Parthiban's Dream

 

My child! I fervently wish that the Chola kingdom reclaims the eminence and glory of the bygone era. This is what I dream of, day and night!'. This is Chola king Parthiban’s dream. 

The resplendent glory of Cholas under his ancestors Karikala Chola & Nedumudi Kili was a thing of yore. Now Cholanadu was a palm-sized vassal state that had to pay tributes to the mighty Pallavas of Kanchi. So when Parthiban refuses to pay tributes to the Pallava king Narasimha Chakravarthi, a battle ensues. He and his army fight valiantly and die on the battlefield. Parthiban’s fervent desire that his son, Vikraman become an independent ruler and reestablish the Chola suzerainty across oceans becomes the sole life-driving force for Vikraman.

Also, a sivanadiyar (a Saivite ascetic) who witnesses king Parthiban’s valour on the battlefield asks the dying king his last wish and promises to fulfill it. Who is this ascetic and how is he instrumental in helping Vikraman realise Parthiban’s dream? Parthiban’s Dream, a historical fiction with elements of romance and suspense, holds the answers. 

It’s pretty easy to guess who the sivanadiyar is after 1/3 rd book is read, yet the story with a multitude of minor twists has the reader completely engrossed. Love at first sight between Vikraman and the Pallava princess Kundavai, the loyalty and valour of Cholanadu subjects - Valli and Ponna, horrific human sacrifice that kabalikas (cannibals) practiced, the highly wicked antagonist Marappa Bhupathi help sustain interest. 

Descriptions of the verdant landscape on the banks of river Kaveri in Cholanadu and the sculptures at Mamallapuram, little nuggets of information on how Mamallapuram received its name, the Bhakti movement saints, how the Pallavas razed down Vatapi, the capital of the Chalukyas after defeating Pulikesi enrich the reading experience.

Hope, despair, love, sacrifice, valor, trials and tribulations, and the triumph of truth and virtue in the end make the read a complete package.  

When the author through his characters Parthiban and Vikraman asserts that one must be subservient to none, bravery and honour alone should matter, we understand his vision and zeal for Indian independence. The author, also a freedom fighter, wrote this book (Parthiban Kanavu in Tamil) in 1941 as a weekly serial in the magazine he founded, Kalki. That he wrote its prequel - Sivakamiyin Sabatham actually after Parthiban Kanavu allows us readers the freedom to enjoy it standalone. 

The translator, Nandini Vijayaraghavan, in her acknowledgements writes - “History enthusiasts owe a debt of gratitude to the (late) Kalki R Krishnamurthy. Indians who were exposed to a Delhi centric interpretation of history through school texts became aware of Cholas, Pallava , and to a limited extent , of Sinhala and Pandya histories thanks to Kalki’s meticulous research and engaging narration.” And thanks to the process of translation, this classic of Tamil literature is available to readers from across the world. 

In lucid prose and glitch free translation, with beautiful illustrations by late S Gopalan, this classic is indeed an interesting page turner. 

For me, Kalki Krishnamurthy’s Parthiban’s Dream is a much more than a book, it's a little potli bag of memories - of how my father sung praises of the movie based on the book starring Gemini Ganesan and Vyjayanthimala that released in 1960, the illustrations in it reminding me of the magazine Kalki that my mother read in little snatches of free time, of how my parents-in-law always read the authors’ works with unwavering attention as if preparing for competitive examinations. Reading this book is an experience I will always cherish. 

The Boy from Shenkottai

On June 17, 1911, at a nondescript station Maniyachi (in Tuticorin district), Robert Ashe, the acting collector and magistrate of Tirunelveli district during British Raj was shot dead by a 25 yr old Indian named Vanchinathan. A 15 min window between switching trains, one shot fired from point blank range by Vanchi and Robert Ashe died in his wife, Mary’s arms. Vanchi locked himself up in the station’s lavatory and shot himself in his mouth thereafter. Robert Ashe’s carefully timed assassination before the coronation of George V in England sent shock waves amongst British despots in India and abroad.

