‘Following a prayer’ book review: Silent wisdom
Express News Service
Every book was once a thought, idea or philosophy. Ironically, it’s rare to find books about thought, ideas or philosophical reasoning. This is why it’s a pleasant surprise to find these elements in a work of fiction. Following a Prayer by Sundar Sarukkai is unusual and somewhat extraordinary.
One day, 12-year-old Kalpana does not return home, and then it is discovered that she hadn’t been to school in the first place. Over three days, her parents, the police and villagers make no headway in
search operations.
Inexplicably, Kalpana returns home, exhausted. And, to her family’s consternation, cannot (or will not) speak. Selective mutism does not quite present like Kalpana’s silence. Hers is a choice, and the story explores the nature of silence and words, sounds and language. On the fringes of these ideas are also concerns about prayer and gods.
Kalpana speaks once to her little sister, Deeksha, as they sleep together on mats in their storeroom: “Every word we speak is a lie. Your books are lies. God is a lie.” After the ominous utterance, she communicates via writing. Strongly influenced, Deeksha takes the queries to her teachers. Her bestie, the polio-afflicted Kumari, joins in and the three girls embark on a learning, powered by questions.
It is as if each character represents a school of thought. It was their ajji who had unknowingly set Kalpana on her quest saying: “Go and follow my prayer.” Appa’s world is centred around his office and withdrawal from being present. “‘Better have a woman around’ could have been his life’s slogan.” The mother is gentle while fiercely protective of her daughters. That learning from first principles can be gathered via the simplest questions is demonstrated by the village school’s Kannada teacher, Mr Upadhyay.
There are two opposing strands within this slim volume. One, an exquisite exposition of rural Karnataka depicting in firm brushstrokes the richness of life in its villages––the writer is a master conjuror. He effortlessly replicates village living: a bus conductor, cows and dogs foraging at the door, temple priests and sundry healers. The other is a noble crusade: to teach philosophy. In this, the young girls are not children, but puppets. They say and do things children of their age could not, in any conceivable set-up. Not these questions. Not these thoughts. They come from a much older mind masquerading as a child.
Perhaps the book would have been richer had the first strand dominated. In unintended irony, this also demonstrates the ancient wisdom of existing as opposed to questioning one’s existence; of the power of silence against words. This delineates the limits of philosophy while opting to propagate it. No matter; an introduction to philosophy in delightful writing is a win.
Following a prayer
By: Sundar Sarukkai
Publisher: Westland
Pages: 244
Price: Rs 599
One day, 12-year-old Kalpana does not return home, and then it is discovered that she hadn’t been to school in the first place. Over three days, her parents, the police and villagers make no headway in
search operations.
Inexplicably, Kalpana returns home, exhausted. And, to her family’s consternation, cannot (or will not) speak. Selective mutism does not quite present like Kalpana’s silence. Hers is a choice, and the story explores the nature of silence and words, sounds and language. On the fringes of these ideas are also concerns about prayer and gods.googletag.cmd.push(function() {googletag.display(‘div-gpt-ad-8052921-2’); });
Kalpana speaks once to her little sister, Deeksha, as they sleep together on mats in their storeroom: “Every word we speak is a lie. Your books are lies. God is a lie.” After the ominous utterance, she communicates via writing. Strongly influenced, Deeksha takes the queries to her teachers. Her bestie, the polio-afflicted Kumari, joins in and the three girls embark on a learning, powered by questions.
It is as if each character represents a school of thought. It was their ajji who had unknowingly set Kalpana on her quest saying: “Go and follow my prayer.” Appa’s world is centred around his office and withdrawal from being present. “‘Better have a woman around’ could have been his life’s slogan.” The mother is gentle while fiercely protective of her daughters. That learning from first principles can be gathered via the simplest questions is demonstrated by the village school’s Kannada teacher, Mr Upadhyay.
There are two opposing strands within this slim volume. One, an exquisite exposition of rural Karnataka depicting in firm brushstrokes the richness of life in its villages––the writer is a master conjuror. He effortlessly replicates village living: a bus conductor, cows and dogs foraging at the door, temple priests and sundry healers. The other is a noble crusade: to teach philosophy. In this, the young girls are not children, but puppets. They say and do things children of their age could not, in any conceivable set-up. Not these questions. Not these thoughts. They come from a much older mind masquerading as a child.
Perhaps the book would have been richer had the first strand dominated. In unintended irony, this also demonstrates the ancient wisdom of existing as opposed to questioning one’s existence; of the power of silence against words. This delineates the limits of philosophy while opting to propagate it. No matter; an introduction to philosophy in delightful writing is a win.
Following a prayerBy: Sundar SarukkaiPublisher: Westland Pages: 244Price: Rs 599
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