Sunday book pick: In the Hindi novel ‘Tarpan’, a ‘chamar’ family avenges a lifetime of indignity

“This is what the religious texts say – helping a shudra is killing a brahman. Meaning, the sin of taking a brahmin’s life is the same as coming to a shudra’s aid.”

— Translation by me.

Hindi writer Shivmurti’s 2010 novel, Tarpan, is alarming in its timelessness. The news of the Delhi High Court granting bail to Kuldeep Singh Sengar, who was convicted for raping a minor in 2017, is chilling and deeply shameful. What will the perpetrator, now out of the law’s vigilance, do to the survivor and her family? Her father had already lost his life to the ordeal, and a 5-km restraining order against the victim means nothing when the law can be arm-twisted so easily.

One is reminded of another bizarre case of dropping of gangrape charges against four men accused of gangraping and murdering a Dalit woman in Hathras district in 2020. Do these acts come easily when the victims belong to the most vulnerable communities of India – '“lower” caste, poor, rural, women. Does justice – if there is any to begin with – not care for them?

Fighting injustice

A slim novel of 115 pages, Tarpan takes a slight detour from the usual carnage. Fifteen-year-old Rajpatiya, a minor from the “chamar” community, is groped and molested by Chander, an “upper-caste” man. He ambushes her in a field and throws himself on top of her, but before he can cause further damage, Rajpatiya screams for help as she struggles to fight him off. She is heard by two women working in nearby fields, and they rush to her aid. The three women overpower the man and rescue Rajpatiya. Naturally shaken and embarrassed, Rajpatiya wants the incident to be forgotten but her family, the two women, and the rest of the community refuse to let the assault go unaddressed.

The Constitution guarantees dignity for all – including chamars – and they have every right to a legal recourse. Bhai Ji, a social activist with moderate political leverage, encourages the family to register a complaint with the police. A chamar himself, Bhai Ji is well versed in the penal code and confidently assures them of the rights bestowed by the “SC-ST acts” and how best to utilise them.

Thus begins an endless, roundabout expedition to the police station and courts, as Bhai Ji and Rajpatiya’s father try to convince each guardian how serious the offence is. Molestation is not all that serious, they’re told, whatever it was, at least she wasn’t raped. The absence of penetration “weakens” their case and the family is begged to consider their reputation – Rajpatiya was still young, why tell everyone that she was “loose”?

Meanwhile, all hell breaks loose at Chander’s home. His family is not particularly bothered about his crime; they blame it on his raging manliness – lust, hot-blooded youth, and the like. It was nature’s doing. When word reaches their ears about the possibility of a criminal case against their beloved son, the family of brahmans cannot believe that a bunch of chamars would insult them so. They berate the “chamar raj” which had left the good brahman like them impotent – everything was an assault on their caste identity. The brahmans, so used to the ways of Manu, were suddenly at the centre of legal and moral violations. Chander’s mother is particularly aggrieved – she despises Rajpatiya’s outspoken mother and her dogged pursuit of Chander.

Justice delivered

The world that Shivmurti creates is not unfamiliar. For many urban readers, these are scenes they have witnessed in movies and read about in newspapers and those in closer touch with reality know that this spool of events unrolls many times over on any given day in every part of the country. His whip-smart prose is a mix of Hindi, Hindustani, Bhojpuri, and broken English, making for a rewarding reading (and translating!) experience. Even the most shocking scenes are written with levity and musical lilt, perhaps hinting at the commonplaceness and the ready acceptance of such injustices.

The early scenes of a dalit man wasting away in police custody, starved and soiled in his own excrements, evoke deep pity. The culture of bribery at every step raises a strong sense of despair and it is easy to feel sympathy for a father quite literally running pillar to post to ensure justice for his young daughter.

The brahman’s brazenness feels all too familiar, too. Though they are financially disadvantaged and hold no political power, their caste identity is enough to ensure certain comforts and entitlement – even in prison, Chander is not subjected to the kind of indignity that his dalit counterparts are and when he is set free, Chander is consumed by pure rage to “avenge” the insult meted out by the couple of chamars. The reader notices the absolute absence of fear in Chander’s conduct; even a prison sentence isn’t enough to straighten him out.

However, unlike the caste atrocities that unfold every moment, Rajpatiya’s molestation does not go entirely unpunished. Centuries of abuse and a lifetime of neglect spark a single, flammable moment – an act so brave yet simple that it befalls Chander almost like divine retribution. Rajpatiya’s insult is avenged, the family’s pains bear fruit, and their chamar ancestors – treaded upon, spat at, long dead – are finally freed from the painful cycle of mortal life.

Tarpan, Shivmurti, Rajkamal Prakashan.