Mirza Waheed’s ‘The Book of Gold Leaves'

Mirza Waheed’s The Book of Gold Leaves is the second novel by the author. Both of his works – The Collaborator and The Book of Gold Leaves – retell the story of Kashmir. However, the architecture of the re-memorizing of Kashmir is different in both.

The Book of Gold Leaves is a novel with the skeleton of a love story . While a passionate romance blossoms between Roohi, the sunni heroine and Faiz, the Shia paper machie artist – and perhaps the protagonist, on this skeleton, Mirza creates his art. He retells the story of Kashmir in the 1990s and recounts, through the personal narratives of Roohi, Faiz, Farhat, Khan Sahab, Mr. Koul, a tale of sorrow and pain that Kashmir was forced to become. Sometimes, in the middle of the novel, one would actually be forced to ask – is Kashmir the protagonist in this book?

Mirza questions the Manichean dualities of propaganda and ‘truth’ by incorporating voices and stories that are shouted, muted, heard and discarded. The sheer intensity with which each episode and event in the lives of the  two main characters unfold, makes the novel a clenched fist for any reader. One just does not want to let go till the tension eases and some nerves are frayed. It is this overwhelming feeling that makes this book so deeply political and passionately poetic at the same time.

While Mir Zafar’s household, Khan Sahab’s household recount the horrors of those who stayed in the valley, Professor Koul’s story resurrects, albeit in minority, of those who left. Perhaps, the author should have fleshed out a lot more on the Kashmiri pundits fleeing the valley. Perhaps, because the beautiful craft increases the expectation of a reader, the novel could have taken a step further and talked about the struggles of a pundit in a little more detail. However,  in conversations between Professor Koul and the army officer, Mirza narrates the futility of the word ‘choice’. Later, as the novel progresses and Faiz gets irrevocably sucked in by the ‘other’ side of Kashmir, ‘choice’ seems more as a mockery than anything else. It is then that perhaps one would want to forgive Mirza and redeem him of a slightly unfinished, left-out retelling.

What is absolutely striking about the novel is that while Mirza navigates through the tough historical realities of the 1990s Kashmir, he never loses perspective of a Kashmiri tale. The culture, art, way of life, geography, society, human interactions and beauty of the valley is explained and recreated as beautifully as a painting.

By showing a rebellious love affair solemnized, albeit silently – in the bonds of matrimony – between two radical Muslim groups, by portraying women smoking with men, by etching that fraught landscape when Roohi walks right in the middle of the sanctum, prohibited for women, in the full glare of male eyes, Mirza does something that is difficult to articulate in words and too poignant to just let it seep in sans expression.

It is this ethereal and dream like – yet real – quality of Mirza’s book, that makes it so political and so literary at the same time.

The dreamy ideal of ‘falaknuma’ that Faiz always wanted to paint is the ideal that brings in hope each time it begins to escape the reader. While with themujahids and familiarizing himself with guns and bombs, Faiz thinks offalaknuma, while his half painting punctuates Farhat’s, Faiz’s sister’s life, in his absence – the painting, this art, this half, unfinished project – makes the journey for the reader a little hopeful, as if in a dark tunnel guided by that one sliver of faint light. Falaknuma becomes symptomatic of the hope that allows one to wade through the violent history and the traps of ‘zaal’ that the novel talks about.

The Book of Gold Leaves has all the makings of a literary artefact. The nuances of the tale, the making of the teller, the layers and layers of said and unsaid and the equally silent layers of half muted histories and stories are what make this book a must read for anyone who wants to understand Kashmir in totality. It is one of those unputdownable emotional tales which come with an unfinished project like that of Kashmir.

Will the pundits return? Will those who died and picked up arms fulfil their individual falaknumas? Will ‘the book of gold leaves’ preserve all that needs to be chronicled and painted and created – with the same delicacy as perhaps the book, how Mirza has done?

You might not get all the answers, but this book overwhelms with the very idea that there is are infinite possibilities in questions.