An epic narrative; an unrequited end

A new author, a new publishing imprint, a historical work of fiction. You expect the book to sizzle. Does it? Rain Dance, Shanta Sinha Bhalla's debut novel, has all the ingredients that should set the pulses of theatre director Aamir Razaa Husain, or actor Shah Rukh Khan (who cavorted on screen with another "historical" Karuvaki, alas very different from the courtesan Ambika, who becomes Ashoka's fifth wife in this book) racing. But in the end, what does it deliver?

Clearly, Bhalla is obsessed with the past, and has researched extensively into the golden age of the Mauryan empire. And, undoubtedly, as a period, it is one of the most satisfying in which to situate a novel.

There was the indomitable power and sway of Ashoka's empire (after he had vanquished Kalinga in the war that was to turn him Buddhist); there was the subordination of nation kingdoms across much of South Asia; the practice of thuggee continued; emissaries from the courts of Greece and Rome, of Vidarbha and Persia brought in a cosmopolitan culture; there was learning from the ancient and contemporary texts; two religions (Hinduism and Buddhism) were vying for dominance; trade and prosperity were celebrated; and the veiling of women was still some centuries away in the future.

Bhalla's two sources of information on the period are clearly A L Basham's The Wonder That Was India and Romila Thapar's Ashok and the Decline of the Mauryas. Unfortunately, the effort shows.

There is altogether too much emphasis on background details""on the foods eaten, on the interiors, on chariots and carriages and dresses and jewellery: a lunching lady's take on past times with nostalgia wallowing in pathos? Often, Thapar's interpretation is used verbatim, adding a jarring academic tone to what is essentially a romantic narrative.

But perhaps Bhalla should be forgiven her dhobi's list of Mauryan details in attempting to create a screenplay for the senses. For she writes her book not as a literary work as much as a rapid (and largely enjoyable) work for the popular masses, taking up two separate stories and intertwining them to bring alive an era with a mix of historical and fictional characters.

One of these strands deals with Ashoka (riddled with cliches"""His chin was strong with the hint of a cleft...Yes, he was still a handsome, vigorous man", etc.) and the courtesan Ambika, who dramatically announces her presence to warn him of an internecine plot to rid his heir Kunal of the throne of Bharatvarsh.

Their love story (she must submit to him for she is, after all, a courtesan; but his respect soon sees her being crowned Queen Karuvaki as his fifth and most beloved wife, and fourth queen), clearly meant to be the background for the other tale, assumes larger significance than might have been appropriate.

For the second story deals with Ashoka's dear friend (and trader) Rajadatta's daughter Chitralekha and her unrequited love for a Shakya monk, Vijitasena. Clearly, this love story of a rebellious child and a monk tempted, could have been the stuff of an epic magnum opus, but Bhalla plays it safe.

In the end, Ashoka and Ambika live happily ever after, while Chitralekha and her family, with Vijitasena, set off on a grand journey""arduous, sometimes impossible, but alas, letting nothing by way of intimacies develop between the two.

Interwoven into these two parallel narratives are other accounts of supporting characters, such as the tribal Shiven (who kidnaps Chitralekha), who is unfortunately lost in the background once his role is done; or the arrival of the Persian priest Zolar, who confirms that Ambika/Karuvaki is no common courtesan but a Persian princess.

Bhalla attempts for most part to play it safe, one reason why the novel fails to rise above its conservative premise. While the political intrigue is too much in the face, the characters are too demystified and appear to play assigned roles.

Ambika the courtesan is the perfect "lady" without any of the rambunctious raunchiness that one might expect of a lady of the night; some coquetry would hardly have been out of place, without taking away from her learning and erudition.

Chitralekha, from whom one has high expectations of misdemeanour (given her free-spiritedness), also turns out to be disappointing as a heroine. Her parents Rajadatta and Damayanti remain caricatures, even though they help to complete the background for the life and times of residents of Mauryan Bharatvarsh.

If Bhalla's protagonists are disappointing, it is because they dwell in their stereotypes. As a result, the novel's conclusions are almost foretold""Chitralekha's inability to consummate her love for Vijitasena may be "appropriate" but why are there no suitors or paramours from the legions of courtiers from India or the rest of the world?

Why is Shiven cast so unsuitably as a saviour-brother instead of a saviour-potential lover? And why do the intertwined tales not cross paths more often, showing up the opportunity for debate in a society that was "free"?

If the novel leaves behind such questions, it is because it reads lightly, swiftly; Bhalla clearly has the gift of telling a tale and telling it well. The language is lyrical, and glides across pages effortlessly.

The dominant characters themselves are well etched, and the dialogues have a natural rhythm that is seductive, even beguiling. Perhaps that is what leads one to expect much more from the book; alas, like Chitralekha's love, this too must remain unrequited.

Or must it? The abrupt end to the novel hints at a sequel on the further journeys and adventures of Chitralekha and Vijitasena. If she does write it, and if she can have the protagonists succumb to their human (rather than noble) emotions, Bhalla might yet triumph. Watch this space.

RAIN DANCE

Shanta Sinha Bhalla
Blue Leaf/Brijbasi
Price: Not given, Pages: 277