A goat for our times
Very early in the book, the nameless old couple who rear the protagonist, Poonachi, a black female goat, have to take her to get her ear pierced and tagged. In the land of Asuras, where they live: “The regime itself arranged for the ear-piercing of its citizens and their pet animals. When a new life was born… the authorities had to be informed.” Very economically, Murugan critiques intrusive processes used by governments, in complete disregard of citizens’ rights or privacy, to discipline and punish them. At present, in India, the Aadhaar system, which collects the iris scans and fingerprints of those enrolling for it, is a blatant example of such authoritarian intrusiveness. Without naming it, Murugan makes his narrative poignant for our times as well as for all places and times, in the best tradition of fantasy.
In an interview with Business Standard earlier this year, asked about how writers should deal with a growing climate of intolerance and censorship, Murugan had said, “There are many ways in which writers can write — through fantasy, allegory, metaphor.” Poonachi, an animal fantasy in the best tradition of George Orwell’s Animal Farm and Mikhail Bulgakov’s Heart of a Dog, seems to follow this formula. This is his first novel since his resurrection: In January 2015, following the controversy surrounding his novel Madhorubagan ( One Part Woman), he had declared himself dead as a writer on Facebook. His return to life was through a full-length poetry collection, Songs of a Coward last year. Poonachi is testimony to how going through death, albeit a metaphorical one, has in no way depreciated his literary talents. For those of us who don’t read Tamil, Kalyan Raman’s translation is a rare gift, allowing us to access one of the most important books of our times.
In the Preface, Murugan describes why he chose a goat as a protagonist: “There are only five species of animals I am deeply familiar with. Of them, dogs and cats are meant for poetry. It is forbidden to write about cows and pigs. That leaves only goats and sheep. Goats are problem-free, harmless and above all, energetic. A story needs narrative pace.” Elsewhere, he has claimed deep familiarity with farm work and agriculture; he is a farmer’s son. This knowledge is on full display in the novel, with endless and sympathetic descriptions of rearing goats, agriculture and village life. But more than that, its true radical power is in revealing the bureaucratic horror of our contemporary society.
When the old woman turns up to get Poonachi registered, she is confronted with a serpentine queue, which the readers learn is common for all bureaucratic processes in the land. For those who witnessed the witless implementation of demonetisation in end-2016, these sections will be uncanny reminders of the long queues outside banks and ATMs, and the endless suffering of the poor. A disgruntled villager complains: “only those of us who own just one or two goats have to suffer like this…” The regime sends officers to the homes of those who have hundreds of goats, to get the registration done. Of course, complaining is of no avail and can also prove to be dangerous: “The regime had the power to turn its own people… into adversaries, enemies and traitors.” There are also rumours of genocide: Of black goats who have been wiped out because the regime found them threatening.
Poonachi, however, is not only a metaphor; Murugan makes her a real person, with dreams and desires. She grows up, falls in love, and experiences the pleasures and pains of motherhood. Her erotic desires, which the couple try to control through systematic mating, are also disruptive. As Terry Eagleton writes in Holy Terror, eros, like thanatos, is radical as it can choose anyone. No matter how much you try to control bodies — of goats or humans — through social restrictions or such barbaric procedures as neutering, love is a slippery customer. Describing female desire and challenging caste norms got Murugan into trouble earlier, but he doesn’t hesitate to do so again in this, albeit through the machinery of fantasy.
The book is more than political criticism, though even that would be very powerful. Murugan explores eco-criticism and eco-feminism. Poonachi comes from a line that gives birth to a litter of seven and when she does it for the first time, it is called a miracle. But as the land all around dries up, this fecundity threatens to be a disaster. How can an old couple feed seven kids in a time of scarcity? We are told that humans always eat up everything, and like a refrain we hear: “No matter how much you give to this heart, it will never be enough.” Humans tie up the goats and enslave them, steal their milk, destroy families by selling off kids, and also kill them wantonly, for meat or sacrifice. After you finish this novel, you will find it difficult to eat mutton — at least for some time.