A River Sutra

“I patted the boulder, inviting him to sit by me. ‘We Hindus revere the spiritual teachings contained in our Upanishads. Do you know what the word upanishad means? It means to sit beside and listen. Here I am, sitting, eager to listen. As a monk, can you deny me enlightenment?’ He flung his head back, blowing the thin muslin of his mask outward with the force of his uninhibited laughter. ‘You Hindus. Always disguising your greed with your many-headed gods and your many-headed arguments.’”

Ashok’s response, that Hindus have many-headed gods and arguments refers to the narrator’s combination of the definition of Upanishad and the monk’s obligation to spread the message of enlightenment, which mixes rhetoric and religion. Critically, the definition of Upanishad, here, sets up the novel as a whole by explaining the importance of storytelling as a means to absorb and understand experiences that lead to enlightenment. Though Ashok is unlikely to bestow enlightenment in a single story, his story is another piece of the human mystery that the narrator is working to unravel.

“What is the purpose of this display? you ask. Imitation, is my answer. My father is duplicating the procession with which Mahavira, the great teacher of the Jain faith, renounced the world. Unlike your busy pantheon of Hindu gods, we Jains follow in the footsteps of a man. A great prince it is true, but still only a man who found all his wealth, power, beauty gave him no more than transitory pleasure and who yearned for a pleasure that could be sustained. Wrapped in the luxuries of a great court by day, a beautiful young wife by night, Mahavira longed for the freedom to find this state of bliss, if it existed.”

This passage contains two critical pieces of information: One is that the traditions of both culture and religion are inherently imitative, and the second is that the goals of such traditions are to provide a path to happiness, enlightenment, or a relief from suffering. Though Ashok mocks Hinduism, both Hinduism and Jainism seek contentment and enlightenment. Mahavira’s story, like Ashok’s, is intended to show that physical wealth and pleasure are not the path to finding this contentedness, which requires imitation of prior experiences that have led to the desired conclusion. Ashok is essentially imitating the life of Mahavira, and his story and its oral delivery repeats the oral traditions of Hinduism.

“‘My life is neither blameless nor unique. I have learned this from Mahavira’s teaching.’ ‘Ah, of course, the Great Teacher. What could he possibly know about mere mortals?’ ‘That they long to be free. Many men die before they learn the desire for freedom lies deep within them, like a dammed river waiting to be released. But once a man has had that momentary glimpse of freedom, he needs to be instructed further.’”

Freedom, in the sense that the monk uses it, is synonymous with enlightenment or contentedness, and Ashok’s indignation at the mention of Mahavira reflects his doubt in the relevance of the lived experiences of others in living one’s own life. The monk’s final line, that the man “needs to be instructed further,” has two meanings, with one being that the man will crave further instruction, and the second is that the man will need further instruction to succeed. In other words, after glimpsing enlightenment, a person feels the need to learn more and also must work to learn more in order to achieve the state of true “freedom.”

“‘What was it? The prayer of the Hindu ascetic who asks for eyes in the soles of his feet so he can keep his own eyes on the face of God?’ Tariq Mia puckers his lips in disappointment. ‘He followed in the footsteps of a man, not a god. What good would eyes in the soles of his feet be?’ I plead with Tariq Mia not to play with me and tell me what the Jain monk loved. ‘The human heart, little brother. Its secrets.’ ‘What secrets?’ ‘The human heart has only one secret. The capacity to love.’ Seeing my perplexed expression, Tariq Mia sighs. ‘Oh, little brother, are you so unfortunate? Have you never been scalded by love?’”

The narrator’s instinct is to jump to a more outlandish example of religious desire, rather than the more abstract feeling of love. This is a reflection of religion as a potentially misleading lens through which to view stories of personal experience. Tariq Mia’s response prepares the way for a novel that will deal more with the actual lives of people than with abstractions of religion. The idea that the capacity for love was the meaning of Ashok’s story shows how the narrator focused on Ashok’s religious meditations, rather than on the relationship between Ashok and his father, which figured heavily in Ashok’s retelling of his renouncement ceremony. The narrator is looking for enlightenment superficially, while Tariq Mia is guiding him to it through the reality of lived experience.

“After giving music lessons all day Master Mohan was left to cook a meager meal for himself, which he took up to the small roof terrace of the house to escape his household’s contempt. But he could not escape the blaring film music from the radio, or the loud noise of the gramophone echoing up the narrow stone stairwell leading to the terrace. It set him coughing, sometimes so loudly that his wife, or his daughter and son, would run up the stairs yelling at him to be quiet. Though he tried Master Mohan could not stop coughing. It was a nervous reaction to his family’s ability to silence the music he heard in his own head.”

