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3.7 AVERAGE
3.7 AVERAGE
Samskara is a Sanskrit word with multiple meanings, including that of a rite, making pure, making perfect. The book, like the title, works on different levels and warns of the dangers and hypocrisy of religious extremism.
Set in pre-independence India within a strict Brahmin village colony, it begins with the death of Naranappa, a rebel amongst his orthodox and conservative neighbours, who lived with his low caste concubine, Chandri, and openly questioned the religious and cultural beliefs of his fellow Brahmins, drinking alcohol and eating meat with Muslim friends. After his death the community, led by their religious guru Praneshacharya, has to decide who should carry out the funeral rites, without jeopardising the purity of their caste. Whilst they argue over this, suffering the stink of Naranappa’s corpse as it is left to rot in his house, their hypocrisy and sins are laid bare.
As more neighbours die, it becomes apparent that there is a plague. The guru travels to consult with the gods at the temple and at night he chances across Chandri, with whom he has a sexual encounter that forces him to question the pious life he has lived up to that moment. Should he go back to the colony and confess his sin, or abandon his hitherto forced aversion of worldly pleasures, to go and live with Chandri? As he travels by foot through forests and villages in search of an answer he meets Putta, a practical young man who himself will take on the role of his guru for physical pleasures, taking Praneshacharya to a carnival, introducing him to cock fighting and a prostitute. Thus, a novel that starts with a rite for a dead man reviled for his sins, ends with the rite of passage of his guru into the world of pleasure.
The novella was originally written in the 1960s in the Kannada language of south west India, and later made into a film.
Set in pre-independence India within a strict Brahmin village colony, it begins with the death of Naranappa, a rebel amongst his orthodox and conservative neighbours, who lived with his low caste concubine, Chandri, and openly questioned the religious and cultural beliefs of his fellow Brahmins, drinking alcohol and eating meat with Muslim friends. After his death the community, led by their religious guru Praneshacharya, has to decide who should carry out the funeral rites, without jeopardising the purity of their caste. Whilst they argue over this, suffering the stink of Naranappa’s corpse as it is left to rot in his house, their hypocrisy and sins are laid bare.
As more neighbours die, it becomes apparent that there is a plague. The guru travels to consult with the gods at the temple and at night he chances across Chandri, with whom he has a sexual encounter that forces him to question the pious life he has lived up to that moment. Should he go back to the colony and confess his sin, or abandon his hitherto forced aversion of worldly pleasures, to go and live with Chandri? As he travels by foot through forests and villages in search of an answer he meets Putta, a practical young man who himself will take on the role of his guru for physical pleasures, taking Praneshacharya to a carnival, introducing him to cock fighting and a prostitute. Thus, a novel that starts with a rite for a dead man reviled for his sins, ends with the rite of passage of his guru into the world of pleasure.
The novella was originally written in the 1960s in the Kannada language of south west India, and later made into a film.
reflective
medium-paced
I was kind of proud of myself for figuring out before the interview with the author at the back of my Edition confirmed it that he was reading a lot of Hegel when he wrote this. Overall a lovely, at times darkly comic, allegory that evades the simplifications of its closest western parallel, Siddhartha.
Years go on, infection rates are undersold and over-normalized, and through it all, my relationship with the NYRB Classics imprint flows and ebbs, ever contingent on my personal priorities and the luck I have in my purchases. Several months back, I made the rare decision of treating myself to a drink drawn straight from the publication source, and, based on estimations of how much the quality of the work resembled the ideals of the imprint (when not being unabashedly andro + Eurocentric) and unlikely it would be for me to find a copy out in the wild (I'd been searching for this one for eight years already), this was one of the works I chose to acquire. Published more than 50 years ago, written in a language, Kannada, that is barely represented on my shelves beyond the contents of a few broad yet shallow anthologies and one other complete work, and deeply concerned with the premise of an age old faith confronting the onslaught of the future, it certainly fits the bill for any looking to expand their literary scope in a manner that acknowledges modern day conventions while drawing upon millennia old cultural reserves that currently inform the lives of around a billion adherents. As the afterword states, it's not a text addressed to a "Westerner" such as myself, so it was rather inevitable that my overall reception of the text be part admiring, part lukewarm, and, if in small amounts, part critical. So, I can acknowledge the worth when strictly adhering to the definition of a religion-centered allegory, but my reading is predicated on more than such, and so my evaluation follows.
