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Following a Prayer : A Novel
‘Gentle, intense, poignant, the haunting beauty of this story offers the reader—through the voices and silences of three young women—deep reflections on belief, words, language, prayer and life itself.’
— URVASHI BUTALIA, author of The Other Side of Silence
’Following a Prayer is an enchanting story about the perennial binaries of speech and silence, language and meaning, reason and faith. Seen through the eyes of three young school girls, this deftly told tale infuses new life into timeless questions, in a manner that seems as magical and effervescent as it is profound.’
— IRA RAJA, Department of English, University of Delhi
‘Where do prayers go? How do words mean? What connects language, sounds, music and human relationships? The spellbinding and beautiful story that unfolds in Following a Prayer springs from the limpid childlike curiosity of these elementary questions that have also provoked deep philosophical enquiries. Through this fictional narrative of three children and their enchanted world in rural Karnataka, a brilliant contemporary philosopher follows the experience of thinking to its simplest beginnings, tracing its intimate contact with speaking, acting and, above all, the movement of a search that keeps extending itself. This is a philosophical novel — not by presenting philosophical ideas in a novelistic setting but by showing us through the power of storytelling the space of convergence between thought and imagination.’
— UDAYA KUMAR, Centre for English Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University.
About the Book
A BEAUTIFUL STORY ABOUT RECLAIMING VOICE, AGENCY AND FAITH.
Kalpana, a twelve-year-old girl living in a village nestled in the dense hills of the Western Ghats, goes missing one morning. When she returns, she has gone silent. Nothing can get her to speak. What happened in those three days that she went missing? What prevents her from communicating with her parents and sister except through notes and scribbles? And why does her grandmother's presence provoke such a strong reaction from her?
As the village gets ready to celebrate the annual Deepavali festival, a rumour spreads that Kalpana will speak the day after the festival. What will she say, and what will be the impact of her words?
Here is a novel that defies expectations to sweep to a stunning end.
About the Author
SUNDAR SARUKKAI is the founder of Barefoot Philosophers, an initiative to take philosophy to young people and the general public. He has authored many books in philosophy, including, most recently, Philosophy for Children and The Social Life of Democracy.
224 pages, Hardcover
Published May 30, 2023
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117 people want to read
About the author
Sundar Sarukkai
21 books13 followersSundar Sarukkai is currently a Professor of philosophy at the National Institute of Advanced Studies, Bangalore. He was the Founding-Director of the Manipal Centre for Philosophy & Humanities, Manipal University, India from 2010-2015. He is the author of the following books: Translating the World: Science and Language, Philosophy of Symmetry, Indian Philosophy and Philosophy of Science, What is Science? and The Cracked Mirror: An Indian Debate on Experience and Theory (co-authored with Gopal Guru). He is an Editorial Advisory Board member of the Leonardo Book Series on science and art, published by MIT Press and the Series Editor for Science and Technology Studies, Routledge.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
March 24, 2023
To Cut a Long Story Short
--------------------------
The philosopher Bertrand Russell said the following about his famous student Ludwig Wittgenstein:
“At the end of his first term at Cambridge, he [Wittgenstein] came to me and said, ‘will you please tell me whether I am a complete idiot or not? If I am a complete idiot, I shall become an aeronaut. If not, I shall become a philosopher.’ I told him to write something during the vacation on some philosophical subject and I would then tell him whether he was a complete idiot or not. At the beginning of the following term, he brought me the fulfilment of this suggestion. After reading only one sentence I said to him, ‘No, you must not become an aeronaut.’ And he didn’t.”
How many people can claim to have read much philosophy in their lives – especially the less-than-accessible Russell and Wittgenstein? Sundar Sarukkai, a professor of philosophy, in his debut novel ‘Following a Prayer’ aims to correct the lack of philosophical education among the general population. And that is, still, the good news.
The beginning of this book about a young girl who stops speaking after returning home from being lost in the forest brings to mind certain works of Kannada literature. I remembered the little girl born to a mute mother who spends her first few years without uttering a single word before bursting into speech one day to everyone’s astonishment in Poornachandra Tejaswi’s novel Jugari Cross. The grandmother reminded me of the mystical ajji in Mookajjiya Kanasulagu by Shivaram Karanth. Unfortunately, the resemblances and the promise of a reverie in the quaint charm of the Western Ghats is broken quickly as it becomes rather apparent that the characters are but mouthpieces for a long explication on the philosophy of language.
