From the Vault - Rashid Jahan's Short Stories

Who is the Culprit and Other Stories is a collection of five short stories written by Rashid Jahan, one of the foremost writers of the Progressive Movement in India. She wrote short stories and plays that primarily addressed issues such as social injustice and oppression, the condition of women, and the lives of marginalized people at the bottom of the social and economic hierarchy. She is regarded as one of the fiercest writers of her generation.

Rashid Jahan also contributed to the short-story collection Angaaray, which was banned and publicly burned by British authorities because of its bold attack on conservatism, hypocrisy, and colonialism. These five stories reflect her lifelong activism, feminism, and unequivocal voice against male-dominated power structures and British colonial rule.

Who is the Culprit? (Mujrim Kaun)

The story is set in British-ruled India, where people gather at a club to celebrate the farewell of Judge George Robinson, who is soon to be married and is leaving India.

The story highlights the inequality in perception, treatment, and legal judgment when similar actions are committed by those in power—the British rulers—and by ordinary Indians. George Robinson, a celebrated judge, is involved in an illicit affair with a colonel’s wife. Yet, in a dramatic turn of events, he is allowed to marry the woman, and the law conveniently makes way for him without any prosecution.

.… you could say that nobody could interpret the English laws that they had created for the slaves better than him…

… These people are emotional like animals…

In contrast, Bhola, a simple shepherd boy, falls in love with a married woman, Gujariya, and the affection between them is mutual. However, Bhola is sentenced to three years of hard labor by the court. By connecting the stories of George and Bhola, the narrative becomes a sharp satire on social and legal disparity under colonial rule.

… If there were no death sentence, there would be bloodshed and murder all day long in this barbaric country. It is our laws that have kept peace among them…

… We believe the law I the same for everyone…

At its core, Who is the Culprit? is an anti-colonial story that exposes how colonial rulers often enjoyed legal protection, privilege, and even immunity for their wrongdoing, while ordinary Indians faced harsh punishment. Colonial laws were designed primarily to protect imperial authority rather than to ensure equal justice.

Asif Jahan's Daughter-in-Law (Asif Jahaan Ki Bahu)

Asif Jahan wanted to marry her only son, Noor Al-Hasan, to Kubra’s daughter, which would please both her husband’s family and her own family back home. However, the problem was that Kubra always gave birth to sons.

… may Khuda never grant a daughter even unto our enemies…

One of the best depictions of tension and emotional intensity, marked by fear, prayer, exhaustion, and anticipation during a home birth, is presented in this story. The prolonged labour, midwifery details, and the case of retained placenta have been skillfully portrayed by the author, Rashid Jahan, who herself was a medical doctor. The details of a birth room where a mother struggles through childbirth are complete and vivid in themselves.

The story also serves as a significant reflection on the practice of betrothal before birth or infancy, which was prevalent in the past. It can further be seen as a strong critique of patriarchy, where sons were preferred above all else. In contrast, the story places the birth of a girl at its emotional center.

Her (Woh)

Her is a story of an ex-prostitute who is now diseased and a victim of social hatred, expulsion, and mistreatment. She may be suffering from syphilis, and her face is severely disfigured; she has already lost her nose and one eye, which evokes fear in those who encounter her. In fact, the author, being a medical doctor, may have come across such women in real life.

In the story, the narrator is a teacher in a girls’ school. Unlike others around her who call the woman “whore,” “evil,” “devil,” and “wretched woman,” she is open to meeting her in a more humane way. However, the silent tension created by the woman is heavy, intense, and almost palpable to the narrator.

In fact, the narrator herself has some reservations, if not contempt, which she eventually acknowledges. The woman’s repulsive appearance also makes her uncomfortable, yet she maintains a calm demeanor. The story highlights the narrator’s inner struggle between acceptance, indifference, and latent hatred for the woman. It shows how hatred can emerge even among the most educated and seemingly compassionate individuals

.… What does she think? Was she ever just like me?...

… Does she believe I think of her as nothing more than a malady?... What does she feel when she comes to me, is it pain, or is it peace?

The story may have been considered revolting at the time it was written, as the mere mention of a prostitute was a taboo, and portraying such characters in literature would have disturbed many readers. Rashid Jahan was a writer of the Progressive Movement, and this story likely drew attention to the treatment of sex workers and the prevailing social hypocrisy in the name of justice.

