Parvati by Samar — Sameer Gudhate Asks: Do We Really Know Parvati?

We have grown up with certain identities so familiar that we rarely stop to examine them.

Parvati is Shiva’s wife.She is Ganesha’s mother.She is the embodiment of Shakti.She is Durga. She is Kali.

We know these names. We know the stories.

But do we know Parvati?

That question stayed with me while reading Parvati by Samar.

Because the interesting thing about this novel is not that it tells us another story about a familiar deity. Its real attempt is more ambitious: it asks us to look at a figure we think we already understand and consider what might exist behind the image.

The story begins with Parvati’s birth and follows her journey towards Shiva, but the author is particularly interested in the spaces between the familiar episodes of mythology. Who told Parvati that she was Sati reborn? What did her mother think when Shiva sought to marry her? What did Parvati herself want? What battles did she fight? What did she understand about herself before the world began defining her?

These questions give the narrative its energy.

And perhaps the most interesting aspect is that Samar doesn't treat Parvati merely as a divine figure waiting for her destined husband. He attempts to bring her inner world into the foreground.

That changes the way we look at the familiar story.

We often describe Parvati through her relationships: Shiva’s consort, Ganesha’s mother, Kartikeya’s mother. But a woman can be surrounded by powerful relationships and still possess an identity that is entirely her own.

That is where Parvati becomes more than a retelling of mythology.

It becomes an exploration of agency.

What does a woman do when destiny appears to have already decided her life?

What does devotion mean when it is also a choice?

And when society, family and tradition have expectations about who we should become, how much of our identity remains ours?

The novel's treatment of Parvati's mother is particularly significant in this context. The question of a mother's response to her daughter's marriage with Shiva may appear, at first, like a small detail in a much larger mythological narrative. But it opens an entirely human dimension.

Because behind every great myth are ordinary emotions: fear, hesitation, affection, disagreement, expectation and the anxiety of letting someone you love make a life-changing decision.

The same is true of the novel's exploration of Parvati's battles.

We generally associate warfare and cosmic destruction with powerful manifestations of the goddess. But when Parvati's strength is placed within the framework of a woman's journey, strength acquires another meaning.

Strength is not always aggression.

Sometimes it is persistence.

Sometimes it is the courage to choose.

Sometimes it is the ability to stand alone.

And sometimes it is the ability to become someone different from who the world expects you to be.

The episodes surrounding Ganesha, Kartikeya and Kali add another layer to the narrative. They expand the story beyond Parvati and allow the reader to see the larger emotional and philosophical universe surrounding her.

Yet for me, the most intriguing element is the Shiva-Parvati conversations.

Because mythology becomes particularly interesting when its characters stop merely performing their assigned roles and start questioning, discussing and responding to one another.

Shiva and Parvati are often presented as the perfect cosmic pair. But perfection can make relationships intellectually uninteresting.

Conversation does the opposite.

It introduces disagreement, curiosity, interpretation and negotiation.

And that makes their relationship feel surprisingly human.

There is also a philosophical thread running through the book that connects with the idea of inner fulfilment: that happiness and sorrow belong to the realm of external experience, while the deepest sense of contentment emerges when one recognises the nature of the self.

I found this idea worth pausing over.

Because much of human life is spent trying to obtain satisfaction from outside ourselves—through achievement, relationships, recognition, possessions or even spiritual accomplishment.

Yet the idea of atman suggests something uncomfortable: perhaps we keep searching because we are looking for permanence in things that are inherently temporary.

Whether one approaches that idea as spiritual truth, philosophical thought or simply metaphor, it adds another dimension to Parvati's journey.

But I also think this is where a reader should engage with the novel thoughtfully rather than accepting every interpretation automatically.

Mythology is not a single, fixed narrative. It is a living cultural tradition, shaped by different Puranas, regional traditions, retellings and interpretations. A contemporary novelist inevitably chooses one path through that vast landscape.

That choice is both the strength and the limitation of a mythological retelling.

The strength is that it allows an old story to speak in a new voice.

The limitation is that every interpretation inevitably leaves other interpretations outside the frame.

For me, that is not necessarily a weakness of Parvati. It is an invitation to continue the conversation.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of a mythology-based novel is not making us believe that its version is the only version.

It is making us curious enough to return to the original questions.

Parvati does that.

I closed the book thinking less about the goddess I had known and more about the woman I had perhaps never tried to imagine.

And that distinction matters.

Because sometimes familiarity is the greatest obstacle to understanding.

We know the name so well that we stop asking questions about the person behind it.

We know the mythology so well that we stop listening to the voice within it.

Samar's Parvati asks us to listen again.

And perhaps the question worth carrying beyond the last page is not simply “Who was Parvati?”

It is:

How much of who we become is destiny—and how much is a choice we quietly make for ourselves?

That is a question that belongs to Parvati.

But it also belongs to us.

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