The mystery surrounding the girl’s refusal to speak soon feels like tiresome obstinacy as her younger sister, her polio-afflicted friend, their schoolteachers, their grandmother, their parents, the wise village singer (who displays uncharacteristic articulatory skills) launch into debates about language, god, and everything metaphysical: Is language a lie or the capacity to lie? Is language writing or speech? Is meaning absolute or is communication a result of the consensus of approximation? Is mathematics the language to be aspired for? Is objectivity truth? Is there a pure musical note? Is music language? Do aural patterns have visual manifestations? Except, not in so many words. They are the words of rural children, and not Russell and Wittgenstein in case we have forgotten. The characters intersperse their discussions with eating and sleeping and going or not going to school in a bid to keep it real.
The writing feels like the work of a novice translator paying obeisance to a Kannada original. It seems as if the incidents were thought about in Kannada before being hastily converted to English with little heed to idiomatic smoothness. And the tedium of the narrative is matched by poor editing. Strange phrases and word choices (police stations are ‘hesitantly dark,’ dogs ‘swat flies,’ words ‘dribble into silence,’ eyes are ‘wide open for sounds,’ mouths are ‘set in frowns,’ cooking sounds are ‘sullen,’ someone enjoys the ‘voyeurism of ordinary days’), shoddy sentences (‘he hoped something had not happened to his mother,’ ‘she refused to look at her at all,’ ‘It would soon become a habit like all habits,’ ‘her father came out of the bathroom bare-bodied, a towel wrapped around his waist’), random capitalisations and italicisations cry out (silently like the protagonist) for a blue pencil.
The novel might have sounded better if it were written in Kannada which would retain the organic relationship between the story and the language. Stories in Indian languages are spared the strict compartmentalisation of genres of western literary traditions. Magic and realism in them are not separate entities that their pairing needs special mention. In Kannada, a story is a story; it entertains, it educates, it creates a larger world. Without the humdrum choice of suspension – or not – of disbelief owing to its forced telling in English, the novel might have been more engaging in Kannada.
Prof Sarukkai’s decades-long work to bring philosophy out of the high tower of academia and to make it more accessible to everybody is well known. But owing to its heavy didactic and expository nature, this novel brings to mind the saying about good intentions as pavement material. Extending the earlier anecdote about Russell and his famous pupil to this instance, I feel fiction is to Sarukkai what aeronautics was to Wittgenstein, and like him, he must remain a philosopher.
To give it due credit, it is a commendable experiment. But I feel the book might have made a fine short story of 6,000 words. To cut a long story short, the 240-page novel is 220 pages too many.
--------------------------
The philosopher Bertrand Russell said the following about his famous student Ludwig Wittgenstein:
“At the end of his first term at Cambridge, he [Wittgenstein] came to me and said, ‘will you please tell me whether I am a complete idiot or not? If I am a complete idiot, I shall become an aeronaut. If not, I shall become a philosopher.’ I told him to write something during the vacation on some philosophical subject and I would then tell him whether he was a complete idiot or not. At the beginning of the following term, he brought me the fulfilment of this suggestion. After reading only one sentence I said to him, ‘No, you must not become an aeronaut.’ And he didn’t.”
How many people can claim to have read much philosophy in their lives – especially the less-than-accessible Russell and Wittgenstein? Sundar Sarukkai, a professor of philosophy, in his debut novel ‘Following a Prayer’ aims to correct the lack of philosophical education among the general population. And that is, still, the good news.
The beginning of this book about a young girl who stops speaking after returning home from being lost in the forest brings to mind certain works of Kannada literature. I remembered the little girl born to a mute mother who spends her first few years without uttering a single word before bursting into speech one day to everyone’s astonishment in Poornachandra Tejaswi’s novel Jugari Cross. The grandmother reminded me of the mystical ajji in Mookajjiya Kanasulagu by Shivaram Karanth. Unfortunately, the resemblances and the promise of a reverie in the quaint charm of the Western Ghats is broken quickly as it becomes rather apparent that the characters are but mouthpieces for a long explication on the philosophy of language.
