A book based on the ideologies of a Brahmin and the resultant outcomes of the same. The title is a Sanskrit word, meaning ‘the act of killing of a Brahmin’. This is not a murder mystery but an intense, revenge story and if you don’t know it already, I am all in for a good vengeful tale any time!

Ravi Narasimhan works in Dubai and is called to his hometown in Chennai when his father falls ill. Without any family members around for help, Ravi is unable to leave him by himself and hence decides to admit his father in a retirement home. Due to some reasons (that I do not want to disclose here), his father doesn’t get the admission and when he expires, Ravi finds a way to avenge his death. The son plays the father and plans the ultimate revenge meticulously, but fate has other things planned for him.

Brahmahatya is a unique book in many ways. In the beginning, I was curious to see where the story would lead me to. As I proceeded, I kept wondering what was going to happen and although later on I thought I had guessed the end, thankfully, it wasn’t so! The end was dramatic and totally unexpected, loved it!

I never had one dull moment while reading the book. There are snippets from the Mahabharata and other holy scriptures within the story that correlate and support the current events. After I was done, for a while I just paused and thought about the book in its entirety, it definitely leaves an impact on you.

I say this again, Brahmahatya is a pleasantly different book and the main reason is the writing style of the author. The narrative flows smoothly and because one becomes aware of the protagonist’s intention, the reader is pulled along the hypnotizing narrative. Also, to be mentioned is the fact that the author had done an amazing job of interpreting the Sanskrit shlokas and the creation of the right Tamilian atmosphere, done perfectly!

Truly, a one of a kind read and definitely recommended.

Complicated yet integrated characters, a skilfully created sequence of inevitable events and a thick suspense plentifully fed by a revengeful, murderous intent, Brahmahatya has it all.

To make the novel additionally delectable, there is the generous inclusion of local flavor. This, I said to myself, is an Indian story written in English. The language does not mess with the ethos, which is exactly how it should be.

The mental outlook of the people who walk the pages of the story must all be in perfect sync with the setting of the story. The match creates a seamless sense of authenticity and congruence which adds greatly to the reading experience. They makes the characters believable. You might almost have met them; been them yourself.

There is no dearth of that congruence and authenticity in Brahmahatya. In fact, it is brimming with both those ingredients.

The atmosphere one grows up in- the thoughts and biases; the influences and words- come together to create a composite character. While it is true that humans are capable of being marvelously and heartbreakingly fragmented, the fragmentation is an exception.

In a novel, if such a fragmentation is included as part of the landscape, it must be deliberately documented and justified. Else you just end up having a Japanese character- brought up Japan as a typical Japanese- thinking, choosing and acting as a European character. That is pretty annoying because the character in unbelievable.

The characters of Brahmahayta match the setting and period in which they live. They are authentically Indian with a natural and consistent Indian mindset, conditioned by the scriptural inputs that most Indians grow up with.

The characters are robust. They are good; they are bad and they are all shades in between- just as real people are. They are passionate and capable of deep emotions. Despite a clear murderous intent on the part of the protagonist Ravi, or of Bhavna, one doesn’t censure them. On the contrary, one sympathizes and understands. The story hangs well, with no incongruous twists or gaping holes gumming up the works.

I enjoyed the structure of the story too. The suspense was managed very well. The climax flowed naturally. An obscure grey was skilfully infused at the right time to deepen the reading pleasure. Thankfully, there were no dangling ends.

Of course, a puritan would demand that something specific (and satisfyingly horrible) were done with Reddy. However I am willing to forgo that bit of pleasure because the rest was satisfying enough.

The mathematical prowess of the child Laxmi was a delightfully unexpected touch.

I did find the story a tad confusing in the initial few pages. That could have been better worked out, perhaps.

The inclusion of Sanskrit scriptural verses was a delight. Their use helped explain the motivation of the characters and brought their priorities to light in a very concise manner instead of having to resort to long-winded explanations. As you read, you realized that the characters were being true to themselves- given their thought processes. They had to do the things they did. They couldn't have done things differently.

The language flowed clear, deep and pretty flawless. It helped me to stay focused on the unfolding events without tripping over bad constructs and poor language.

