Written by Shweta Ganesh Kumar
Reviewed by Sujata Noronha, Sonali Shirodkar and others*
Fantastical naming stories about the Indian union — best read as a provocation to think about what is validated and what is ignored.
| Publishing Date: 2025
ISBN: 9789357312912 Page Count: 195 Publisher: Hachette India Review Posted Online: June 2026 QBR Reviews Issue: Q2 2026 Categories: Myths | Legends | India | Nation State |
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The book cover includes symbols that draw us into the “magical” premise of this charmingly titled book. Many readers in English would have played Name Place Animal Thing, and so the title segues neatly into the imagination of a text that codes the real world into categories for understanding and potential reading joy.
The book is organised into very short chapters covering 28 states and 8 Union Territories, and closes with a brief account of Emperor Bharata. The content is arranged alphabetically, and each chapter includes a factoid called “Know Your State,” marked by the State Emblem of India, containing bits and pieces about the state, including stories of the capital city. As one reads, it becomes apparent that the myth or legend is immediately followed by this factoid, and one wonders whether the intention was to blend text, symbols, and information in this way to lend some credibility to the stories. It would be a difficult book to classify on a library shelf, but it may be better served as a fact-fiction text.
Vibha Surya, the illustrator of the inside pages, brings a gentle touch to her drawings, which soften the reading in parts, though otherwise the images add little comprehension value to the text. What role do illustrations play in chapter books? Why do publishers find it necessary to illustrate what may already be clear in the writing? When eleven-year-old library reader Nasifa was asked about the book, she looked at the illustrations and said she had seen such images in many places. Asked where, she pointed to the illustration of Shiva and said, “temple pictures.” Another reader, Sonal, ran her hand over the cover images and said, “This book must be about gods.”
The author, Shweta Ganesh Kumar, who lives outside the subcontinent, does not tell us why she wrote this book. Almost 80 years after the Indian Union was constitutionally formed, we are still on the journey of nation-building, and it appears that young readers still need to be introduced to the origins of state and Union Territory names. When we asked children whether they had ever been curious about the name of their place or region, the answer was a clear no. States have come to be for many reasons — from the need to form a union of linguistic provinces, to geographic and administrative imperatives — and names can offer a deeper understanding of why we are who we are, and others are who they are. However, the author does not provide this context. Instead, she writes in the Introduction: “This book brings together exciting stories from every state in India, telling tales that began long, long ago.”
As we began to read, we broke the alphabetical order of states and jumped to page 27 — Goa — as both of us are from this region. As quickly as we jumped in, our minds jumped out. Whose story was this? When did it become legitimate? Who is deciding that this is the story of our state? Should children who identify with Goa read this as a story passed down from their ancestors? Whose ancestors? We decided to share the state chapters with library educator colleagues across India and received responses that affirmed our sense that stories from other states also contained information that was new — or told from a perspective recognised as dominant — even to long-time residents.
Sikkim, Telangana, and Jharkhand all had stories that were either new or told from a dominant perspective. For example, regarding Sikkim, Library Facilitator Phunchokla *and Prava Rai *, Founder of the D.G. Reading Room, noted that the name “Bayul,” meaning “sacred land,” as referenced in the book, is incomplete — the full name, as it is commonly known, is Bayul Demazong, meaning “the hidden valley of rice.” In truncating it, the people who work the land are erased, and what remains is a kind of mysticism alone. Similarly, the Lepcha community is misrepresented, as is the origin story of an early Chogyal who married a Limbu princess and called the land Su-khim, meaning “new house.”
In the chapter on Jharkhand, Library Educator Divya Tirkey* writes: “The book states that the Adivasis of Jharkhand were known as Santals, and that Jharkhand is the Land of Santals, but there are several other tribes as well — such as the Oraon, Munda, Ho, and others — who are also Adivasis. I hope this does not create confusion or appear contradictory to readers.”
Anuradha P.*, a library educator in Telangana, wrote back eloquently: “It seems like if a person becomes a thief, he will be called a thief for the rest of his life… No matter how much good he does… all the Asuras are considered Rakshasas (all Rakshasas are cruel only)… But a good story also needs to tell us how much cunning was employed by the so-called Gods to kill the Asuras.”
Of course, none of us can claim to know all the stories that constitute the origin of a place — but this compels us to ask who is deciding which story should be told, and at what length, and how those choices are legitimised through the act of publishing.
For library educators from Kerala, West Bengal, Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra, and elsewhere, the repeated extraction of origins from mythological texts — the Puranas and the Mahabharata — appears to serve as a way of lending “divine” authority to the telling. More indigenous origins — tribal narratives, settler stories from early migrants — are diffused and often absent. Mahua Dutta*, a Library Facilitator in Kolkata, writes:
“The author begins with Singbonga, the supreme creator and sun god worshipped by tribal communities like the Munda, Ho, Santhal, and Bhumij across eastern India, symbolising light and life. From an anthropological and linguistic perspective, the region is linked to an Austric-Dravidian tribe called Banga, who lived in the Ganga–Brahmaputra basin. However, just as in the telephone game where the original message gets distorted, the author gradually moves away from this tribal reference and brings in figures like King Bali and his son Banga, and later King Suratha and Medhas Muni from the Mahabharata and the Puranas. While anthropology and mythology can overlap, this shift feels like a blending of history and myth to make the origin story seem more authoritative. Lastly, the explanation involving migration and the naming of West Bengal becomes unclear and confusing.”
Settlement is anchored in gods and supernatural beings from grand texts in ways that erase and narrow identities.
A number of our library educator colleagues acknowledged that the task could not have been simple for the author. As Dharamjeet Kumar * wrote, in reference to the chapter on Bihar: “I also recognise the challenge of holding together such a vast and layered story within a limited space. The attempt to compress this journey while maintaining flow is evident. At certain points, the transitions feel slightly rushed, moving quickly across significant milestones. Yet, despite this, the chapter remains engaging, and the storytelling succeeds in connecting the dots meaningfully.” We came to understand that who is reading the story — and how one’s own state is made visible in the public eye — matters deeply to the reader. It was with this keen interest in understanding how children read about their own regions that we engaged with some young library readers from various parts of the country.
Listening to Nasifa read and discuss a chapter offered further insight. A fairly confident reader, she found some sentence structures difficult to follow, but she read keenly, working her way toward the origin story of her state. As she read about the king in the story, she appeared surprised. It was all new to her. “Oh! I did not know this,” she said. We read on. Certain constructions — natural to a native Indian-English speaker — impeded her comprehension. For example: “Due to the scheming and betrayal of his ministers, King…” I explained that they were not good people. “Did they cheat?” she asked. I said it appeared so. And so we read on, pausing for explanations. When we neared the end, where a sage’s advice to reclaim the kingdom is to pray and meditate, Nasifa asked how that would work. “He also has to do some work!” — which gave me a long pause of quiet amusement that even an eleven-year-old could spot the flawed logic of the story.
We are not sure this book will find a place on our library shelf — at least, not unless we can surround it with many other stories of the origins of people, places, and regions, so that we do not reproduce the danger of the single story.
Further Recommendations
- Travelling Treasures: 100 Incredible Tales of How Things Came to India by Mala Kumar, Hachette India, 2024
- A–Z of Indian History by Archana Garodia Gupta and Shruti Garodia, Puffin India, 2026
- Amazing India: A State by State Guide by Anita Vachharajani and Amit Vachharajani, Scholastic, 2009
- Incredible India by Jasbinder Bilan, Walker Books, 2022