The Thief (Chor)

In The Thief, the narrator, a doctor, faces a moral dilemma when she comes face to face one night with a thief who had recently robbed her house but has now returned as a desperate father whose daughter needs urgent medical attention.

The God of the Poor (Ghareebon Ka Bhagwan)

The God of the Poor is another piece of progressive writing. The story highlights the fact that those who are socially and economically disadvantaged are often at the mercy of the society in which they live. No god, of any religion, can rescue or help them except people themselves. Justice begins and ends with society and its people.

Rashid Jahan left behind a body of work that represents a fierce act of defiance. We thank the publisher and the translator, Himadri Agarwal, for giving new life to these stories through translation and for bringing them back from the vault. Because history is never silent, and so are the stories.

Original Text: Urdu
Translator: Himadri Agarwal
Publisher: Chowringhee Press

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Rashid Jahan's works in Urdu could be accessed here: https://www.rekhta.org/authors/rasheed-jahan/stories

From the Vault - Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's Short Stories

I Murdered Mine is a collection of five short stories written by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan. She was an Indian poet, short story writer, and freedom fighter during the British rule in India. She died shortly after India gained independence in 1947. These five stories have been selected from her two short story collections: Seedhe Saadhe Chitra and Bikhre Moti. Her other published short story collection is Unmadini. She is best known for her poem Jhansi Ki Rani (The Queen of Jhansi).

These five stories give us a glimpse of the range of topics Subhadra wrote about. From women’s resilience and struggle to human devotion and guilt, some of these stories were far ahead of their time in their strong portrayal of the true colors of society and its psyche.

Kailashi Nani (from Seedhe Saadhe Chitra)

In Kailashi Nani, the narrator is a girl who recalls Kailashi Nani—a woman from her maternal uncle’s village who earned her living by grazing the villagers’ cattle. The narrator and her family lived in the city, and she met Kailashi Nani only during visits to her uncle’s home in the village. She enjoyed village life, but even more, she cherished Kailashi Nani’s company, affection, and care. Though she appears to be a simple, affectionate village woman who loves children, Kailashi Nani does something that baffles the narrator and her family, transforming her into a figure of selfless loyalty. She ultimately proves her love and devotion by saving the narrator and her sister from a treacherous marriage scheme. The story serves as a reminder of a recent past when child marriage was practiced, and of how certain people leave a lasting, unforgettable impact on our lives.

Sacrifice (from Bikhre Moti)

Babu Radheshyam loses his wife, who dies after giving birth to a child. Initially, he is determined not to remarry, but he changes his mind after meeting Kuntala—an educated young woman whose family is too poor to arrange her marriage. Kuntala’s new life, largely consumed by household responsibilities, begins to affect her health. Domestic life stifles her youth, brilliance, and talent. But, how worse can this get? The ending is crushing.  

Perspective (from Bikhre Moti)

This is the story of Nirmala, a true humanist. She is kind, compassionate, and altruistic. Many learned humanists cannot go beyond the idea of thinking good; they are unable to act well when it is required. Nirmala’s husband, a learned professor, does not appear to be the opposite, given his social stature and sense of nobility. However, cynicism can take root even in the greatest minds. A good human being, in fact, can also be an extreme misogynist, sexist, and a fervent follower of patriarchy.

The clash between these two natures and two ideologies becomes evident and defining when a child widow becomes pregnant, and Nirmala wishes to shelter her for a few days.

In the absence of evidence and action, even human characters can hide behind their true beliefs. We come across this in The Perspective when people's beliefs are put to test.

Roopa (from Seedhe Saadhe Chitra)

The narrator of Roopa is a woman prison inmate. One day, a woman named Roopa is brought into the prison, sentenced for killing her own child. The narrator gets to know how Roopa is sentenced to life imprisonment for murdering her own child, a child with speech-impairment, and whether it was even a murder or something else. The title of the story collection is taken from this story.

Paapi Pet (from Bikhre Moti)

When government forces launch a crackdown on peaceful protesters with brute force, have you ever wondered what happens to the police who return after beating unarmed people, severely injuring some who could even lose their lives? And what about those who ordered the charge, or the legal system that can throw people in jail? What is greater than conscience—hunger? Do the means of survival outweigh a human's ability to decide, to distinguish right from wrong? In Paapi Pet, we get close to the lives of a policeman, a jailor named Barkatula, an inspector, and a magistrate in the aftermath of a recent lathi charge on unarmed, peaceful protesters.

