A genre-bending portrayal of family dynamics, societal wealth distribution and caste politics in postcolonial India.
It is 1950 and Mewar is reeling from the aftereffects of Partition and the departure of the British.
On the day of Makar Sankranti, teenaged beauty Sanaz, the esteemed Dada Bhai’s daughter, is found dead. To add perplexity to the tragedy, her bedroom door was locked from the inside with no sign of forced entry.
Others in the household, with the exception of Dada Bhai, are quick to pin the blame of Sanaz’s death on the Jeevti Dakkan, The Witch In the Peepul Tree.
As Arefa Tehsin takes us on a kaleidoscopic journey through the lives and tribulations of each main character, we realise that convenient though it may be for Thanedar Tapan Singh to close the case citing supernatural forces, there are enough fully-human suspects to contend with.
Tahir, fondly referred to as Dada Bhai by everyone, is the closest reference to nobility in the novel. A man of principle and great reputation, he is admired (and envied) widely by the society which he has helped shape. His wife Mena, a progressive woman hell bent on educating the women of Mewar, is celebrated for her modernity but also demonised by the more conservative elements of the community. The unasked question on people’s lips is whether people hated Mena enough to punish her daughter for the mother’s sinful ways?
Complicated mother-daughter dynamics run between the lines in the story. There is Mena and her relationship with Sanaz, the cracks of which are skilfully woven in at a pivotal moment. And then there is Sugra, Sanaz’s grandmother, who has only her eldest daughter, barren and bitter Khadija, to bond with, the rest having left with their husbands for Pakistan.
Through the Untouchable characters, Parijat, Bhola, Doonga, we are exposed to the cruelty casually meted out by the so-called upper castes of society. Tehsin carefully captures the similarities between the new powers that be and the departed British, for example in their brutality towards the masses. In the case of the British, they excepted those Nawabs and Maharajas who shook hands with them in transparent attempts to protect their own assets.
In the beginning of the novel, Rao Sahib, a close friend of Dada Bhai reminisces about British rule in India. ‘They knew it was “you” and “I”, not “us”, and that made things so much simpler.’
In newly independent India, Tehsin exposes us to the new seeds of corruption being sown into the DNA of a fledgeling nation.
Tehsin’s writing reminds me of ‘The God of Small Things’ by Arundhati Roy and the more recent ‘House Number 12 Block Number 3’ by Sana Balagamwala in its handling of caste politics, sexual exploitation and belief in the occult and supernatural that exists to date in India, Pakistan and the wider sub-continent and its diasporas.
Hariharan, the meddling middleman, Rao Sahib the feudal lord, Nathu the hunter’s son, Ismail the in-house scoundrel are all prime suspects that we despise or get annoyed by in the beginning but in the second half of the book Tehsin unravels each of these characters, turning them inside out to reveal their inner motives and perhaps what we could colloquially call their ‘villain origin story.’ Each could have a motive, and easily be the killer.
But what of the Jeevti Dakkan, the Living Witch in the Peepul Tree? One could say that she is the Elephant in the Room. The one who exposes the rot and corruption of the house’s soul – and if we want to dig deeper, the soul of newly-minted Indian society. But also, its hopes, dreams, aspirations. As Parijat will tell you, ‘Every morning she smelt of roses…’
Or, if like me, you tend to be slightly fascinated by the supernatural, you could look over your shoulder and you may see her close on your heels, ready to sink her teeth into your neck and claim your body for herself.
Either way, she embodies the darkest corners in our characters’ souls, her presence, literal or symbolic, is quite needed for this story to be told.
The sensory detail conjured up (for there is no other phrase to describe this literary sorcery) by Arefa Tehsin when describing the architecture, food, scenery and the animals native to the landscape hooked me, as a native Sindhi from Pakistan, right from the start. I am fascinated by the similarities across the border and recognise so much of my land in Tehsin’s narrative.
So clever and lyrical is her prose, that even the descriptions of certain unsavoury body fluids and emissions could not put me off, as Tehsin seeks to both delight and disturb the reader. References to ‘til-ke-ladoos and cactus-milk’, if I come across them again (doubtful), will always remind me of this book.
Shortlisted for the 2024 Asian Prize for Fiction, The Witch in the Peepul Tree is as much an examination of the changing social norms and customs of a new India as it is a tribute to the natural landscape, wildlife and tribes of Rajasthan.
