The Yogini

by Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay, Arunava Sinha (Translator)

Brand New Deliver In 6-18 Working Days

Genres: Fiction, India, Asia, Novels, Contemporary, Translated Fiction, Indian Literature

208 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2009

About the author

When Panty was first published in Bengali, it created a furore—a reaction that is par for the course for Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay.

Her controversial first novel Shankini made for an explosive debut. Since then she has published nine novels and over fifty short stories. Also a newspaper columnist and a film critic, Sangeeta lives and writes in Kolkata.

সঙ্গীতা বন্দ্যোপাধ্যায়-এর জন্ম ২৩ নভেম্বর ১৯৭৪, দুর্গাপুরে। ১৯৮৬ সাল থেকে কলকাতায় বসবাস। প্রথমে বাগবাজার মালটিপারপাস্‌ গার্লস স্কুল, পরে গোখেল কলেজে পড়েছেন। তেরো-চোদ্দো বছর বয়স থেকেই কবিতা লেখার শুরু। প্রথম কবিতা ছাপা হয় ‘দেশ’ পত্রিকায় ২০০১-এ। তারপর নিয়মিত দেশ সহ বিভিন্ন পত্র-পত্রিকায় লেখালেখি। প্রথম উপন্যাস শঙ্খিনী। ‘দেশ’-এ ধারাবাহিকভাবে প্রকাশিত। পেশা: সাংবাদিকতা। একটি টিভি চ্যানেলের সঙ্গে যুক্ত। শখ: অসংখ্য। তবে আসল শখ মানুষের সঙ্গে এই মহাপৃথিবীর সম্পর্ক অধ্যয়ন।

Reviews

[Tiyas · Rating 4 out of 5]

চমৎকার উপন্যাস, 'যোগিনী'। প্লটবিহীন ও বিভ্রান্তিকর, তবুও চমৎকার। লেখিকার কলম, শক্তিশালী। গদ্য, আত্মপ্রত্যয়ী। পড়ুয়া চত্তরে সঙ্গীতা বন্দ্যোপাধ্যায়কে নিয়ে নানান বিশেষণের প্রয়োগ শুনি। বোল্ড, সাহসী, স্বকীয়। ভালো-খারাপ দুই। একটি আদ্যোপান্ত ব্র্যান্ড যেন। এই উপন্যাসটি দ্বারা লেখিকার সাথে প্রাথমিক পরিচয় সেরে, মন্দ লাগছে না।

গত জন্মদিনে, স্থানীয় দোকানের এক কোন থেকে ধুলোমাখা বইটিকে বাড়ি বয়ে আনার সময় ভাবিনি এতোটা ভালো লেগে যাবে। তবে আমার এই ভালো-লাগা একান্তই আপেক্ষিক। আপনি যদি, 'যোগিনী' পড়ে একটি কি দুটি তারা ব্যয় করে বসেন, তাহলেও, আমি আশ্চর্য হবো না। উপন্যাসটি আমি নির্দ্ধিধায় সবাইকে পড়তেও বলবো না। তবুও...

মূল চরিত্র, হোমী। বছর ছাব্বিশের তরুণী সাংবাদিক। বিবাহিত, সপ্রতিভ, সেটলড্। রাস্তা পার হতে গিয়ে নিজের নিয়তির দেখা পায় হঠাৎ। অদৃষ্টরুপী এক অবিন্যস্ত যোগী পুরুষ। উগ্র, অশ্লীল ও ভীষণ তার স্বরূপ। নড়ে যায় হোমীর বিশ্বাসের ভীত। এক আকাশ তমসায় মিলিয়ে যায় দৈনন্দিন জীবনের চাবিকাঠি। অপ্রত্যাশিত এক বাঁকে দাড়িয়ে, সে বিভ্রান্ত হয় বারংবার। কে যেন সিনিক্যালি সুর ভেজে গায়, কোনদিন খাঁচা পড়বে খসে, ফকির লালন কেঁদে কয়...

তবে, স্রেফ খাঁচা ভেঙে পালালেই কি মুক্তি মেলে?

ভীষণ গোছানো গদ্যশৈলী দ্বারা একটি নারীর চূড়ান্ত অন্তর্দ্বন্দ্বের গল্প বলেন লেখিকা। ওনার এই কাহিনী ঠিক প্রথাগত নারীবাদি উপন্যাস নয়। বরং এর ধরন, আরও মনস্তাত্ত্বিক। আরও বেশি দার্শনিক। হোমীর চরিত্রও অতিশয় ধূসর। সে ক্লান্ত, আত্মকেন্দ্রিক ও একা। সামাজিক সব সম্পর্কের ভেতরে থেকেও, কোনো জলজ দ্বীপের সমান। অ্যাটাচমেন্ট ইস্যুস্, মন্দগ্রাহী ও হতাশাবাদী জীবনধারণের আধার।

নিয়তির স্থানু আস্ফালনের সম্মুখীন হয়ে, ফ্যাটালিজমে আক্রান্ত হতে সময় নেয় স্বল্প। যেন এমনটাই হওয়ার ছিল। এমনটাই হতো। ইয়ে তো হোনা হি থা। ভবিতব্য সমস্তটাই ছকে ফেলেছে। অনিশ্চয়তার কোনো জায়গা সেখানে নেই। নেই ধর্মেরও স্থান। ঘোর নাস্তিক হোমীর আত্মবিশ্লেষণের এই দৌড়ে, ভগবানেরও গ্রহণযোগ্যতা মেলা দুষ্কর হয়ে দাড়ায়। তাই দিনশেষে, সবটাই যেন এক বিশ্রী রসিকতা। এমন একটি জোক্, যার কোনো পাঞ্চলাইন নেই। তবুও, হাসি পায়।

কারণ সবটাই প্রিডেস্টাইন্ড!

