The Seekers - A Quest to the Questions

The Seekers is a one-of-a-kind story collection by Gautamiputra Kamble. Originally published in Marathi in 2004, the collection is translated into English with remarkable brilliance, care and delicacy by Sirus J. Libeiro and published by Blaft Publications. 

The five stories of the collection are: The Story of a Story, Parivrajak, Shilpasan, Tales of Viroopnagar, and The Search for the Sixth Sense. Kamble himself identifies the central concerns of these stories in his Author’s Note: the clash between Buddhist and non-Buddhist philosophies, conflicts between cultures, the making of myths, the process of artistic creation, and the struggle between ideologies of violence and non-violence 'ahimsa'. The insightful Translator’s Note and Author’s Note are particularly helpful in understanding Kamble’s experimental and refreshingly unconventional approach to storytelling. 

What makes these stories remarkable is how carefully Kamble avoids over-characterizing, over-imposing or over-explaining. His conflicts do not arrive fully formed; they develop gradually, often through the choices, beliefs and discoveries of his characters. He does not rush to prove an idea. Instead, he lets it emerge naturally through people who are always searching for something – a discovery, a truth, an answer, or struggling with conflicts of their own making.

At times, the reader may feel lost in the opening pages of some stories. The narratives take unconventional turns, connections appear strange, and the world Kamble creates does not always reveal itself immediately. But perhaps patience is one of the things these stories ask us to learn: to stay, to observe, and to witness the unfolding rather than demand immediate understanding.

The Story of a Story

Our narrator is a writer in search of characters. Unable to find anyone sufficiently unusual among the people closest to his town, he sets out on an adventure, determined to discover characters worthy of his story. At the foot of a hill, near a new town he reaches for the perfect character, he encounters a mysterious man of unknown identity who has been living in a cave for decades. Eventually, we learn who this man is and how he comes to live there. The writer is desperate to end his search, and his desperation find ways to more complications.

'Just come with me, and don't make me suffer your refusals. Otherwise, I'll have to shackle you up with my words and carry you away. You don't realize the strength of my words.' With this strange threat, the cave-dweller finally surrenders to the writer and follows him home. The writer also brings a woman into his house under equally mysterious, almost eerie circumstances. Now he wants both of them to tell their stories.

The premise immediately reminds me of Luigi Pirandello's Six Characters in Search of an Author. Here, however, the direction is reversed: the author goes out searching for his characters. But does he really get what he wants from them? Can we create and comprehend a story for someone who merely holds their words? How much of the stories we tell is rooted in truth? Are words powerful enough to represent another person's existence – to free them, or to capture them?

The story can therefore be read as a metaphor for the making of a story itself, and perhaps as a metafictional doorway into the collection.

“If only I could write a line for them, with words that have never been used before…” This line, I think, hints at what follows. The remaining stories are unusual, unconventional and unlike anything I have encountered, as though Kamble deliberately searches for new ways of telling them.

This is also perhaps the most scenic story in the collection, with descriptions that occasionally carry an enticing sense of terror. The writer's restlessness and the growing tension are palpable. It is the shortest story in the collection, but returning to it after finishing the other stories reveals traces and connections that seem to lead into the larger literary universe of Gautamiputra Kamble, until, slowly, some of its puzzles begin to fall into place.

Parvrajak

Parivrajak, or The Seeker, is the title story of the collection and perhaps the story that most clearly brings together Kamble’s recurring concerns with tradition, belief, identity and the search for meaning.

Naiser and Anisha, each leaving everything behind for a different reason, find each other in the middle of a barren land, or malraan, beneath the shade of a lonely tree. Naiser is on a quest to reach Dandgiri; the reason for his journey and what he discovers there slowly unravel. Anisha, meanwhile, ventures out in search of a “two-legged person,” the meaning of which is also revealed only towards the end. But are they really searching for different things, or their personal interpretation are in fact different ? And when they find what they seek, does the discovery satisfy their understanding? (Perhaps, it is better you discover them on your own.)

Dandgiri is a mysterious place where “few people who had dared to go there have never returned.” It is merely the "name of a hill" that has "become synonymous with death." Surrounded by rivers on both sides, it remains inaccessible not simply because of the landscape but because tradition forbids people from crossing the streams. One character captures the danger of such inherited beliefs: “You people imagine yourselves to be lovers of tradition, but in truth, you are afflicted by it.” These traditional barriers, rooted in different beliefs and fears, recur throughout the collection.

