Ruthvika Rao’s The Fertile Earth is a beautifully narrated tale of cruelty, power imbalance, and love that brings to life Telangana’s feudal past and the rise of both the CPI(ML) and Hindutva in the region in the 1960s.
Surendra Deshmukh lives with his family in a gadi, a traditional fortified mansion, that towers over the village in Irumi. As landlords, the Deshmukhs’ “authority… and their power over the lives of those who lived in Irumi was absolute.” Surendra has two nieces, Vijaya, a pre-teen girl, and four-year-old Sree. Their mother showers Sree with love and despises Vijaya, who assumes this hatred is because she is dark skinned while Sree is pale. As a result, Vijaya dislikes her sibling. Sree, unaware of this dynamic, often tails her older sister everywhere. Ranga and Krishna are sons of the washerwoman at the gadi. Ranga, the elder sibling is trusted deeply by the Deshmukhs. Krishna and Vijaya are classmates and become friends when he stands up for her against the school bully. Krishna wants to impress her, which leads him to agree to her proposed expedition into the forest to catch a man-eating tiger. Things go horribly wrong for both sets of siblings, and the incident becomes the turning point of their lives. Ranga takes the blame and is punished with the cruellest of whippings by Surendra Deshmukh in the presence of his mother and other workers. Krishna is sent away to Hyderabad to pursue his education on condition that he never return.
The novel begins with the shocking image of the heads of members of the Deshmukh family on pikes. The year is 1970 and by then, the public execution of landlords by the people’s court of Naxalites is a common occurrence. The book then traces the events that lead the Deshmukh family to this grisly end, taking the story back to 1955 when Vijaya and Krishna had just befriended each other as kids. Their friendship and budding yearning for each other becomes the frame within which the events unfold. Rao’s writing is descriptive, sharing a vein with recent books such as Abraham Verghese’s The Covenant of Water and Tejaswini Apte-Rahm’s The Secret of More. Unlike Verghese, Rao’s intricate detailing isn’t targeted at a non-Indian readership. She creates vivid landscapes, describes the architecture, and shows the everyday life at the gadi. She even includes a few Telugu and Marathi dialogues without translating them for English language readers. It is difficult to grasp the exact meaning but the context nonetheless allows you to interpret the words. Occasionally, however, the beauty of the writing is overshadowed by errors such as a mention of the Arts College at Osmania University having five floors (it has two) or of a full moon on Diwali, which is only ever celebrated on a new moon night.
{{/usCountry}}The novel begins with the shocking image of the heads of members of the Deshmukh family on pikes. The year is 1970 and by then, the public execution of landlords by the people’s court of Naxalites is a common occurrence. The book then traces the events that lead the Deshmukh family to this grisly end, taking the story back to 1955 when Vijaya and Krishna had just befriended each other as kids. Their friendship and budding yearning for each other becomes the frame within which the events unfold. Rao’s writing is descriptive, sharing a vein with recent books such as Abraham Verghese’s The Covenant of Water and Tejaswini Apte-Rahm’s The Secret of More. Unlike Verghese, Rao’s intricate detailing isn’t targeted at a non-Indian readership. She creates vivid landscapes, describes the architecture, and shows the everyday life at the gadi. She even includes a few Telugu and Marathi dialogues without translating them for English language readers. It is difficult to grasp the exact meaning but the context nonetheless allows you to interpret the words. Occasionally, however, the beauty of the writing is overshadowed by errors such as a mention of the Arts College at Osmania University having five floors (it has two) or of a full moon on Diwali, which is only ever celebrated on a new moon night.
{{/usCountry}}Still, the reader is able to ignore these and focus on the story. Interestingly, the most powerful family in Irumi has only daughters and doesn’t mourn or long for sons. The Deshmukhs are quite content with their women, even if somewhat controlling of their interaction with the outside world. As always, associations of upper-caste women with men who are not from their strata are severely frowned upon and those involved are punished. Women, despite their high status, do not have the agency to choose who they want to be with, whereas the converse is somewhat acceptable — in fact, associations between upper-caste men and lower caste women are conveniently ignored despite the negative consequences. Often, lower-caste women are sold for two rupees and a bag of grain, which leads many of them to join the Naxalite movement in search of respect.
In a drunken state, Surendra Deshmukh once acknowledges the brilliance of Ranga and Krishna and wishes they too were upper-caste. It is this realisation that is the basis of his cruelty towards them; social inferiors were not supposed to be brilliant in skills and thinking. “Two aberrations! Two who do not fit into the moulds created for them. One? One can be broken, sanded down, made to fit. But two? Two’s too many, Ranga. What to do then? Break them both? No. It won’t work,” he says. “No. What you do is break one and make the other watch. Sever what binds them. That’s how you get them to fit.” And so Surendra Deshmukh is completely cruel to Ranga, and to all others who need to be controlled.
Krishna isn’t as transgressive as his brother. In fact, when he comes to the forefront of the Hindutva movement questioning land rights in Hyderabad in the 1960s, he chooses not to participate. His friend Gagan, the one who starts the movement, reminds him of his past in Irumi, a past that separated him from his family. But Krishna simply wants to live a decent life, get his doctorate, and marry Vijaya, if she agrees to spend her life with him.
Rao writes all her characters with empathy; she shows all sides of a situation through them without advocating for right or wrong. Even when she describes Surendra, she ensures that his unspoken love for his nieces is apparent. No one is villainised or glorified. They are presented in all their (in)humanity, which frees the reader from seeing them only through the binaries of good and bad, right and wrong.
The novel incorporates a lot of research on the feudal system and the politics of the Telengana region in the 1950s and ’60s. However, Rao prioritises telling a good story with its many twists and turns over putting her research efforts on display -- a temptation that many experienced authors worldwide cannot resist. A real page turner, The Fertile Earth is a spectacular debut.
Akankshya Abismruta is an independent writer.