উপন্যাসের দ্বিতীয় ভাগে, পটভূমির বদল ঘটে। ঠিক এইখানে ন্যারেটিভে সাবেকি আধ্যাত্মিকতার অনুপ্রবেশ হয়। এই জায়গাটি পড়ে আনন্দ পেয়েছি যেরকম সচরাচর পাই। এখানে মেয়েটির ধরন কোনো জ্বরে ভোগা অবাধ্য শিশু ন্যায়। পরিশ্রান্ত তবুও বিদ্রোহী। ঠান্ডা লাগছে, তবুও গায়ে কম্বল রাখতে নারাজ। গুটুলি পাকিয়ে, কুঁকড়ে শুয়ে থাকাটাই যেন আসল ঔষধি।

উপন্যাসের শেষ খাতে, ওপেন এন্ডিংয়ে ভরসা রেখেছেন লেখিকা। শেষ হলো, আবার হলোও না যেন। তার এই জগৎ কিঞ্চিৎ সারিয়ালিস্ট, সামান্য অ্যাবসার্ডও বলা যায়। যাদুবাস্তবতার সরণিতে উদ্দেশ্যের মরিয়া খোঁজ। তবুও প্লটবিহীন এই ছবিতে একটি গল্প আছে। গল্পটির খোঁজ পেতে, কোনো বিজ্ঞজন হতে নেই। কাঠিন্য সেঁচে, সরলতাটুকু সঞ্চয় করলেই হলো। জলভরা ডাবের মতো। নিপাত যাক পুঁথিগত স্ট্রাকচার। ফুরিয়ে যাক এক অন্তহীন বিলাপ।

উপন্যাসটি পড়ে, আমার প্রতিক্রিয়া ইতিবাচকই রইলো। আপনি চাইলে সরাসরি আঁতেল অপবাদে বইটিকে কালাপানির অন্তরালে নিক্ষেপ করতে পারেন। বুঝবো, সবই ব্যাটা ওই নিয়তির সূক্ষ খেল।

(৪/৫ || মার্চ, ২০২৪)

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

Translated from Bengali, the translation from Tilted Axis offers up a prologue on the idea of "niyoti" which is simply translated as fate in the novel. In India however it carries a lot more nuance. It is both the absence of agency but can also imply a state where the individual is merely under the illusion of being bound to their particular path.

So we find ourselves in Calcutta where we meet Homi, a hard-driving TV producer one year married to her equally successful husband, when she is approached by a ragged old yogi she perceives as her fate. Visible only to her, she finds in him a strange attraction and disgust. Homi then meets with a palmist and heeding his vague pronouncements nopes out of her middle class life surrounded by selfish climbers. It's fate! Or maybe it's a justification for abdicating from her mounting responsibilities.

We've even got a bit of a fairytale ending complete with a beneficent godmother courtesan. We leave Homi to choose whether to embrace her fate, or is she just f**king with it. Either way I enjoyed this modern day fable dripping with metaphor and a slightly hallucinogenic glaze.

[Mridula Gupta · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sangeeta Bandhyopadhyay’s The Yogini recreates the concept of a ‘Fate’ through Homi-a modern woman who believes in the importance of actions and a lustful yogi who derails Homi’s life in order to bring her to the center of a bigger conspiracy.

Homi, a passionate and hard-working journalist, and a loving wife to a compassionate and kind man is confronted by a Yogi one night. This mysterious man with lustful eyes, a handsome face and matted hair tell her that it is he who is her fate. He is only visible to Homi and follows her around, the sight of him being strangely arousing to Homi and this active presence sends Homi’s life to a downward spiral. As she desperately tries to take back control of her life through her actions and implementation of free will, she finds herself guided by fate to strange places and do things she wouldn’t normally do. Eventually, she finds herself in Benaras with no recollection whatsoever of how she reached there or her purpose.

‘The Yogini’ is atmospheric and engrossing. Despite the misleading blurb, the story takes some sharp and unexpected turns. I was particularly impressed by how flawed and gritty Homi’s character was and as readers, we were left to anticipate how it all unfolded. Homi is a strong and opinionated person, raised in a household with parents detached from their mutual responsibility of raising a child. The author’s understanding of the nuances of a dysfunctional family that exists beneath flawless exteriors and over-enthusiastic members has been brought forward through her writing. Homi is resilient and rebellious in her pursuit to prove her firm control over her life. Her fall from grace is smooth and maddening, complimenting the suspense that was being built during the first half of the book.

Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay also cements the concept of fate in our minds, making us trust us despite the practical approach we tend to use in our day to day life. Arunava Sinha’s translation is flawless as usual, but there were certain bits I hoped were translated better. Since Bangali is my mother tongue, I could imagine how much more dramatic and atmospheric certain passages would have sounded in Bengali.