Naiser and Anisha become companions on their arduous journey, each seeking revelation and relief. They travel through barren landscapes, desolate and ancient villages, forests and streams. In one village, a single event can turn people into mortal enemies; in another, they encounter people who accept that they are “not developed enough yet to kill.”

What they discover in the hills eventually leads Naiser to narrate the story of a prince who becomes a parivrajak. Though the story never names him, we recognise the figure as Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha.

I think Parivrajak lies at the heart of Kamble’s work. It reflects his underlying philosophical concerns, shaped by Buddhist thought and the Phule-Ambedkarite intellectual tradition. Yet Kamble never imposes philosophy directly; he has openly expressed this in his author's note. Instead, he breaks taboos, challenges inherited norms and places the quest at the centre: the quest to understand the self, its presence and the meaning of existence. Perhaps what the central characters need to understand is the unspoken Dhamma, expressed beautifully in the story: “There is a world of difference between looking at something and seeing it.” This is how Naiser puts it.

What makes his blending of these ideas so sublime is its delicacy. Different individuals come with different purposes, struggle towards their own discoveries, and encounter meanings and philosophies along the way. Searching and seeking are what make Kamble’s stories adventurous - an adventure that ultimately moves inward, towards the greater self.

Shilpasan

Imagine, in an endless desert, finding two stone figures carved as if from a single rock: a man bent forward, pressing his thumbs against the toes of a standing woman. Who are they? How are they related? What does this strange gesture mean? How did they end up in an uninhabited desert? These and many other questions arise immediately. The Shilpasan, the third story of the collection, is a blend of fantasy, magical realism, legend, and a quest.

Idfra and Monark, two travellers, venture into the desert to see the stone figures, or shilpasan. Idfra has visited the place before, but its enchantment brings him back, this time with a friend. The 'stone figure was so sublime that it made the whole arid wasteland feel like a lush greenscape. Seeing it had transformed Idfra,' – such was the magnificence of the shilpasan. Their almost silent passage, marked by sparse conversations, quiet remembrance, stories and realizations, gives the narrative an aura of mystery.

Idfra begins telling Monark the legend of how the figures come to exist. The woman of the shilpasan, Sanruta, comes from Kigypt, a strange, almost magical land where 'the sky is always gray, and the air perpetually muggy,' and where the sun rarely shines. Almost every family there makes stone sculptures, including Sanruta’s. Soon, the story takes us into a world where staring at the Sun can transform a person into stone, and, astonishingly, that person can be brought back to life.

Araj and Tejsan are two eccentric and enigmatic figures whose presence raises questions that unsettle Sanruta and turn her into a 'seeker' like in other stories of the collection. Who they are, and how their lives connect with hers, is something the story allows us to discover.

Like the other stories in the collection, The Shilpasan revolves around an individual possessed by an urgent, relentless quest. Art becomes a means of seeking answers, while mysterious people and unexplained events leave behind more questions. Reverence, doubt, fear, shame, magical transformations, adventure, desire, beauty and spiritual self-realization come together in a story unlike anything I have encountered before.

Kamble’s writing is intricate without being excessively detailed. Its strange turns take us into an unfamiliar landscape of existence. Personally, I cannot recall another author who has given me quite this feeling of travelling through such an artistic and mysterious world, except perhaps Herman Hesse.

There is always a quest in Kamble’s stories, and a trail of questions that moves the characters forward. At times, I find myself wishing these stories are real, simply because I want there to be a way to meet these people and visit these places.

Kamble has a rare talent for taking the reader into another zone, where one can sometimes feel lost even when everything seems to be right in front of us, only to be uplifted by the end. The Shilpasan captures the solitude of identity, and the questions that follow us like shadows, especially when we are searching for answers to the mysteries of life.

Tales of Viroopnagar

Tales of Viroopnagar has one of the finest openings in the collection. Kamble begins by creating an ancient, mysterious and almost mystical town settled along the banks of the Aakashnadi. With a river on one side, mountains on another, an ocean of desert in one direction and forest in another, Viroopnagar is a small settlement of roughly two hundred houses, 'obsessed with its old traditions and the remnants of its ancient past.' Its stone ghats, inscribed pillars, sculptures and surrounding caverns give the town a fading historical identity. At times, its landscape even feels supernatural. In my view, Viroopnagar could also represent India itself, although I doubt Kamble intends such a direct allegory.

The open square at the centre of the town becomes the stage for its rituals and, eventually, its divisions. Power rests with the mukhiya, the rtvij, protector of tradition and ritual, and the sarvar-mhatara, the oldest and wisest man in the town. Before the conflict begins, Kamble takes time to establish the town and its idiosyncrasies through multiple tales of its origins, almost like Jataka tales.

