‘White Blood’: Nanak Singh’s 1932 novel is a searing critique of the moral corruption in society

White Blood is a translation of Nanak Singh’s famous novel Chitta Lahu, published to great acclaim in 1932. Dilraj Singh Suri’s rendering of this work is graceful for the most part. However, it has some rough edges that could have been smoothed out. In this translation the novel is certainly engaging, if not utterly exceptional.

I found this disconcerting, since this is the translation of a path-breaking work by an eminent Punjabi writer. But the lacklustre editing dims its shine. Even so, the narrative is powerful enough to sustain your attention.

White Blood is a searing critique of the moral corruption hollowing out society. It seems as if the very blood of people has become contaminated. It is devoid of the life force that injects vitality into a community. The male protagonist, Bachan Singh, is a young man with reformist zeal. He wishes to cleanse his community of deep-rooted social ills. The public spirit that propels him might not be fully understood by young readers of today. Though Bachan Singh is a grounded man without sanctimoniousness, some readers might feel that his social intervention borders on interference and reeks of moralism. He objects to a dance performance planned at a wedding because he suspects it would be vulgar. He treats this form of entertainment as degrading. Though the performance is watched by lecherous men, drooling over the entertainer, it is likely to be seen as the choice of the wedding organisers in today’s world.

Realism and melodrama

The novel elicits a gamut of emotions: pity, anger, amusement, disgust, hope, despair, and profound sadness. Though the Translator's Preface states that Nanaki Singh’s novel steered Punjabi novels towards realism, I couldn't help noticing the occasional glimpses of melodrama in the text. Much of the novel seems to be a faithful, and satirical, representation of the society of that period. Towards the end, however, the novel's intensity is heightened to the extent that it loses some of its realistic quality. This eventual shift in the mode of writing does not disrupt its flow. The final passages, in fact, absorb your whole attention and shake you from within. These hauntingly beautiful lines stayed with me:

Sundri wanted to cry, but she could not. She did not know how to. The flames raging inside her had dried her tears.

She got up and went outside the waiting hall. As far as she could see, passengers milled about her. ...  An odour of deception and malice seemed to emanate from every human being there. She felt everything God had created around her was meant for her destruction. She looked up at the sky. Only a few scattered dark clouds dressed for mourning seemed to share her sorrows. A few stars were twinkling, but unable to bear her grief, they hid behind the clouds.

Bachan Singh, a ray of hope for a lost community, pays a terrible price for his integrity and good intentions. The thugs in the community, who are too deep in the mud to be capable or desirous of altering their ways, treat him as an enemy. The growing resentment against him leads to a travesty, which the readers should discover for themselves. This is a novel about sickness, reflected in the morbid streak of religious figures, the revolting actions of ordinary folks, and most alarmingly, in the cancerous growth of wickedness and vices. Bachan Singh has a touchingly innocent – some would say naïve – belief in the power of an individual’s positive impact.

Testing times, now and then

This told me something vital about our cynical times, where few people would believe in the transformative potential of ordinary individuals. I silently rooted, and eventually wept, for Bachan Singh. He has the audacity to hope that things can change even in the face of great odds. He wishes to nudge his fellow villagers, who have gone astray, in the right direction. He takes it upon himself to preserve the values of his community, dedicating himself to the greater good.

White Blood illustrated the intertwining of religiosity, humanity, morality and social responsibility. It also draws attention to how faith can be a source of nobility despite the pseudo-religiosity of those who are not its real custodians. This is as true now as it was in Nanak Singh’s time. With biting wit, the novel depicts the warped conception of brotherhood stemming from a distortion of the spirit of religion:

“Friends!” Pandit shouted jubilantly, demanding the attention of his inebriated audience. “What a blessed time this is! There is the true spirit of national integration and universal love here tonight. … May God bless all of India with this spirit!”

“Pandit ji! I swear by Khuda, all this prosperity is because of the power of alcohol. It really is one of the best divine treasures. Don't non-drinkers know how powerful it is in strengthening the bond of love?” Khwaja Sahib said.

One thing that did not strike a chord with me were the traces of patriarchal misogyny in the text. Though the novel depicts women who are strong enough to endure many hardships, it also endows them with a vindictive streak. At one point in the novel, Sundri reveals to her lover, Bachan Singh, that she harbours thoughts of revenge. Bachan Singh urges her to quell these destructive emotions. He explains to her that everything is pre-destined and that we “should be so strong that no power in this world can distract us from our path”. This seemed like a typical case of mansplaining. The novel does have female characters with a caring and even maternal disposition, but they appear briefly.

White Blood is a novel of great force, still, it is marred by the imperfections scattered across the text. In a world glutted with distractions, the ones who pick up a serious work of fiction and expect near-perfect prose might be a little disappointed.

White Blood, Nanak Singh, translated from the Punjabi by Dilraj Singh Suri, Hachette India.