Devadas VM on the genesis of ‘Eru’ and its English translation ‘Backlash’

Malayalam writer Devadas VM’s novel Eru is a work born of the pandemic—not because it chronicles the outbreak, but because it emerged from the isolation of lockdown life. Written while the author, an IT professional based in Chennai, was confined at home with his family and a newborn, the 2021 novel has returned to the spotlight following the release of its English translation, Backlash, by Nandakumar K.

Plot and preoccupations

Eru centres on Sreedharan Nair, a retired policeman whose quiet life unravels when an unknown assailant begins pelting stones at his house every night. With his wife away abroad attending to their daughter who has just given birth, Sreedharan’s solitude amplifies his fear. He wonders if the attacks are revenge for actions in his policing past. He revisits old cases and acquaintances, installs CCTVs, and follows every lead offered to him, but nothing helps. As word spreads, unsolicited advice pours in. Sreedharan eventually agrees to a pooja to ward off “invisible, evil forces”—a decision that splits the village and triggers a social tussle that drives the plot forward.

Thrissur-native Devadas, a prominent voice in contemporary Malayalam literature with five novels and seven short-story collections to his name, is a recipient of the Kerala Sahitya Akademi Award and the OV Vijayan Memorial Literary Award. In an email interview, he spoke at length about how Eru took shape, the psychic residue of the pandemic, the choice of a policeman as protagonist and the novel’s engagement with myth and history.

The spark for Eru

Devadas traces the novel’s origin to a liminal state between sleep and wakefulness. “Many of my stories and novels stem from ideas captured in that fleeting moment between sleep and wakefulness,” he said. “Sometimes, an entire story or even a movie unfolds in these dreamlike states. I usually jot down the thoughts so that I can use them later. But what if I decide to put it off and go back to sleep? Everything that appeared so clearly vanishes like an illusion.”

During one afternoon nap, he dreamt a hole had opened in the ceiling above him. Awaking to a bright glow on the ceiling, he realised it was sunlight reflected off his daughter’s toy on the floor. The trick of light led him to imagine the consequences if “a hole suddenly appeared in the ceiling while we were asleep”—how quickly peace and privacy could be shattered. “A sudden blow can shatter our tranquillity. As a person’s strength and power begin to fade, the actions of their past can return to haunt them like a stone hurtling through the air,” he said. “It was in this thought that I found the inspiration to write Eru.”

The pandemic’s imprint

Although Chennai felt safe before 2020, Devadas recalled how everyday interactions became charged with anxiety during the first COVID-19 wave. “Ever since I left home for work at the age of 23, I have lived in various cities across India. Because of this, I do not believe in romanticised notions like the inherent goodness of one’s hometown or the purity of village life,” he said. “In Chennai, I lived in a rented house in a colony of over 50 houses. There was nothing to fear. However, everything I had considered as sources of support and security slowly morphed into sources of fear when pandemic struck. The security guard sneezing or coughing near the gate, the maid working in four or five different houses in the neighbourhood, workers delivering mineral water and vegetables without wearing masks, taxis dropping off strangers on the streets—all of these became metaphors for fear.”

Chennai was among the hardest-hit cities during the first wave. Devadas’s second child was born around this time. “The lockdown offered an opportunity to explore many new possibilities,” he said. He experimented with recipes, made wine and ice cream for the first time, crafted paper toys for his children, cut his own hair and shaved his son’s head. “But none of these activities could entirely erase the fears. With Chennai persistently remaining in the red zone, many items became completely unavailable. The number of patients in the city began surging toward its peak. It was this terrifying atmosphere that paved the way for the fear experienced by the retired policeman, Sreedharan Nair, in the novel.”

Why a policeman stands at the centre

Devadas said Eru probes the paradoxes embedded in the police’s role within society. “Although the military and the police are security forces in a sense, the primary difference between them lies in how they interact and function within society,” he explained. Soldiers operate in insulated spaces; police officers—especially below the rank of Circle Inspector—live in close proximity to the public. “The accused or criminal is not an obvious enemy on a battlefield, but a part of the very society in which the officer lives. Yet, within that society, a policeman possesses an air of pride and authority.”

“It is the power of the uniform that drives him to do many things,” he added, pointing to cases where tenuous grounds were used to implicate suspects—citing A.G. Perarivalan in the Rajiv Gandhi assassination case and Ajmal Kasab being charged with entering Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus without a ticket among multiple counts. “The police embody this kind of irony. My novel explores the psychological turmoil of a police officer who once wielded such authority. The consequences of his past actions come together to put him on trial. In his frantic attempt to find a way to deal with this, everything he does is a blunder. No matter how hard he tries to hide, his guilt relentlessly pursues him,” he said. “Interestingly, guilt arises only where there is an underlying sense of morality. It is this moral consciousness, awakening in him only after his power and uniform are gone, that ultimately drives him into deep remorse.”

