“Ho," says Subba Chetty, "he-ho," and the bulls shiver and start. The slow-moving carts begin to grind and to rumble, and then we hear the long harsh monotony of the carts' axles through the darkness.
The narrator is using this quote to aid the reader in understanding the daily routines of the people of Kanthapura village during the colonial period. They use bulls as their primary mode of transport from one point to the other. While working at the red man’s coffee plantations, they use carts pulled by bulls to transport the produce to the designated areas for storage and processing. From the narrator’s point of view, it is not an easy task because she says even the bulls pulling the carts get tired as they work throughout the day until darkness falls. From this quote, the reader can comprehend the hardships of the colonial economy that Indians endured, and why they might want to change these circumstances.
"After all a brahmin is a brahmin, sister!"
This line exemplifies the prevalence of the caste system in pre-independence India. Achakka points out the traces of it even in Moorthy. Moorthy as a follower of Gandhi denounced casteism, but the incident at Rachanna’s place reveals that he could not train his mind yet. Moorthy is startled to enter pariah quarter as he is unaccustomed to it. Adding to his awkwardness, Rachanna’s wife asks him to take milk as an offering, which he cannot deny. Afterwards, he returns to Rangamma’s place, but before stepping into it his Brahminic inhibition reappears. He states his dilemma to Rangamma and takes a backyard entry. Finally, he drinks Ganges water after bathing as a purgatory ritual for his defiant act of Hindu tradition.
"Our country is being bled to death by foreigners. We have to protect our Mother."
This is one example of the rousing language Moorthy uses to rally the villagers to the cause of nationalism. He states frankly that Britain is a destructive force on India, that it is taking advantage of her people. Using the word "foreigners" is more powerful because it expresses just how unwelcome the British are; they have zero claim to this land. And by using the word "Mother," Moorthy tugs on the heartstrings of his listeners, as a mother is a sacred figure whom most people would do anything in their power to protect.
"...and that night, as on no other night, no cow would give its milk, and all the night a steady rain kept pattering on the tiles..."
This is an interesting line, perhaps one that most readers might gloss over. After all, it is indeed sad that Ramakrishnayya has died, and why shouldn't nature reflect that? That's the issue, though, as critic T.J. Abraham points out. This is intended to be a realistic text, a fictional village that could stand in for numerous Indian villages that saw Gandhist thought sweep through them in the first part of the 20th century. Clark says, "one becomes intensely conscious of the constructed character of the work, albeit, without coming upon the complexity and richness associated with a postmodern metanarrative. If falsehood is a truth exaggerated, one finds it galore in the novel. The strange occurrence the narrator associates with the burial of Ramakrishnayya is just one of the numerous incidents that put the novel in the realm of the preposterous."
"We, too, should organize such a corps, but the boys will not come... Since the arrest of Moorthy they are all afraid."
This is an ironic statement, for it is the women who are the ones training, preparing, and learning, even though they are deemed to be merely playing or trying to "vagabond about like soldiers" (105), and the men are the ones who are afraid. Patriarchy makes it clear that women cannot win, for if they are passionately involved in the nationalist struggle they are bad wives and mothers, but if not them, then who? Women's contributions are crucial, but such recognition of them is not always easy when society expects them to take care of men's needs first.
"Put aside the idea of the holy Brahmin and the untouchable Pariah."
The issue of caste is an important one in Gandhist thought and thus, by extension, the novel. Gandhi and Moorthy are not saying that the entire caste system needs to be eradicated; that would not be something that would garner widespread support. Rather, they want emphasis placed on how everyone is necessary, how "we are all one... equal in shape and hue and all" (118). Brahmins will still exist and Pariahs will still exist, but they should conceive of themselves as equal in the eyes of India, equal in the struggle for freedom, equally valued. It would be wrong, then, to think that Gandhism was so progressive as to claim that caste should be abolished.
"...there was something in us that said, 'You've done something big,' and we felt as though we had walked the holy fire at the harvest festival..."
This sentiment reveals how the women feel about what they're doing—they are exhilarated, breathless, overjoyed, and shocked at their own audacity. They overcame their nerves to stand fast for what they believed in, and to endure physical duress to do so. Their training paid off; they did not fight, they did not rage, they did not curse. They exemplified all the tenets of Gandhism, and their hearts are filled with a sense of pride. This is not something that women in an intensely patriarchal society would be accustomed to doing, so it fills them with a righteous sense of satisfaction.
"Then you'll free us from the revenue collector?"...and Moorthy does not know what to answer and he says, "We are against all tyrants," and she says, "Why, then, come to our village, son, and free us from this childless monster, and and Moorthy says, "We shall see..."
Moorthy is cagey here; he cannot promise the woman anything, so he says practically nothing. His (Gandhi's) ideals are lofty, cerebral; he can exhort, inspire, encourage, and explain, but he cannot actually do anything about individual offenders. This is why there is somewhat of a disconnect between the leaders of the movement and those who have to still live their daily lives in the village, trying to keep their jobs and their homes.
"And the new patel came, and behind the patel came the policeman and behind the policeman the landlord's agent..."
This is a simple but powerful look at the mechanisms of power in colonial India. There are local leaders like Patels who hold sway over the villagers, potentially making their lives more difficult. Then there are policemen, who can arrest someone disobeying a law or protesting against unjust laws or refusing to pay an unjust tax; they also use physical punishment, so they are frightening in ways the others are not. And then there are the landlords' agents, keeping people indebted so they will be pliable, fearful, and weak. All of these layers ultimately serve the British, who use Indians as Patels, police, agents, soldiers, and more to keep their colony prosperous and peaceful.
"But to tell you the truth, Mother, my heart it beat like a drum."
The last line of the novel adds to its ambiguous ending. Range Gowda went back to the abandoned Kanthapura to look for his jewels and too drink from the Himavathy. He said all the right things to the god and goddess, but he was not content. He was, to use modern parlance, triggered by being back there. The home that was once his—that he managed as the Patel—was a shell of itself, with only a concubine remaining. The people of Kanthapura stood fast against the colonial power, but for what? Did they win in the end? Is the loss of their village worth their sacrifices? Range Gowda's nervously beating heart provokes these questions.
