Priscilla Hart is stabbed 16 times by unknown assailants
during a communal riot in Zalilgarh, 1989. The riot erupts with
a country-bomb blast in the tension caused by the Ram Shila procession.
Hart had no enemies and the cause of her murder is a mystery. Her
separated parents, Rudyard and Katharine, travel to India together
to see her work-place one last time.
They are accompanied from Delhi by Randy Diggs, the local newsman
who wants a better story. Priscilla worked for HELP-US, an NGO which
helped women gain control of their wombs through contraception.
Her colleagues Kadambari, a social worker, and Das the project director
are mystified. The local police officer Gurinder Singh IPS, a hard
drinking, foul-mouthed, son-of-a-gold-brick has no reasons, and
the IAS officer Lakshman, a South Indian, is bewildered. Or so it
all appears.
The story unwinds through a double helix, one strand through records,
entries, and letters, and the second strand through interviews,
conversations and interrogations. Appearances blur and events reshape
themselves into all too easily recognisable forms. Lakshman and
Priscilla are passionately in love, notwithstanding his wife Geetha
and daughter Rekha. Lakshman has never known carnal pleasure, being
devoted to his family as any good Indian would presumably be. Priscilla
finds his mix of warmth and alien intelligence attractive - fatally
so in the circumstances.
The VHP functionary Ram Charan Gupta is too keen on his own programme
of hate. The historian from JNU, Sarwar presents the picture of
Indian Muslimness and its unique identity. Lakshman gives Priscilla
the liberal Hindu view between the rhythmic squeaks of the charpoy,
and Gurinder Singh emblematises the perspective of law and order
as humane enterprise. The Muslim women Priscilla works with, love
the idea of birth control but their menfolk threaten the American
with dire consequences if she continues. Kadambari too is shaken.
A gleeful Gupta gets wind of the trysts between Priscilla and Lakshman.
He wants revenge against Lakshman, and the Kothli, an ancient feudal
mansion which is the lovers' rendezvous, turns out to be a temporary
crude bomb factory for those desperate Muslim youth who retaliate.
The "Oh! so innocent" Geetha prays for her husband's continued
success, specially on the day Priscilla dies. The story is imaginatively
crafted; the prose, a fictive mix of news cuttings, tape-recordings,
letters, excerpts of scrapbooks and diaries. The perspec-tive often
zooms into close focus and back to a panoramic view which makes
the book read like a movie. The writing grates occasionally with
prejudices that beam out unknown, reminding one of Upamanyu Chatterjee.
Tharoor loves love and sex. There are several touching and graphic
scenes in the strand which traces the progress of intimacy. Even
readers who have no problems with eroticism in general might find
it excessive in the context.
That Tharoor's alter-ego Lakshman, philosophises about carnality
as he soaks in it, passes muster; but the culmination of their last
tearful meeting in the posture Priscilla the child once discovered
her father Rudyard and paramour in is too much! It leaves one wondering
what the carnal equivalent of maudlin is. |