Tell a Thousand Lies is a strange novel – it is at once realistic and melodramatic; simple and layered; unbelievable yet credible. This is the kind of book that could be read as a simple fable, a tussle between right and wrong, good and evil. But then, it also has potential to spark a thousand debates and discussions. Reaching for the heart yet aiming for the psyche, the novel is an exploration of an ordinary girl’s bizarre fate.
Our heroine, Pullamma, could be any girl in the South Asian hinterlands, though in this case, she lives somewhere in a desolate village in Andhra Pradesh in India. So dark-skinned that her father disowned her at birth and abandoned his family; so tall and gawky that no boy would look at her twice, and so poor that there might never be enough dowry to marry her off – this is Pullamma in her totality. She does not care for books, her only dream is to be wedded off. But when the wedding does take place, the bride is Lata – Pullamma’s gorgeous twin who wants nothing more than to be a doctor. And just as readers begin to feel that this is nothing more than a nostalgic novel relieving the lazy hinterlands comes the twist. A dying child is put into Lata’s arms, the child lives, and Lata is hailed as a Goddess. It is as a Goddess that she will have to live the rest of her life.
While it might be a tad too confusing for readers unacquainted with such cultural practices, everyone will immediately understand the repercussions that being a Goddess will have on a young girl’s life. Revered by many but shunned by her closest ones, Pullamma’s life quickly denigrates into a miserable one. Sometimes she believes she has magical healing powers, at other times she is exasperated with her own stupidity and caged existence. And then, one day, the dark, dark truth reveals itself – she is merely a pawn in the hands of the terrible politician Kondal Rao, who has his own interests in making the poor villagers believe that Pullamma is Goddess incarnate.
The novel’s strength is its element of surprise. Readers will not know, cannot even guess, just how the events will unfold the next moment. Its beginning is definitely placid, taking us back to the world of hopscotch and homework and a grandmother’s strict love. Then overnight, Pullamma is a Goddess. Just as quickly, we realize that she has been framed. From then on, Pullamma lives a virtually unpredictable life. She gets married in amazing circumstances, whirlwinds through a fairy tale existence with her wonderful husband, makes friends, becomes pregnant. Then, again, the evil eye snatches everything away from her and she lands up in a home for women with ‘loose’ morals. Years pass, and it seems as if she will never be reunited with her love, her child, her grandmother. She sinks into depression and readers fear for her sanity. The climax, just like her topsy-turvy life, is half-unexpected and half not.
While Atreya keeps the plot honest, if a little over-the-top at times, the supporting characters are not up to the mark. More stereotypical than creative, they are clearly demarcated into good and evil and that takes half the fun away. Meanwhile, Pullamma’s husband is portrayed as the non-existent ideal man, too good to be true. At times, he seems to be at the center of the deceit and treachery just because he is so syrupy sweet. But then, by the end, he is just an ordinary man, trying his best to walk down the correct path and yet led astray by external factors he has no control over. Kondal Rao as the conman is as vile as it gets, the grandmother is the peacekeeper, and Lata is an extremely interesting character, who deserves to have a novel written about her, too.
The language is simple, earthy, and with a definite flavor of the characters’ mother tongue. Examples like “These people,” Ammamma said, sweeping the debris from the coconuts. “They have no education, no understanding. With my fifth class education, I’ll need him to tell me right from wrong? I’ll be scared of my friend’s husband, or what?” abound throughout the novel. The tone is kept light most times, but sometimes the writer seems to be so obsessed with presenting her side of the story that it gets really screechy, moralistic, one-dimensional. The sentences also turn clumsy and structures become clunky at times, in turn bringing down the novel’s beauty. But phases like this are thankfully few and far between, and for the most, readers familiar with the customs mentioned in the novel will enjoy traversing through a life that could easily have been their own.
The novel is a strong statement on and against myriad problems that plague our lives – superstition, the dowry system, the discrimination faced by dusky complexions, corruption, power politics, male chauvinism. Pullamma’s entire life is like a textbook study on things that can go wrong during a woman’s lifetime. The difference being that Atreya brings it out of the textbook to resemble real life.