Samrat Upadhyay and the Obsession with Sons

Recently, in the midst of my very real isolation and lack of mobility, a door from my past suddenly beckoned and, having kept it firmly latched for years, I was able to enter and find renewed interest in a period from my childhood that had caused me so much agony and pain that I never had been able to think about it without suffering.

It was the period I spent in Nepal that I could not revisit but now, with renewed interest, I am finding a veritable treasure trove of memories and new experiences.  One of these is my interest in items from Nepal, mostly of a semi-religious nature that are unique to that culture.  It has been a source of great joy and a thrill to rediscover the Madhal Drum, the Kurawa waterpot, Lord Shiva's Trisul (beloved of sadhus) and the Sukunda lamp, inter alia.

The language of the past, which I had forgotten returns little by little.  It never was pure Nepali but an odd mixture of Newari (Nepal Bhasa) and Nepali, given the fact that I lived mainly among Newars.  The alphabet returns slowly, very slowly but more readily, certain words become familiar to me once more.

With this interest came a desire to read novels, not only about Nepal but about India as well.  After all, Nepal and Northern India in particular, share many cultural traditions.  I read all the books I could find by Qurratulain Hyder and from there, Neel Mukherjee's novels.  Both are extraordinary scholars as well as fine writers.  It shames me actually as a Northern European with a somewhat classical background to find that, if I compare my knowledge and learning with theirs, I will be found lacking... for apart from their extensive knowledge of European history, literature and civilisations, they have a magnificent knowledge of Indian, Arab and Persian literature, history and culture where mine is poor, even if better than many Europeans.
dhyay.
Actually, it was my daughter Freya who handed me her copy of 'Fireflies in the Mist', a book that was required reading at her University.  She said, 'Here, Mum, I think you will appreciate this more than any one.'  It sat on my bed for awhile, but one day I picked it up and did not put it down again until I had finished it.  From there, I went on to read her 'River of Fire'.  In a conversation with some friends who visit Nepal regularly, I happened to recommend her and was asked in return if I had read 'The Lives of Others' by Mukherjee.  I was familiar with his reputation but had not read anything by him, so that was my next project.

From there, I became curious about contemporary Nepalese fiction and read 'The City Son' by Samrat Upadhyay.  I now am reading his 'Buddha's Orphans'.

First of all, as a writer his work is in a completely different style and genre from Qurratulain Hyder and Neel Mukherjee.  The latter both act as historians, literary repositories of their own culture and religion.  Although Hyder was a Muslim, all of the religious traditions of India and later, Pakistan, formed an important part of her work.  Both Mukherjee and Hyder address politics as a fundamental influence in all walks of life and every class.

They both tend to be fearless as well in delving into the human psyche, whether within the family unit, the village, universities or among the ruling class.  Mukherjee is more graphic in some of his writing but Hyder does not shrink from the less admirable motivations and acts both of men and women.

It was Samrat Upadhyay, however, whom I wished to discuss here.  He is one of the best known Nepalese writers internationally and indeed teaches creative writing at the Univeristy of Indiana in the States.  Does he deserve the extraordinary praise I have seen in some reviews that compare him to James Joyce on one hand and the Russian masters on the other?

Personally, I would not go quite that far although he is a fine writer in a very different way from the two other novelists I mentioned.  His style is simple and direct.  There are a few literary allusions, mainly to Western literature, but his works are not steeped in references like the others.  It is his characters, primarily, that give his books the incredible power they possess.  They are unforgettable.  I do find there appears to be a sort of leitmotif operating through his work in the form of the young boy who becomes the focus of obsession between more than one 'mother' figure.   I shall have to read another novel by him before I can judge if his motifs permeate everything he writes, but in both 'The City Son' and 'Buddha's Orphans' there is a woman whose descent into madness is caused by the loss of a man.  In the one, she is widowed and in the other, her husband is recovered by his first wife, making her an outsider.   In the one, the child is an orphan and in the other, the child of the second wife who becomes mad, leaving him to the obsession of the first wife.  In both cases, however, he is a 'beautiful boy' who becomes the focus of an intense power struggle between two women.  The loser inevitably is almost destroyed by the loss of the child.

The plots are very compelling, of course, and the theme is a potent one, but what motivates his return to it?  Is it some kind of wishful thinking, some desire as a man, once a boy, to be loved to that extent, if you can consider obsession love?  In a land where there are so many orphans who are utterly unwanted, is it some kind of political statement?  I think somehow it is something deep in the author's own psyche that gives him some kind of satisfaction to explore.  In 'The City Son' the relationship is scandalous, even wicked by the srtandards of most cultures, even his own and it ultimately works to destroy more than one life.   The first wife, originally a victim, becomes a force of destruction.  Is she evil?  Well, that is a matter of opinion but certainly her acts become evil in their far-reaching dimensions.

'Buddha's Orphans' is a very different novel from 'City Son', however, in that it is a poignant love story as well as a dramatic record of the political climate in Nepal in the period after Mahendra's rule.

I personally particularly enjoy Upadhyay's work because it brings back memories of my childhood.  Even while enjoying his descriptions of Nepal and his use of Nepali in dialogue, both are a source of two of my greatest criticisms of his books.

First of all, I believe that, although he caters primarily to an English-speaking audience, he cheats that audience by frequent use of Nepali dialogue without any translation.  I do not know if he is motivated by some odd political or social agenda that asserts through this, 'Although my nation is one of the smallest in the world, why shouldn't you be familiar with MY language?'  It is counterproductive, however.  Why should there not be at least a glossary at the end of his books giving translations of the Nepali words and phrases?  How can a reader LEARN anything or enjoy dialogues he/she cannot understand?

Second of all, his books would benefit greatly from a map or two.  He describes the various areas of Kathmandu in wonderful detail but again, readers who never visited Nepal would enjoy the books much more if they could look at a little map showing where the temples and schools and other interesting landmarks are located.

There is a characteristic that all three of the novelists I have mentioned share and that is a fearless and extraordinary willingness to explore the dark areas of the human soul, whether sexual, religious, political or cultural.  I seldom have encountered anything quite like it in Western literature.  Oh yes, Western writers are keen to shock and use sex as a tool to gain readers but it seldom is anything profound or unforgettably disturbing.

Of course, sex was recognised and accepted as one of the great powers in life in India and Nepal when it was being stuffed into wardrobes and hidden at any cost in Europe and the States.   The worship of the Lingam and the graphic nature of temple drawings, even if one were not Hindu oneself, had to play a role in every individual's upbringing to some extent.    Even Muslim writers like Hyder do not have the peculiar crippling disability that Western writers must labour often to overcome in this respect.  Yes, we write now freely about Sado-Masochism and the taboo subjects but we do so almost in an artificial fashion.

Hyder is not like the other two in the style in which she addresses the topic.  She is from a different generation and is not graphic in the way she deals with human relationships, whether physical, emotional or spiritual.  She is far more a 'reader's writer' than the other two as well.  You have to have patience and determination to plumb the depths of her works but the effort is entirely rewarding.  Her books truly are national treasures.  What nation?  Well, that could be a source of confusion as well and I think this is one of the themes of her works, how India suffered through the Partition that divided families and a nation.  Mukherjee deals with the Partition a little as well but not to the same extent, although his books are very political.

What I see, though, in all three writers, is an essential emotional honesty and integrity that is willing to lay bare the soul for the edification of others as well as themselves.  All three are very powerful writers and one does not emerge from their books unscathed.