Though essentially a war novel, the compelling prose, rich imagery and reflections turn Nadeem Aslam?s The Blind Man?s Garden into something much larger, almost political, and yet with humanity at its core

The Blind

Man?s GardeN

Nadeem Aslam

Random House India

Rs.550

Pg 415

Here?s an interesting thought: Does the extent of internal conflict and insecurity in a particular country lead to a corresponding rise in artistic output? This was true of Israel when authors like Saul Bellow, Bernard Malamud, Elie Wiesel, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Chaim Potok and others wrote novels rooted in the Jewish experience post-World War II and the spread of the diaspora. Now, we have Pakistan?s turn. Over the last decade or so, with the country ruled by violence and chaos, authors from Pakistan have been making waves in the literary world, writing novels of religious extremism, class divides, dictators, war and love. Mohammed Hanif?s A Case of Exploding Mangoes was a satirical portrait of the Islamic fundamentalist rule of General Zia-ul-Haq; Nadeem Aslam?s The Wasted Vigil had modern Afghanistan for a setting; Mohsin Hamid?s Reluctant Fundamentalist and HM Naqvi?s Home Boy were set against the backdrop of 9/11, while Shehryar Fazli?s first novel was rooted in a Pakistan coming to terms with the political upheavals of the 1970s. These are authors who were mostly born in Pakistan and now move easily between London, New York and Lahore, giving them a complex heritage, without a definite place to call home.

Another acclaimed Pakistani author, Daniyal Mueenuddin, has said that this heritage makes Pakistani writing grittier, with a tougher emotional core. That is certainly true of London-based Nadeem Aslam?s latest work (Aslam was born in Pakistan and moved to Britain at the age of 14). In this, his fourth novel, and his previous one, The Wasted Vigil, these gritty realities have risen in the badlands of Afghanistan and Pakistan and examine the impact of American forces in Afghanistan immediately after 9/11 when the country was in the grip of extreme versions of Islamic culture. This is fiction but it?s difficult to tell from reality, so contemporary and authentic is the setting, the characters and the plot. As in his previous novel, Aslam?s depiction of the horror inflicted by fundamental Islamists, namely the Taliban and its adherents, on its own citizens, especially women, is hard-edged and unsparing.

What is even more compelling are the chilling descriptions by the author of Pakistan?s government, the ISI and the army?s collusion with terrorism. This is cloaked in fiction but many incidents in the book are based on actual events. He describes, for instance, the raid in 2000 by Indian army commandos inside PoK, where they killed 14 suspected terrorists and beheaded some, taking the severed heads back to their base. This episode was reported by The Hindu newspaper recently, which, though denied by the army, is widely considered in defence circles to be largely true and, in fact, set the stage for the revenge killing and beheading of Indian army soldiers by Pakistan guerrillas last month.

Aslam tells the story of The Blind Man?s Garden through two young men, Jeo and his foster brother Mikal, who set off for Afghanistan from their home in Peer, Pakistan, to help the casualties in the battle between the Taliban and American forces after 9/11. It is the first chapter of the War on Terror and the book follows the two as they make their way through the mountains and escarpments, the area where Osama bin Laden was hiding out. Aslam is a gifted writer who travelled to Afghanistan to gather material for his books and he starkly details the clashing forces?religious and cultural, gender and tradition, military and mercenaries, extremist rule and families caught in the crossfire. What he brings out in exquisitely written but troubling sequences is the pressure on young men to become jihadists, the discounts they are offered to buy guns if it is to fight the Americans, and radicals in Pakistan sending or selling young boys with no training or fighting experience to the Taliban to turn into cannon fodder.

There are no heroes but an abundance of villains and warlords, and of course, the tragic figures who become collateral damage. None more tragic than Rohan, father of Jeo and the man in the title. Rohan?s diminishing eyesight robs him of the comforts he gained from his garden and the school he runs in Peer, but there is such poignancy in Rohan?s life, his loss of vision juxtaposed with the loss of his wife, and then his sons, and with it, security and stability. He is bitterly opposed to the events of 9/11 and now his sons are consumed in the aftermath. The boys are sold to the Taliban and forced to fight American-backed rebels, a battle in which Jeo is killed and Mikal captured by a warlord who sells him as a ?terrorist? to the Americans. His interrogation, written in vivid detail, has shades of Abu-Ghraib. Then there is Naheed, Mikal?s wife and an emotional symbol and codeword, turning the book into a love story which occasionally shines through the fog of war.

This is equally a morality play?on religious extremism, on war, on the motives for war. And, above all, the loss of innocence and innocents. Passages of great beauty and power share space with the dark reality of life in a war zone, and the fanaticism of the believers. This is the Wild West but where AK-47s, grenades and rocket launchers rule, as do myths and motivational tools. None more stronger than Pakistan?s nuclear bomb?an even more potent symbol of Islamic terror than Osama. The symbolism is scary; the Taliban and their fanatical followers truly believe the bomb is destined to be theirs to wipe out the non-believers. With the Americans preparing to leave Afghanistan and the Taliban staging a comeback, this book, even though it is listed under fiction, should be required reading for all those involved in security in this troubled region, including India.

Aslam?s Maps for Lost Lovers was short-listed for the Booker Prize in 2004, and it was because of his vivid characterisation and the power of his descriptions, observations and metaphors. All these are on display in his latest work. This is essentially a war novel but the compelling prose, rich imagery and reflections turn it into something much larger, almost political and yet, with humanity at its core. There is also the love story, almost incestuous, that seems to take the novel to a higher level, Naheed, married to Jeo but in love with Mikal, who loves her in return.

This is not a perfect novel?the descriptions can get a little too poetic and flowery, the natural rugged beauty of the mountains and Peer, the town in Pakistan where the family come from, often jars with the brutality and carnage, and how Mikal manages to survive what he is put through, including a long period literally and symbolically chained to a captured American Special Forces soldier, stretches the imagination. But on all other parameters, this is a novel of considerable accomplishment, gripping and moving, and, above all, authentic. It is a novel essentially about faith, corrupted and uncorrupted, and it is difficult to find a theme as contemporary and relevant as that.