‘The Yogini’ is engrossing, outlandish and worthwhile, but also not everyone’s cup of tea. This is a book you would like if you’ve enjoyed books based on themes such as an all-consuming madness or love.

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 2 out of 5]

Lovers were nothing but two individuals who had become victims of the same circumstance.  

The Yogini translated by Arunava Sinha from Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay's যোগিনী is the third of the author's novels to be published by Tilted Axis Press, (although the first I have read).

Founded by inaugural Man Booker International winning translator Deborah Smith, high-quality (and properly remunerated) translation is key to the publisher's success, and the books also have the distinctive feature of an opening page that outlines a key word from the original. Here this is particularly helpful as it is integral to the novel:

At the heart of The Yogini is the idea of fate, 'niyoti' in the original Bangla. It might be simple to interpret fate (the word used in this translation instead of destiny, which, as Titled Axis founded Deborah Smith has pointed out, is now a Disneyfied term) as the opposite of free will when it comes to the existence of the individual.

In India, though, niyoti – or niyati in Sanskrit – can be unpacked to mean a lot more. The etymology provides a literal meaning of being led or carried, which can of course be interpreted as an absence of agency – the anguish about which drives this novel.
 
But in some aspects of Shaivite philosophy - the description of the ascetic in the novel makes him resemble the Hindu God Shiva in some forms - niyati also refers to a state in which the individual is under the illusion of being bound to a particular time and space, when in fact they are not.  So, in its earthly manifestation for human beings, niyoti/niyati is a constraining factor for the individual but still not real, only illusory.

The book tells of Homi, a modern middle-class woman with a seemingly passionate marriage and a high-flying career in television production, who one day is literally confronted with her fate, in the form of a disheveled but somehow powerfully seductive yogi, who from that point literally dogs her steps:

He looked fearsome, his matted locks and beard framing his face like a spider. His eyes, blazed, and his body gave off a mild stench.
 
This causes her to re-examine her life, her career and her relationships, the novel ending in a trip from the modern Kolkota to the religious city of Benaras.

But the novel leaves open whether her resulting detachment is simply integral to her self-centred view of the world rather than pre-destined by fate, or indeed both - as a palm reader tells her:

The influence that most people exert is missing from your life, madam. You consider no one close or distant, good or evil. You love no one, but nor do you respect or hate them. You simply don’t acknowledge the existence of others. You are the only person in your world.
 
Your future depends on how you imagine it   Your life will proceed in whatever direction you visualise it proceeding.  And yet, this imagination of yours will be controlled by your fate, utterly.  

Or indeed (as in this excellent reading of the novel - https://booksandbao.com/2019/07/25/re...) is a result of society's pressure and expectations on women (shades of my previous read: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 )

It makes for an interest concept, but I struggled a little with the execution. Take away the dichotomy of niyoti, and one is left with a rather too simple story, albeit that may reflect my own failings as a reader at digging deeper into the underlying philosophy.

So 2 stars for my own experience - but a writer (and certainly a publisher) I would still commend to others.

[Tommi · Rating 4 out of 5]

At the center of Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay’s The Yogini, translated from the Bangla by Arunava Sinha, is fate. A short preface to the novel explains the complexity of the word, ‘niyoti’ in the original. ‘Destiny’ has an unfortunate Disney connotation nowadays, yet ‘fate’ does not capture it fully either:

In India, though, nioti – or niyati in Sanskrit – can be unpacked to mean a lot more. The etymology provides a literal meaning of being led or carried, which can of course be interpreted as an absence of agency – the anguish about which drives this novel. […] In its earthly manifestation for human beings, niyoti/niyati is a constraining factor for the individual but still not real, only illusory.

The individual here is Homi, an urban married woman working in a successful Kolkatan TV company. She is progressively preoccupied by a vision of a hermit, who she sees lurking in the unlikeliest of places. Having dinner at a restaurant with his husband, she looks out the window and sees it once again – depicted with undertones of horror. I’m quoting this particular instance mainly to show Sinha’s skillful translation:

Thick streams of water rolled down the glass, and the red and yellow lights of the cars outside merged with the anarchic currents of liquid, appearing as smudged dabs of colour on a translucent canvas. Homi gazed at the wall, forgetting even to blink. Suddenly a pair of covetous eyes materialised through the water and the light beams, eyes that she had seen barely half an hour ago. Homi was unable to speak.

The hermit, who is either a real or imagined manifestation of fate, is described in sexually grotesque terms. He “stared at her with ghoulish desire in his eyes.” He haunts her as she has sex with her husband. Distressed by her inner struggle, she visits a palmist, who has more positive news for her: “You are your own fate”:

As I said, the influence that most people exert is missing from your life, madam. You consider no one close or distant, good or evil. You love no one, but nor do you respect or hate them. You simply don’t acknowledge the existence of others. You are the only person in your world.

Homi embarks on a journey against a predetermined future, and the story proceeds into different episodes depicting her attempts at living unchained by fate, including a trip to the holy city of Benares (Varanasi). There, outside Kolkata’s highly industrialized urban milieu, it seems Homi may after all find some peace of mind. However, it must be stated that I am not clear at all on geographical or cultural details here – let it be shamefully admitted that this is, if my memory serves, the first novel I have read by a Bengali author.

