Asura - Book Review

“...in the pages of history, as always, it is the version told by the victors, that lives on. The voice of the vanquished remains lost in silence. But what if Ravana and his people had a different story to tell? The story of the Ravanayana has never been told.”

What is the first thing that you do when you pick up a book pertaining to a genre that appeals to you, but by an author that you haven’t even heard of before (let alone read any of his/her works)? Indeed, what is the first thing that you do when you pick up any book by an author that you haven’t even heard of before? If, like me, you also have the tendency to go straight to the back page in the search of a summarized version of what to expect in the pages of said book, the quoted lines stated above are what would have drawn you in. It definitely drew me in.

Yes, Anand Neelakantan, in his Asura: Tale of the Vanquished – The story of Ravana and His People begins with this promise. The statement is made, and you can almost be pardoned for expecting the proof to follow. The problem with creating a ‘Wow!’ effect however (as my B-School Marketing professor always used to say), is that it only ups the expectation of the consumer. Neelakantan begins with the ‘Wow!’ premise of showing us the other side of the anti-hero, the man behind the mask, the method to the madness, and I must concede that he starts off well (in the well-practiced format where the first chapter is essentially the last scene, and the story actually begins from the second chapter), but it is quite evident that the writer in him is spread far too thin over the 496 pages of this book.

Neelakantan makes a very conscious effort to bring to light the human side of the much-maligned Emperor of Lanka (as opposed to the ‘holier-than-thou’ side, and therefore above the humane emotions, of Rama).  The book begins with a brief explanation of why Ravana is portrayed as ten-headed, which is very much in line with the above-mentioned effort. We are then transported to the battleground of Lanka, where the dust has settled on a defeated, broken & bleeding Ravana, jackals & other scavengers eating him alive. A dais steeped in poignance, from where we look down on the plains below where scenes from Ravana’s birth, childhood, youth, & middle-age are played out, the rise & fall of a race of men often lacing his every decision. By turns, he is portrayed as naïve, ambitious, brave, angry, impulsive, tyrannical, benevolent, repulsive, shocking, vengeful, regretful, obnoxious, indifferent, passionate, caring, lustful – a rollercoaster of emotions that run amok and make him ‘human’, as the author would have us believe. The effort would indeed have been commendable if only it had been less of a letdown – far from being a believable flesh-and-blood character, Neelakantan’s Ravana is frequently comical and mostly absurd, with generous amounts of ludicrousness thrown in for good measure. Goes without saying, the same applies to the depiction of his internal struggles, his kingship &, ultimately, his swan song. The author tries to bring some novelty into his narration by putting a new spin on the Rama-Sita-Ravana equation, or the reason why Kumbhakarna is believed to have slept half the year and remained awake the other half, but all such attempts fall flat in the face of his shortcomings as a storyteller.

“For thousands of years, I have been vilified and my death is celebrated year after year in every corner of India. Why? Was it because I challenged the Gods for the sake of my daughter? Was it because I freed a race from the yoke of caste-based Deva rule? You have heard the victor’s tale, the Ramayana. Now hear the Ravanayana, for I am Ravana, the Asura, and my story is the tale of the vanquished.”

Neelakantan has a story to tell, oh yes, but alas, he does not know how to tell it.