Pilgrimage of the Green Solace

The novel Dattapaharam starts with a newspaper clipping that reports about a mysterious man sighted by a team of researchers in the depths of a forest – Pullothikkadu, a place 20 kms from the valley – and who vanished again. This incident brings back five friends together on a quest to find their friend Freddie Robert, who might be the one seen by the researchers.

In this tale, witnessed, lived and told by different narrators, we come across six friends, who in their days spent as engineering students formed a close-knit group and called themselves Pandavas – the legendary five brothers from the epic Mahabharat who along with their wife Panchali (Draupadi) were sent on an exile, and who spent their long years hiding, mostly in forests (Vanabasa). Like Pandavas and Panchali, the group – Freddie Robert, Sudhakaran, Mahesh, Muhammad Rafi, Sahadev Iyer and Meera – would make nature visits, particularly led by Freddie Robert, to the forests, and who in his later days of engineering became elusive, wayward and obsessed with his inclination for nature and forest.

Freddie Robert, once a leader of hostel ragging, later the most revered and loved one among his group for his generosity and daring, and who would let his comrades experience the otherwise unthinkable, transforms to become more introverted and enigmatic in his later days before his mysterious disappearance in a forest. The other members of the group do not find it easy to understand Freddie and his purpose – to be close to nature and be in unison with it. As the friends make a journey once again to the forest where they lost their friend, the tale unfolds or rather unravels into threads connecting to more subtle but sensible thought-provoking forces driving Freddie to disappearance. The author successfully lets the story drive in a mysterious train, revealing secrets at every new station, told through multiple narrators – the mystery keeps you hooked, and the sensibility of connectedness to nature slowly turns from an idea to a necessity for the characters. This book has a special calling! Those not finding the roots of nature simply might be lost in the pages, which has also been suggested in the preface by the author.

The members of the group narrate their individual relation with and impression of Freddie during their college days, all of which contribute to characterize the Pandava gang but also illuminate the idiosyncrasies of the members, which transmits a certain mood to the whole story. We find sufficient humor, in all its naturalness of youthful days, but memories of a horrific experience, especially in the description of the hostel ragging, unsettle us.

The vision of life envisioned by the author, especially through Freddie Robert, Meera and Sudhakaran forms a dreamy ambience, which is earthy, raw, and palpable but one which is realized transforming from something ethereal to something urgent and close, only when transformation happens within oneself too.

The engineering background of the author makes him very attentive to technical details, and he puts them in sharp and accurate ways to his advantage, lifting science with natural spirit and joy, as metaphors and for swinging to the edge of the universe.

As the friends make the arduous journey into the deep forest, hoping to find their purpose, they rather are excited to find themselves ruminating over the cause of the disappearance. Enchanted by the beauty of the forest afresh, discovering new symbols and connections, as if a clue to the secrets of nature, their hope to find Freddie is bolstered. They try to understand the forest, its comfort, offerings and dangers, so that those experiences form a path to Freddie, wherever he is. They discover that the path to disappearance was not so simple, nor the life Freddie chose, glimpses of which were written in his diary.

As the urgency burdens the friends, to find Freddie or to escape, events unfold putting them into a dilemma, and delusions and placing them face to face with a secret they held for so long. Freddie turns from a man to an idea that is contagious. Who'll they find in the forest? Or, who will they lose? Will they return the same, or will they return at all?

The sensibility in the novel, which I wrote about earlier, has its fundamentals in the affinity for nature, not limited to being an observer, but to be part of it, without any superficiality. If we know about the spirituality, and the duo – body and soul, the force driving the characters adds in Nature, to become a trio of existence. The novel plays on the ideas like journey of instincts, going back to nature, merging with its core and essence, nature as mother, nature as a God, and spiritual awakening oriented to nature than to anything else. Imagine a mysterious bird taking you to the depths of the forest to show some secrets, and imagine a man entering a forest, and a forest entering into a man. The novel is a journey of awareness that takes us to the roots of our existence – which can find solace only in nature, unraveling our deep-seated desire to escape, to be free, to return to the origin, to return back to nature and to primeval human ways. Dattapaharam is gripping, natural, sharp, meditative, wildly imaginative and one of the thoughtful novels written in a mood of mystery. Perhaps, I can name it a "Nature Mystery" novel!