We hear of the settlement's beginnings, the reason some houses face south; the five youths lost in the desert; Mukhiya Salvan and his fascination with a flower field, his daughter Kalma, a mysterious rider; events of floods and storms. These stories preserve Viroopnagar's history and perseverance but also leave behind unanswered questions. And unanswered questions, passed through generations, eventually become beliefs, while beliefs become traditions and fears.

The real conflict begins when an arhat stops the ritual sacrifice of a kalvad (sacrificial calf). His questioning of a violent tradition divides the town. Politics, fear and the desire to establish one's own truth gradually turn difference into hatred. The arhat tries to bridge the growing chasm through non-violence, but reason can hold the town together only temporarily.

As tensions rise, disaster finally strikes. The dramatic ending brings destruction, followed by remorse, and only then do people come to their senses.

That, perhaps, is the tragedy Kamble captures so well: nobody has time to reflect; everyone wants to be right. We shelter ourselves in the comfort of inherited beliefs and ignorance, and when those beliefs are threatened, they become weapons.

The presence of the arhat, non-violence and mention of 'uposathi' may make the story appear Buddhist, but its concerns are much larger. Tales of Viroopnagar is ultimately a story of humanity: of tradition, fear, ignorance and our tendency to create hatred out of difference. Its beautiful open-ended conclusion leaves Viroopnagar lingering in the mind, because its stories feel less like tales of a distant town and more like stories of ourselves.

The Search for the Sixth Sense

Let me ask you a question.

Have you ever felt the need to follow something to its very end? A quest that might fill some incompleteness within you, satisfy a desperation, clear the fog around your strange understanding of the world, or perhaps make you question that understanding altogether? And if the search demands loneliness and desolation, would you still be willing to bear it?

Is anything worth dedicating your whole life to? And if not, is there something you can believe in and still remain free? The Search for the Sixth Sense sparked these questions in me.

The Search for the Sixth Sense is an unusual adventure of two individuals, Salvina and Nikay, who meet on a train under equally unusual circumstances. Both are searching for something: an escape, a solution, relief, perhaps even a revelation after having endured enough.

Salvina has a peculiar condition. Whenever she sees someone crying, she feels an uncontrollable urge to laugh. She cannot control this opposite emotional response, and it eventually brings an end to her school life. Now living in isolation, she tries to escape her past through travel.

Nikay, on the other hand, is talented and restless. He too leaves his village school under unusual circumstances. What follows is a remarkable journey through different forms of art and experience, first driven by curiosity and fulfilment, but later driven by one question: does the sixth sense really exist? And if it does, how can one find it, and, more importantly, experience it?

His search sometimes feels like a vortex and at other times like an endless quest.

Eventually, Nikay and Salvina set out to meet an arhat (a perfected being who, in Buddhist thought, has escaped the cycle of rebirth). They hope that this person might have answers to their questions and perhaps free them from the burdens they have accumulated over the years.

But do they meet the arhat? Do they find what they are looking for? I shall not spoil that part of the journey.

Both Nikay and Salvina have, in their own ways, departed from their old lives and begun something new. Nikay's attempt to detach himself from the everyday crises of life raises an intriguing question: can we simply relinquish our claims over our troubles? Can we disown or renounce our burdens?

What makes Kamble's narration particularly interesting is that he does not depend on dramatic events or constant plot twists to keep the reader engaged. The story unfolds much like life itself. Extraordinary events are sparse, but seemingly ordinary incidents, encounters and realizations gradually change the direction of the characters' lives.

The story also touches upon caste-based discrimination, casteism even within the world of art and communal violence. These elements do not dominate the narrative, but their occasional appearance has consequences. A single incident, an encounter, a realization, or even a person with a different way of looking at things can alter someone's life, or at least their understanding of it.

At its heart, the story is about departure and seeking: leaving behind what exists in search of something that might bring fulfillment.

Kamble's knowledge is wide-ranging, and that depth is evident throughout the book. He brings considerable breadth and depth of knowledge to his stories, but he does not impose that knowledge on the reader. The details scattered across the narrative often feel experiential, as though they come from someone who has closely observed and lived through the worlds he describes. Although the story is deeply influenced by Buddhist philosophy and carries traces of Phule-Ambedkarite ideas of progress, justice and equality, Kamble never forces a religious or philosophical conclusion upon the reader. The ideas remain part of the world of the story rather than becoming lectures directed at the reader.