The Yogini hooks by its latent strangeness, balancing finely somewhere between reality and delusion. Labelling it as magical realism, however, would undermine a metaphoric interpretation of the hermit, which I would argue to stand for Homi’s emerging emancipation of pure female sexuality, unlimited by any specific partner she has along the way and unconstrained by the institution of marriage. But labelling it as a tale of female liberation would undermine it too. It is one of those novels that do not explain everything but rather welcomes different interpretations – a fine feature in a novel if you ask me. [3.5 stars rounded up]

[Callum McLaughlin · Rating 2 out of 5]

The more time I take to mull this one over, the more I come to realise it’s a novel I wanted to like more than I actually did. There are lots of great ingredients in the mix: a strong opening scene; a great initial concept; a flawed, interesting heroine; a focus on the idea of fate versus freewill; critique of the roles women are expected to fulfil; and solid prose. The trouble for me was the execution, which felt too contrived for me to ever feel drawn in.

In terms of plot, we follow Homi, whose seemingly stable life begins to fall apart when she becomes aware of a yogi; the figure of a man, visible only to her, who stalks her every move and claims to be a physical manifestation of her fate. This is a striking concept, and I was certainly intrigued enough to want to know how her story would culminate. Sadly, too many scenarios and exchanges of dialogue felt manufactured to conveniently steer the book forward. It was neither believable enough to feel real, nor strange enough to stand as outright magical realism or fantasy; landing instead in an odd sort of limbo that ultimately left me feeling underwhelmed.

I enjoyed enough of the elements at play to keep an eye out for more of the author’s work, and requiring just two sittings to get through, it was certainly a pacy read. That said, after such a strong setup, I can’t help but wonder how much more haunting the book could have been had I clicked with it stylistically.

[Nadirah]

This is a hard one to rate, and an even harder one to make sense of compared to Abandon (which I really enjoyed). The central theme of "The Yogini" is fate/destiny and womanhood, where the commentaries around the state vs. the individual and what has been ordained vs. what we strive for can get a bit murky to sift through when it's hidden beneath a few layers of metaphor.

That said, it definitely gave readers a lot to think about, especially when we get to that ending. In a way, this was pretty impactful, but in some sense, I'm not sure what I'll think about this years from now on. (In fact, now that I think about it, this one really reminds me of The Vegetarian, which is faced by the very same conundrum, re: its surrealistic feel.)

[Plainqoma]

Honestly I don't know how to rate this one. I need a moment. Also my mind WTF did I just read.

[Safara · Rating 4 out of 5]

I can say this novel is.... strange. It revolves around Homi, who is the modern women work as a journalist. It seems after she sees "the fate", her life start to fall down. Mindblowing 🙃

[Chris · Rating 4 out of 5]

A 3.5 or 3.75, rounding up to 4 - this is a very thought-provoking and fascinating novel about an Indian woman's obsession with fate, chronicling her downward spiral as society and family close in on and suffocate her. It's fairly claustrophobic, with some incredibly beautiful passages, but I can't lie - the final fifty pages or so completely went over my head. Up to that point, it was easy enough to follow, with some surreal aspects sprucing up the corners, but the conclusion took a complete 180 that had, on first reading, no connection to the story that preceded it.

I had to read several reviews of the book to see what it likely symbolized, and it makes sense. I saw someone say this book is similar to The Vegetarian by Han Kang, and in terms of its experimental structure and commentary on patriarchy and feminism, I would fully agree. Not a book I'd widely recommend, but there's plenty to take and enjoy from here.

[Flora · Rating 2 out of 5]

The fault is with me, I think, rather than the fault of the book but I just didn't connect with this at all. I think it's partly a cultural difference that is difficult to convey in translation - the concept of fate or destiny and the hold (or not) this has over a person's life. I don't really regret reading this and I think it will make for an interesting discussion at book group but I did not enjoy it.

[Swetha Amit · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Yogini chronicles the life of a woman named Homi who works as a Television Journalist. Set in Kolkata, Homi juggles between a high octane job and her marriage to Lalit. She is content with her middle class life until one day when she is stalked by a hermit on the road. She convinces herself that the hermit is none other than the humanised form of fate. This prompts Homi to ruminate about certain aspects of her life and how much she is controlled by fate which eventually lands her in Benaras. Will Homi find the answers that she is searching for?

Written in a second person narrative from the point of view of Homi, the author conjures an interesting tale of a modern woman grappling with a strange twist in her life. She explores the dynamics of several relationships, dysfunctional families, class differences and gender stereotypes that is common in a patriarchal set up. The book delves into female sexuality in an unabashed manner and is bold in its erotic flavor.

Themes of loneliness, self reflection and detachment are touched upon here. Along with the angle of self reflection and spirituality, the book also mirrors the existent society-one which is still backward and frowns upon women who seek liberation.

The yogini is an unconventional read and will make you question on the meaning of freedom.

[Marc Faoite]

I originally wrote this review for Asian Cha. Read the original here: https://chajournal.blog/2021/02/14/th...


The Yogini is Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay’s third novel to be both translated from Bengali by the prolific award-winning Arunava Sinha and published by UK-based Tilted Axis. The translations of Abandon (2017) and Panty (2016) represent just a fraction of a much broader body of work by the author, which to date includes almost a dozen novels and more than sixty short stories.

