The tussle between art and craft in fiction-writing has a time-tested history of having no winners. Opinion differs — and differs strongly — over whether it is the tale or the telling of the tale that holds sway. By his own admission, Akhlaq Ahmed is simply not bothered by the craft. All he wants to do is tell the tale as effectively as he possibly can and leave everything else for others to decide. The assertion is seriously — almost criminally — deceptive.

Ahmed’s latest collection of short stories, titled Jaanay Pehchaanay [The Known and the Familiar], is an extension of the preceding four volumes he has penned over the last quarter of a century. All along, he has claimed to have maintained his distance from the craft while focusing on the art of storytelling. It is time to subject his claim to a bit of scrutiny.

Urdu fiction has two marked genres in the shape of ‘kahani’ and ‘afsana’ that generally fall under the clubbed category of ‘short story’ in English literature. The problem with this sub-classification in Urdu is that one never quite knows when precisely a ‘kahani’ breaks the barriers and matures into an ‘afsana’.

This Urdu short story collection cements Akhlaq Ahmed’s reputation as an artist

Generally, the former is a simple entity in approach and narration, while the latter has complex undertones and crosscurrents that provide an additional layer to the narrative. If one can conceal a twist in the tail — the tail of the tale — that is the ultimate in terms of artistic worth. Ahmed’s stories have all this and more.

As has been defined and described by many around the globe, fiction has to be plausible. Only life has the luxury to be as implausible and improbable as it likes. And that is why life happens to be stranger than fiction. Ahmed’s stories are so perfectly plausible that one has to struggle not to take them as reality. The simplicity of the narrative adds to the impression and it all reads like some autobiographical account. It is that effective.

Let’s pick up the opening story in the book, ‘Achchay Mamoon Ka Chai Khaana’ [Achchay Uncle’s Teashop]. It is almost impossible not to take Achchay Mamoon for real. He may well be, but for the fact that he is just a character in what is a mere piece of fiction... or is it? It is hard to tell really.

Even when Ahmed deals with a subject that is as outlandish as numbers dictating human destiny, he makes it perfectly plausible. ‘Aik, Dou, Teen, Chaar’ [One, Two, Three, Four] is a story few writers in the world of Urdu literature have been blessed enough to pen over the last many, many years.

Number patterns such as 4-7-4-7, 3-4-5-6, 5-7-5-7 and many others control the life of Latif Kanji, till 5-8-5-8 when he starts to out-control the numbers. It is an interesting piece of fiction, but then comes 8-4-8-4, when reality strikes back with full force and leaves the reader wondering if it is actually fiction or a case of that fascinating implausibility that makes life stranger than fiction.

Most of the stories in the current collection revolve around characters that have an everyday feel about them. Anybody can easily identify a few similar souls in their own circles. And yet Ahmed spins interesting stories around them. The trick lies in moving away from the obvious. ‘Retired Bokhari’, ‘Sardar Shaukat Baleedi’ and ‘Buddha’ are old and ageing characters, but they all have settled lives — nothing melodramatic that may have attracted a writer of lesser calibre. Their problems lie elsewhere; somewhere on the buffer between the mind and the brain, and Ahmed deals with them in the manner of a seasoned psychologist. But in doing so he ensures his distance from possible dramatics that may spoil the fun, just as concrete structures end up being eyesores in naturally serene settings. Ahmed’s stories remain as pristine as simplicity.

His instinct to find a fresh angle to apparently mundane, done-to-death subjects is hard to miss. Take, for instance, the love triangle. There is not a fictionist worth his/her salt who may have not touched on it at least once in life. And yet it remains in vogue. In ‘Aik Kahani Ka Bojh’ [The Burden of a Story], the tale revolves around Irfan, Wajahat and Zaib and moves quite logically till it comes to a rather abrupt end, with the narrator insisting that “being logical to the end is not a necessity.” The contention is quite lifelike, but a reader caught up in the midst of a gripping narrative may feel justified in being grumpy for a while. That, apparently, is the very intention of the writer: to encompass life from every possible angle, and most life events are not quite logical anyway.

Interestingly, readers might recall ‘Badnaseeb’ [Ill-fated], a story in Ahmed’s second collection back in the 1990s, where the climax was as logical as it was philosophical, with triangles ABC and DEF leading to an ADG composition. The two variations of an age-old theme — both refreshing and charming in their own divergent ways — also reflect on the linear journey traversed by Ahmed as a writer.

And, finally, characters such as Malik Dildar who could have been Dildar Singh, television anchorperson Saeed Khan who goes delusional, and Rukhsana who suffers from the agony of living but not belonging, together stand testimony to Ahmed’s art and craft of storytelling. And when it comes to testimony, it is only in the fitness of things that ‘Gawah Number Saat’ [Witness No. 7] should be called in. If picking up the right format for a story is not craft, then what is?

Ahmed’s narratives lead the reader around in expanding and shrinking circles that are at once simple and complex. And yet, in his opening remarks — as, indeed, in all the earlier collections of his short stories — he says he is not bothered by any debate over the craft of his art. All along, Ahmed has played this game of deception with the readers, keeping his distance from the debate over craft and leaving the verdict in the hands of the readers. Five collections and 25 years later, the verdict is out. The claim is deceptive. Criminally deceptive. Akhlaq Ahmed is found guilty of being a true artist. Period.

The reviewer is a member of staff

Jaanay Pehchanay (Afsanay)
By Akhlaq Ahmed
Image Makers, Karachi
216pp.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, February 4th, 2018