The mystery surrounding the girl’s refusal to speak soon feels like tiresome obstinacy as her younger sister, her polio-afflicted friend, their schoolteachers, their grandmother, their parents, the wise village singer (who displays uncharacteristic articulatory skills) launch into debates about language, god, and everything metaphysical: Is language a lie or the capacity to lie? Is language writing or speech? Is meaning absolute or is communication a result of the consensus of approximation? Is mathematics the language to be aspired for? Is objectivity truth? Is there a pure musical note? Is music language? Do aural patterns have visual manifestations? Except, not in so many words. They are the words of rural children, and not Russell and Wittgenstein in case we have forgotten. The characters intersperse their discussions with eating and sleeping and going or not going to school in a bid to keep it real.
The writing feels like the work of a novice translator paying obeisance to a Kannada original. It seems as if the incidents were thought about in Kannada before being hastily converted to English with little heed to idiomatic smoothness. And the tedium of the narrative is matched by poor editing. Strange phrases and word choices (police stations are ‘hesitantly dark,’ dogs ‘swat flies,’ words ‘dribble into silence,’ eyes are ‘wide open for sounds,’ mouths are ‘set in frowns,’ cooking sounds are ‘sullen,’ someone enjoys the ‘voyeurism of ordinary days’), shoddy sentences (‘he hoped something had not happened to his mother,’ ‘she refused to look at her at all,’ ‘It would soon become a habit like all habits,’ ‘her father came out of the bathroom bare-bodied, a towel wrapped around his waist’), random capitalisations and italicisations cry out (silently like the protagonist) for a blue pencil.
The novel might have sounded better if it were written in Kannada which would retain the organic relationship between the story and the language. Stories in Indian languages are spared the strict compartmentalisation of genres of western literary traditions. Magic and realism in them are not separate entities that their pairing needs special mention. In Kannada, a story is a story; it entertains, it educates, it creates a larger world. Without the humdrum choice of suspension – or not – of disbelief owing to its forced telling in English, the novel might have been more engaging in Kannada.
Prof Sarukkai’s decades-long work to bring philosophy out of the high tower of academia and to make it more accessible to everybody is well known. But owing to its heavy didactic and expository nature, this novel brings to mind the saying about good intentions as pavement material. Extending the earlier anecdote about Russell and his famous pupil to this instance, I feel fiction is to Sarukkai what aeronautics was to Wittgenstein, and like him, he must remain a philosopher.
To give it due credit, it is a commendable experiment. But I feel the book might have made a fine short story of 6,000 words. To cut a long story short, the 240-page novel is 220 pages too many.
September 7, 2023
What are words, and what power do they have? If they have any power, that is. To reach out to the Gods? But what are Gods? Is there a God (or more Gods than one)? Or do Gods reside only within ourselves, as many thinkers have reiterated time and again?
Weighty questions. Questions that have been long debated and thought over, across the ages and across spaces. To expect children to be able to understand these questions and to perhaps find the answers to them on their own might seem an impossible endeavour; but this is what Sundar Sarukkai sets out to do in his novel Following a Prayer. This is the story of twelve-year-old Kalpana, who lives in a village in Karnataka with her parents; her younger sister Deeksha, who is ten years old; and their Ajji, their grandmother.
One rainy morning, Ajji is busy saying her prayers when Kalpana is about to leave for school. Chatty, irrepressible and irreverent, Kalpana asks her Ajji: “Who is listening to your prayer? Where does your prayer go? Where do your words go?” As Ajji later recalls it, ‘I ignored her, but she became more irritating. The moment the rain stopped, I shouted out my prayer into the wind and the clouds, I told her, “Now go. Go and follow these words.”’
Ajji meant it as a joke, words spoken in annoyance, never meant to be taken seriously. But Kalpana follows Ajji’s prayer, goes deep into the forest—and is missing for three days. When she returns to a frantic family and a village that has been searching for her all this while, Kalpana has gone silent. She cannot speak. Or will not speak: her family cannot tell. While they take her to a series of doctors and try to discover what has happened, Kalpana’s younger sister Deeksha begins to probe, to try and understand why her Akka is quiet. When Kalpana responds and gives her sister a clue to why she is silent, Deeksha begins a quest of her own: along with her classmate and best friend, Kumari, she sets out to explore the world of words. Kalpana, curious and wanting her own questions answered, joins in, as they seek answers to a plethora of questions. Their Kannada teacher, their science teacher, a village woman who is a singer: all of these are roped in. There are debates, there are experiments, there are conclusions drawn, and there are more questions.
