Two novellas, both set in the
same geographical location but as different from each other as night from day.
The King’s Harvest is the first book by Chetan Raj Shreshtha and is, by all
means, a laudable debut. Against the backdrop of the breathtaking beauty of
India’s north-east, with its towering curtains of mountains and waterfalls and tea
gardens as far as the eye can see, the stories unfold in and around Sikkim, the
native place of the author. The first
novella, An Open-and-Shut Case takes place in December 2002, at new year’s
eve. A woman murders her husband and hacks him into forty-seven pieces, then walks
to the police station and turns herself in. The story begins with a taxi-ride
shared by a number of people, where Straun, an enthusiastic tourist, requests
the driver to play ‘Resham Firiri’, a Nepali folk song with a lilting rhythm
that has taken control of his mind and haunts him wherever he goes. The song,
in fact, seems to hauntingly echo throughout the narrative, popping up in the
most unexpected places, making the reader expects some kind of sinister
disclosure. However, it’s not the disclosures that the author is so much
concerned with—although those abound, too, making the book un-put-down-able. Shrestha’s
narrative deals more with the vagaries of the human mind, the visscitudes of
fortune of its characters and the ways in which justice—or merely the Indian
law enforcement, if you please—works. Infused with a realistic brutality, the
story follows Dechen OC, tough as nails and newly transferred to the post, as
she carries out her investigation with a mix of humane consideration and
dispassionate policework. The character of Dechen OC has been carved out with
much dexterity and precision, revealing a kaleidoscope of emotions and human
shortcomings as much as the strengths.
Creating a gripping plot is
definitely one of Shrestha’s many talents, for that is the one thread of
commonality—besides Sikkim—that binds the two otherwise completely different
stories. The King’s Harvest—the second novella that also lends its name to the
book—is as dreamy and magical, full of fascinating legends and folklore, as the
first one is darkly down-to-earth. It’s the story of Tontem, a man with fabled
strength and cursed deformity, who lives in an isolated world of his own for
thirty-two years before circumstances take him out into the real world that has
moved far, far ahead. Shrestha’s power with words and his sorcerer’s ability to
spin images out of thin air is on full display here. His story-telling prowess
cannot be underestimated either. From Tontem’s childhood at the Toring Yabla’s
estate in Toring village, where we first learn of his deformity, to his time at
the Dragonback Monastery, where the readers are acquainted with his herculean
strength, to his journey with the king’s troops—a survey of “the Chogyal’s
fifty-hill kingdom, set like a ruby on a knuckle between Nepal and Bhutan”,
every line is a step leading deeper into a mythical land. The story of Tontem’s
life is riveting enough in itself, with little nuggets of wit and humour
presenting themselves here and there—such as the names of Tontem’s children:
Chyadar, the eldest, named after chyadars
or sheets of galvanized, corrugated iron—gifts from the Chogyal(king); Cimit,
named after another gift of cement bags;
Batti, his daughter, so called because her father was fascinated by
descriptions of electricity at Sikkim, the king’s capital, and finally Turist
the youngest son, named after an Englishman who happened to come their way and
introduced himself as ‘Turist.' !
But the true depth of
Shrestha’s work comes to the fore in Tontem’s appearance into the real world ,
prompted by his decaying produce—the King’s share of his harvest, as
promised—uncollected for three years now. It is in the year 2005 that Tontem,
accompanied by Batti and Turist, makes his journey to Sikkim. The family’s
bewilderment at the modern, incredible world so far removed from their abode
has been brought out with a splendid flourish. Cars are “wheeled rats” with the
steering wheel being the ear that is pinched to make the rat turn. The gear
stick, of course, has a very simple explanation: it is a male rat!
There is a tragi-comic air that
hangs over every step the trio takes into the city to find the king. The
climax, however, is of the touching, wistful kind, where Tontem moves out with
a heavy heart, “but unaware how blessed he was, for only the most fortunate
among men have their illusions protected by a conspiracy of the fates.”
The King’s Harvest, through
both its stories, brings out the two extremes of our reality—between the cruel
and the gentle, life swings a constant pendulum, creating its own special
rhythm.
