Brutally unsurprising; unsurprisingly brutal — ‘Pyre’ by Perumal Murugan
As an editor, I have always found it slightly difficult to work with Indian academics. The fault isn’t theirs; it is entirely mine. The quirks of their English as non-native speakers are mine, too. I often feel that I am less sensitive to the peculiarities of Indian English because I have grown up with them myself.
In the world of books, there are parallels. There are stories that would be shocking to an outsider but that we have grown up with and are all too close to reality that it becomes difficult to consider their literary merit. Perumal Murugan’s ‘Pyre’ is one such.
The story of Saroja and Kumaresan — a lovestruck couple who met in the ‘big’ city of Tholur and had an intercaste marriage — is one that plays out every once in a while in the news. The story begins with the couple getting off a bus to begin a long walk through dry, shimmering hot, inhospitable rural Tamil Nadu to Kumaresan’s home atop a rock. Saroja is from a different caste, and Kumaresan knows that there will be repercussions. The loved son of the village that he is, he is also sure that his family and community will eventually accept them as a couple and that the opposition would dissolve. Except that they do not and it does not.
Saroja is a small-town girl. Motherless, brought up lovingly by a father and elder brother, she falls in love with Kumaresan who had come to Tholur to make and sell soda from shop to shop. Growing up in a row house, she has known caste only as a background buzz — never as a rigid structure that fences in every aspect of life. Kumaresan, on the other hand, is familiar enough with the strictures of caste, but underestimates how lethal it can be. He believes that as long as Saroja does not talk about her caste and he asserts that Saroja belongs to ‘their caste’, they should be alright.
Marayi, Kumaresan’s mother, is staunch in her opposition to the union. Her love for Kumaresan is evident enough in the flashbacks but in the present, she remains relentless in her hatred for Saroja. The neighbors are sarcastic, crude, and vitriolic by turns. There isn’t more than an occasion or two in the entire novel where Saroja receives even a smidgen of kindness from anyone in that village.
It is all about people, about what they say, do, or don’t do.
The arc of the story offers no surprises — with the title itself pointing to how the story is bound to end. The telling of it is quite straight with little to no embellishment. It is all about people, about what they say, do, or don’t do. The story is two-dimensional for the most part and we are largely privy only to Saroja’s thoughts.
Midway through the novel, I found myself thinking that Saroja seemed too aloof, but it takes a while to sink in that no amount of ‘putting herself out there’ would have saved her; such is the depth and persistence of casteism in the village. However, Murugan skillfully makes us hope — little morsels of hope thrown in in the form of a reminiscence, an invitation to a ceremony, a grandmother, or a shop large enough to house a couple.
While Saroja is central to the story and the others including Marayi are predictable enough, the most fascinating character is that of Kumaresan — and that seems to be the one thing that elevates the novel from daily drama in a large section of rural India. One senses an undercurrent — a slow transformation from daring lover to disengaged husband. Of course, he is loving and expressive. But, does he understand the danger that he has placed his wife in? Surely, he would have had a more reasonable idea of how closed his community is! After all, he has lived among them all his life. Towards the end of the book, we see him coming home drunk more than once, although his love for Saroja never seems to diminish. I cannot help wondering what the rest of the story would have been… Would he have gotten over Saroja? Would he have adapted to the shock and continued to live on the rock, bitter, perhaps, but quiescent? That would be quite an interesting study.
If you are not familiar with the complex and merciless ways in which caste plays out in India, the rawness of the novel will likely shock you. Caste is one of the most inhumane systems on the planet and there is nothing that can prepare one for the horrors that the system is capable of perpetrating. If you are familiar with it, Pyre is unsurprising. And that hurts!
