Book Excerpt: Swallowing The Sun By Lakshmi Murdeshwar Puri

Imaginative, compelling, and exquisitely told, Swallowing the Sun skilfully blends imagination with history, both personal and national, to narrate the story of Malati and her sister Kamala against the backdrop of India’s independence struggle. The author uses the real-life story of her mother and her relationship with her father to imbue the narrative with authenticity.

Through the eyes of its feisty young heroine, Malati, the novel recreates one of the most tumultuous periods in modern Indian history—the struggle for Independence. As a young girl, Malati fights and defeats the school bully of her village school in Maharashtra. From then onwards, backed by her progressive father, she and her sister Kamala push the boundaries constantly. After an eventful girlhood, the sisters become the first women in their family to go to college. They end up in Bombay, a hotbed of political ferment, where, even as she is whirled along by the irresistible current and excitement of the battle for Independence, she negotiates the small and big aspects of everyday life—love, loss, failure, and compromise.

Here's an excerpt from Lakshmi Murdeshwar Puri's Swallowing the Sun

The excitement flew around in shards and rattled within Malati. Her head had become a two-sided drum. Bhika, her burly classmate,  had ballooned into a demon drummer, tapping gently on her head with his claws—tut tut tut, then fiercely pounding on it with sticks to rouse it into a dham dhama dham beat of the festive Dhol Tasha. A  prelude to their wrestling match.  

She could hardly concentrate as she sat cross-legged on a reed mat with her sister Kamala on one side of the classroom, separated from the boys. She furiously wrote Bhika’s name on her slate and erased it again and again. She was smarting from the insults hurled by the village headman’s son earlier that day when she had crossed over to the ‘boys’ side’ of the classroom.  

‘How dare you cross the boundaries—the Lakshman Rekha! Who are you—two puny, skirt-wearing girls in a school of sixty strong loin cloth-wearing warriors—to have the temerity to do something like that? Stay within your limits. Submit to our overlordship or else...’  Bhika had warned at the top of his voice that was beginning to comically croak and squeak by turns with the onset of puberty. 

Malati laughed mockingly.  

‘Or else what? Kamala and I see no boundaries. We are more than equal to your sixty so-called veers combined in brains. We can beat you Bhika in anything!’ Malati had retorted angrily, no longer able to bear the daily onslaughts on their ‘privileged girldom’.  

‘Arechya! Then you must be able to wrestle with us and beat us,  eh?’ Bhika had taunted. 

‘Don’t forget I am a Kshatriya warrior! No matter that I am a girl.  Sure, I will wrestle with you. Now!’ Malati had raised her clenched fists. Bhika and his veers had guffawed out loud. 

‘Done. And if I defeat you, you retreat into your kitchens as  Gangubais, where you belong,’ Bhika had said, winking at his mates.  Kamala whispered in Malati’s ear, trying to dissuade her. But she could not back down now. The whole class was electrified by the prospect of what was about to happen. Pingle sir, their teacher, came in just then, and Kamala was relieved. Malati was not. She signalled surreptitiously to Bhika to set up the contest after class. Malati declared  to Kamala in a loud enough voice to startle Pingle sir, ‘Now even the  English sahebs who rule us cannot save Bhika.’ 

The bell rang at last and everyone shot out of the door like arrows released from Lord Rama’s bow, scattering in all directions.  Cries of ‘Jai Hanuman’ rent the air. Bhika and his gang ran to a  deserted side of the school and beckoned to the girls to follow.  Kamala looked out for Khandoba, their father’s farm manager who escorted them to and from the school, hoping he could stop Malati’s mad venture without her losing honour. But he was late arriving that day. 

Bhika’s gang formed a circle. Kamala was frightened, but tried not to show it to keep Malati’s morale up. Malati prayed hard and tried to recall moves the wrestlers made in the occasional wrestling matches she and Kamala had been taken to by Khandoba. Bhika and Malati faced off in the centre. His friend, Pandu, blew a whistle as Bhika took up his position, hit his chunky thighs with his hands, making an intimidating sound—thad thad thad. Bending forward with fists poised in readiness, he donned a wrestler’s killer look and swagger.  

Malati copied his pose but refrained from slapping her thighs. What if it produced a pathetic tut tut tut, muffled by the swirl of her skirt. She stared back at him, trying not to look small and girlish. The gang laughed at her and mocked, ‘Bagha, bagha, look a dwarf  of a girl is spoiling for a fight with us giants.’ 

Malati tried to block out the din. Tried to concentrate on a  vulnerable part of Bhika’s body that she could attack. Pandu blew the whistle again. Before she could move her fist, Bhika’s iron arm flew into her face and she fell down on her back with a cry of ‘Ayeega’. 

Bhika stood above her and leered down.  

‘Have you had enough already with this first blow itself?’ he asked.  Malati was trying not to cry. ‘I will fight you, you dog,’ she managed to hiss. 

Malati glanced at Kamala. She did not look afraid for her brave sister. So, Malati scrambled up, swaying from side to side. Everyone jeered. Suddenly, Malati remembered Baba’s story about Ravana, the ten-headed demon king, who was invincible except around his navel.  And Lord Rama, tipped off by Ravana’s brother, Vibhishan, killed him by shooting an arrow into his navel. To Malati, Bhika was that demon. And she herself was the righteous, victory-deserving Lord Rama. Just as everyone thought Malati was about to faint, she turned, ran at her tormentor, and swung her fist hard into his navel and below it repeatedly. He shrieked with pain. His hands moved wildly, trying to pummel her. She dodged, running in circles around him. 

Suddenly, he collapsed on the ground and shouted to his gang to get her. Malati raised her hand in victory. It was her turn to look down on him. But before she could really savour the moment, his shocked friends pounced on her and Kamala and started beating them.  ‘Bas kara!’ Khandoba’s loud voice stopped the boys short. They ran away, leaving Bhika writhing in pain on the ground. Kamala and  Malati got up, dusted off their skirts. Blood dripped from Malati’s nose and there were bruises all over her body from the pounding she had got. Kamala was hurt on her face and had a bleeding arm.  Khandoba was alarmed. ‘What happened?’ he demanded. 

A half-defiant, half-tearful Malati explained why she had to fight and pleaded with him not to tell Baba. 

Extracted with permission from Swallowing the Sun by Lakshmi Murdeshwar Puri; published by Aleph Book Company