Growing up in Kolkata, Bandyopadhyay learned Bengali through reading Bengali literature while a student at Bagbazar Multipurpose Girls’ School. She is a newspaper columnist and film critic, and both of these aspects show in her latest novel. The prose is spare and lean, with short declarative sentences, while the scope of the novel is nothing short of cinematic.

Some readers unfamiliar with the cultural background of this novel may associate the word ‘Yogini’ with lycra-wearing contortionists toting rolled rubber mats and boasting carefully curated Insta-feeds. This novel is not about any modern appropriated and commodified interpretation of the word, and there is not a single downward-dog in sight. Rather, the focus here is on the traditional meaning of an ascetic truth-seeker willingly abandoning all attachment in the quest for self-actualisation.

Homi is well off, comfortably upper middle class, and has a well-paid job at a television station. Her attentive husband Lalit is a banker who could easily double his salary by moving to any of India’s other major cities, but for various reasons they prefer to remain in Kolkata, not least to be close to Homi’s parents.

Of Lalit we learn: He couldn’t drive a minute without music. Deceptively simple sentences like this abound, but in these few words the reader already has a certain measure of the man. Elsewhere a storm is described even more tersely: The trees were ready to break.

If the powerful simplicity of unadorned sentences like these are immediately apprehendable, the cumulative effect is more complicated. There are depths and layers to this novel that belie both the directness of its writing style and its relatively short length. Even if these chiselled phrases easily offer up their meaning, the book as a whole does not, which is one of its strengths. It is, in some ways, a gift that keeps on giving.

One of the hallmarks of good literature is when it allows for both literal and metaphorical readings. While the narrative arc in itself is relatively straightforward, The Yogini invites many parallel and sometimes intertwining interpretations.

It can be most easily read as a feminist novel, which will come as no surprise to readers already familiar with the author’s work. Throughout this book the main focus is firmly on the female characters.

Men are supporting cast, either absent or in the background, or even unsupportive cast, like Homi’s recalcitrant father, who has withdrawn from almost any interaction with his wife and daughter. When he is briefly hospitalized after suffering a stroke it doesn’t substantially change the relationship he has with his family, though it does somewhat inconvenience Homi’s mother.

“The thing is Lalit, I need my afternoon nap. How can I have a cripple disturbing me?”

This self-centred disdain may well be hereditary, hinting that what is soon revealed as Homi’s general antipathy towards her fellow humans is a stance not entirely without source or cause.
Elsewhere we read: “All our childhoods are actually forms of madness.” The novel is replete with observations like this, that can be savoured on their own, but also add nuance to the story.

Homi’s mother is one of the more complicated and interesting characters in this book. An imperious divorcee, she has another daughter from a previous marriage, a situation still unusual enough in modern India to raise eyebrows. Relations in this fractured family are fraught, and Homi hardly knows and rarely sees her half-sister.

Despite the insinuated permissiveness, Homi’s mother holds some conservative views. More wedded to the family home than either of her inconvenient husbands, she vows never to sell or move. She is dubious about modernity and changing social mores, including the fact that childless Homi and Lalit live alone in an apartment block.

“Do civilized people even live in rented flats?” she asks, while elsewhere she bemoans her jackfruit ripening, with no one to pluck them, in an image that is an open invitation to metaphorical interpretation.

Motherhood, and its various conjugations, is one of the main themes in this book. Elsewhere the issue of single mothers is raised, another topic that still borders on taboo in India.

The question of free will is dominant throughout the novel, but not just in terms of agency over one’s own existence, but also how what is still a deeply patriarchal society poses limits on individuals, particularly women.

“What rights does a human being actually have over themselves?” Homi asks. “When does the state or society get to decide what should be done with my body or my mind, and therefore decree what I can or cannot do?”

The story verges on hallucinatory at times. Homi sees a filth-covered man with matted hair and a beard, described as a hermit, (though the word ‘sadhu’ might have been more constructively used) who seems to stalk her, appearing outside her workplace, or at night on her balcony at home, or simply standing under a tree with a blue blanket over his shoulder.

From early on in the novel it is made clear that Homi understands that this individual, who addresses her as Empress, is only visible to her. Yet he exerts a hold on her that she cannot shake, and as the story progresses we begin to second-guess the original assertion.

In a pivotal scene, a palm reader tells Homi she has no empathy. Whether she recognises the truth of this, or the suggestion is too powerful to resist, either way the die is cast.

“Your entire life is a product of your imagination, madam,” he tells her. “You are your own fate.” Yet she sees the mysterious hermit as an embodiment of her fate, fate being a subject explored at length, and yet another of the major themes dealt with in this thought-provoking novel, calling into question any notions of free will.

A brief reference to Greek mythology may, or may not, be an invitation to the reader to also view Homi’s odyssey (once seen it’s hard to unsee) in terms of the roles fate and destiny play in that particular canon. Indeed, the reader more at ease with the classical opposition and conjunction of Apollonian and Dionysian dynamics than with Hindu mythology can fruitfully read this book through that optic as well, though both overlap.

Facing the lack of reciprocity in their marriage, Lalit leaves. Homi rents a room in a boarding house peopled by young professional career women, unmarried, yet living away from home, another nod to convention-defying mould-breaking feminism. Homi lies in bed for a week.

