There is a modern saying that goes, ‘when you assume, you make an ass of you and me’ and assumptions are easy to make on first coming across Zarrar Said’s debut novel Pureland.

First is the title itself; it is plainly about the land of the pure and no prizes for guessing what that is. On the jacket, behind the lettering of the title is the face of a young man who has obviously experienced some profound tragedy. Below him are images of the domes of a mosque. The back cover features some reddish brown stains, which can be either blood or paan. Then there is the author’s headshot on the inside flap. He appears to be an urbane, 30-something with a nicely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, who “works and lives in New York City.” In her column, ‘Fiction’s Redemptive Power’, Claire Chambers mentioned an incident where Roopa Farooki’s novel Bitter Sweets was judged by a male critic purely on the basis of her author headshot. Here I am, doing somewhat the same, except my judgement is based not on gender, but on the current state of world — and South Asian literary — affairs.

My takeaway from this cursory, superficial examination of the book is that it’s probably about a young Pakistani man involved in some sort of religiously motivated terrorist activities, who comes to realise that his romanticised notions are in stark contrast to brutal reality. The prologue then introduces us to the narrator, known as the Scimitar, “the sword of the Caliphate, sent forth by a brutal empire to unleash horror upon the West.”

An edgy debut novel fictionalises the life of Dr Abdus Salam to explore the politics of religion in Pakistan

I roll my eyes.

Western media’s obsession with terrorism of a very specific kind means the publishing world has been flooded with books — both fiction and non-fiction — on the subject. The more cynical of us will see this as cashing in, because clearly the subject sells: a quick online search using the terms ‘Islamic terrorism’ and ‘books’ turns up list after list of ‘top five’ and ‘top 35’ and, on one popular readers’ site, ’91 books about ISIS’. It also seems to be the go-to topic for Pakistani authors based abroad. A few popular names come to mind.

Perhaps, I think, my initial assumption was correct.

Surprisingly, it is not. Not entirely, at least.

Yes, terrorism is a very important element of the story but, at its heart, this is a novel about stupidity. The stupidity that comes from a lack of education, a lack of basic common sense, of allowing prejudice to colour perceptions, of being unable to see reality, and of sacrificing the greater good for personal gain. In the main plot as well as the sub-stories Said incorporates about the many secondary characters, we see, time and again, how potential, talent and ability go unsung simply because the environment in which these characters exist is either not ready, or too afraid, to acknowledge these attributes.

Pureland begins in the summer of 1950 with the wife of Jaaji, the drunk painter, giving birth to a boy. Mother dies and Jaaji remarries. Stepmother advises Jaaji to sell little Potato in Kidney Town where, as a worker at the brick kilns, he will get regular meals — a luxury that the poor villagers can ill afford — but Jaaji makes a detour to the Floating Pir who declares that Potato is destined for greatness.

Jaaji returns home without selling Potato and, through a series of events, the boy succeeds in gaining the attention of General Zafar Khan, lord of the village of Khanpur, who sees intelligence and ambition in him. Khan takes Potato — whose real name is now found to be Salim — to the city of Lorr (get it?), has him enrolled at the prestigious Blisschesterson school and it is at this point the reader realises what exactly is going on.

Said has dedicated his novel to the late theoretical physicist and Nobel Prize winner Dr Abdus Salam. Upon opening the book, I had glanced at the short, italicised sentence, shrugged and moved on without a second thought. But the thing is, this book really is dedicated to Dr Abdus Salam; it is more or less based on his life. It is a fictionalised account, of course, so the author takes plenty of liberties, but at the same time he sticks so closely to actual history that the reader may be tempted to think of Pureland as biographical.

Salim is a straight giveaway from his name and his interest in science. Then there are the other characters. General Zafar Khan, with his upright Pathan bearing and emerald eyes, is presumably based on Gen Ayub Khan. Brigadier — later General — Zaid, who harbours a personal grudge against Salim, is a parody of Gen Ziaul Haq. Salim’s classmates at Blisschesterson — representing a real, elite school ending in ‘son’ — include the well-meaning but dim-witted Mitti Pao who is captain of the school cricket team, becomes captain of Pureland’s national team, kisses bottles of soft drinks on billboards and becomes a popular, change-promising politician, but dies in an unsavoury incident before his party sweeps the elections. I was, however, hard-pressed to identify the main female lead, Laila, as well as Tariq the textile tycoon. I may be accused of trying too hard to draw parallels from a work of fiction, but it is almost impossible not to.

Said sets a lot of the book’s action in the 1980s and ’90s, so for someone who was growing up during that particular time, there is a great deal of resonance. We of that generation all have memories of curfew, of watching how to repair tractors on state-run television, of the time when parents of boys studying in English-medium schools were on high alert about their sons’ afterschool activities.

On a technical level, the author’s style is poignant and engaging, his prose is crisp. There is plenty of understated humour alongside the pathos and tragedy which makes the book eminently readable. He is clever with his plot twists — at one particular point one might assume they see the twist coming, only for it to be effectively counter-twisted with reasonable finesse. Some passages, however, may be discomfiting to read for more conservative or religiously inclined readers. On that note, the author may also be courting controversy, especially given the subject matter that takes on the politics of religion in Pakistan. There is a possibility that Pureland might ruffle some feathers, but, then, what literary exploration of any substance doesn’t do that?

The reviewer is a member of staff

Pureland
By Zarrar Said
HarperCollins, India
ISBN: 978-9353023096
322pp.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 31st, 2019