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Review: The Dead Fish by Rajkamal Choudhary
First published in the early 1960s and now translated from the original Hindi by Mahua Sen, this controversial novel presents complex characters and examines queer desire
Imagine a father writing to his daughter’s rapist thanking him for curing her homosexuality through the rape. It sounds utterly offensive. But this was how homosexuality was once perceived in some major works of Hindi literature: as an aberration that needed to be “fixed”, and one whose roots lay in a bad childhood, violence, or the unavailability of heterosexual sex.
Rajkamal Choudhary’s 1964 novel Machhli Mari Hui is a bold exploration of homosexuality. Now translated from the original Hindi by Mahua Sen, Dead Fish was groundbreaking not only for its portrayal of same-sex relationships but also for its graphic depictions of violence and rape. While the original was perceived as obscene, in translation it is clear that everything meticulously follows the need of the story.
Born in a village in the Saharsa district of Bihar, Choudhary, who never went to the United States, astonishingly created characters who walked the streets of Manhattan. Among these is a sought-after prostitute and former porn industry worker who has the courage to fall in love. But Machhli Mari Hui is not merely about the sensuous or the shocking. The characters are layered, complex, disturbed, and painfully human. The protagonist, Nirmal Padmavat, is a ruthless businessman whose personal life is mired in emotional volatility. The reason, Choudhary suggests, lies in his childhood. After his father’s death, Padmavat’s mother ran away with a lorry driver, leaving behind a wound that shaped his distorted understanding of love and intimacy. He falls in love with Kalyani, a prostitute in the US, who later returns to India and marries Dr Raghuvansh. Padmavat’s inability to express love, his contradictory sexuality, which leads him to resort to monstrous ways of showing affection, his deep-seated inferiority complex, and his great desire for tender love, drive him to act in destructive ways in his personal and professional life. He sells his companies, fires employees, and does not care about strikes. He marries Shirin Salzberg, a bisexual, who is referred to here as being lesbian. Also psychologically wounded, she loves Padmavat despite his violence, and nurtures a relationship with him that is as tragic as it is unsettling. She endures his violence out of love, with her pattern of attachment seemingly a result of her childhood.
The author’s exposure to world literature and his desire to experiment are clearly visible in this impactful novel. However, it also seems like the author is so enamoured by the idea of writing a novel about a lesbian relationship – something unprecedented in Hindi literature at the time – that the concept itself overpowered him and, occasionally, the narrative too. As a result, the story sometimes follows a rather bizarre trajectory. For instance, it is difficult to believe that Dr Raghuvansh would accept his daughter’s rapist, and even thank him. He also confesses that, like his wife, he too loves Padmavat. This deification is strange. Moreover, the novel’s focus remains so intensely fixed on Padmavat that other characters, including Priya and Shirin, barely get enough space. Readers only know that Shirin had a troubled childhood, and perhaps has “daddy issues” much like Padmavat has “mommy issues”. It feels like the author was trying to pack in too much into a brief novel of about 170 pages. Still, Choudhary clearly knew his readers. He ensured that whatever he discussed was thoroughly contextualized. So, in Chapter 13, he references literature on homosexuality, perhaps as a way to trace the source of Priya’s queer desires.
For Hindi readers, the subject of Machhli Mari Hui made it one of the most controversial works of fiction. However, it was not the first lesbian novel in Hindi. That place goes to Asha Sahay’s Ekakini (Recluse, 1948), which was followed by works by Shivani and, more recently, Rashmi Sharma. Homosexuality itself appeared as early as 1922 in Pandit Pandey Bechan Sharma ‘Ugra’’s (1900–1967) short story Chocolate.
Hindi literature has historically been resistant to the subject of homosexuality with eminent critics like Namvar Singh referring to it as “an exception.” Another, Madhuresh, commenting on the story Bhugol Ka Prarambhik Gyan (Fundamentals of Geography), published in the late 1950s, described it as “the best example of taking interest in sexual frustrations and expressing them in a very sloppy way.” It is only recently that same sex love has begun to find a place in Hindi stories in more nuanced and empathetic ways.
Rajkamal Choudhary is a fascinating figure. Though a bohemian personality, who had multiple affairs and struggled with drug addiction and alcohol, which eventually killed him, he managed to held down a government job. He was active in Calcutta’s literary circles and founded a magazine called Raagrang in 1960. Over his career, he wrote 11 novels, most of which explored interpersonal relationships and the false moralities governing them, as well as the rural-urban divide. He also wrote numerous poems in both Hindi and Maithili.
Sen’s wonderful translation brings this important work to a wider English readership. A revolutionary writer like Choudhary deserves greater appreciation and more readers, which he is finally getting. Without a doubt, he made queer desire visible, even if in a way that might irk contemporary queer people.
Mayank Jain Parichha is an independent bilingual journalist. He writes about the environment, wildlife, culture, literature, and politics. He is the author of Nietzsche ki Kutai.