We are very grateful to Sakshi Agarwal for translating these forgotten stories, staying very close to the original text and preserving their vigor. After all, old stories are, in part, a reflection of our history and collective memory.

Original Text: Hindi
Translator: Sakshi Agarwal
Publisher: Chowringhee Press
Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's works in Hindi could be accessed here: https://hindi-kavita.com/HindiSubhadraKumariChauhan.php

A Dive That’s Deep, A Water That’s Translucent (Guest Book Review by Kabir Deb)

We are familiar with how power, patriarchy and possession redefine themselves every day to stay relevant. But sometimes, society becomes intimidating and forces people to adhere to them or to face the consequences of negating their existence. The consequence may come in the form of isolation, cornering and accusations. Mahua Sen’s debut work of translation The Dead Fish written by Rajkamal Choudhary in Hindi, speaks about the buoyant nature of power, gender fluidity, vulnerability and the necessity of freedom from anything that holds us back. The story equally dilutes the story with metaphors, images and a constant underplay. What goes beneath the layers of these images Choudhary builds is chaotic, dark yet tempting. The writer builds the story on the mind by keeping the body as its pedestal as both of them have to be in unison to create a balance. 

The novel has an eros but it isn’t loud. It is a hum that’s constant but continuous. The characters are flawed and, at the same time, humane. The story has a body of its own, which makes it complex in its telling such that if readers want to get attuned to it, they must attend it with sincerity. It is a chaotic novel since the timeframe of the story keeps on changing from past to present without putting a pause beforehand. It is a form of telling which many storytellers have followed in their works of art to give them a potion of life. Art is an emulation of life. What we experience turns into our work of art. The telling of this novel identifies with life and how it urges us to seek our own identity. It mirrors how most people’s behaviour and languages changes with power. But, at the same time, Choudhary also keeps in mind that, in times of discomfort, power does not help. But those who arrive with love prepare comfort for us, but it can grow only with our acceptance.

Nirmal Padmavat, a man of impressive demeanour, formidable presence, and charismatic personality, is the axis of this novel. He gets to reveal his true nature, which is strong yet vulnerable, before Kalyani, Shirin and Priya since like most women, they get to carve Nirmal’s artificial covering. But, at the same time, the writer cleverly gives us a reality check as well. He writes how the protagonist’s surrender is bolted with a price – expectations – which if not fulfilled forces him to put his pretence back on. The writer tells us that once we wear a certain personality, it limits our freedom. We get to find it in Tony Soprano, the protagonist of the David Chase created show Sopranos, who deals with mental health issues, which he cannot project before anyone else because, for the rest of the world, vulnerability is a sign of weakness. But before Jennifer Meiti, played by Lorrain Bracco, his real ‘self’ comes out effortlessly because of the latter’s affection and kindness. Nirmal sheds his veil off before Kalyani, Shirin and Priya since they look at him with a different kind of prowess in mind – one which is sensual, wholesome and liberates all of them effortlessly.

Kalyani, in this novel, is written as a glamorous, power-abiding libertine. She has necessities and a desire to be on the top of the system, which she wants to fulfil by any means possible. But she is not a parasite. She has her own way to give back whatever she takes. But she can be unkind and cruel, which most people are and it is a flaw and a weapon. Cruelty acts as a sword for women who have to stand beside womanizers. Their unkindness should not be glorified but cannot be annulled either since it is a defence mechanism against power. Her physical demeanour is not like Nirmal, but her tease and words are. The translator keeps that tease alive in her craft since everything that Nirmal does or approaches is a creation of Kalyani’s effect on his male chauvinism. Even his altered behaviour is significantly associated with his association and dissociation with Kalyani. We find this trait in Nellie LaRoy, played by Margot Robbie, in the film Babylon, who hunts down parties to figure out a place the glamour she possesses is noticed. Similarly, in the novel, Kalyani moves from one party to another, to be the centre of attention because amidst patriarchs she must use her own ways, without getting oppressed by the idea, to get her work done.