When it comes to allegory, certain excuses are made with regards to convenient coincidences of plot, simplification of character, and extended meditations and/or digressions on topics that can sometimes have the bare minimum of relevance to the overall narratological infrastructure. So, if you're coming to this looking to know more about Brahminism, Hinduism, and what happens when a two thousand year old social hierarchy meets the dominance of a foreign power in the early 20th c., you'll certainly get much to chew over within the scope of less than 200 pages. As for me, I'm a tad more concerned with the whole "modernity" level of things when it comes to faith based social systems, especially when it comes to the real life persons who have been marked for perhaps not quite pure human sacrifice, but certainly serve a purpose of a "social outlet" through conscious marginalization based on deeply respected texts and other cultural theories that seek to make sense of the world based on what is of worth and what is not. So, we have the much respected top of the caste system male figure on one hand, the pure bottom of the cast system female figure on the other, and a writing style that chooses to allow the first to question the seemingly unquestionable and confine the second to base instinctual reactions that modulate the narrative as is necessary. Hardly unexpected, but still uneven, and while I imagine public condemnation stemming from certain status quo sectors would have been much fiercer had Ananthamurthy gone even further in his humanization (the film of the piece was banned at least once without any stated reason), if [a:Ismat Chughtai|231856|Ismat Chughtai|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1274959085p2/231856.jpg] can defend herself against obscenity charges for queer themes in [b:a short story|1238070|The Quilt & Other Stories|Ismat Chughtai|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1503004558l/1238070._SY75_.jpg|1226713] in 1944, I would hope that a work published nearly 20 years later by a man could at least grant a cishet woman sex worker some measure of character definition. Course, would NYRB Classics have gone as far as in acquiring this for its self-congratulatory collection were such the case? Unresolved upon unresolved, and as this commentary is free labor upon my part, I'll go ahead and cut it off there.
In terms of my overall reading, this is a work that does what it needs to do in a way that I appreciate but don't entirely like on an instinctive level. Still, if the majority of the works that the NYRB Classics has and continues to build up its catalogue with looked a lot more like this in terms of international scope and publication intrepidity and less like hipster mania, it would be all the better for it. I acknowledge the need for marketability and target audience and all that jazz, but such is what is likely to prevent me from ever committing to a publishing subscription of any sort, as the longer period of time and effort I spend in picking through what comes to me in a less exorbitant if more chaotic fashion is rewarded ten fold when a book fits exactly to my specified needs. So, while this work didn't prove an absolute favorite, it's also not something I can imagine myself stumbling across even if I gave it another three, five years, so I'm glad I indulged when it proved practical to do so. As for whether you, reader, should read this, it's not something I'd recommend without some knowledge of the context of both the history and the faith system, else even the 30 pages of supplemental material for 120 pages of actual text isn't going to do you much good. Information moves faster than ever these days, but issues of access and respect loom as infuriatingly large as ever. This is one of those pieces that make such clear in an unavoidable sense, so I would advise you take it on only if you're honestly willing to engage, rather than exoticize.
P.S. It seems the 1970's film adaptation for this is, leastwise of 1/23/22, available in its entirety for free on YouTube, for whomever is into that sort of thing.
When it comes to allegory, certain excuses are made with regards to convenient coincidences of plot, simplification of character, and extended meditations and/or digressions on topics that can sometimes have the bare minimum of relevance to the overall narratological infrastructure. So, if you're coming to this looking to know more about Brahminism, Hinduism, and what happens when a two thousand year old social hierarchy meets the dominance of a foreign power in the early 20th c., you'll certainly get much to chew over within the scope of less than 200 pages. As for me, I'm a tad more concerned with the whole "modernity" level of things when it comes to faith based social systems, especially when it comes to the real life persons who have been marked for perhaps not quite pure human sacrifice, but certainly serve a purpose of a "social outlet" through conscious marginalization based on deeply respected texts and other cultural theories that seek to make sense of the world based on what is of worth and what is not. So, we have the much respected top of the caste system male figure on one hand, the pure bottom of the cast system female figure on the other, and a writing style that chooses to allow the first to question the seemingly unquestionable and confine the second to base instinctual reactions that modulate the narrative as is necessary. Hardly unexpected, but still uneven, and while I imagine public condemnation stemming from certain status quo sectors would have been much fiercer had Ananthamurthy gone even further in his humanization (the film of the piece was banned at least once without any stated reason), if [a:Ismat Chughtai|231856|Ismat Chughtai|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1274959085p2/231856.jpg] can defend herself against obscenity charges for queer themes in [b:a short story|1238070|The Quilt & Other Stories|Ismat Chughtai|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1503004558l/1238070._SY75_.jpg|1226713] in 1944, I would hope that a work published nearly 20 years later by a man could at least grant a cishet woman sex worker some measure of character definition. Course, would NYRB Classics have gone as far as in acquiring this for its self-congratulatory collection were such the case? Unresolved upon unresolved, and as this commentary is free labor upon my part, I'll go ahead and cut it off there.
