession featuring tractors and other farm equipment. The Muhtar hopes that this display of modern technology will undermine public belief in the local holy man. Possessed by a spirit of unknown provenance, Tasbas removes himself from the others for good when he walks out into the sea and is drowned. Even Halil’s transgressions are forgotten when the others come out to pay homage to their departed spiritual guide. As the cotton harvest reaches its conclusion, the Muhtar’s presence, in his black coat, riding boots, and whip, becomes unbearable to Memidik. All along, the younger man has been haunted by specters of his rival’s end, the more so in view of the Muhtar’s intermittent threats and taunts during their various meetings. In a few brief moments, Memidik plunges his knife three times into the older man, before the others quite know what has happened. Soon thereafter, Memidik is visited by the others while he is in prison. Zeliha comes three times, bringing him cigarettes and fresh grapes. Halil is the last to see him; they both regard the eagle which circles three times overhead as a mark of hope for the future.

The Characters

Although the reader’s sympathies are probably drawn in certain specific directions, in these works the author is not necessarily partisan or heavy-handed in his treatment of any major figure. The novels are all constructed around a series of episodes, each of which allows scope for the viewpoints of various characters. Even the all-too-human hopes and fears of the seemingly loathsome Muhtar are allotted some attention. At intervals, the fates of important individuals are discussed from the points of view of other interested parties. In addition, at times, there are some interesting suggestions of mass psychology as well, in which hearsay and rumors are transmitted in rapid succession among a number of people. Nevertheless, such effects, which evoke the social atmosphere of rural Turkey, do not lessen the author’s concern for the particular features of various individuals. Some characters are depicted in greater detail than others, but none is really slighted. Moreover, without descending to satire or mere caricature, the idiosyncratic, indeed eccentric qualities of many people are fully portrayed; while the villagers often seem to form groups or to take sides about significant issues, each is depicted in uniquely specific terms. They all have their foibles and peculiar penchants, which in many cases seem to give them a sort of quirky charm.

The older men occupy a special position; they are accorded tolerance or esteem, sometimes, indeed, in spite of what they may do or say. In particular, Tasbas is regarded as a repository of mystical wisdom, and not merely because he works in obscure or mysterious ways. Because of the public veneration that has grown up around Tasbas over the years, the Muhtar and his cohorts cannot proceed against him directly; for his part, Tasbas gives voice more explicitly to the others’ distrust of their officials. Possibly for this reason, the villagers are willing to consider his occasional misdeeds as peccadilloes, and he incurs no lasting censure. Similarly, his solemnity and outward serenity allow them to overlook his practical inability to work natural wonders. Among the others, there seems to be a need to believe in his special powers. Halil, on the other hand, is regarded more as a colorful old rogue who represents the living embodiment of historical traditions. He is not always taken seriously, and he has a tendency to ramble on about past events after the others have grown tired of such matters; nevertheless, his neighbors are bemused by his uncanny ability to survive escapades of every sort. He is also granted a certain amount of the respect that old brigands have often received in rural Turkey. He is not regarded as particularly dangerous to the common people, and there is some question as to whether he has been very successful in his exploits, but his genial defiance of established authority leads others to believe that there may be ways around the arbitrary demands of their formal leaders. Halil’s efforts at self-enrichment are more pathetic than serious; the villagers seem to let such episodes pass, once they have denounced and humiliated him for the moment. He is sometimes suspected of being behind certain untoward events, but the others evince a genuine concern when Halil himself disappears for any period of time.

Among the younger generation, Memidik is portrayed in some detail, although only at intervals, whereas others are depicted largely as examples of unusual local types. Memidik is approximately twenty years old and has served as a corporal with the army engineers; whatever aspirations for personal advancement he may have would seem limited by the unvarying routine of agricultural work. Although he has not found a calling suitable to his ambitions, he does not adapt easily to the petty tyranny of village life. His flights of romantic passion, which are deeply and genuinely felt, may also contribute to his dissatisfaction with the mundane forms of degradation to which many in the area must submit. While it is not unusual, apparently, for village officials to threaten or beat the local people as a means of instilling their versions of discipline and order, Memidik considers such incidents as sufficient cause for his vendetta with the Muhtar. Memidik is a solemn, unswerving sort of young man who, for good or ill, will not bend or adapt easily to time-honored forms of injustice. He is also not particularly adept at stalking his intended victim; in this respect, he does not seem to have the instincts or outlook of a true outlaw. When the others come to his prison cell, it is evident that their sympathies lie with him.

There are a number of other characters who add color and variety to the narrative; none, however, is depicted in an implausible or farfetched manner. Some of the men have been driven to odd or eccentric behavior by lives of unremitting and monotonous work. There are also some young men who have left military service because of lack of discipline or medical problems. In general, a certain amount of respect is accorded to those who perform their share of work and do not yield lightly to the demands of the authorities. Shirkers and the overly subservient are regarded with disdain, though some admiration is conferred on those who devise ingenious schemes to avoid unnecessary labor.

