Travels With Herodotus

Title: Travels With Herodotus

Author: Ryszard Kapuscinski

Publisher: Penguin, 2008 (First published 2004)

ISBN: 978-0-141-02114-0

Pages: 275

This is a delightful little book by Ryszard Kapuscinski, a Polish journalist who died in 2007, yet impresses us a lot with his lucid prose which has no pretensions to pedantry. It was originally published in Polish and was translated into English by Klara Glowczewska, but retains the charm the original had had. Usually, when we approach a translated work, we perceive the lack of spirit which animated the original, but this book is clearly an exception. Kapuscinski’s wit, clarity of thought and economy of words has been faithfully rendered through the perfect transparency of the translator’s work. The author came to know of Herodotus while in Poland after Stalin’s death when state censoring of publications became relaxed for the first time. He was immediately captivated by the book which became his constant companion in his own travels. Like the ancient Greek man who is considered the father of history, Kapuscinski had in him a mind which yearned to cross borders, both geographic and temporal and travel around the world and back into time. Journalism turned out to be his key to unlock the iron curtain which screened Poland off from the rest of the world. He traveled widely, but recollects fondly his travels to India, which was his first foreign trip, to China and to various states in Africa. Herodotus always accompanied him in book form which devoured the author’s attention quite overwhelmingly.

Herodotus was born in Halicarnassus, called Bodrum in modern-day Turkey on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean in 485 BCE. He often got tired of the vain pride Greeks maintained about their homeland and started to collect tales and narratives of historic events from around the known world. His book, Histories, is the first one ever to come out of the genre which described in colourful detail the story of mighty, ancient Persian empire under imposing monarchs like Cyrus, Darius and Xerxes and its war against Greece which ended in an ignominious defeat for the mighty empire. Historians assert this victory as the first in a series of encounters the West had with the East. Indeed, this moment is sometimes regarded as the defining moment which oversaw the birth of modern West, a precinct where democracy and freedom was practiced, pitted against monarchy and despotism of Asia. Herodotus, himself a Greek, however doesn’t fall prey to unduly singing the glories of his compatriots. In a tone which will be wholeheartedly approved even by modern standards of literary judgment, he checked each fact on the balance of critical examination and accepted it as fact only when he was thoroughly convinced of the truth of the matter. However, this does not absolve him of all fabrications. We know that there are lots of fantasies and imagination presented as fact. Herodotus claims that there was a tribe in India which was so black in skin colour that even their semen was black! On such points, we should forgive the story teller in him who had the onerous task of keeping the attention of his listeners unflagged through the better part of an evening.

What Kapuscinski does best is to read human emotions through the intricate web of fact and fiction. While telling us about the deeds, most of them wicked, brutal or amorous, he commands us to think about the emotions which might have fleeted past the minds of the victims or spectators. Standing on the edge of a chasm of time separating us from the characters in the story, we appreciate the similitude which is an inalienable trait of human nature. This thinking from the people’s side is an attractive feature of the author’s style which might have been moulded into shape by an education system overseen by the Communist party, who always respected the equality of men in principle.

Reading about the author’s first trip to India in the middle of 1950s, his remarks go deep into the psyche of our country. Commenting on the widespread poverty which marked urban life, he describes an incident in Calcutta where he saw an old woman preparing a bowl of rice for cooking in Sealdah railway station. She was surrounded by hungry and emaciated children eagerly watching her prepare food which would not be available to them. He says, “The children stayed there, staring – motionless, wordless. This lasts a moment, and the moment drags on. The children do not throw themselves on the rice; the rice is the property of the old woman, and these children have been inculcated with something more powerful than hunger” (p.29). Also, he finds India is all about infinity – an infinity of gods and myths, beliefs and languages, races and cultures; in everything and everywhere one looks, there is this dizzying endlessness (p.30). Such numerousness has attracted the attentions of foreign writers about India. Mark Tully’s ‘No Full Stops in India’, which was reviewed earlier in this blog is an example. Kapuscinski’s comparison of Chinese and Indian societies is also noteworthy. “The behaviour of people in the two countries could not have been more different. The Hindu is a relaxed being, while the Chinese is a tense and vigilant one. A crowd of Hindus is formless, fluid, slow; a crowd of Chinese is formed before you know it into disciplined marching lines. One senses that above a gathering of Chinese stands a commander, a higher authority, while above the multitude of Hindus hovers an Areopagus of innumerable and undemanding deities. If a throng of Hindus encounters something interesting, it stops, looks and begins discussing. In a similar situation, the Chinese will walk on, in close formation, obedient, their eyes fixed on a designated goal” (p.64-65).

Those who are desirous to have a deeper understanding of Herodotus and his style may look forward to Justin Marozzi’s The Man Who Invented History, which was reviewed earlier.

The book is highly recommended.

Rating: 3 Star