Since the dawn of history, in every age and in every place, these men have been there. Sometimes they wear skull caps, sometimes their foreheads are smeared with vermillion or sandalwood paste, sometimes crucifixes dangle from their necks. Like the colours of a chameleon, their outer appearance keeps changing, but they are the same men—their eyes reddened by anger and fear, hearts blackened by hate, hands grasping shovels, swords and chains that gleam with bloodlust.
Song of the Golden Sparrow (p. 301)
Once in a while, and very rare one at that, one encounters a book that entertains and educates; that can move the reader along with them, and that flows like a river through its languid and uncomplicated language. Nilanjan Choudhury’s Song of the Golden Sparrow: A Novel History of Free India is one such book.
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