Manreet Sodhi Someshwar reimagines Partition’s Kashmir chapter

Manisha Gangahar

The year is 1947. The air of accomplishment and euphoria of Independence is pierced by the agony of Partition; new nations come into being. Histories are in the making and the debris heaping the scene speaks of how ordinary people have everything at stake.

Manreet Sodhi Someshwar rewrites the history of Partition in The Partition Trilogy, with ‘Kashmir’ being the final book — the earlier ones being ‘Lahore’ and ‘Hyderabad’. Much discerningly, through this historical fiction, she pens the fractured realities at the time when borders were being drawn and the scramble for states, at least those with convoluted situations and palpable tension, was happening behind closed doors. Just as historiography, as critical theorist Hayden White argued, has elements of literary writing, it is literature that offers an altered order of history.

Thus, ‘Kashmir’ traces how the fate of the commoners was dismissively sealed, courtesy the decisive and indecisive minds, and, at times, the whims and fancies of political leaders. The “critical fabulation” — a term coined by African-American historian Saidiya Hartman to refer to a mode of writing that is creative yet partly non-fictional — that the author undertakes is not just an attempt to recount history and rekindle emotions, but perhaps also correct misconceptions about political manoeuvring. She is unwittingly successful in capturing the essence of history as well as evoking the interest of an uninitiated reader in the scrolling of events, both predictable and unexpected. In fact, at no point does the creative storytelling in the novel dilute the documented history, and the other way round.

“What will the future of Kashmir be?” Dickie Mountbatten gazed earnestly at his host… “Accession to India or Pakistan? Your Highness must establish the will of the people to decide either way”… Hari Singh signalled for his cigar and lit a cheroot… “The Kouls are not shepherds. The kabailis did not kill them either. But the kabailis brought the battle to Zooni Gujjar’s house.” The commander tapped the table with his right thumb. “All war, havildar, is personal.”

The fascinating aspect of the novel is its characters — Maharaja Hari Singh, his inner circle and staff, the officers of the British Empire and the common people — and the way the narrative weaves around their lives, and all that transpires amidst the conversations across the length and breadth of Kashmir, in Delhi and Pakistan. As the people in the novel come alive, one can’t miss notice the author’s endeavour to articulate women’s stories, their thoughts, words and experiences, pain and tragedies, which are often either completely pushed into the oblivion or are lowballed.

“When will you be back?” Kashmira’s hands had stilled over the heart-shaped paddle of her shikara… “When the war is over,” Zooni had shrugged. Kashmira’s eyes had clouded. “Only the dead see the end of war.” The thought of staying alive hadn’t crossed Zooni’s mind… Jawahar sighed, mulling over the tortuous path of the Kashmir problem.

One of the strengths of the novel is its willingness to go beyond taking sides and bring to the reader an experience which could be unsettling because of the excruciating pain attached to the absurdity of Partition. The author keeps the tone forthright and language candid. However, when it comes to Kashmir, there are, it seems, only more questions than before, many blurred images, complex facts, fragmented identities and convoluted realities. Perhaps, only stories and storytelling can frame the history — or the histories — of a place as rich as Kashmir.