Author: V.J. James
Original Text: Malayalam
Translator: Ministhy S.
Publisher: Penguin Random House India https://penguin.co.in/book/dattapaharam/

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

The Deadly Playground

Vishwas Patil is one of the greatest novelists of India writing in Marathi, and his novels are well-researched and rich in their depth and breadth – in scope, characters and understanding. Dudiya is not so lengthy as Patil's other epic works like Panipat, Mahanayak and later works, but in a mere two hundred and few pages, in this political novel the author takes us to the depths of Dandakaranya and Abujmarh forests, among the tribals of Naxal-afflicted region, particularly of Chhattisgarh state, and well into the center of Naxalite–Maoist insurgency, and the armed struggle, tension, fear and death lurking in those lands. 

The narrator Dilip Pawar is a civil servant officer and recounts his days after being sent as an Election Observer to one of the Naxal-afflicted districts of Chhattisgarh (Previously part of Madhya Pradesh) State. From the outset, despite being deployed to a region known for its notoriety, his interest to inquire and understand about the Naxals keeps him motivated even after hearing and reading about the recent frightening killings. His seventy-six days stay in the region brings him face to face with the facts, the historical development of the Naxal crisis, the ongoing struggle, the atrocities committed by the state and Naxal forces upon the civilians, the people directly involved in handling the crisis and those who are victims of it in one or another way. The narrator has become a window for the author and readers to try to understand the Naxal problem, serving as a perfect vantage point, and so is the narrative development in the novel – we are surrounded by questions, we hear the witnesses and find ourselves as if in the middle of a burning land, just like the subtitle of the novel suggests.

There couldn't have been any other perfect character than Dudiya, a tribal girl, who would recount her journey and struggle, to the narrator and therefore to us, from an ordinary tribal village birth to being a Naxal insurgent and again back to being a civilian after the surrender. Her dissatisfaction, defiance, disgust and feeling of being in the wrong marks her sharp turns in life and the emotional hollow she felt throughout.

Once inside the Naxal world, there was no getting out of it. As a tribal girl, I would send this one fervent question above, 'God, is there any release for us hill people from the twin assault of the Naxals on the one side and the police on the other?'

We get an up-close glimpse into the life of Naxal-Maoist leaders and senior officials of the state, and their rituals too. It is nothing less than being on a battlefield. The author has positioned the narrator in the fine line as an observer between the state forces and the Naxal insurgents. He is looking at the crisis, at its roots and not merely at the individuals fighting from each end. Impartial to the view of the crisis, this story has given a humane as well as critical perspective on the problem. This is also an attempt to unmask all brave men, all ruthless men, and all terror-stricken men and to show the ordinary face of the people behind all those perceptions of the news coverage and terror of killing.

This novel had to be written – and it has been written. You cannot witness a state terror, an insurgency, and not know its reasons, and not write about it. Though it hasn't many plot twists, the references to the real-life events that happened and the facts that still hold true give the novel a complex and complete political shine – which is alarming, thought-provoking and dreadful. We feel a heat emanating out of the novel, a heat not of warmth but of disorder, panic, death, fear, struggle, harming those with arms and those without – the tribals. It transports the readers to the dense forests and makes them witness the tension, fear of death and violence hanging in the region – all behind the lush and beautiful hills and forests – and all seen through sad and panic-stricken eyes.

Ruthless killing and butchering of people, disintegration of the families, personal loss, migration of the tribal youths, the suppressed and compromised development of the region, real events of Naxal-State forces confrontation killing political leaders, IAS and IPS officers, Naxalites and armies – events dotted with bloodbath and scars lefts behind – this is the story, not of peace but of violence and disruption. Still, the character Dudiya makes us hopeful, that people will indeed return, will understand, and thus settle for peace, to come to an understanding. Dudiya is a symbol of peace and resilience.