His narratives require patience. There were moments when I felt the story was moving slowly, almost as if it had no destination. But perhaps that is precisely the point. Kamble does not rush toward an ending. He allows the questions, experiences and realizations to unfold at their own pace. They do not take you on a whirlwind ride; instead, they invite you to take a slow walk through life and examine it closely. It is therefore, the ending is satisfying without feeling artificially conclusive.

That, perhaps, is the most beautiful idea in The Search for the Sixth Sense: the burden may be lifted not because the world changes, but because we finally realize that the burden was never quite what we thought it was. And somehow, the complexity is eventually resolved through something remarkably simple: a change in the way we look at life. Sometimes the troubles surrounding us are not waiting for a grand solution. Perhaps they are simply waiting for us to change our thoughts about them.

***

Kamble's stories are not dramatic in the conventional sense. Yet they are as strange, unforgiving and revealing as our own personal and social lives. We are all surrounded by conflicts, and every conflict demands questions. Without asking the right questions, without having the courage to immerse ourselves in a quest, we risk remaining forever lost in the chaos of our own making. We must question our beliefs, challenge traditions, break through taboos and search for a way forward – the way of Dhamma.

The Seekers feels like the result of philosophy and art coming together. Kamble wants to say things in ways that have not been used before. As one of his characters says, “I prefer the one my footsteps create.” Perhaps this is also Kamble's own artistic philosophy. The author himself is the Seeker, in a literal sense.

His characters can be read as projections of that seeking self, bringing together the ancient and the modern, art and alienation, tradition and taboo, violence and survival. What makes Kamble's approach brave is his willingness to place these seemingly opposing ideas beside one another – and then question all of them.

The stories do not necessarily give us answers. They leave us with questions, and perhaps that is their greatest strength. Kamble's way of telling stories stays with the reader long after the stories end: not as a conclusion, but as an invitation to keep searching.

Original Text: Marathi
Translator: Sirus J. Libeiro
Front Cover Art: Sanjeev Sonpimpare
Pages: 186
ISBN-13:  9789380636856

Publisher: Blaft Publications Pvt. Ltd.

Bengali Fairy Tales Get An Un-Fairy Tale Ending: Children’s Book Review (Guest Book Review by Nupur Maskara)

Once Upon the Queens has translated stories from the iconic Thakurmar Jhuli, a collection of Bengali rural folk tale stories. Written by Satabdi Das, and translated by Nadia Imam, this book deconstructs some of the original stories, to give them a feminist twist. Beautifully illustrated by Paramita Brahmachari, this is a collection that takes you back to childhood, and introduces the new generation to classics, but updated to reflect contemporary times.

Das has introduced each tale with a rhyming verse, like Dakshinaranjan Mitra Majumder did when he compiled Thakumar Jhuli in 1907. He had divided the stories in three sections, and Das has chosen a few from each section to translate in English. She concludes with a translation from Thakumar Jhuli’s sequel, Thakurdadaar Jhuli.  The sequel was for the girl who used to listen to Thakumar Jhuli stories, grew up and needed to be reminded of her place in the patriarchy.

The first story, from the ‘Dudher Sagar’ section, is called ‘The Sleeping Kingdom,’ and was similar to Sleeping Beauty originally. Das makes the princess the protagonist instead, and gives her agency as an adventurer. She reverses the reasons for sleep, switches the sleeper and the savior, and revises the roles others play in the story too.

Das has revised the famous story ‘Kalawati’ similarly. In ‘Kachanmala and Kakanmala’ Das adds shades of grey to both the titular characters, rather than keeping one as good and the other bad, like it was in the original.

‘Seven Brothers Champa’ does away with the cruelty of the original, which was about infanticide. By creating a sisterhood instead, Das shows another way for women to co-exist, rather than vying among each other for male attention.

Other famous tales Das has translated include ‘Prince Red Lotus, Prince Blue Lotus’ and ‘The Golden Stick and Silver Stick.’ Das questions why the demon, as the Other, is often defeated by deception and asks whether that is morally correct. She revises the ending to be more open.

In ‘One and a Half Finger,’ Das highlights the issue of caste, changing the protagonist’s gender to underscore the plight of the girl child. ‘Malanchamala’ originally centred the protagonist around marriage, but Das creates a new Malanchamala, who girls today are more likely to identify with.  

This collection is one that will bring parents or grandchildren closer to young ones, as they tell these stories to them at bedtime. Considering feminist retellings of tales like Cinderella have already happened, this was long overdue.

