The conclusion of Victory City, Salman Rushdie’s latest novel, is an end to the novel, and an end to the long life of the heroine, “Pampa Kampana”, and an end to the city called “Victory City”. By saying this, I am not spoiling the ending for readers because Pampa Kampana’s death is foreshadowed from the very beginning of the story. She had finished writing the history of the city, and buried the manuscript of it in a sealed pot.:
“When she had buried the Japaparajaya she sat down, cross-legged, and called out, ‘I have finished telling it. Release me.’ Then she waited.”
Salman Rushdie, Victory City, p. 330
And then she died, at 147 years old. Her last words on the novels’s final page tells of how all the kings and queens, and what they had done, will be forgotten, and “…only the words describing these things remain.”
“I myself am nothing now. All that remains is this city of words. Words are the only victors.”
Salman Rushdie, Victory City, p. 331
Words are the only victors
Pampa Kampana’s historical record is indeed the only thing that remains of that city and state, and the novel’s plot is a retelling of the events in her book, which had been rediscovered. So, ultimately, the only lasting thing, the only important thing, is what she had written down. The rest – the person, the city, society and all the events, have vanished.
One might think that this is a conceit of the author, Salman Rushdie, to give such importance to written records, and such immortality to a narrative, a story. But come to think of it, when you study history, what remains for you to look at and analyze? People have turned to dust, memories have faded or became muddled. What remains are the ruins, sculptures, paintings, music and writings of that time – the physical objects, such as they are.
The legacies of kings and pharaohs
Consider the mystery that surrounds the death of the Egyptian pharaoh, Akhenaten, the tenth ruler of the Eighteenth Dynasty in the 14th century BCE, and the father of Tutankhamun. Of him, we have left elegant sculptures in the style that he popularized, with his face long and narrow, with full lips, remarkably high cheekbones, and upward-slanting eyes.
Statue of Akhenaten at the Egyptian Museum
But in his royal tomb there was no mummy, no sarcophagus, no bones, nothing. How he died, and why, are the questions. Every personal thing related to him was destroyed after his death, including his remains. We can only look at the artworks made of him, and read the records of his contemporaries, and theorize about his last words and his death.
Not quite the last words
However, the last words of the novel, and the last words of Pampa Kampana refer to another, earlier passage in the novel, in which Pampa Kampana quotes the real text of “Buddha’s Five Remembrances”, the Buddha being Buddha Siddharta Guatama (5th or 6th century BCE), the founder of Buddhism – usually just referred to as “the Buddha”. Students of Buddhism know that the religion has many lists of rules and principles, for instance The Four Noble Truths, The Noble Eightfold Path, and The Five Remembrances. The Five Remembrances are:
1. I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old. 2. I am of the nature to have ill-health. There is no way to escape having ill health. 3. I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death. 4. All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. 5. My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.
A sculpture of the seated Buddha; circa 475; sandstone; height: 1.6 m (5 ft. 3 in.); Sarnath Museum (India). This figure, his hands in the dharmachakra mudra gesture of teaching, refers to the Buddha’s first sermon at Sarnath, where the figure was found. (Wikipedia).
The final, fifth Remembrance struck me as being particularly meaningful in terms of the story and also in general: “My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.”
It gives another level of meaning to Pampa Kampana’s last words, and perhaps also indicates what the author is communicating to the reader: What you do, is the only thing that is yours, the only thing that you own. You are responsible for your actions. They are the only things that will not fade away and die. So, if your action is to write, then your writing is all that will remain after you are gone. If you have done nothing, or made nothing, then nothing will be left of you.
From this I deduce that Salman Rushdie keeps writing regardless of the risk to his life because he believes that his books are his only true belongings – the only ground on which he stands, to quote the Buddha.
What you do, you own
That got me thinking about why the music that I produce matters so much to me: my writing – poetry, novels and music – are all that will still be there after I’m dead. So I’d better make it good, and I’d better own it.
Consider the ephemeral quality of social media contents: today you’re big and you have thousands of followers who hang on your every word. A year from now – who knows – you could be nothing, replaced by the next hot topic or artist. And when you die, who will remember you, other than the ones who loved you, and even then, not forever? Answer: No-one. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But perhaps someone will pick up a verse you wrote, a painting you made, a song you wrote, your novel, and think, who did this? It’s beautiful.
The lasting power of words
I was reminded of the lasting impact that a really well-written, really beautiful, superbly imaginative novel can have, when I started re-reading the four-part Fantasy series, The Books of Babel, by Josiah Bancroft. I had not touched them for years. On the covers, I read praise from critics about how the novels will become classics and never lose their impact or appear less impressive on subsequent readings. And it’s true. Again, I was blown away. Again, I read through the nights, unable to stop. Again, it struck me what a wonderful work of art the series is. And what a wonderful achievement, and legacy, this is for Josiah Bancroft.
Vice versa, readers might see the rage, carelessness, rudeness, and ugliness in what you wrote, and think – that’s gross – and move on, and forget all about it, thereby robbing your words of any longevity, and any victoriousness.
