Nine Lives : William Dalrymple

I have just finished reading the latest book by William Dalrymple, The Nine Lives. I have enjoyed all books of this author that I have read, City of Jinns, White Mughals and The Last Mughal.

His presentation of Indian history in the format of novels is a great contribution in understanding the period he has written about. Apart from his extensive research, scholarship and writing style, what has impressed me in his writing is the respect he displays for his subject. He does not fall prey to the common tendency of looking down on the people and the country he writes about even though it is a part of the developing world full of disparities. On the other hand, his sensitivity in handling his characters and acceptance of their virtues and foibles is quite different from many of the writers in this genre, Indian and Western who rejoice in being critical and commenting from the mental ivory tower in which they so obviously place themselves. The format of writing history in a fictional format adds to our knowledge about history as well as giving the discerning reader a lot of enjoyment.

When I picked up Nine Lives, I thought this book must be a collection of short stories either selected by the author or written by him in his idle time. Far from it, these stories are as meticulously researched as his other books. He has used the short story format to describe the multi-hued, many faceted and much misunderstood but magical mosaic that constitutes India. In his usual respectful style he has cast his roving eye on the tremendous variety of communities, castes, regions and religions of this vast sub continent. He has explored the commonality of the threads that have bound such heterogeneous groups through the millennia.

It was easy for me to connect the narrative of each story to personal experiences gathered through the six decades of living in various parts of this vast nation. The differences of language, food, culture and religions encountered everywhere only reinforced the feeling of unity of our people by the way our people accommodate the differences and happily live with each other. It is these differences which truly unite us just like the various pieces of disparate, differently colored and unequal pieces of cloth are stitched with a common thread to make a beautiful eye catching patchwork quilt just like a piece of art.

Each story revolves a central character who becomes a worthy narrator to explain the central theme of the story devoted a particular facet of the Indian cultural mosaic. Even the introduction describes a character very familiar to me. I too knew an insurance manager who had left his young wife and three small children to find peace and solace in the Himalayas in the company of sadhus and mendicants. He will surface every ten years or so and spend a couple of weeks basking in the affection of his wife and family and then suddenly disappear. One has met so many persons like this though their renunciation and motivations could never be understood by me.
Each story that Mr. Dalrymple has picked up, out of the thousands such tales spread like wild flowers in the valley of flowers that is India, is a nugget of gold. He has meticulously researched the background of each story before presenting it to the reader in a simple form to read, enjoy and absorb. He has put down what he has seen, observed and studied without being judgmental. The reader is welcome to form his own opinions though whether to or not to appreciate the variety of cultural strains in the melody that India has been singing since time immemorial. Probably the secret of the survival of religions and cultural streams for over 5000 years can be understood if one absorbs the meanings of these tales, howsoever strange they may appear to one.
The book appropriately opens with The Nun’s Tale, the saga of a Jain nun or sadhvi. Jains and Jainism have survived in India for over 3000 years and it is probably the oldest religion in the world practiced in its original pristine form till date. What is most interesting that the Jains have survived without fighting wars and without inflicting violence on their fellow humans. Reading the tale, one is reminded of one’s visits to the Jain temple, called a Dharamshala, of one’s childhood to listen to the discourses of the various Jain sadhus and sadhvis who stayed there for a few days during their travels. The monks spoke in a simple language exhorting the people to live a virtuous life and be kind to all living beings. Jain’s refusal to eat things growing below the earth, not eating at night and such other practices like cleaning the spot where they will put the next step are beautifully explained in this tale. Jains have maintained their dignity and identity in India without succumbing to identity politics and hope fully they will stay that way. Their lack of rancor has been highlighted by the recent incident burning down of their first ever temple in the Kashmir valley by local fanatics. In the world of today, no group except Jains would have tolerated such vandalism without indulging in revenge violence at a much enlarged scale against the community at large. But the Jains have decided to stick to their vows of Ahimsa and quietly withdrawn from the strife torn valley. Compare it the hue and cry being raised all over the storm brewing over the refusal by Americans to allow the construction of a mosque at Ground Zero.
The dancer of Kannur sends shivers down your spine with its symbolism and the passion it displays. The evils of caste, the exploitation of dalits by Brahmins and the way dance has been used by dalits to make Brahmins bow to them is highly educative. The passion the dancers infuse in their art to the extent that they feel like the Gods they are portraying and the obeisance of Brahmins and upper castes before these ‘Gods’ in Gods own country, Kerala, is a subject which needed to be brought out for others to understand the purity and rigidity of the cultural structures of south India. But it also proves that the underlying faith in the caste structure is what has strengthened the Hindu religion and kept it alive and vibrant down the ages.

