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There are very few authors who, in the course of telling a story, manage to educate the reader on a historical event. The power of the imagination knows no bounds. Add to that an educated insight into the culture and parameters of the subject that you are writing about, along with an almost genius knack for expression and you have a great novel. In his book, Guardian of the Dawn, Richard Zimler has proven himself to be a captivating storyteller.
Guardian of the Dawn is one in a series of highly connected, yet independent fictional accounts of different generations of a Portuguese Jewish family. The
other books in the series are The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon, Hunting Midnight and The Seventh Gate. They are referred to as being a part of the Sephardic Cycle. The word Sephardic originates from Sephardim; a term which originally applied to the Jewish community in Spain but has expanded to include those originating from North Africa and the Muslim countries.
The novel is set in India at the end of the 16th century. It was a time when the Inquisition was beginning to clamp down on communities that practised a different religion. The choice for those who did not recognise the authority of the Church (termed as ‘sorcerers’ by the Inquisition) was simple: convert or be arrested and eventually, burnt.
The protagonist, Tiago, and his family are Jewish and a part of the Portuguese community settled right outside Goa. Tiago’s father, Berekiah, illustrates manuscripts and that is the profession that he is training his son and daughter Sofia in. Other members of the family include Uncle Isaac, Berekiah’s brother, who is married to a rather insecure, judgmental, Catholic woman by the name of Maria. She only visibly tolerates their faith but is perpetually concerned about it becoming public knowledge. To further ‘prove’ that Isaac and Maria are not Jewish, they have had to carve a large cross over their front door.
Having no child of their own, Isaac and Maria adopt an Arab Moor, Wadi, and rename him Francesco Xavier.
The name is particularly important to Aunt Maria and to the couple’s standing in society since Wadi is named after the man who had petitioned the Pope to establish the Inquisition in Goa. Although the situation was very risky for the family, for they could be met with severe consequences if discovered, readers experience most of this through a child’s uncomplicated, unconcerned eye and hence, while Tiago is still young we do not fully appreciate the gravity of the times they lived in.
The opening chapter of the novel shows Tiago in prison for a crime he does not know he committed. We are then taken back in time, as he recalls his childhood in vivid detail. What begins in the innocence of childhood is carried forward into the jaded and often bitter mind of an adult that has known freedom and happiness but is bound by a ghost that has haunted him from the moment he met him as a boy. That ghost is none other than his adopted cousin Wadi who Tiago is irrevocably convinced has been plotting the destruction of him and his family… and as he comes to that conclusion, so do we.
Although Tiago was initially open to welcoming Wadi into the family, he eventually learns not to trust him. Wadi apparently has a dual personality, one that is the model child which his adopted mother wants him to be, and the other in which he is truly himself: mischievous, and often getting Tiago into trouble for things that Tiago hasn’t done.
Sofia, Tiago discovers, also has a hidden personality that she rarely reveals. She and Wadi hit it off really well, eventually fall in love and want to marry. However, both Tiago and Berekiah have reservations since Aunt Maria would, simply speaking, make her life hell. Maria already appears hell-bent on accepting Sofia as a daughter-in-law only if she converts. And Berekiah will not tolerate that.
All hell breaks loose when Berekiah is arrested and put in prison for blasphemy and practicing sorcery — both crimes that he has not committed. After Berekiah dies in prison, Tiago also follows him there as he is arrested as well. What baffles both men is the question of who betrayed them and, more importantly, why? Both father and son are convinced that they have virtually no enemies.
However, things are never that simple. Tiago realises, only when it’s too late, that nothing really was as it seems and that betrayal was much closer to home than anticipated. This is a bitter pill to swallow. The reader acutely feels the protagonist’s anguish when the revelation is finally made.
The author, Richard Zimler, himself holds dual nationality. A Portugese and an American, he also holds a degree in comparative religion which is no doubt a major influence and aid in the process of writing his novels.
