Guardians of New Fortunes

While parzania is in the news, this is a timely novel, digging deep into the role played by the so-called “secular” and unabashedly non-secular parties in instigating communal riots.

While parzania is in the news, this is a timely novel, digging deep into the role played by the so-called “secular” and unabashedly non-secular parties in instigating communal riots. The Peacock Throne starts with the 1984 riots and the mayhem created by rioters and looters who jump onto the murderous “secular party” bandwagon, trapping and killing innocent Sikhs. The images created are similar to that in Parzania: an unblinking police force, and an unmoved central administration allowing the breakdown of law and order. Therefore, the novel which covers the next 14 turbulent years of modern India appears more balanced than Parzania as it creates a world in which, very much like reality, impoverished and deprived sections of society are bought and sold to keep politicians (of all colours and religions) in power.

The Peacock Throne focuses on factors which have further divided and subdivided India. After the 1984 riots, it takes us through Mandal, the Babri Masjid destruction and, finally, the ascendancy of a saffron-hued party at the Centre. All the events are essentially narrated through the impact they have on the lives of ordinary people, trying to grab security in a world of rapidly changing caste and communal relations.

Setting it in the bazaars of Chandni Chowk, Sujit Saraf, who is also a playwright, has peopled the book with characters who change over time and adapt or invent ideology according to circumstances. There are rich, perfumed seths, wily politicians both Hindu and Muslim, resurgent post-1984 Sardars, enterprising prostitutes from India and Nepal, social workers with large red bindis and handloom saris, illegal Bangladeshi immigrants foraging for an identity and even a former Miss India who joins the HIV/AIDS forum, primarily for self publicity. Saraf has an uncanny eye for detail as he follows the destiny of his characters in Chandni Chowk, and through conversation and description reveals the hypocrisy behind politics and “cultural promotion”.

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It is not a book for the faint-hearted as the language itself is the language of the streets, and it is a reflection of our times that even politicians such as Indira Gandhi are referred to in extremely colourful terms. Could this be a happy sign that art is finally being liberated from the powers that be?

The Peacock Throne has some unforgettable characters. One of them is Kartar Singh, the Sikh who lives through the 1984 riots and quickly re-establishes his business. However, with laudable Punjabi acumen, he shifts blithely from the illegal hawala trade to illegal cricket betting. He is the ultimate survivor. Another such character is Nepali whore Gita, who transforms herself from a voluptuous, abused victim into a strident activist, fighting for the rights of other exploited prostitutes. But when the demands of politics become overwhelming, she is able to bury her new-found idealism and use her army of burkha-clad prostitutes to cast bogus votes so that her candidate wins.

But the one truly memorable character is that of the tragic but ebullient, one-armed Gauhar — a Bangladeshi refugee who arrives at the doorstep of Chandni Chowk and uses all his ability and wit to resurrect a life for himself over and over again. He too changes many avatars: from a sodomised orphan to a hawker of saris to a political pawn. It is in the last avatar that we see him completely drenched in the slime of politics — he is even able to pass himself off as a Hindu when he is used to destroy the Babri Masjid. His short life is blown into smithereens when he becomes a road block to political ambition.

The main protagonist, however, remains Gopal Pandey — the chaiwallah who is caught up in each turbulent event that strikes at the heart of the precarious communal and caste relations in Chandni Chowk, which is like a microcosm of India. Pandey too is manipulated by events and people, till he is built up by a fascinated journalist into a political leader, even though he has little understanding of politics.

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The Peacock Throne, in this case, of course, refers to the throne of political power in modern India, and this book should not be confused with the historical tome of the same name. There have been very few novels about contemporary politics so far which have been written with the same depth and verve that Saraf has imbued his book with. It soaks in the smells and tastes of Chandni Chowk — and the vast sweep of events and characters is ever more interesting as the author has been able to inject a wry humour into his writing.

The only slightly disconcerting elements are the spellings of words — Ludhiana is spelt as Ludhiyana, Paranthewali Gali is called Paratha Gali — but these are small errors given the enjoyable, intricately woven expanse of a novel which comments on modern India and, much to our relief, does not resort to magical realism whilst doing so.