Sarukkai uses his novel as an interesting means of tackling several age-old questions. Not just about words or the existence (or nature) of a divinity, but much more. How music fits into our universe; how music achieves things words cannot, and communicates where words fall short. How the brain rules our deeds and words, how mathematics is truth and beyond the lies that may be inherent in language.
Sarukkai, who is the founder of the Barefoot Philosophers initiative, which aims to take philosophy to the common people, especially to children, does a competent job through Following a Prayer of doing just this: of breaking philosophy down into easy chunks, into simple thoughts and questions that everybody can relate to. He strips away the more daunting aspects of the philosophy he discusses in this novel, and by making children the protagonists—protagonists, too, who come to their own conclusions instead of referring to high-flown books and mouthing the thinkers of yore—he is able to bring philosophy to the level of the average reader. The questions Deeksha, Kumari and Kalpana ask may well be ours; the conclusions they reach may be ours; and the questions that still remain, may be ours as well.
The language of the novel is simple, in some ways reminiscent of RK Narayan, and the characters who people it—even other than the children—are real, believable people. An interesting book, and a thought-provoking one.
(From my review for Open: The Magazine: https://openthemagazine.com/lounge/bo...)
Weighty questions. Questions that have been long debated and thought over, across the ages and across spaces. To expect children to be able to understand these questions and to perhaps find the answers to them on their own might seem an impossible endeavour; but this is what Sundar Sarukkai sets out to do in his novel Following a Prayer. This is the story of twelve-year-old Kalpana, who lives in a village in Karnataka with her parents; her younger sister Deeksha, who is ten years old; and their Ajji, their grandmother.
One rainy morning, Ajji is busy saying her prayers when Kalpana is about to leave for school. Chatty, irrepressible and irreverent, Kalpana asks her Ajji: “Who is listening to your prayer? Where does your prayer go? Where do your words go?” As Ajji later recalls it, ‘I ignored her, but she became more irritating. The moment the rain stopped, I shouted out my prayer into the wind and the clouds, I told her, “Now go. Go and follow these words.”’
Ajji meant it as a joke, words spoken in annoyance, never meant to be taken seriously. But Kalpana follows Ajji’s prayer, goes deep into the forest—and is missing for three days. When she returns to a frantic family and a village that has been searching for her all this while, Kalpana has gone silent. She cannot speak. Or will not speak: her family cannot tell. While they take her to a series of doctors and try to discover what has happened, Kalpana’s younger sister Deeksha begins to probe, to try and understand why her Akka is quiet. When Kalpana responds and gives her sister a clue to why she is silent, Deeksha begins a quest of her own: along with her classmate and best friend, Kumari, she sets out to explore the world of words. Kalpana, curious and wanting her own questions answered, joins in, as they seek answers to a plethora of questions. Their Kannada teacher, their science teacher, a village woman who is a singer: all of these are roped in. There are debates, there are experiments, there are conclusions drawn, and there are more questions.
Sarukkai uses his novel as an interesting means of tackling several age-old questions. Not just about words or the existence (or nature) of a divinity, but much more. How music fits into our universe; how music achieves things words cannot, and communicates where words fall short. How the brain rules our deeds and words, how mathematics is truth and beyond the lies that may be inherent in language.
Sarukkai, who is the founder of the Barefoot Philosophers initiative, which aims to take philosophy to the common people, especially to children, does a competent job through Following a Prayer of doing just this: of breaking philosophy down into easy chunks, into simple thoughts and questions that everybody can relate to. He strips away the more daunting aspects of the philosophy he discusses in this novel, and by making children the protagonists—protagonists, too, who come to their own conclusions instead of referring to high-flown books and mouthing the thinkers of yore—he is able to bring philosophy to the level of the average reader. The questions Deeksha, Kumari and Kalpana ask may well be ours; the conclusions they reach may be ours; and the questions that still remain, may be ours as well.
The language of the novel is simple, in some ways reminiscent of RK Narayan, and the characters who people it—even other than the children—are real, believable people. An interesting book, and a thought-provoking one.
(From my review for Open: The Magazine: https://openthemagazine.com/lounge/bo...)