The women are not quite so closely drawn as the men, though some of the stronger female characters are respected and indeed feared for their tenacity in upholding their own interests. This is particularly the case with Meryemce, who defiantly resists Halil’s efforts to push her from her preferred place. Even when she seems to be hurt, she stubbornly insists on carrying out her household duties. During times when she is displeased with various men, she pointedly refuses to speak to them directly and instead addresses trees or rocks; the others think that she is mad, but this tactic proves effective. Indeed, it would seem that the women who tend households and work in the cotton fields often expend as much labor as anyone else; some of them, like Meryemce, are not as frivolous or seemingly shiftless as many of the men. In other ways, however, certain women seem prone to more submissive behavior or are willfully used by the men for their own ends. For that matter, there are also women who are susceptible to visions which impart ethereal qualities to people and places they know. In particular, Zalaca is troubled by odd apparitions in her sleep, some of which involve Tasbas; other dreams feature strange symbolic scenes in which dark clouds, serpents, or other wild animals appear. In certain respects, the women are at least as likely as the men, if not more so, to give credence to the folk versions of quasi-religious beliefs that endow ordinary sights and occurrences with strange mystical connotations. On another front, the involvement of women in romantic-erotic interludes seems to reveal a desire that roughly matches that of male drives; for her part, Zeliha treats Memidik with a care and concern that fully uphold her side of the affair.

The major characters who are in positions of authority are not very sympathetic sorts, but their machinations are indicative of some rather interesting and idiosyncratic leanings. The Muhtar is adept at devising odd and twisted schemes of various sorts, but he is unable to hit upon any stratagem that will gain the villagers’ allegiance. He seems to resent the sway that Tasbas and other village elders have among the common people, but the Muhtar may actually make matters worse for himself by attempting to discredit his presumed rivals. Although it is recorded that the Muhtar has married three times, he tries to ingratiate himself with other local women by hearing their complaints and offering his interpretations of their dreams. Such efforts are of limited utility, however, and indeed, on other matters, he must in his turn bow to the authority of other officials in the region. In some instances, he is rather badly mishandled by police officers. Others who hold power are quite daunting and arbitrary in their actions. Adil Efendi will find one way or another to exact the taxes due him from the villagers, while it is said of Sevket Bey that once, in a fit of anger, he killed his mistress and two other people who happened to be on the spot; once he had three wives, but he divorced all of them at once. At the end, it is not clear whether the death of the Muhtar, and possibly that of Sevket, will alleviate the villagers’ lot; capricious and tyrannical government seems to be the rule among those who hold power in the area. Another approach, as exemplified in the grandiose plans of Muttalip Bey, could involve the use of technical means to limit the useful employment available to many of the common people.

Critical Context

After Yashar Kemal had published his first novel, Ince Memed (1955; Memed, My Hawk, 1961), he embarked upon the trilogy beginning with The Wind from the Plain. The setting is essentially similar, and there are a certain number of resemblances where peasant ways of life are concerned, but in the later sequence of works, characterization focuses more directly on the oddly individual qualities of older villagers, whose responses to the demands of authority lead neither to open resistance nor to flight. To be sure, in Iron Earth, Copper Sky and The Undying Grass, tension arises as the rivalry between Memidik and the Muhtar finally leads to outright violence. In its way, Memed, My Hawk presents a sharper contrast between authority and violent revolt; government officials operate more explicitly by force rather than by the oblique, grasping means that the Muhtar employs. For that matter, The Wind from the Plain and its sequels show a sense of broad, indulgent humor. Thus, while the earliest work is a tale of high adventure, the others retell rather curious episodes from the timeless fabric of rural lore. Both approaches depend to a great degree upon folk traditions; in a larger sense,themes of banditry are complemented by popular religious concerns that, in the later works, endow ordinary people and events with their own particular qualities.

In other works, Kemal pursued further variations of these issues while charting new courses. His recurring interest in his original protagonist, and in adventure narratives as such, was reflected in Ince Memed II (1969; They Burn the Thistles, 1973). His continuing fascination with oral traditions led him further afield in the novels Agridagsi efsanesi (1970; The Legend of Ararat, 1975), Binbogalar efsanesi (1971; The Legend of the Thousand Bulls, 1976), and the two volumes of Akcasazin Agalari (1973-1975; The Lords of Akchasaz, 1973-1975). There, as in other works, problems of crime and official brutality are explored alongside folk legends that suggest underlying patterns of social consciousness. Further elaboration of these themes may be found in subsequent works that take up such issues in narratives set along the coast of the Black Sea or in the Istanbul area. The dilemmas of power and justice do not yield ready resolutions in this realm which the author has depicted.

Although novels have been written in Turkey since the late nineteenth century, and, indeed, some interesting and distinguished examples of work in this genre have pointed to the possibilities which this form of narrative fiction offered, the movement from stylized to more realistic creations took place only slowly. Other literary efforts sought to record the oral traditions that were passed down for generations among masses of largely illiterate people. While he was by no means the first to utilize village themes, or to raise moral issues in rustic settings, Yashar Kemal’s ability to fuse these various trends and to recapture the peasant ethos of rural Anatolia has won for him recognition as one of Turkey’s premier novelists. In this sense, the reception accorded his works provides ample testimony to the evocative powers of these most typically Turkish forms of creative expression.

Bibliography

Binyazar, Adnan. “The Yasar Kemal Phenomenon,” in Edebiyat. V, nos. 1/2 (1980), pp. 205-220.

Halman, Talat Sait. “Turkish Literature in the 1960’s,” in The Literary Review. XV, no. 4 (1971/1972), pp. 387-402..

Halman, Talat Sait. “World Literature in Review: The Undying Grass,” in World Literature Today. LI, no. 4 (1977), pp.676-677..

Halman, Talat Sait. “World Literature in Review: The Wind from the Plain,” in Books Abroad. XLIV, no. 1 (1970), pp. 181-182.

Ozturk, M. Orhan. “Yasar Kemal’s Social Psychology,” in Edebiyat. V, nos. 1/2 (1980), pp. 131-133.