Ancient Seeds, Modern Shadows

The Great Indian Novel opens with Ved Vyas, an aged statesman, dictating his memoirs to Ganapathi, his amanuensis. Tharoor's narrative is a retelling of the Mahabharata, but set against the backdrop of twentieth-century Indian history. The story is both a parody and a homage, blending myth and modernity, and suggesting that India's present is inextricably linked to its mythic past. The narrator's voice is irreverent, witty, and self-aware, setting the tone for a tale where the boundaries between legend and reality blur. The ancient epic's characters are reborn as political figures, and the cycles of ambition, betrayal, and dharma (duty) repeat in new guises. The stage is set for a sweeping saga of family, nation, and the eternal struggle between principle and power.

Bastards, Kings, and Vows

Ved Vyas recounts his own birth as the illegitimate son of a sage and a fisherwoman, paralleling the Mahabharata's Vyasa. His mother, Satyavati, marries King Shantanu, but only after extracting a promise that her children will inherit the throne. This leads to the famous vow of celibacy by Ganga Datta (Bhishma/Gandhi), who renounces his claim to the throne for the sake of his father's happiness. The narrative lampoons both the sexual politics and the rigid social structures of the time, while foreshadowing the sacrifices and compromises that will shape the nation's destiny. The seeds of future conflict are sown in these tangled family arrangements and the burdens of impossible promises.

The Birth of Heirs

After a series of untimely deaths and childless marriages, the royal line is in jeopardy. Satyavati calls upon her firstborn, Ved Vyas, to father heirs with her daughters-in-law, resulting in the births of Dhritarashtra (blind), Pandu (pale), and Vidur (wise, but of lower caste). These three will become the central figures in the coming generational struggle. The episode satirizes both the Mahabharata's "niyoga" tradition and the political expediency of colonial-era succession, highlighting the ways in which personal and national destinies are shaped by the accidents of birth, caste, and the manipulations of those in power.

The Sage and the Saint

Ganga Datta, the Bhishma figure, emerges as a regent and moral force, blending the Mahabharata's ascetic with the historical Gandhi. He preaches nonviolence, equality, and the abolition of untouchability, scandalizing both the British and the Indian elite. His eccentricities—spinning, enemas, celibacy—are both mocked and revered. The British Resident and his aides are baffled by Ganga's radicalism, which threatens the colonial order. Ganga's renunciation of power and sex becomes a metaphor for the saintly leader's ambiguous relationship with realpolitik, foreshadowing the tensions between idealism and pragmatism that will haunt the nationalist movement.

Colonial Games, Native Resistance

The narrative shifts to the colonial era, with the British manipulating Indian princes and sowing division. Ganga Datta's campaign for justice—first for peasants in Motihari (a stand-in for Gandhi's Champaran), then for jute workers in Budge Budge—demonstrates the power of nonviolent resistance. The British respond with repression, annexation, and, eventually, massacre (a thinly veiled Jallianwala Bagh). The nationalist movement gains momentum, but is also riven by internal rivalries, caste, and communal tensions. The seeds of partition are sown as the British exploit religious and social divisions, and as new leaders—Dhritarashtra, Pandu, Vidur—emerge with competing visions for India's future.

The Golden Age Falters

Under Ganga Datta's regency, Hastinapur (India) enjoys a brief golden age. The three heirs are married off: Dhritarashtra to Gandhari (who blindfolds herself in solidarity), Pandu to Kunti and Madri, Vidur to a lower-caste but educated woman. Yet personal and political problems soon intrude. Pandu is struck by a curse (a heart attack), rendering him celibate and desperate for heirs. Kunti's past indiscretion (a child by a foreigner, Karna) and the use of surrogate fathers for the Pandavas lampoon both the epic and the political expediencies of the time. The narrative is rich with sexual farce, social satire, and the foreshadowing of future conflict.

The Rise of Rivalries

Gandhari gives birth to a single daughter, Priya Duryodhani (Indira Gandhi), while Kunti and Madri produce five sons (the Pandavas) through various means. The children are raised together, but tensions simmer. The British annex Hastinapur, and the nationalist movement is forced underground. The Pandavas and Duryodhani grow up in a world of shifting alliances, betrayals, and the slow erosion of idealism. The stage is set for a generational struggle, as the children of independence inherit both the dreams and the divisions of their parents.