October 18, 2024
I finished this book and Phew! It took me many a sittings to get to the end mainly because of all the philosophical questions in each and every page. A novice in philosophy this was my first brush with a book on the topic . That Sundar Sarukkai an eminent philosopher has tried to make philosophy accessible to the lay man is indeed laudable. The questions it put up, What is language? Is language a lie? What are words? What is music? Are you calling out to God when you sing? So where is God? Why doesn’t he come when he is called upon? Then why call out to a God who doesn’t respond to your calls ? All these are answered through the conversations between three little girls. The language is simple befitting their age.
It all starts when Kalpana a 12 year old girl goes missing on her way to school. She reappears three days later but refuses to speak henceforth. Her sister Deeksha and Deeksha’s friend Kumari a polio afflicted girl tries to unravel the mystery behind Kalpanas silence and the three of them discover hidden truths about words, music and language . This in fact is the crux of the story. Their music teacher Gangamma an unusual and strange woman is caricatured well. So are the three little girls. This book gave me a beginners peep into the vast world of philosophy and for that I am extremely grateful to it. Not my usual genre, did tire me out at times, but I held on and it was worthwhile. And what an ending!!!
It all starts when Kalpana a 12 year old girl goes missing on her way to school. She reappears three days later but refuses to speak henceforth. Her sister Deeksha and Deeksha’s friend Kumari a polio afflicted girl tries to unravel the mystery behind Kalpanas silence and the three of them discover hidden truths about words, music and language . This in fact is the crux of the story. Their music teacher Gangamma an unusual and strange woman is caricatured well. So are the three little girls. This book gave me a beginners peep into the vast world of philosophy and for that I am extremely grateful to it. Not my usual genre, did tire me out at times, but I held on and it was worthwhile. And what an ending!!!
July 20, 2025
But we should also realise that it is only great people who can stay silent when they can speak.
This began with an interesting premise. Of rethinking our relation with the truth, lies, God, speech from the eyes of a small girl. How an independent and authentic thinker might struggle with the social norms and beliefs.
‘Better to have a woman around’ could have been his life’s slogan.
But like most books written by non-writes the prose gets boring after a while. The story becomes preachy and orchestrated. I left it mid-way.
‘You cannot create your own gods,’ she whispered,
That is true though.
This began with an interesting premise. Of rethinking our relation with the truth, lies, God, speech from the eyes of a small girl. How an independent and authentic thinker might struggle with the social norms and beliefs.
‘Better to have a woman around’ could have been his life’s slogan.
But like most books written by non-writes the prose gets boring after a while. The story becomes preachy and orchestrated. I left it mid-way.
‘You cannot create your own gods,’ she whispered,
That is true though.
January 18, 2026
There is nothing I could possibly say about this book that could capture how it made me feel. Ironically, I am stuck in the very same predicament of Language that this book and its author seem to have felt in the very fibre of their beings. I did not come to the book knowing who Sarukkai was, as what looks like most people’s journey to this book. I was wandering about the bookstore at the Bangalore Lit Fest- as part of my job that too. With no intention of finding a book because i haven’t read one in god knows how many years. I happened upon this book and when I read the description it felt like the most weird, surreal cosmic sign. It felt like this book was written for me to find or, “found me”, if I have to put it in the cheekiest possible way.
For the people in my life who know me personally, it is no surprise how enraptured I have been by the nature of language, its limitations, its betrayals and its flaws from the very first class of Structuralism in the Literary Theory course of my college- because I oft speak of its impact on me. What ignited as a spark, grew into a kind of anger and betrayal I felt - and still feel - towards language that I, ironically, can’t bring myself to describe. And those classes weren’t the source or the first times I felt that way. I realised I had felt that way about language all my life and it wasn’t until I read Structuralism did I quite find the “words” for how I have felt. To date, i feel betrayed by language. There is a pain there that I can’t seem to write about, and I am quite an articulate person myself. But this book, its story, especially its language, and its language about Language- felt to me like the one and only safe place that not just “sees” my anger towards language, but nurses it too.
Everything about this book, screamed coincidence. I felt one with so many parts of myself and the interests i characterise myself with- curiosity, asking child-like questions, intrigued by the nature and philosophy of language and linguistics, Kannada, children, their minds, the possibilities of their innocence. My closest friends would easily be able to reproduce this list when asked of my interests- which is exactly why I felt so so deeply surprised and transfixed when I found this book. It felt like it was tailor-made. I felt almost lucky when I found it. Or a childish sense of ���told you so” to nobody in particular, that proves some mysterious relationship between me and the universe.
