This is part three of reviews of stories written by Pakistani authors published in Granta112: Pakistan in 2010. Granta is a literary magazine and publisher from UK. Reviews of other stories in this issue can be found here.
In the tangle of crumbling, weather-beaten and broken hills, where the
borders of Iran, Pakistan and Afghanistan meet, is a military outpost manned by
two score soldiers.
Jamil Ahmad’s short story The Sins of the Mother is less
fictional yarn-spinning and more social
commentary wrapped up within a heartbreaking tale, but that doesn’t make it
any less effective, or any less interesting.
Set in a lonely and desolate place, the story takes its cues
from the ravages of nature that permeate much of the landscape around it. Just
like the dreaded bad-e-sad-o-bist-riz,
the wind of a hundred and twenty days that blows through the area, turning
everything to dust, the story is bleak and
uninhabited, not pretending to offer comfort or promises. Instead, it leaves its characters alone and lost,
and us along with them.
Then he was completely alone. The thousands of birds, which had kept
him company for a while, had disappeared...He ate a little, drank some water
and then lay down squeezed against the dead camel as the sandstorm approached.
The Summary
Somewhere on an outposting surrounded on all sides by dirt
and nothingness, a man turns up with a young woman in tow. Both are dirty,
exhausted and close to dying. They have a camel straggling along besides them
and they are barely holding themselves together.
“Water,” his hoarse voice said from between cracked and bleeding lips.
“Our water is finished, spare us some water.”
The first request for shelter from the soldiers stationed
there is refused quite bluntly, but an earnest request for refuge is finally
heeded. The couple retreat to a small room to the side of the fort, locking
themselves away. And so, as they start to slowly emerge from their rooms, the
man bringing water for the soldiers on his camel and the woman weaving gift
baskets from thorn shrubs, the couple
slowly become a part of the settlement.
And this is the pattern life followed as time rolled by. Days turned to
weeks and weeks to months. Winter gave way to summer. Some soldiers left as
their period of duty ended. Others arrived to serve their turn at the post.
Things change when the couple start expecting a child. In an
area dominated by men and a harsh, forgiving climate, the child is a breath of
fresh air. He is fed on army rations and follows soldiers on their patrols. At
night, he curls into his mother’s lap and dreams big dreams.
“I shall tell you what I shall be. I shall be a chief, I shall have
horses and camels. I shall feast your friends and defy your enemies wherever
they be.”
But it’s too good to last. They’re a couple who have left a
dangerous past behind them, and it’s bound to catch up to them. Soon, very soon, a lonely figure on a camel
arrives, heralding bad times ahead. And it is here that our story starts to
reveal the background, propelling the man and his family on another desperate
run for their lives.
As she stepped out to mount the camel, she cast a quick backward glance
inside the room, her glance briefly touching the firmly packed clay floor, the
date palm mats she had woven over the years and the dying embers in the
fireplace. Her expression remained as calm and serene as if she had prepared
for this journey for a long time.
The Setting
It was but natural that some men would lose their minds after too long
an exposure to such desolation and loneliness.
The story is set in Balochistan, evoking desert lands and
harsh weather. The man and his wife are from an area called Goth Siahpad, a
place with a very small population in Pakistan’s south western province, and it is the location that lends the story its
culture.
“Refuge I cannot offer. I know your laws well and neither I nor any man
of mine shall come between a man and the law of his tribe.”
It is hard to tell whether the story stereotypes a version
of the Balochi tribal life, or if it is a true account of how things
actually stand. Be that as it may, we have soldiers and forts and old tribal
traditions. We have camels and harsh winds and men who stone others to death.
All of these things evoke a particular feeling, an idea of a place where people
worry about things very different to the ones that readers living in huge
metropolitan cities worry about. And yet, at its heart it is a story of
survival, of a family struggling, against the odds, to survive. In terms of relevance, pieces of fiction like these can survive forever.
The Characters
“Stay for a while, I like looking at you. There is an air of peace
around you.”
This story deals with large scale implications using very
limited characters. These characters are symbolic of things bigger than
themselves. Stoic hope, for the woman. Determined compassion, for the man.
Bewildered innocence, for the child. And for those around them, the virtue and
kindness of the soldiers versus the resilience and rage of those who chase the
couple across the desert lands.
“Let him be a camel herder,
handsome and gentle as his father,” the woman murmured.
“And fall in love with the Sardar’s daughter, his master’s wife,” the
man countered.
The implied romance between the couple also work in subtle
ways. It’s not a very in-your-face account of fancy words and flowery
dialogues, but rather honest conversations and gentle gestures. It’s worth
noting the implications of the adulterous nature of our two protagonists, and
how that might affect our perception of them, but the story skews our
sympathies for them rather than against them. It’s a classic trope of true love
overcoming all bounds; even, in this case, the sanctity of marriage. Even
though we know nothing about the woman’s husband, we understand without being
told that he was unworthy of her, and it is in this couple that we must keep
our faith.
It was in one of these rooms that Gul Bibi and her lover were provided their
shelter.
Possibly one of the most interesting aspects of the story is
the lack of names. From the soldiers to the subedar (a historical rank in the
Pakistani and Indian Armies, equivalent to a British lieutenant—and also,
incidentally, hinting at the historical setting of the story), and from the
child to the Sardar, there are no proper nouns used for any of the characters,
except for the female protagonist. Even her lover, the man with whom she is on
the run, is introduced in relation to her. This is quite interesting in terms
of gender representation in a story. If one believes in the idea that a writer
doesn’t use particular words without a reason, than the reasoning behind such a
blatant lack of names besides Gul Bibi’s becomes quite a point of curiosity. Why
did Jamil Ahmad use her name only? Why not introduce all other characters with
proper nouns attached to them? Sadly, with his recent death in July 2014, it
seems we will have to make our own assumptions about what Jamil Ahmad wanted to
convey with this particular twist in the tale.
“We have talked about this day many times. But I am afraid, my love.”
The Recommendation
At an eleven-page length, the story doesn’t take much time
in wrapping things up. The writing moves the story ahead quickly but gives the
feeling of long periods of time passing, becoming timeless in its telling. Recommended.