To begin with, if you are unfamiliar with Hindu tradition and mythology, the complexity of the names and the fluid manner in which gender and sexuality are interlinked and narrated in The Pregnant King may catch you off guard. If there is one thing that this book is trying to tell you, it’s that anything is possible.
Although a work of fiction, The Pregnant King may be considered educational, not just in terms of relating in a narrative text the ancient Hindu customs and traditions predominantly practiced in olden times, but also in developing a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. The book also questions the perception and the potential of gender exclusivity: how does it exist? Can it be transformed? How important a role does gender play in determining the ability, judgment and overall personality of a person, and whether gender is enough to justify a person’s ‘proper’ place in society among other things.
Characterised by epic battles among extended family members that inevitably cause a shift in the balance between heaven and earth — and how the earth chooses to respond — the story predominantly centres around Yuvanashva, a childless prince waiting to be king. He is waiting for his headstrong albeit wise mother to someday allow him to actively rule. Inherently obedient by nature, it is only after he forcibly assumes power to ‘prove his manhood’ (in Hindu tradition, a man hasn’t really matured till he has married and produced an heir) that he makes his first ever misjudgment in a case presented before him.
The case involves two adolescents, a boy and a girl, who prior to being brought in court were actually both boys. A miracle occurred when they spent the night in the prison cell and one of them physically transforms into a woman. They are charged with attempting to fool the royal wives into believing they were husband and wife.
As an act of rebellion and in an attempt to prove that he is just as capable of ruling as his mother, the king rules that both adolescents be put to death (burnt alive). Needless to say, the gods aren’t happy and to put it somewhat crudely, this act, especially when the ‘earth is not hungry for blood’, messes up the balance in nature. And someone has to pay for it.
Meanwhile Yuvanashva, in his desperation to have at least one heir, resorts to soliciting the services of a pair of hermits, Yaja and Upayaja. They are brothers who practice an art of magic considered to be a taboo and dark in nature — because it resolves to tamper with destiny and carries enormous repercussions for those who chose to use it for their personal gain; which is exactly what Yuvanashva wants to do.
By sheer accident Yuvanashva drinks the potion made by the hermit brothers for his wives. It was meant to make his wives brimming with fertility for him to impregnate with at least one (guaranteed) heir. Instead he ends up impregnating himself and gives birth to a small, palm-sized son via an olden-day C-section.
What is amusing to note is that during and after his pregnancy, he experiences both the emotional and physical conditions of being a woman: an increased emotional state of mind, sore breasts, etc.
In a twist of fate, after the son Yuvanashva gives birth to a son who matures and discovers that his father is also his mother (?) — pretty much the male version of the Virgin Mary, with added help — Yuvanashva is faced with the same prejudice with which he had passed the ruling over the pair of innocent adolescents who ended up dying because of it. They come back into Yuvanashva’s life almost immediately afterwards as ghosts and become, over time, his chosen companions.
Although the novel predominantly centres on him, Yuvanashva’s story isn’t the only one contained within the book. Punctuated by epic battles, anecdotes of other members of his extended royal family dealing with issues of gender (Shikhandi, born into a royal family as a baby girl is brought up as a son and married as one as well, etc) and societies perceptions of gender. It examines the concept of male and female and often fuses it into both, blurring the lines between the two main gender characterisations and making the viewer reconsider his/her perceptions of what makes a person male or female other than their physical manifestation.
The author, Devdutt Pattanaik, teaches mythology and has written fiction extensively on Hindu mythology. Written in beautiful language but by which the story is not overshadowed by flowery prose, the writer has an uncanny ability to write ‘graphically’. His descriptions, along with his narrative, create a series of wonderfully detailed and moving pictures in one’s mind as the both the individual characters and the story line develop.
