A compact, lyrical account of how grace is redemption
The Infinity of Grace is, in contrast, a compact, lyrical book. The consciousness of the protagonist binds together the many incidents and characters that flit in and out of its rich and textured narrative. Its theme is the human condition itself—the inevitability of sorrow which, however, is compensated for by the irresistibility of grace.
It is a sad, brooding book, filled with dark and painful events. The year is 1971. Kunjunni is a battle-scarred, senior journalist, stationed in Delhi. Originally from Kerala, he has spent some wonderful years of his childhood in Calcutta. Now, he is sent back there to cover the events unfolding in East Pakistan, which will soon be reborn as Bangladesh.
The backdrop of the book is war and revolution—and the pain and futility that they engender. As Kunjunni reflects: "How sorrowful it was to know revolution at close quarters, in real life...." No doubt, wars in the Third World are special. As Kunjunni tells his friend, the Polish journalist, Janos: "On both sides, there are borrowed weapons and borrowed money." Yet, what is similar about wars anywhere in the world is their terrible and devastating legacy of bloodshed, slaughter, displacement and human suffering. Janos, the Pole, knows. His country has suffered too much, not only during the World Wars, but afterwards, as a virtual Soviet colony.
Similarly, Olga, the Czech, whose lonely and restless gypsy blood cannot be quelled by generations of Caucasian and Slavik imposition and oppression, too knows. Her feverish and drunken self-abandonment during her one-night stand with Kunjunni only indicates a gnawing inner despair. She cries out to him, while looking upon the ruins of Purana Qila: "Murder and rape.... Will man never be sated with these dark rites?" Back in Delhi, Kunjunni has left behind Lalitha, his steno, now almost a sister. She too has lost her brother of the city. In a desperate rescue-act, Kunjunni enjoins upon her to light a lamp and say her prayers every day, though she is so far from home and her native culture.
Again, Col Balakrishnan, who is now the serene Swami Nirmalananda, knows. He has lost his dearest friend and guru in an earlier war. So does Niharika Didi, the still elegant widow of the respected Brahmo doctor, Sanatana Mukhopadhyaya. Her 18-year-old only son, Tapaschandra, a Nax-alite, is now in police custody, to hang for murder. Sanatana, his father, too had been found dead in a slum years back, his body riddled with bullets.
For Kunjunni himself, sorrow is no stranger. His wife and child are in Calcutta, while he scrapes out his lone-some days in the company of a cat and a loyal servant. When he comes to Calcutta, he stays in an Armenian hotel. The Armenians, of course, know all about suffering, having lost their country. The bartender of the hotel is Allah Bux, from Dacca, a victim of Partition, another lost and displaced person.
In Calcutta, Kunjunni finds that his wife, Shivani, does not want to see him. After digesting the horrors of the refugee camp, he crosses the border into Bangladesh. A raped and pillaged country greets him. In the back streets of Dacca, searching for Rasool Bux, Allah Bux's father, he is hit by a grenade. He goes into coma for two months. When he recovers, he finds that his daughter, Kalyani is dying of leukaemia.
What is worse, after her death, at the climax of the book, his estranged wife reveals that Kalyani is someone else's daughter. Kunjunni's cup runneth over. At last, in a flash he finds his guru in his disembodied child, who comes back to him after death, like Suka to Vyasa. Kunjunni leaves Delhi, retiring to his ancient, termite-infested homestead in Kerala.
The Infinity of Grace begins and ends with prayer and spiritual elevation. Yet the overwhelming impression left in the reader's mind is of deep sorrow. As far as the book is concerned, the persistence of suffering is, thus, more eloquent than the saving power of grace. What is ostensibly designed to demonstrate the efficacy of benediction nevertheless ends up showing the abidance of dukkha, of an unhappiness that dogs and devours every human being in his or her chequered course of life.