ЁЯУШ рдУрдордкреНрд░рдХрд╛рд╢ рд╡рд╛рд▓реНрдореАрдХрд┐, рдШреБрд╕рдкреИрдард┐рдпреЗ
рдЗрд╕ рдлреИрд╕рд▓реЗ рд╕реЗ рдХрд┐рд╕рди рдФрд░ рдордВрдЧрд▓реВ рдЕрд╡рд╛рдХ рд░рд╣ рдЧрдП рдереЗред рдХрд┐рд╕рди рдиреЗ рд╡рд┐рд░реЛрдз рдХрд┐рдпрд╛ред рд▓реЗрдХрд┐рди рдЙрд╕реЗ рдмреЛрд▓рдиреЗ рд╕реЗ рд░реЛрдХрд╛ рдЧрдпрд╛ред рдкрдВрдЪреЛрдВ рдХрд╛ рдлреИрд╕рд▓рд╛ рдкрд░рдореЗрд╢реНрд╡рд░ рдХрд╛ рдлреИрд╕рд▓рд╛ рдХрд╣рдХрд░ рдмрд╛рдд рдЦрддреНрдо рдХрд░рдиреЗ рдХреА рдХреЛрд╢рд┐рд╢ рдХреА рдЧрдИред рдХрд┐рд╕рди рд▓рдЧрд╛рддрд╛рд░ рдмреЛрд▓рдиреЗ рдХреА рдХреЛрд╢рд┐рд╢ рдХрд░рддрд╛ рд░рд╣рд╛ред рд▓реЗрдХрд┐рди рдХреБрдЫ рд▓реЛрдЧреЛрдВ рдиреЗ рдЙрд╕реЗ рдзрдХрд┐рдпрд╛ рдХрд░ рдмрд╛рд╣рд░ рдирд┐рдХрд╛рд▓ рджрд┐рдпрд╛ред рддреЗрдЬрднрд╛рди рдХреЗ рд▓реЛрдЧ рдЙрдардХрд░ рдЦреЬреЗ рд╣реЛ рдЧрдП рдереЗред рд▓рд╛рдард┐рдпрд╛рдБ рдлрд┐рд░ рд╕реЗ рд▓рдВрдмреА рд╣реЛрдиреЗ рд▓рдЧреА рдереАрдВред рдХрд┐рд╕рди рд╣рддрд╛рд╢ рд╣реЛрдХрд░ рд▓реМрдЯрд╛ рдерд╛ред рдкреАрдЫреЗ-рдкреАрдЫреЗ рдордВрдЧрд▓реВ рднреА рдЖ рдЧрдИ рдереАред рдмрд┐рд░рдорд╛ рдиреЗ рдЙрдирдХреЗ рдЙрддрд░реЗ рдЪреЗрд╣рд░реЗ рджреЗрдЦреЗ рддреЛ рд╕рдм рдХреБрдЫ рд╕рдордЭ рдЧрдИред рдШрд░ рдореЗрдВ рдорд╛рддрдо-рд╕рд╛ рдЫрд╛ рдЧрдпрд╛ рдерд╛ред
рдШреБрд╕рдкреИрдард┐рдпреЗ can be translated into English as Infiltrators and it was written by Omprakash Valmiki, one of the best known writers of Dalit literature in Hindi. This is perhaps the first Hindi book i've read through in half a decade, and I think it may have single-handedly reignited my interest in Hindi literature.
You see, in the excerpt quoted above, which has been drawn from the second story in the collection рдпрд╣ рдЕрдВрдд рдирд╣реАрдВ (This is Not the End) there is a line that refers directly to рдкрдВрдЪ рдкрд░рдореЗрд╢реНрд╡рд░, a short story by Munshi Premchand, which every child that studies Hindi in school is tortured with at least twice over the course of their education. That line is a direct jibe at Premchand, and upon reading it, my ears have perked up, for Valmiki's story, calls into question the Gandhian idealism of Premchand's realist storytelling.
I won't go into too much detail, but Premchand's story is one that seeks to inspire Hindu-Muslim unity, in it, two old friends who differ in their faith and have had a falling out, are reunited in the justice meted out by the village panchayat. The reality of village panchayats is very different; Valmiki explicates this in This is Not the End where a young girl from a lower caste is attacked by an upper-caste man on her way home from working in the fields. The man's intent was unsurprisingly, sexual assault, but Manglu, the girl, fights Sachinder off and runs home to tell her parents.
On hearing Manglu's story, her parents wish to suppress the issue, they are aware of the violence that a fight for justice will bring upon them, and the lower caste community at large. Manglu's older brother Kisan on the other hand is home at the moment, on holiday from university, and his education has instilled a strong sense of justice, and he stands by his sister. Kisan fights to bring the case before the village panchayat.
This is where it all goes south; unsurprisingly, the panchayat, in its trenchant casteism, sides with the dominant caste Sachinder, indicting him, but letting him off with no more than a slap on the wrist. Kisan is nonplussed, the values he has learned in the city seem inoperable in his own village (they're also inoperable in the city, but that's a different story, in this collection, in fact), but Manglu remains resolute, "This is not the end," she says, as the story concludes.