Home, loyalty, and humanity: A critical reading of Soumitra's 'The First Message'

By Ravi Ranjan*  

Soumitra's "Sabse Pehle Sandesh"  (The First Message) stands as a remarkable literary achievement that transcends its historical setting to explore universal questions of human existence. Set against the backdrop of the First World War and colonial India, the story weaves together the lives of ordinary people and pigeons, creating parallel worlds that reflect and illuminate one another. Through the experiences of Salim, a reluctant butcher turned soldier, his wife Rukh-sana, and the homing pigeons Indiagate and Phirangan, Soumitra crafts a narrative that interrogates the nature of home, loyalty, and humanity in times of crisis.

The story begins with a seemingly simple observation about pigeons: no matter how far they travel, they never forget the way home. This natural instinct becomes the central metaphor through which Soumitra explores the human condition. For the pigeons, home represents security, love, memory, and continuity—an existential necessity rather than a political or ideological construct. Their unwavering drive to return home stands in stark contrast to the human experience of displacement.

Salim's home is not merely a physical dwelling but an emotional and cultural sanctuary. Within its walls exist Rukh-sana, the pigeons, daily routines, and dreams of a peaceful future. As Martin Heidegger suggests in his philosophy of dwelling, humans do not simply occupy space but construct their very existence within meaningful places. When Salim leaves for the battlefield, he experiences a dislocation that is simultaneously geographical, psychological, and existential. His home becomes not just a place he left behind but the moral and emotional center of his being.

Perhaps the most philosophically rich aspect of the narrative is its exploration of loyalty. Salim finds himself torn between multiple competing allegiances: to the British Empire that employs him, to his Muslim identity that connects him emotionally to Turkey and the Caliphate, to his home and wife who represent his personal world, and to a broader human morality that transcends all political and religious boundaries.

The British Empire demands loyalty through economic compulsion rather than ideological conviction. Salim does not enlist out of patriotic fervor but because limited opportunities leave him no alternative. This economic coercion reveals the structural violence of colonialism—its power to shape desires and decisions without the explicit use of force. The eight rupees per month offered by the army represents not just wages but a potential escape from the butcher's profession that violates Salim's compassionate nature.

Religious identity further complicates Salim's loyalties. As a Muslim in British India during the First World War, he faces the impossible position of serving an empire at war with Turkey, home of the Caliphate that held spiritual significance for many Indian Muslims. The suspicion that falls upon Muslim soldiers simply because of their identity reveals the racial and cultural character of colonial power—even those who fight for the empire remain "other" in the eyes of their masters.

War and Class Exploitation

The Marxist dimensions of the story become evident in its depiction of class dynamics. Salim's fate is determined more by his class position than by personal choice. Born into a butcher's family, he is bound to a profession that contradicts his moral sensibilities. This alienation from labor—where one's work conflicts with one's humanity—represents a fundamental problem of capitalist social structure.

The soldiers on the Mesopotamian front suffer from hunger, cold, illness, and death while the rulers in Delhi's Viceroy House discuss imperial strategy. This disparity reveals that the real burden of war falls upon those who had no part in its making. The conversations among soldiers—Pathans, Marathas, Brahmins, Muslims—reveal that class position often proves more solid than religious identity. Their material suffering transcends the religious differences that divide them in civilian life, hinting at the potential for class consciousness to emerge from shared hardship.

Rukh-sana's character brings a crucial feminist dimension to the narrative. While Salim faces bullets and bayonets on the battlefield, she faces absence, anxiety, and insecurity at home. She has no role in the political decisions that shape her fate, yet she bears their consequences most intimately. The destruction of her home by communal violence is not merely physical damage but an attack on the moral and emotional foundation of her existence.

The parallel between Rukh-sana and Phirangan, the female pigeon, deepens the narrative's feminist and ecological dimensions. Both represent the maternal instinct for security and continuity. Both experience the destruction of their homes and the separation from loved ones. This parallel suggests that the aspirations for home and security are not exclusively human but universal to all living beings.

Religion and Politics

The story's treatment of religion demonstrates exceptional nuance. Rather than dismissing religious sentiment as mere superstition or political manipulation, Soumitra accepts its validity while revealing its vulnerability to political exploitation. The Eidgah scene shows how shared religious experience and collective emotion can be redirected toward political ends. The crowd's transformation from religious congregation to political gathering illustrates the process through which communal identity becomes mobilized for political purposes.

Yet the narrative resists simplistic conclusions. Religious leadership is not portrayed as merely conspiratorial; genuine fears about Turkey's defeat and the Caliphate's future exist alongside the manipulation of these anxieties. The story suggests that religious communities themselves are plural and internally contradictory—politics attempts to homogenize them, destroying their natural complexity.

The experience of displacement operates on multiple levels. Salim's physical removal from home is preceded by an internal dislocation from his profession. The battlefield intensifies this fragmentation of identity as his sense of self increasingly conflicts with how others perceive him. The suspicion cast upon him for being Muslim represents a fundamental violation of his identity—others define him in ways that contradict his self-understanding.

Memory becomes crucial to survival. For soldiers far from home, memories of domestic life maintain the continuity of identity. As distance increases, home becomes increasingly meaningful precisely because it becomes inaccessible. Rukh-sana experiences displacement without leaving home—Salim's absence transforms their dwelling from a place of security into one of fear and waiting. This internal displacement reveals that home is not merely geographical but emotional and relational.

Communication and Power

The story's preoccupation with messages and communication systems reveals another dimension of power. Pigeons serve as communication mediums, carriers not just of information but of hope, memory, and love. The British Empire's control over information, its suppression of news about Turkey and the Caliphate, demonstrates the relationship between knowledge and power.

The Eidgah scene shows the power of speech and rumor in constructing collective consciousness. The spoken word organizes emotions, strengthens identity, and directs political reaction. Rumors spread rapidly, often exerting greater influence than official announcements, particularly when distrust of official sources exists. This alternative communication system shapes collective emotions and influences real political events.

"Sabse Pehle Sandesh" ultimately suggests that the most authentic expression of humanity occurs not in power and dominance but in love, care, and intimacy. Salim's compassion for pigeons, Rukh-sana's devotion to her husband, the birds' attachment to their nests—these represent forms of humanity that transcend political structures. The story insists that home is not architecture but experience, constructed from love, memory, and relationship.

The central message of the narrative lies in its acknowledgment that humans, like pigeons, aspire to return home—to a place of security, love, and meaning. Wars, empires, and politics may disrupt this aspiration, but they cannot extinguish it. In this sense, the story transforms from a historical narrative into a profound meditation on the eternal human struggle to preserve home, memory, and humanity in the face of history's recurring violence.

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*Professor and former Head (Retd.), Department of Hindi, University of Hyderabad. This is the abridged version of the author's original paper