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Tagore Translations

Daliya: A Story by Rabindranath Tagore Translated by Somdatta Mandal

Daliya by Tagore, published in Magh 1298 B.S. (Jan/February 1891), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal

Daliya by Tagore
Preface

 After being defeated, Shah Shuja feared Aurangzeb and ran away to take shelter under the king of Arakan. He had three beautiful daughters with him. The king of Arakan wished to get the three daughters married to the princes. Shah Shuja was extremely unwilling to accept the proposal and so one day, according to the king’s orders, he was lured by trickery to travel in a boat on the river and then there was an attempt to sink that boat mid-river. During that incident, the youngest daughter Amina was hurled into the river by her father himself. The eldest daughter committed suicide. And one of Shuja’s trusted aides called Rahamat Ali took Julekha and swam away with her, while Shuja died fighting in a war.

Amina floated along with the strong current and quite soon got entangled in a fisherman’s net miraculously and gradually grew up in his hut.

In the meantime, the old king died, and the prince was initiated into the kingdom.

Chapter One

One morning the old fisherman came and reprimanded Amina and said, “Tinni.” The fisherman had renamed Amina in the Arakan language.

“Tinni, what has happened to you this morning? You haven’t laid your hand on anything. My new net hasn’t been glued, my boat…”

Amina came close to the fisherman and affectionately told him, “Old man, my elder sister has come today, so today is a holiday.”

“Who is your sister, Tinni?”

Julekha came out from somewhere and said, “Me.”

The old man was surprised. Then he came close to Julekha and carefully observed her face.

Suddenly he asked, “Do you know any sort of work?”

Amina said, “Old man, I will work on behalf of didi[1]. Didi won’t be able to work.”

The old man thought for a while and asked, “Where will you stay?”

Julekha replied, “With Amina.”

The old man thought, this was also trouble. He asked, “What will you eat?”

Julekha said, “There is also a way.” Saying that she contemptuously threw a gold sovereign in front of the fisherman.

Amina picked it up and handing it over to the fisherman said in a hushed tone, “Old man, don’t say anything else. You go and do your work. It is quite late in the day.”

Julekha had travelled in different places in disguise and at last found out Amina’s whereabouts and landed in this fisherman’s hut. But narrating all that will result in a second story. Her saviour, Rahamat Seikh, worked in the Arakan king’s court under a pseudonym.

Chapter Two

The narrow river was flowing by, and the cool breeze from the first spell of summer made the red flowers from the koilu tree fall below on the ground.

Sitting under that tree Julekha said to Amina, “God has saved the lives of we two sisters just to take revenge of father’s death. Otherwise, I don’t find any other reason.”

Amina kept on looking at the farthest and the densest trees on the other side of the river and said very slowly, “Didi don’t say such words. I like this world quite well. If they want to die, let the men fight with each other and die, I have no sorrow here.”

Julekha said, “Shame on you Amina. Aren’t you the daughter from the Shehezada[2]’s lineage. Where is the throne in Delhi and where is this fisherman’s hut in the Arakans!”

Amina laughed and replied, “Didi, this old man’s hut is better than the throne in Delhi and if any young girl finds the shade of the koilu tree much better, the throne of Delhi won’t shed a drop of tear.”

Julekha partly unmindfully and partly replying to Amina said, “Yes, you cannot be blamed because you were really small then. But just think about it once, Father loved you the most and that is why he had thrown you in the water with his own hands. Don’t consider this life to be more loving than that death given by Father. But if you can take revenge, then the meaning of life is justified.”

Amina kept quiet and kept on looking at the distance. But it could be clearly understood, despite all those words, this pleasant breeze outside, the shade of the tree and her own youth had kept her engrossed in some happy memories.

After some time, she gave a deep sigh and said, “Didi please wait for a while. I have household work to do. The old man won’t be able to eat if I don’t cook for him.”

Chapter Three

Julekha thought about Amina’s condition and kept on sitting in a very desolate mood. Suddenly, there was the sound of a big jump, and someone came from behind and covered Julekha’s eyes with his hands.

