The House of Blue Mangoes
Read The House of Blue Mangoes Online
Authors: David Davidar
Critical acclaim for
The House of Blue Mangoes
:
‘The book is huge in scope but intimate in detail . . . there are some magnificent set pieces’
Elizabeth Grice,
Daily Telegraph
‘
The House of Blue Mangoes
artfully weaves many strands of Indian life into a vivid, highly coloured story . . . in the best sense, he knows how to tell a good story, and to do it with words and phrases that stamp on the mind a lasting impression of the sights, sounds, and smells of southern India’
Mark Bostridge,
Independent on Sunday
‘I was caught up in his world, almost able to taste the lavish, spicy meals, see the sunrise with its “ordinary violence of dawn” and recognise the eccentric Indians or the English clergyman, who being in love with India is eager to martyr himself for it . . . And he writes beautifully’
Jessica Mann,
Sunday Telegraph
‘Davidar skilfully mixes the political with the personal to create an engrossing read’
Daily Mail
‘An eloquent, lyrical tale . . . [an] enduring tale that proves years of plowing through a slush pile – learning how not to write – can produce a master storyteller’
Meenakshi Ganguly,
Time
‘
The House of Blue Mangoes
is that rare thing: a deeply intelligent novel that’s also a cracking page-turner, and it’s one of the best books I’ve read in a very long time’
Diana McPartlin,
South China Morning Post
‘I had not read anything so good for a long time . . . he has produced a masterpiece’
Khushwant Singh,
Outlook
‘
The House of Blue Mangoes
is a Tolstoyan saga . . . a solidly absorbing, richly informative Indian novel that should please a lot of readers – just about anyone, in fact, with an interest in the subcontinent, or anyone who’s looking for a good read in any setting as substantial and inclusive as the word “Tolstoyan” implies’
Alice K. Turner,
Washington Post
‘This is a writer who skilfully draws his readers into a deeper understanding of the essence of India. His words embody the smells, the tastes, the sounds and the intrinsic spirituality of this complex and contrasting world . . .
The House of Blue Mangoes
. . . is a weighty and deeply intelligent novel’
Susan Campbell,
Glasgow Herald
‘Gripping . . . a novel that intertwines the personal and the political, the individual and the historic . . .
The House of Blue Mangoes
is a polished and accomplished book’
Akash Kapur,
New York Times Book Review
‘A lavish tale that will evoke memories, of such other disparate predecessors as Forster’s
A Passage to India
and Vikram Seth’s
A Suitable Boy
’
Kirkus Reviews
‘
The House of Blue Mangoes
. . . will remain an enduring landmark in fiction . . . Davidar’s pages [are] the boldest and the biggest after
Midnight’s Children
’
India Today
In loving memory of my mother
SUSHILA DAVIDAR
And for my wife
RACHNA SINGH
CONTENTS
FAMILY TREE
A land of miracles and fire
– Marina Tsvetayeva
SPRING 1899. As the ordinary violence of dawn sweeps across the lower Coromandel coast, a sprawling village comes into view. The turbulent sky excepted, everything about it is tranquil. Away to the west, a great headland, thickly maned with coconut palms, juts into the sea, partially enclosing a deserted beach on which long slow swells, clear and smooth as glass, break with scarcely a sound. Beyond the beach, the waters of an estuary reflect the rage of colour overhead. This is where the Chevathar, the country’s southernmost river and the source of the village’s name, prepares for its final run to the sea.
On a bluff overlooking the estuary, almost hidden by coconut palms, is a small church. From there, the village straggles upriver for about a mile and a half, ending at the bridge that connects it to the town of Meenakshikoil on the opposite bank.
Through the village runs a narrow tarred road that stands out like a fresh scar on the red soil. The road connects all Chevathar’s major landmarks: the Vedhar quarter to the north, the ruins of an eighteenth-century mud fort, Vakeel Perumal’s two-storey house with its bone-white walls, the Amman and the Murugan temples, and on a slight elevation, the house of the thalaivar, Solomon Dorai, barely visible behind a fringe of casuarina trees and coconut palms. Surrounding the walls of the Big House, as it is known, are several trees that aren’t usually seen in the area – a tall umbrella-shaped rain tree, a bread-fruit tree with leaves that explode in green star-shaped clusters and many jackfruit trees laden with heavy, spiky fruit that spring directly from the trunk. These are the result of the labours of Charity Dorai, who does not come from these parts. In an effort to allay her homesickness she began planting trees from her homeland. Twenty years later they have altered the treescape of Chevathar.
Down to the river from the Big House tumble groves of Chevathar Neelam, a rare hybrid of a mango native to the south. The trees are astonishingly beautiful, the fruit glinting blue against the dark green leaves. The locals will tell you that the Chevathar Neelam, which has made the Dorai name famous throughout the district, is so sweet that after you’ve eaten one you cannot taste sugar for at least three days. So the locals say.
The rest of the village is quickly described. More coconut palms, the paracheri to the southwest, a few shops by the bridge over the Chevathar river, the huts of the Andavar tenant farmers close to the road, and a dozen or so wells and tanks that raise blind glittering eyes to the morning light.