There is a sense of relief in sitting with this book that I cannot be grateful enough for.
The book breathes like the world in it- I imagine it is Agumbe (the author does say their land was known for the King cobras, and that it is set in the Western Ghats so that was my guess) The book doesn’t just describe the mountains towering over the skyline of the girls’ village, the writing makes you feel being in the presence of the mountains. And that in itself is a nod to the inquisition of language the story discovers, as “naturally” as a child watching someone start running and staring at its own limbs in decipherment (this is the closest I can get to articulating the story’s relationship with curiosity).
Does language describe the external world? Is its primary function for you to point at an object outside and make a sound that says “tree” to describe the tree and differentiate it from you or a cat? But when i read of the mountains in this book- it didn’t feel like words were used as linguistic-index fingers, it didn’t feel like vocabulary was used as a pointer to point at a mountain. I felt the mountain in a way I could only feel it if i were standing facing one and someone asked me “What’s in front of you? But don’t use any words to describe it. Don’t say “mountain” or “nature”. And without describing using words- ask yourself “what’s in front of you?”
Try this yourself. Go outside, find a street dog. Ask yourself “What’s in front of me?” And try answering it without using any words- like animal, dog, creature, anything. Not just out loud- don’t use words in your mind’s voice either. Try. Just look at it and ask yourself “What’s that?”
Did you feel it?
Did you feel the “Something” towards that, that you haven’t quite felt till now?
Now think of the purpose of language. You didn’t quite “need” that “thing” to be described- something else happened when you brought it into your senses without using “words” to do the “bringing” from your sight to your senses or thoughts. Anyway.
Back to the mountain analogy. What I would experience then, when asked to describe what is in front of me without using words- is what I experienced in reading the landscapes of this book.
As Kalpana’s silence deepens and widens, i envied her. As Deeksha’s curiosity strengthens, I felt like crying. This book, and all the lives in it, is presence. You feel present when you experience this book.
The ending doesn’t even feel anti-climatic. The beauty in the writing is that Sarukkai gives you your “aha” moments in the run up to the climax- those revelations feel so satisfying that you don’t feel discontented by the way the story ends. Or ends in the novel at least. It stays with you beyond the novel in the most pristine way.
I cannot thank Sarukkai enough for using language to prod at Language, in the most appetising, thrilling, and satiating way.
I can’t WAIT to discover more of his works.
For the people in my life who know me personally, it is no surprise how enraptured I have been by the nature of language, its limitations, its betrayals and its flaws from the very first class of Structuralism in the Literary Theory course of my college- because I oft speak of its impact on me. What ignited as a spark, grew into a kind of anger and betrayal I felt - and still feel - towards language that I, ironically, can’t bring myself to describe. And those classes weren’t the source or the first times I felt that way. I realised I had felt that way about language all my life and it wasn’t until I read Structuralism did I quite find the “words” for how I have felt. To date, i feel betrayed by language. There is a pain there that I can’t seem to write about, and I am quite an articulate person myself. But this book, its story, especially its language, and its language about Language- felt to me like the one and only safe place that not just “sees” my anger towards language, but nurses it too.
Everything about this book, screamed coincidence. I felt one with so many parts of myself and the interests i characterise myself with- curiosity, asking child-like questions, intrigued by the nature and philosophy of language and linguistics, Kannada, children, their minds, the possibilities of their innocence. My closest friends would easily be able to reproduce this list when asked of my interests- which is exactly why I felt so so deeply surprised and transfixed when I found this book. It felt like it was tailor-made. I felt almost lucky when I found it. Or a childish sense of ���told you so” to nobody in particular, that proves some mysterious relationship between me and the universe.
There is a sense of relief in sitting with this book that I cannot be grateful enough for.
The book breathes like the world in it- I imagine it is Agumbe (the author does say their land was known for the King cobras, and that it is set in the Western Ghats so that was my guess) The book doesn’t just describe the mountains towering over the skyline of the girls’ village, the writing makes you feel being in the presence of the mountains. And that in itself is a nod to the inquisition of language the story discovers, as “naturally” as a child watching someone start running and staring at its own limbs in decipherment (this is the closest I can get to articulating the story’s relationship with curiosity).