The Pregnant King
Penguin Books, India
ISBN 0-14-306347-42
350pp. Indian Rs295
Madeeha Syed continues her musings about her no-longer-secret addiction
Like most addicts, we have learnt to recognise our kind. In some cases it’s painfully apparent: the other person will often talk about so-and-so book that they read or they will appear to be slightly removed from the ‘crowd’, as if not belonging to it entirely. There are some bookaholics, however, who don’t reveal their secret so easily. They look like everyone else, they talk like everyone else,and they don’t necessarily ‘talk’ about books that they have read or want to read. It’s only when they innocently reveal in passing their love for collecting books that they are ever found out.
Talking of types of bookaholics, I have to mention my bookstore observations. I spend a at least two hours a week in a bookstore; sitting in one of their sofas pouring over books or simply taking a break and sorting my thoughts out while devouring the titles on the bookstores, I’ve noticed almost all kinds of people come into bookstores to buy books. Most of them seem to belong to the 45 and above age bracket — the self actualised individuals (or close to it). Sadly enough, I don’t see many people my age (the early 20’s age bracket) spend time in bookstores. They are almost always found hanging out cafés and/or at clothing outlets.
Once while searching for a book to buy for my mother, I asked a woman standing beside me at the book store for a recommendation. She looked like what most moms look like; everything about her spelled ‘comfort’ from her clothes to her shoes. She asked what my mother did and I replied that she was a ‘home maker’. Based on that information she thought that I was better off buying mum a ‘thriller novel’ — the likes of Danielle Steel. In response to the inquiring look I gave her, she said that women like her who took care of ‘everything’ didn’t have time or the energy to devote their already stressed minds to ‘serious’ books. A thriller would engage and provide a welcome escape from an otherwise stressful, mundane line. While I found her advice interesting, I was surprised to discover that she was an avid book reader.
On another occasion, while waiting for our respective rides, the marketing head of a successful international clothing line confessed to me that books depressed him. He explained that his working schedule left him with virtually no time to read and going into or even near a book store was a painful reminder of how, even if he bought them, he couldn’t read the books he’d like. His bookaholic side didn’t surprise me — he fit the self-actualised bookaholic profile. His confession led me to think what if at some point in my life I am also too busy? Too busy for books?! That idea is the closest to blasphemy I have dared to venture.
There aren’t many libraries in Karachi to begin with and virtually no public libraries where people can go to. What we do have is a library somewhere in Defense Housing Society which offers free admission to all senior citizens. Surprised? It’s true. Several years ago, while studying for an exam, I looked up to see a charming couple, both easily 75 or above, going over some old books. They were obviously retired but instead of spending their time nodding off to sleep in a rocking chair, they had decided to read. What I found especially heartwarming was the way the gentleman would often take the hand of the lady and help her go from one bookcase to the other. Not only that, they even consulted each other on their choice of books and eventually settled down together in a comfortable corner to read. That is exactly how I want to spend my retirement. When I’m not travelling, that is.
I belong to the school of thought that considers buying an original book, no matter how expensive, the right way to read and collect. One of my closest friends, who is also a bookaholic, prefers to buy pirated editions only. And if she can, she’ll download e-books instead! She explained once that she was more concerned with the overall content of the book instead of how it was ‘packaged’ and that original copies were too expensive. I, on the other hand, would starve in order to save money rather than buy a pirated edition. What’s more is that this friend (gasp) underlines sentences that she finds interesting in the books. All of the above is a major ‘No no’ in the sacred unspoken bookaholic creed. The said friend belongs to a breed I haven’t come across much but her variety of bookaholics are definitely intriguing.
What is it about books that enthralls us so? Perhaps it has to do with our innate love for a good story — whether in novel form or as a biography — and the desire to have it repeated to us. Or maybe we hold precious those elements that manage to enchant us and make us drift momentarily into another world. Interacting with those who carry this love a step further has always been interesting. It sheds light on our uniqueness and diversity; yet is a reminder that whatever shape or size we come in, we love books.