When she returns to work her manager schedules her to work night shift, which he assures her will be less stressful than her usual day shift. While her colleagues are concerned for her mental health, Homi appears to herself, and to the reader, as perfectly self-possessed, if increasingly disillusioned with the world and her role in it. There is, nevertheless, a suggestion that Homi, subverting the trope of the unreliable narrator, may in some senses be seen as an unreliable character.

This transition from day-shift to night-shift can be read as metaphorical. Once Homi has moved into the darkness she doesn’t want to leave it, even when her manager proposes that she reintegrate her previous role, working by day.

Another theme at the heart of this novel is the dichotomy between modernity and tradition, some elements of which can be read through the lens of psychogeography.

Along with place, population and history are principal components of psychogeography. In the case of India, the span and scope of these elements are vast, with a depth present in few other places.
Homi finds herself transported to Banaras (Varanasi). Quite how she gets there is unclear to her, or to the reader. One moment she is kissing a handsome photographer colleague in a Kolkata doorway, the next she is weeping unconsolably on the banks of the Ganges with no other possessions than the clothes she wears. Throwing herself on the kindness of a seemingly random stranger, Homi is taken in by a well-connected aristocratic courtesan, temporarily becoming part of the household, and enjoying some of the various benefits provided by coming under the matriarch’s protective wing.

If Kolkata is the scene for much of the novel, Banaras is one of its characters. Seen through the eyes of the protagonist, it is described in more vivid detail, almost to the point that a Western writer giving a similar description might be accused of exoticism. The Banaras Bandyopadhyay describes is very much the one seen by tourists, pilgrims, and other short-term visitors.

The author’s choice to use the city’s traditional name ‘Banaras’ rather than the modernised ‘Varanasi’, while rejecting ‘Calcutta’ in favour of the updated transliteration ‘Kolkata’, hints that temporally she sees, or wishes the reader to see, the two cities differently. Or that might be just a quirk of the translation.
Regardless, it is impossible to understate Banaras’s cultural significance, and consequentially its symbolism as leveraged in this book. In the psychogeography of India, if there is one place that carries the weight of tradition, rites, ritual and religion, with all the bells and smells, be they temple incense, or the roasting flesh of burning corpses, it is this city perched on the left bank of a bend in the Ganges. Banaras is arguably Hinduism’s most important site.

To die in Banaras is to escape the wheel of samsara and the affliction of reincarnation and rebirth. Its associations with Shiva make it freighted with the destructive and transformative forces inherent in the unending cycle of birth, growth, and decay.

Having mysteriously travelled upstream, Homi is figuratively transported back in time, her largely agnostic modernity juxtaposed with immutable tradition.

Throughout the novel, we witness Homi transgressing cultural and societal norms. The directness of her sexual appetites may be disconcerting to certain readers. She acts both in constructive and self-destructive ways, which ties in with the Shaivite subtext of using Banaras as a stage, or perhaps as a representation of the creative and destructive forms of feminine energy associated with the Goddess Vishalakshi, who was married to Shiva against her wishes, and whose temple borders Banaras’s Ghats. Again, this is a novel with a subtext that positively invites exploration.

Ceding the order of her previous life, Homi is both caught and willingly gives in to Banaras’s chaotic elemental power, ultimately becoming its instrument, in a transgressive abandonment of the weight of society’s expectations and norms.

One reading might be that self-realisation is not compatible with a career or marriage.
Though it is never described or framed in these terms, another possible interpretation is that Homi’s lack of empathy, her hallucinations, and her bouts of memory loss are symptoms of some kind of pathology. It is not unreasonable to infer that she could be experiencing a nervous breakdown combined with episodic psychotic breaks, or suffering from a neurological impairment affecting her executive function.

Though it wasn’t featured in the review copy, apparently published versions of this novel helpfully include an editorial preface outlining some of the cultural and philosophical underpinnings of the story.

The only hiccup discernible to this reader was a mention of the Ganges being at low tide in Varanasi, which unlike the writer’s native Kolkata, is much too far inland for tides to have any effect on the water level, though this may have been a function of the translation, since the river fed by springtime Himalayan snowmelt does rise and fall with the seasons.

Beyond that extremely minor quibble, this is a rewarding read, by a writer clearly at the top of her game.

A powerful, provocative, and unsettling book that lingers long after reading.

[Meem Arafat Manab · Rating 4 out of 5]

প্রথমত, না, একেবারে প্রথমে আপনার মনে হইতে পারে এটা প্রথমে বলার কী আছে, সুতরাং, যারে বলে দ্বিতীয়ত, অনেকদিন পর এত নতুন একখানা পশ্চিমবঙ্গের বই পড়লাম। আমাদের এদিকে যারা পূজা সংখ্যা ঘেটে অভ্যস্ত, তারা হয়ত এরকম নতুন কিছু পড়ে থাকতে পারেন। আমার পূজা সংখ্যা কালেভদ্রে যা কেনা হয়, পড়া হয় না।