The Daughters of Yellama, the story of the devdasis of Karnataka is a tale retold a million times. The author tells it with a lot of understanding and poignancy. How an ancient custom, beautiful in the past has got corrupted over the centuries and reached the present prurient level of cheap prostitution is a question for each of us to ponder upon. The tragedy of Rani Bai’s life, her dreams of a prosperous retirement ignoring her fatal affliction, her inability and unwillingness to abandon her way of life tells you that old established customs are a part of the overall fabric of Indian society and cannot be just wished away. No law can abolish such practices and other methods must be found to eradicate such customs without pushing them underground. There is another tale, that of the community of Eunuchs which are spread all over India and are for more numerous. They used to be a part of the family rituals and social network of the old Indian rural structures as well as royal harem guards. The community has been badly stigmatized, criminalized and reduced to the status of beggars and vagrants in modern times. Theirs is a tale which needs the pen of a sympathetic author like Mr. Dalrymple .

The Singer of Epics is another tale of how human faith creates gods out of inanimate objects. Various groups of bards, musicians, artists and dancers infuse godliness in their creations by sheer force and passion of their piety. If the dancer of Kannur feels the god he portrays enters his body when he dances, the singer of epics feels the god is present in his backdrop phad and around him when he is reciting the tale of that particular god. How local heroes became legends over time and then assumed godly powers in the telling of the stories over generations is beautifully brought out by Mohan. The oral tradition has been very strong in the Indian spiritual growth. Shrutis, the holy books passed from generation to generation by word of mouth have preserved these traditions down the ages. The tradition of Katha has been a staple diet of Indian people for thousands of years. The singer of epics in this story, Mohan Bhapa and the reverence he holds for his phad, the scenic backdrop for the story of pabuji, the local hero turned into a god who solves people’s problems through the singer is inspirational. The various levels of reverence and importance in which all the stories from local sagas to Mahabharata and Ramayana are held by the Indians at is actually the thread with which the patch work quilt of this multi religious country with hundreds of languages and disparate regional aspirations has been stitched. It is the story tellers, singers and holy men who have roamed this country through the ages and sages like Adi Guru Shankracharya who went around the sub continent setting up monasteries, temples and mathas from Kashmir to Kanyakumari and Puri to Dwarka in the eighth century A.D. who have kept our spiritual and cultural traditions alive. I am reminded of the roaming groups of puppeteers with their husband wife teams, the various Katha Vachaks , sadhus and god men who through their performances and discourses nurtured in us the feeling for our country, culture and religions. I am certain that in the rural and small time India, thousands of Mohan Bhapas are still spreading their magic amongst the vast populace even today.