The Mango March and Massacre

Ganga Datta leads the famous Mango March, a parody of Gandhi's Salt March, protesting a tax on mangoes. The campaign is a masterstroke of political theatre, but ends in tragedy when a massacre (echoing Jallianwala Bagh) galvanizes the nation. The British respond with repression, but also with divide-and-rule tactics, encouraging the rise of communal parties and separate electorates. The nationalist movement is both strengthened and fractured, as the Muslim Group (Muslim League) under Karna (Karna/Jinnah) emerges as a rival to the Kaurava Party (Congress). The seeds of partition and the coming civil war are sown.

The Powers of Nonviolence

Ganga Datta's use of the fast as a political weapon—first for jute workers, then for other causes—demonstrates the unique power of self-sacrifice in Indian politics. Yet the narrative is ambivalent: the fast is both a moral act and a form of blackmail, and its effectiveness depends on the moral authority of the leader. As the nationalist movement grows, the limitations of nonviolence become apparent: communal violence, political opportunism, and the rise of more militant factions challenge Ganga's legacy. The narrative satirizes both the hagiography of the saint and the cynicism of his followers.

Partition's Bitter Harvest

The end of British rule brings not unity, but partition. Karna's demand for Karnistan (Pakistan) is granted, and the country is torn apart by violence, mass migration, and betrayal. The narrative is unsparing in its depiction of the horrors of partition, the failures of leadership, and the moral ambiguities of the time. Ganga Datta is assassinated by Shikhandin (Amba, a figure of vengeance), symbolizing the death of idealism. Dhritarashtra (Nehru) becomes Prime Minister, but is haunted by the compromises and tragedies of independence. The new nation is born in blood and loss.

The Children of Independence

The Pandavas, Priya Duryodhani, and Draupadi Mokrasi (the personification of Indian democracy) come of age in the new republic. The narrative follows their careers: Yudhishtir in politics, Bhim in the army, Arjun as a journalist, Nakul and Sahadev in the bureaucracy and diplomacy. Draupadi is married to all five, symbolizing the shared but contested nature of Indian democracy. The story is both a satire of political life and a meditation on the challenges of nation-building: corruption, communalism, caste, and the struggle to define dharma in a modern context.

The Queen Ascends

Priya Duryodhani (Indira Gandhi) becomes Prime Minister, initially as a figurehead for the party elders, but soon asserts her authority. She outmaneuvers rivals, splits the party, and centralizes power. Her reign is marked by both populist rhetoric ("Remove Poverty") and authoritarian measures. The narrative satirizes her transformation from a vulnerable daughter to a ruthless Empress, and the ways in which personal trauma and political ambition intertwine. The Pandavas and their allies are sidelined, and the ideals of the independence movement are betrayed.

The Dice of Democracy

The central metaphor of the Mahabharata's dice game is reimagined as the political machinations that lead to the Emergency. Yudhishtir, representing the old order, is outmaneuvered by Priya Duryodhani and her advisor Shakuni. The disrobing of Draupadi becomes the stripping away of democratic institutions and civil liberties. The narrative is both tragic and farcical, exposing the moral bankruptcy of the political class and the vulnerability of democracy to manipulation and apathy. The Pandavas are exiled, and the nation enters a period of darkness.

The Siege Within

Priya Duryodhani declares a state of Siege (the Emergency), suspending civil liberties, jailing opponents, and censoring the press. The narrative explores the justifications and consequences of authoritarian rule: the initial relief at the restoration of order, the subsequent abuses of power, and the gradual realization that the cure is worse than the disease. The opposition is divided, the people are resigned, and the ideals of the past seem irretrievably lost. Yet resistance stirs, led by Jayaprakash Drona and the Pandavas, and the stage is set for a reckoning.

The Fall and the Front

The Emergency ends, and free elections are called. The people, long silent, rise to vote out Priya Duryodhani and her party. The Janata Front, a coalition of former rivals, takes power, with Yudhishtir as Prime Minister. Yet the new regime is plagued by infighting, incompetence, and the inability to live up to its promises. The narrative is both triumphant and elegiac, celebrating the resilience of Indian democracy while lamenting its flaws. The cycle of hope and disappointment continues.