Rajkamal Choudhary gives us a backstory to Nirmal to allow us to process his hunger for power, arrogant attitude and being a contrasting figure before those he falls in love with. His past sets a tone which is bitter and hence, sweetens the actions of his present time. In the Anandi Gandhi directed film Ship of Theseus, we can relate to Maitreya, played by Neeraj Kabi, because his decision of becoming a Jain monk stemmed from the exhaustion, he felt by living around money, hateful humans and unanswered questions. His choices may not align with ours, but his philosophy cannot be discarded without putting any thought. Similarly, Nirmal’s past is full of horrifying incidents and the choices he makes after earning money and gaining power can be justified. Some may say that what he does is devilish, but the devil has always been questioning whatever is moral, godly and blindly holy. Through Nirmal Padmavat’s actions and behaviour, the writer is not searching for justifications. Rather, he is putting questions in our mind and wants us to answer them as well.

The philosophy of the novel mirrors our complex reality where we trying to accept ideas which many are hesitant to address. But the society around us creates a cage around us to restrict our attempts towards humane development. Nirmal Padmavat is effectively wild, but even in his careless attitude of what others think about him, he is reminded that as a member of the society he has to follow certain customs. The capitalism that Nirmal follows is not hardcore and quite conventional. It is the consequence of the wounds on his masculine ego. Choudhary does not address the wounded Nirmal directly. He follows the arc of several other characters to address his complex masculinity. Normally, hurt is often coined as a driving force for people to grow, which itself is patriarchal and suppresses an individual’s development automatically. Choudhary keeps the story open-ended to make the readers process the idea. For a wider audience, the translator maintains the telling by putting Choudhary’s idea in a string without stitching its ends completely.   

The story of Nirmal with Kalyani does not form the core of this text since both these characters form a medium for the writer to criticize capitalism, industrial oppression, a dreadful fear of modernity, patriarchal hullaballoo, and faith on monoamory or monogamy. Nirmal’s obsession for Kalyani is not directly related to gender. It is also related to the comfort that he found once in her presence. The latter’s libertine nature does not take Nirmal away from her story. Her experience around him has been both satisfying and discontenting. Yet, in the novel, Nirmal Padmavat is written as a seeker of companion, credibility and unequivocal validation. Both these flawed characters are drawn towards two extremities, and the writer leaves their shadows to spread for their world in-between. Choudhary does not refrain from highlighting the fact that even with love, people have certain expectations and get cornered when they are not met. In the novel, when Kalyani finds out the reason of Nirmal’s vulnerability, she leaves him without putting any effort in healing his heavy heart. Nirmal, like most men, choose to adhere to his demeanour and puts every effort to traumatize other people who Kalyani is associated with. The possessive nature of both these characters have been written with metaphors, but these images project the reality of control.

The novel’s take on queer relationship is different and not cheesy. Shirin (Nirmal’s wife) and Priya (Kalyani’s daughter) cross each other’s lives as a source to identify what they truly are. In physics, an electrical circuit’s model can be identified by the switch’s position, but its effectiveness is inferred by the battery. Similarly, the psychological proximity of Shirin and Priya is written in a complex manner, but if read with an objective lens, has certain boosters which nudge them to identify their true identity. The translator does not vent out the chaos since it is essential in a relationship, which has not been normalized by the society and has a beaming effect on people. Choudhary’s writing of queer relationship tries to have a modern structure but with the eros, he incarnates the traditional perception which is not needed, but is commendable since other than Ismat Chugtai, rarely has any Hindi or Urdu writer tried to explore the dynamics of queer relation.

Mahua Sen’s translation is sharp, tight and visceral. It has a flow that reads like an original work but, at the same time, the constant travel from past to present takes the reader away from even the passionate portions. These situations read good in regional languages since we speak them in our daily life and have its innate flow solidified in our minds. Even then, the translator does good work in keeping the images without maligning what they try to say. Rajkamal Choudhary’s Machhali Mari Hui, has been hailed as a masterpiece but controversial work of literature. An English translation of this novel was much needed since we still are not familiar with queer relationships on a very basic and regional level. The stories which come in our forefront are adhered with certain looks, lifestyle and class making them a stereotype. The Dead Fish brings us characters that are modern, belong to the upper class, but has a tone that is Indian and deals with issues which are not unfamiliar to us. A dark, erotic and questioning novel that does not dwell on the surface. It gets deep within our flesh, but can only crawl if we allow it to do so. A complex book that will have its own audience, but those who get to join its characters would enjoy something refreshing.

