In stark and dramatic contrast to "Swami and Friends", which, regrettably, remains as the only novel by Mr. Narayan that I have read, "The Man-Eater Of Malgudi" is a darker, moodier piece of work that belongs clearly in the league of "Malgudi Days", the writer's most celebrated collection of short stories revolving around simple, congenial men and women and the humdrum situations of their mild-mannered, inoffensive existence. As in those deceptively understated stories, marked by their beautifully judged restraint, the focus here is on the archetype Narayan protagonist - a mild-mannered, meek yet not wholly sincere Malgudi man - who is trying to get by with a little help from his friends and save himself from potential scandal and embarrassment. And it is this ernest desire, all too believable and human, to live and let live, that, when rendered futile, makes this such a profound and poignant read from cover to cover.
Nataraja is that archetype Narayan creation, an unassuming but easily non-plussed owner of a conventional printing press with a little circle of loyal friends and customers doting on him. Into the field of his peaceful, largely uneventful existence, storms Vasu, a rough-mannered, rude and brutish taxidermist who, by fault of his own somewhat thuggish line of work, bullies and intimidates everyone around him into meek submission. Nataraja himself falls prey to Vasu's brutal onslaught of fury, unwittingly, or that is how it seems, and is soon driven, by unforeseen but gently orchestrated circumstances, to desperate measures to take a stand for human dignity.
Or that is what this novel seems to be on the surface and if you would believe the blurb at its word. Dig deeper (and that is always tricky with Narayan, a most deceptively gentle and perceptive storyteller) and you will find a sly-witted, devilishly clever, acutely observed and unexpectedly sardonic narrative of interplay, moral duality and unlikely camaraderie unfolding almost organically.
Vasu is indeed a rough and rude bully and yet when we encounter him later, about halfway into the novel, the writer, with his measured sleight of hand, has already lent him a sort of roguish dignity, a perverse commitment to his notorious trade that steers his character clear from any caricaturisation. On the other hand, Nataraja seems all ernest and unassumingly innocent in his actions and intentions but at around the same mid-way mark, he acquires some of Vasu's own pugnacity, even as he does not stop fearing or abhorring the man. It is this gradual erosion and fusion of these two utterly divergent personalities, at odds with each other, that forms the essential and wholly vital pleasure of reading "The Man-Eater Of Malgudi". At one level, Nataraja himself is conscious that he might morph into another monster as Vasu and this is also what propels him to bring things to a head.
Unlikely friendships and even stirrings of fellow-feeling inform much of Narayan's literature: the shady astrologer lying blatantly to give his latest customer - the very same man whom the former had nearly murdered in youth - some semblance of new hope or the aggressively defensive Brahmin who feels the pangs of inexplicable friendship for the very domineering opponent whom he defeats in a verbal standoff. They are also to be found in this novel; at a critical juncture, Nataraja almost contemplates approaching Vasu on guilelessly friendly terms to dissipate the terse atmosphere for everyone involved and this facet of the writer's work makes the story so compellingly real, in the vivid, all-forgiving vein of Anton Chekhov or, to come closer, Narayan's life-long friend and mentor Graham Greene.
What distinguishes Narayan clearly from these two legendary names, in a league of his own, is his unerring, wry and warmly beautiful and nuanced flair at describing Indian life, vividly, even a touch picturesquely but always affectionately, with all its little and large incongruities. Through his beloved fictional town of Malgudi, teeming with normal, utterly credible characters each more memorable than the previous, he paints a moving, mesmeric portrait of movement, embellished and decorated with the toil of daily work and bright festive colours, set to the rhythm of conversations and ceremonies and the melody of a raga or the hushed whispers of people's gossip. This is, then, unsurprisingly, the wondrous quality of his storytelling abilities. "The Man-Eater Of Malgudi", which, you can be assured, is not really about a man-eating tiger in the literal sense, stands as a glowing, charming and cleverly phrased testament to his undeniable prowess.