In the Land of Mulberries

Once upon a time Kabul was a name redolent with mystery and hospitality, with intimations of life at a cultural crossroad. That changed as t...

Once upon a time Kabul was a name redolent with mystery and hospitality, with intimations of life at a cultural crossroad. That changed as the seventies drew a close, the Russian invasion and the subsequent guerrilla resistance rupturing the rhythms of daily life, war and newly demarcated loyalties to tribe and clan dispersing neighbours into separate orbits. Then came the Taliban years, with totalitarian rule stilling previous interactions, practically taking Afghanistan off the map. The 2001 America-led invasion opened up old spaces of interaction. It was a chance for Afghanistan to be whole again, to own its history and diversity, to address the wounds of so many civil wars.

This is the timeline, the historical pattern, that forms the backdrop of California-based doctor Khaled Hosseini’s novel. His family left Afghanistan in 1980 after they got political asylum in the US. And it is these two locales between which his narrative moves.

It is the mid-seventies and Amir, a motherless 12 year old, is desperate to win the approval of his father, a flamboyant and wealthy Kabul businessman. Amir is generally inclined toward poetry and fiction, causing worry to his father that not only is he not sufficiently masculine but that that he is also given to little deceptions. Amir decides to address this by making a bid for the kite-flying competition, but in doing so he confirms his father’s second concern. As in their other everyday games, he seeks to pass off the efforts of Hassan — his Hazara playmate and attendant — as his own.

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Given the manner in which Amir, now (after the American invasion) looking to return to his homeland and make amends for his past actions, begins his tale, there is perhaps too obvious a foreshadowing of an impending betrayal. But if that seems to be a rather forced depiction of the betrayals and compromises Afghan history extracts from Amir, the changing tenor of the novel is a skillful rendition of the altering configurations of Afghan society and politics.

Post-2001, the narrative picks up pace and plot segments seem to clash chaotically. That, Khaled Hosseini appears to be saying, is the din in which Afghans must take ownership of their history

So, in the 1970s, the colours of Kabul are conveyed through caracul caps, scores of soccer games between Kabul and Kandahar, dried mulberries, buzkashi games, songs hummed by bands of wandering gypsies. Those years have acquired the aura of a lost paradise in most retellings, and Hosseini echoes this by giving these passages an almost fairytale feel. The impending civil war is anticipated — and taken ownership of — through personal betrayal. Years abroad and the effort to forget the past — for isn’t that what the world and Afghan politicians did in the late 1980s and 1990s — take the story to Californian flea markets and minutiae of exile existence.

In the return, post-2001, the narrative picks up pace and plot segments seem to clash chaotically. That, Hosseini appears to be saying, is the din in which individual and collective reconnections with history and political solutions for a different future have to be crafted. And certainly his coming-of-age novel has has messages for his country.