Original Text: Hindi
Translator: Mahua Sen
Publisher: Rupa Publications
Source: Review Copy from the Publisher
Author Photo Source: Wikipedia

Book Reviewed by Kabir Deb as a guest contributor

Also Read: https://worldtranslationsreview.blogspot.com/2023/08/a-slithering-world.html Book Review of Traces of Boots on Tongue by Rajkamal Chaudhary, Translated by Saudamini Deo

Coming Up...

 

... Depois, Cheia De Vida

Set in an unnamed Brazilian city and told through multiple narrators, Eliana Alvez Cruz's Solitaria is a novel about the modern-day realities of remains of colonial violence and class disparity, seen through the lives of a mother and daughter who work as live-in maids. Constructed almost in an episodic style, the novel blends a coming-of-age story of Mabel, who wants to break free of the vicious circle of serving the wealthy, almost like a servitude, and her mother Eunice, who accepts things as such because it provides for her family's needs and gives her a haven. But when a tragedy occurs at the Golden Plate apartment, Eunice must decide which side she wants to be on and whom she shall challenge after years of silence, acceptance, and compromise.

Split into three sections, the first part is narrated by Mabel, the second part by Eunice, and inanimate objects narrate the third part of the novel. The foreshadowing of tension at the beginning of the novel concludes in a liberating end in the final chapter of the story.

                  

                  

Mabel's mother, Eunice, works as a live-in maid for a rich family—Ms. Lúcia and Mr. Tiago, owners of a luxury condo in the Golden Plate apartment—where sneaking in only through the service door is considered normal for maids like her. Eunice has an ailing mother, so she must take her child along to work, where an unspoken order separates the private, lavish life lived by the owners from the life in a tiny room occupied by the serving maids, an order that must not be breached. In any case, Mabel must not be seen. But at one point, following a mishap, Mabel's discovered presence nearly cost Eunice her job.

With the little means she has, Eunice has always lived in fear and insecurity, forgetting herself in the grind. It seems Eunice must always make compromises, as if she owes gratitude to everyone for her being. Mabel considers this a servitude more than gratitude and wants to break free. Growing in the shadows of tiny spaces for maids, seeing, gauging, and understanding the way of their life, Mabel starts to have strong opinions—almost a grudge—for the treatment they receive; for the way they are seen and understood. Working for Ms. Lúcia's family, Eunice and Mabel also take care of their daughter. But, seeing the contrast in how they grow up, Mabel doesn't want to spend her life away like her mother. Mabel wants to be educated, free, independent, and get out of the life of servitude.

 

After Everything that happened, beyond the certainty that I didn’t want kids, something else true grew in me: I did not want to be like my mother. More like, I did not want to do what she did. This feeling was the embryo of a distancing between us, one that would need the remedy of time to heal.

Home to the rich and upper class, the Golden Plate apartment is also an abode for many caretakers and maids, but they are always considered outsiders, opportunists, submissive, and lowly. The interwoven lives of people of different classes appear to be in harmony, but a shadow of violence, injustice, and indifference is palpable—not in one event, but on multiple occasions, hidden, said, or unspoken. Not only Mabel, but João, her first love, also wants to live like other kids on the block—unrestricted, with dreams of his own—but that simply makes him a ruffian among the dwellers. Mabel doesn't want to characterize herself and doesn't want the rich to tag her as "these people." Mabel and João are characters of defiance, who want to get out of "the gilded cage." Mother-daughter relationships, father-son relationships, teenage love, adolescent pregnancy, moral dilemmas, and elusiveness have been beautifully explored in Solitaria.

I did not want to clean a house that wasn’t mine. I did not want to take a child to work in anybody else’s house. That was my story, and I did not want to repeat it with my own children. I didn’t even want children! I didn’t want another Ms. Lúcia as a boss or another Camilinha whose diapers I had to change, whom I had to feed and give my time and my love, and one day watch her make messes on purpose, with her parents’ approval, just so she could watch as I cleaned. I did not want to be away from my home for a whole week in order to make someone else’s home more cozy and comfortable.

Mãe and I stayed there, in the gilded cage of the Golden Plate Building. We were birds in a luxury habitat, but isn’t a golden cage still a cage? Every once in a while, our wings would fly us back home—our little house in the distant suburb, or some other faraway place—but we would always go back to our captivity.

