Black Beauty Rose Bushes

Configuration of Destinies: Stylistic Beauty and Pattern in Khushwant Singh’s Burial at Sea

 

To discern the literary style of an author like Khushwant Singh whose fictional output is often treated as potboiler on the basis of the subject matter he presents– is a subtle task to carry forward. But this is rather his way to cater to the tastes and expectations of the readers i. e. his style that has secured a berth for him among the literary writers. The figure of Khushwant Singh is often put into the criteria of ascertaining his literary might by the commoners, even by the critics, with the viewpoint of  expecting some spicy material; taking him as a ribald writer. But he has hardly been approached with yard stick to assess his artistic styles.

                   

A writer in today’s scenario cannot afford remaining confined in self-styled mansion made of classical pattern of just art for art sake; he has to rather keep in view the heterogeneous readers. That is why he has to be conscious to what he is going to deliver to the society comprising different strata of people. Khushwant Singh, in this way, is no exception and he truly fits in the category of conscious writers of today. Instead of letting down the flow of the words itself from his pen he bothers to put the beads or flowers of the words into a knotless string; giving us a well designed beautiful garland.

 

That is why his dexterity to design a pattern of plots into a well shaped structure speaks eloquently in his fifth novel Burial at Sea (2004). Here, the novelist has skillfully woven the saga of human life; the vicissitudes of an individual and thus making of modern India among other things– into such a beautiful shape to make it finally the novel of fourteen chapters with well knit plots. The brevity of the novel too indicates his ability to craft that he has so tediously chiseled each plot to be fit into the contour of the novel.

 

Putting it in formalist way, the novel has balanced beauty with rhythmic gait and curvy structure. The book is light enough to have the wings of imagination; taking the readers in the romantic world of mystery and dubious charms where unbridled sex is possible on the basis of Yoga and Sadhana. The romanticism of the writer not only lures himself but engages the readers spell-bound. The description of Ma Durgeshwari adds to the novel the mystery and charm as if it is the world of imagination. She is not ordinary woman, with no ordinary personality of a woman but having a magical aura of powers and charms striding all her ways. She runs an ashram. The common folk almost adores her like the most powerful Hindu goddess of lions as she has a pet tiger name Sheroo; having a trident for the killing of rakshasas as they believe:                                                                                                                   

‘That, Sir, is the ashram of Ma Durgeshwari. She is a powerful tantric. People say she was born in a cave in high Himalayas. She owns a tiger called Sheroo who I’ve been told is a strict vegetarian. He follows her everywhere like a pet dog. She takes him to the Ganga every day and they bathe in the river together. People are scared of going anywhere near them. They call her Sheron wali ma— mother of tigers. For her darshan you have to approach her chief disciple who is an Englishwoman’ (p. 128-29).

 

Though, setting of such events is in India of all commonalities, yet the inclusion of such elements of mystery and romance make it the world of wonder and awe. The delineation of Ma Durgeshwari, stark naked as though in dreams, taking open bath first in Ganga then in the sun make her future favourite son of Oedipus, Victor  Jai Bhagwan take the bath of purgation through his wide open eyes. The spectacle of a voluptuous sadhvi taking bath in open natural settings with a tiger is a bizarre thing but bewitching, away from the drab reality of business and trade in Bombay:

 

       She took off her saffron scarf, then the tiger skin. She rolled her hair up to and tied it in a bun on the top of her head. She was stark naked: skin the colour of old ivory, large, firm breasts and buttocks and a neat black triangular bush between her legs. Victor guessed she would be in her late twenties. For a while she stood rubbing her body with her hands. Then she felt the water, withdrew it quickly and said something to her tiger who raised its long stiff tail once and brought it down slowly. Gingerly she stepped into the ice-cold stream, splashed some water on her body, then sank down into the stream till the water flowed over the head. The tiger jumped into the river and swam up to her side. She splashed water on his face when he came too close to her. They played in the river for a while till she could not stand the cold anymore. She has no towel and exposed her body to the sun to dry her. She sat on the rock, combed her hair with her fingers and re-tied it on top her head. The tiger licked her body for the drops of water that remained (p.129-30).

  

Nonetheless, the novel has been set to be the illustration of truly flesh and blood people of ordinary society. Thus it has ample weight to keep the readers planted to the earth texture; to let them feel like rubbing shoulders with the protagonists who sound, in every way, earthly. The novel begins with the commonplace description of Jai Bhagwan’s last journey, after his demise, through the city and such description of matter of fact ceremony leaves no clue of fanciful elements further in the novel:

 

                                  Faint notes of military band playing the Funeral March led the procession to the bottom of Walkeshwar Hill at Chowpatty. Crods lined both sides of Marine Drive. People stood on their balconies showering rose petals on bier as it passed below them; women sobbed and shed their silent tears for a man most of them had never seen but whose presence they have felt around them all their lives (p. 03).

 

However, judging through the Aristotelian concept of right magnitude of any literary piece the present novel truly fits in that way. The plots in the book do not form too big a picture to overshadow the viewer. Nor it is too small to make the viewer widen their eyeballs. The author has so dexterously devised such a configuration of events in the novel that each plot runs on its way towards stipulated destiny but via main plot of Victor Jai Bhagwan, the chief protagonist.

