On Reading Cuckold by Kiran Nagarkar

The hallmark of a good novel is how relatable it feels. It does not matter where in the temporal-spatial zone the reader is situated. In other words, the hallmark lies in its universality. The ability of the writer to draw you into the lives of the characters and make you feel more than an observer is what distinguishes great storytellers from the rest. So when a book like Cuckold ends, I am left thinking about the land of Chittor for a very long time. About Greeneyes, Leelawati, Kausalya and  Maharaja Kumar, the arch nemesis of the Flautist. 

Why do some books matter to you more than the others? Why do some novels stand out and then stay with us, etched in memory? Maybe it is because it's how the novel touches us. Maybe it is also how one catches glimpses of one self in the characters, in the plots and the geography of the story. They reflect a little bit of ourself. Why does your heart yearn for the seemingly villainous protagonist? Why does Maharaj Kumar's loneliness in the War Council feel familiar? 

In Cuckold there are no whites or blacks. Love is ephemeral, transactional, transformational and even forever. It's the love affair with the divine and the competition of man with God. It is about the rivalry among step brothers and queens, about the nautch girl who later became the saint. It is laced with history but facts seem immaterial. It's not a textbook, for that one must read the Annals of Rajasthan. 

This six hundred pager tome is a tribute to the tumultuous time before the Mughals arrived on the scene. It's an insight into the kingdom of Mewar and its confederation of the Rajputs. But mainly, it's an intimate portrayal of the life of Bhoj Raj, the husband of Meerabai - who they say lived a life of a cuckold, watching his wife devote her life to the Blue God and yet he continued to accept and celebrate her in ways in which seemed unfathomable. It is his abhorrence to the machismo of the warrior life, of meaningless sacrifices and long wounded bureaucratic procedures.

Though it's not a pitiful version of his events, no no, not at all. It's the vulnerability of the heir apparent, the depth of relationships, the ennui of the crown and the constant intrigue that often comes with being part of the royal household. 

Nagarkar is sharper than the swords of the Rajputs. He is humourous and critical and shines a mirror on the hypocrisy of a society which has always been the way it is. He is tongue in cheek and mischievous in most parts and his sarcasm is incisive. His research is strong and well grounded and the marriage of fact and fiction is almost a happy one for the most part. 

Life often presents certain memorable moments. Reading the book has been one such happy memory for me. If you happen to come across this book, I hope you pick it up and finish it.