This passage combines the spiritual and physical effects of Mohan’s imbalanced life. His cough is a physical manifestation of a spiritual issue, which is the drowning out of the music in his mind. Mohan’s connection to music is beyond a mere interest, and his life is driven only by the pursuit of spreading music as a teacher. The music in his head is the solace he maintains against the abuse he suffers from his wife and children, and their film music and gramophone represent their disrespect. Mohan’s story frames him as a man in need of spiritual assistance, which he receives, if temporarily, from Imrat.

“Master Mohan explained the significance of the raga, initiating Imrat into the mystery of the world’s rebirth, when light disperses darkness and Vishnu rises from his slumbers to redream the universe. Again Imrat sang the scale, but there was a new resonance in his voice. He could not see the faint blur of the picket fences ringing the race course in the distance, or the summit of Ochterlony’s Needle breaking through the smoke from the illegal fires built by the street hawkers around the base of the obelisk. He could not even see the guard looking through his sentry box, his hand half raised to expel them from the gardens, frozen in that gesture by the boy’s voice. He only saw the power of the morning raga and, dreaming visions of light, he pushed his voice toward them, believing sight was only a half tone away.”

Though Imrat is Muslim, and his sister asked Mohan to maintain Imrat’s connection to Islam, the morning raga is included as a way to show how multiple religions can utilize the same kinds of resources in encouraging and sustaining devotion. It also shows a common goal between differing beliefs. The raga, though distinct from the Qawwali music Imrat sings, still has the spiritual and inspirational quality that both Mohan and Imrat pursue in music, allowing them to share songs and styles across religions without conflict. In this way, this quote highlights The Diversity of Indian Religious and Cultural Traditions.

“‘Please, little Master Imrat, take pity on a man who worships music.’ ‘The sahib’s responsibilities prevented him from following his own calling as a singer.’ ‘He could have been a great singer like you, Master Imrat, if he had not been forced to take care of his family business.’ Master Mohan could see the smirking expressions on the faces of the two men as they tried to ingratiate themselves with Imrat. ‘To hear you sing will relieve the pain of his own heart, denied what he has most loved in this life.’ ‘If you sing well he will give you leaves from Tansen’s tamarind tree to make your voice as immortal as Tansen’s.’”

Storytelling is a valuable form of communication in the novel, but it also includes passages like this one to show that not all stories are benevolent. The two men are crafty, and their story regarding their boss, or sahib, is intended to mislead and trick Imrat and Mohan into coming to their boss’ home. The story is compelling, but these men are using language to betray Imrat’s innocence. As much as a story might be persuasive, this passage urges caution and diligence in analyzing the stories within and without the novel.

“At noon the sun is so strong its harsh light gives the river the appearance of beaten metal, but at this hour the morning light catches every nuance of the water’s movement. Below me the wind was tossing the rippling waves up so that they sparkled in the light, before disappearing into the shadows below. I watched the water sparkling and disappearing, sparkling and disappearing, like the anklets encircling a woman’s foot, and thought of the Ascetic watching the dancing woman formed by the rivulets from his own penance.”

The light on the Narmada emulates the emotional state of the narrator, mirroring the ephemeral nature of happiness and sadness. Though the narrator left Tariq Mia’s mosque depressed about Mohan’s story, he was cheered up and aroused by the Vano women he encountered; he then settles into a reflective mood as he looks at the river. Like his emotions, the light on the water sparkles briefly, then fades to darkness, but the waves rise into the light again. Though the river represents more than just the emotions of people, the physical projections of the Narmada often inform the events and perspectives around it. The narrator refers to the mythical origins of the Narmada as a river birthed from Shiva’s perspiration, which highlights The Spiritual Significance of the Narmada River.

“He struggled to control himself. When he was able to speak he answered, ‘They say there is a shrine to a goddess in these jungles. A tribal goddess, who cures the madness of those who are possessed. Can you help me find it?’ His request was so simple I almost started laughing again from sheer relief. The bitterness in his eyes stopped me and I said soberly, ‘Our bungalow guards worship at that shrine. They can take you there any time you wish.’”