Memory, myth and the stories we inherit

As Sreedharan’s fear grows, his private remorse becomes entangled with the collective memory of his community. “This novel explores the complexities of a man’s memories, the guilt they evoke and his desperate attempts to escape them. It is the society around him that transforms his internal guilt into fear,” Devadas said. “Consequently, his personal memories and past deeds become deeply intertwined with the broader social fabric. How do memories endure in a society across generations? Myths, folklore, ballads, beliefs, rituals, bedtime stories, and history all play crucial roles in shaping a society’s collective memory.”

The interweaving of these elements happened “very organically” as he narrated every possible dimension of the stone-pelting incidents. He draws a parallel between King Parikshit, who hides in fear of the serpent Takshaka once he realises royal power can no longer save him, and Sreedharan, who loses sleep over stones thrown by an unseen assailant. Both, he said, “are ultimately consumed by the exact same fear.”

History as a returning presence

Eru also threads through pivotal flashpoints in India’s public life: the Rajan case during the Emergency, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, the Coimbatore bombings, the rise of Gujarat’s chief minister to the prime ministership, the Purulia arms drop, and other episodes. “Without power, the retired officer is left entirely vulnerable to the moral consequences of his past. The collective trauma and unresolved injustices of the nation transform into his personal paranoia. The unseen threat and the stones landing on his roof represent the inevitable return of these historical actions,” Devadas said.

He argues that historical reference points are essential when institutional memory is under strain. “By weaving these historical incidents into the narrative, it becomes both evident and inevitable that history is never entirely left in the past,” he said. “For those who once wielded unquestioned authority, the loss of power turns memory itself into an inescapable psychological trial. Every incident mentioned here plays a crucial role in the history and justice system of India. When those in power attempt to erase history even from textbooks, what else should we discuss if not historical events? Furthermore, I believe that historical facts serve as the touchstone or yardstick needed to calibrate society’s lapses in memory.”

A climax that puts society on trial

Devadas rejects the comfort of a conventional whodunit. The novel’s closing stretch does not reveal a culprit; instead, it makes a case about the present social moment. “Attributing crimes to specific individuals to evade guilt is an escape mechanism employed by society. That is how a politician, businessman or officer ends up becoming the ultimate villain in popular fiction or cinema,” he said. “Movies and novels following the ‘whodunit’ narrative arc operate on the same principle, hunting down a single culprit upon whom all the blame can be pinned, allowing everyone else to feel vindicated and safe.”

“However, as a society, it is incredibly rare for us to put our collective crimes and complicities on trial,” he continued. “This is exactly why my novel’s central theme deliberately shifts from the question, ‘Who is throwing the stones?’ to the realisation, ‘Why must one suffer from the stone-pelting?’ After all, we are all familiar with the story in which a mob lowers its raised hand, armed with stones, upon hearing the words, ‘He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone.’”

‘Backlash’: carrying the spirit across languages

Backlash, the English translation by Nandakumar K, presented particular challenges, Devadas noted. “The novel incorporates myths, ballads, folklore, and other elements of oral tradition. So I believe translating it must have been a challenging task. Nandakumar, a seasoned translator, has done a commendable job of staying faithful to the original. Whenever there was scope for transcreation, he would discuss it with me as well, which helped preserve the spirit and nuances of the original work.”

About the author

Devadas VM is a Chennai-based IT professional and a significant voice in contemporary Malayalam literature. Originally from Thrissur, he has published five novels and seven collections of short stories. His honours include the Kerala Sahitya Akademi Award and the OV Vijayan Memorial Literary Award.

About the translator

Nandakumar K, who translated Eru into English as Backlash, is the grandson of Mahakavi Vallathol Narayana Menon, a towering figure in modern Malayalam poetry. He co-translated M. Mukundan’s Delhi Gadhakal (Delhi: A Soliloquy), which won the JCB Prize for Literature in 2021. His other translations include A Thousand Cuts (Attupokaatha Ormakal), the autobiography of Professor T.J. Joseph; The Lesbian Cow and Other Stories by Indu Menon; In the Name of the Lord (Karthavinte Namathil), the autobiography of Sr Lucy Kalappura; Elephantam Misophantam (Aanaththam Piriyaththam); Anthill (Puttu); Blackened (Karikkottakkary); and Zin.

Publication details

Eru is published by DC Books. Backlash is published by Ekada.

Why it matters

With its blend of psychological portraiture, social allegory and historical reflection, Eru reads the afterlives of state power and personal complicity through one man’s night terrors. As Backlash introduces Devadas’s work to a wider readership, the novel’s insistence on examining collective memory—rather than fastening blame on a lone culprit—lands squarely in the debates that shape India’s public imagination today.