The Hindu Business Line : Of fanaticism and love

One must admit reading through the pages of Amitava Kumar's journey from Bhagalpur of 1980, the Kargil war, and other events, waiting for juicy passages where his wife Mona reveals the fanatic side of her character, in true adherence to the title. But there are none.

It's a book that leaves you with haunting, disturbing images. More distressing, it reinforces clichés and makes stereotypes larger and more real. Like that of a section of the overseas Indians, the ubiquitous NRIs, who live outside India but take upon themselves the task of saving a Hindu India from the evil influence of the minorities. The author aptly calls them "long distance nationalists"!

Amitava Kumar's book, Husband of a Fanatic, published by Penguin India (328 pages, Rs 295) begins with a narrative of the author's meeting in New York with one Jagdish Barotia, a long-distance zealot of the Hindutva cause. The author wants to "meet face to face a man who thought I was his enemy, to see if I could understand why he hated me so much, and why he hated other people who were different from him." Kumar's name had appeared on the hit list of a Web site run by overseas Hindus because he had married a Pakistani Muslim. "There was special anger for people like me, who were Hindus but, in the minds of the organisers, traitors to Hindutva."

Barotia explains to the author the pain felt by Hindus like him when their own ilk went and married Muslims, without understanding the "menace of the minorities in India".

"He also said that people like me were not secular, we were actually confused. We would learn our lesson, he said, when the Muslim population increased in India, and the Muslims came after us and chopped our legs off."

But the book is not about bashing zealous overseas Hindu "nationalists". The larger issue which the author grapples with throughout the narrative is the idea of the enemy and the communal violence the Indian sub-continent has seen right from partition days to the Gujarat riots of 2002. From the Bhagalpur blindings of 1979-80 to the communal riots of Gujarat in 2002, from the Kargil war to his trip to Pakistan to meet his wife's relatives and the almost-innocent account of how he is given a Muslim name and quietly converted to Islam by being made to chant the required qalma (prayer). Kumar relates sometimes poignant, sometimes matter-of-fact and sometimes devastating tales of the feeling of hatred that can creep into a human being's mind and heart and totally change the way he/she looks at people and relationships.

It is with a light touch of humour that Kumar relates the story of how his wife Mona's family received him in Pakistan and how her nani (maternal grandmother) quietly informed him that she had told Mona's relatives that "he has accepted Islam". In fact, Kumar found getting a visa for Pakistan an impossible task, until he wrote "Hindu converted to Islam during marriage" in the column marked `religion' on the application form.

Of course, there are delicate moments at the party hosted in his honour in Karachi where everybody calls him Safdar — the name given to him by Mona's parents — and one of the guests loudly asks, "Safdar, how did your parents take the news of your conversion?" He recalls the wry comment made by his mother that the marriage was not "between a Hindu and a Muslim, but between a Muslim and a Muslim."

One must admit that one reads through the pages of Kumar's journey from Bhagalpur of 1980, the partition of 1947, the war of Kargil and his visit to Pakistan after his marriage, waiting for some juicy passages where his wife Mona reveals the fanatic side of her character, in true adherence to the title. But there are none. Actually she is upset when her parents insist on giving him a Muslim name and the rest of the brouhaha, but obviously doesn't protest too much. And she has no problems either with submitting to a Hindu ceremony in India, just as he undergoes what must have been a trying ritual of "conversion" without much fuss.

In a recent interview, Kumar explained that the title stemmed from an incident where an elderly relative of his asked Mona if she was a terrorist!

Kumar's narrative is also a chilling reiteration of how those who are supposed to protect people during communal tension, turn around to betray that trust and, instead, use their power to brutalise them. For instance Justice Niazuddin, who was appointed to the commission of inquiry on the Bhagalpur riots, says that in Logain village he had named in his report the police SI who "had used his revolver to kill the Muslim villagers who were under his protection." What happened in Gujarat years down the line is only too well known.

The entire narrative is a detailed documentation of events that have polarised the Hindus and Muslims of the sub-continent; as also seen through the eyes of Indian and Pakistani schoolchildren who exchange letters. While some are messages of love and peace, others are plainly stated documents of suspicion and hatred and genuine wonder at why the other side does not wish to co-exist peacefully with its neighbour! Sounds familiar?

On the partition and the trauma involved during the bloody event, and discussing the violence in the context of the Godhra carnage and its aftermath, Kumar makes you sit up and think when he links these events to Nazrana Khatoon of Bihar, who marries a Hindu and finds all hell breaking loose. She "found out that after she had married a Hindu the border moved to her village near Benipur in Bihar. ... (but) the border had always been close to Nazrana's house and mohalla. Her marriage had made her conscious, as if through a shock, of the fact that she had crossed the border. Like migrants everywhere, she had suddenly learnt how intransigent borders really are, how intensely patrolled, and how little there is to negotiate in such situations. But Nazrana is only an extreme example. For any ordinary Muslim in India, the difficulty of ever crossing over into a larger community of the nation is a challenge."

The book also unravels for the reader the dehumanising effect of pain and loss. Kumar, who meticulously seeks out victims of violence — be it at the hands of the police as in the Bhagalpur blindings or communal fanatics — is asked to dole out favours such as getting an agency, a telephone connection, an award from the government, or just plain money.

His conclusion is something that should be familiar to all journalists. "Prasad had wanted his stamp vendor's licence. The headmaster wanted an award for his kindness during the riots. Bunni wanted a telephone connection... Rasheeda was looking for eligible bachelors for her unwed daughters. I wanted stories from each one of them — and while they granted me my wish, I wasn't prepared to give anything in return. In my mind this made my mission purer. I felt that I was faithfully recording the pain of the people I met. That fiction was acceptable for a while."

"Recording pain" ... .best describes Kumar's effort; rarely in the book do you think he "feels" that pain. If objectivity and detachment are a writer's virtue; then Kumar has them in plenty.

Response can be sent to rasheeda@thehindu.co.in

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