INDIANS AT HEROD’S GATE
Author: Navtej Sarna
Publisher: Rupa, Rs500
Navtej Sarna tells not just the story of the Ansari family — the father, the son, the daughters, and the wives — but of the city itself, in an unassuming manner, quite like that of a gentle story-teller who makes profound observations with an easy smile on the face, as if cracking a suave joke, writes RAJESH SINGH
In July 2000, out of the blue, Yasser Arafat had been given an opportunity to create a Palestine nation from nearly all of the territories that the Palestinians under his leadership were agitating for. At the Camp David summit that year and month, with then US President Bill Clinton playing host and mediator, then Israeli Prime Minister Yehud Barak had offered 90 per cent of West Bank, the entire Gaza Strip and East Jerusalem (as the new Palestinian state’s capital). Arafat declined, and let go a stupendous moment that could have ended the historical strife between Palestine and Israel. Details of this event are to be found in Mosab Hassan Yousef’s book, Son of Hamas.
Yousef is not just another chronicler; he is the son of Sheikh Hassan Yousef, one of the founding fathers of the terror group Hamas; had attended many crucial meetings with his father; and had a ringside view of the politics of violence and diplomacy in this West Asian region. Disgusted with the brutality of Hamas and the unreasonable conduct of the Palestine liberation Organisation led by Arafat, he switched over to the Israeli side, gave up his religion and moved to the West. He writes of the shock that his Shin Bet (Israel’s internal security service) handler expressed not just over the too-generous offer but also of Arafat’s rejection. The handler had said: “What is this guy (Arafat) doingIJ We never thought our leaders would give up what they offered Arafat. Never! And he said noIJ”
Yousef writes, “…Arafat had been handed the keys to peace in the Middle East along with real nationhood for the Palestinian people — and he had thrown them away…For Arafat, there always seemed to be more to gain if Palestinians were bleeding. Another intidfada would surely get the blood flowing and the Western news cameras rolling once again.” Of course, Arafat may have had other, more valid reasons — we don’t know.
But, right now, we are not on Arafat’s blunder or the Israeli’s generosity; neither are we on what the Palestinians would term as Israel’s duplicity and deviousness behind the offer. Quite simply, if Arafat had accepted the July 2005 offer, East Jerusalem would have today been the capital of an officially recognised Palestine nation. And Indian diplomat Navtej Sarna’s remarkable book, Indians at Herod’s Gate: A Jerusalem Tale, would have been set in the country of Palestine, and not in what is referred to as “disputed” or “occupied” East Jerusalem — depending on the vehemence of the position one takes in Palestine’s favour.
The twist that that history took, or did not take, 14 years ago, does not, however, rob the charm from the journey of history which Sarna undertakes in his book. The Indian connection through the Indian Hospice that continues to do remarkable social work in Jerusalem, the arrival of Sufi saint Baba Farid 800 years ago in Jerusalem, and more, have been lovingly inter-linked and interspersed with nuggets of historical material. The end product is a mix of personal narrative of the Ansari family which originally hailed from Saharanpur in Uttar Pradesh and went on to head the operations of the Indian Hospice, and political and religious complexities of Old Jerusalem. His tale is as ancient as it is modern. It is a new and personalised way of narrating history.
Sarna tells not just the story of the Ansari family — the father, the son, the daughters, and the wives — but of the city itself, in an unassuming manner, quite like that of a gentle story-teller who makes profound observations with an easy smile on the face, as if cracking a suave joke. The author has certainly not developed the craft from his profession — long stints of diplomacy leave you stone-faced at most times and considerably less imaginative in the most creative moments. But Sarna is not your usual diplomat; he is the author of two novels, a collection of short stories and two books of non-fiction. Besides, he contributes to magazines and newspapers, all the time letting out his creative steam in regular bouts all around. It appears that by the time he hangs his boots, he will have written enough to give the most accomplished writers a complex.
Coming back to Herod’s Gate, why on earth did he decide to chronicle the story of the largely unknown Ansari familyIJ After all, the Indian Hospice is not the first of its kind in Jerusalem; there are hospices named after other nations. But when a hospice is managed by a family for close to a century that has seen history made and unmade — and in the religious and social melting pot that Jerusalem is, it calls for a story. Such have been the tumultuous developments in the span of the century that saw the first Ansari arrived at the hospice and became the ‘Sheikh’, the end of the Second World War, and, more importantly for the region, the birth of Israel, that even the most indefatigable seeker of history would want to rest for a moment and collect his thoughts.
In dedicating his book to “the proud Indian at Herod’s Gate, Sheikh Mohammad Munir Ansari”, the diplomat-and-author straightaway lets it be known where his affection lies. And why should it not be! Which Indian heart will not melt with emotion and swell with pride if he is led into the Indian Hospice in Jerusalem with the words: “You are in India now”. It is also called Zawiya al-Faridiya, after mystic saint Baba Farid, who is said to have visited the place, meditated and left behind disciples who continued to spread his message of universal peace and brotherhood. It is strange that a city of such hallowed spiritual history should be today embroiled in violent concussions, if not from within, then the neighbourhood, inflicted upon by players from all sides.
Sarna has a heart besides a sense of history, which is why he could write the way he has done. His account of Sheikh Munir’s love affair, in the chapter nicely titled, ‘Bas, love at First Sight’, is both enchanting and sad. It’s the typical tear-jerker where you don’t get the person you pine for. Bollywood is full of them — and the chapter’s name could well become the title of a Hindi film. But Sheikh Munir, God bless us all, moved on, got married to another woman and named one of his daughters after his first lady-love, Najam. That in a strange way brought his love life to full circle.
There are pieces of personal history too, unconnected with the world outside. Sheikh Munir’s father had married more than once, and this had led to situations where Sheikh Munir and his sisters had to endure some very difficult moments in life. He never forgot it. As he tells the author, he married just once because he did not want the tragedy which came to him and his sisters because of his father’s multiple martial relations, to visit his children.
All through the cycle of ups and downs at the Indian Hospice in Jerusalem, in the lives of Sheikh Munir and his family, and of Jerusalem’s trees, buildings, mosques, churches and synagogues, there will remain forever the unseen but deeply felt presence of Baba Farid and his Sufi tradition. The Herod’s Gate will stand testimony to it.
In passing, let’s remember Baba Farid’s verse about fake and hypocritical men of god — it’ll do a lot of good to us. In Jerusalem or in India, his message never changed:
Your words appear sweet but you
hide a dagger in your heart;
Outwardly you appear bright but
your heart is dark as night.