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Literary Review
FICTION
Bare essentials
SUCHITRA BEHAL
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Davidar’s story, like his narrator, is devoid of charm or chutzpah and it can do with a little of both.
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The Solitude of Emperors, David Davidar, Penguin, Rs. 495.
Like many of his ilk, Vijay stumbled onto his career. Writing was not a conscious choice. Eager to escape his boring life in a nondescript town in south India, Vijay takes to the pen with a certain degree of enthusiasm. His article does get published
in a small magazine called The Indian Secularist which is brought out from Bombay. This prompts his father to push him into writing to the editor and applying for a job. So when a letter arrives from the Secularist asking Vijay to travel to Bombay for an interview, he rushes headlong , finally believing that he is about to embark on a new and exciting life.
A new world
Rustom Sorabjee is a kindly Parsee running The Indian Secularist. Along with a small but dedicated staff, Sorabjee feels that it is people like him who can save the secular fabric of the nation. So when he asks Vijay at the interview why he thought the paper was named The Indian Secularist, he proceeds to explain that since religion permeates every part of Indian society the definition in India is actually something quite different from the Western concept. In short, we continue to practise our faith but remain tolerant of others too. Soon Vijay is sucked into the daily routine of his job and he enjoys the feeling of growing into a strange new city. Like all young people, he is enthralled by the sheer pace of the city and tries to live life to the fullest.
Changed life
But suddenly things change and Vijay finds himself caught in the riots that rip the city. There is an upsurge of communalism and soon gangs are roaming the streets killing each other. Eager to get a firsthand account of this as a newsperson, Vijay gets into the thick of action and soon witnesses the violence at close quarters. Though he is shaken, nothing prepares him for the next wave of attack when he is stalled by an angry mob asking him to declare his religion. Vijay is more than upset and falls into a deep depression. Seeing this, Sorabjee offers him a 10-day holiday in the picturesque town of Meham in the Nilgiris. He also hands over to Vijay the manuscript of his book and requests him to read it. As an aside he tells him to look into some reports regarding a shrine in the area.
Vijay is enthralled by the luxurious existence in Meham and soon meets up with some of the local characters, specially a retired brigadier who is into growing exotic flowers. Even as he thinks he is recouping, Vijay finds himself drawn into the local politics of the spectacular shrine just outside the town. He tries to get as much information about it as he can and during the process bumps into Noah who is everything that Vijay is not but the two strike a friendship of sorts. Vijay is intrigued by this character who seems to belong to nobody, sleeps in the local graveyard where he tends the graves, smokes pot and spouts poetry and philosophy. Vijay should have found peace in this idyllic place but realises that the politics of hatred which he tried to escape in Mumbai has spread its tentacles in this pretty place too. Even as Vijay once again finds himself in an unsavoury situation, he tries to appeal to Noah for help. Noah laughs off his attempts to bring about peace and save the holy shrine but unknown to Vijay he feels that setting right this wrong may finally earn him redemption. Vijay is left stunned at the violent turn of events and leaves Meham ridden with guilt. His journey begins anew, once again, in a remote little place in Canada, where he works as a bank teller living in isolation with his memories.
Laid bare
Devoid of chutzpah, charm or charisma, Vijay is a dull narrator who leans into the sidelines hoping to carve a place in the realms of anonymity. He prefers to let events unfold and reveal themselves in a stodgy dogged manner of routine. Never once does he get into the pages of his story, carrying the reader with him in an emotional rush. There are no touching scenes of despair or violence. There is no sense of romance or lust. There is no sense of decay of morals, of love and longing and everything going awry. There is just a story, meticulously crafted and laid bare. Davidar’s book , like his narrator, needs a wee bit more of life to kick in.
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