আমার কেমন লাগছে? সত্যি বলতে কী, এম্নিতে যে কাহিনী সেটা তেমন আহামরি লাগে নাই। বাঁকগুলিও না। কিন্তু কিছু জায়গায় ধাক ছিলো বেশ, শেষ দৃশ্য ত যারে বলে খোলনলচে ছেড়াবেড়া করে দেয়া। ধারের বই, না হলে ঐ জায়গাটা আমি আবার পড়তাম, বিশ্বাস করেন।
সুরিয়াল বলবো কী? বাস্তবতার নিরীখে বললে আমি এটারে ঐরকম কাতারে ফেলে দিতে নারাজ। এরকম বই হোক, খেলা চলুক, ডানে বাঁয়ে যেদিকে পারে। জানি, চতুর্দিকে ভীষণ আঁধার, কিন্তু আঁধারেই যত্রতত্র খেলা, চললে চলুক। সবকিছু, এখনই, কাতারে, না থাক্‌।
পড়তে গিয়ে অনেক পুরনো শব্দ ফিরে এলো মাথায়, সম্বিৎ ফিরে পাবার মতন। পূর্ব বাংলার ভাষাটা বোধহয় মিইয়ে একটা পাঁচশো শব্দের বুলি হয়ে দাঁড়াচ্ছে। আমি জানি না, ভাষাতত্ত্ববিদরা সত্য মিথ্যা বলতে পারবেন।

বইটা একটু খোলামেলা। আমার নিতে বাঁধছে। আমার সমস্যা অবশ্য সেইটা। চরিত্রগুলি ভালোই, কাহিনী যা একটু আলগা। ভাষায় পুষিয়ে দিছে বেশ। আরো সঙ্গীতা পড়ার আশা রাখি।

বিছানাটা ধরে একটু এদিক সেদিক করলে এই বইটা কী আমার বিষয়ে? কিছুটা? থাক্‌, না ভাবি সেটাও।

[Lauren Cooper · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book review is extracted from my blog https://www.destinationbooks.uk/

Fiction | In translation | Independent publishing | Identity

What a great little novel! The Yogini is fun and brilliantly ambiguous, with an interesting and complex female protagonist and highly relevant existential questions at its root. There is a light-hearted tone to The Yogini which makes it a fun, easy read but the underlying concepts - identity, faith, agency and relationships - are deep and you're left with plenty to think about after finishing the book.

Homi is a young, middle-class, female journalist, living and working late-night shifts in Kolkata. Her marriage is passionate and highly-sexual but ultimately loveless. She is being stalked by a dirty "hermit" (or yogi) with matted dreadlocks. She's convinced that the hermit is a manifestation of her fate.

Homi becomes increasingly obsessed with the notion of fate, becomes unable to make decisions and surrenders more and more to fate. Her marriage falls apart and her life becomes a numb routine of sleep and work; a pattern which resembles depression. However, it remains unclear whether Homi is experiencing depression, a subconscious realisation that her life lacks purpose, the fragmentation of self or whether this is a larger existential and spiritual crisis, in which the hermit-like manifestation of fate might be very real. The book is, of course, really about all of these things.

Homi is an interesting and unapologetic female character who experiences both intense and depleted sexuality. She is described as selfish and in love with herself and although this causes her relationships to break down, the narrative voice doesn't condemn her for this; which is refreshing. She is not responsible for anyone else - also refreshing - and this allows space for the exploration of selfhood and purpose beyond the roles imposed upon on.

The novel undergoes a miraculous shift in place and pace, as Homi leaves the hustle of Kolkata and turns up in a retreat-like courtesan's mansion in Benaras, taken in by a group of women. Homi doesn't remember how she arrived there, and the reader isn't let in on the secret either.

At the courtesan's mansion, Homi sleeps for days, is cared for by the women living there and is even washed and soaped by a new friend; a moment of physical, non-sexualised touch between women which is beautiful and important amidst the hyper-sexualised representations of women's bodies we are so used to seeing. Reading these Benaras scenes instilled a deep sense of tranquillity in me, as it was easy to imagine (or dream about) how calming and refreshing these days would have been for Homi, as so many of us can relate to the exhausting modern life she escaped from.

The book was also an education for me on some aspects of Indian culture. I was inspired to Google courtesan history (courtesans were talented and respected dancers whose reputations were sullied as they were turned to prostitution during the colonial period) and the translator's note at the beginning of the book about the complexities of Niyati - translated as 'fate' - was helpful and highly interesting. This page on Niyati was also a nice touch in terms of the physicality of the book. (pictured on my blog)

My favourite thing about this book is its ambiguity. It opens with an prologue of sorts, in which Homi tries to throw first herself, and then the hermit (her fate), off a moving train. Chapter one is entitled 'The Past' leading us to think that the book will circle around to her rejecting/murdering her fate, though by the end, the exact opposite seems to have happened. Bandyopadhyay leaves lots of space for interpretation; even the hermit's existence remains ambiguous; is he a figment of Homi's imagination or a real person on whom she has projected the idea that he is her fate? It's a book I want to return to, knowing how the plot turns out, to see what new ideas and interpretations come out for me. It's one of those books with enough layers that you can return to it time and again and always uncover something new.

One thing is certain: I'll be picking up Bandyopadhyay's earlier works Abandon and Panty which have also been translated by Titled Axis Press.

5/5

[Desca Ang · Rating 4 out of 5]

This review is taken from my IG account @descanto

Homi, a woman from a middle-class family and a television journalist is married to Lalit, a banker. They do have a happy marriage, never lack of money and sex is always great. So why does Homi feel like something is missing and she is in need for looking for that missing piece?

