Days and Nights on the Grand Trunk Road: A Review

The long title befits this travelogue extremely well. As the author, Anthony Weller (The garden of peacocks, 1996), points out, "the Grand Trunk Road has been the
principal route across the subcontinent for at least thirty-five centuries."

It crosses through the heartland of the vast Indo-Gangetic plains- one of the most fertile and
historic plains in the world. Four great world religions- Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism- were born by its sides; one great world religion-Islam came here
through it. Thus, the road is like a walk through ancient history and culture.
The author starts his journey in the dark, murky waters of the river Hoogly (as the Ganges is known here) in Calcutta and travels north through the Indian heartland and
into Pakistan all the way through the NWFP until the Khyber Pass. This review deals with the author's travel through India.

What becomes almost immediately inherent, and which the author later admits, is that he has what he calls a "sober love as opposed to a silly love" that so many other
starry- eyed travel writers have for India. What that means is that throughout the account one finds only detailed description of the decaying, crumbling, ever- hungry
and poor society and not much of any thing else.

For example, travelling through the Hindu and Buddhist holy sites of Bodh Gaya and Benares, the author is at once struck by the fact that people who are almost too
poor to eat somehow find money enough to buy religious articles. He paints a very vivid picture of the Hindu religion as seen from the ghats of the holy Ganges in
Benares into which are dumped the ashes of 40,000 annually as well as entire bodies of children, and 'holy people.' His experiences seem to closely resemble those of
the noted writer Aldous Huxley almost 75 years ago. He seems to clearly fail to see the beautiful temples all around or the melodious religious chants that prevails here.

Nor does he talk about the beautiful sunsets or the colorful mela of stores on the banks- his eyes are only for the stench of the dead and dirt of the water.
Further north, he travels through Kanpur, the site of the Sepoy Mutiny in 1857- the subcontinent's first determined step towards controlling its own destiny. Then
onwards to Agra, the city of the Taj Mahal where the author finds himself "inexpressibly exhilerated by that snow hill in the air, that terrifying beautiful white whale
surfacing up the sky, that Moby Dick of architecture…"

Steadily he moves up north to Delhi, the capital of India, whose air has "a distinctive yellow presence and a sickly aroma." Inspite of his bouts of bronchitis, he takes it all
in - from the imperial Cannaught Place to the dinghy, old Chandni Chowk. Then he travels north through the fertile Punjab before crossing over into India's neighbor-
Pakistan. Punjab is the only region in India that seems to sufficiently impress Weller. The people are more affluent, stronger and more educated than anywhere else, he
feels. Travelling with a Sikh driver, who has a calm reassurance about him which makes "Sikhs, for me, the most trustworthy group in India," Weller attends a traditional
wedding, walks around in lush green fields and visits the Golden Temple- the holiest temple of the Sikhs. Here he is impressed not only by the immaculate temple with its
golden dome, but also at how impeccable the entire temple is kept.

The book which serves the dual purpose of a travelogue as well as a brief history of the country is an enjoyable read with in-depth descriptions of the architecture- from
unplanned Victorian to older, more elegant Moghul, to the recent downright ugly urban construction. Impressive too, is his description of his communication with the
locals giving insights into the local psyche (though usually only negative aspects seem to emerge.) Using Kipling as his inspiration, Weller tries to compare the India of
the British times to its more modern reality. Unlike other travel books which are "grated and not very clear-eyed," this book draws out the realities of the Indian
present-though in a very bleak manner almost utterly failing to see anything positive. In his own words, " From what I'd witnessed, the future of most Indians looked like
hell."