In terms of my overall reading, this is a work that does what it needs to do in a way that I appreciate but don't entirely like on an instinctive level. Still, if the majority of the works that the NYRB Classics has and continues to build up its catalogue with looked a lot more like this in terms of international scope and publication intrepidity and less like hipster mania, it would be all the better for it. I acknowledge the need for marketability and target audience and all that jazz, but such is what is likely to prevent me from ever committing to a publishing subscription of any sort, as the longer period of time and effort I spend in picking through what comes to me in a less exorbitant if more chaotic fashion is rewarded ten fold when a book fits exactly to my specified needs. So, while this work didn't prove an absolute favorite, it's also not something I can imagine myself stumbling across even if I gave it another three, five years, so I'm glad I indulged when it proved practical to do so. As for whether you, reader, should read this, it's not something I'd recommend without some knowledge of the context of both the history and the faith system, else even the 30 pages of supplemental material for 120 pages of actual text isn't going to do you much good. Information moves faster than ever these days, but issues of access and respect loom as infuriatingly large as ever. This is one of those pieces that make such clear in an unavoidable sense, so I would advise you take it on only if you're honestly willing to engage, rather than exoticize.
P.S. It seems the 1970's film adaptation for this is, leastwise of 1/23/22, available in its entirety for free on YouTube, for whomever is into that sort of thing.
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The protagonist, Praneshacharya, is head brahmin in his commune. Throughout the book, we reflect with him as he struggles with, essentially, what we would call a nervous breakdown today. His understanding of himself and his way of life is turned upside down after he commits a “sinful” act and is forced to come to terms with what it means. He is responsible, fairly or unfairly, for determining the funeral rites for the recently deceased brahmin, Naranappa. The central plot of the novel revolves around this death, and what to do about Naranappa's death rites, because he had not lived by the strict code, yet had not been ex-communicated either.
I found Praneshacharya to be more likeable as a character than how I have felt towards other orthodox characters. He has a softness and an authenticity to his desire to help (some may read this another way, I'm sure). He is less prideful, at least during his fall. He feels overburdened with the upkeep of the brahmin ways. His opposite, Naranappa, is presented as a challenge to Praneshacharya's faith and practices. Before he died, Naranappa had teased Praneshacharya - deriding him that he will lose out.And that is the fun of the novel: Naranappa's debauchery and hedonism vs the Acharya and his prejudiced, orthodox traditions. It remains untold who won - although I assume many a reader will have a different take on this i.e traditionalism is dead - especially as it relates to the caste system in India, in which I am no expert.
The book ends before we know how Praneshacharya proceeds in his new and tainted life, but we spend the last third of the book with him as he experiences uncomfortable amounts of shame and anxiety - new and unbearable feelings for him. We travel with him as he is compelled to run from his village, craving anonymity in the city. We are with him when he considers his new choices, the multiple paths forward and what they would mean for him. He is humbled and then prideful again, at peace and then disgusted again, considers dignified and difficult choices bravely but then flees, afraid again. He is confused and looks for mentorship from those he once looked down on, and tried to mentor himself. All of this is so familiar if you have experienced a breakdown, regardless of the circumstance, the continent, the religious context, the decade, the specifics of one’s self-understanding - it is such a gift for a writer to be able to describe how it feels to lose grip of the ground underneath you, and of everything you once thought to be true.
Ramlal Agarwal writes in his review “Samskara was received as an affront to brahmanical order, a deliberate delineation of decadence and debauchery, an attempt to malign brahmins, and project them as morons. The novel is about all that has been said and felt by its critics. But, at another level, it is also a novel about an idealist who wants to live by the norm, falls and struggles to regain his lost position. The overriding message of the novelist is that obsessive traditionalism, fanaticism and exclusivism are the dead end for any society.”
I found Praneshacharya to be more likeable as a character than how I have felt towards other orthodox characters. He has a softness and an authenticity to his desire to help (some may read this another way, I'm sure). He is less prideful, at least during his fall. He feels overburdened with the upkeep of the brahmin ways. His opposite, Naranappa, is presented as a challenge to Praneshacharya's faith and practices. Before he died, Naranappa had teased Praneshacharya - deriding him that he will lose out.
Ramlal Agarwal writes in his review “Samskara was received as an affront to brahmanical order, a deliberate delineation of decadence and debauchery, an attempt to malign brahmins, and project them as morons. The novel is about all that has been said and felt by its critics. But, at another level, it is also a novel about an idealist who wants to live by the norm, falls and struggles to regain his lost position. The overriding message of the novelist is that obsessive traditionalism, fanaticism and exclusivism are the dead end for any society.”
As someone reading from afar in the UK, and decades later, I didn’t receive the novel as biased against either way of life, but as one showing all the nuances and difficulties of both - and expressing all the pain of existing in either framework. (I understand from researching afterwards that the context in which it was written does suggest some strong opinions!) The book encourages a exploration of one's own position on a sort of Praneshacharya-to-Naranappa spectrum - where is one uncomfortable with societal restraints and where have freedoms been won?
