Book Review: 'Gunahon ka Devta' by Dharamveer Bharti - Love Too Great, Sins Even Greater

Cover of Gunahon ka Devta by Dharamveer Bharti

 

I thought a lot about how to praise this book but ended up with nothing. Instead, the thought that came to my mind was, "What a shame that I cannot write two sentences in Hindi!" Though I can write in Hindi, I just cannot muster the courage to do so. For me, the candy of my mother tongue always comes coated with a constant feeling of exposure and vulnerability, like someone's looking inside my mind, like I'm thinking out loud. In these times, a second language, especially a foreign one, becomes less of a medium of communication and more of a shield, protecting my thoughts, acting as a filter between the heart and the mouth.

This is what this book does to you, it makes you think, probably too much. This book is not praise-worthy. It is thought-provoking. It's not exciting or romantic in the conventional sense, but in a deeply philosophical way. It squeezes your grey matter until all that’s left is a constant feeling of nothingness and an overwhelming urge to recommend this printed lump of sadness to others, spreading its evility to the farthest corners of the universe, just to ensure you are not the only one suffering along with Chander.

The book starts with colour and cheer and keeps on losing it till a fleck of dark grey ash remain slapped to your cornea (yes, that uncomfortable). Its mood steadily declines, yet paradoxically, its grip on the reader tightens, a true anti-climax, a literary Sapta Sagaradaache Ello. This book happens less in the real world and more inside the minds of its characters. Ego, morality, Platonism, and society are explored with an unsettling depth, throwing light at the social norms, gender roles, and thought patterns of its time. Every character is deliberate, none feel unnecessary, and each contributes meaningfully to the central theme. It challenges the reader’s philosophical sensibilities, forcing them to decide who, if anyone, is right or wrong, or whether right and wrong even exist.

I can only feel pity if you too can relate to Chander, OR Sudha, Binati, Pammi or any other characters. If you do, I suggest asceticism. While I cannot say I am happy to have read this book, I find solace in knowing that my first Hindi book was this one, that I began with a legend and, more importantly, grasped not just the language but the idea. Like Thors said, "I have no enemies," so I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this book to you. But if you're still willing to impale your mind with existential despair like Toji Fushiguro's ghost, be my guest.

Note: This book was published in 1949, so a HUGE trigger warning for the liberals, moderns, post-moderns, feminists and rights activists of the world.