A critical component of analyzing and comparing beliefs arises in the discussion between Nitin Bose and the narrator, as the narrator initially finds Nitin Bose’s request ridiculous. However, though the belief in a goddess who cures possession seems ludicrous to the narrator, Nitin Bose feels hopeless and needs to believe the story to believe that he can be cured at all. With many religions and cultures mixing and occasionally clashing in the novel, the novel points out that what is ridiculous to one person might be entirely vital to another.

“Outside our office Calcutta crumbled under the weight of neglect, exploitation, poisonous humidity, traffic jams, power failures, and roads plowed up like rice fields to make an underground railway, while a whole generation stoically waited for the city to return to what it once had been as more trainloads of refugees arrived to sleep on railway platforms already overcrowded with refugees from the partition of India fifty years earlier, the war in Bangladesh twenty years earlier, the devastations of nature that daily drew the desperate to a great metropolis itself desperately surviving as if a war had just ended.”

This passage describes the conditions in Calcutta that contrast with Nitin Bose’s otherwise opulent lifestyle. The factors impacting Calcutta range from politics and war to natural disasters, culminating in an overpopulated city filled with people trying to survive. This background to a story about finding inner peace and resolving issues of desire and loneliness makes Nitin Bose’s struggle seem insignificant, but it is intended to highlight the variety of different personal struggles people experience. As with religion and tradition, India has a diverse array of personal and interpersonal problems with unique and complex solutions.

“But his words left a mark on my mind as if he had dropped a bottle of ink across a favorite book. Like some small night animal sexual restlessness began to gnaw at the edges of my content. After dinner I sat on the veranda, unable to relax in the wicker armchair as insects and moths flung themselves ceaselessly against the glass domes covering the lightbulbs. The darkness that had always seemed so serene now mirrored my restless mind. For the first time I was lonely, and when I entered my bedroom I felt the massive bed sneering at my unused manhood.”

The simile of spreading ink on a page reflects how Ashok’s visit disrupts the life that Nitin had constructed for himself on the tea estate. It was a peaceful life, like a pristine book, and Nitin thinks of his sexual abstinence as purity. In truth, Nitin is neither the man he was in Calcutta nor the man he pretends to be for two years on the estate, and his affair with Rima highlights the conflicts between these two personas. The insects and moths represent people and the way that people will fling themselves into distractions to avoid reflection, like Nitin does.

“Mr. Chagla looked at me with the anxiety of a parent watching a willful child. ‘But, sir, without desire there is no life. Everything will stand still. Become emptiness. In fact sir, be dead.’ I stared at him in astonishment, and Mr. Chagla’s smooth face wrinkled with the effort of making me comprehend. ‘It is not a woman who has taken possession of Mr. Bose’s soul, sir. How can such a thing can ever happen?’ ‘Then what is all this goddess business?’ ‘Sir. Really, sir.’ Mr. Chagla sighed in frustration. ‘The goddess is just the principle of life. She is every illusion that is inspiring love. That is why she is greater than all the gods combined. Call her what you will, but she is what a mother is feeling for a child. A man for a woman. A starving man for food. Human beings for God. And Mr. Bose did not show her respect so he is being punished.”

The narrator consistently struggles to reconcile the abstractions of religious beliefs, and Mr. Chagla, though an unlikely source of understanding, frames the use of religious abstractions for him here. The goddess that the Vano tribe reveres in their temple is not presumed to be a physical entity; rather, she is an expression of human emotion and desire. In reading the stories presented in the novel, instances of magic, religion, and spirituality need to be reconciled with their allegorical or analogical meaning as representations of human experience and events. Nitin Bose, then, is suffering emotionally because of the conflict he experienced between desire and social conditioning, which Mr. Chagla explains as a punishment from the goddess, or the result of Nitin Bose’s rejection of his own desire.

“‘My dear fellow. This is where the war for the possession of India was fought—pitting Aryan reason against the primal beliefs of the tribals. Though they weren’t tribals at all, really. As Nitin Bose noted in his diary, they had a civilization long before the Aryans arrived, with great cities and so forth. Called themselves Nagas and worshipped the Naga, the snake. In my opinion the Sanskrit world for city, nagara, comes from them.’ He stretched out his long legs and leaned back into the cushions of the cane armchair, narrowing his eyes against the afternoon sun slanting across the river. ‘Did you know “narmada” means “whore” in Sanskrit?’ I was offended. ‘That’s impossible. The Narmada is the holiest river in India.’”

