Arcane books are a reviewer’s secret crush. And Testimony by Fire by Atulya Misra is a simple, straightforward narrative with no bells or whistles, no linguistic calisthenics, and it unfolds slowly to reveal its quiet power. For this is a rare book: a full-on fantasy with a deep thinker’s version of India. It is probably a Gandhian fantasy that all that ails India can be mitigated by the power of one man in the face of loot, corruption, and communalism. Just such a man is Ranjeeth, or Ranji, the hero of this book.
In a few broad sweeps of the brush, the narrator paints his credentials right up to his retirement, his loss of place in this world, and his loneliness now that his daughters live abroad. He floats into the household of an ex-President of India, himself a bachelor, and despite individual differences, settles in. The narrator is in the best position to chronicle Ranji’s life from within his inner circle. Perhaps great men deserve this sort of acolyte. “His chest was still, his hands resting gently at his sides, the serenity of him, so absolute it held me there, rooted, waiting for someone to speak the words I already felt in the silence.”
The real action picks up at and after Ranji’s funeral. “Hours passed—or maybe minutes; time felt slippery. And then, just as hope began to fade, faint wisps of smoke began curling higher, darker now, more insistent. A tongue of flame licked the air. Everyone’s gaze fixed on the pyre’s gradual ignition.” Ranji defies all logic to emerge from the flames and begin a silent march through the length and breadth of his beloved country. The novel is a record of this and of his extremely simple though puzzling persona, patched together from the little evidence around him. “He was a presence that flowed through the world, leaving traces in the form of letters, chess moves, passport stamps, whispers. I dug through what little I had of his life—a few diary pages he had left behind once, scribbled notes, half-finished thoughts.”
Of course, the first places he visits are in Delhi itself, all places of worship. “The crowd thinned as the streets tightened, but they did not stop following. Their voices bounced off the ancient stone walls—some praying, some amused, some simply marvelling at the sight of him.” But first, he goes through the area of Chandni Chowk and the Red Fort, where history unfolded and lives on. He visits the Sri Digambar Jain Lal Mandir, the Gauri Shankar Mandir, the Jama Masjid, Gurdwara Sis Ganj Sahib, St Mary’s Church, and the Fatehpuri Mosque. “It was as if he was stitching together a tapestry of faith, threading his way through every place of worship to challenge the idea that religions were at war.”
One of the elements of Ranji’s life, probably the greatest bit, is Radha, whom he rescued from a fire in his youth. Unfortunately, he was blamed for the incident, and it was only Radha’s testimony that set him free. With her, he has a unique relationship that was forged through games of chess over correspondence. “Then the other person thinks, writes their reply, and sends it back. A single game can stretch across years, with no rush, just quiet strategy.” In his letters to her, we find the greatest evidence of an adventurous life well lived.
The writing is toned down in style, resonating its quiet truth with integrity. Each word is simple, but it has been put there with much deliberation so that, on reading, the world comes tumbling out. It is best suited for a work like this, which addresses reality at a higher spiritual level. It seems like the writing of a yogi. There are many delights for the reader in this gentle giant of a book: descriptions of foreign lands, coasts, and forests, including Kurangani, where Ranji grew up, and the elephants that played a large role in his life. Not a book for everyone, though it should be on all reading lists for an alternative to realism, an alternative to what catches mainstream attention.