Seven Heavens
Author : Samim Ahmed
Publisher : Hachette, Rs350
Mysticism, surrealism, sufism, nationalism are all merged with a landscape filled with jinns, fairies, demons and humans. The debut book of Bengali author Samim Ahmed, which has been translated by Arunava Sinha, evokes pertinent questions about one’s identity, as the distinction between real and imaginary is blurred in the personal-political nexus, says ANANYA BORGOHAIN
A religious cosmology that ties all the major religions together is the belief that there are seven heavens. Hinduism, Islam, Catholicism, Judaism all believe that there are seven worlds. In fact, Hinduism subscribes to the faith that there are 14 worlds, seven higher ones (the heavens), known as the Vyahritis, and seven lower ones, (the underworlds) also known as Naraka. Islam calls the existence of seven heavens as Samaawat. Samim Ahmed’s debut novella Seven Heavens is thus spot on with its title as it highlights the dilemma of a person caught in a crisis of bifurcated identities from different worlds, both politically and metaphorically.
Set during the pre- Independence period, German Hussain has frequent bouts of mythical dreams that unsettle him. The Partition and its accompanied bloodbath at the doorstep, he leaves for Murshidabad from Birbhum in the hope of finding a ‘cure’ for his dreams. He sets out to be a part of the newly formed Pakistan which will apparently acquire Murshidabad. However, when the Radcliffe line declares Murshidabad to be returned to India, German’s hopes of curing his state of mind fall through and he has no other option but to return to his hometown.
The novella chronicles his journey, of finding his own calling, of disillusionment and hope, of patriotism and nationalist jingoism. Rationalism and dexterity are seen thwarted by unscrupulous politics and an aggressive rhetoric as communal tension build up in the State. Mysticism, surrealism, sufism, nationalism are all merged with a landscaped filled with jinns, fairies, demons and humans. Translated by Arunava Sinha, this book evokes pertinent questions about one’s real identity in the personal-political nexus.
Bengal makes for an insightful backdrop not because the author belongs to the State but also because it is the time around the Great Bengal Famine and the Calcutta riots. It is almost as if catastrophes of Indian political history are personalised or serve as metaphors reminding the readers of the precarious identity politics that maps and boundaries have generated: “He had lost his real, pure dreams...He wondered who or what had infected his blood with thoughts of national politics and everyday survival”. There are seven chapters in the book, each named after one of the heavens (as in Islam).
German’s name is perhaps another strong metaphor implying political dichotomy. He is named after Germany, as a mark of thankfulness from his mother for supporting the Caliph and Turkey during the Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire. The political world is beleaguered by violence, poverty and communal mayhem, but German is overwhelmed by dreams of jinns and other creatures. The first instance of his visions is mentioned almost at the beginning of the story when his wife goes into labour and he visualises a devil, who walks towards him “...the strange spectacle of a man walking towards him but the distance between them constantly increased”.
The narrative is not only effective, generating a sense of nuanced folklore, but is also rich with mystical imageries. There is an enormous amount of information on religious mythology and fables. The sentimental impact of the Partition is powerfully written as well: “The announcement of the formation of Pakistan was to have been made at midnight. If that were the case, this was his first drink of water on Pakistan’s soil...It was the night of the twenty-seventh of Ramzan; the day that would follow would have the same date...Kamrunnesa Bibi had given birth to a second child...how infinite Allahtaala’s compassion was — the baby had belonged to Hindustan in her mother’s womb, but by the time she became aware of her surroundings, she belonged to Pakistan”.
The art of storytelling is well endorsed and Ahmed’s grasp on his religion’s legends, fables and parables seem to be nuanced and researched, particularly for a reader who might be ill-informed about the same. A reader who would want to verify the facts mentioned might be underwhelmed with unsatiated curiosity though. Also, amidst its strong grappling of content, the story might tend to be a slightly lethargic at times, solely because of the lack of growth in the other characters in it. German Mian, limited by his frailties, is all-pervasive in the plot, something that he does not quite merit and at times becomes tedious.
Nevertheless, Sinha’s translation manages to retain the innocence of German’s world and also strongly grasps the subtlety required to produce an element of fascination in what is surreal. German’s visions are narrated with vividity. Ahmed’s metaphors are strong and a lot of thought have gone into the creation of this enthralling and imaginative novella.