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THE SNAKE CHARMER
by Sanjay Nigam
Morrow, 223 pp., $22
It is difficult to know where to begin talking about The Snake Charmer. Sanjay Nigam's first novel considers a multitude of issues--including family, art, nationalism and the nature of existence itself-and brings us dangerously close to losing all sense of perspective. Plots and subplots abound in the life of the snake charmer, each one powerful in its own right. But they rarely come together in any satisfactory sense of unity. Nigam's mosaic of beautiful tiles doesn't quite achieve the intended grand picture.
The story begins: "Some lifetimes seem to hinge on a single day, and for Sonalal today was that day." These are strong words, and the rest of the chapter lives up to their promise. Sonalal, who earns a living charming his beloved cobra Raju for tourists at a Delhi bus stand, plays music on this particular day which, he will gloat throughout the story, made the gods listen. But when he hits a bad note and Raju strikes him, the charmer bites the snake in half and begins crying effusively. Thus begins a journey that will carry Sonalal through the city streets, seeking advice from venerable sages, cynical magicians, and strange doctors, trying to rid himself of the guilt and suffering of a single horrible act.
The story sometimes strikes off too forcefully in opposing directions. Consider Sonalal's meeting with Dr. Seth, a dubiously titled sex therapist. "Science," the doctor says magnanimously, "is the greatest accomplishment of man. Science tells us the universe began with a Big Bang and will end in a Big Crunch." And so on for a page and a half. Science may be a necessary issue for Sonalal to consider, but why the inflated pronouncement? It disrupts the thematic flow. The doctor is somewhat reminiscent of one of the spirits, perhaps, from Dante's The Divine Comedy, introducing himself to Dante as the latter strikes out for Paradisio. But Nigam handles no other character in this vein and the incident comes across as a structural tumor.
A romantic tone also intercedes when Sonalal runs away for a week with Reena, his beloved prostitute. The sense of love and commitment that emerges between the two infects the prose: "A wordless hour went by. The sun crept down to the horizon, and the sky became like colored glass ... . His eyes lingered on a distant junction of land, water, and sky. It occurred to him that such a place might be a source of real music, an entrance to heaven." In this most remarkable section of the novel, Nigam touches us with a sensitivity that has been unfortunately abandoned by too many contemporary writers.
The Snake Charmer's greatest strength is, ironically, also a weakness. Nigam has the ability to engage us, but he does so in too many ways and evokes too many unwarranted emotions. We are afraid that Raju's mate will come to Delhi and exact revenge against Sonalal; but when Sonalal begins biting his own tongue, as though his teeth have suddenly become fangs, it is only a confusing attempt at magical realism and leads nowhere. This is not Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children. "There's something in suffering that is unique, yours and yours alone. All your pain, your guilt, your grief, is yours, only yours. It is one of the few prizes life gives everyone." Not a very comforting sentiment, but a fitting realization, perhaps, for Sonalal.
The image of a snake biting its own tail floats throughout the novel, represented in one respect as a mango and in another as the chemical formula for benzene. They are, in fact, all circular shapes: art, science, and life. In Sonalal's circle of life, simple crimes assume epic proportions. He learns that remorse cannot alter the past, yet he finds the strength to live for another day. The story is powerful. It would be even more powerful if emotional side routes didn't distract us. But Sanjay Nigam is definitely worth hearing from again.
Joseph K. Kovacs was a Peace Corps volunteer in Sri Lanka and edits Hotline, the Peace Corps' career development bulletin.
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