The only thing that bothered me, however, is the blame that was ascribed to Dr Chari. That was not believable. A doctor cannot be blamed entirely for the death of a patient he refused to admit. Of course, the pettiness of the reason does make the refusal completely unfair. Dr Chari can be accused of callousness and moral decrepitude, not murder!

The Prologue to Rajiv Mittal’s ‘Brahmahatya’, with its absolute finality of ‘what is over is over’, draws you in, immediately. The curious unhurried juxtaposition of a priest getting dressed and a man trying to be ‘old enough to be his father’ just a page later only adds to what seems like a very unusual start to a book. The story of ‘Brahmahatya’ is at once tragic and triumphant, banal and sacred, real and unreal, of this world and another. The book is ripe with episodes from Hindu mythology and excerpts from ancient scriptures which are appropriated by the characters to understand their circumstances, or by the author, in order to move the story forward.

God is in the details when it comes to the characterization in ‘Brahmahatya’. We compliment an author’s characters when we see them in flesh-and-blood. Rajiv Mittal’s characters go beyond that. Of course, each of them has his trademarks. But what is most noteworthy is how their internal conflicts are portrayed such that they become the characters. In this post-modernist world where a meaninglessness envelops lives, the character portrayals often lead to a spectacular, and touching, revelation of their souls!

God is not just in the details, but also omnipresent in ‘Brahmahatya’. The book is an exploration of many kinds of relationships, including that of the very real characters with the Divine. Many bonds are presented beautifully, like Bhavna’s with her daughter, Laxmi, and Ravi’s with Kasturi. However, it is the complexities of Ravi’s relationship with his father which stirred this reader the most. Guilt, awkwardness, hesitance, faux indifference and secret love mark it. Both, the intricacies of growing old and growing up are heard as silent sobs in their throats.

‘Brahmahatya’, through its many references to ancient scriptures and the use of Sanskrit words, is also a narrative on man’s conflict-ridden relationship with the Divine. It is this that gives the book a timelessness, even as it raises ever-pertinent questions about rituals, faith, free will and karmic destiny. Faith is almost a character in itself. There’s gravitas, and lovely philosophical questions. This is apparent through the voices in the characters’ heads, which the readers are made privy to, and where debates between "right" and "wrong" rage. Where their relationship with god is forever in flux…Perhaps the significance of rituals and symbols was to impart to life’s circumstances a comforting pattern of hope and wishful thinking?

Every character you meet is surprisingly well-versed in the scriptures, and mostly at ease with the teachings. Except Ravi. His struggle with faith and no faith forms the crux of the book. For the most part of the novel, the reader is his closest confidant. The unhurried pace of the story complements the unhurried unravelling of Ravi, and the reader only feels closer to him. Will there be an affirmation of the Divine in the end, as the events of the book spiral towards a climax? And just like the white smoke from his chillum, a fog of questions emerge to surround us.

And one of my favourites is the classic destiny versus free will debate. The causality in ‘Brahmahatya’ would make for a worthy study! Human agency versus the divinely ordained. This is where the philosophical weight of the novel rests.

There do appear a few things about the book which bother me. Is the book suggesting that a loss of faith in the Divine can only lead to violence and self-annihilation? You also find references to the superiority of Brahmins and Brahminical qualities in the characters, almost to the point of wondering if Ravi’s problem with Dr Chari was not so much that he failed him but that he failed Brahminism and its aspirations. Is this the author’s belief or is this his critique? Answer for yourself as you read!

I wish the book ended not with a twist of a fantastical magnitude but with the same quiet, unhindered and steady chant that runs through the book.

‘Brahmahatya’ is a stirring book, at once heavy with sadness and light with a beauty which one may call … divine. How the universe and all its beings conspire to make a son understand his father in his death, and understand his death itself seems personal … and felt. It ends on a note of calm reconciliation, even though it remains upon the reader to weigh the cost at which this peace has been reached. Some discomfort will ensue. Some suspension of disbelief will be needed. Some bits of faith will be tested, and some reaffirmed. But that’s what you’re looking for in a book when you’re looking for a book to last you your time. Isn't it?