Things have changed after Homi is stalked by a hermit on the road. She then becomes obsessed with fate and destiny leading her into somebody with different personalities. Her 'new' behaviour causes her relationship with Lalit crumbling. She later keeps searching for the answers she is looking for: certain aspects of her life and how much her fate controls her. Her search lands her in Benaras later.

Yet The Yogini is more than that. It is written from Homi's perspectives herself: woman from dysfunctional families who sees things differently from common people. She explores the dynamics of a relationship, class differences and the gender stereotype in the society that favours men.

I always love the way Sangeeta portrays her heroine. They are always portrayed as a free-spirited woman who is sexually liberated even when they're exploring their female sexuality or undergo an erotic escapades. Sangeeta's wmen are portrayed as a human with their lust, their desire, their loneliness and the urge to love and to be loved. Those women do not only become a mirror but also challenge the system in our society that laments women who seeks their (also sexual) freedom.

The Yogini to me comes as unconventional read and will make you question. It makes me questioning the meaning of womanhood and freedom. Yet it is very entertaining because the language used is so crunchy and easy, making this book digestable in one bite.

BOOK 12: THE YOGINI by SANGEETA BANDYOPHDYAY @sangeeta_sankhini for my #ReadTiltedAxis Month
Translated by: Arunava Sinha @arunavasinha
📍 India
Published by @tiltedaxisbooks/ @tiltedaxispress

[Sreeja Mitra · Rating 4 out of 5]

I started with The Yogini out of a deep admiration for the translator, Arunava Sinha. But I continued reading it for the journey that the author took me on. I was enthralled from the very first sighting of Fate. The author managed to weave a strange yearning and urgency into the words. You could feel the gradual detachment that the protagonist suffers from, the inevitability of it permeated through the text.

Midway through the novel, I felt like it was my story. The performance of duty as a mechanical act bereft of emotional investment speaks to me at a very personal level. I have often felt this detachment from the society at large, and my immediate society on a daily basis. To have it written down on paper, made my own musings more real.

I am yet to reconcile myself to the debate between free will and fate in my personal life. But I did not like the abruptness of the ending of Homi's story. I get the symbolic significance of death followed by the quintessential act of creation, as well as the over-arching debate of whether one who seeks to leaves society is in fact a selfish person or a selfless one. But the ending, in my humble opinion, was not built up to the crescendo that it could have been. The cadence that permeates through the entire novel is abruptly silenced in the ending.

Apart from that, this was an excellent study of Indian philosophy as well as the art of translation. It brought me back to my eternal belief that reading is also an act of meditation.

[Anne Goodwin · Rating 2 out of 5]

A frustrating read about a woman stalked by a yogi claiming to be the embodiment of her fate, partly redeemed by a wonderful quote about the difference between news and literature.

Full review:
Faith, fate and freedom: Pilgrims & The Yogini https://annegoodwin.weebly.com/1/post...

[axea · Rating 2 out of 5]

At no point could I have told you what was happening. The author swung violently between telling you about the history of a family that bore little relevance on the plot, and leaving huge plot points relatively unexplained. This had such an interesting concept but, alas, said concept was thrown into a volcano.

[Praniya · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book presents an intriguing perspective and a surprisingly gripping storyline. It was an odd read, and I have to admit, there were moments when I found myself lost and unsure about the characters' motives.

While I may not have fully understood all the nuances, the unique approach and narrative were compelling. It left me with mixed feelings—both sightly confused and captivated.

[Saravanakumar S K · Rating 2 out of 5]

A boring narration until Homi reaches Banaras. The repeated encounter with the so-called fate Hermit and at the end swapping the scenario doesn't make anything interesting.

[ANAND VERMA · Rating 5 out of 5]

She hurls the noose of fate and destiny and makes an experience of horror. A great feminist text, if you can derive!

[Katie Sikkes · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 stars

[Ella · Rating 3 out of 5]

Looking forward to Abandon, but I'm not sure I'll get to it this month, which means Women In Translation must continue all year, as it surely should anyway.

[Shreejit Sarkar · Rating 4 out of 5]

এ গল্প এক নিয়তি-বিতাড়িত মেয়ের; এমন মেয়ে যার জীবনে কোনও মায়া নেই, পিছুটান নেই। সম্পর্ক আসে আবার ভেঙেও যায়। কিন্তু মেয়েটির কোনও স্থায়ী যন্ত্রণা নেই, বেদনা নেই। শুধু আছে এক অসীম উপেক্ষা। শেষে গিয়ে নিয়তির সঙ্গেই... নাহ্! এরপর কিছু বললে স্পয়লার হয়ে যাবে। নিজে পড়ুন এবং বুঝুন।
কাহিনীর গতি দুরন্ত। বেশ ভণিতাহীন, সোজাসাপ্টা গল্প বলার ধরন। অহেতুক একগাদা চরিত্র, দার্শনিক ব্যাখার ঝামেলা নেই। নিউজরুম এবং বেনারসের অলি-গলির বেশ চমৎকার বিবরণ আছে।
কিন্তু কিছু প্রশ্ন মনের মধ্যে কুটকুট করতেই থাকে। একটা জলজ্যান্ত মেয়ে কীভাবে খোদ কলকাতা থেকে বেনারস পৌঁছে যায়? আর তার প্রতি তার পরিবারের এতটাই উপেক্ষা?
সবশেষে বলি, ওয়ান টাইম রিড হিসাবে বইটা বেশ ভাল।