The story weaves not only the timeline of Naxal-insurgency development but everyone who is at the frontline of the State Vs Naxal warfare. We start with the exploitation and abuse of the tribals and local resources by the government authorities, the birth of hate and anger amongst the tribals which was never appeased or addressed as a major disconcertion. Then we witness the poverty and provocation that made the tribals of the region vulnerable to the promises made by the Maoists/Naxals and who then saw them as saviors protecting their rights, defending them against the state laws and terrors. But, before anybody could understand the maelstrom brewing behind, it grew out of hand and tribals/Adivasi people found themselves amidst the center of two arms-wielding powers – Naxals and the government forces.

Against the background of political upheavals and transformations, Naxalism seems to have become a need for everybody in a number of states in the country. The Naxals needs jungles for performing their tasks; while state administrations need thousands of millions of rupees annually as Central grants under the head of combating Naxalism to pull themselves out of financial crises. If Naxals were suddenly to disappear, at whose door would these state government go with their empty begging bowls? This is the vicious circle that has formed everywhere.

Election happening in the backdrop of fear of gunfire, death traps of landmines and pressure bombs, violent confrontations in the depths of the forests and far-flung hills has also set a stage for a political drama, which the author has handled very well – without exaggeration and without losing the authenticity. But as said earlier, this is a humanist side of the story that is often lost in pure historical and political narratives, and the novel has fulfilled that gap.

Dudiya, in Nadeem Khan's excellent rendering, serves as an authentic contemporary account of the Naxal-Maoist Crisis in India not only for Indian readers but also for foreign readers who haven't yet heard about and have no clue about the existence of the State-Naxal struggle. I think the research put in this novel gives us a rare opportunity to listen, think and understand the inside and intrigues of both camps. And, just like the narrator who is unsettled after all his experience and asks questions, and doubts the intentions, we too are left with such questions. Dudiya is like looking at a bullet wound which provokes a movement in your thought – that lives can be saved.

Author: Vishwas Patil
Original Text: Marathi
Translator: Nadeem Khan
Publisher: Niyogi Books http://niyogibooksindia.com/

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

 

The Lines that...

Krisztina Tóth's stories are rich in their explosions of moments, bursting of silences, and an ambience drifting over fate, as if the author can notice even a flick of air. The interconnected lives, intersected flashes of memories, the difficulty of realizing a personal dilemma and individuality, and a transitioning sense of life and the boundaries that are not visible yet keep crossing over your life – the structure of this collection gathers storms and waves. The author mostly traverses back to the character's childhood memories and taps where there is heat, a discovery, a difficulty and therefore the transition, as if it was necessary to cross those rivers of crisis. Following the trajectories of the narrators, we find that, each time the author fabricates an end, we arrive not at similar points but at different zones of realization, trying to figure out the conundrum. The author has a fascination with breaking down the time and its elements, finding a rhythm in each of those.

As I watch the various shades of brown and grey, and the thick smoke swirling up from somewhere, I wonder where the boundary is, that borderline between life and non-life, between life and death, whether there is some kind of definite borderland at all. I wonder about the living and the dead, about how over the years I have learnt nothing, I've merely grown older,…

That's it, the story continues, because he knew that stories never end, they only break off and lie low, like latent diseases, and then resurface and continue to spread, resulting in stabs of pain elsewhere, only for that pain to be passed down from generation to generation.

The first story, Vacant People (Borderline) is composed in a personal grey zone. A woman in her thirties narrates a drifting experience and understanding of life and death, the living and the dead, the shiver and the warmth. In a seamless, almost plotless story, the impression is rather of an immersion into the foggy realities of life. You'll know when you read it. In The Pencil Case (Guidelines), there are two contrasting episodes from the narrator's school days, when the dissociation of the name and the self, of an observant and the participant, the futility of good and evil dawns upon the narrator as a revelation as if finding a clockwork of human expectations, humility and stillness. In Outline Map (Lifeline), as if a monologue of a sick boy, who might be perhaps on the verge of treatment (or dying?) and who has a short lifeline on his left palm, finds himself as if in a lost world, in almost a fever dream narrative. In The Fence (Blood Line), what begins as a recollection of an event when the pet dog got stuck and bloodied in a cat-flap, evolves as if the development of a negative of a scar left by the Hungarian Uprising of 1956 on the narrator's father's body.

