Baloch yearning for a lost culture

[1]

By Aruna Gill [2]

Rs 299

Armed Balo-ch nationalists are at the centre of the story, but only as ind-ividuals. The larger idea they stand for is giv-en credence more through the Baloch yea-rning for their lost culture than through the political nationalism.

This short tale, rich in detail, is the first of a genre. It is suspenseful, but also has sentimentality-eschewing warmth for a story in which freedom fighters, who stake their lives, and intelligence operatives flit through its pages. Besides, the narrative pulled together by a first-time novelist has subterranean stories of unexplored love and the appropriate dose of drama coursing through the text.
The writing is controlled on the whole and the plot has a leg to stand on. The sense of assurance lies in the way the atmosphere is constructed and the topography mapped with lexical exactness, almost as if the writer felt an affinity with the terrain on which her characters enact the roles set out for them. This makes for an enjoyable read with the reader getting the sense of running with the pace of the telling.
Perhaps the one noticeable mis-hit is the farcical and explicit enough boudoir ambience of the seedy place in Islamabad where the powerful take themselves. The saving grace here is the sense of tragedy and foreboding that linger in the air. Some characters did need filling out more but the important ones have been dealt with adequately, at times even with verve.
Considering the state of unhappy relations between India and Pakistan and the not infrequent interregnums of tension this has given rise to, it is surprising that virtually no literature has been thrown up on account of this interface, not even spy thrillers, though that might have been the obvious genre for aspiring writers. All that we have to fill the gap is propagandistic newspapering most of the time.
It is here that Gill’s effort marks a first. She gives us a new kind of writing in which you can sense the spies are active, but the story is not about them. Armed Baloch nationalists are at the centre of the story, but only as individuals. The larger idea they stand for is given credence more through the Baloch yearning for their lost culture than through the political nationalism which is foregrounded in current affairs. This reviewer missed some tension when Mir, the key Baloch character, crosses surreptitiously to the Indian side to meet an Indian spy. Appropriate atmosphere for our own Checkpoint Charlie could have been built up and the suspense held for longer. Perhaps some detailing was required here, but also more of goings-on in the heads of the characters making the rendezvous. Interestingly, the spy and the terrorist are both motivated by deeply felt private psychological concerns as individuals, their action finding not the remotest connection with patriotism, duty or geopolitics.
Pakistan’s all-powerful Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) is ineluctably thrown into the story. So is obviously India’s Research & Analysis Wing (RAW). And how can America’s CIA, which has a hand in every exploding pie in the world, be far behind when there is secession in the air and those plotting freedom moves will seek help where they can find it? But for all that this is not a spy thriller. Nor is it a book that takes us into the inner world of men with bazooka and guns plotting violent acts to gain their objective.
The publisher’s summary on the flap does this full-bodied fabric of writing little justice by dramatising the literary product in terms of a spy novel whose characters could set South Asia ablaze if one hair-trigger response went wrong. Such an appraisal as a come-on bait is apt to disappoint a certain kind of reader. But the full reading will give pleasure to many.