Stuart Blackburn’s The Boy from Shenkottai, a work of historical fiction, traces the life journey of Vanchi and Robert Ashe culminating in the above event & its immediate aftermath. Born in Shenkottai (Travancore district) in a Brahmin family, every trip away from home gets Vanchi firmly involved in the self rule movement - his college term in Trivandrum, listening to VOC Pillai speak in Tuticorin. Ashe earns the ire of Indians when he gets popular freedom fighter VOC Pillai arrested on sedition charges, quells riots post the arrest and crushes Pillai’s Swadeshi steam navigation company.

A well structured narrative with never a slack in pace and a map of the region at the start, the book is an engaging read. While most of us know the 1927 John Saunders’ killing by Bhagat Singh & Rajguru to avenge Lala Lajpat Rai’s death, Vanchi’s killing of Robert Ashe barely finds mention. The Boy from Shenkottai attempts to fill gaps in our knowledge of the Indian independence movement left by a threadbare school curriculum but has its flaws.

By giving a lot of headroom to Ashe’s wife Mary’s thoughts & conversations between them, the author sympathizes with Ashe painting Vanchi as a murderer, a young lad misled by VVS Aiyar. This clearly leaves a distaste. Also, VVS Aiyar’s equations with Subramania Bharathi and Vanchi feel distorted with the author’s personal bias. 

I have to admit that reading a line on VVS Aiyar training Vanchinathan in firearms in Pondicherry in The Thinnai by Ari Gautier made me keen on reading The Boy from Shenkottai. Pondicherry, under French rule, outside the ambit of British sedition laws, served as a safe haven for many self styled Indian revolutionaries and their activities. They printed and published works here to make people aware of their rights, to build fervor in them to end British rule, boycott British goods and demand self rule. This aspect is dealt with in good detail in the book.

Also, reading how VOC Pillai single handedly challenged the British monopoly on Colombo-Tuticorin sea route, floated his own Swadeshi steam navigation company, offered financial assistance and legal aid to protesting cotton mill workers in Tuticorin reminded me of the old Tamil movie Kappalottiya Thamizhan, one I saw at an age when I was more familiar with the actors than the characters they played, I really need to watch it again. 

A 2019 controversy on the anniversary of Robert Ashe’s murder mentioned at the book’s end demanded more reading. That this book pushed me to read and research further definitely made it wholesome and worthwhile. 

"No, Thatha. Our past is what makes us. We must defend it as we would our lives." - as written in the final chapter, what Vanchi tells his grandfather. 

Keeping the line above in mind, The Boy from Shenkottai deserves to be read despite its shortcomings for in its core lies a significant historical event and names of many unsung Indian heroes, details of which matter more than the fictional scaffolding that surrounds it.

The Thinnai

The word Thinnai (in Tamil) refers to a shared verandah, a raised platform that flanks the main entrance of a house. Open to the neighbourhood, the Thinnai is where menfolk held important meetings, the womenfolk caught up on the local gossip while separating the grain from the chaff, the children played fun games, the street hawkers/sellers displayed their wares to a curious audience, travel weary souls rested their legs for a while; in short - the Thinnai was a silent hoarder of stories and memories. 

When the narrator comes back to his childhood home in Kurusukuppam (a fishermen's ghetto beyond the boulevards of Pondicherry) after years, memories of yore arise from its thinnai. It is here on Bastille's Day years back, an old, weary Frenchman, a wanderer named Gilbert Thaata, rested and narrated the story of his ancestors, the rise and fall of his fortunes and of a blue diamond - the Stone of Sita to an audience in rapt attention that included the narrator. 

Ari Gautier’s The Thinnai, deftly translated from the French by Blake Smith, begins with a lively and  colorful description of Kurusukuppam and its residents who have interesting nicknames. Using humour that switches between sardonic and deadpan, the author exposes many societal problems - generic ones like casteism (even Creoles not spared), superstitions, illiteracy, abject poverty and more specific ones like an anomaly in identity - of self, home, language and faith, an inevitable fallout of the colonial regime. 

