The Partition of India, which took place in August 1947, saw
the largest peacetime migration in history. The rush to avoid being left on the
wrong side of the border saw 10 million people displaced; in the violence which
accompanied this mass movement of people, up to 1 million were killed, whilst
women were particularly vulnerable – up to 50,000 Muslim women in India were
kidnapped, along with 33,000 Hindu and Sikh women in Pakistan.
In 1949, the Indian government passed the Abducted Persons
(Recovery and Restoration) Act, legislating for the return of kidnapped women
to their communities. As is often the case, however, legislation could not
solve a complex social problem. Many women were put at risk by being forcibly
returned to families who now saw them as impure; mothers were often separated
from children, who were considered the ‘property’ of the nation in which they
had been born.
The psychological effects of Partition have been longlasting,
making the subject fertile ground for literary investigation. In Capital
(2014), Rana Dasgupta analysed the
lingering trauma of Partition, and its effect on the modern Indian state. Shobha Rao’s An Unrestored Woman
tackles the same issue through fiction, examining the lives of women from
multiple perspectives, looking at issues of freedom, memory, and the
possibility of reconciliation. The action of An Unrestored Woman takes place away from the big cities of India,
ranging from the genteel setting of Raj-era merchant’s homes to camps for
displaced people and rural brothels, and across generations, from August 1947
to the present day.
Throughout the collection, Rao examines the relationship
between individual women and the state. By insisting that women ‘belonged’ to a
particular nation, the Abducted Persons Act turned women into the property of
their communities, resources to be disputed, stolen and reclaimed. The story Blindfold highlights the way in which women
are viewed as commodities from early age, marrying at 12, for a dowry, or sold to brothels at even younger ages. This form of ownership, in which girls are
bought from fathers and sold to husbands or clients, creates a cycle of
violence, abuse and revenge. The story focuses on the relationship between
Bandra, a brothel-keeper and a girl called Zubaida. Identified as a four year
old, Zubaida is purchased from her father with a silver coin as down-payment.
When she comes to collect the child seven years later, the father attempts to
renege on the deal, so Bandra has him beaten, and the child is taken forcibly.
Life in the brothel is a perversion of family relationships
- the girls are encouraged to call Bandra 'ma', and to defer to her at all times. Zubaida is given a new name,
and becomes much sought after; eventually, Bandra arranges to sell her on to a
wealthy client, as a wife. Zubaida’s life is a series of economic transactions;
each of these is marked by violence, and the final sale is no exception. There
is a hint of The Shawshank Redemption in the story’s denouement, but Blindfold still feels visceral and
fresh.
The title story exposes a counter-intuitive fact of
Partition: for some, displacement was a means for women to leave an oppressive
society behind. The semi-permanent refugee camps could places of hope, for all
their squalor, where women could temporarily escape the influence of men. The
idea of escape is further developed in The
Merchant's Mistress, which follows Renu, 'nineteen when she left the refugee camp and travelled to Ahmedabad'.
After seeing an older woman on a train, whose 'life had been cruel, nearly meticulous, in its onslaughts,’ Renu
begins travelling as a man. The story mixes elements of traditional fables with
transgressive elements - servants who enter their masters’ rooms, and usurp
their places. Renu takes a position in a merchant’s house, and begins affairs
with the merchant and his wife; in the breakdown of the Imperial order after
Independence, she is able to create a space for herself which would never have
been possible in the Raj. Eventually, she is able to exploit her employer’s
complacency, and gain her independence.
The portrayal of men is interesting throughout An Unrestored Woman. Men are presented
as powerless, dead, or in an opium daze. This inability of men to protect their
women later manifested itself in a backlash against women’s rights, according
to Dasgupta, as men sought to reassert the power which had deserted them in the
chaos of Partition. In The Imperial
Police, a representative of the English authorities is transferred to a
police station in a rural backwater after a scandal about his sexuality. He
fetishizes the dignity of Indian men, until he is violently disabused of his
notions by a meeting with a colleague’s wife.
All of these themes are bought together in The Opposite of Sex, the highlight of
the collection. The story focuses on a surveyor sent to map the new border
between India and East Pakistan. He falls in love with the daughter of a local
landowner, who has been promised to a local farmer, along with a dowry of 100
acres. Spotting an opportunity to prevent the wedding, the surveyor redraws the
map to reduce her father’s landholding. In this minor functionary’s eyes, land
and women are both malleable objects to be owned, conquered and manipulated; however,
his actions lead to a cycle of violence and death.
An Unrestored Woman
mixes sharp analytical insight with visceral literary power. While Rao never
loses sight of the political implications of her writing, her characters never
feel like pawns in their own stories. There is a fiercely controlled anger
throughout the collection, which exposes brutal truths about the legacy of
Partition, and the lingering destructive power of colonialism. Through these
stories, Rao goes some way to restoring voices and dignity to the victims.

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