Julekha was alarmed and said, “Who are you?”

Hearing her voice the young man left the eyes and came and stood in front of her. Looking at Julekha’s face he said without hesitation, “You are not Tinni.” It was as if Julekha was always trying to pass on as Tinni, only the exceptionally sharp intelligence of the young man could decipher the cleverness.

Julekha gathered her clothes, stood up brilliantly, and cast a firm look at him. She asked, “Who are you?’

The young man said, “You don’t know me. Tinni does. Where is Tinni?”

Hearing the commotion Tinni came outside. Seeing Julekha’s anger and the bewildered face of the young man, Amina gave a loud laugh.

She said, “Didi, don’t take his words into consideration. He is not a human being. He is a deer of the forest. If he has behaved impertinently, I will scold him.  Daliya, what did you do?”

The young man instantly replied, “Covered her eyes. I thought she was Tinni. But she is not Tinni.”

Suddenly Tinni expressed terrible anger and said, “Again! Uttering big things with your little mouth. When did you cover Tinni’s eyes? You seem to have too much courage.”

The young man said, “It doesn’t take too much courage to cover someone’s eyes; especially if someone has the previous habit. But I am telling you the truth, Tinni. Today I was a little scared.”

Saying that he secretly pointed out his finger at Julekha and kept on looking at Amina’s face and smiled.

Amina said, “No you are a brute. You are not worthy of standing in front of a Shahezadi, a princess. It is necessary to teach you manners. Look, you should salute like this.”

Saying that Amina bent her youthful slim body very pleasantly and paid a salute to Julekha. The young man tried very hard to follow her orders in an incomplete fashion.

She said, “Do this and take three steps backwards.” The young man moved backwards.

“Salute her once again.” He saluted once more.

In this manner by moving backwards, by saluting, Amina took the young man up to the door of the hut.

She said, “Enter the room.” The young man did so.

Amina came out and bolted the door from outside and said, “Do some household work. Light the fire.” Saying that, she came and sat next to her sister.

She said, “Didi, please don’t get annoyed. The people here are like this. I am sick and tired with them.”

But that didn’t get reflected in Amina’s face or her behaviour. Instead, in many instances she expressed a particular bias towards the men here.

Julekha expressed as much anger as possible and said, “Really, Amina. I am surprised at your behaviour. How does an outsider have so much courage to come and touch you!”

Amina added to her sister’s concern and said, “Look at this, sister. If any Badshah or Nawab’s son acted in this manner, I would have insulted him and thrown him out.”

Julekha couldn’t control her inward smile – she laughed out loud and said, “Tell me the truth Amina. You were saying you liked the world, was this because of that brute young man?”

Amina replied, “Well, let me tell you the truth, didi. He helps me a lot. He plucks flowers from the trees, hunts animals and brings them, and rushes forward whenever he is asked to do a certain job. I have often thought of reprimanding him, but that attempt is of no avail. If I tell him with deep anger in my eyes, ‘Daliya, I am very dissatisfied with you’ – he stares at my face and silently keeps on smiling as if in jest. Mocking in this country is probably of this kind; if you give them two blows, they feel very happy. I have even tried that. Just see, I have locked him in the room – he is enjoying himself there. If I open the door, I will see him happily blowing at the fire with his eyes and face all reddened up. Tell me, sister, what should I do with him. I cannot take it anymore.”

Julekha said, “I can give a try.”

Amina laughed and said politely, “I beg at your feet, sister. Don’t tell him anything.”

The way she said those words it seemed as if the young man was a pet deer belonging to Amina, till now his wild habits have not left him. She feared that he would disappear if he saw some other people around.

In the meantime, the fisherman came and asked, “Tinni, hasn’t Daliya come today?”

“Yes, he has come.”

“Where has he gone?”

“He was disturbing too much. So, I locked him in the room.”

The old man was a little worried and said, “If he disturbs you, tolerate it. Everyone is so restless at a young age. Don’t reprimand him too much. Yesterday Daliya gave me a tholu, i.e. a gold coin, and took three fish from me.”