The Return of the People

The Janata Front's government unravels, and Priya Duryodhani returns to power. The narrative reflects on the cyclical nature of Indian politics, the persistence of old patterns, and the difficulty of achieving lasting change. The characters age, die, or fade into irrelevance, but the story continues. The novel ends as it began, with Ved Vyas dictating his tale, suggesting that the struggle between dharma and adharma, idealism and compromise, is eternal.

Dharma's Dilemma

The final chapters are a meditation on the meaning of dharma in a world where certainties have collapsed. Yudhishtir's journey to the mountain-top, accompanied by a dog (Dharma), becomes a parable for the quest for righteousness in a world of ambiguity. The narrative rejects easy answers, embracing doubt, diversity, and the necessity of forging new codes of conduct. The story ends with the recognition that there are no final victories, only the endless struggle to define and uphold what is right.

The Endless Beginning

The novel closes with Ved Vyas preparing to begin his story again, acknowledging that history is an endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The past is never past; the epic is never finished. India, like its stories, is always being remade, always in a state of becoming. The Great Indian Novel is both a satire and a celebration, a lament and a hope, a reminder that the search for meaning, justice, and identity is never-ending.

Characters

Ved Vyas

Ved Vyas is both narrator and participant, a stand-in for the Mahabharata's Vyasa and a witness to modern India's birth pangs. Illegitimate, wise, and sardonic, he is the memory-keeper of the nation, haunted by the cycles of ambition, betrayal, and loss. His psychoanalytic depth lies in his self-awareness: he knows he is both shaper and victim of history, and his detachment is tinged with regret. Vyas's relationships—with his mother Satyavati, his sons Dhritarashtra, Pandu, and Vidur, and his amanuensis Ganapathi—anchor the narrative's exploration of legacy, guilt, and the burden of storytelling.

Ganga Datta (Bhishma/Gandhi)

Ganga Datta is a fusion of Bhishma and Mahatma Gandhi: a man of terrible vows, moral authority, and eccentric habits. His renunciation of power and sex is both a source of strength and a fatal flaw, rendering him both revered and irrelevant. Ganga's psychoanalytic complexity lies in his struggle between principle and pragmatism, his need for purity, and his inability to prevent the violence and betrayal that follow. His assassination marks the end of an era and the loss of innocence.

Dhritarashtra

Dhritarashtra, the Nehru figure, is both physically blind and metaphorically sightless. He is idealistic, eloquent, and committed to democracy, but also self-absorbed, indecisive, and ultimately unable to prevent the disasters of partition and authoritarianism. His relationship with his daughter Priya Duryodhani is fraught with guilt, pride, and disappointment. Dhritarashtra's psychoanalytic depth lies in his longing for love and approval, his inability to see the consequences of his actions, and his tragic decline into penance and irrelevance.

Pandu

Pandu, the stand-in for Subhas Chandra Bose and the Mahabharata's Pandu, is a man of action, passion, and frustration. Denied fulfillment by fate and circumstance, he turns to radicalism, fascism, and ultimately exile. His psychoanalytic complexity is rooted in his sense of inadequacy, his need for validation, and his tragic end. Pandu's legacy is both heroic and problematic, a reminder of the dangers of unchecked ambition and the costs of dissent.

Priya Duryodhani

Priya Duryodhani, the Indira Gandhi figure, is both victim and villain: a woman shaped by abandonment, ambition, and the need for control. Her rise to power is marked by cunning, ruthlessness, and the ability to exploit both her father's legacy and her own trauma. Psychoanalytically, she is driven by a fear of vulnerability, a need to dominate, and a deep-seated resentment of those who have hurt or underestimated her. Her reign is both a triumph and a tragedy, ending in isolation and betrayal.

Draupadi Mokrasi

Draupadi is both a woman and a symbol: beautiful, desired, and perpetually at risk of being disrobed. Married to five husbands (the Pandavas), she represents the shared but contested nature of Indian democracy. Her suffering, resilience, and ultimate survival mirror the nation's own journey. Psychoanalytically, Draupadi embodies the tensions between agency and victimhood, unity and division, and the struggle to maintain dignity in the face of repeated violation.

