Acclaimed Kannada author, SL Bhyrappa’s historical novel, Aavarana, the Veil is a quest for truth – the truth about Islamic rule in India and the truth about its distortion in the present. In his beautifully crafted storyline, the past and the present are interwoven which, the reader will later discover is not without reason. Rich in history, what makes Bhyrappa’s writing so refreshing and true to its goal (the quest for truth) is that in dealing with the recurring themes of religion, ideology and identity, he presents facts with sufficient historical evidence and calls on the reader to view them with detached objectivity rather than mollycoddling him with disclaimers and caveats.

Aavarana, the book

The book opens with Amir, a documentary filmmaker and his wife Razia (formerly Lakshmi), a researcher and scriptwriter, in their hotel room after their visit to Hampi – the site of many mutilated murtis. Though Bhyrappa wastes no time revealing the two central characters as Progressives – he “with jet-black maulana beard” but of “Marxist-intellectual variety” and she, a rebellious woman who “spoke about equal rights for men and women” – the reason for the choice of Hampi as the backdrop for the story is not immediately obvious until a little later. The difference in their individual experience from their visit to Hampi (Amir being his usual self while Razia’s silence indicating her possibly disturbed mental state) gives us a hint of what to expect from the story. But what made them perceive the visit differently makes the rest of the book and one worth reading.

While Bhyrappa’s story-telling is captivating without the constant back and forth between the two different time periods being jarring, the complexity of his technique becomes apparent from the layers he adds to his characters. Each additional layer not only gives the story a profound depth but also an opportunity to present critical historical details that are otherwise conveniently ignored in the mainstream narrative of history. This makes it more convincing for the reader to accept certain uncomfortable truths.

With every new character introduced, new value is added to the narrative – be it Razia’s Gandhian father, Narmasimhe Gowda, her thoroughbred Islamist son from Saudi, Nazir, or the master orator and suave theatre personality, Professor Shastri. But undoubtedly, Razia’s journey is the most important. Her character carries the weight of Bhyrappa’ responsibility to expose the readers to the harsh realities. Being the researcher, scriptwriter and narrator in the book, she is quite literally the ‘perspective provider’ to both, Amir and the reader.

Razia’s homecoming as Lakshmi

Razia’s journey starts off as Lakshmi, a firebrand feminist and intellectual who gets married to Amir after converting to Islam. From considering Religion as an opium of the masses, to dismissing the beliefs and practices of both religions, to a vocal critic of Hinduism, to an admirer of Islam, to a detached observer of history and finally to a vocal critic of her own class i.e., the Indian intelligentsia, the book is something of a ‘homecoming’ as Lakshmi – the gutsy Hindu woman who is no longer indulgent in the self-loathing of her own religion and armed with historical truth. 

Professor Shastri, the confused liberal

Bhyrappa’s true ingenuity as a writer comes across in the way he develops the character of Professor Shastri, the confused liberal. For instance, the chapters following his mother’s death demonstrate his inner turmoil when he has to choose between being a dutiful Hindu son to his mother in the performance of her last rites and being a role-model Marxist to his followers. The hypocrisy and the conviction to a cause that is long-obsolete and to its hollow ideals is brought out especially through the beef-eating episode. From lending his voice in support of beef-eating as one’s democratic right, to attacking the Hindu case for its abstinence by attributing beef-eating to rishis and to finally writing a hasty article giving a Gandhian Economics spin to banning cow slaughter in lieu of his own public atonement, Professor Shastri’s character comes a full circle. Although Professor Shastri’s mind voice full of rationalizations makes for hilarious reading, the reader cannot help but feel pity for him as he engages in desperate face-saving activities just to live up to a superficial image carefully cultivated by him and to which credibility was lent by public opinion. Finally, the author chips away at Professor Shastri’s intellectual façade when the latter decides to give his daughter in marriage to Razia’s conservative Muslim son but insists on a civil marriage to protect her from the threat of Talaq. This is in contrast to when Professor Shastri encouraged Lakshmi to marry Amir through Nikah after converting to Islam in a bid to become a revolutionary in the eyes of her peers.

The book’s relevance today

Aavarana, in dealing with many important themes shows how some problems do not truly go away over time but merely take newer forms. For example, in dealing with the way Marxist historians have always tried to whitewash the crimes of Tipu Sultan against the Hindus by elevating him to the position of a ‘national hero’ who fought the British, Bhyrappa explains the details of his atrocities as a tyrant. A reader cannot help but draw parallels with the recent attempts by the same culprits at projecting Moplah Rebellion as a ‘peasant struggle’ and its leader Variyamkunnathu Haji as a ‘freedom fighter.’ Although the BJP government in Karnataka stood defiant against the pro-Tipu propaganda and cancelled Tipu Jayanti celebrations in the state, one can only hope that similar defiance is shown by the BJP government at the Centre by accepting the recommendations of the ICHR committee to delete the names of 387 Islamist rebels from the list of martyrs of the Freedom Movement. But one thing is clear. Both instances are symptoms of the same disease – the systematic negationism by Islamist apologists in India. And both instances make a clear case for India to follow in the footsteps of post-apartheid South Africa which set up the ‘Truth and Reconciliation Commission’. Interestingly, Bhyrappa himself recommends this in his preface albeit not explicitly when he says the goal of history is to establish the truth.

Aavarana, the experience

Rest assured, once the reader picks up the book, he cannot put it down without something having fundamentally changed in his perspective. His very being, even. Such is the effect of Aavarana. This is especially evident from his handling of subjects like temple destruction under Islamic rule. Although he can be appreciated for his narration of facts and citations of primary sources it is his powerful story-telling that brings it alive for the reader, leaving him shaken to his core. In a mere 300 odd pages, SL Bhyrappa’s does a remarkable job of taking the reader on a philosophical and emotional journey without any part seeming forced or unnecessary.

But the book is not for everyone. It is not for the impatient reader who does not stop to reflect on the implications of the past on the present. Nor is it for the reader who is influenced by the illusions of the present and dismisses historical atrocities as mere aberrations.

It may be for the uninitiated but not for the ignorant.