It has been several months since I started Banjara, getting me through the struggles of returning to the voluntary free reading space without feeling like an imposter for how little I was reading, and even making it into the hands of the very author who wrote it during the Auckland Writers Festival. Now, at the beginning of July, amidst my Maori non-fiction reading, which is bringing me all sorts of personal discoveries, this whirlwind historical fiction contemporary journey of self-discovery has finally concluded, and I could not feel happier with the read.

A powerful literary debut focusing on the Indo-Fijian indenture system and how it affected generations across the Pacific. Rajasthan 1888: Avani Rathod, a nomad of the Banjara community, is summoned to teach a blue-eyed colonial officer the trees of her region, but instead is misled into indenture to the sugarcane plantations of Fiji. While on the voyage that leads her away from her ancestral land, Avani’s baby forms in her belly and she forges close friendships with the other women bound for the Pacific – bonds that will be tested once they reach the islands, under the suffocating colonial powers. Aotearoa 2016: Avani’s great-granddaughter, Meera Chand, seeks the true history of her ancestors – the forgotten and displaced Girmitiya. Meera’s search for her great-grandmother’s origins leads her to a region of India, where she learns the rhythms of Odissi dance and where she meets up with her former lover – the man she can never have, but whom she can’t forget. Set in Aotearoa, Australia, India and Fiji, Banjara is an essential reimagining of Indo-Fijian Girmitiya history, and a love letter to our ancestors whose stories live on in our genes.

The fact that this history isn’t already taught in New Zealand schools is both appalling and eye-opening. I say this because in the late 20th century, there was a huge migration of Indo-Fijian families and individuals to Aotearoa as a result of political and social shifts in Fiji. I don’t know specifics, but I know it is something my parents’ generation and older generations remember happening. The whole story is very interesting, and I plan to look into it further, but it is all thanks to Banjara and the intricately woven histories of the Girmitiyas people and Meera’s Indo-Fijian identity search that it has really stuck with me.

I feel I can relate to Meera quite strongly, as I am going through my own self-discovery journey in researching my whakapapa (ancestry) and finding out more about where my ancestors come from, their social and historical backgrounds, and the general ways of life that differ from my city living. Her journey is not just an emotional one, nor is it just physical in a travelling sense, but it is also deeply felt throughout her body through the movement of dance. Dance, and her physical being, are at the centre of her journey, and the things she learns and feels deeply in her bones as a result are so raw and, at times, have teeth that bite. It isn’t an easy journey, and I really appreciate how Shana Chandra made it so, because it is a reflection of the tumultuous journey Avani takes. Learning about the different regions of India through the people at the time and how differently they connect with the land, waters, plants, and such really enriched this novel for me, and I see the similarities in how my Maori ancestors would have treated the land, waters, and plants around the same time.

The writing itself is so poetic and delivers such strong sensory detail, creating an immersive and gripping tale. The scenes on the boat felt so compelling; it was like I was tasting the salt in the air with every line. The many times dance is referenced, especially when Avani or Meera are the ones doing it, I can feel the rhythm and pressure throughout my body, the tapping of feet and the sway of the trunk as the connection with the elements is made. No dance experience is needed to understand the significance of such passages, and they carry an emotional weight that can be freeing but also oppressive, often mirroring facets of the story’s emotional thread. It all reads easily, and while at times I wish each of the women ot over the men clouding their minds, I felt rejuvenated with each realisation and moment of full separation from the men of the past.

Banjara is such a deeply personal yet incredibly important communal story that needs to be read, shared, and talked about. The stories of the Girmitiyas people are so significant, and still need to be told today, as the fight for Indo-Fijian identity and representation is ongoing. These histories are so diverse, heavy, and fascinating to learn about, and I cannot wait to read more Indo-Fijian stories in the future.