Amina said, “Don’t worry old man. Today I will extract two tholus from him, and you won’t have to give a single fish.”

The old man was very happy to see the cleverness and worldly wisdom of his adopted daughter at such a young age, and he affectionately caressed her head and left.

Chapter Four

It was strange that gradually Julekha no longer objected to this coming and going of Daliya. She thought that there was nothing strange about it. That was because there was current on one side of the river and the shore on the other bank, the passions and public shame of a woman were also like that. But outside civil society, in this remote corner of Arakan, where were people here?

Here nature manifested itself with the change of seasons – trees were blooming and the blue river in front was at spate during the monsoon; during autumn it would be clear and again become faint during summer; there was no criticism in the loud voices of the birds, and the southern wind would occasionally carry in the faint sound of human voices but not their actual conversation.

Just as a deserted mansion gets gradually covered with deep vegetation, similarly staying there for some time, the secret attack of nature gradually weakens the societal rules made by men and everywhere it gets blended with the natural world. The union of a man and a woman who are equal to one another seems so beautiful that it doesn’t seem out of place for a woman to look at it. They are steeped in mystery, happiness, such deep and unending curiosity, that nothing else seems relevant. So, when the lonely shade of poverty in this barbarian hut gradually turned Julekha’s pride about her heritage and standard of dignity into something lax, she started really enjoying watching the union of Amina and Daliya under the flowering shade of the koilu tree.

Probably an unsatisfied desire would arise in her young heart too and make her restless in pleasure and pain. In the end, it so happened that if the young man would arrive late, like the anxious Amina, Julekha would also eagerly wait for him, and when they all came together, they would fondly observe the scene in a manner in which a painter looks at his just completed painting from a distance. On some days there would be verbal duels, she would play tricks to reprimand them, and lock Amina inside the hut to prevent the mating urge of the young man.

There is a similarity between the king and the forest. Both are independent, both are the sole rulers in their own territory, and neither of them had to follow any rules. Both possessed a natural magnanimity and simplicity. Those who followed the middle path spent their days and nights obeying the rules implemented by folklore, and they were the ones who remained somewhat independent minded. They were the ones who were servile to the great men, were masters of the lower classes, and remained rather undecided and out of place. The barbarian Daliya was the untamed son of Mother Nature; he had no shyness for the shahajadi, the princess, and both the shahajadis, the princesses, also didn’t recognise him as an equal. He was jovial, simple, humorous, fearless in all circumstances, and his unshrinkable character did not display any trace of poverty.

But even amid these games sometimes Julekha’s heart would start lamenting – she would think about the dire state of a princess’s life!

One morning, Juelkha held Daliya’s hand as soon as he arrived and said, “Daliya, can you show me the king here?”

“Yes, I can. But tell me why.”

“I have a dagger and I want to plunge it into his chest.”

Daliya was somewhat surprised in the beginning. After that, seeing Julekha’s revengeful face, his whole face was filled with a smile; as if he had never heard such a funny thing earlier in his life. If you call it irony, well it was befitting a princess. He kept on constantly visualising the scene when without any talk or message, half of a dagger would be placed in the breast of a living king and how surprised the king would suddenly be when this intimate behaviour would take place. This made him laugh silently at first and occasionally erupt in a loud laugh later.

Chapter Five

The very next day Rahamat Seikh wrote a secret letter to Julekha stating that the new Arakan king had found out two sisters living in the hut of a fisherman and has been greatly enamoured after secretly watching Amina. He was making all preparations to bring her to the palace immediately and marry her. Such a nice opportunity for revenge would not be available again.

Then Julekha held Amina’s hand firmly and said, “One can clearly see God’s wishes. Amina, now the time has come to obey your life’s duty, and now playing games does not look well anymore.”

Daliya was present there. Amina looked at his face and saw him smiling self-indulgently.

Amina was hurt seeing his smile and said, “Do you know Daliya, I am going to become a queen.”

