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July 24, 2008 Author's |
Book DisplayArc On The Horizon
 by Balkrishna Naipaul | Availability |
Description | |
Arc on the Horizon is a story of a man, who, in trying to trace the origins of his great grandmother, moves closer and closer not only to his roots in the land of his ancestors but ultimately his place in the universe. It is a narrative of love, not just of the heart but also of the soul. Furthermore it is a story of romance, not just between two persons who discover their connections in a previous life, but within the context of their former life-role in the history of a nation struggling to find itself in the modern world. In this attempt to connect and relate the narrative shifts through differing perspectives and corresponding epochs patching together themes of reincarnation, philosophy, lofty quilts of myths, legends symbols and imagery as it traverses the vestiges of India to find meaning in the life of two little known personalities as the architects in India’s first struggle for independence. We first meet the narrator as a yogi of sorts aboard an Air India jumbo jet heading for Bombay. Even though the tone is relaxed and casual we feel that things are not what they seem and soon there is a forced landing in Paris. In a brief sweep we get the background of the narrator: he comes from a humble sugar cane plantation in the Indo Caribbean and after studies at London he occupied an enviable position as a former diplomat in the higher echelons of the United Nations; we are also told that his great grandmother had an important role in the Indian Mutiny of 1857, and that she, rather than the Rebellious Queen, the Rani of Jhansi, was perhaps the real power behind the Jhansi throne -that princely enclave in the Bundelkhand which was a power to reckon with at the height of the Mogul hegemony. In many ways she practically stage-managed the Mutiny, which not only lasted for more than one full year, but in whose turmoil the concept of India, as a unified nation, was born. As the plane lands the narrator meets his nemesis in the person of Rani Roy, a Belgian writer who is on her way to India to do research for a book she is writing on the Rani of Jhansi. They are told the plane is unable to fly and there is not another flight till the next day. Fate has them sharing a suite in a Parisian hotel which looks remarkably like something they experienced in Cusco, Peru. This is where intrigue takes us on a tour de force of the Peruvian Andes, the Sacred Valley of the Incas and the Peruvian Amazon, and where Rani manages to strip away his confidence as a yogi only to reveal his nakedness and vulnerability to the power of the flesh. But this is no ordinary flesh: the woman he comes in contact with is very much the vision of his childhood dreams, the person whom he knew as Agee, his great grandmother. Even when his hands fall on Rani’s breasts, they are the breasts of his great grandmother, nursing him as her very own. He is caught in a web of conflicting emotions, which shatters his mind to the core of his very soul. Still, his yogic eye is resolute and gradually his nemesis is transformed into something far greater than anything he had ever imagined. There is little doubt about the former identity of Rani Roy, but could it be that he is the reincarnation of his great grandfather, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Jhansi, and Rani´s emissary at the court of the Mogul Emperor at Delhi. Is it possible that he has met his wife of a former life, and if so would it be wise to reveal this knowledge to her? This is the main conflict of the story, for it is the narrator’s contention that there is a prime directive among yogis, never to divulge what they know unless the sadhak’s “student”, is ready and willing to receive such knowledge. Moreover, we are informed by the narrator that such knowledge about the nature of the soul, especially as it relates to former past lives, is better for the student to be guided and the knowledge attained within the framework of their own experience. And the narrator proves this by sharing his own experiences in the long period of self unfoldment, taking us through his frustrating periods of yogic discipline and the intense "suffering” which came in his encounter with his spiritual self. Of course within the major plot of the story there are subplots, like the escapades in the Peruvian Andes in which sickness and health not only anticipate what is to come, but from this panoramic view of the world and its problems, much of which has to do with the history of civilizations, there is the crystallizing process of working out how we deal with these problems. This idea of distillation and synthesis is carried throughout the book until we come face to face with the narrator’s tortuous experience through the Sacred Valley of Haridwar and Rishikesh, and later, especially to the end of the book, the eventual abduction of Rani in Srinagar. In each of these there is the recurring motif in which we are clued to the nature of conflict and the tools of resolution. In each episode, the suffering in the characters preempts the long agony and suffering of India in