Can a white man receive justice in post-colonial India?
Bombay, 1950
James Whitby, sentenced to death for the murder of prominent lawyer and former Quit India activist Fareed Mazumdar, is less than two weeks from a date with the gallows. In a last-ditch attempt to save his son, Whitby’s father forces a new investigation into the killing.
The investigation leads Inspector Persis Wadia of the Bombay Police to the old colonial capital of Calcutta, where, with the help of Scotland Yard criminalist Archie Blackfinch, she uncovers a possible link to a second case, the brutal murder of an African-American G.I. during the Calcutta Killings of 1946.
Are the cases connected? And if Whitby didn’t murder Mazumdar, then who did?
It is such a pleasure to be sharing my thoughts on Death of a Lesser God today. Huge thanks to Vaseem Khan and Hodder Books for sending me an advance copy of the novel.
The Malabar House series is consistently historical fiction of the highest calibre, featuring everything I hope to find in a book, particularly this genre; the sense of time and place is always impeccable, the plot is intricately crafted and the characterisation nuanced and empathetic. However, Vaseem Khan also infuses his books with light and shade and the examination of complex topics is thoughtful and honest. The Lost Man of Bombay was easily one of my favourite books last year but Death of a Lesser God is arguably even better.
The start of the book finds James Whitby mere days away from being hanged for the murder of a prominent Indian lawyer. This opening chapter, narrated in James' own words, powerfully illustrates the factors which made this such a high-profile case. He acknowledges that no man is an island and questions whether somebody like him who embodies the evils of empire could expect a fair trial. His bitterness is poignant; born and raised in Bombay, he too is Indian but ironically, the colour of his skin means he will always be an outsider. His question to his lawyer, "Can a white man expect justice in Nehru's India?" reveals a harsh truth; Indians were made to feel second-class citizens in their own country and that resentment still burns deeply.
A question on that theme is put to Persis when she is given the impossible task of reinvestigating the case without it becoming public knowledge. The Additional Deputy Commissioner of Police Amit Shukla asks her what she thinks of the British, opining that there are two types of Indians, "Those who are martyrs to the past, and those willing to embrace the future." Of course, Persis Wadia epitomises this dichotomy – she is the first woman to become a detective in India but because of the crime of being a policewoman, she has been stationed with the failures and disappointments at Malabar House. The persuasiveness of position and power is reflected upon throughout Death of a Lesser God – Charles Whitby's influence may be on the wane but he has still managed to wrangle her services. Whitby embodies the narcissism of the British Empire; he angrily notes that there was a time when a native – least of all a woman – would have dared to address him the way Persis does. Although he's a broken man on the brink of losing almost everything, including his only son, it's hard to feel much sympathy for him.
By contrast, the further development of Seema Desai's character gives us an insight into the importance of education and hope, particularly for those born at the bottom of Indian society. Seema is a Dalit, one of the Untouchables, who until recently cleaned railway station latrines. She was introduced in The Lost Man of Bombay when Persis became a reluctant mentor to her but it quickly becomes evident that the relationship between them has changed. Seema is beginning to show just what she is capable of, given the opportunity and, perhaps more importantly, Persis isn't resentful of her presence and may actually embrace her role. Persis is undoubtedly headstrong and, necessarily, a determined, rather detached individual but as the series has progressed, we have witnessed her becoming more vulnerable and there are scenes here, especially later in the book, which reveal her empathy and indeed anguish at what takes place.
During the course of the investigation, she uncovers a link to a second case; a double murder in 1946. The date is significant because it allows Vaseem Khan to explore the bloody violence which tore India apart. In July 1946, Mohammed Ali Jinnah's public call for Indian Muslims to engage in a nationwide strike, demanding a separate Muslim homeland, resulted in the horrific brutality of Direct Action Day when more than four thousand men, women and children were killed. The stark barbarity of this atrocity is laid bare and is an honest, painful reminder of those dark days in the country's history.
The investigation eventually leads Persis and Seema to Calcutta and as always, Vaseem Khan's descriptions of the country are richly transportive. We can almost feel the suffocating heat and humidity of monsoon season as Bombay and later Calcutta are evocatively brought to life. Meanwhile, as it transpires that the convoluted cases may be connected to organised crime, it's impossible to ignore the hypocrisy of corruption which infests India's official offices. One of the most impressive elements in Death of a Lesser God is that there's obviously real affection for the country, while still allowing for a candid appraisal of its foibles and failings.
The scenes set in the Sundarbans mangrove forest are the most striking; the oppressive sense of danger is overwhelmingly tense but there's a beautiful lyricism to Vaseem Khan's writing which encapsulates the fascinating juxtaposition between the cities of India looking towards the future and the persistence of faith and mysticism, which in the mysterious Sundarbans, even touches somebody as prosaic as Persis Wadia.
Archie Blackfinch has a smaller role this time but nevertheless there are some intriguing developments in their relationship. It's his position as a white Englishman in India which is arguably more pertinent here, however. Unlike James Whitby, he can't claim to be a child of empire in the same way but he feels a genuine sense of belonging in a country which is figuring out how it should heal from the wounds of Partition, amidst the anger still felt by many towards the English.
Despite examining some difficult topics, the observant humour, especially of the characters, is a sheer delight throughout. The mystery itself is complex, compelling and surprising on a number of levels. There are magical moments sometimes when reading a book feels like alchemy in action and I loved every moment I spent with Death of a Lesser God. This is an exceptional novel; vibrant, witty descriptions, bursting with atmosphere, a cracking mystery and a candid, moving examination of life in post-Partition India. Just wonderful!
Death of a Lesser God will be published by Hodder & Stoughton on 10th August 2023, purchasing links can be found here but please support independent booksellers whenever possible.
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