Daliya said, “But that is not for a long time.”

With a hurt and surprised heart Amina thought to herself, “It is really true he was a deer in the forest. It is my craziness that i treat him like a human being.”

To make Daliya more conscious, Amina asked, “Shall I come back after killing the king?”

Daliya found the words logical and said, “Yes, it is difficult to return.”

Amina’s entire soul turned totally pale.

She looked towards Julekha and casting a deep sigh said, “Didi, I am prepared.”

After that she turned towards Daliya and pretending it to be an irony emerging from her suffering heart said, “As soon as I become the queen, first I will punish you for conspiring against the king. After that I will do what is required.”

Hearing that Daliya found it to be especially funny, as if a lot of fun was involved if the proposal was turned into reality.

Chapter Six

The fisherman’s hut seemed to break down with the cavalry, foot soldiers, elephants, music and lights. Two palanquins covered with gold were sent from the palace.

Amina took the dagger from Julekha’s hand. For a long time, she kept on looking at the intricate design carved out of ivory. After that she opened her clothes and tried to ascertain its sharpness upon her own breast. It touched the tip of her breast, and she put it back in its case and hid it within her clothes.

She earnestly desired to meet Daliya once before she commenced on her journey towards death, but he had disappeared since yesterday. Was the pain of arrogance hidden in his smiles?

Before climbing inside the palanquin Amina looked at the shelter of her childhood through tear-filled eyes – the tree in her house, the river next to it. She held the hands of the fisherman and with a suppressed quivering voice said, “Old man, I am leaving. Who will look after your household after Tinni goes away?”

The old man started crying like a small boy.

Amina said, “Old man, if Daliya comes here, please give him this ring. Tell him that Tinni has left it before leaving.”

Saying that she quickly climbed into the palanquin. The palanquin left with great pageantry. Amina’s hut, the riverside, the place beneath the koilu tree, remained dark, silent and without any people.

In due course, the two palanquins crossed the main gate and entered inside the palace. The two sisters left their palanquins and came out.

Amina had no smile on her face, nor tears in her eyes. Julekha’s face was pale. When their duty was far away, they had a lot of excitement among them – now with a shivering heart she embraced Amina with a lot of affection. In her mind she thought how she had plucked the new-found love from its stem and was leading this blossoming flower into sailing in a stream of blood.

But there was no time to think about it now. Surrounded by the attendants with thousands of lamps casting their sharp radiance along the way, the two sisters kept on moving spell bound. At last, they reached the door of the nuptial room and stopping there for a moment, Amina called Julekha, “Didi.”

Julekha embraced Amina deeply and kissed her.

Both entered the room slowly.

The king was dressed in his regal attire and was sitting on a decorated bed in the centre of the room. Amina stood near the door with trepidation.

Julekha advanced towards the king and saw him laughing silently with humour.

Julekha blurted out, ‘Daliya!’ Amina fainted.

Daliya rose and lifted her in his arms like an injured bird and carried her to the bed. Amina became aware and taking out the dagger from her chest looked at her sister’s face. Didi looked at Daliya’s face. Daliya kept quiet and looked at both of them with a smiling face. The dagger also peeped out a little from inside its case and seeing this mirth started laughing with a twinkle.

[1] Elder sister

[2] Prince

Somdatta Mandal is the Former Professor of English and Chairperson at the Department of English & Other Modern European Languages, Visva Bharati, Santiniketan. Somdatta has a keen interest in translation and travel writing.

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Excerpt

The Wanderers, Lost and Seeking

Title: Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India

Author: Anuradha Kumar

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

INTRODUCTION

The Wanderers, Lost and Seeking

The people you will meet here—the ‘first Americans in India’—were indeed all wanderers. They came, not attached to the intentions of a country, or even protected by it, unlike their peers, the Englishmen who made up the East India Company, and who came to trade backed by a royal charter granted by Elizabeth I in the year 1600.