The conflict between the pre-Aryan and Aryan societies explains much of the stories shared thus far in the novel, as the modern world appears to clash with the ancient. However, the novel operates under a multitude of beliefs and meanings, and the narrator’s offense at the term “whore” explains this issue. When Dr. Mitra explains the meaning of “narmada,” it can be seen either as an insult, as the narrator takes it, in which the river is considered promiscuous or unclean, but it can also be seen as a representation of the river’s ability to meet the spiritual needs and traditions of many peoples and cultures.

“Dr. Mitra’s curiosity won over his triumph at proving me wrong. ‘What do the bandits do when they find it?’ ‘Honeybees are said to circle the Immortal’s head, sahib. The bandits believe if they are stung by one of the honeybees, they cannot be killed in a police shootout.’ Dr. Mitra stretched full length in his chair, grinning with pleasure at having learned yet another tale to add to the tales that seem to multiply around this astonishing river.”

Though the principle of using religion and spirituality as an abstraction of reality is still dominant, the guard’s recounting of how bandits try to attain temporary immortality through beestings shows that many people do adhere to the magic of extraordinary beliefs. Dr. Mitra laughs because he knows that the stories surrounding the Narmada River range from the beautiful and insightful to the absurd and even dangerous.

“Oh, friends, how Shahbag has changed in my lifetime. Where there used to be gardens now we have factories. Our gracious old buildings have been torn down to be replaced by concrete boxes named after politicians. The woods that once ringed the city have been cut down for the shanty-towns of labor colonies. Even the boulevards around our haveli have been overrun so that our view is now only of a bazaar, and we must keep the windows to the west closed because of the smell from the open gutter. The city is owned by men who believe every human being has a price, and a full purse is power. Trained as scholars, artists, musicians, dancers, we are only women to them, our true function to heave on a mattress and be recompensed by some tawdry necklace flashing its vulgarity on a crushed pillow.”

This passage reflects the physical and social changes that the old woman sees in Shahbag, which can be taken as a microcosm of India as a whole. The town is now industrial, having lost its former, more rural beauty. This modernization carries it away from the old traditions of courtesy and respect. Instead, the modern men who visit women from the haveli use them only for their bodies, ignoring the wisdom and knowledge they were formerly valued for.

“‘How do you know your kidnappers are not already on your trail?’ ‘Perhaps you would believe me if I tell you why I was kidnapped.’ She folded her hands on the desk. I could not help noticing the elegance of her slim fingers. Then I saw her nails were bitten down to the quick, and that evidence of nerves moved me in a way her self-control had not. As if reading my response, she suddenly seemed to become a vulnerable young girl.”

The mix of different performance styles used by the old woman’s daughter casts doubt on her story, and, here, the narrator sees how she changes her demeanor to match the persona that the narrator is most likely to respond to. Seeing that he noticed her bitten nails, she loosens her self-control to seem weaker and more helpless, thereby encouraging the narrator to jump in to protect and save her. Though she may be telling the truth about her kidnapping and Rahul Singh, her performance frames her as an untrustworthy character.

“When I was a bureaucrat I had no reason to enter a bazaar, since my wife saw to our household requirements and my own infrequent shopping expeditions only took me to air-conditioned stores. Now, as I walk through the streets observing the pleasure on the faces of bargaining customers and the cynicism of the shopkeepers, I am reminded how circumscribed my life has been.”

The narrator’s role in the novel centers on the limitations of his prior experiences, shown in moments of reflection like this one. The narrator, like many people, lived his life in a bubble of modernity and urbanization, seeing only people in a similar situation to himself. Outside that bubble, though, he finds the wide diversity of India and realizes how much he has missed in his former occupation.

“The diversity of the people provides me with a constant source of interest and I often fall into conversation with the pilgrims. Across the river the solitary lights of my bungalow shine like a lighthouse in the blackness of the jungles, inviting me to return and consider what I have learned.”

The bungalow, and the Narmada itself, represent the depths of the human spirit and the need for reflection and introspection. Presented with the diversity of India, the narrator cannot absorb all that he sees and hears instantly, instead needing the bungalow as a space for meditation. The comparison to a lighthouse in a jungle frames the bungalow as a guiding force, leading the narrator toward a better understanding of humanity and himself.

“On one side was my father’s invitation to wander freely in the fields of music, where even a child like myself could fall on cushions of melody, run across bridges of notes, swing on the stretch of the veena’s strings, make garlands of different-colored notes to place before the goddesses of the ragas. But outside the room I saw my mother’s face creased with worry, my ugliness reflected in her eyes.”

