Book Review: SAKOON

Title: Sakoon

Author: Nishith Vasavada

Publisher: Self-published

Pages: 287

Sakoon, Arabic for Peace, by Nishith Vasavada deftly marries history and fiction to create a mesmerizing tale about a nation in deep unrest that touches you with its intensity and honesty.

From the beginning, one gets a sense of tumult and turmoil, and yet in the midst of these, Sakeena Husain, whose name means tranquility, lives life as a privileged and wealthy college student who has a crush on her brother Anwar’s best friend, Rohan Qureshi, and agonises over whether he cares for her or not.

The setting is liberal, fashionable Karachi but it is the early ‘80s, when General Zia-ul-Haq is in power. A strict interpretation of Islam is slowly coming into focus, changing the dynamics of life for the people, especially women, and changing, for the worse, the face of modern Pakistan.

The chapters are told from randomly alternating first person viewpoints of Sakeena, Rohan and Munir Qureshi, Rohan’s grandfather. The author has handled successfully the tricky job of writing from the point of view of the opposite gender, as he does with Sakeena.

The story is divided into three Books, each carrying the story inexorably forward. The first Book establishes the setting, as Sakeena and others of her acquaintance slowly become aware of how their country is changing. Several chapters told through the viewpoint of Munir flow seamlessly, almost like a memoir, and give us an insight into the past and his early days in Pakistan, the land the old man chose to make his own after the Partition of India, the land that decades later continues to call him Muhajir, or refugee.

Book 2 sees the youngsters enroll at Karachi University, where events, that will have a lasting impact on all their lives, begin to unfold. Anwar and Rohan befriend Nadeem who teaches them to shoot a TT-pistol, an escapade that turns horribly wrong and ends up in Rohan committing the worst mistake of his life. Meanwhile, Sakeena befriends Kaneez, a Pathan girl, at the University. Kaneez’s mother, Mor, a journalist, proves to be a significant influence in Sakeena’s life.

Mor opens up a whole new world for Sakeena, one of English literature and journalism. Of words and their impact on people and the world around them, and how they can be used as a potent tool to change the world.

To the dictum, Write what you know, Mor adds her own, Know what you write, an effective reminder not only to Sakeena, but also to me as I aspire to write my own book, that research is critical. It is a piece of advice that Vasavada has adopted unstintingly, as is visible in the manner in which he has brought Pakistan alive, despite never having lived there. In fact, the idea for the book arose out of his own mother’s longing for Karachi, the city that she and her family fled in the turmoil following Partition.

Under Mor’s guidance, Sakeena and Kaneez help with research for an article on violence on college campuses that the former is commissioned to write. The article hurts the sentiments of Islamic fundamentalists, who rough up and try to abduct Kaneez. Sakeena is away on a family holiday in London at that time.

Mor and Kaneez move to New Delhi, but Sakeena does not escape retribution either. On an outing, Sakeena’s dad’s car is ambushed; her father and Anwar are grievously injured, and she and Rohan kidnapped. There is no demand for ransom.

In Book 3, the action becomes more real and raw, as the narration shifts to present tense. Rohan and Sakeena seek ways to escape, but the noose seems to tighten around them. When ethnic riots break out, Sakeena’s attempts to speak out against tryranny and injustice through her writing, and Rohan’s own act of self-defending violence against a sympathizer of the ruling Islamic government manifest an irrevocable change in their lives.

Against this highly unstable and conflict ridden backdrop, the tumult of first love plays on.



The book is very beautifully written, but there are a few words, carelessly retained that make one wish for the services of a good editor.



The characterization is realistic and true to detail. Living on the subcontinent, it is not hard to bring to mind characters of that type.

The women here are strong, whether it be Sakeena, Kaneez, Mor or Nabeela, Munir’s wife. Vasavada has done complete justice to the female character. From Nabeela, who, as a young bride, opposes her husband's decision to move to Pakistan, to decades later, when she is returning from India, and can hold her own emotions better than Munir who finds the separation from India quite unbearable.

Another strong character is Taheera, Sakeena’s mother, who even in her restrained circumstances, knows how to get her way for herself and her daughter.

But it is Mor whose influence drives a greater part of the plot and helps the heroine to discover her calling. This woman has books overflowing out of every nook in her apartment, certainly my idea of perfect décor.


I must make a mention about the plot development. At the beginning of the book, both Sakeena and Rohan are carefree, wealthy teenagers. Naïve about life, Sakeena knows nothing about the other Karachi, one of deprivation, filth and misery that lies carefully hidden from her life of privilege. Through the course of the novel, they both discover the other side of Pakistan, and realize firsthand the turbulence that pervades the land that their ancestors have made their own. Their characters make radical choices that shape their own destinies and alter their circumstances forever.