differing states of consciousness. Even in the characters longing for love and consummation, when it finally arrives, within all the deftness of its eroticism, it is offered in the glyph of that fine balance between sublimation of the cursive sex drive and the bolstering of pure spiritual consciousness. This is where mind and matter meld in the collective spirit to produce a unity of being where the two souls are again given birth in the flesh to reveal not only their present and former lives but the relevance and purpose of their being on earth. In this way the theme of reincarnation is merely a foil about possibilities: a window into forgotten worlds, glimpses into the ever-present consciousness, which continue to define our expanding universal civilisation, both in the present and the future. The book matches the greatest of Indian tapestry for richness of colour, unity of design, intensity and care of weave, as well as allusions to the foibles of history. There are a number of highly intellectual reflections on Indian art, architecture, philosophy, religion and the early history of successive struggles to lay the foundation for a national ethos skillfully embedded in this esoteric story of romance. Even so, this is not just a book about India, for there are many references and historical parallels between the colonial experience of the people of India and other colonised areas of the world. Indeed, it is no accident that the story started aboard a jumbo jet only to touch down in Paris moments later to get insights into paradoxes of order in the developed world as well as from where we get a penetrating view of the broadside of Peruvian life caught up in the tail end of colonisation. From the high point of the Andes, we see with the diplomat’s eye the double standards of development in other parts of the Americas, Africa, Europe and Asia. Of course, this expose is only introductory, for as they descend back to Paris before their arrival in Delhi the story goes on a quest, which rises slowly through a series of flashbacks until they reach the highest peak of all in the high altitudes of the Himalayas. From this high point all the parallels are brought together in a bittersweet climax, only to be undermined in the denouement by the dark side of the post imperial order of the universe where synthesis is given in the skilful blend of the motives for the terrorist’s cause and the violence and destruction it unleashes for no other reason than to make a point. It is here too where the theme of reincarnation is reexamined, in The Arc of the Horizon, not just as a method for working out problems of history, but to offer compelling insights into creation and the meaning of life. It is where the enigma of religion is played out to the fullest and where the divisions of Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, are seen as the spoils of conquest in the history of civilisations. Indeed, the tragedy of violence we see perpetrated on Rani and the narrator is symbolical of the dialectic of violence espoused in such lofty domains in pursuit of balance of power, safeguarding the national interest, or arming one dissident group against another, but in effect the resultant suffering is slovenly tested on those least aware of the divisions of society, nation, or the ghostly intrigues of neo colonialism perpetually worming its way around the globe to reformulate the international order to its own likeness. Arc Of The Horizon is a compelling story told with compassion and feelings for the plight of the human person caught up in the harsh realities of a declining world order. In every step of the way the reader is drawn into the heart center of the narrator and shares in his pains and sufferings as well as his delights in the interplay of love, so very deep that we immediately experience with him the very meaning of soul. In its mystical and metaphysical appellations the reader gains important insights into the art of living as well as clarification of visions into the art of conflict resolution. Thus, by the time the last page is read, there is the urge to either go back to the beginning or pick up the next book that is in the making. In either case there is the intense desire to follow the narrator and save humanity from the jaws of the universal civilization. For, in the end it is for this reason that the narrator and his companion, reborn in their all-embracing holistic knowledge and experience, decide to travel around the world and teach the yoga of love. This is the first in a series of three volumes but as an independent work it stands on its own merit as an important piece of fiction; it is remarkably suited for cinema; and, when the other two volumes are completed they would adapt nicely to a television series. Volume II, Legends of the Emperor´s Ring, was published in 2004 and Volume Three, The Yoga of Love was published in September, 2005. As a story of romance, it goes beyond body to the mystery of soul. It offers insights into Indian history, philosophy, reincarnation, religion, myths and folklore to such intriguing depths that not even writers like V.S. Naipaul could hope to reach. | |
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