In the tale of The Red Fairy, the fifth story, placed centrally, by chance or deliberately, the author has tackled the disruptive tendencies which have been trying to tear apart the multi-hued society of India. This is also the only story where the author appears to be judgmental in rightly questioning the concept of ‘Purity’ whose pursuit is dividing the tolerant and accommodative society that is India. It split the subcontinent in 1947 and various other groups have been pursuing the purification agenda in various forms since then. They have not learnt any lesson from the short life of only 24 years that the ‘pure state’ survived and are busy in inflicting suffering on the populace at large through their violent activities. The inspiring tolerance of sufi Islam is obvious in the sanctuary and love provided to a middle age woman of south Bihar who landed in the Dargah of the sufi saint Lal Shabaz Qalander at Sehwan Sharif in Sindh district of Pakistan a thousand miles away. How the purists are busy in killing their coreligionists by branding them impure is poignantly highlighted. The only forlorn hope left for the survival of the multicultural frame work of the subcontinent is that love will be victorious over violence. That sufi Islam has tried for a millennium to be the bridge between Hinduism and Islam and is still continuing gives one some hope. The author has succeeded in portraying this conflict in the long story of The Red Fairy and has tried to wish for a solution in the words of the Sain Fakir who says at the end of the story that the killers will ultimately end up killing each other and that the Lal Shahbaz QLander will protect the sufi way of life, their shrines and the tolerant followers. Amen to that.

In The Monk’s tale, the author has taken up the tragedy of Tibet and takes you from the beginning of the Chinese incursion to today. It has always been a mystery to me why Budhism practically disappeared from the land of its birth. It had survived only in the mountain ranges of the mighty Himalayas. Only time will tell if it can survive the Chinese onslaught in Tibet. Hinduism had tried to absorb the Budha in the pantheon of their gods and succeeded admirably. That is the reason India has given sanctuary to the Tibetans and will continue to protect them in future.

The Maker of Idols again high lights the ability of the faithful in India to make gods out of inanimate objects. Dancing, singing, making of idols are all mundane activities which are transformed by piety, passion and faith into creators of Gods. So much pure faith perhaps explains how idol worship has survived in Hindus through millennia in spite of the violence prep rated on them by the monotheistic invaders. It still remains the faith which accepts all avenues to God as true paths and has even accommodated atheists since time immemorial. The devotion of Stpathys to their art is inspirational and is apparent in the magnificent temples of the south. The fear remains that this faith may not be sustainable in today’s world. Still one hopes that it will survive as it has survived till date.

In The Lady Twilight, the author has tried to tackle the tantric system of Hinduism. The practice of blood sacrifices, Kali worship and Shamshan Sadhna has been carefully explored by the author and he has described these practices without raising any questions. This subject has been explored by many writers and thinkers in the past, but still is difficult to comprehend. All paths lead to God if followed with true faith is the only way one can look at the practices and that is what the author has done. It is an important part of the project the author has taken up and the book will not be complete without it.

The Song of the Blind Minstrel, the last of the tales is also the most beautiful. The path of bhakti, love and sanyas that the baul singers of east India have adopted is probably the most enduring. The bauls find happiness in being together and singing their songs without any need of specific gods except the god residing in every individual. That these wanderers can spend their lives roaming around the country living on alms speaks volumes about the generosity of the Indian system. Though the majority of the people are supposedly poor yet they take care of such mendicants and feed them. It makes you wonder whether we are really poor when our hearts are so big. Such groups can be found everywhere across India. I am reminded of the ‘Morepankhi Sadhus’ of Punjab who will be dressed in flowing robes decorated with shells and bead garlands with a peacock feather stuck in their hair. These nomadic groups had vowed never to stand still and will continue to sway on their feet even when waiting for food and alms outside my grandmother’s house. I remember wondering how they sleep with such a vow. May be in his next book the author will research them. Because the Indian Quilt is not made of just Nine Lives, it has thousands of lives each vital in its own way like the ‘Vishnu Sahasra Nama’. Other tales too need telling because these are the threads keeping the country together.

In the end I am very grateful to Mr. William Dalrymple for enriching my knowledge about my own country and there by my life as well as giving me hope that our way will survive for another 5000 years.

Gifted : Nikita Lalwani

Yes, the author has succinctly portrayed the curse so called "gifted" children have to go through in life. The parents want to showcase their gifted children and bask in the reflected glory. Some want to profit monetarily from their children's God given gift and push them beyond what their age should allow. In the process the children are deprived of the joys of their childhood. They are pushed continuously to enhance and prove their gift.

