Literature of the open land can be a mental playground for fantasies of an idyllic existence, closer to our most rudimentary desires. But in Indian writer Perumal Murugan’s novel, The Story of a Goat, translated from the Tamil by N, Kalyan Raman, the author pushes against simplistic representations of country life, revealing not only a darkness lurking in the pastoral, but within each of our animal selves and the political state that rules us. The Story of a Goat is exactly that: the tale of one goat’s life on a farm in southern India. Poonachi is a goat of magical origin; she’s presented as a gift to an unnamed elderly couple by a tall, shadowy figure only a day after her birth. Since she came from a magical, mysterious figure, the couple figures that she will bring them good luck and prosperity. The reality of Poonachi is much more mundane, and she lives a life filled with loss and tragedy that ultimately drains the couple’s resources. At its core, this tale expresses the tenuousness of hope and how loss devastates. Stylistically, the narrative recalls the form of a myth rooted, as most myths are, in the tragedies of human suffering.
Murugan is a prolific writer whose novels Current Show and One Part Woman have also been translated into English. In The Story of a Goat, first published in 2016, an omniscient narrator reveals both the couple’s perspective and Poonachi’s thoughts. By allowing the reader to see into the sentient, magical being, Murugan transforms Poonachi from an otherworldly disruptor of the couple’s lives into a human proxy. She is no mere plot device. She thinks and feels what we would think and feel. She mourns the loss of a lover: “Poonachi stood still, feeling great emptiness within.” She struggles with guilt about her existence after losing a loved one, asking, “Why should I live anymore?” She is pleased by ideas like freedom, and takes pride in being able to raise children: “She loved the idea of a pasture filled with lives she’d birthed.” Life on the farm is a microcosm of life in the human world, and humans are subjecting their animals to the same pains that they themselves decry.
Poonachi, as a perceptive being, longs for her lover and wonders at the fairness of breeding methods practiced by her humans. The Story of a Goat is feminist in its depiction of a goat’s desire for freedom in her coupling; before Poonachi is allowed to be with her chosen mate, she is bred with an old, unfamiliar goat. The description of this act is decidedly violent, paralleling narratives of rape. “It felt strange to think that a dried-up old goat had invaded her body,” she reflects. She is disturbed by being exploited and while being entirely emotionally connected to another goat, Poovan. Although she feels shame about the initial breeding act, she longs for a better situation: “The two kisses planted by Poovan lingered on her mouth. She thought about it all the time, and her happiness playing with Poovan.” Murugan shows how both goat and human are subject to certain expectations determined by their gender. Poonachi’s care falls mostly to the old woman, who in turn realizes that her daughter’s gender loads additional responsibilities on her own family. “The problems faced by women in particular were endless,” thinks the old woman. “How many lives could her daughter possibly look after?”
Poonachi faces grim circumstances. The farm is a place where goat meat is cooked, and children are taken from their families to be raised on other farms. While none of this is extraordinary in the farming world, Poonachi’s sentience and awareness make it gruesome. Poonachi yearns to be with her children and she understands exactly what happens to the goats who are sacrificed and cooked. As the novel continues, the land dries up, and the humans’ exasperation mirrors Poonachi’s. Furthermore, both humans and animals are subject to similar laws; the parentage and caste of every child is scrutinized — and all black ghosts are vilified. There is little relief from both oppression and famine. Murugan clearly has shaped his novel with the strife of contemporary India in mind.
This is a desperate, sad tale, but it is also one of endless longing. Because Poonachi holds the potential of a magical being, the couple feel an obligation to keep her alive. Doing so requires great care and sacrifice. “Taking care of this miracle is ruining our lives,” the old woman says, as things grow more and more dire. Even Poonachi is aware of how she has become a drain on the farm’s resources . “What could anyone do with a miracle during a famine?” she wonders. “Miracles and exhibitions were meant for people were relaxing after a sumptuous meal.”
The Story of a Goat isn’t one of those novels that infantilizes its situation with animal protagonists.The clarity of Murugan’s conjuring of Poonachi opens a way for us to examine own malice, choices, and most intimate thoughts. The novel is remarkable for both its tonal restraint and its deft boldness in assigning depth to the interactions of farm animals. Once our empathies attach to Poonachi, some moments of this story are hard to read. If Murugan wants his readers to experience such griefs, he expresses them with the sensitive directness of one who surely has experienced them himself.
[Published by Grove Press/Black Cat on December 10, 2019, 192 pages, $16.00 paperback]