Does language describe the external world? Is its primary function for you to point at an object outside and make a sound that says “tree” to describe the tree and differentiate it from you or a cat? But when i read of the mountains in this book- it didn’t feel like words were used as linguistic-index fingers, it didn’t feel like vocabulary was used as a pointer to point at a mountain. I felt the mountain in a way I could only feel it if i were standing facing one and someone asked me “What’s in front of you? But don’t use any words to describe it. Don’t say “mountain” or “nature”. And without describing using words- ask yourself “what’s in front of you?”
Try this yourself. Go outside, find a street dog. Ask yourself “What’s in front of me?” And try answering it without using any words- like animal, dog, creature, anything. Not just out loud- don’t use words in your mind’s voice either. Try. Just look at it and ask yourself “What’s that?”
Did you feel it?
Did you feel the “Something” towards that, that you haven’t quite felt till now?
Now think of the purpose of language. You didn’t quite “need” that “thing” to be described- something else happened when you brought it into your senses without using “words” to do the “bringing” from your sight to your senses or thoughts. Anyway.
Back to the mountain analogy. What I would experience then, when asked to describe what is in front of me without using words- is what I experienced in reading the landscapes of this book.
As Kalpana’s silence deepens and widens, i envied her. As Deeksha’s curiosity strengthens, I felt like crying. This book, and all the lives in it, is presence. You feel present when you experience this book.
The ending doesn’t even feel anti-climatic. The beauty in the writing is that Sarukkai gives you your “aha” moments in the run up to the climax- those revelations feel so satisfying that you don’t feel discontented by the way the story ends. Or ends in the novel at least. It stays with you beyond the novel in the most pristine way.
I cannot thank Sarukkai enough for using language to prod at Language, in the most appetising, thrilling, and satiating way.
I can’t WAIT to discover more of his works.
May 13, 2023
To be, or not to be.
A believer. Of god. gods. Of the language and the music, mathematics, science & everything that's been fed to us in the name of truth.
Following a Prayer by Sundar Sarukkai, a novel set in a village near Bengaluru, is a story of how a 12 year old girl Kalpana has been provoked by deep philosophical inquisitions one morning after being scolded by her grandmother. Where do the prayers go? What do words mean? Is ganesha a lie? Too many inquisitions in a child's mind.
The book unfolds itself in the beginning itself when Kalpana has gone missing one morning. Her family is tensed, the villagers have started with the gossips, 3 days pass. Once she returns the happiness of her parents is very short lived as they realise Kalpana has gone silent. We are then taken to an expedition of what happened to her in those three days, why has she chosen by herself to not speak, and ultimately, why has she lost her faith!
The reader must note that even at 240 pages this book might seem long, but the philosophies around religion & god have been crafted from a child's lens & the narration is done accordingly. The author makes sure that the reader gets an interpretation of how society sees religion, how society wants to first safeguard family's reputation when a woman (a girl child, literally) goes missing in their family, mental health & an innocent rebel being the other outlines that complete this story.
To be, or not be, a believer, is something the reader might get the answer to by the end of the book. Might being the key word.
A believer. Of god. gods. Of the language and the music, mathematics, science & everything that's been fed to us in the name of truth.
Following a Prayer by Sundar Sarukkai, a novel set in a village near Bengaluru, is a story of how a 12 year old girl Kalpana has been provoked by deep philosophical inquisitions one morning after being scolded by her grandmother. Where do the prayers go? What do words mean? Is ganesha a lie? Too many inquisitions in a child's mind.
The book unfolds itself in the beginning itself when Kalpana has gone missing one morning. Her family is tensed, the villagers have started with the gossips, 3 days pass. Once she returns the happiness of her parents is very short lived as they realise Kalpana has gone silent. We are then taken to an expedition of what happened to her in those three days, why has she chosen by herself to not speak, and ultimately, why has she lost her faith!
The reader must note that even at 240 pages this book might seem long, but the philosophies around religion & god have been crafted from a child's lens & the narration is done accordingly. The author makes sure that the reader gets an interpretation of how society sees religion, how society wants to first safeguard family's reputation when a woman (a girl child, literally) goes missing in their family, mental health & an innocent rebel being the other outlines that complete this story.
To be, or not be, a believer, is something the reader might get the answer to by the end of the book. Might being the key word.
May 17, 2023
LIES OF A LANGUAGE
After being missing for 3 days, Kalpana comes back home but refuses to speak. She had gone on to' follow a prayer', as suggested by her grandmother. The only time she speaks is when she declares to her younger sister that God and language, both are lies.