The beginning of the first part connects with the start of the second part, where the narrator changes from Mabel to Eunice.

Eunice is a motherly figure who doesn't want insecurities to seep into their lives—already in crisis but moving in a fine balance, earned at whatever cost. Eunice considers the way they live in the Golden Plate building as a part of their lives—a necessary evil. Burdened with responsibilities, she doesn't want to hate her provider. But there are limits to everything, even to human tolerance and patience, before one realizes the value of everything around. Solitaria speaks to and awakens the need to break through the cocoon.

In the third part of the novel, different rooms come out as narrators. They are present to recount what they have witnessed in the lives of Eunice, Mabel, and many others like them. They also testify to the change that is essential and that forces itself out. The infusion of the COVID pandemic into the story has been wonderfully done by the author Eliana Alvez Cruz.

I think that, sometimes, when you are in a bad situation, you get used to it and don’t want to leave because it’s familiar, even though it’s bad. That was how I felt about working in Ms. Lúcia’s house.

Against the backdrop of Afro-Brazilian history, class and racial tensions, the social lives of the wealthy, the struggle between ruling and labor classes, and the modern Brazilian class structure are all subtly explored in the novel. While stories from the favelas are often told, the divide extends far beyond, deeply affecting the lives of ordinary people. At one point, the narrative warns that "the melting was about to blow…," powerfully illustrating how "money whitens" and highlighting the ongoing crisis of social and economic integration—a crisis unresolved since the Golden Law. 

The clear voice and well-built architecture of the novel keep the narrative succinct, subtle, and yet sharp. Constructed in three parts—Mabel, Eunice, and Solitárias—the novel loosely follows both an episodic and non-linear narrative; however, it keeps the story thread intact and smooth. Other than Eunice and Mabel, characters such as Sérgio, Jurandir, João Pedro, Cacau, Ms. Lúcia, Mr. Tiago, Camila, Irene, Bruninho, Ms. Imaculada, Dadá, Mr. Grenito, and Ms. Hilda have been nicely established, each serving a purposeful presence.

Since Mabel spends her formative years in those tiny rooms and shrunken spaces, the first part of the novel is constructed to reflect how spaces and objects shape or form memories of happiness, sadness, tragedy, horror, injustice, and even awkwardness. The chapters are constructed in a way that the inanimate objects and spaces—like the backyard, pool, kitchen, study, party room, stairs, windows—become essential markers in the development of the story without compromising the main narrative.

 

I know that, deep down, I wasn’t a room. I was a solitária. Exactly that. A prison, a place meant to separate these lives from the world and from the other residents. I am so small . . .

As we come toward the final chapters, we come to realize that we thrive for freedom, and we attach our hope and freedom to our dreams. The hidden, tormented, and compromised lives must break free—redemption is a necessity; so is defiance. People who have lived all their lives with disparity, injustice, and unspoken violence will fight back, will claim, will earn what they always deserved. And finally, places shape us, but we can shape the places too—not just the physical ones but the way we live, our own private space—where societal boundaries tend to break and dreams thrive, where Solitária can transform to cheia de vida. Solitária is a novel of sacrifice, courage, and redemption.

Original Text: Portuguese
Translator: Benjamin Brooks
Publisher: Astra House 

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

Author Photo:  Revista Bula

PS:

My Favorite Chapter: Little-Bathroom 

Long Live the City, Long Live Nata Da

It's been a while since Monotosh, the narrator of The Ruffian, moved out of the city in which he grew up. He has arrived at his old neighborhood once again – Galiff Street, Bagbazar, and the surrounding areas in Calcutta. While strolling through his neighborhood, as he reminisces about the changes that have taken place since he left, he accidentally meets old Nata da – a famous rogue of his time. Not Monotosh, but Nata da is our unruly protagonist.

Monotosh accepts that he is a failed writer, yet he wants to record the life and times of Nata da, who has lived long enough to see it all. What follows is a sweeping account of Nata's life, told by himself in multiple sittings.

