Novels in Translation from Each of India’s 28 States - Andhra Pradesh - Yashodhara by Volga

The third in this series — Yashodhara by Volga

YASHODHARA by Volga

STATE: Andhra Pradesh

Original Language: Telugu

First published in 2019

Publisher in English — Harper Perennial

I know Telugu to be one of those luscious languages where every utterance can feel like poetry. So, I’m certain that, reading this in translation, I’m missing more than usual. What’s more, as a writer who is yet to debut, I’m very reluctant to write critical reviews. But, I have to say, Yashodhara was a let-down. After I finished, I was felt dismayed. Perhaps, I should have gone with ‘The Liberation of Sita’, Volga’s previous book that also re-fictionalized a known mythological figure (yes, I know that Yashodhara and Buddha are historical figures, not mythological but it’s moot here). The Liberation of Sita seems to have received a far more positive reader reception and is also formally a bit more interesting since it’s a novel composed of interweaving stories. Perhaps, to ensure that Volga is not maligned by this review, I will also have to read and write about The Liberation of Sita. 

To be clear, as a novel of ideas, there’s plenty to admire in Yashodhara; but as literature, as fiction, this translation, at least, is sorely lacking. 

The book covers the following ground — the meeting and courtship between Siddhartha and Yashodhara — their betrothal, wedding, and early years of matrimony, up until the birth of their son Rahula and then there is a massive jump in time into what is, effectively, an epilogue. 

But, if I’m going to be so critical of it, I feel like I need to explain myself using the text. Here are two passages; I will share both and then discuss them. 

Passage 1: 

Siddhartha was not pleased by the idea that he should win Yashodhara in a sword-fighting competition. It appealed neither to his ears nor to his heart. Siddhartha listened silently to what his father said and went away without letting his parents know what was on his mind. As Suddhodhana and Gotami could read into Siddhartha’s silence, they were taken aback. If Siddhartha refused to participate in the competition, Suddhodhana would be humiliated for having challenged Bimbanana. More important was that they would have to give up their hopes of getting a daughter-in-law.

Passage 2: 

(This is immediately following a well-reasoned speech made by Yashodhara to an angry crowd.)

The crowd was astonished by the eloquence of Yashodhara. It was not an angry outburst of emotion. It was a cool, thoughtful, yet provocative address. They had never seen in their lives, till then, a woman stand before a crowd and address them so boldly. It was, perhaps, for that reason that they did not react as they would have usually. They did not heckle her, nor did they curse her. Overpowered by her eloquence and reasoning, they simply left the place. 

Hopefully, after reading these two passages, passages that are largely representative of the book as a whole, I might add, you will see why this book failed to grip me. 

We are outside the action. 

We are observing characters rather than inhabiting them. 

We are being told how the characters felt rather than experiencing those feelings. 

You may have heard the dictum, “Show. Don’t Tell.” Now, of course, that’s reductive. But in these two passages, we have a clear example of how “telling” saps the emotion out of a scene and renders it tepid. 

I want to contrast these passages with another passage from a novel that, I think, is primarily about ideas, a novel where characters say things and other characters react; that novel is Pride and Prejudice; let’s have a look at this passage. 

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth’s feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,

Even though the language is far more archaic, there is a lot more emotion to the scene. Why? Sensory Detail! 

1. Leaning against the mantle-piece — touch, sight — we can locate this body in space

2. Eyes fixed on her face — sight - again, allows us to visualize the scene

3. Complexion pale with anger — the emotion is paired with a descriptor

4. Disturbance of mind visible in every feature — sight

5. Would not open his lips — touch, sight

6. Voice of forced calmness — hearing

It is imperative to have sensory detail to make a scene come to life! In contrast, Yashodhara overuses adverbs — silently, boldly, simply — that instruct us how to feel. Large sections of the book are quite lifeless; we are told the characters are experiencing great emotions, but we are perennially outside. 

This is the only issue I have with the book; otherwise, its plotting is fine. Its ideas are rich. Its characters and major episodes are ripe with unrealized potential. 

There is one section of the book that leaps into life and it is the only section that is enriched with sensory detail; it depicts a young Siddhartha nursing an injured swan back to life, a famous episode from his life. 

Here it is: 

The swan wriggled with pain in his hands as he washed its wound with the fresh cool water of the pond. in a short time, blood stopped oozing from the wound and Siddhartha hurried back to his house, where he found a soft cloth to bandage the wound with. He then made the bird lie on a soft mattress.

The swan, which was very weak and tired, closed its eyes and tried to rest as it felt safe. Siddhartha sat by it, stroking its back gently with his palm he could feel its heart beating slowly but steadily. He felt sure that it would recover in a few hours. 

See how much better that is? If only the entirety of the book had been like that. 

However, I think, since it’s a novel of ideas, it’s unfair to hyper-fixate on the writing. Volga does convincingly make an argument that Siddhartha’s massive revelation — one that changed mankind — perhaps originated from his life-partner; it’s quite a subversive and ingenious idea. 

Earlier in the book, Yashodhara tries to make a well-reasoned argument and her very attempt to use logic and critique the prevailing theocracy of the time has her declared mad and imprisoned in solitude. Upon realizing that the world isn’t ready to hear from women; instead, she invests her hopes in Siddhartha, a rare man, one who is willing to accept the radical idea that women, too, are capable of a reasoned approach to self-liberation. She partners with him — comes to an accord, in a sense — and asks him to spread a message of not just class equality, but gender equality. 

Intellectual equality as the source of monogamous love as well as the idea of domestic power, transmuting into a political power ARE powerful ideas and I enjoyed seeing that line of reasoning dramatized; I only wish that the literary aspects to the book received more attention.

Conclusion: An ideas book that underperforms because it fails to immerse the reader in the world of its characters.