In my previous column I tried to trace the literary and cultural roots of some of the values still prevalent in parts of our society regarding our women (and those considered others’ women) and bring to light what in my view is our mindless adherence to such fit-to-be-discarded values as they are responsible for a number of ways of mistreating and exploitating today’s women in domestic and public spaces. We have been witnessing examples of this adherence quite frequently as struggle for modernity in our society in recent times. In February there was the annual hullabaloo over the Pakistani youth’s innocent wish to celebrate Valentine’s Day; in March we are seeing the farces of retrogression gathering to form a united agitation to force the Punjab government to repeal the recently passed provincial Women’s Protection Act criminalising domestic and workplace violence against women. Interesting times we are living in!

My humble writing elicited some interesting responses. I would like to share one of these with readers. A distant friend, who better remain unnamed, had this to say on the subject: “Finally Ajmal Kamal is able to show the literary-ideological basis for ‘love-jihad.’ Where was he when the Sangh Parivar needed substantiation for its claims? And where does he get the idea that people can read anything uncritically? Again at the risk of sounding banal, all reading is mediated.” The first part of the comment, making sense of what I wrote through the jaundiced lenses of conspiracy theory — which is too banal considering our highly evolved national skills in the fine art — can only be laughed at, as it attempts to unthinkingly link the critical reading of our classical and modern cultural texts to a foolish electoral gimmick of the right-wing political outfits on the other side of the border. They can hardly be thought as needing to look for any literary-ideological substantiation on this side.

I do not, however, intend to disagree with the statement that no reading can be unmediated and uncritical. Some of us conscious readers of our literary and cultural texts read them with a worldview which has been created over decades and which tries to side with the indigenous forces of socio-cultural change for the better. We are also compelled to understand and deal with the burning political and civilisational issues of the present times, individually and collectively.

A critical reading of the dastan fiction in Urdu unveils the glorification of violence

One such issue staring us in the face is the ambiguous, almost laudatory reaction on the part of some of our compatriots to acts of terrorism against non-combatant civilians in today’s complicated, globalised world that are carried out and proudly taken responsibility for in the name of a deadly political ideology which claims to be based on a religion that the majority of our country’s population profess.

Continuing my critical reading of the Dastan fiction in Urdu, I present below an episode from Tilism-i Hoshruba which might legitimately be called an unabashed account of how the Lashkar-i Islam dealt with a kafir (infidel) town and its inhabitants.

“Barq (one of the Ayyars of the Lashkar-i Islam) started from here and reached the gate of the garden disguised as Nafarman (the Sahir princess). All the servants and members of the nobility took him as their princess and paid their respects. Meanwhile a man appeared wearing soiled clothes and holding some phuljharis and mehtabis and greeted Nafarman. He recognised the stranger as Qiran (another Ayyar fellow) and thought if questioned about the fireworks, he may indicate what new ayyari the Khalifa has thought up. He asked the man how many fireworks he had ready with him and how many he could make soon. Qiran said, Huzoor, I can make as much aatishbazi as you need. Barq asked how much it would cost. He said one lakh rupees. Barq said, that’s too much, isn’t it? The Aatishbaz said, then don’t give me the cash, arrange for the gunpowder. Whatever is consumed would be in front of your eyes, I won’t take any of it home with me. I would only charge for my labour. Barq asked, how much barood would be required? Aatishbaz said, 25 kuppe (drums). Barq summoned the Kaptan and ordered him to arrange for the required quantity. Presently the carts loaded with gunpowder arrived. Aatishbaz said, unload the material at the back of the garden and encompass it with a qanat (canopy), so that I can work alone, undisturbed. Nafarman, i.e. Barq, got the hint that the Khalifa intended to burn Foulad (the Sahir Raja) with gunpowder. So, conceding to the demand, he ordered a vast area behind the Bagh to be encircled by a canopy with the piles of barood inside.”

“While Foulad, accompanied by his Sardars and putlas was occupied enjoying dance performances, Qiran dug a tunnel using a pair of daggers, starting from behind the garden. As he was a strong young man of African origin, and blessed by the great personages, he was able to dig a crisscross tunnel from his base in the eastern side to the western corner, and from north to south in a matter of a few hours. Then he made long fateelas (gun cotton) out of his chadar, covered the floor of the tunnel with barood, consuming all the 25 kuppas. He left the end of the fateela out of the right corner of the tunnel and stepped out of the canopy. Barq was sitting on a high chair at the gate of the garden waiting for the new trick of the Khalifa to present itself. The Aatishbaz came and pleaded, huzoor, the fireworks are ready, please come and inspect my masterful skill, but please do not bring anyone with you. Barq (Nafarman) ordered the servants and nobles to wait for him to call them and came to the back of the Bagh accompanied by the Aatishbaz.”

“Qiran said, O Barq, I have filled the tunnel with gunpowder alright. Now you go bring princess Nafarman down from the tree where I tied her and make her conscious. This whole area is going to be blown up to the sky. She must also see the painful end of Foulad and shed tears for her love. Since her tongue has been pierced by a needle, she would not be able to do anything but watch helplessly. Barq did as he was instructed. He went to the tree, untied Nafarman and brought her to consciousness. Opening her eyes, she found herself in a traumatic condition on top of the tree.”

“In the meantime Qiran put the end of the gun cotton aflame and ran away to a safe spot. When the fire reached the tunnel full of barood — Ayazan Billah — such a great sound of explosion was produced as if the sky itself had exploded and fallen. The entire baradari in which Foulad, his sardars and putlas were sitting, went flying towards the sky. The whole world was engulfed by a thick darkness, and the debris, parts of the broken baradari and its doors, along with the explosives, began to rain upon the fort.”

“With the great explosive sounds of the baroodi shocks, bolts of the doors in the town fell open. The riyaya (people) started running in distress, pregnant women lost their unborn children, a huge tumult was created. All the servants of Nafarman ran toward the garden to see what had transpired. People were fleeing as sounds of bers (ghosts) announced the death of Sahirs, that ‘Oh I’ve been killed, my name was Fould Behoshi-Khwar Jadoo’. In such a terrible tumult that reminded one of the Day of Judgement, Qiran fired rings of burning oil towards the town which set the houses of people here and there on fire. Many people were burned to death. By the time the fire in those houses was extinguished Qiran would set many more houses on fire. There were cries of ‘Ya Jamshed! Ya Samri!’ being heard. Flames rose everywhere. The residents of the town fled out of the walls that encircled it.”

I do not need to draw readers’ attention to the celebratory tone in which killing and burning of human beings (combatants and civilians alike) has been described by the dastan-go for the entertainment of his fascinated elite nawabi audience who loved to hear about the good times when their lashkar was conquering infidel lands, using not only the Shamsheer-o Sinan much idealised by Allama Iqbal, but modern inventions like gunpowder too.

Ajmal Kamal edits and publishes Aaj, an Urdu quarterly journal, from Karachi and runs a publishing house and bookshop. He translates and occasionally writes for English and Urdu publications.