Hopefully children reared on tales like these, which are set in more egalitarian societies, will also then think that girls and boys are more equal, and can make their dreams come true. However, they must see what they read about reflected in the world around them as well, otherwise fairy tales will stay fairy tales, and they will replicate the reality they see.

Still, books like these are a step in the right direction, for only when the youth sees possibilities can they learn to think differently, rather than repeat history.

Original Text: Bengali
Translator: Nadia Imam

Illustrator: Paramita Brahmachari
Pages: 124

ISBN-13:  9788197684890

Publisher: The Antonym Collections

‘A Gentle Intoxication of Music’: Poetry Book Review (Guest Book Review by Nupur Maskara)

Italian is a musical language, and poetry in Italian would be the cherry on top. Sometimes the beauty of language gets lost in translation, as is often the case with Urdu ghazals. However, the translators of The Grace of My Home by Julio Monteiro Martins (Donald Wang and Helen Wickes) have successfully captured his vivid images and wordplay.

The Grace of My Home is the first time Martins’ poems are available as a collection in English. As the title suggests, Martins’ poetry evokes his homes – Brazil and Italy – evocatively. The book is an insight in his mind, his proclivity for wordplay, and his skill in employing poetic devices.

‘By the Grace of Words’ is one poem in this book that caught my attention. The narrator talks candidly about how he ‘used to have such a fear/of abstract nouns/’ that he ‘even felt safe/among the adjectives. Language is often a refuge for some of us, a home for our thoughts. Others who think visually, may consider images to be their sanctuary.

The poem goes on to talk about how ‘nouns would parade inside’ him, within reach of his ‘verbs.’ Towards the end, the poet talks about how there were ‘Too many subjects/without a predicate.’ Such poems translate well, as they have strong images and metaphors.

Martins’ gift for irony is clearly seen in ‘Elective Affinities,’ where he talks about how he should stop writing about friends, ‘(or writing about anything).’ That leaves out a great deal of material, which he lists – controversies, lies ‘(but there are so many…how will I remember them all?)’ This would resonate with readers, as we all have mental filters, on what we can share with which group, no matter how close we may be to a friend.

The poem touches on a common worry - friends often wonder if they are going to end up in their author friend’s book. As Nora Ephron said, ‘everything is copy.’ The poet ends by saying he ‘will give them the maximum/ of every bit of my minimum.’ What will become then of him and his art, the reader wonders.  Tennyson’s depiction of the artist’s dilemma, whether to be part of the world or write about it, that he showed in ‘The Lady of Shalott,’ comes to mind.

The next poem, ‘Melania’ paints a detailed picture of domestic life, where the actress wife is physically present but always mentally in her world of theatre, and so has no time, space, or energy for her husband. Martins’ versatility is displayed here, in this narrative poem, with its strong characterisation of both the husband and wife.

In the poem ‘Eclipsing the Taj Mahal,’ Martins wonders whether Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a monument to love rather than Noor Jahan. He contrasts himself with the king, saying that he would not build the Taj Mahal. He would see himself ‘dissolve/like a pat of butter/in the center of the pan.’ This contrarian view of love was refreshing.

Martins’ irony is seen again in the poem, as he ends with the reason why he would not erect the Taj Mahal – to protect others from the ‘crater-like feeling/left by love,’

‘To protect those who do not love/from viewing the crater, /the vertigo of seeing all the way to the very bottom.’ His unusual metaphors for love catch the reader’s attention, and make them view love in a different light.

My favourite lines were in the closing poem ‘Music,’ where Martins says ‘Beauty/had entered in me. /A gentle intoxication of music.’ That indeed, is music, and music literally enters us via our ears, so this was a skilful turn of phrase.

Martins’ circumstances – Brazil and Italy - are evident in his poems. He was born in Brazil and worked as a lawyer there. He was one of the founders of the Brazilian Green Party and also co-founded an environmental movement.

A prolific writer with a diverse range, he published nine books in Brazil – novels, short stories, and essays. He also founded a publication press and taught creative writing.

The Grace of My Home is worth a read, and reminds us of cultures other than American, which have taken over our consciousness to a great extent in recent times. Martins’ poetry may even nudge some of us (a la Jhumpa Lahiri), to learn Italian, so that we can appreciate its musicality in the original.

Original Text: Italian
Translator: Donald Wang and Helen Wickes

Pages: 134

ISBN-13: 978-8196395926

Publisher: The Antonym Collections

Author's Image Ref: https://blackbird-archive.vcu.edu/v18n2/poetry/monteiro-j/index-monteiro.shtml

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