Book review

Not so elementary, my dear Watson

By
Randeep Wadehra

Holmes of the Raj by Vithal Rajan

Random House. Pages: 277. Price: Rs. 295/-

Although there is no hard and fast rule, and certainly no taboo, against the environmental transplantation of a fictional character there is something inappropriate, almost bizarre, about placing Sherlock Holmes in the rather sultry tropical environs of India. We normally relate Holmes with the foggy, cold and damp London where his moodiness, his pipe (and occasional cigar) and violin complete his profile. Where, Watson – after a sumptuous repast – either gets busy chronicling the master detective’s exploits or accompanies him on his various adventures. We often find him mentioning the Indian subcontinent, and other parts of the world, but seldom espy him actually venturing that far. We also hear of him resolving “delicate” international disputes/scandals but mostly watch him fight the crime that actually bedevils London’s streets and suburbs.

Recycled ideas do not an interesting story make. You have to have the talent for moulding known facts into an absorbing tale. Transplanting a well established image is not really a good idea. Rajan should have had the confidence to create his own character – preferably an Indian sleuth. Our nascent detective fiction genre can do with one. Vithal Rajan has lost an opportunity to be a pioneer in this field.

However, first of all, Rajan should be appreciated for writing six India based stories, featuring the Holmes-Watson duo, placed somewhere in the early 20th century. We may also appreciate his efforts at writing the Victorian language peppered with quaint phrases which were so common then. But that’s where the appreciation ends.

Kumbakonam Sankaracharya(!) as a murder suspect – in the very first story The Case of the Murdering Saint – is, perhaps, inspired by a similar episode that actually happened in 2004 in which the Kanchi Sankaracharya was arrested on suspicion of murdering one Sankararaman, the matth’s ex-employee. This story’s Ranee of Kanchee character is a rather poor camouflage for Jayalalitha who was Tamil Nadu’s CM when this episode took place. Be that as it may, the tale fails to grip.

Similarly, in the next story, The Bite Worse than Death, the Nizam of Hyderabad’s son is stricken with malaria and Watson’s services are requisitioned on an urgent basis. Again, after the initial promise, the story begins to meander and somehow loses its way. Jack the Ripper’s introduction should have spiced-up the narrative and piqued the interest of Doyle’s committed readership, but alas. Why should the Ripper be interested in murdering the Devdasis of Bangalore/Hyderabad, pray? Many other figures, real and fictional, from the Victorian Britain are introduced but remain mere caricatures being forcibly made to strut around alien and improbable scenarios. Worse, the enigmatic silences of Doyle’s Holmes, which used to heighten the suspense and often presaged exciting denouement, are absent in Rajan’s Holmes. While Watson emerges as more energetic, Holmes stays inert. A touch of the tropics, perhaps?

About the other stories in this collection, viz., The Naga Baiga of Moogli Hills, Kim and Kim Again, Art, Crime and Enlightenment, and The Indian Summer of Sherlock Holmes, one may make some general observations to save the space: Despite the author’s attempts at replicating the Doyle style the plots refuse to thicken. Full-page dialogues and unnecessary details might add to the book’s thickness but only succeed in putting the reader off. Writing detective fiction is not all that elementary. What say, my dear Watson?

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