The wanderers, the first of whom came at a time when the United States of America had not come into being—and their actions, thus, were different from what was ordained as state policy. The ‘wanderers’ were not ‘state actors’ in that sense, but they, men, and some women, came to India, on their own, driven by their own spirit of search. They were brought here by a sense of adventure, or by a wild dream—that of finding something that would make their fortune—gold or inspiration quite like gold—or by the need to do something good and enobling.

But they were in some ways quite lost after they came to India.

Stepping Into a Mosaic

To these wanderers who travelled to Asia between 1700-1950s, India came as a mosaic of many impressions, a spread of colour and many experiences. It offered a field of new sensations compelling them to revise received knowledge. They were intrigued, they saw its contradictions, its strangeness, and how things were very different from the homes they had left behind. In the process, life for these wanderers was made afresh.

They came as traders, adventurers, military men, fortune hunters, seekers of knowledge, storytellers, mystics, those seeking a new career, or who came simply to serve.

To them, India—that looked quite different from what it does now—was a land of adventure. A land to make a fortune in, or to find fame.

It was a mysterious, magical place, one that fuelled the imagination, a land that contained the ancient truths of the universe. Yet it was a place caught in the ‘medieval age’, a place they had been sent to, a matter ‘divinely ordained’—as the missionaries and mystics believed—to save souls.

A place one could write about, for it was as strange as fiction; it was a land that offered inspiration and where one could find new, yet old, wisdom. A place to serve and cure and heal. A land where a new world was possible, or an arena to set the world aright.

The wanderers were awed and overwhelmed, and then, scandalized and shocked in equal measure. Some of what they wrote mirrored each other’s experiences. For example, their surprise at the number of servants that were needed. The astonishing beauty of the temples. The majesty of the Taj Mahal. The artistry produced by craftsmen and artisans, an art passed down generations. The riot of unexpected colour—in the bazaars, in the turbans men wore, and in the forests with ‘exotic’ fauna and flora yet to be named and classified by the new science of taxonomy. Balmy days spent on houseboats—‘doongas’—in Kashmir. The spiciness of the food, the liberal doses of pepper in curries. And then, the sad state of its women, especially the child brides, and the young widows, who had to be ‘saved’. The timeless stubbornness of the caste system. The very unchanging nature of things.

Change in America

To look at this period—1700-1950—and talk of Americans is somewhat anomalous. For one thing, for the early part of this time, America was a British colony. By the mid-1770s things would change. The United States of America emerged as a new political entity only in 1776.

On the other hand, from the early 18th century onward, the once dominant Mughal Empire was in decline. Aurangzeb, the last powerful ruler of that dynasty, had worn himself and the empire out with his battles in the Deccan and the upsurge of discontent elsewhere that he failed to contain. Even before the Battle of Plassey in 1757 tilted the balance—beginning in the east—in the East India Company’s favour, India was a patchwork of regional rulers, each brimming over with ambition and jostling for power. To adventurers and fortune-seekers—like the ‘wanderers’—who had no master, who came lacking the conqueror’s zeal, but who had their own sense of adventure, such a state of affairs was ideal to make a fortune, to remake a life.

It is thus of little surprise that the first of the wanderers came as part of the East India Company, to associate themselves with it, as ordinary private traders. America at that time, showed the same precarity that characterized India. It was a continent divided up between competing European powers, and to the west of the continent, the different native American groups too had their territories.1

In the next decades, as America extended westward into new frontiers, set its own foundations as a young democracy, some of the wanderers, citizens of a new nation, also faced their own frontiers, as they sailed eastward onto an unknown land.

Most of these early travellers were those who lived on the northeastern seaboard of the American continent, that is, in the port towns of New England that had historic links with England since the early 17th century. These travellers who came all the way from the faraway West to the East were immigrants themselves, children of people who had moved a generation or two ago, a westward journey from Europe to the ‘New World’. The wanderers to India—the South Asian subcontinent—were thus children of wanderers themselves.

(Extracted from Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India by Anuradha Kumar. Published by Speaking Tiger Books, 2025)

THE BOOK

In 1833, Frederic Tudor, an American businessman, made history when he shipped 180 pounds of ice harvested from Walden Pond in Boston, to Calcutta—this luxury item being much in demand amongst the elites of British India. Tudor was deservedly christened the ‘Ice King’, and soon built a flourishing trade exporting American ice to India.

Others were drawn to the country by less materialistic goals. Like the ‘medical missionaries’ who were deeply concerned with the ‘women’s condition’ in India. Ida Scudder’s efforts in the 1900s resulted in the setting up of the Christian Medical College in Vellore, which continues to save lives till this day; in 1873, ‘Doctor Miss Sahiba’ Clara Swain set up the first hospital for women and children in Asia, in Bareilly, on land donated by the Nawab of Rampur.

There were also those who came to stay. Twenty-two-year-old Samuel Evans Stokes came to Kotgarh in the Himalayan foothills in 1904, embraced Hinduism and became Satyanand Stokes. He revolutionized apple cultivation in the area, now in Himachal Pradesh, by introducing the ‘Red Delicious’ apples of Missouri; today, his descendants still live and work in the region. Likewise, the Alter family. Martha and David Emmet Alter arrived in Mussoorie in 1917, to spend the summer studying at the Landour Language School; in 1941, Emmet became principal of Woodstock School, just around the hillside. Twenty-five years later, his son Robert occupied the same position. Robert’s son Stephen continues to live in Mussoorie, pursuing a successful writing career; his cousin Tom Alter was a much-loved actor in Indian films until he passed away in 2017.

These are just some of the ‘first Americans in India’ who came here, beginning in the 1700s, with different motives and dreams—as adventurers, traders, reformers, writers and artists. All of them, without exception, were fascinated, astonished, moved and, in the end, profoundly changed by their ‘Indian experience’.

Anuradha Kumar’s skilful and well-researched account of these early visitors makes this an important and engrossing book that informs, surprises and amuses in equal measure.

THE AUTHOR

Anuradha Kumar lived in Mumbai for over a decade, where she worked for the Economic and Political Weekly. She now lives in New Jersey in the US, and writes often for Scroll, The India Forum, The Missouri Review, Catamaran Literary Reader, The Common and Maine Literary Review. Two of her essays received ‘notable’ mention in Best American Essays editions of 2023 and 2024.

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Review

The History Teacher of Lahore by Tahira Naqvi

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: The History Teacher of Lahore: A Novel

Author: Tahira Naqvi

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Tahira Naqvi, the Pakistani American writer, has extensively translated the works of Saadat Hasan Manto, Khadija Mastur, Hajra Masroor, and the majority of works by Ismat Chughtai from Urdu into English. As a teacher/professor of Urdu language and literature at New York University, she has regaled us with several short stories that speak of cross-cultural encounters of immigrant Pakistanis in America, especially about how women experience acculturation in the New World. The History Teacher of Lahore is her first novel where she recollects the sights, sounds, and ambience of growing up in Lahore in intimate details. The setting of this novel is the nineteen eighties, which was particularly a time of unrest in Lahore. In this debut political novel, Naqvi eloquently portrays the struggle between a besieged democracy and the rise of Islamic fundamentalism on the one hand, and the thriving cultural traditions of Urdu poetry on the other.

The story begins with the young protagonist Arif Ali who moves from his hometown of Sialkot to Lahore with a dream of being a history teacher and a poet. A ‘tall, slight man in his late twenties,’ we find him relaxing on a bench in Jinnah Park — a place that has become haven for him to spend his time reading, far away from the ferocity of traffic and street crowds. In the days that followed, Arif realised that in the Government Model School for Boys where he taught, he was forced to teach the boys another kind of history for his sake as much as theirs. But that required deep thought, time, and enthusiasm. He befriended Salman Shah, another teacher in his school, and his rapport with him grew stronger by the day. But once again, Arif found the atmosphere in the school was becoming increasingly confining. He would often engage in animated chatter with the high school Islamiyat teacher Samiullah Sheikh, whom he found disagreeable. Not only dressed in Shariyah compliant clothes, but this man was also waiting for his opportunity to teach at a madrassah[1]. This was the period when bans were being imposed on popular music of the kind Nazia Hasan and her brother sang for the younger generation, and even though ‘Disco Deewane’ and ‘Dreamer Deewane’ were sung loud, fear had become an elixir for rebellion. Arif was forced to resign from the school and along with his friend Salman. he ultimately got another position as a history teacher in another private school, Lahore Grammar Institute, where there was more freedom to teach than in the earlier one. The free socializing among the sexes here was new and noteworthy for Arif.

As Arif’s impotent rage towards the increasing religious intolerance grew, he joined his friend’s uncle Kamal and his partner Nadira to secretly help them rescue underprivileged children in clandestine ways. In the meantime, his poetic creations found great impetus when he found a secret admirer in Roohi, Salman’s sister, and started sending her his poems regularly. Though they never met, Roohi would write letters to him every week, and gradually, the more letters Arif received from her, the more his feelings for her grew. The secrecy of their epistolary courtship continued for quite some time till things were disclosed and after a lot of twists and turns in the story, they were finally engaged to get married.

In the meantime, his friend Salman got engaged to a colleague Zehra Raza, and despite the Shia-Sunni clashes that prevailed in society all around, they were unaffected by such ideology. The three of them developed a close camaraderie among themselves, but soon after, the General’s death brought in a lot of political turmoil in the city. The mentality of the public also changed, people went en-masse to watch public flogging, and trouble loomed ahead when Sunni Shia, Ahmadi non-Ahmadi, Punjabi Urdu-speaking, Protestant-Catholic, divisions and sub-divisions, inter-faith, inter-class and inter-religion issues became more and more marked in all spheres of society. The warp and weft of faith produced such tangled intricacies as could only be imagined in nightmares.

As the nation was caught in the vortex of religious extremism, Arif’s position also underwent a great change in the school when he wanted to teach ‘true’ history to his students. He was caught in a dilemma when he found he was forced to teach false historical information in the doctored textbook that Aurangzeb with his hatred of other religions was adored whereas Akbar with more religious tolerance was totally sidelined. He tried to rectify the errors by providing supplementary notes to his students, but that landed him in more trouble. Apart from differences of opinion with the other teachers in school, Arif’s was gripped with a kind of fear and frustration when some unidentified goons threatened him to stay away from issues that did not concern him. Things got worse when a Christian student in his class was falsely accused of blasphemy and Arif decided to save him from being arrested. He embarked on a dangerous mission to resolve this Christian-Muslim conflict that landed him in the middle of sectarian clashes and without giving out all the details, one just mentions that the novel ends at a tragic moment.

In the acknowledgement section Naqvi states that she is grateful to her father for many things but especially for his Urdu poetry which she has used freely in translation. These poems, ghazals and nazms, help to explain the different moods of the protagonist and his mental situation very clearly. One interesting aspect of the novel is that each of the twenty-two chapters is prefaced by a small quote that in a way summarizes the mood and content of that chapter. Most of these quotes are from Jean-Paul Sartre, while others are from Spinoza, Ghalib, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, H.W. Longfellow, Jacques Derrida, Tertullian, Thomas Mann, and four entries particularly from The Lahore Observer dated 15 September 1990, December 1990, January 1997, and January 1998 respectively. These wide-ranging quotes not only increase the story-telling impact, but also endorse the erudition of the novelist herself.

To conclude we can say that Bapsi Sidhwa’s The Ice-Candy Man gave us the sights, sounds and details of Lahore during the Partition in 1947, and the same city becomes wonderfully alive again through the pen of another woman writer from Pakistan who had spent her growing years there, and who gives us details about it from the 1980’s onwards when  the political situation of the country was once again very murky. The novel wonderfully portrays the radical Islamisation of the country that included murder, mayhem, and public flogging and more that was visible in Lahore, as this process resulted in terrible uncertainty in the lives of the city’s residents from all walks of life. Strongly recommended for all readers, we eagerly wait for more novels by Tahira Naqvi in the future. The insider-outsider’s point of view offered by her is remarkable and this debut novel can be counted as a collector’s item.

