Canny Observations
The blurb on the back cover of C P Surendran's An Iron Harvest states that it is "the story of one death and three people". Set in the controversial emergency days, the death, in police custody, is that of Abe, a young engineering student. The three people are John, Abe's classmate, Raman, a deputy inspector general of police and Sebastian who is John's father. John is an ideologically driven Naxal revolutionary who naively believes his violent movement will usher in "a beautiful world… an equal world". Raman, who has guiltlessly and ruthlessly eliminated Abe, is a sexually frustrated, power hungry, efficient tool in the hands of Indira Gandhi's stooges. Sebastian, unlike these two, has no gun in hand and yet, achieves a victory of sorts when, after a six-year-long legal battle, he establishes his dead son's innocence.

Interconnected with these three protagonists are countless other characters, each sharply delineated and reflecting the complexities of the time. Heston, perpetually in the cups, is one of the key figures in John's fight against class enemies - a telling comment on the types who want to usher in a golden era through means as ruthless as those used by Raman. Nafisa Ahmed, general secretary of the Youth Congress, Delhi, is a perfect caricature of the stiletto-heeled, chiffon-clad coterie that surrounded Sanjay Gandhi. Bhaskaran, Sebastian's friend from college days, is a very well-respected journalist who drinks hard, reads a lot and writes very well; all of which makes him a cult figure in the capital, but not the best of husbands. Recognisable cameos like these make the novel a richly-layered, socio-political commentary of the period.

Apart from being a canny observer of human frailties, C P Surendran is a skilled master of words. Undoubtedly, his being a poet is an advantage here. Additionally, his journalistic expertise lends a cutting-edge sharpness to his phrases. For instance, when talking about those who migrated to the Gulf during the petrol boom, he states, "For millions, money was as good a substitute as Mao." Explaining why an inspector general gives up his uniform for acting, he makes the latter rationalise, "Between art and arse licking, I knew my priorities." Juxtaposing and thereby heightening these pithy comments are passages of undiluted lyricism. Even as John ponders over how "murder makes you grow up fast," he is acutely aware of the sheer beauty of "streams of rushing white water, little streaks of lightning, pouring down the vast belly of the mountain". Who but a poet could write, "The morning sky continued to scroll its cumulous messages". And only someone who grew up in violent times could contemplate over the irony of "men and women who drank milk when young and grew up to develop a taste for blood."