The scenic details bring the past to life, while the momentary stops of reflection radiate philosophical exploration as if experienced by a younger self of one's own – by one who's reflecting. It is as if characters are able to switch off the present and take their soul out of their bodies and place it elsewhere for a while. There are characters breaking sensible boundaries and finding their way into a maze in their minds and thoughts. These stories are at times comical as well, in the dramatic turn of events.

In stories where Hungarian political history finds its trail, the strength of the prose has come even sharper, as if we are in the middle of a developing novel. The transition from lightheartedness to dark horrors and realizations in these stories are exciting if read as a technique, but they are also subtleties that represent the complexity of characters and therefore of human lives. The absurd becoming the real, the solitude turning into a sad beauty, and chaotic life becoming a norm - we find the grey ambience turning into a heart of survival. The portrayals of old women are so authentic and vivid, we'll immediately recognize them as someone from around us, breathing in the text – the clear detailing are as such you want to embrace them.

In Ant Map (Line of Passage), the narrator, an unnamed and uncared-for young little girl is left with a scrap collector grandmother who'd draw the trajectory of ant's movement on a map. In The Castle (Frontline), the narrator recalls her summer camp to a castle as a teenager, her fondness and the changes that crisscrossed and marked through those times and who lived then. A hyper-imaginative narrator's routine and comfort are disrupted after an American relative comes to stay at her home, and her teacher crosses a boundary in the Tepid Milk (Barcode Lines). Black Snowman (Grid Lines) transports us to the hubbub of the social estate housing boom in Hungary and the societal drama revolving around it, as witnessed and lived by our narrator. Cold Floor (Baseline) is in fact like one of the Japanese classic stories. While one of the most dramatic and dynamic stories is Take Five (Fault Line). As we progress in the collection, we find ourselves blending the experience of characters and almost believe that these in fact all are living in the same generation (perhaps the fall of the communist era in Hungary), through the same personal crisis, experiencing similar individual victories and losses. And the way, the first and the last story resonate, we exhale a sigh of relief, that the circle has been completed, that the characters have reached their destination, and that all living and dead have finally found peace.

One way or another, even if it sometimes come apart at the seams, the world is a web of often opaque laws, or of interconnections glistening like gossamer in the pale light of dawn, with the ends of each strand tied to a  different corner of time.

We tend to believe that these stories are particularly life and times of a young Hungarian girl, now remembered from a distant future. Dreams, hopes, musings and revelations of a young girl (there are male narrators too) – these stories give a sense of a journey of self-discovery through experience and observations, from close and far, from associations and dissociations with one's self. Stories also carry political, societal and pop-cultural aspirations of the time, and the evolution of our narrator's experience to live through those. In one of the stories, as if it is the final act in the catharsis of love – a woman burying love notes in Japan – we find elements of love, tragedy and renunciation. At times, we find the reclusive cover of simple imaginations that gives an escape to the narrators when in fact they are surrounded by clouds of existential crisis and happiness – losing self in the memories, and in the stillness. Transitioning identity and memory has been one of the leitmotifs of these thematic stories. The fleeting details of the surroundings, heat and even air and smell are crisp and passionately created as if they too are accomplices of the tipping points/lines that alienate you from being and the surroundings.

The borderline between life and death, guidelines between presence and absence, scar separating the trauma and the terror, line marking the coming of age, gridlines mapping the history and subtle horror, mirror lines of personal crisis, the line of betrayal and loss, line throbbing with memories, line separating sad reality and comforting fantasy, line between now and then – the commonalities of these stories lie in the separation that defines us in unique ways, at unique ages. Barcode is a visionary exploration of personal and universal experience. Taken together, these stories represent a grand realization and a sensitive candor to the lines that make, break, define and seek and soar redemption for life. These are fresh and bright prose, in line with the glory of Hungarian literature!

Author: Krisztina Tóth
Original Text: Hungarian
Translator: Peter Sherwood
Publisher: Jantar Publishing https://www.jantarpublishing.com/

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher