Arjun is a cobbler’s son. But he is not interested in pursuing the family business. He wants to make idols for worship during Puja time. But no one is going to buy an idol made by a cobbler’s son. So what happens to Arjun and the people who are a part of his life forms the rest of the story.
Arjun’s story and the impact of casteism on poor people is the main theme of the book. But there is also a parallel story in the book. It is about how young people went to war against the government in the ’60s and ’70s and how they were arrested and tortured and killed by the government and how this impacted their families.
Though events from both these parallel stories are interleaved through the book, they don’t intersect each other. Towards the end the two plots brush each other, but otherwise they are really two independent stories.
I loved both these stories but I found it strange that they didn’t come together and merge with each other. It looked to me like two novellas were merged to create this novel.
One of the things that I loved about the book was the way it describes how Puja idols are made. It was beautiful art, but it also looked like a very complicated process, and the life of the artisans who made it seems to be very hard.
The part of the book which was about parents losing their children to police violence in custody was very heartbreaking to read. I can’t imagine what parents went through during that time. It was a difficult period in contemporary Indian history.
I enjoyed reading ‘The Awakening‘. Anita Agnihotri has written a novel about a newly appointed civil servant and her challenges at work, which is based on her own experiences. I want to read that. She has also written a novel about the river Mahanadi, which is quite famous. I want to read that too.
Sharing some of my favourite parts from the book.
“There was a time when lights from the windowpanes dazzled the boats midstream. At that time the town had honour and dignity. The grandeur of the wealthy was considered a reflection of the town’s well-being and health. The poor of course lived no differently than they do today. If a history of their survival were to be written it would be the same down the ages – they fought for survival either standing tall or crawling on all fours.”
“A big steamer would lead the way followed by four boats filled with straw. During the day they sailed down the river, dropped anchor at the onset of night. In this way with several halts, the two day journey was completed in four days. Gaur had been plying his boat for more than 15 years now. He carried an earthen barrel filled with drinking water and a porcelain jar containing lime pickle, crimson coloured rice and a fish curry. In the Bada area the paddy had long stalks so the straw from here was longer and there was great demand for it since it was used for all sorts of purposes. He’d been just 25 when he first sailed on the river, and his heart trembled. He could barely look at his wife when he took leave of her. The river pirates, the danger of fever and of course the great Master who with thunderbolts of yellow and black could take a life at will, without warning – all this was in his heart. And then there were the crocodiles and tortoises whose home was the river. Despite all this Gaur had gone. The river held a magnetic attraction for him. Every year at this time his blood was excited by the call of the river, the boundaries of home, fields all became confining. Gaur would become irritable, his appetite would diminish and sleep would evade him. Then his wife Kajli would scold him with a wry face, “Go on. Go now, leave for the outdoors. I can see home cooked food is not suiting you any more. There’s nothing for me to understand. So don’t make any excuses. A strange sickness is what you have, honestly!” On a cloudy afternoon, or on an evening when the sun had set, Kajli’s face would torment him to death as it floated up into the sky looming above the river.”
“Actually Swapnabha had never seen his mother at all. The name Swapnabha, meant that he was the dream that his mother had barely fulfilled on earth, and disappeared into thin air thereafter.”
“Possibly from the age of fourteen whenever anger and grief overwhelmed him, Arjun, with the scalpel in his hands and the artistry of his fingers, transformed his anger into pictures on clay. Next to the peaceful Lakshmi idol, would be created a storm-tossed owl its eye-brows crinkled up in a frown. Or the lion’s mane would embody the velocity of a tempest. Since the time Arjun could transform and mould beautiful shapes, he had never had to come home to the drudgery of cooking his own meals.”
“They carried on much like a tree whose heart had been emptied when the birds flew away but had still spread its branches in all directions. Even today, people came to sit in the shade of the tree and small plants dreamed of living and growing bigger by entwining themselves in the tree’s branches.”
“Dolls made out of unbaked clay got washed away during the monsoons. Of course they were more durable if they were fired. Then they lasted for a long time. But in what condition they survived, what they endured, only the doll could tell. Too much heat was also dangerous. If a vertical crack appeared anywhere, then one day it would shatter into smithereens. There were amazing similarities between man and clay idols. Man was born on this earth, and with its clay he created the image of a God, who could neither be touched nor held. However the image was not actually a God, it was more human really. Urmi was one such burnt-clay goddess-doll. Even before she could learn about life and start a family she had fallen into the fire…Yet Urmi, seemed to have walked on fire with ease. However, that a crack was gradually forming within her, thanks to her proximity and repeated encounters with fire, was something no one had realized. Much later, one day, Urmi suddenly cracked into pieces. In a household, people who suppressed their own traumatic feelings had a tough time. They looked fine, keeping calm in the face of other people’s troubles. However, if the pain in their hearts rose up in revolt, then what a sight that would be! No one would accept it. Every one would be irritated. They would say, what on earth is this! We never expected such an exhibition from her. If someone who drank regularly came home sober one day people would be pleased. But if somebody who never touched liquor was to imbibe a peg or two one day people would rise up in consternation. Urmi discovered that her situation was somewhat similar. The family members were so used to her never expressing herself verbally, that Urmi’s voice now sounded strange to their ears.”
Have you read ‘The Awakening’? What do you think about it?
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