“O Holy Narmada”: Identifying Key Literary Elements within Mehta’s A River Sutra

“O Holy Narmada”: Identifying Key Literary Elements within Mehta’s A River Sutra

            In her moving 1993 novel A River Sutra, author Gita Mehta utilizes unique narrative techniques, compelling symbolism, and geographic setting to form a microcosm of Indian society which highlights the multiplicity of cultural and spiritual influences amalgamated into one collective identity.

            Mehta does not rely on a sole narrator to convey the complexities of the Indian imagination. To be sure, there is a collection of stories that without the cohesive functioning of the “sutradhar” might have seemed disjointed. A sutradhar is translated literally as “the one who holds the threads” or what we might think of in western terms; a director (Sin). The ex-bureaucrat weaves the threads of separate stories into a comprehensive cross-section of Indian society. If A River Sutra is the loom, the unnamed sutradhar is the weaver and the threads of individual stories within the novel are woven into an elaborate tapestry that illustrates the beauty that can be derived from diversity.

            Just as the variations of the Indian story require, the author chooses equally varied points-of-view to describe it adequately. As already suggested, the sutradhar performs as the catalyzing force; generating, promoting, and interceding between the hosts of sub-narrators. He is, however, not exclusively omniscient. At times he begs for knowledge from his secondary tier of storytellers. This works well within the prose as the reader is allowed a pleasant ignorance until points of great discoveries; much like the slow opening of a beautiful flower or the patient unwrapping of a gift. Mostly, it is by way of third-person limited point-of –view that the sub-narrators lend their threads to the overall tapestry; all the while cognoscente that the director will merge their individual vignettes into a cohesive whole. The decision to enlist multiple points-of-view can be risky for many authors. However, considering the subject matter, it performs well in this treatment. A single-story cannot adequately represent such a diverse region. Thus, Mehta’s literary choices in this regard work masterfully at realistically incorporating a variety of perspectives into one compelling description of the complex Indian ethos.

            The central theme found within the novel is one of the diverse contributions of multiple backgrounds and experiences that come together resulting in a powerful whole, a beautiful cross-section, and a multifaceted coalescence of the human condition. Themes are constructed by way of literary devices. There is no more carefully constructed and consistently maintained device present than the metaphorical theme that permeates Mehta’s prose.

            The author uses the river and its unique characteristics to symbolize how each subculture in the region contributes to the Indian world-view. The Narmada River is a metaphor for the confluence of cultures that are collected into a homogenized Indian identity. The nameless ex-bureaucrat takes pause on his way to visit his Muslim friend, Tariq. He views the river, “I can see the foaming waterfalls where the river plummets through marble canyons into the valley below the rest house, and if I turn to the west I can watch the river broadening as it races to the Arabian Sea to become seventeen kilometers wide at its delta” (Mehta, 7). The river is collecting from mountainous tributaries just as the speaker is collecting the varied contributions of the many narrators of the novel. Their perspectives add to the collective Indian experience which eventually is as broad as the “The Delightful One’s” grand delta.

            The river metaphorically unites very different belief systems. The ex-bureaucrat often transitions between sub-narrators by returning to the river analogy. He looks into the Indian heart as he sits with his “face toward the source of the river” as if what is to be discovered lies upriver in the diversity of the metaphorical tributaries that become a collective (42). Just as he traverses the “narrow bridge [that] spans the stream that flows past Tariq Mia’s mosque” the narrators unique perspective moves always in reference to the water and what it means in the author’s metaphor (44). Notice this is the Muslim “stream” leading to the main river at the center of Mehta’s treatment. The bridge has brought a Hindu observant to a Muslim enclave linking the two belief systems in common friendship. Mehta uses the mullah to point out the unique interlacing of otherwise disparate faiths, “India’s greatest poet also floated down this river, he remarked with some acerbity. Kabir, the man whose poems made a bridge between your faith and mine” (46). It is while descending the common river of Indian experience that Kabir planted the twig of his “toothbrush” cultivating the Hindu faith’s place within it. There are many faiths “planted” alongside the author’s symbolic river, each unique and distinctive yet coalesced into one flow. 

            The quest for personal enlightenment, or discovering meaning in one’s life, can also be found within Mehta’s metaphorical use of water and rivers leading to an over-all cultural identity. Consider the Jain monk who exemplifies the Indian imagination towards devotion to higher things. Before his own conversion and renunciation he told of his own mentor, “I longed to share his knowledge” and “I was convinced he had some unusual power and I wanted to possess it” (32). Whether Muslim, Hindu, Jain, or Buddhist, Indians desire a common spiritual goal, albeit by different paths, that lead each to their own contribution to the wide “delta” of Indian belief. They are the underlying rock matrix across which the spiritual waters trace their tributaries to separate source springs. Again, Mehta uses a metaphorical device of the river to illustrate the intricacies of India’s multi-faceted religiousness. They are sourced from separate “springs,” they may have different characteristics, different taste, color or flow. Yet, they each find their way towards a common river which blends their nuances into a common channel; one never denying the space to another faith or belief system. Just as the Narmada is broad, powerful, and wide at its termination in the Arabian Sea, the collective Indian imagination is equally buoyed by inclusion of each religious affiliation in a surprisingly tolerant coexistence the western world should take notice of.

            This coexistence is demonstrated through Mehta’s setting, characterization, and narrative choices. Located in the Narmada Valley where Muslim chants of “Allah-ho-Akbar” echo across the entrances of Jain caves and across the worn paths of Hindu pilgrimages, the characters that inhabit the story each exemplify a unique world-view (9-11). Tolerance is the peace-maker and underlies the narrative; the loom by which Mehta weaves her story.

