Published by Algonquin Books on September 7, 2021
Like many stories set in India, The Archer is about contrasts of privilege. While the story involves (and is promoted as) a woman’s quest to improve herself as a dancer, it is more fundamentally a relationship drama involving a wealthy man who weds a poor woman over his family’s objections and imposes his family’s expectations upon her. That drama is set against the backdrop of Bombay in the 1960s and the social restraints imposed by Indian society upon women.
Vidya was raised in a chaali, a communal, gossipy group “where children were largely left to their own devices, with a distracted eye of some mother glancing out from time to time over each child, and come suppertime a child could be fed in any house it visited.” Vidya’s father traveled for work and was usually absent from the home. Her mother died (by means that Vidya’s memory has suppressed) when Vidya was young, leaving Vidya to be raised by her father and giving her the duty of raising a younger brother who becomes entirely dependent upon her. As a boy, Vidya’s brother is the family’s more important child. Vidya’s assigned role — a role she eventually rejects — is to take care of the home and to assure that her brother’s and father’s needs are met.
As a girl, Vidya wanted to play the tabla, a drum that only boys are allowed to play. Her mother told her, perhaps prophetically, that if she asks why she isn’t allowed to do something, she will always be unhappy. Vidya’s grandmother tells her that “sometimes god puts a soul in the wrong body” and that Vidya should have been a boy with her “restless” and “unsatisfied” nature. Boys can find an outlet for their restlessness but, as a girl, Vidya is fated to get married and live in her mother-in-law’s home. Vidya tells her grandmother that she will never get married. Fate, circumstances, social pressure, and even love all make it difficult for Vidya to keep that promise.
Vidya’s true calling, she believes, is to be a dancer. Much of the novel explores Vidya’s love of dance, her perseverance in dance lessons despite a strictness from her instructors that almost borders on cruelty, her relationships with those instructors and her occasional performances.
In her first-person narrative, Vidya also describes her decision to leave home and to attend college. Vidya’s only true friend is a student named Radha, another woman whose soul is in the wrong body. Vidya’s relationship with Radha illustrates another taboo that limits the choices both women are allowed to make.
Vidya narrates her eventual marriage to Rustom, a young man who comes from a prosperous family and who seems attentive and kind, a man whose values appear to be more western than traditional Indian in his regard of women as (almost) equal partners in a marriage. Since Rustom’s family holds Vidya in little regard (she doesn’t meet their standard for social class, refined manners, or skin color), their only real expectation is that she produce a male child that they fully intend to raise.
Like many stories from India, The Archer is notable for its depiction of the clash between ancient traditions that favor the upper classes and encroaching western notions of fairness and equality. Vidya’s defiance of her husband, father, in-laws, teachers, and society is commendable, but her defiance is at war with her feelings of inadequacy, promoted by a culture that views her gender and dark skin as liabilities. Only when she becomes lost in a dance does she feel at peace with her nature, allowing her to “move deeper into my body as the world became sharper.”
Vidya lives her life in conflict, proving the truth of her grandmother’s observation that she cannot reconcile herself. Vidya wants one thing and settles for another. Her plans to become an engineer, to never marry, and to always dance are at odds with the life she must live. At the end of the novel, Vidya makes a choice between dependence and independence. The choice is not one that will make her happy, at least not in the moment, but there may be no choice that will produce immediate happiness. She instead bases the choice on how she believes her conflicts can be reconciled for the best, and maybe that’s the long distance route to a happy life.
The novel’s title comes from a character in an epic story from ancient India, a gifted archer who sliced off his thumb so that he would never be better than his teacher. When a dance teacher explains the story’s relationship to dharma, Vidya doesn’t understand it. By the novel’s end, she understands how to relate the story to her own life. I can’t say I ever quite got the point, but Vidya is clearly smarter than I am.
The plot may seem be familiar to readers who have encountered similar stories. While the novel does not stand apart from other entries in the field, I appreciated Shruti Swamy’s unwillingness to force a happy ending upon Vidya. In the current century, Vidya might have more choices. In her time and place and given her circumstances, she needs to make choices that work for her, even if no choices will allow her to put her soul into a body that will allow her to live as she pleases.
Swamy’s prose captures the rhythms of dance, sometimes spinning, speeding up and slowing down, progressing and retreating. She is an observant writer, and while I could have done with fewer observations of red or yellow or blue saris, she captures the atmosphere of a Bombay that is divided between the cultured silence of the privileged and the chattering voices of the chaali. The Archer should capture the attention and perhaps the hearts of readers who appreciate honest stories of women who find a path to some form of independence, even if the best available path is not the one that fulfills their dreams.
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