The vibrant description of Kurusukuppam and the myriad characters who inhabit it reminded me of another read - Chandrasekhar Kambar's Karimayi , translated from Kannada by Krishna Manavalli. Just as in The Thinnai, Kambar describes the village Shivapura in great detail in his book - the streets, the houses, its residents and how they earned their sobriquets, the drunken brawls between men, men ogling at women, a life heaped in caste rules and superstitions. Both the books also celebrate the art of oral storytelling. 

When Gilbert Thaata narrates his life story, he takes us to Guadeloupe . Born here, to a French father and Indian mother, he unveils the story of Indian indentured labourers who arrived at the Antilles from Pondicherry to toil in the French owned sugarcane plantations after slavery was abolished in the year 1848. The plight of these Indian indentured labourers is detailed out in  - The Cane Cutter's Song by Raphael Confiant , translated from the French by Vidya Vencatesan. 

The narraror's father - Paulin, a Tamil who serves the French army, retires after serving for a bare minimum number of years that entitles him to a pension and settles down in Kurusukuppam. His mention of trenches, ration and gunshots in years of army service fighting for the French state lets David Diop's At Night all Blood is Black pop up in my memory. 

The narrative in The Thinnai, a multitude of stories, that encompasses history of the French empire from 1595, centuries of French colonial legacy from the fall of Bastilles to 1962 Pondicherry secession to India, moves in a wild abandon demanding complete attention from the reader. 

That the Tamil and French influences meld in every walk of life in Pondicherry is evident to anyone who visits the White Town, and the casual utterance of the word - Rue Manakula Vinayagar Koil (the road with an important tourist site and temple) testifies it. It is this amalgam of influences reflected in food and culture that's showcased well in The Thinnai. How the socio-cultural & linguistic scape changes with the creation of Auroville in the year 1968 is also touched upon.  

How the author juxtaposes opposites in writing is brilliant - the way fisherwomen and butchers conduct their business, the varied lifestyle of the narrator’s father and uncle, of Gilbert Thaata's father and Uncle, ideals of communist & capitalist thinkers.

Though Gilbert Thaata’s story is the focal point, it begins only in the second half and this definitely teases the reader’s patience. I also have to admit that as a Tamil, I was poised for a better connect with the text, be it the cusswords or references to movies like - playing the ‘Sappani’, MGR-Nambiar climax fight in Adimai Penn. 

That said, that The Thinnai reminded me of few other reads and gave me more than a handful to read and research about, from the Frenchman Marshall Petain's surrender to Germans to VVS Aiyar and Vanchinathan's role in Indian independence movement, made it really special. 

“I think we forget things if we have no one to tell them to” - Ritesh Batra, director of The Lunchbox, and The Thinnai doesn’t let us forget many important things.

Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun

 

Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Manyika caught my attention with its quirky title. The blurb reminded me of a book I read - Sheet Sahasik Hemontolok by Nabaneeta Dev Sen , translated from Bengali by Tutun Mukherjee.

Both the books are broadly similar, dealing with the loss of independence, a sense of loneliness and helplessness at one's deterioration of health with old age, everything inevitable. Both are studded with many characters and their perspectives. Both offer a bold take on feminine desire and sexuality, bordering on the erotica. While Nabaneeta Dev Sen's novella is Indian in context, set in the city of Calcutta, Sarah's work is set in the city of San Francisco, allows us to travel briefly to places across the world. 

The protagonist in Like a Mule* is a 75 years old Nigerian woman, a retired English professor - Dr Morayo Da Silva. Let her age not deceive you for she has the verve of a youngster, speeding down the streets of San Francisco in her fancy car. She is feisty, wise, ambitious, kind, headstrong and fiercely independent.

A fall causes her a hip injury, surgery and physical therapy thereafter lands her in a rehabilitation home for old folks. Here, Morayo has plenty of time to revisit her past and we readers are privy to the bittersweet memories and her most intimate secrets. 

