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: MarathiTranslator: Sirus J. Libeiro
Front Cover Art: Sanjeev Sonpimpare
Pages: 186
ISBN-13: 9789380636856