 

 The main action in the novel is set to revolve around the story of Jai Bhagwan, the son of a renowned and anglicized barrister of British times, Mr. Krishan Lal Matttoo. The royal treatment and training to him in western fashion during his childhood at the hands of highly decent and civilized governess from west; his staying in posh of London to grow into a responsible but anglicized gentleman and finally his emergence as the leading industrialist of India culminating in his assassination– form the main plot of the novel. While the stories of Ma Durgeshwari, a tantric woman but jai Bhagwan’s keep; that of Dhananjay Maharaj, the maestro of Yoga and allies of former; and of Bharti, the unusual but influential daughter of Jai Bhagwan, just hover around the main action and serve as the continuation of that.    

 

 Giving classical pattern to the story of emerging India towards her modern form the novelist has endeavoured to produce the account of the events of a nation against the backdrops of the life span of the an individual; beginning from his childhood to his death. Nonetheless, Khushwant Singh does not wholly cling to classical pattern of narrative and structure as the things of the protagonist’s life do not exactly raise head in the very first chapter. The first chapter, in fact, has been indexed as something eulogy in American style; the author begins the things with the delineation of Jai Bhagwan’s funeral in rather sullen tone.

The structure leaves a tad suggestion of having circular contour, however from chapter two onwards the events go rather linear. Through all segments the main plot steeps down, expands, narrows within but is charged to flow in continuity of time span like a river of life force; finally falling and merging into leviathan sea of huge bosoms. That is why the novelist very intelligently lays bare the mood into the narrative in the very first chapter wherein the pivotal character is found dead and unusually buried into sea. The gloomy beginning hints something serious and the death of some national figure as the case in Shakespearean heroes:

 

For two days and nights his embalmed body lay in the Darbar Hall of the Governor’s palatial residence overlooking the Arabian Sea. Raj Bhavan has been thrown open to the citizens so they could pay homage to the man who had perhaps done more for their country than anyone else in living memory. Though few people knew him personally, he had become a legend; the line of homage payers bearing wreaths and flowers stretched over a mile beyond the entrance gate. Protocol has been set aside. The police merely ensured that the mourners kept moving past the bier on which he lay with a triumphant, even defiant, look on his dead face. Those who lingered, hoping to get a glimpse of his daughter and heir to his vast fortune, were disappointed. Only his aging sisters could be seen in the hall, receiving important visitors (p. 1-2).   

 But more importantly what brings Khushwant Singh’s draughtsmanship at fore is the fact that three classical unities of time, place and action have been dramatically been maintained. To add artistic excellence and grandeur to the structure Khushwant Singh has designed a configuration of the criss-cross of the actions. It has been made to look coincidental that Jai Bhagwan has his first sexual experience in London at Christmas day and the same experience of Bharti, his daughter, takes place in the very city and the occasion is the same.

 Jai Bhagwan Victor just of fourteen meets a roadside prostitute in freezing cold evening of Christmas in London. Here, the strumpet symbolizes the outside agent of corruption and thus evil but which is attractive to a west infatuated Indian adolescent who would miss no chance to venture into something which is said to be forbidden:

 Victor turned his steps homewards to his mews. At Notting Hill Gate he took Bayswater Road towards Marble Arch. There was hardly any traffic and no one on the footpaths. Near Marble Arch he came across a solitary figure clad in flimsy raincoat a dirty muffler wrapped around her neck. As Victor came close to her she turned around and said, ‘Hello.’ She was shivering in the cold.

                                    ‘Hello,’ replied Victor, ‘what are you doing out in this cold winter evening?’ She looked to be in her early twenties. Her face was bloodless white with the cold (p. 51-52).

 

The cold Christmas evening in London implies the Londoners’ old preference for winter to the month of April which is cruelest to them; as in desolate winter one’s rational mind succumbs to the workings of instincts. Here, young Victor has the first knocking of lustful experience and thus loses his virginity, as the novelist refers it. The forlorn environ of freezing cold in London, that can drive one to just follow his darker side, found telling delineation at the hands of the writer:

 

On Christmas Day London was strangely quiet.    Hardly any sound of traffic. Church bells tolled. It was a bright sunny morning. Victor took a walk in Hide Park. There were few people about. Silence pervaded over Speaker’s Corner. The only sign of activity he noticed was men and women on horseback trotting along Rotten Row. It was a long two-hour walk in the crisp, cool air in what was aptly called the lungs of London (p.49-50).