The similarities, both good and bad that Pakistan shares with India, strike you immediately. They are evident in the wry observations when Sakeena says, “girls always get the blame no matter how badly boys behave.” As also when she says, “They (boys) don’t have to tell anyone where they’re going or when they will be back,” and worst of all, rape, “the worst revenge against a woman in Pakistan.”

There are of course the basic similarities of food and colour and the raucousness and chaos of life that strike the Westerner more often than they do us. It makes one wonder why we don’t get along when we have so much in common. But there is the other side to it.

Like India, Pakistan is mired in divisions of caste, creed and region, unable to embrace its own people, unable to live and let live. We are both deeply entrenched in the shackles of patriarchy.

We receive further evidence of how similar we are. The author describes the two nations as brothers who meant to live in separate home and visit often, but end up wanting to rip each other’s throats apart.

As an Indian born decades after India won her Independence, there is a strange love-hate relationship that I feel we, as Indians, have with Pakistan. The very concept of Pakistan both fascinates and frightens us.

Reading Sakoon, I felt a tinge of sadness for all those whose lives were uprooted in the wake of the Partition. It helped me understand the sense of betrayal they feel at how the idea that had once captured their imagination has let them down.

Vasavada offers a critique on the crumbling state of Pakistan, hemmed as it was in the ‘80s between the Soviet Union which occupies neighbouring Afghanistan, and its nemesis, India. The author discusses through the medium of conversation “the impact of political bombshells that had gone off in the past five years and how they had shaped the world.” Elsewhere, Munir thinks, “In trying to spark the genius of Pakistan, Zia had let loose the genie of religious fervor that would never go back in the bottle of its own will.”

In another place, the author says, “What is history but a random collision of events and personalities with one constantly battling to control the other.” And amid this fearsome machinery struggle the common people who get trampled upon. Sakoon is the story of those trampled people.

At school, we learn hardly anything about the history of the subcontinent and how it relates to the world, and even when we do, we reduce it to a banal memorization of facts and dates. Historical fiction is an effective tool for teaching history and making it come alive.

Sakoon is the kind of story that seems made for celluloid.

If that happens, I’d still say, read the book.

Book Review: THE TREASURE OF KAFUR

Title: The Treasure of Kafur
Author: Aroon Raman
Publisher: Pan Macmillan India
Pages: 400

It was Rudyard Kipling who said, “If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.” After reading The Treasure of Kafur by Aroon Raman, you will find yourself nodding vigorously.

The premise of the book, however, is far from historical. Raman has taken a single character from the hoary pages of history, the merest slice of our illustrious past, and peopled that colourful world and time using the strength of his own intelligence and imagination.

In this strange, anthropormorphic world, there are people who are capable of understanding and interpreting the language of animals and birds. The creatures themselves speak lucidly and coherently, and are capable of strategising and detailed planning.

It is a little disconcerting initially, this talking by animals in what seems to be historical fiction, not fantasy, but after a while, one gives in to it and begins to find the whole premise very believable. Such is the force of Raman’s writing.

The story begins in the early 14th century, when a warrior named Kafur is hiding an enormous treasure. The exercise of hiding that treasure is conducted in the dead of the night, and all those who are involved in putting the treasure away willingly put themselves to death in order to maintain secrecy. And yet, more than 270 years later, the knowledge of the existence of that treasure becomes the reason for spilling blood and unleashing carnage across the length and breadth of Hindustan.

At the height of Akbar’s reign, there are still those that are not under his sway. The fiercest of Akbar’s foes is Asaf Baig, the despotic ruler of Khandesh, who fills his treasure even as people die of hunger. Adept at reading minds, he comes to know that an old woman named Ambu knows where Kafur’s treasure lies hidden. That treasure which could finance the biggest and longest running war against Akbar.

When Asaf abducts Ambu, in an attempt to wrest the knowledge from her, Dattatreya, her 20-year-old grandson, tries to get Akbar to help him find his grandmother and save himself.

What follows are a series of adventures, spread across the nation, as Datta and his friends, Aditi, the cow, Manas, the tortoise, Kanka and Shukra, the ravens, and their flock of birds, and Sheherezad, the coloured parrot, set out to foil Asaf Baig’s attempts and rescue Ambu. On the way, they meet Raja Man Singh, who takes them under his wing. To add to the difficulty of their journey, it becomes known that Datta’s life faces threat at the hands of an ancient race of cannibalistic and bloodthirsty tantriks.

Another good feature of this book is that the minor characters are as well developed as the lead ones. Raman has invested almost as much energy in building up the characters of Dilawer, Inayat Khan, Rahmatullah Khan, the Aulia etc, not to forget Datta's non-human friends. Read the book to find out more about all these interesting characters.