[1] Muslim religious school

Somdatta Mandal, critic and translator, is a former Professor of English from Visva-Bharati University, Santiniketan, India.

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Review

Turmeric Nation: A Passage Through India’s Tastes

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Turmeric Nation: A Passage Through India’s Tastes

Author: Shylashri Shankar

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Shyalashri Shankar is an academic whose third non-fiction, Turmeric Nation: A Passage through India’s Taste, won a woman author’s award in India called the AutHer Award (2021). This book is a detailed and rich journey through India’s multiple cuisines and culinary cultures divulging interesting facts like Aurangzeb was a vegetarian.

In the literature of food writing, we have both advocates of diversity, food fusionists as well as food fashionistas. Shankar’s approach is fairly eclectic and informed, drawing on the anthropology and sociology of both food and the cultures they originate from. Professing to write a “food biography” of India, she also realises that such a task is both “challenging and daunting”, given the magnitude and diversity of the task involved. She describes Indian cuisine as layered and pluralistic, where there is no one cuisine which can be described as ‘Indian’. Her book proceeds to map these regional diversities not only in food and food cultures, but also cooking styles.

Giving veritable gastronomic glimpses into the fascinating world of the great Indian kitchen, Shankar explores food histories of ancient India dating back to Harappans, while keeping a keen eye for networks of customs, habits and styles of living. From time to time, the cuisine has absorbed new methods of food processing and cooking and been hospitable to new and foreign influences. At the same time, it has at times exerted injustices since the sociology of food is shown to be intricately linked to the that of the caste as shown in the section on Dalit foods. Shankar rightly refuses to mythify or romanticise food, instead she refers to social anthropologist James Laidlaw’s notion that nowhere in the world are food transactions socially or morally neutral, and that the politics of and around food are probably the sharpest in South Asia.

She draws from the theories of ethnologist Claude Levi-Strauss, who, she argues, analysed different cooking techniques to put forward an influential structuralist idea of the raw and the cooked. Food, according to this theory, is a medium between nature and culture. The activity of cooking performs a process of civilising nature.

Shankar asks more fundamental questions: Did our ancestors determine the way we eat? What is the DNA of food preferences? Which is a better diet — vegetarian, non-vegetarian or paleo (what Is paleo)? Does food have a religion? What food creates ardour and desire? What are the transgressions and taboos on certain kinds of foods? What is the purpose and function of certain rituals around food — for instance, the logic of feasting and fasting? As Shankar takes us on this fascinating journey of culinary exploration, we see the emergence of a rich map of cultural anthropology.

Turmeric Nation is an ambitious and insightful project which answers these questions, and then quite a few more. Through a series of fascinating essays—delving into geography, history, myth, sociology, film, literature and personal experience—Shylashri Shankar traces the myriad patterns that have formed Indian food cultures, taste preferences and cooking traditions. From Dalit ‘haldiya dal’ to the last meal of the Buddha; from aphrodisiacs listed in the Kamasutra to sacred foods offered to gods and prophets; from the use of food as a means of state control in contemporary India to the role of lemonade in stoking rebellion in 19th-century Bengal; from the connection between death and feasting and between fasting and pleasure, this book offers a layered and revealing portrait of India, as a society and a nation, through food. It takes us on a fascinating culinary journey through the length and breadth of the subcontinent.

The proof of the pudding, many might feel, is in the eating. Why such a learned dissertation on food, gastronomy and culinary traditions? Is it ultimately to map unity, diversity, and work towards an idea of syncretism? Either ways, the book is worth keeping on our shelves and stocking in libraries, swelling the corpus on food studies which is now studied as an important part of Cultural Studies in many universities. The book ultimately gives us much food for thought as it theorises the practices of cooking and eating across Indian cultures.

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  Dr Meenakshi Malhotra is Associate Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited two books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.       

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