Review- Marrying rich, kannada village life with philosophy, author Surakkai gives us a story, where a young girl, renounces words and language, proclaiming them lies.
Following A Prayer, a story of a 12 year old girl, walks upon its path of self discovery and celebrates finding your own truth. How would you feel if a child tells you this- 'Every word we speak is a lie. Your books are lies. God is a lie.'
Kalpana, who communicates with her family only in gestures and writings, said those words and then fell silent. The only two things that are spared are singing, which unlike language, is pure and unaffected by lies and mathematics. There's even an idea of singing songs with just numbers.
Sarukkai asks his readers to give up on stereotyped education as in the book, Kalpana decides to go to school only to learn Mathematics, a pure form of truth.
Weaving the ideas of philosophy through the eyes of a child, Sarukkai tells a story that is challenging and delicate in equal measure.
After being missing for 3 days, Kalpana comes back home but refuses to speak. She had gone on to' follow a prayer', as suggested by her grandmother. The only time she speaks is when she declares to her younger sister that God and language, both are lies.
Review- Marrying rich, kannada village life with philosophy, author Surakkai gives us a story, where a young girl, renounces words and language, proclaiming them lies.
Following A Prayer, a story of a 12 year old girl, walks upon its path of self discovery and celebrates finding your own truth. How would you feel if a child tells you this- 'Every word we speak is a lie. Your books are lies. God is a lie.'
Kalpana, who communicates with her family only in gestures and writings, said those words and then fell silent. The only two things that are spared are singing, which unlike language, is pure and unaffected by lies and mathematics. There's even an idea of singing songs with just numbers.
Sarukkai asks his readers to give up on stereotyped education as in the book, Kalpana decides to go to school only to learn Mathematics, a pure form of truth.
Weaving the ideas of philosophy through the eyes of a child, Sarukkai tells a story that is challenging and delicate in equal measure.
September 6, 2023
Twelve-year-old Kalpana goes missing in the forest. When she returns home after three days, she decides not to speak ever again.
Set in rural Karnataka, this book talks about philosophy through three young girls, Kalpana, Disha and Kumari. Together they set on a journey to understand language by asking uncomfortable questions, building a temple for the brain, learning music and observing silence.
The author reminds us how important it is for children to ask questions and be answered instead of being rebuked. Also, that only by asking questions, truth can be sought.
IN A NUTSHELL: A philosophical musing for children and adults alike.
💟 "Language is a lie."
💟"All the sound we create is incomplete and is always accompanied by unheard sounds."
Set in rural Karnataka, this book talks about philosophy through three young girls, Kalpana, Disha and Kumari. Together they set on a journey to understand language by asking uncomfortable questions, building a temple for the brain, learning music and observing silence.
The author reminds us how important it is for children to ask questions and be answered instead of being rebuked. Also, that only by asking questions, truth can be sought.
IN A NUTSHELL: A philosophical musing for children and adults alike.
💟 "Language is a lie."
💟"All the sound we create is incomplete and is always accompanied by unheard sounds."
July 17, 2025
It is really tough to bring the big philosophy questions into the general conversations and get people to really talk about it. Sarukkai academic works are not an easy read. But through this novel, he attempts to put infromt of general readers some questions about language and sound, and explain them in detail, without footnotes or reference lists. The questions he raised in this book are simple, yet poignant, and a route for one to further explore the world of words.
Ending was not something I expected it to be. I was let with a sense of non-closure that will bother me for a while, and later whenever I think about this work.
Ending was not something I expected it to be. I was let with a sense of non-closure that will bother me for a while, and later whenever I think about this work.
June 15, 2023
I felt as though I was very much a part of the lives of the three young girls in this story, walking and experiencing Malenadu with them as they worked their way in frustration and delight through small and big questions about language, God and prayers.
November 28, 2023
I really enjoyed it though it tends to wax philosophical from time to time. His play on what language really is, children building a temple to the brain, silence as a possible non-alternative to speech is all quite seemingly simplistic yet haunting.
June 8, 2024
A book that deals with language and philosophy. A story that makes the reader enjoy. It's about these three girls, whose curiosity to learn about words and what happens in the end. It deals with words, faith, and silence. Most of all a thought-provoking novel.
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