Miscellaneous
Lost in reflection
At a time when there were forests in Kathmandu and the Bagmati was crystal blue, two young boys go out to hunt doves in the morning without informing their parents.Sandesh Ghimire
At a time when there were forests in Kathmandu and the Bagmati was crystal blue, two young boys go out to hunt doves in the morning without informing their parents. Using their hand-held sling shot, they manage to kill a bird, but before the boys can claim it, an eagle swoops down to steal their game. Since an eagle is not a scavenger, one wonders if the unusual event is a premonition or another anomaly in the working of nature. When the two disheartened boys are on their way home, Abijit notices a man growing from a tree like a strange fruit. He tries to avoid looking at the man but his eyes inevitably linger on the wondrous, yet terrifying empty gaze of the man who is hanging in the tree. The boys are scared, and so is the reader. Abijit runs home to tell his father that there is a man growing from a tree. His father immediately reprimands him for walking through a forbidden lane where the Rana authorities have just hung the martyr Dharma Bhakta Mathema.
Acclaimed poet Viplob Pratik’s first novel, Abijit, which weaves together a lyrical biography of the titular protagonist, begins with the dramatic tension that occurs when the naïve perception of a young boy clashes with reality, where the debutant novelist uses the innocent outlook of the young boy to build up a horror that disquiets both the protagonist and the reader. Abijit’s early encounter sets the path for him to develop a revolutionary zeal in his later life, and with tightly woven sentences, sharp images and rapid turn of events, the narrator sets the stage for what the novelist described himself in an interview as the “unsung story of a revolutionary who is lost among the pages of history.” As the novel unravels, Abijit struggles with his life and in the backdrop, we witness the political and urban transformation that gave birth to the Kathmandu we know today.
But this is where the book’s fluidity finds its first hitch. Once we leave Abijit’s childhood, the writer abandons the small build-ups that he used so well to create dramatic tensions in the first section of the book. Abijit’s childhood years could have been a stand-alone novella, but Pratik in continuing with the narrative is unable to build on the fertile premise that the book begins with. For the remainder of the novel (some 200 pages), we live with Abijit through his highs and lows, but the hero, along with all the other characters in the book becomes very predictable, two dimensional figures who lack depth or contradiction that one would have come to expect from Pratik’s characters. The protagonist, throughout the novel, never struggles to make a choice that could heighten the drama, or help the reader engage with the story. We always know what Abijit is going to do, and after a while, a reader can accurately predict the arc of the story. Other characters, such as the secretary of the communist party—a loose depiction of Keshar Jung Rayamajhi—who decides to side with the royal forces is presented as a force of evil, while Anam, the communist who opposes the secretary is a person who has no moral qualms whatsoever. Given the fact that the novelist has taken great pain to have a very realist depiction of people, the clear dichotomy between good and evil does a disservice to the morally ambiguous choices that guides the human psyche.
Despite the shortcomings in developing interesting characters, Pratik, however, is able to provide sensory details that give vivid snapshots of life during the Panchayat era. Pratik’s rendering of everyday life becomes the lifeline of the novel; however, the novelist takes the act of depicting life on paper in a very literal sense. From finding a bathroom, to going to the barber or the frequent visits to the bhatti, the reader is left following Abijit through the mundane aspects of everyday life. For instance, in one episode, Abijit’s wife sees the protagonist returning from the barber and the novelist builds up a dramatic anticipation, but the reader is disappointed to learn that the only thing that happened is, Abijit has gotten his head shaved.
What little drama there is, comes via the depiction of events that act as historical markers in the collective memory of Kathmandu. The arrival of hippies, Dev Anand’s movie shoot, death of BP Koirala, are events presented as occurrences that is supposed to have altered the course of the protagonist’s life. These events are fun to read as historical incidents but fall flat with regards to the over-arching theme of the novel. Ultimately, the depicted events become mere spectacle. There are, naturally, little nuggets of wisdom and beautiful poems interspersed throughout the novel, but the droning narrative drains the force of the few philosophical reflections present. Had the novelist worked to heighten the drama in the everyday occurrences, as he does in the first section of the novel, a reader would have thoroughly enjoyed reading the book.
There are plenty of examples in Nepali literature where mundane becomes majestic. Take for instance, Parijat’s seminal work Shirish ko Phool, which at first glance might be taken as a rambling of the seasoned drunk man who has made a habit of going to a friend’s house. However, the novel beautifully reveals the layered psyche of Suyogbir.
Such layering is not present in Pratik’s novel. Abijit slowly loses its narrative steam and the novel morphs into a journal that is partly a cook book of the food our hero prepares from day to day.
When Abijit is cooking, a reader is genuinely drooling over the food that is being described, and through this, one becomes clear on Pratik’s ability to eloquently depict the various aspects of everyday life, but his very attempt to painstakingly portray all aspects of life begs a question: Is literature supposed to be a mirror that reflects life as it happens or is it meant to be a prism where life is refracted and the reader is made aware of the various shades that compose the whole?