 

The quietness of London bears the analogy to deceptive stillness of Nature which is imperatively followed by storm leaving far reaching ramification. In Victor’s life this placid evening stirs the tumult of lust and he comes in close contact of outside virus; the virus of contagious impact on one’s psyche. To Khushwant Singh, as to anybody, the idea of losing one’s virginity or the first sexual experience holds significance in their life or what is termed as the turning point where forth their life takes a different direction to move in. This turning point i.e. the maiden fleshy delight has been given special treatment in this novel in two lives, that of Jai Bhagwan and of his daughter, Bharti. The author artistically has deployed these incidents to give narrative a further push into new direction and thus designing shape of the structure of the story. Jai Bhagwan has this lustful experience in chapter Four in London on Christmas evening in his hideout:

 

Victor glanced at her. He would have liked to gape and stare to see what a woman’s body looked like but was too polite to do so. Jenny got into the bed; Victor stretched himself on the sofa and switched off the lights. A few minutes later he could hear her snore. Sleep would not come to him. So often he had fantasized about making love to a woman, thrashing around naked in the bed with her, her breasts swinging and bobbing in his face. Here he was now with a woman lying naked in his bed, more than willing to be made love to, and he was a few feet away from her, spread out on a sofa. Was he a coward? Was he an ass? Lust got better of his doubts and fears (p. 54-55).

 

  This very action but in the life of Bharti in the same fashion, on the same occasion and the same city and place gives artistic beauty to the novel. Jai Bhagwan has this significant experience in the chapter four and Bharti has this in chapter nine and the two same actions fall with the gap of many years. This big gap of almost thirty-eight years between two significant incidents implies the time of maturation; Jai Bhagwan’s graduating to a business tycoon through formative years, his marriage leading to Bharti’s birth and consequent death of her mother among other things. A writer of literary worth is endowed with special dexterity to chisel his work to the perfection of potent literary piece with specific symbols and tools he deploys as instrument to convey the underlying meaning in a specific style.

 

 The act of physical contact in the form of sexual experience carries the virus of contamination in the artistically wrapped box of literary symbols. In chapter four the act of maiden gratification of lust signifies the contact of innocence to experience. The roadside slut being the outside agent to contaminate the innocence of Victor; it is as if he has tasted the apple of knowledge or of corruption to further succumbs to almost debauchery when he comes into contact of Durgeshwari. Being the agent of outside world to so far pampered boy Jenny symbolizes the evil force of devastation as she deserts him taken aback, helpless and uncertain by having deprived him of his fifteen pounds. The pertinent irony cannot be missed in the situation as Victor stays devastated and deprived on the occasion when all humanity hopes to get the bountiful blessings from prosperous green tree of Christmas:

 

                                         …He went to the bathroom, had a shower and got into his clothes. He felt the hip pocket of his trousers where he kept his wallet. It was empty. He had fifteen pounds in it. He looked around the room. His Eton woolen scarf was gone. He sat down in his sofa with his head in his hands. ‘The bloody bitch! She charged me her usual rate; five pounds each turn he muttered. She hadn’t left him money to get back to Eton. Where would he find the bus fair?’(p. 57)

 

Young Victor was warned by god like Gandhi to stay away from low women in the west. And this attraction to something that arises as treason, in the dark, something forbidden but with strong pull ultimately enslaves any mortal.

 

 In case of Bharti’s experience too the novelist has endeavoured to bring the idea of spoil at home that it is human to exclusively go for forbidden when their will prevails. But Bharti is the case of perversion too when she has first sex with rather repulsive and forbidden Nair, an unscrupulous and cunning business associate of her father. Jai Bhagwan anxiously but wisely gives warning to Bharti to stay away from treacherous Nair as the former himself was warned by Mahatma Gandhi to avoid cheap women and thus impurity in the west:

 

                                     Bharti approved of the idea. I’ll be lost in the strange place without anyone to show me around. Nair would be a great help,’ she said.

                                    Her father added a warning note: ‘Mind you, he has a prickly personality. He picks quarrels with people. You’ll have to guard yourself against that.’

                                    ‘I haven’t noticed anything prickly about him,’ replied Bharti. ‘He is always charming and courteous towards me.’

                                   ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Victor. I have known him since my days in college (p. 119-20).         

 

When haughty Bharti is in the very city, the day is the same ie Christmas winter. Satanic Nair prevails upon her to boost up her lurking, latent desires for something that is prohibited; to instigate her for something forbidden. Here too, the carnal lust gets better of reason or ethics and she finds it pious to commit sin on this holy occasion. Though physically as well as temperamentally Nair is rather repulsive man with Mephistophelean strain of mind and there is every reason that he should despise the former, yet Bharti imperatively follows him like a dependent child:

 

                                    They were still in London on Christmas Day. The city bore a deserted look. Nair suggested a drive to Eton so Bharti could see the school her father had gone to. It would be closed but they could see the buildings and Windsor Castle. Bharti agreed readily. It would be his last day with her as he was due to fly back to India the next morning and the idea of a long drive with him appealed to her. She had grown fond of this eccentric indulgent man who gave her so much of his time. It was a sunny day, nevertheless Bharti shared her shawl with Nair and held his hand. She was already beginning to miss him (p. 122).

 

The maiden lustful experiences respectively by father and daughter at the hands of dubious agents from darker side of the world—reveal the architectonic skills of the novelist that he has designed to pattern of the same action on the same occasion and the same city. Besides, the writer has very skillfully fitted the plots into well designed contours of the novel to leave it with nice structure. 

Sonu Lohat, Sirsa Haryana ,India

+919541589463; 9416728599

sublimesonu@gmail.com        

About the Author

Khushwant Singh is prominant author today.

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