I cannot imagine what fun there can be in joining college at 12 years and have no peers of your age to talk to. How do you take part in the quirky activities of college going youngsters if you are a kid who should be in school. Who of us has not gone through the anguish of being kept out of action by older siblings, older neighborhood kids and gangs of which you are not allowed to be a part because of your being too young.

If you become a doctor at the age of 17, who will come to you for treatment. Where from will you get the maturity to deal with the problems of adults, suffering from various problems, when physically and emotionally you are yourself going through the pains of adolescence. Can you be a surgeon at 14 except in TV serials?

The performing arts do provide an area where such gifts can be presented to public who will admire the gifts. But there is an element of being put up on show like a curiosity ala a bearded woman. What effect it will have on the psyche of a growing child - is very well brought out in this book.

The book has a beautiful ending which brings out the anguish of every child who was gifted and then collared by her ambitious parents to forget her childhood and work only on her gift. The child is forced to study in the cold as it sharpens the mind. Not being allowed to be a child is the biggest punishment. Of what use is a gift which takes away your childhood.

The cumin seed addiction is an artistic touch. When pushed beyond endurance the child tries to find solace in an addiction. It could have been cigarettes, alcohol or drugs if this middle class Indian child had access to that kind of funds. But end result is the same. The child runs away from her gift and even disowns the parents.

This book portrays the agony of a gifted child who failed. But what about gifted children who succeeded. Has their agony been any less?

Everybody knows of the child stars who are forced to remain a kid for the longest period by the parents and then become a wreck as adults. Many become victims of jealous competitors and are even physically eliminated or made incapable of performing.

The oldest case in India I can remember is of child singer Master Madan who was supposed to be the next K.L.Saigal, but was allegedly poisoned when he was barely 14. The most recent case is of the 5 years old Budhia of Orissa who was made to run 40 kilometers or so everyday by his trainer. What inhuman torture.
There was a swimmer called Bula Chowdhary, tennis star Chang. Where are they now?

Mythology is full of stories of gifted children who were spiritually gifted as children and ended up renouncing life and many died very young. As if they paid in years for what they received in extraordinary intellect and spiritual strength at a young age.
Rishi Ved Vyas, started growing as soon as he was born and immediately became an ascetic. Rishi Ashtavakra, was precociously learned while in his mother’s womb and dared to correct his father. So was cursed to be born all twisted up by his own father. Adi Sankara the most towering intellect of Hinduism died at the young age of 32.

Such examples are everywhere. Unfortunately, only the talent and fame are recorded, the agony of the child is seen by very few. The author has expressed the trauma with genuine emotion. To be gifted as a child may actually be a curse. The author has beautifully portrayed this dilemma of humankind.

Page 3 Murders, A Lalli Mystery : Kalpana Swaminathan

Page 3 Murders is a well written suspense thriller with no pretense at stylized writing. The whole scenario is artificial and nowhere the author has tried to make a claim to authenticity of any nature. But the storyline is well worked out and presented in such a way that all can easily follow the story line.

Having said that, the book has suspense at many levels. It is a murder mystery alright. The initial suspense is that unlike other murder mysteries, in this novel, the book is two third gone before a murder takes place. Normally such books are about who is the murderer.In this book,you are mostly wondering as to who is going to get murdered. I was afraid, that there will be no murder at all. So I heaved a sigh of relief when finally the cook gets murdered followed by a quick couple of murders one after another.

The problem arises that the murders happen so late in the book, that the solution has to be presented in a hurry and some how left me still hungry for more. The way of solving the murders is very similar to hundreds of detective books I have read since childhood, where the reader is left guessing about the identity of the murderer and made to doubt everybody except the butler who is actually the murderer as proved by the ace detective at the end of the book. Almost like a magician pulling a rabbit out of the hat. Like all such books, the detective collects all the survivors at one place and then just narrates a script which forces you to accept the detective’s theory of the murders and the murderer abjectly surrenders and is arrested.