I think we should all be so lucky as to come across Praneshacharya and hear his story, in order to help us better understand our own struggles. The existential issues encountered in this book are a tale as old as time. Our contexts change but living, and living in a society, is a constant source of struggle for a conscientious person.We don’t know what Praneshacharya does next, and likewise, we have to decide for ourselves what we will do next too. My overarching takeaway from this book is that I have to decide for myself how I think it is best to live, by what rules, and there is no right answer - however if the path I chose is "obsessive traditionalism, fanaticism and exclusivism " then that indeed may foretell a dead end for me, too.
I think we should all be so lucky as to come across Praneshacharya and hear his story, in order to help us better understand our own struggles. The existential issues encountered in this book are a tale as old as time. Our contexts change but living, and living in a society, is a constant source of struggle for a conscientious person.
Samskara is a work that rejects Indian traditions and bound by French existentialism. Disappointing read to be honest. Felt dry textbook translation. Maybe i was expecting more from this book but story can't be justify within 136 pages. Even i felt that author didn't read Dharmasastra. The main protagonist Praneshacharya who studied 12 years in Kashi was looking so helpless in this story. Even if the author had done his research by reading Dharmasastra before writing this book he wouldn't make this character more incapacitated. Anyway i don't want to say much, otherwise everyone will start commenting here for having different a view.
Anyway U.R. Ananthamurthy was my 10th Kannada writer. Being a non Kannada reader, I am really enjoying Kannada literature. I will keep exploring Kannada books.
Anyway U.R. Ananthamurthy was my 10th Kannada writer. Being a non Kannada reader, I am really enjoying Kannada literature. I will keep exploring Kannada books.
Another example of how stifling an orthodoxy can be. A web of unnecessary rules created by a religion to control and oppress destroys people and the community of its devout followers (brahmins). The afterword and discussion of the translation were more interesting than the book itself.
This novel opens in a small Brahmin village in India with the death of Naranappa, a renegade who “flouted the rules of caste and purity for years.” Because of his actions, the village turns to their leader for guidance in whether or not Naranappa should receive the death rites of a Brahmin. As a westerner reading this, I enjoyed the behind-the-scenes look at the workings, thoughts, and beliefs of such a village; and even prided myself on recognizing the false humility of the teacher, and understanding that his journey through impurity would make him whole.
Then I read the “Afterward" and the “Interview" with U.R. Ananthamaurthy — and was humbled by just how much I had missed, and how deeply this novel truly addresses the human nature.
I’ll wait until others chime in with their thoughts so that I won’t ruin the reading experience for those who haven’t finished it yet, but I will address a couple of thoughts below:
In the Afterward, the translator poses the question, “Once a Brahmin, always a Brahmin?” This made me laugh out loud since “Once saved, always saved” was a phrase of my childhood… exemplifying that religions have more in common than not.
The afterward also addresses the concept of “emergency ethics” (a Brahmin can meat if they are dying of starvation)… a concept that all religions also deal with.
All in all, I really enjoyed this book and will be pondering it for quite a while.
Then I read the “Afterward" and the “Interview" with U.R. Ananthamaurthy — and was humbled by just how much I had missed, and how deeply this novel truly addresses the human nature.
I’ll wait until others chime in with their thoughts so that I won’t ruin the reading experience for those who haven’t finished it yet, but I will address a couple of thoughts below:
In the Afterward, the translator poses the question, “Once a Brahmin, always a Brahmin?” This made me laugh out loud since “Once saved, always saved” was a phrase of my childhood… exemplifying that religions have more in common than not.
The afterward also addresses the concept of “emergency ethics” (a Brahmin can meat if they are dying of starvation)… a concept that all religions also deal with.
All in all, I really enjoyed this book and will be pondering it for quite a while.
funny
reflective
I truly enjoyed the multiple afterwords but it's also pretty funny that nyrb published Ramanujan's translation accompanied by an interview w the author complaining about that translation
"The desire natural to mere mortals, to tell lies, to hide things, to think of one's own welfare, arose in him for the first time. He couldn't find the courage to shatter the respect and faith these people had placed in him. Is this pity, self-preservation, habit, inertia, sheer hypocrisy? The Sanskrit chant, learned by heart and recited daily, turned over and over in his mind: 'I am sin, my work is sin, my soul is sin, my birth is in sin.' No, no, even that is a lie. Must forget all words learned by heart, the heart must flow free like a child's."
"The desire natural to mere mortals, to tell lies, to hide things, to think of one's own welfare, arose in him for the first time. He couldn't find the courage to shatter the respect and faith these people had placed in him. Is this pity, self-preservation, habit, inertia, sheer hypocrisy? The Sanskrit chant, learned by heart and recited daily, turned over and over in his mind: 'I am sin, my work is sin, my soul is sin, my birth is in sin.' No, no, even that is a lie. Must forget all words learned by heart, the heart must flow free like a child's."