Source: https://www.theantonymmag.com/the-ruffian/

Monotosh notices that the old streets have changed, and so have the houses. New structures have risen in place of warehouses and depots, the brothels have been demolished, and the luminaries that once marked the city are either dead or forgotten. Smells, sounds, and sights have changed, and in it, the house he grew up in has been crushed. But Nata hasn't forgotten them, because he lived through that time — it has been etched into him and remains stuck in his still-intact memory. We come to know: a city can forget a man, but a man never forgets his city.

 

"I fucking embody pleasure. Haven't you seen legends behind trucks saying, 'In dreams, you get pleasure, for peace, you head to the cremation ground!' All bullshit! I've always found pleasure, wherever I went. I found it in jail when they booked me for being a mole, when I was beating up people, when I was beaten. Khagen the madman used to sing a song, 'Happy from weeping, farting, illness, and shitting…'"

Nata da lives in a Lebutala slum. He recounts his beginnings, his family, and most importantly, how he began as a rogue — a man wielding power in the locality. However, Nata's life is incomplete without the people he lived with; therefore, the story branches out to include multiple characters who shaped and marked Nata's life.

Nata and his friend Manik had to find a trade for themselves. They couldn't live like ordinary kids; they had to grow up early and find their own way. Such was the time when boys like them, from different localities, would claim territories, and any chance of earning a few bucks would be contested, giving rise to disagreements, disputes, fights, and rivalry. Nata da fared well in all of those and made a name for himself. Even political parties needed rogues — the likes of Nata da.

The world seen and lived by Nata da is so detailed and intricate that you'll be transported to the era. He was in his prime youth when ruffians ruled the city. It was the 1960s and ’70s, when Kolkata became a center stage for political changes and tension, especially during the rise of the Naxalites. And Nata is a witness to those societal and political changes, as well as to wars. Whether through allegiance, getting favors, helping with bombs, or a runaway case, Nata's life was not only touched by these events but was also colored by them.

Like mentioned earlier, Nata is made up of the people of his time: Jui, Joba, Panchi Mashi, Nepal Roy, Shato da, Chhanu da, Abhoy da, Gopal-the-Goat, doctors, Khagen, Khendi, Manik, the theatre manager — all these characters and many others shaped Nata's life. Once we finish the novel and reflect, we feel the extraordinary life he lived. What if it had been different? Should we be sad for Nata? Maybe not.

Nata da, who once held strong authority in Lebutala and its surroundings, recounts how he slowly vanished and lost his vigor and valor. He just faded away — Nata, who wielded soda bottles in fights, was involved in the illicit business of selling movie tickets on the black market, lived inside a brothel and even managed it, made bombs, taught people how to make bombs, and provided protection to thugs. It was a burgeoning era of thieves, gamblers, extortionists, and pop culture. But Nata tried to stop being a small-time rogue and to settle into a real profession, though it never worked out for long. 

Ruffians meted out justice in the locality. They earned names for themselves, owned it, held it, to the extent that local celebrations were named after them. Such was the time! And Nata was one of them.

 

Three or four years back, they were erecting the pandal when I went and met the boys bossing around and I told them, 'Do it well. Any problem, let me know.' One of the boys asked me, 'Who the fuck are you?' Well, this sort of bullshit makes me really sad, but such is life.

 

"Ah, wasn't Kolkata a dear place back then! Three movie shows at 3 pm, 6 pm, and 9 pm. Rickshaws would wait up near theaters close to midnight to take people home. Trouble broke out first in 1965 during the war with Pakistan. When they declared the blackouts, the streetlights were covered in black cloths after blackouts were declared. Night shows were stopped…"

 

Nata is old, jovial, and carefree. He is happy with what he has become, carrying no guilt, no grudge, and no great ambitions now. He reminisces about different times, as his memory takes him. His memory lane holds the statues of time.

The style in which this book has been written is playful. The author doesn’t let the narrative deviate. What Nata da calls digressions and meanderings are meaningful. Nata da’s narrative is sometimes dramatic, sometimes a way to understand the social, political, and even psychological fabric. We see how human relations thrive in places, especially among the downtrodden. We see how human relations take shape. The intricate details of the brothel and the world inside have been portrayed excellently.

"Human beings are fucking strange! Tell you what, I live only to watch their damn kind…"

The Ruffian has become strong and true by using a casual style and language. Nata da is one of the most memorable characters to have been written recently, or in the past few years, decades, or maybe ever. You’ll find an old friend, or a forgotten dweller of your city, someone who’s seen it change and lived it in different ways at different times — the life and times of Nata da, a famous mastaan. You’ll never forget Nata da, and you’ll never forget this novel — a reflection on a city that transcends time.

