Saved from being pulled into the theatre of war, Karachi, however, could not remain aloof and unaffected. Captured by the British in 1839, it was a small port town with its origins lost in antiquity. However, research indicates that it was a site of some historical significance known to ancient Persian, Greek and Arab navigators. It was soon transformed by the British who used its location to good commercial advantage and eyed even better prospects opening up. On the eve of the war, the Karachi-based newspaper Sind Gazetteer carried a statement which can be read both as a declaration and a prophesy: “In order to reach THE INDIAN MARKET the enterprising Merchant, whether Exporter or Importer, will do well to go to THE GATE OF INDIA. Since the removal of the Capital from Calcutta to Delhi, the new Gate of India is now destined to be KARACHI. Karachi is the most progressive and the most vigourous sea-port in Asia.”
Karachi was ready to show signs of vigour but who could guess that it would display military valour. The cantonment was enlarged and increasing numbers of soldiers were stationed there. One such soldier was Kazi Nazrul Islam and his stay in the city was to exert a profound influence on the budding writer. A biographical monograph published by the Nazrul Institute in Dhaka and written by Karunamaya Goswami has this to say about the poet’s stay in Karachi: “His stay in the Karachi barrack enabled him to gather experiences, which had gone a long way in shaping his life as a great builder of Bengali literature and music.” It was in Karachi that the poet heard of the Russian Revolution, broadened his acquaintance with Persian poetry which enabled him to translate the rubaiyat of Khayyam later on into Bangla; he wrote his first short stories here as well as his first major poem. His experience of a soldier’s life in Karachi served as the background to his first novel which he started writing in Karachi and continued working on after going back to Calcutta. It mirrored the author’s life in another way as well. The novel takes the shape of letters written by a soldier posted in Karachi to family and friends. It was named Bandhon Hara, signifying the breaking of bondage or freedom.
I first made Kazi Nazrul Islam’s acquaintance through Payam-i-Shabab, translated by Dr Akhtar Hussain Raipuri and published from a Karachi much changed since Islam’s days. Many details of the poet’s unusual career are described in Khalique Ibrahim Khalique’s memoirs, Manzilain Gard Kay Manand, and this remained my sole source while I was researching Karachi writings in different languages, leading ultimately to an anthology of such writings, a book which should be deemed incomplete as it includes only a reference to, and not even a sample from, Islam’s writings. The early writings from Karachi which I was able to collect were mostly from British travellers and tourists while this was the single native voice. I even tried the Nazrul Academy, which still exists in Karachi.
The novel is available in English now, in a handsome edition. Subtitled Unfettered, the book carries an introduction by Niaz Zaman which provides invaluable information on Islam’s life, the background of the novel, especially his stay in Karachi.
Signposting this novel’s significance within the poet’s works, Dr Rafiqul Islam explains in his foreword that this “epistolary novel is the first of its kind in Bengali literature,” and “the first important work of Kazi Nazrul Islam.” He goes on to explain its importance in terms of its form and then its language. The novel depicts some glimpses of battles, “the first time in the history of Bengali literature that modern warfare was depicted and hence provided a new experience for the readers.” Niaz Zaman’s preface is full of fascinating instances which I find relevant and interesting while reading the novel in the centenary year of the Great War.
“In 1917, when Kazi Nazrul Islam was 18, he enlisted in the British Indian Army. Attached to the 49th Bengal Regiment, he was posted to the cantonment in Karachi,” Zaman states in the preface and goes on to describe that “Islam did not see active fighting, but performed well as a soldier, rising from corporal to havaldar or sergeant, and serving as quartermaster for his battalion.” All very well, but the real accomplishment is described next. “While in Karachi, he both read and wrote, with the prose piece Baunduler Atmakahini (The Autobiography of a Vagabond) being published in May 1919 and the poem Mukti (Freedom) being published in July that year. His experiences of life as a soldier inspired him to write a novel which began to be serialised in Moslem Bharat from mid-April 1920. Seven years later, Bandhon Hara (Unfettered) appeared as a book.”
Zaman recognises that “the novel has been brushed aside by scholars,” but the inside flap of the book lists additional qualities as “the novel not only provides a fascinating glimpse of army life — but also of Hindu-Muslim attitudes, and the growing rise of reading and writing women.” There are humourous instances such as when Nuru, the protagonist, is described as a tal patta sipahi, or the fan-palm-leaf soldier, and the occasional smattering of Urdu is an entertaining diversion from the tediousness of the epistolary form. The story moves from a man torn between his love for two women to accounts of war in Mesopotamia and is an enjoyable read.
Although it is not as harrowing as Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet On the Western Front, or Robert Musil’s painfully astute Confusions of Young Torless, to put it alongside some other war-related novels is important as it brings forth a point of view largely unknown to us. Like some other novels from Bangladesh, I read it with feelings of admiration mixed with guilt. The kind of collective guilt Bernard Schlink writes about in his Guilt About the Past, a book which has held me spellbound while I work on this piece: “The world is full of guilt that has never been forgiven and which can no longer be forgiven.” But then he is writing about the Nazi past and that is another story, so let me keep it for another day.
Asif Farrukhi is a fiction writer and critic. He edited Look At The City From Here, an anthology of writings on Karachi
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