The author’s voice comes across strong and clear, both in the picture panels in bold, primary colours, interspersed with black-and-white charcoal sketches (where we return to the storytelling by Ganga) and in the crisp turn of phrase. Never miss real stories from India's women. Amba, who speaks up for her rights, literally fighting to avenge the insult to her womanhood. And of course, there is Ganga, not just the sutradhaar of this book, but also a player of calculated unpredictability and passion. The steadfastness of Kunti in her support of her husband, despite the rejection she suffers. The forthrightness of Shakuntala in the way she speaks to her husband Dushyant about the truth and the rights of her son. The rejection felt by Amba when she is spurned both by her intended Shalva, and later Bheeshma, when she turns to him, since his hasty actions were the reason she lost the life she had dreamed of.Īmruta Patil also brings forth the strength of her women characters, forging their own way in a social landscape that is obviously patriarchal.

The horror of the unwanted sexual relations forced on Ambika and Ambalika who are reduced to no more than wombs which carry the heir to the throne. The fear and helplessness of a young and naïve Kunti who feels she has no choice but to discard her newborn rather than face the ostracization doled out to unwed mothers by society.

We feel the pain of lost dreams with the beauteous Gandhari when she is tricked into marrying a blind king. The writer gets under the skin of these women and tells it like it must have been through their eyes, their emotions, hopes and wishes. Like Irawati Karve’s Yuganta, Chaturvedi Badrinath’s Women Of The Mahabharata and Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s The Palace of Illusions, Amruta Patil’s Adi Parva brings to the forefront the women of the Mahabharat, giving them a human dimension that often gets concealed. That is how history has always been recorded. It is a narrative in which the women are often overshadowed by the string of glorious achievements of the male characters. Vyas’s Mahabharat has Sauti, the sutradhaar, narrating the history of his forefathers to Janmejaya, ruler of Hastinapur and Arjun’s great-grandson.

This sets an unusual, feminist tone to the narrative. No longer mute, though, as she tells the tale to those gathered, wanting to know more. The story is told by a woman sutradhaar (the narrator) – not just any woman – the river Ganga herself in human form, a mute witness to all of history.

Amruta patil books