In The Time of Amrapali
Legend—much of it based on references in Buddhist texts—has it that in about the 6th century BC, in the city of Vaishali was born the girl who grew up to be the courtesan, Amrapali. She eventually left a life of power and influence to become a Buddhist arahant, ‘one who is worthy’. A fascinating life, and one that has been celebrated even in popular culture.
Anurag Anand’s Birth of the Bastard Prince: The Legend of Amrapali is the second in his series of books about Amrapali (the first was The Legend of Amrapali). While it draws from fact—Amrapali’s love affair with Bimbisara, the king of Magadh; the war between Magadh and Vaishali; and Amrapali’s renunciation of the world in favour of the life of a Buddhist arahant—the book is a work of fiction.
It begins with an introduction which summarises the first book: the story of how Amrapali, abandoned in a mango grove and brought up by foster parents, grew up to be the nagarvadhu (‘the bride of the city’, a euphemism for ‘official’ courtesan) of Vaishali. This section serves also to provide a glimpse of Amrapali’s character: a beautiful and accomplished dancer, an attractive woman—yet also canny, intelligent, and strong-willed.
Hardly surprising, then, that when the book begins, we find Amrapali pretty much holding centre stage in Vaishali: her fortnightly dance for the public draws crowds from across the city; her intelligence saves—literally—the life of a young man in trouble with a mean Raja; and she is, to much of Vaishali, not just the nagarvadhu, but a woman of substance and power. It is her fame that draws to her a mysterious trader named Bindusen, with whom a few fleeting encounters (before he vanishes inexplicably) leave Amrapali pregnant.
Simultaneously, Vaishali finds itself in danger. Magadh, ruled by Bimbisara and with its newly anointed crown prince Ajatshatru fresh from a victory, is looking to conquer Vaishali. There are those within Vaishali who will sell her; there are those in Magadh who will try to stop Bimbisara and Ajatshatru from succeeding.
Birth of the Bastard Prince paints a large and interesting canvas, ranging all the way from the political intrigue and military strategy governing two kingdoms at war, to the everyday emotions of men and women. Love, passion, lust, affection. Ambition, treachery, disaffection. Revenge. All of these, and more, play their part in the lives of the characters in this book, as they set about trying to get what they want—or, at times, trying to prevent what they want from drifting away.
What makes Anand’s book interesting is the story, and the pace of it. Birth of the Bastard Prince moves swiftly yet believably from one perspective to the next, binding together battlefield and home, Magadh and Vaishali, love and hatred.
Sadly, what lets the book down is the language, which is tedious, heavy with adjectives, and downright baffling at times (“The milky candescence of the moon mingled with the golden glint of fiery torches that lined the boundary walls and lent an exultant tactility to the surroundings”). Much of the book reads as if the author inserted words from a thesaurus with little knowledge of how they’re used: guilt and curiosity, for instance, are assuaged, but so are lives. Very contemporary words and terms—deliverables, collateral damage, baby bump —jar, and there are proofing errors by the dozen (embers, for example, is consistently misspelled as ambers, and hordes is often written as hoards). The few anachronisms (mentions of tea and potatoes, for example) are, by contrast, minor.
What Birth of the Bastard Prince needed were a ruthless editor and a competent proof reader. The story itself is good, the plot interesting and the characters intriguing. When the language, though, is the way it is, reading this book can be laborious. - The New Indian Express.
Anurag Anand’s Birth of the Bastard Prince: The Legend of Amrapali is the second in his series of books about Amrapali (the first was The Legend of Amrapali). While it draws from fact—Amrapali’s love affair with Bimbisara, the king of Magadh; the war between Magadh and Vaishali; and Amrapali’s renunciation of the world in favour of the life of a Buddhist arahant—the book is a work of fiction.
It begins with an introduction which summarises the first book: the story of how Amrapali, abandoned in a mango grove and brought up by foster parents, grew up to be the nagarvadhu (‘the bride of the city’, a euphemism for ‘official’ courtesan) of Vaishali. This section serves also to provide a glimpse of Amrapali’s character: a beautiful and accomplished dancer, an attractive woman—yet also canny, intelligent, and strong-willed.
Hardly surprising, then, that when the book begins, we find Amrapali pretty much holding centre stage in Vaishali: her fortnightly dance for the public draws crowds from across the city; her intelligence saves—literally—the life of a young man in trouble with a mean Raja; and she is, to much of Vaishali, not just the nagarvadhu, but a woman of substance and power. It is her fame that draws to her a mysterious trader named Bindusen, with whom a few fleeting encounters (before he vanishes inexplicably) leave Amrapali pregnant.
Simultaneously, Vaishali finds itself in danger. Magadh, ruled by Bimbisara and with its newly anointed crown prince Ajatshatru fresh from a victory, is looking to conquer Vaishali. There are those within Vaishali who will sell her; there are those in Magadh who will try to stop Bimbisara and Ajatshatru from succeeding.
Birth of the Bastard Prince paints a large and interesting canvas, ranging all the way from the political intrigue and military strategy governing two kingdoms at war, to the everyday emotions of men and women. Love, passion, lust, affection. Ambition, treachery, disaffection. Revenge. All of these, and more, play their part in the lives of the characters in this book, as they set about trying to get what they want—or, at times, trying to prevent what they want from drifting away.
What makes Anand’s book interesting is the story, and the pace of it. Birth of the Bastard Prince moves swiftly yet believably from one perspective to the next, binding together battlefield and home, Magadh and Vaishali, love and hatred.
Sadly, what lets the book down is the language, which is tedious, heavy with adjectives, and downright baffling at times (“The milky candescence of the moon mingled with the golden glint of fiery torches that lined the boundary walls and lent an exultant tactility to the surroundings”). Much of the book reads as if the author inserted words from a thesaurus with little knowledge of how they’re used: guilt and curiosity, for instance, are assuaged, but so are lives. Very contemporary words and terms—deliverables, collateral damage, baby bump —jar, and there are proofing errors by the dozen (embers, for example, is consistently misspelled as ambers, and hordes is often written as hoards). The few anachronisms (mentions of tea and potatoes, for example) are, by contrast, minor.
What Birth of the Bastard Prince needed were a ruthless editor and a competent proof reader. The story itself is good, the plot interesting and the characters intriguing. When the language, though, is the way it is, reading this book can be laborious. - The New Indian Express.
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