That she moves through a series of hoops of fire is the first impression that forms in my mind when reading Hum Log by Fahmida Riaz. But then, who is she, the protagonist or the author? Is there a difference between the two? I am not sure, but that hardly makes a difference as this enigmatic and highly readable book poses similar questions as soon as you begin reading. Is it a novel or a compilation of three novels? Are the different parts interlinked or are they a part of a single whole? If not a single novel, should it be regarded as a trilogy of sorts? But then appears an even more basic question: is it a work of fiction at all? Part travelogue and part collection of musings, political commentary as well as carrying a distinct thread of a story, Hum Log is hard to pin down or classify, which in no way takes away from its forceful narrative.

Through bringing together the effects of several prose genres, Riaz has created an all-inclusive and elastic form which works well for the material she uses as the main substance in the book. Her style is unaffected and spontaneous rather than seeming a deliberate experimental stance. Though it can be confusing whether to consider it one book or three separate ones, I still regard it as one of the most important works to appear in Urdu fiction during the last few years.

Riaz appeared on the Urdu literary scene in the 1960s and attracted attention with her poems and stories. They were published in literary journals, including Funoon, which was edited by Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi. Her first and rather slender collection of poems, Patthar Ki Zaban, came out in 1968. She shot to fame with Badan Dareeda, which was published in 1973 and is considered a landmark of modern Urdu poetry. Many were shocked with its bold and unconventional stances but those readers failed to see the humanistic concerns underneath.

Since then, Riaz has produced several collections of poems and her collected verses were also published recently. The impact of her poetry was so strong that not many people remembered that her literary career began with short stories. In recent years, she has written more prose than poetry and has drawn on unusual sources in tradition, legends and history while touching upon themes which most writers shy away from. The first collection of her short fiction came out some years ago and three novellas were published first in literary journals and then as separate volumes. The extent of her achievement in this form is more apparent now.

The three stories in Hum Log can be seen as either joined or separated by the three countries which were a single nation not too long ago. History is the baggage which Riaz carries as she moves geography. The opening chapter finds her trying to make sense of her visit to Dhaka. An informal style brings together her sharp observations and things heard long ago or imagined.

We are told that the narrator will be interchangeably referred to as main or wo or Fahmida Riaz. She writes about herself with remarkable ease in the third person and displays an uncanny capacity to step outside her skin and at the same time to remain connected. This virtuosity is a unifying feature in the three countries that she writes about.

The remnants of history come her way as she encounters the reality of Bangladesh in ‘Zinda Bahar’. Meeting people and visiting places during the day, at night she wrestles with insomnia, the nightmares of history and the fear of being left alone. With a lightness of touch and humour, she brings together disparate elements and weaves them to make a story. The point of view keeps shifting and adds mystery as we come to understand that there is another referential plane under the surface of everyday life the author is describing. Lost somewhere in the streets of old Dhaka is the Zinda Bahar Lane which becomes a symbolic quest for her and which is only partly understood as she takes her leave from Dhaka airport to board her flight. But who can say that the journey has not been fruitful?

It soon becomes clear that the elements are drawn from the author’s own experience in ‘Godavri,’ the second of the triptych, but the story develops along more conventional lines. Ma and Ba and their three children are holidaying in a hill resort near Mumbai and their own tensions are thrown into sharp relief against the looming shadows of communal violence. Richly observed details shine throughout the narrative as does Riaz’s capacity to laugh at her own self. She seems to write with a twinkle in her eye.

The third part of the book is simply called ‘Karachi’ and focuses on the violence-torn city. It is at once more poetic and becomes surreal in some places but is also an extended analysis of what went wrong with the people of the city. Characters and situations seem to leap up from the page and you cannot help but think that so many of the details Riaz has written about ring true today. You may hold different views from the author but the terrifying immediacy of what she describes makes it forceful. The pithy and razor-sharp analysis of Karachi is as convincing as it is frightful. It is hard to imagine any other book which brings out the pain and anguish of Karachi in the way that Hum Log does.

There is no resolution as the book moves to its final pages. How could there be? The journey goes on and the story remains open-ended. What you remember at the end is a whirlwind of a tour marked by the wounds of history. You watch the author as she goes through flaming hoops and you know there are occasions when the fire has left its mark, but you continue to watch with bated breath.

The reviewer is a writer and critic