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| Cover Art – Fall 2022 Issue |
I knew from the first sentence that I would love this short
story, and I did! Sometimes, very rarely, this also happens. Sometimes I’m barely a few words in
and I get that frisson of excitement that tells me that this particular tale is going to be
entertaining, well written, and most importantly, properly edited. A lot of
times that excitement fizzles out a few sentences in, and my reaction is
always stronger, more disappointed, and thus more likely to be sharply critical
compared to starting out with mininum expectations.
This time though, I wasn’t let down.
“Ye Dozakh ka naya
rasta hoga.” Kaz used to say.
“Dozakh itni asani se
nahin milti.” Nina would reply.
The setting, that of a post-apocalyptic world where a couple
takes up residence in the underground sewerage system, isn’t really the most
original. But authors don’t necessarily get points for originality. After all,
almost all fiction is recycled, bits of stories already told before cobbled
together in new ways. What matters is how you treat it, how you use it to craft
a whole new narrative with completely different characters, and the story the
author tells here is an excellent one. Nina and Kaz live alone, with Kaz
periodically climbing up to the surface to find food and sustenance, and while
he’s not the best at navigating the dark, pothole-filled interiors of their
residence, Nina is much better at it, and guides him through the dark until he
can come and go with ease.
Nina was hesitant to let him go, forcing him to
unravel a ball of yarn along the way, one end of it attached to the pillars of
their home, so that if he ever got lost Nina would find him again.
Kaz’s stumbling through the dark, his frequent injuries, his
almost-falls down deep, dark holes takes up a portion of the beginning of the
story, but then the plot becomes about Nina’s desire to have company when Kaz
leaves her alone. So Kaz starts bringing home young, stray orphans, and at this point I
thought this was about to turn into a lovely, emotional little story about
family bonding, until the child vanishes one day, and Nina is left bereft.
Kaz could do nothing
but hold her when she was in this state, constantly repeating that Whist
must have gone to look for his other family,
and yes of course he loved you, and you
know, he probably took the yarn to remember you.
I’ve always been wary of short stories that base their
character’s actions on strong, complex feelings like regret or grief which
require nuance and time to cultivate in a reader. By virtue of the limited word
count, I find that the shorter storytelling format doesn’t really always manage
to make us connect with a character’s anguish over missed opportunities or dead
lovers or any other emotionally-charged past. This author is proof that it can
be well done, even within a certain length and with limited exposition, because
I found myself very hooked to the story of the missing children, which Kaz kept
bringing back to their little house and then returning from his trips to find
Nina alone and grieving.
When Hari, Jaya, Unni,
Hyun, Kia and Zara all decided to leave as well, Kaz stopped leaving Nina alone
in the Circle, worried that her grief would bury her whole.
Saying any more would be tantamount to ruining the
experience of reading this treat, but I can admit that the mystery of the
missing children and the ending is so very well done that I was immediately
sending the link to my friends as soon as I was done. “Read this!” I said. “But
don’t skip ahead!” It’s rare for me to get this excited about Pakistani
fiction, which can be sometimes good and sometimes hilariously bad, but very
rarely exciting, different, or worthy of being shared with glee. But in this case it was just so much fun to follow the paths the author had set down, so
heartbreaking and unexpected, just so well done.
Honestly, this is it. This is good fiction at its best, and I’m so glad this author is writing. I hope they continue, and write full-length novels, and give us great stuff to look forward to in the future. I’m glad for ventures like Tasavvurnama which allow writers like this to be discovered, and which give us the opportunity to find them and read them. My fingers are crossed for more excellent stuff like this in the future.
These potholes were deep and the drop was high, and the one time Nina had peered inside, she could see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but her own breathing, and smell nothing but her own fear.