For the musician’s daughter, physical reality is painful, and it is in her spiritual connection with music that she takes solace. The intensity of the pleasure music brings her is ruined by her difficult life, foreshadowing how the abrupt end of her engagement to the stranger severs her ability to play music.

“‘I suppose all this emotion alarms me.’ I ended lamely, ‘Broken engagements, unrequited love, that poor musician. It all strikes me as somehow undignified.’ ‘You still know so little of the world,’ the old mullah observed, his eyes on the brook. ‘But you have chosen a hard path to knowledge, little brother. Hearsay, not experience. I hope your education proves less painful than your musician’s.’ ‘Why shouldn’t it? My father, a most reasonable man, is already dead. And at least I don’t dread my mirror.’ ‘Destiny is playing tricks on you. Don’t you realize you were brought here to gain the world, not forsake it?’”

The “undignified” emotions that the narrator balks at are elements of humanity that he has not experienced himself. So, Tariq Mia concludes that the narrator is on a path toward enlightenment that is difficult to follow, since it requires the narrator to learn of humanity through such stories. Tariq Mia’s comment that the narrator was “brought” to the river to “gain the world” reframes the novel as a pursuit of enlightenment through stories and contact with humanity, rather than as an escape from the world and its troubles.

“At the academy he had learned the arts of a protector sadhu. He had been taught to wield his iron trident as a weapon. He had performed yogic contortions to gain a physical prowess far exceeding any wrestler’s, hardened his hands and his feet so they could kill a man with a single blow, practiced mind control to disarm an opponent without touching him, and he was called a Naga. But when he encountered the suffering of ordinary people, he did nothing to protect them beyond placing a tilak of ash on their foreheads before moving on in search of solitude. The sweepers were waiting in front of their colony with offerings of food. They knew how much the ascetic honored them by eating from their hands. When he marked their foreheads with ash, they touched his feet in gratitude, denied such blessing from the temples that they were forbidden to enter.”

The Naga Baba is separate from the worlds of all but the lowest castes, which establishes him as a foil to the narrator, as well as to Ashok and Nitin Bose, all of whom begin their stories with wealth and opulence. The Naga Baba’s begging and offering of blessings establishes him as more of an inhuman figure, as shown in his superior strength and endurance, but also in his detachment from the suffering of others. The note at the end of this passage regarding the rejection of the lowest caste from the temples highlights shows the plight of the Dalits in Indian society. They are refused even religious succor and turn to the Naga Baba for blessings.

“‘The night of Shiva, Lord of Death. Your other life died that night. See this stick of sandalwood? I will grind it into ash and put it on your forehead when you meet your new mother!’ The child threw the cow dung on the ground and started running, thrashing through the plants in her desperation to get away from the ascetic. Her father had told her she was going to a new mother when he sold her to the brothel. She knew the Naga Baba had sold her again.”

In the traditional sense of baptism, the Naga Baba is giving Uma a new life, but the necessity of the baptism is reaffirmed by her reaction to it. The fact that the baptism reminds Uma of being sold to the brothel is the reason why the baptism is needed, as the Naga Baba is washing away Uma’s past traumas and ushering in her new life. The “new mother” the Naga Baba references is the Narmada itself, which is often personified as a woman; however, the girl fears the woman who ran the brothel she worked at, since her father had cruelly announced that this woman would be her new mother.

“‘Mere mythology! A waste of time! If anything is sacred about this river, it is the individual experiences of the human beings who have lived here.’ Professor Shankar pointed into the darkness. ‘Look to your left. Where the waterfalls are. When I was researching my book I discovered some cave drawings in that area. Our datings of the rock samples prove they are from the Stone Age. So they must be among the oldest evidence of human life in India. Lower down the same cliff we are finding implements from successive ages—Neolithic, Iron, Bronze.’ He picked up his glass and drained it. ‘This river is an unbroken record of the human race. That is why I am here. Now tell me why you are here.’”

Just like Mr. Chagla explains the abstract nature of the goddess of love, Shankar explains how myths and legends are only manifestations of the lived experiences of human beings. The dating of the Narmada into the Stone Age reveals that such stories and experiences have been happening and being shared between people for thousands of years, uninterrupted by erosion or displacement. Studying the river, then, as Shankar comments, is to study the entirety of human experience, just like the narrator is doing. However, the narrator does not fully understand how similar his role is to Shankar’s.