(courtesy Allen & Unwin Book Publishers)
We live in a grievously unbalanced world.
No surprises there you say; one look at the 24/7 news cycle or at the place we work or the society in which we live and it becomes clear that fairness very rarely rules the day and power does not always, in fact it rarely sits, with those who deserve it and would use it well.
There are countless examples of where this power imbalance is manifested to the welfare of the some and the detriment of others but in the case of The Bandit Queens by Parini Shroff, it is writ large in a rural Indian village where the women are constantly rendered to second class even though they are the drivers of much of the social and economic activity.
In fact, for many of the families it is the businesses started by enterprising women, using microloans that are paid back assiduously and which form a social network of sorts for them, that sustain them and allow to keep their heads above water.
Many of the husbands are either violent, useless at supporting their families, drunkards, or all three, and while they swagger around secure in their place at the top of the social hierarchy, which is clearly not even remotely based on merit, it is the woman keeping the lights on, figuratively and literally, and they are getting mighty sick of their lowly positions in life.
Their truce was a new and precious thing. She said good night before she could poison it. Above her, the moon was fat and swollen, and the way home was easy. As she walked, she rubbed her palms, dried henna flakes leaving a trail behind her. It was true that she had a host of problems currently square on her head … But Karem didn’t hate her, and that left her a bit lighter.
One woman who is considerably protected against the rampantly unfair vicissitudes of social inequity and domestic hellholes is Geeta, a single woman who manufacturers mangalsutras, beautifully wrought wedding necklaces the citing of which by the groom around a bride’s neck is supposed to symbolise an auspicious start to the marriage.
Geeta’s singleness of five year’s standing has led to her being an outcast in the village, ostracised because her abusive husband Ramesh disappeared five years ago, and while Geeta, and any sensible person who thought about for longer than five seconds or at all, knows it’s because he abandoned her, the village has decreed her a murderer and witch or churel, who did away with her husband and escaped any sanctions by the law.
It’s all gossip and innuendo of course with no basis in fact, but that doesn’t stop the busybodies of the village doing their gossipy exclusionary thing, and while they feel smug in their self-perceived virtue – a running joke is how each of the mothers reflexively say motherhood is a blessing when it’s quite obvious they see it as nothing of the kind but they need to promote their social virtue where they can, truth be damned – Geeta is gloriously unaffected.
She has an uncomplicated life, she’s financially independent and she doesn’t suffer daily violence and emotional abuse at the hands of a husband as many of the women in the village seem to do, no matter how successfully they run their homes and businesses (this fact is more proof that social convention is an unthinking noose that serves those who don’t deserve it well and punishes those who should be given all the rewards and kudos in the world).
(courtesy Penguin Random House © Devin Spratt)
Geeta may have a sweet thing going on, no matter what her fellow villagers may think, but that all changes when Farah, a woman in her loans group who is reviled almost as much as our socially much put-upon protagonist, asks Geeta to help her murder her abusively cruel husband.
Farah believes the gossipy hype, and while Geeta knows it isn’t true and she doesn’t have the criminal skills or experience Farah believes her to possess, she goes along with it because she’s a good and decent person who believes the best of others and she likes to see herself as some sort bandit queen such as the legendary Phoolan Devi (her history is outlined by the author in an Author’s Note at the back of The Bandit Queens).
She rails against the gross inequities meted on Indian women by unthinking arrogant men and a society that holds tight to everything from misogyny to caste-led bigotry (which has nasty real world impacts as Shroff outlines with real empathetic force) and sees her assistance of Farah as one small strike against the grossly unfair male powers that be, a nascent militancy that only grows stronger as The Bandit Queens progresses on its hilariously serious way.
But while idealism is a wonderful thing and Geeta’s heart is in the right place, her act of assistance to a fellow downtrodden woman comes back to haunt her, unleashing a series of consequences that call into question her good judgement and belief in the inner goodness of the women around her.
‘Well, you were friends and then you weren’t, but she gave you another chance. Why not him? What you’re the only one worthy?’
It was an unwelcome aperçu, ‘Shut up.’
‘Oi! Did you just drag me here just to abuse me? I have better things to do, you know.’
‘Your ugly-ass dresses can wait. We’re on a rescue mission here.’
A rollicking good read that has plenty of humour and camaraderie it as well as some tough messaging about the trenchant unfairness of the world at large, especially for women, The Bandi Queens manages to be both searing in its social critiques and buoyantly celebratory of what is possible when the self-protective attacks and gossips are dropped and a sisterly union becomes the norm.
Full of brilliant twists, unforeseen consequences and scenes that are simultaneously blindingly serious and thigh-slappingly slapstick with dialogue that sparkles with real, incisive wit, The Bandi Queens is a gem of a read that artfully balances unflinchingly social commentary that pulls no punches and a scornfully funny look at the messy inconsistences of what it means to be human.
Characters like Geeta in particular but also Farah, Karem (a Muslim man on the other side of the religious divide from Hindu Geeta with whom she may have a spark) and village powerbroker Saloni (Geeta’s childhood bestie turned tormentor turned … well, you’ll find it; suffice to say, women power trumps long-held bitterness) absolutely leap vivaciously from the page, all beautifully ensconced in a narrative that feels smart, clever, empathetic and groundedly honest, expressed with a gloriously enjoyable mix of humour and serious intent that will stay with you long after the last page is turned and we find out if Geeta can defy the odds or not in a world inimical to her doing so but which she is determined to change with the help of the women around her and idealism that, thought battered, may yet win out in the end.