The blood does not lie

This is a story that is dripping with truth.

Blood — the juice of human life — is among those few substances that evoke not just one, but a myriad set of emotions and meanings: Whether it’s “sweat and blood” of labour or the vengeance of “drawing blood” or even the blood that flows in the veins of the progeny.

Joginder Paul has penned the immortal tale of a man — ‘Ek Boond Lahoo Ki’ (a drop of blood)— whose life gushes back and forth representing Mahabharat’s Karan and Krishna (Mohan) in the ocean of a world that is India. Paul’s India is extremely secular, romantic and progressive in its outlook and mimics a banyan tree’s growth — firmly placed in the ground of its ancient past, but also, bogged down by unfulfilled aspirations and unemployment.

Snehal Shingavi, who has translated the book, knows that when the tongue(s) of the east are observed by a Western eye, a lot can be missed, misinterpreted and left out; and so he does his best to chart and map the uneasy contours and delicate details, which are the crux and the crunchy crust of this classic. For those unfamiliar about the world and the ways of the subcontinent mentioned in the book, the translator’s note spells out the challenges of translation and helps the reader soak in this tale of blood in every vein.

Universal themes

Though it is set in India, the themes that Paul’s story touches upon are universal. The jugular of the storyline — of an unemployed man trying to sell his blood to eke out a living, brings to mind the scenes from an 80s Hindi film “Avatar”, starring Shabana Azmi and Rajesh Khanna, where Avatar’s ‘sewak’ sells his blood to arrange funds for his master. The same thread of shame and guilt in selling one’s blood in a novel published in the 60s, a film of the 80s and even now in the 21st century, showcases the timelessness of Paul’s masterpiece. Paul even covers, what we call in the modern world “sperm donor” in his book, although he brings this in the ambit of blood, commenting on the state of the poor that their labour and bodies are the raw products for the rich’s ambrosia.

The visuals that the book produces in the mind are cinematic and most of the time, come with a technicolour filter and a deep baritone voice, adding sound to the author’s “monologue” about the vulnerability and maxims of human life at the beginning of some chapters. What’s more unsettling to read, is the commentary by inanimate objects that hold a mirror to the society with their qualms.

One of the highlights of Paul’s book is its female characters who are strong and independent. Whether it is Ragini who pursues love or Bele Rina who pursues her passion or Bebe who scrubs vessels to make ends meet. The way it deals with human emotions, especially affection, romance and desire, in an unabashed way, makes the reader lean back and appreciate the craft of the author who could embody the romanticism of an entire sub-continent in his words.

The curse of beauty

The main protagonist is a man blessed with beauty, and for better or worse, a rare blood type, but cursed with poverty.

Karan, at times, emanates the qualities of Narcissus, the forlorn individual marred by the tragedies of life and unaware of the power of beauty he beholds. Now, aware of the key to riches that his rare crimson liquid could fetch, he is torn between having to sell blood rather than donate it and the desperate need to be financially stable.

He forges ties stronger than blood with many others and it’s quite amazing that Paul doesn’t talk much about Karan’s lineage, dissociating him with the weight of a bloodline. However, Karan’s fate is also drawn in blood and ends with the price of blood — dripping many truths along the way.