            Some characters represent those operating at the margins of society. The courtesans are a sensuous commodity, objectified, and vulnerable individuals that the author uses to promote the much-needed conversation about how a society treats its women. Mr. Chagla speaks of the woman, but more universally of what we might do to help, “Can we keep a visitor, sir?” (158). Caste distinctions and moral norms have forced unwanted consequences on those least able to defend themselves against them in a city where men “believe every human being has a price” (167). Through Mr. Chagla, Mehta is really asking if we can recognize, even redeem those like the Courtesan and her daughter before others meet similar fates. We are judged by how we treat the least of our citizens, and the author constructs a social commentary through these characters that is empathetic towards that segment of society. Ultimately, the only solace had by the grieving mother is that “she was happy her daughter had died in the Narmada because she would be purified of all her sins” (190). Again, the river is the termination, the final resting place for submerging a world of iniquities.

            Enter Tariq Mia. This Muslim teacher and his friendship with the main narrator (a Hindu) are symbolic of the capacity for tolerance residing within the Indian people. There is no animosity between their different faiths or beliefs. There are no attempts to convert the other or disrespect the other. The main premise underlying the idealized interplay of converging belief systems, according to Mia, is love. We learn the only secret worth knowing, “The human heart has only one secret. The capacity to love” (48). There can be no more universal truth within a multi-cultural society that for centuries has demonstrated a unique propensity to evolve in an almost symbiotic manner between different faiths and a multiplicity of cultural influences.

             In the two most memorable moments from the novel, the theme of diversity as a strength is bolstered in grand fashion. First among these is the scene that describes the narrator’s closing of Nitin Bose’s diary and entertains new thoughts on the significance of the holy Narmada. Again, Mehta reinforces the river metaphor as a gathering of disparate beliefs. At dawn he “…was able to see the Narmada leaping headlong through the distant marble rocks, the spraying waterfalls refracting the first rays of sun into arcs of color as if the river were a woman adorning herself with jewels” (139). In fact, the river is adorning itself; albeit by the collecting of multiple traditions and varied belief systems along her route to the sea. The second most memorable moment that enhances the main theme is found within Tariq’s meeting the ascetic at the waterfall. When asked what he is teaching his student the ascetic answers “Shankarcharya’s poem to the Narmada.” The ex-bureaucrat, unable to understand it read in Sanskrit, relays: “I could only listen to the cadences of his recitation and I imagined I heard the river flowing in the rhythms of the poem” (235). This unique interchange provides an opportunity for the author to make a compelling commentary of Indian society relational to her general theme. Although the narrator does not understand the exact meaning of the poem he “hears” the river within it; that being the goal of spiritual growth and progression common to all belief systems that are watered at the banks of the Narmada. Likewise, one does not need to fully understand the intricacies of Jain, Hindu, Muslim or Buddhists tenants to understand that they merely represent separate paths to an equally desirable, or admirable goal; spiritual maturity. These are only two scenes among many within the novel that exemplify Mehta’s theme of inclusion, unity from diversity and the ways by which the multiplicity of Indian spirituality experiences coexist.

            A River Sutra compliments the work of authors such as Dehejia, Schwartz, and Eck by moving the discussion from non-fictional treatments into a wonderful fictional extrapolation. We can find the cave, the temple and the sacred dance transported from mere theoretical explanations into tangible places within Mehta’s prose. The river’s heartbeat pulsing underground, the chants heard across the holy tank at Amarkantak, the vocalized poem from behind the waterfall, all adorate Shiva and develop the concepts of Indian deity from strict theology into meaningful transfigurations of devotion within the daily lives of worshippers. There is a sense that our academic journey in Indian Art has come full circle; that our social and historical appreciations have merged with the characters, themes, and symbolism of the novel like the merging tributaries leading to the holy Narmada.

            The choice of the work’s title: A River Sutra is extremely fitting once one understands the etymology of “sutra” and its relationship within the author’s main theme. The above references to the book as a “loom” becomes more illuminated when it is revealed that the word sutra means “a string or thread” in the original language-Sanskrit (Monier-Williams Sanskrit English Dictionary). Mehta has “sewn” together the separate vignettes to form a cohesive narrative that is exceptional in its ability to describe the seemingly complex confluence of belief in the region. Just as the Narmada weaves multiple source waters into a common flow, the author’s prose has woven the many contributing influences to the Indian imagination; beginning boldly with the title.

            Just as the sages sing as they line the banks of the Narmada, I too feel the novel (like the river) is “twice-born.” It is first revealed in the context of what we have learned in our course material. Yet, the second birth is when I realized the inherent beauty in Mehta’s masterfully constructed work. The river metaphor is extremely useful; the multiple narration compelling. The varieties of perspectives gravitate towards the great valley and flow gracefully to the sea. The characterizations are deeply developed and operate on multiple levels of social interaction. The inclusion of poetic verse and heart-felt dialogue are appropriate and incredibly moving. I am forever changed. As Kalidasa once asked of the river, “…who can bear to leave you;” I cannot bear to leave this work. I feel as though it might reveal itself even more so through subsequent readings. And that is what I intend to do. It is a truly wonderful work.

Works Cited

Mehta, Gita. A River Sutra. New York, NY, N.A. Talese, 1993.

“Monier-Williams Sanskrit English Dictionary Page 1274.” Monier-Williams Sanskrit English            Dictionary Page 1274, www.ibiblio.org/sripedia/ebooks/mw/1200/mw__1274.html.