Roy holding her latest book. Picture: Penguin India Twitter
Paradise in a graveyard could be a hidden reference to a state of being, perhaps not too oblique a reference to Kashmir’s ongoing brutalisation. The disputed Himalayan region after all had earned the sobriquet of paradise on Earth from kings and poets. Roy’s story straddles the two paradises and as many graveyards.
The narrative takes us through the military occupation that is cross-dressed as Indian democracy.
Trees and flowers, furtive animals, birds and tiny insects link her two books but they assume a new range of poetic and tragic realities.
On occasions there is straight reporting. As her lens moves from the plight of Anjum in the communal frenzy, the description of rightwing Hindu mayhem in Gujarat zooms in on the disappeared grave of a romantic mediaeval Urdu poet who loved, and wrote about, its people.
“They learned in passing that Wali Dakhani’s shrine had been razed to the ground and a tarred road built over it, erasing every sign that it had ever existed. (Neither the police, nor the mob, nor the chief minister could do anything about the people who continued to leave flowers in the middle of the new tarred road where the shrine used to be. When the flowers were crushed to paste under the wheels of fast cars, new flowers would appear. And what can anybody do about the connection between flower-paste and poetry?)”
Anjum’s Jannat Guest House has its material rationale. “The advantage of the guesthouse in the graveyard was that unlike every other neighbourhood in the city, including the most exclusive ones, it suffered no power cuts. Not even in the summer. This was because Anjum stole electricity from the mortuary, where the corpses required round-the-clock refrigeration. (The city’s paupers who lay there in air-conditioned splendor had never experienced anything of the kind while they were alive.)” By revealing Anjum’s ability to sing a clutch of raags such as Durga and Bhairav Roy explores her own more than cursory involvement with classical music.
The enigmatic Tilottama, or Tilo, the book’s main heroine reveals Roy’s decades-old bonds with Kashmir. A description of a tortured boy at an investigation centre in Srinagar shows Roy’s stoic observation skill and a keen eye for detail. She knows exactly what is afoot, and who drives it. The scene in the investigation room is haunting and Ashfaq Mir, the presiding officer, uses the Kashmiri word for militants — milton. The traumatic visit over, Tilo and her friend’s friend Naga are returning to their hotel in Srinagar.
“On their way to Ahdoos, sitting in the claustrophobic backseat of an armoured gypsy, Naga held Tilo’s hand. Tilo held his hand back. He was acutely aware of the circumstances in which that tentative exchange of tenderness was taking place. He could feel the tremor under her skin. Still, of all the women in the world, to have this woman’s hand in his made him indescribably happy.”
Ahead of the book’s release, a parallel and hostile track of episodes has been playing out on Indian news channels, in fear or in anger with or without reference to the unread book. A BJP legislator and actor called for tying her to a military jeep as a human shield. Rightwing news anchors have declared her anti-national, not a new charge but one among many flung at her since over 20 years. The book could stun them into silence, or perhaps provoke more anger.
However, Tilo’s words of a tragic denouement ring through the closing chapters of the book that will make Roy’s many fans and foes sit up. “How to tell a shattered story? By slowly becoming everybody. No. By slowly becoming everything.”
Originally published in Dawn, June 2nd, 2017