Thanks to Morayo, there is love for books and food in the book. Her love for the cosmopolitan environs of the San Francisco city where she resides is as strong as the sense of nostalgia for her husband's hometown - Lagos and Jos, the city of her childhood in Nigeria. Violence between Christians and Muslims and Boko Haram's reign of terror back in her homeland leaves her in angst and so does the racist vitriol in the USA even though both routinely feature in the news.

Childless and divorced years back from her ambassador husband, Caesar, Morayo's loneliness gnaws at her at times even when her day is punctuated by a familiar few around her - a mailman, a florist and his sister, a younger woman who turns her primary caregiver during the therapy, all belonging to different nationalities and cultures.

It is at the end I figure out a possible explanation for the title. Morayo imagines after she comes back home from the therapy center that her friend gets her an ice-cream and she is licking the melted drops of honey lavender & salted caramel from her fingers. The honey lavender is probably symbolic of her passionate love, an undying longing for her lover Antonio whose caress she desires even when dancing on the edge of old age. And the salted caramel maybe reflects her failed marriage which also gave her something sweet - travelling across the world & meeting people from various cultural backgrounds.

 Like a mule, Morayo, is carrying the ice cream to the sun, slowly, letting it melt; letting memories of her past meld into her present for she is a person who cherishes her past as much as she is enthusiastic about her present & unfettered by an uncertain future.

The novella is polyphonic in nature with an array of characters and mélange of perspectives. While this diversity is enriching, the risk of 'too many cooks spoil the broth' feels too close. Luckily, the novella manages to swerve away from it and turns out to be a well layered, good read.

 

Mountain Tales by Saumya Roy

 

Book Review : Mountain Tales - Love and Loss in the Municipality of Castaway Belongings by Saumya Roy

Neither brick walls nor blue tarpaulin can render the destitute and detritus invisible.

Mountain Tales - Love and Loss in the Municipality of Castaway Belongings by Saumya Roy shows how all trails of excessive urban consumerism lead to the Deonar trash mountains in Mumbai. Rotten food, plastic bottles, medical waste, broken glass, twisted wires, construction debris, even piles of old notes after demonetization arrived at this township, spread over 326 acres. Here, the waste lingered without being composted or incinerated, letting trash peaks rise as high as 120ft. 

An area set aside to keep out the deadly plague during an outbreak in 1897, the Deonar mountains have only grown over decades, smoldering and spewing out benzene at times and raging relentlessly at other times, choking the city with toxic methane halo. 

The author, a journalist-activist, chronicles the lives of rag pickers who braving stray dogs and scavengers, inhaling fetid gaseous concoction, risking a silent burial under soft heaps of trash during monsoon & dodging monstrous bulldozers and forklifts made these trash hills their home. Their eyes, trained over years, quickly distinguished the glint of a metal from transparent glass & colored plastics. Sustained efforts from the municipality couldn't evict them from this world they knew, one where others' refuse met their wants. 

Farzana, daughter of ragpicker Hyder Ali Shaikh, is the principal character in this book with a sizable cast. Born at the foot of these trash hills, her life and fate almost always aligns with it. Together they grow and strange twists leave their future in lurch around the same time. 

The author throws light on red tapism that underlines most government projects. Plans to constrict Deonar, turn waste to compost & energy remain in a perennial limbo despite earnest resolution attempts in the city high court by Justice Oka committee. We nod in agreement when the renowned judge Oka remarks - "After becoming a judge I realised .. the real challenge before our legal system is not of docket [legal case file] explosion but of docket exclusion". 

That the garbage crisis is universal is substantiated well with examples from Delhi, New York, Addis Ababa and Campania, Italy.

"Can you ever repair a house while you are living in it?" is a question raised in the book, the author uses this to hint at how Deonar's problems are too many to fix, the waste just wouldn't stop coming and the crisis would never end.

A dexterously crafted nonfiction work that never once feels tedious, a fine debut and a very essential read.

Thank you so much Hachette India for providing me with a copy of this book.