Here is a book that crosses genres and straddles styles that are already tough to do in themselves. The Path of the Swan is a thriller: loaded with mystery, intrigues, chases, strange villains and clever heroes.
It is also fantasy: magical beings, Good pitted against Evil, the pure and innocent, the wise and sage waging war against battle hardened foes, determined to stamp out all good in the world.
It is also inspirational and mythical: drawing upon the vast reservoir of mythology available to all Indians, not merely Buddhists, taking the reader on a journey of self discovery and spiritual fulfilment, enlightenment and joy.
It can be seen as historical fiction: founding its depiction of evil in the real world and its struggles, wars, politics and geographical events.
And finally, it is a classic novel: taking its protagonists on a journey of self discovery through the landscape of a thinly fictionalised historical moment, allowing the reader to share in the epiphanies of human nature and psychology and the nature of the basest and most elevated forms of civilizational development.
Charu Singh has been a journalist and writer and actually lived in the places she writes about. Her research in Buddhism has been intense and extensive. This is evident in her writing.
While her style is self-confessedly descriptive, there are no long, purple passages to distract the reader from the subject or action at hand. Rather, the reader follows her eye as it moves lovingly and tellingly through the landscape in which the action takes place, whether real or mythical. A brief line here, a few words there, and the mountains and mists come alive under her touch, the valleys stretch out before us, the cold nights and clear skies enfold us gently, easily. Interestingly, the book is suffused in Buddhist art, and the reader will readily recognise descriptions of dakkinis, the various bodhisattvas, the apsaras and the heroic figures. The hair styles, the clothes, the diaphanous stoles that float from their shoulders to the lotuses and flowers in their hair are all familiar to the Indian reader from traditional art and paintings, murals and statuary. And this is important, because the book is at least as much about taking the reader on a journey as it is about the journey of its protagonists—a journey that is both aesthetically familiar as well a spiritually epiphanic.
But none of this comes in the way of a very human, very compelling plot line. Characters are drawn with care, their frailties and foibles revealed as well as their strengths and heroism. Relationships are dwelt upon, whether it is the sage-disciple of the two male protagonists, or the mother-daughter one of the Yeshe and Tara, or the rivals for the hand of the Yeshe, Narasimha and A-karO, both Princes, or the minor dakkinis and their fear and respect for their leaders. Even the horse, Chetak, is a character in his own right.
The plot is compelling: the world is seen to be in the throes of self destructive warfare and the Saviour is to be born. The forces of Evil will seek to prevent his birth and the forces of Good must see to it that he is born, nurtured and allowed to fulfil his destiny. To know how it turns out, you will have to read the book.
