The God of Small Things:

Remoulding Indian storytelling

Arundathi Roy's 'The God of Small Things' is different from what the Indian novel had been for centuries. The novel itself has a revolutionary effect in storytelling, with regard to Indianess, traditions, beliefs, lifestyle and politics.

The facts Roy has studded into her story to give light to her narrative style are not new to a reader familiar with Indian life; the terrible breakthrough of introducing Communism to the lives of the working class, the woman who is beaten constantly by her drunk husband, the belief that the British are mightier, caste discrimination and secrets that surround lives of those descending from one generation to another. But what keeps the reader moving forward with no hesitation or doubt is the selection of words, imagery and the pace she manages in between unfolding details within her narration.

Rahel and Esther, the seven year old twins are at the centre of every event. They see and hear most of the things Roy tells the reader. In other words, we see them, as little children and at the same time as grownups, passing through the incidents in the novel.

The events have no chronological order, once we see Rahel as a small girl, instantly she is transformed into an adult. They live such smothered moments, barely breathing within the strict disciplined and etiquette governed society their mother and grandmother move in.

The twins are constantly blamed for lacking deference and decency. Their childhood is spent in the Indian wilderness, and suddenly when their half-caste niece (a girl of mixed Indian-British nationality) arrives to Ayeneman, all the way from England , their small world plunges into loss of hope and attention from their elders. Everyone keeps their eyes on little Sophie Mol, her lovely white face and English manners.

Sophie Mol, during her first few steps in trying to ingratiate in the Indian atmosphere drowns herself in the nearby river accidentally in the middle of one night.

There is romance in the novel, building secretly between Ammu (the mother of the twins) and Velutha, a low caste carpenter who works in the jam factory. Velutha is a revolutionist, strongly built but innocent. There is a symbolic birthmark on his back: the shape of a leaf. Symbolically, Rahel's mother and Velutha secretly meet amidst the fallen leaves in the far away hidden forest.

This is probably not a rare love story within the Asian context, but Roy's storytelling piles up one incident over another to create perfect continuity in her narration.

On the night the secret love of Ammu and Velutha is discovered, Sophie Mol's body also comes ashore. Life that was already full of struggles turns out disastrous with the breakout of tragedy and death.

Roy connects each character with the events, no matter how common these events could be.

She tells the readers that the working class people are rallying against injustices and adds Velutha's face into the crowd to bring the issue more closer to the reader's heart. From this narrative technique she makes the reader familiarise with the true Indian context.

It's Roy's always shifting narration which keeps the events of the story alive and believable.

The readers cannot rest at one particular judgment on who is right and not, the narration changes from time to time to alter our judgments. Her language twists the situations and reader's opinions leaving a much loved story about one Indian family.

-Ruvindra Sathsarani