Like his earlier book, The Collaborator, Mirza Waheed delicately carries Huzun in his recent one, The Book of Gold Leaves, as well. The word huzun, which is commonly translated as melancholy, has its origin in the Arabic language and it entered the Islamic terminology when the Prophet (PBUH) lost his uncle Abu Talib and his wife Khadijah after returning from the three-year boycott by the pagans of Makkah, with his family and followers. The year is recorded as the Aam-al-huzun (the year of melancholy) by some historians, owing to the loss of the political support with which Abu Talib used to shield his nephew and the psychological support that Hazrat Khadijah would offer.
The siege of Kashmir became visible after the manipulation of the 1987 electoral system. The 1987 elections proved to be the last hope of any solution in the domain of democracy and taking up arms was seen as the only alternative to ending the crucible that Kashmir has been in ever since. The plot of The Book of Gold Leaves begins after this incident. Although melancholy has a long history in Kashmir, this “madness at the limits of its powerlessness” has reverberated in the Kashmiri Diaspora since the 1989 war of resistance.
Waheed does not tell unusual stories; the incidents of the book are not hard to believe, considering its setting. The controversial scenes of violence, sectarianism and communalism serve a useful purpose in helping the reader understand its theme and characters, who are real, well-rounded people, having both good and bad qualities. Everyone in the Muslim community has a single purpose: to throw out the occupiers of their land. That purpose is engraved in their minds, so much so that it crushes all the vices of sectarianism. Roohi’s father, Kabir Khan, speaks to the protagonist, Faiz, about his awareness of the era that leaves hardly any time “to think of such things, you know, Sunni, Shia, et cetera…”
However, that unity is seen as a threat by the occupier’s army and in its response they create a local group called the New Salvation Front, headed by a reluctant mullah, Panther, who is instrumental in having Roohi’s father killed by the local administration. Khan Saeb is eliminated by the same secretary of the DC who assigns him the job of preparing a census for the locality. The plot is perfectly intelligible and the incidents tell the story well. The author has paced the plot without boring patches in the middle or an unhurried ending. The dialogues not only seem appropriate to the speakers, but also add to the reader’s understanding of the characters and help to advance the plot of the book.
The properly integrated descriptive material evokes in the reader’s mind a vivid and interesting picture of the city of Srinagar, which the novel revolves around. However, the book fails to give any idea of the “country without a post office” outside the city. Equally, there is no representation of any other minority except the Pandit community in the 330-page narration. It would have been more interesting if there had been an account of a young male Pandit in the story, considering the patriarchal society that the novel shows the reader.
The historical setting comes alive and encourages readers to suspend their disbelief and enter the world that the novel creates. The title zaal (trap) is a perfect metaphor for the disappearances of the family and friends of the main characters. Most of the Kashmiris cannot understand that trap and why it is set for innocent Kashmiris. Melancholy imbues the book with both patronising and ironic styles. The language cunningly echoes the themes of the incidents to convey scenes of love and conflict. If not for the names of places, the Kashmiri spelling of names, such as mouj for mother, the suffix saeb for sahab (sir) and patches of Urdu poetry are as aptly placed as they are chosen for the book.
Faiz’s elder brother, Mir Zafar Ali’s reply to his neighbour Dinnath, when he comes to say good bye – “Must you punish us all for the sins of the few? – highlights the innocence of the majority of Kashmiri Muslims in the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits. The Pandits leave the keys of their houses with their Muslim neighbours, claiming that “it [departure] is only for a few weeks”. This plot also gives the account of those who stayed, like Principal Shanta Koul, in spite of losing both the “only man she ever loved, a Muslim, Syed Afaq Bukhari” and her father, Professor Madanlal Koul, to either of the parties involved in the conflict. The communal harmony between Muslims and Pandits, unlike most other story tellers, is not fictionalised but subtly moderated.
The Book of Gold Leaves argues with the common euphemisms associated with Kashmir, to undermine the significance of its people and even blame them for contaminating the “paradise for imperial pleasures”. It highlights the paradox of many pseudo-intellectuals who, like army Major Sumit Kumar in the novel, appreciate their forefathers for resisting the British Raj in India but reluctantly deny that right to others in the present. Kashmiris remain the archetype of the other, pressured to become loyal national citizens of India and Pakistan. This idea is substantiated in the novel, when the army major claims that he was protecting Shanta Koul’s country, who in turn blatantly replies, “I have no country but home and it is here.” Major Kumar expresses his hatred for the Kashmiris: “It’s the truth. I don’t know these people, they are not my people, no part of who I am, not part of my story.” He divisively says, “You are not one of these people” to Shanta Koul, who replies, “And you think you are my people?”
The book, while tracing the resistance movement, conspicuously illustrates the fervour and support that every Muslim sect shows while dealing with the “evil” occupier. The book illustrates many heart throbbing sufferings that women endure due to the decisions that only men can make in that part of the world. But paradoxically, it also shows how their psychological support is always there for their male counterparts as they witness every event silently, enduring it all and waiting for things to change while feeling powerless. The novel chronicles the journey of love and conflict simultaneously. While the latter makes love unbearable, love keeps life afloat while dreading conflict. The book ends with the unsolicited loss of everything and that is what the story of Kashmir is all about.
The reviewer is a freelancer based in Anantnag, IJK. He graduated in BA (Hons) Economics, from Aligarh Muslim University