Veena Gokhale's ​Annapurna's Bounty

Reviewed by ​Arismita Ghosh

(Dundurn Press, 2025)

If a story can be defined simply as a narrative—a series of connected events—then recipes are some of the most common stories we encounter every day. Each ingredient, like each character, serves a distinct purpose; these moving parts then interact with each other to leave us with a finished product, whether it be a delicious meal or a satisfactory ending to our tale. 
 
Veena Gokhale’s latest collection of short stories, Annapurna’s Bounty: Indian Food Legends Retold, brings together the best of both worlds by combining these forms. The book features a wide range of stories taken from Indian folklore, and each one is paired with a recipe for the key dish or ingredient featured in the story. It takes the reader on a trip covering all parts of India across time and place, from 8th-century Gujarat to 16th-century Mughal courts to the present day. 
 
As someone who grew up reading the tales of Akbar-Birbal and listening to bedtime stories about Hindu gods and goddesses, I knew many of the legends laid out in the book like the back of my hand. Yet, despite how familiar I was with the stories, each chapter in Annapurna’s Bounty came with a delightful twist that breathed a new life into these mythical characters. I felt like I was reading them all for the first time. 
 
The stories themselves are structured not unlike a recipe: each chapter begins with a list of the characters, or in our case, a list of the story’s ingredients. The first story in the collection, “Land of Milk and Sugar,” serves as a lovely introduction to the world of the book. It describes how Zoroastrians ended up fleeing to India to escape religious persecution more than a thousand years ago. India in the story is presented as a land that welcomes all newcomers, where food is the subject of cultural fusion and is embraced for its differences. 
 
While the tale itself is well-known, this retold version adds a personal touch to the story through intricate characterisation and worldbuilding. The author draws on a myth that has been generalised over the years and brings it to life through specificity, taking great care to describe the clothes, setting, and food. This is the unique strength of Annapurna’s Bounty. Each story paints a clear, detailed picture that invites you to be part of its mythological world. 
 
The next story in the collection, “Parvati Bai and the Bandits,” includes one of the most appetizing descriptions of a food scene that I have had the pleasure of reading: from “glasses of frothy buttermilk flavoured with asafoetida and cumin” to “sweet and tart shrikhand, flecked with strands of saffron, the king of spices.” This delicious meal is, in fact, a hidden card up Parvati Bai’s sleeve. Rather than try and fight the titular bandits head-on, she greets them into her home and feeds them like guests to protect her village from being looted. Once again, the author reinforces the importance of food in the social structure of ancient India. 
 
“The Emperor Who Loved Mangoes” draws on perhaps the most well-loved characters in the landscape of Indian folklore. It relays two classic tales of Emperor Akbar and his favourite courtier Birbal, full of the characteristic wit and charm associated with these characters. While I enjoyed their lively banter, I found this to be one of the narratively weaker stories; there was no connective throughline to keep the reader on the edge of their seat, as with the others. 
 
My personal favourite, and perhaps the most poignant story in the collection, was “Three Grains of Mustard.” It retells a famous Buddhist folktale about Kisa Gotami, a young mother who turns to the Buddha’s teachings to grapple with the loss of her son. This version of the story elaborates on Kisa’s backstory, giving us a taste of what her life could have been like before she became the woman we know through mythology. It paints a vivid picture of her fears and her strengths, which makes the climax of the story hit even harder despite knowing how it is about to play out. When Kisa reaches her enlightenment—that all living beings are connected—the reader feels the emotional journey that she’s been through. She is given a depth of dimension that female characters are often denied in traditional stories.
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The next story, “Annapurna’s Soup Kitchen,” similarly adds more depth to the characterisation of Parvati, one of Hindu mythology’s most prominent goddesses. While describing her transformation into the eponymous Annapurna, the narrator provides keen insights into her mind that allow the reader to connect with the character on a deeper level.
 
Just like how Gokhale’s version of the stories keep the heart of the original myth alive, her supplemental recipes make sure to stay true to the roots of the culture they’re representing while also trying to be accessible to an international audience. Each one comes with helpful notes on sourcing the most accurate ingredients or making substitutions that still maintain the integrity of the dish. Halfway through the collection, she writes an interlude that questions the language we use to talk about Indian food in English, especially with the word “curry.” It adds a relevant real-world dimension to a book otherwise concerned with the mythological. 
 
“The Fisherman and the Sorceress” was another standout story for me, weaving a captivating tale about a desperate fisherman who makes a deadly deal with the village sorceress—and ultimately serves as the origin story for the beloved coconut. “Do The Right Thing” and “The Cries of Animals” were entertaining if forgettable compared to the others; I would have enjoyed a more nuanced portrayal of female characters like Mandakini and Rajimati, as I came to expect from the previous stories. Still, across all the stories, Gokhale’s strongest strength remains her narrative prowess. 
 
This is most evident in the final story, “The Travels of Sanbusak”: a clever and innovative take on the origin of the iconic samosa, which personifies the food as a traveler cursed with immortality. We follow the titular Sanbusak on his journey from his homeland to Persia, Ghazni, Lahore, and all the way to present-day Montreal. It serves as a fun and fitting way to wrap up a collection of stories that similarly started with a journey across central Asia, driving home the ultimate thesis of Annapurna’s Bounty—that food is ever-shifting and evolving, always representative of the people around it. 

It’s impossible to find yourself bored while thumbing through the pages of Annapurna’s Bounty. The collection serves up exactly what it sets out to do, presenting the reader with a delightful feast of tales and recipes alike. It continues to live with me even after finishing the book, in the form of tidbits from the stories that I share with friends and helpful tips from the recipes that I apply to my daily cooking. If you’re interested in discovering more about the mythological and culinary fabric that makes up Indian history, this collection will definitely speak to you.

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Arismita Ghosh is a freelance journalist, writer, and editor based in Montreal. Their work, which focuses on arts and culture, has appeared in The Indian Express, The McGill Daily, Forget The Box, and more. They specialise in feature writing, from theatre and book reviews to in-depth artist profiles, and are interested in highlighting stories from Montreal’s creative scene that are often overlooked.

They hold a BA in Honours English Literature from McGill University, where they served as an editor at multiple magazines. They're currently working as a Coordinator at Arts East-West, a non-profit media arts organisation that platforms Asian artists. You can find them on LinkedIn or contact them via email.