Karna (Mohammed Ali Karna)

Karna, a fusion of the Mahabharata's Karna and Jinnah, is the golden-skinned, illegitimate son of Kunti, raised by a humble family and forever seeking recognition. His brilliance, ambition, and sense of exclusion drive him to lead the Muslim Group and demand Karnistan (Pakistan). Psychoanalytically, Karna is haunted by abandonment, envy, and the need to prove himself. His rivalry with the Pandavas and his ultimate role in partition are both heroic and destructive.

Vidur

Vidur, the son of a servant, is the voice of reason, moderation, and administrative competence. He serves as a bridge between the elite and the masses, the rulers and the ruled. Psychoanalytically, Vidur is marked by humility, self-effacement, and a sense of duty that often comes at the cost of personal fulfillment. His role as the unacknowledged father of the nation's institutions is both vital and underappreciated.

Jayaprakash Drona

Drona, a blend of the Mahabharata's Drona and Jayaprakash Narayan, is a teacher, reformer, and later, a leader of the People's Uprising. His commitment to principle is both his strength and his undoing: he inspires but cannot control the forces he unleashes. Psychoanalytically, Drona is torn between detachment and involvement, idealism and pragmatism, and the burdens of leadership.

Krishna

Krishna, the Gokarnam Party secretary, is Arjun's friend, mentor, and the novel's spiritual center. He is wise, playful, and detached, offering guidance but refusing to take power himself. Psychoanalytically, Krishna represents the higher self, the voice of dharma, and the elusive ideal of selfless action. His refusal to intervene directly is both a source of wisdom and a cause of regret.

Plot Devices

Myth as Modern Allegory

Tharoor's central device is the transposition of the Mahabharata's characters and episodes onto the canvas of twentieth-century Indian history. This allows for both parody and critique, as mythic events are reimagined as political crises, and legendary figures become politicians, bureaucrats, and revolutionaries. The device enables a layered narrative, where past and present, legend and reality, constantly reflect and refract each other.

Unreliable Narration and Self-Reflexivity

Ved Vyas's narration is self-aware, digressive, and often unreliable. He questions his own motives, acknowledges omissions and distortions, and frequently breaks the fourth wall to address Ganapathi (and the reader). This device foregrounds the constructed nature of history and memory, and invites the reader to question the "truth" of any narrative.

Satire, Parody, and Intertextuality

The novel is rich in satire, lampooning both the epic and the political figures it reimagines. Tharoor employs parody, puns, and intertextual references (to Shakespeare, Kipling, Gandhi, and more) to expose the absurdities of both myth and modernity. The use of humor is both a shield and a weapon, allowing for critique without despair.

Cyclical Structure and Foreshadowing

The narrative is structured in cycles: births and deaths, rises and falls, betrayals and reconciliations. Foreshadowing is used to suggest the inevitability of certain outcomes, while the ending loops back to the beginning, emphasizing the endlessness of the epic and the perpetual rebirth of India's struggles.

Symbolism and Personification

Many characters are both individuals and symbols: Draupadi as democracy, Priya Duryodhani as the nation's will to power, Ganga Datta as the conscience of the nation. Events (the disrobing, the dice game, the exile) are both literal and metaphorical, allowing for multiple layers of meaning.

Analysis

The Great Indian Novel is a dazzling, irreverent, and deeply insightful reimagining of India's epic and its modern history. By blending the Mahabharata with the story of twentieth-century India, Tharoor exposes the continuities and contradictions that define the nation: the persistence of myth in politics, the cyclical nature of power and betrayal, and the eternal struggle to define and uphold dharma in a world of ambiguity. The novel is both a satire and a lament, celebrating India's resilience while critiquing its failures—of leadership, of justice, of imagination. Its central lesson is that history is never finished, that every ending is a new beginning, and that the search for meaning, justice, and identity is both necessary and never-ending. In a world where certainties have collapsed, Tharoor urges us to embrace doubt, diversity, and the messy, unfinished business of democracy. The Great Indian Novel is, ultimately, a call to remember, to question, and to begin again.

Last updated: May 25, 2025