Another similarity is the presence of the detective and the sidekick who is also the narrator. Reminds me of Sexton Blake-Tinker, Sherlock Holmes-Dr.Watson, Colonel Vinod-Hamid countless other such pairs who have been keeping me engrossed with their detection exploits for last 55 years. That the police cannot solve the murders is also a given in books of this genre.Reminds you of Mrs.Marple, Hercule Poirot and our home grown Sunil Kumar Chakraborty and many others.

The gastronomic capabilities of the author, it is almost a cookery book, are amply demonstrated.The book should have been named Khana Khazana murders in place of its title-Page 3 murders. I am sure lot of the dishes will turn out to be delicious if you try them. Only the cook may end up getting conked.

The cook himself is an answer to every housewife’s prayer .Where you get a Gem who can single handedly prepare umpteen dishes to suit individual tastes of a houseful of guests at the same time hinting at hidden secrets of each of them and even making the protagonist fall in love with him. He was so perfect that he was asking to be murdered.

The English country home atmosphere where all kinds of random people get invited for weekends and then somehow turnout to be connected in the past. By a happy coincidence the victims, the murderer and an interested audience form a part of this motley group. Reminds you of vintage Agatha Christie. The author has transposed the scene to Mumbai but the setup does not gel in Indian lifestyle. People related to each other and gathered for a family function,funeral or wedding is more Indian.

Having said that, the book is very interesting, a light reading , does not stress your grey cells and a good companion for a long train journey. A bit old world, but so what. Re-polished or fake antiques can also be a source of pleasure, so why not a detective novel remixed from old classics. I can strongly recommend it to people who like murder mysteries whatever the logic.

Animal's People by INDRA SINHA

I have just finished reading Animal’s People by Indra Sinha. Firstly I find the style of writing these days a bit strange. A novel is a way of presenting your thoughts, perceptions, doubts beliefs to your readers as a story.You use it as a vehicle to propagate your beliefs, just as parables were used to spread religious beliefs.

Then why, all award winning novels, at least most of them, are deliberately made obtuse, narrated in a complicated fashion is beyond understanding. Still everybody to his own. Who am I to stand in the way of literary development.

Coming to the novel in question, I was told that this book is about the 1984 Bhopal Gas Tragedy. So I was very happy to get hold of a copy and diligently went through it, though I find the style rather tedious for my reading comfort.

Yes, The novel is about the infamous disaster. I had hoped that it will fill a vacuum existing in Indian English novels of ignoring Indian historical events which are of vital importance. I went through the whole book expecting that the author will throw some light on what actually happened. Some new insight was expected .The passage of more than twenty years blunts the sharp edges of the agony and maybe the reader will get a glimpse of some truth behind the events.

But this book is silent on this aspect. If somebody is not aware of the Bhopal gas disaster, this book will not educate him in anyway. The author has tried to tell the story of the survivors, their agony in his own way, so be it. But anybody who has not heard about the disaster, how does he appreciate this novel. Just for the strange way of writing, some dirty vernacular words and some sex. These are passé in every book these days.
Where is the main story, I want to ask.

It is apparent that the author feels for the victims. But do we call a cripple an animal because his deformity does not allow him to walk on his two feet.

All these years after the disaster, what has troubled us was the possibility that perhaps, the victims were not adequately cared for. Due to government apathy, callousness of the people who owned the industry, may be the victims were left fending for them selves. I hoped this novel will talk about these issues from a historical and human perspective. But, in this book the victims and their spokesmen appear to be more interested in ensuring that the company owners suffer some undefined punishment than getting some relief, medical treatment and compensation for their pain . That is why they are made to refuse treatment from a volunteer doctor because she is American. They hold demonstrations against politicians, but to what purpose. Frankly, I could not make out what the author wants to convey. That revenge is more important than relief for the victims. That is not a good message.

And Ma Franci, if the writer has modeled this character on Mother Theresa, he can only be pitied.