Book Review

Author: Jamil Ahmad

Imprint : Hamish Hamilton

Publisher: Penguin India

Language: English

Pages: 192

Binding: Hardback

ISBN-10: 0670085330

ISBN-13: 9780670085330

One evening, not so long ago, in one of the diplomatic receptions in Delhi, an outgoing Pakistani diplomat was introducing his replacement to the diplomats from other countries. The replacement, it appeared, had spent larger part of his life in Waziristan and the outgoing was making it a point to add this in his intro. All went well till they came to an European Defense Attache. In acknowledgment to diplomat's time in Waziristan, the attache asked, “north or south?” The replacement wavered for a moment but regained his composure. “Just a decade ago, when I use to visit Europe for trainings or postings, I used to have a tough time explaining where Pakistan was. I used to add, 'near India'. And look now, people are interested in whether I am from north or south Waziristan.”

Recognition comes through various means. But when it comes through conflict, it is often disturbing in nature. Bush's declaration of “Global War on Terror” put Pakistan's restive Waziristan region on the global map. What followed was the basic pattern in which West works during a conflict. The zone is deliberately flooded with intelligence operatives of all sizes, textures and colours. A few polyglot types are made to learn the local language, often with outdated and terrible lexicon. Some old chronicles compiled by colonial officers are dug out. Old contacts in the region —many from the World War days– are activated. The fifth column comes in place.

Naturally, what they ignore, and often at their own peril, is the people. They don't invest much in studying them and get tied up in the region for decades. This is one of the biggest tragedies of our time. And this is one mistake that none of the invading or expanding empires are willing to learn from.

Pakistani bureaucrat Jamil Ahmad's breathtaking debut novel, The Wandering Falcon, takes us to that realm. Set in the region at the tri-juncture of Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan in the days prior to the rise of Taliban, the novel talks about the people whom empires and their writers have swept in the dustbin of time.

The novel starts with the story of a fugitive Baloch couple, running away from their Siahpad, who finds shelter at a Pakistani Army post. They stay there for years and are blessed with a son whom they name, Tor Baz, the Wandering Falcon. The story moves from there.

The primary motive of the novel remains to tell people about the men in these regions and their motivations. It sets forth in its endeavour from the word go. There are nuances that will bowl you over. In the first few pages, the author subtly establishes the difference between 'Refuge' and 'Shelter' when the runaways seek both from the Pakistani Army Subedar one after another. The first is denied, with much agony, but the second is accepted. If the Subedar had accepted the first, he would also had to draw swords together in case Siahpad came chasing. And that would have spiraled out as a big battle. The second was relatively harmless, and Subedar, thus agrees. And it is in these nuances that many of the cerebral pygmies in the West get lost. 

There is another refreshing aspect of this novel. In recent years, several Pakistani and Afghan writers have attempted to canvas these conflict zones. They have come up with remarkable works. However, since almost all of them are Oxbridge or Ivy League products, their references, metaphors and similes can easily be identified with. They are either Western or if not that, heavily borrowed from the plains. Ahmad achieves in breaking that barrier. The references are local and hence fresh. A case in point is the instance where a few Baloch rebels are discussing whether to take up an offer of ceasefire by Pakistani government or to discard it. The second in command talks about how their fight is for a cause that comes from 'Conscience'. The leader snaps, “Conscience, Jangu, is like a poor relation living in a rich man's house. It has to remain cheerful at all times for fear of being thrown out. Our cause is right because we think it is right-- but never depend on conscience, yours or another man's.” Caustic snub, but refreshing nonetheless.

The novel also deals with the qualities, or rather traits, of these people that are often misinterpreted by the West. How many times have you read in papers that a terrorist was “terrifyingly calm” on the face of death? That a terrorist was “disturbingly composed” while being taken to noose or electric chair? This is said time and again to tell the people how “inhuman” the people in this region are, as if the only definition of being humane is to slip into nervous breakdown on the face of danger.

In the novel where the male Baloch asks his love to pack bags as Siahpad would come hunting for them, the female, still too young, shows immense composure. The couple knows that the death for them is just a matter of when, but she goes about her work as if it is the most obvious thing to happen. It comes from years of tradition and the tough lifestyle these people have. But of course, who gives a heck about that in the West.

The novel tackles the Baloch saga poignantly. Baloch are essentially secular tribes for whom, religion is a personal matter. The tribal laws bind them, and their Sardar, the headman, means world to them. It has been expressed brilliantly in an instance where the Baloch rebels are produced before the court. The leader and his aides are asked to swear an oath on Koran. A visibly surprised leader, no less a Muslim than his judge, exclaims, “They swear by a book, while we swear by our Sardar.” The 'fundamentalist Islam' discourse falls flat there. Koran or no Koran, the man will seek revenge as it is his tradition.

As Tor Baz keeps wandering from one region to another, other tribes and people also come into play. The tribal of Mohmand, Dir and Swat are all thrown in with their respective stories and idiosyncrasies. Tor Baz appears in every plot but he is not your average protagonist. He is a protagonist in a sense that he is often the only link between several plots. However, he keeps playing second fiddle in each one of them.

The story of Pawindahs, the foot-nomads, though exotic in appearance, is a real tragedy. These nomadic people who once used to roam freely into Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran without the qualms of civilisation, statehood and undivided loyalties faced the toughest challenges of their lives as boundaries between the nations became less fluid. As the author mentions; there was often clash between one set of values, lifestyle and the state. The state, stronger by means, always won. “The nomads first died in Soviet Russia. Then, they died in both China and Iran.” Somehow, the semblance of their old self remains in AF-Pak region. But soon it will die. It has already died from popular imagination.

Equally disturbing is the saga of the infusion of money and greed in the Pakhtunwali and similar code of life. Long before Russians decided to make their horses see the Arabian Sea, the Germans, Turks and British made this region a chessboard in the First World War. It was during this period that money and gold was infused by both Allied and Central powers to sway the tribes here. An old tradition was demolished and money took the centre-stage.

What we see today are the consequences of the same. A cornered British Army officer questions, “Now that the tribes have smelt money, what happens if they get a bigger offer from the Germans tomorrow or think we have more to offer?”. The Germans mean nothing today and Britain is a shadow of its former self. But nationalities don't matter here. Replace Germans and Britisher with Pakistanis, Americans, Russians and Indians. Do the maths. What you have got is the greatest tragedies of our time.