Not that people can know what others will say about them after they have died. But in life, we, as humans, still worry about what comes afterwards, more for the sake of the people we leave behind than for our own pride. This is one way of dealing with that incomprehensible dread, which, as Julian Barnes put it, is actually a “nothing” that we are all frightened of.
SEVEN CIRCUMSTANCES 
The conclusion of Victory City, Salman Rushdie’s latest novel, is an end to the novel, and an end to the long life of the heroine, “Pampa Kampana”, and an end to the city called “Victory City”. By saying this, I am not spoiling the ending for readers because Pampa Kampana’s death is foreshadowed from the very beginning of the story. She had finished writing the history of the city, and buried the manuscript of it in a sealed pot.:
And then she died, at 147 years old. Her last words on the novels’s final page tells of how all the kings and queens, and what they had done, will be forgotten, and “…only the words describing these things remain.”
Words are the only victors
Pampa Kampana’s historical record is indeed the only thing that remains of that city and state, and the novel’s plot is a retelling of the events in her book, which had been rediscovered. So, ultimately, the only lasting thing, the only important thing, is what she had written down. The rest – the person, the city, society and all the events, have vanished.
One might think that this is a conceit of the author, Salman Rushdie, to give such importance to written records, and such immortality to a narrative, a story. But come to think of it, when you study history, what remains for you to look at and analyze? People have turned to dust, memories have faded or became muddled. What remains are the ruins, sculptures, paintings, music and writings of that time – the physical objects, such as they are.
The legacies of kings and pharaohs
Consider the mystery that surrounds the death of the Egyptian pharaoh, Akhenaten, the tenth ruler of the Eighteenth Dynasty in the 14th century BCE, and the father of Tutankhamun. Of him, we have left elegant sculptures in the style that he popularized, with his face long and narrow, with full lips, remarkably high cheekbones, and upward-slanting eyes.
But in his royal tomb there was no mummy, no sarcophagus, no bones, nothing. How he died, and why, are the questions. Every personal thing related to him was destroyed after his death, including his remains. We can only look at the artworks made of him, and read the records of his contemporaries, and theorize about his last words and his death.
Not quite the last words
However, the last words of the novel, and the last words of Pampa Kampana refer to another, earlier passage in the novel, in which Pampa Kampana quotes the real text of “Buddha’s Five Remembrances”, the Buddha being Buddha Siddharta Guatama (5th or 6th century BCE), the founder of Buddhism – usually just referred to as “the Buddha”. Students of Buddhism know that the religion has many lists of rules and principles, for instance The Four Noble Truths, The Noble Eightfold Path, and The Five Remembrances. The Five Remembrances are:
1. I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
2. I am of the nature to have ill-health. There is no way to escape having ill health.
3. I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
4. All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
5. My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.
The final, fifth Remembrance struck me as being particularly meaningful in terms of the story and also in general: “My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.”
It gives another level of meaning to Pampa Kampana’s last words, and perhaps also indicates what the author is communicating to the reader: What you do, is the only thing that is yours, the only thing that you own. You are responsible for your actions. They are the only things that will not fade away and die. So, if your action is to write, then your writing is all that will remain after you are gone. If you have done nothing, or made nothing, then nothing will be left of you.
From this I deduce that Salman Rushdie keeps writing regardless of the risk to his life because he believes that his books are his only true belongings – the only ground on which he stands, to quote the Buddha.
What you do, you own
That got me thinking about why the music that I produce matters so much to me: my writing – poetry, novels and music – are all that will still be there after I’m dead. So I’d better make it good, and I’d better own it.
Consider the ephemeral quality of social media contents: today you’re big and you have thousands of followers who hang on your every word. A year from now – who knows – you could be nothing, replaced by the next hot topic or artist. And when you die, who will remember you, other than the ones who loved you, and even then, not forever? Answer: No-one. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But perhaps someone will pick up a verse you wrote, a painting you made, a song you wrote, your novel, and think, who did this? It’s beautiful.
The lasting power of words
I was reminded of the lasting impact that a really well-written, really beautiful, superbly imaginative novel can have, when I started re-reading the four-part Fantasy series, The Books of Babel, by Josiah Bancroft. I had not touched them for years. On the covers, I read praise from critics about how the novels will become classics and never lose their impact or appear less impressive on subsequent readings. And it’s true. Again, I was blown away. Again, I read through the nights, unable to stop. Again, it struck me what a wonderful work of art the series is. And what a wonderful achievement, and legacy, this is for Josiah Bancroft.
Vice versa, readers might see the rage, carelessness, rudeness, and ugliness in what you wrote, and think – that’s gross – and move on, and forget all about it, thereby robbing your words of any longevity, and any victoriousness.
Not that people can know what others will say about them after they have died. But in life, we, as humans, still worry about what comes afterwards, more for the sake of the people we leave behind than for our own pride. This is one way of dealing with that incomprehensible dread, which, as Julian Barnes put it, is actually a “nothing” that we are all frightened of.
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