Lastly, great thanks to the translator for such a superb work!

 

Original Text: Bengali
Translator: Kathakali Jana
Publisher: The Antonym Collections  

Imprint: Moving Words

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher

What if the Righteous Fails? What becomes of the Dreams?

The Old Man and the Sea, Moby-Dick, Life of Pi – these are some of the novels you might have read. Man vs Nature and Man vs Wild tales have always entertained, excited and inspired us. In Venom, things have gotten far worse though – the confrontation is more headlong, real and inescapable. 

A ten-year-old boy from Praeknamdang (a fictional village that appears in Sangsuk's work), with an atrophied right arm, dreams of becoming a shadow puppeteer. During the day, he takes his beloved oxen (whom he has even named) to the grazing field. He mimics the performances of shadow puppeteers and performs for his friends – he is able to recite numerous songs, poems, and gags from different shadow plays by heart.

But who can hold grudge against this boy?

Claiming a spiritual connection to the Patron Goddess of Praeknamdang, Song Waad holds considerable sway in the village. He has captured lands, ponds, and people fear or revere him. But the boy and his family are quite the contrary; they think he's a conman or treat him with indifference. Song Waad harbors hatred toward the boy and his family, especially after an event, and even calls the boy "Gimp."

The boy with the bad arm headed towards the big trees that lined the pond on the shrine side. Like an invitation, the fresh, moist air from the water and surrounding trees wafted over to him. He felt as though he were being drawn into a sanctuary of calm the nearer he went. The only sounds came from the wind brushing through the trees, from the bamboo creaking as its culms rubbed together, or from the hiss of rustling leaves. On the ground, dry leaves from that same bamboo lay scattered; beside them, there was nothing but the remains of a tamarind tree, about two armspans in girth, lying fallen and bare and rotting among the brown foliage. The boy sat down on the base of that dead tree and regarded the shrine for a while.

Away from this silent feud, and less concerned with the rich imagination and aspirations of the unnamed village boy, a snake lurks in the field.

The struggle in the story begins when the two entities – the boy and the king cobra – confront each other, yet are unable to kill one another: one, not with its venom; the other, not with his tiny grip. The snake coils around the boy, who can barely keep the reptile’s head away from his body – its fangs pausing a hair’s breadth from sinking into his throat. The story moves as the boy, bearing the weight and clutch of the snake takes a journey back to his village to get help. The raw description of the setting makes thing palpable.

The curious stories of confrontation and revenge involving snakes told to the boy, the vivid descriptions of the snake’s body and movements, the boy’s inner thoughts as the two forces struggle to outdo each other, and the evocative portrayal of the environment all contribute to the story’s simple and classic style of story-telling.

The giant snake was exceedingly close to him. He’d never imagined his face and a snake’s would ever be within such an intimate distance. There had been no portents: not in waking life, not in a dream. Where was its heart? Why couldn’t he feel its heartbeat at all? What colour might its venom be? White like milk or yellow like amber?

The other characters in the story – the boy's father, mother, Grannie Pluppleung, the midwife, and Luang Paw Tien – are either mentioned in passing or make only brief appearances. Since this is a short novella, the characters aren’t fully developed, yet their presence still carries weight.

The story centers on the snake and its host, who refuses to give in. But for how long? Will there be a close shave with life-and-death situation? Seems to be, but how? Well, you’ll have to read the book to find out.

Innocence, superstition, love, aspiration, a slice of village life, and the cost of hope – these are some of the key elements of the story. Not to mention, the passing moments of time and vivid physical descriptions are rendered so well that the story remains gripping until the very end. As we wait for the boy to escape the clutches of death, we become both engaged and unsettled by this tale of innocence, struggle, and absence. The ending is dramatic, tragic, beautiful, yet dark. What if the righteous fails? What becomes of the dreams? I was left with these questions. Yours might be different.

To sum up: Venom is a short but engaging read.

Mui Poopoksakul has done a fantastic job translating.

Original Text: Thai
Translator: Mui Poopoksakul
Publisher: Deep Vellum https://store.deepvellum.org/products/venom

Source: Review Copy from the Publisher