From Lalu’s Lalooland to Gorakhnath’s Legacy: Nalin Verma Tells India’s Untold Stories

A good reporter can smell a story from a distance. A great one writes it with a flair that lingers long after the print fades. Nearly four decades ago, I saw in Nalin Verma such a storyteller—someone who knew that journalism wasn’t just about facts, but also about textures, atmosphere, emotion. He could transform the most prosaic assignment into poetry on newsprint.

I remember sending him to report from the field. What came back wasn’t just a routine dispatch but a story that began with the lyrical description of a tree under whose barren branches an accused was tied, for the police station had no lock-up.

A tree, a prisoner, and an almost surreal stillness—Nalin gave us not just information but atmosphere. The only hiccup? Photographer AP Dubey’s picture revealed the tree was completely leafless, quite at odds with his leafy prose. The story had to be edited. But even then, it stood out—not for the error, but for the imagination that fuelled it. It was a mistake only a writer could make.

Between Facts and Feelings: A Journalist’s Journey to Fiction

That literary impulse has now found a new and striking expression in Nalin’s latest foray into fiction, Lores of Love, after his The Greatest Folk Tales of Bihar. Coming after decades as a journalist, biographer, columnist, and teacher, this book reads not as a debut but as the fruit of long and deep engagement with storytelling—not just in form, but in spirit. This is not reportage disguised as fiction; it is fiction with the depth of lived experience, oral traditions, and cultural intimacy.

It’s not often that journalists retain their idealism past the deadlines and cynicism that newsrooms breed. Many fade out, bitter or burnt out. Nalin is not one of them. He has, if anything, become more prolific, more curious, more daring—with no airs or pretensions about him.

Twenty years ago, I had the pleasure of having him on a reporting trip through North Bihar. That journey, which took us through Siwan—his home district—gave me a glimpse into the rich oral culture, inter-religious harmony, and colourful personalities that shaped his worldview. He spoke lovingly of his parents, fondly of friends, and knowledgeably about Islamic customs picked up not from books but from lives lived side by side.

He introduced me to a farmer in his bare minimal dress who turned out to be Lalu Prasad Yadav’s brother. We later visited Chief Minister Rabri Devi’s ancestral home, where I interviewed her formidable mother—thanks to Nalin’s deft interpretation. The result was my essay “Three Days in Lalooland”, which KC Yadav found good enough to include in an anthology on Lalu.

It wouldn’t have been possible without Nalin’s eye for setting and his deep network of trust across caste and creed. He knew the texture of Bihar’s soul—its contradictions, its laughter, and its scars.

Syncretic Soul of Bihar and the Gorakhnath Legacy

It is this same texture that permeates Lores of Love. The book is anchored in the Gorakhnath tradition—now widely known for its association with Uttar Pradesh’s Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath. But this book does something remarkable: it peels away the layers of political appropriation to reveal a rich, syncretic past.

As the authors write in their introduction, “Historical accounts suggest that Asaf-ud-Daulah, the Nawab of Awadh, donated over 52 acres of land to Baba Roshan Ali, a fakir and devotee of Gorakhnath, in the eighteenth century, which helped rejuvenate the temple and enhance its glory and grandeur.”

This is not the tale we hear today, when the temple is projected as a monolithic symbol of Hindu might. Instead, Nalin and Lalu present a world where the Gorakhnath tradition welcomed both Hindus and Muslims, Sufis and Siddhas.

On a visit to the Gorakhnath Temple in Gorakhpur after Yogi Adityanath came to power, I was surprised to find, among other things, a Dosa stall within the premises and a glass room filled with busts of the temple’s past heads. Verma’s book brought alive this legacy for me in a way that was not dryly academic but richly narrative.

In Gorakhpur, I tried in vain to meet a Muslim woman who defeated the BJP candidate in the municipal constituency that included the temple complex. It was a symbolic body blow to the reigning political narrative—and a reminder that history is more complex than we are often led to believe.

The strength of Lores of Love lies not in its polemics but in its passions. This is a book of folktales, yes—but also of longing, of sensuality, and of spiritual transcendence. Nalin doesn’t merely retell stories; he reimagines them, lending flesh and fire to characters that are often confined to moral parables or rustic jokes.

In his hands, carnal love is neither a sin nor a distraction. It is the thread that connects the sacred and the profane. The mythic and the real collide in tales where gods fall in love with mortals, sages burn with anger, and lovers soar—literally—in aircraft “that land and fly without noise.” These are not tales to be dissected but to be experienced. As the narrators remind us, “This is the mortal world. People here are bound by greed. They commit sins to fulfil their greed and desire.”

And yet, love here is also a form of rebellion, a transcendence over worldly decay. Consider the story of Sorthi, who is found floating on a river, like a desi Moses. There’s both tenderness and wonder in such tales. And the authors know how to mine them for pathos, without veering into melodrama.

Nalin is one of the rare writers who applies equal aesthetic attention to both men and women. In his pages, men are not mere action figures or foils. One character is described thus: “He is very handsome. His forehead glistens like the moon. He has robust arms and well-rounded thighs like banana tree trunks. I haven’t seen a more handsome man in my life.”

The women, too, are sculpted with loving eyes: “The aroma of sandalwood is wafting from you. Your lips resemble a blossoming lotus. I can’t take my eyes off you. Your gaze has pierced my heart.”

It’s refreshing to read prose that is unapologetically sensuous, unafraid of beauty in a world that often hides behind irony or detachment. The stories here are grounded in flesh, fantasy, and faith—all at once.
The religious overtones of the Gorakhnath tradition are not ignored either. One of the most powerful lines in the book captures this mythic energy: “No fire can match the fire of a sage who has been meditating for years on the ground. Even Lord Shiva, Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma can’t help against the wrath of Gorakhnath.”

This is a myth as a metaphor. The sage’s fire is not just spiritual—it is also political. In a world where power has become synonymous with violence, the book reminds us that spiritual power once meant something else—renunciation, discipline, moral fury.

A Defiant Celebration of Sensuality, Spirituality, and Story

A few years ago, when reports emerged that Lalu was dying, a Malayalam newspaper requested an obituary. I checked with Nalin, who laughed and said, “He’s unwell, but not dying yet.” I wrote the piece anyway, which may still be lying in the paper’s morgue. The irony is not lost on me that both Lalu and Nalin remain very much alive—and vital.

In many ways, Lores of Love is a tribute not only to the oral traditions of India but also to the strength of those who keep such traditions alive. It is a defiant book in a time of manufactured silences. Nalin writes of love in an age of hate. He celebrates syncretism in an era of polarisation. And he does it not with lectures but with stories.
I will not summarise the stories here. To do so would be to betray them. They deserve to be read in full, not digested in bullet points. They are stories that refuse to be fenced in—by genre, by religion, by realism. They are free, like love, like myth, like Nalin himself. In the end, the highest compliment I can pay this book is that it is utterly readable. At a time when prose is often tortured in the name of profundity, Nalin and Lalu offer us clarity, colour, and cadence.

To summarise, stories are stories, and one does not have to approach them clinically. They need to be read and appreciated. So read Lores of Love. Read it not just with your mind, but with your senses—and your soul.