The Witch in the Peepul Tree

Book Review

Title: The Witch in the Peepul Tree

Author: Arefa Tehsin

Publisher: HarperCollins India, 2023

Pages: 327

There is no witch in this novel and the peepul tree hardly plays any role. Both the witch and the peepul are metaphors. In the words of one of the characters, “There is an evil influence in this house, something which is not human.” The house belongs to Dada Bhai who is an exceptionally benevolent human being. His beautiful wife Mena is as good too and she has devoted her life to such noble social causes as empowerment of women and education of girls. Yet there is something sinister about their house. There may be a witch lurking in the heart of the best of people.

This novel is set on the Makar Sankranti day of 1950 in the historical city of Udaipur. The entire plot unfolds in that one single day. In the afternoon of that day, Dada Bhai’s young son discovers the dead body of his 16-year-old sister Sanaz in her room. Did the living witch in the peepul tree take the young girl?

Before the police arrive, we are taken back in time to the morning of the Makar Sankranti day. We get to meet all the important characters in that morning. Meet Rao Sahib, the Zamindar, who shares the bloodline with none less than the Maharana of Mewar. His libido is good enough for dozens of wives though he has only four of them. There are a few concubines to compensate for the shortage. We are given clear insights into the unjust zamindari system of the time.

Dada Bhai’s mother, Sugra, has her own schemes and strategies to keep her control over the members of the family. She believes that the witch in the peepul tree is her ally.

There are people from the low castes too who open up for us the pathetic conditions of such people in the nascent days of independent India. There is Parijat, a young nightsoil worker, whose half-formed breasts are fondled by the elder Rao Sahib who is on his deathbed. Untouchability is only in public life. In reality, the entire caste system was created for facilitating the easy exploitation of some people by a few others. “We were born in drains,” as Parijat’s husband tells her, “we will die in drains. There are no seven upper worlds for us. Only the seven under worlds – the seven hells.” Those who try to disrupt that well-established system will only bring troubles – as Parijat’s brother, Valmiki, is doing by abandoning his caste and joining the Congress Party.

We also meet Nathu, a tribesman. The free India didn’t make the life of his people any better. Nathu knows that “His jungle tribe would always be lesser people. Secondary. Tertiary. Or whatever came after that. They had been exploited, abused and preyed upon for centuries. They would be, for time to come. Theirs was the story history would repeat but never change; always leave it without a happy ending. Over centuries, their hearts had turned porous, not able to hold the flood of suffering. These people of the forest had learnt to handle death and loss as the city people had termed: practically.”

The plot moves seamlessly between history and fiction. The characters are all well-developed and enchanting in their own unique ways, rooted firmly in their own peculiar soils. Apart from the ones already mentioned above is Hariharan who is quite like Shakuni Mama of the Mahabharat. But towards the end of the novel, we get to know why Hariharan became what he is; and we sympathise with him in spite of his shadiness.

The first half of the novel moves at a slow pace making us meet all these charming characters. Charming doesn’t mean good. It is only in the second half that we return to the murder and its mysteries. The witch turns out to be a real person. There is a witch present in all of us, probably. The novel succeeds brilliantly in holding up a mirror to ourselves too while it takes us through a rather complex labyrinth of the struggling good and the marauding evil and the helpless mediocre.

A lot of Hindi and Urdu words appear on almost every page making it a little difficult to read for those who are not familiar with those languages and their cultures. Look at this sentence, for example: “She shifted on her janamaz, spread on the sitting area by the jharokha, and resumed rolling her tasbi.”

In spite of all that, the novel is a delight to read. Read it slowly and enjoy its unique music. There’s music in the narrative too. For instance: “They could take her life, but not her name. Not the fireflies that pulled the strings of constellations at night as she lay watching them emerge from the holed roof of her hut.”

This novel takes us back to the India of 1950s. At least some parts of India. It is a journey worth undertaking. It is as provocative as it is haunting. The witch is real!

PS. This review is powered by Blogchatter Book Review Program