As the female lead, Ahilya, the daughter of Raja Man Singh, is a delight. Her skills in archery are crucial to the story and helpful to rescue the hero.

I particularly liked the many friendships in this story, between Datta and the animals, Datta and Dilawar, the understanding between Datta and Akbar, and the fledgling friendship between Datta and Ahilya.

Building on many of the legends associated with Emperor Akbar, Raman builds the Mughal leader into a man of almost mythical attributes. His bravery in battle, his habit of moving about his kingdom incognito, in order to better understand the pulse of the common people, and the respect and honour he accords to Rana Pratap, a brave son of India, helps his stature in the eyes of the reader.

The plot is tightly constructed, and the writing sweeps you along into the mood of the story into another time, a few centuries ago when India was not a nation but a loose collection of principalities and kingdoms. Before you know it, you are as much a part of Datta’s band as his non-human friends are. 

The mock battle scene where Datta’s prowess at directing animals and birds is witnessed by Man Singh serves to show off the famed Mughal penchant for stratagem. Raman also does a great job of recreating the war room hustle inside the Mughal camp. I also liked the encounter that a disguised Akbar has with Rana Pratap. It shows the greatness of both the rivals.

The author has also taken great pains and conducted a lot of research to recreate the life and times of 16th century India.

Nothing puts me off as much as Indian words set in italics. And Raman melds Indian words here into the drama, inviting readers to decipher their meanings as they go along.

In this curious and strange time, the enemy is everywhere, in rival principalities and superstition-led tantriks alike. Raman manages to recreate the sense of discomfort and the perils of following the scent of an adventure in these difficult times.

The only negative elements in this story are the many grammatical errors that dot several pages. The chronological narrative also takes a slight beating when Shukra lands with a message at Ahilya’s quarters first, and later, we hear of Akbar telling Datta to send that same message. I really wish these errors had been taken care of by the publishers. They tend to draw away from the quality of a good book.

The story ends at the cusp of a fresh new adventure, with Raja Man Singh forcing his daughter to undertake a marriage alliance that her heart opposes, one that Datta must rescue her from.

Hopefully Raman will oblige.

(I received a copy of this book from the author, in exchange for a fair review.)

Book Review: LAND OF THE SEVEN RIVERS

Title: Land of the Seven Rivers
Author: Sanjeev Sanyal
Publisher: Penguin Books
Pages: 331







I was prepared to enjoy Sanjeev Sanyal's Land of The Seven Rivers ever since I read the second line of his Author's Note in which he says, "as I wrote this book, it felt like I have been preparing for it for all my adult life. Ideas, facts and conversations that I seem to have hidden away somewhere in my head all came tumbling out as I wrote out the chapters one by one." 

Reading through this interesting book gave me, as a reader, the sensation of a work to which the author has given his all. The depth of research and reading that he has done for this book is simply fantastic and highly impressive. I can well believe his statement that if the publishers had not taken the draft away from him, he would have continued with the research forever.

The strength of that research and the power of the narrative gives the lie to the British imperialist claim that they were in India in order to civilize her and that India has had no civilisational history. 

India, the book amply proves, has never needed civilizing. Her heritage extends back over many thousands of years, over the passage of which, different groups of people, friendly or inimical, whether seeking to conquer or to find refuge against persecution, have been assimilated. Even when India fought against the devious intentions of the marauding invaders, she still adopted and retained the positive vestiges of their culture, as in the case of the Mughals and their biryani.

The vestiges of ancient times remain with us in so many ways. Just as the Uttara Path and the Dakshina Path met at Varanasi, the British-built Northern Railway and Southern Railway had their nerve centre in Mughalsarai, just outside Varanasi.

Through this fact-rich book, Sanyal teaches us to be fascinated with this enormous country, so full of contradictions, polarities and differences, where fact meets fiction and legend, and where mythology and symbology are always within arm's reach.

The author begins by placing India in the context of the history and geography of the world, by explaining the tectonic shifts and other occurrences that caused the landmass known as the Indian subcontinent to break away from the larger landmass to which it had been attached for hundreds of thousands of years.

The book traverses India’s monumental journey from the time it asserted its independence by breaking away from the larger landmass up to its political Independence from British imperial rule, 

Along the way, it reveals how life sprang and flourished around India’s many rivers, the importance of the symbology of the lion not only to India but in other ancient cultures too, the linkages of trade and how they helped navigators to seek out the world and map it, bit by bit. 

There is a chapter on the many visitors that India has had, from the Mughal and Turkish invaders to the Parsis who came to escape the persecution, and the scholars who thronged India’s ancient universities. The establishment of the railway system and the high noon of the British empire in India and the story of how the joy of India’s Independence gave way to the trauma and misery of the Partition bring up the rear in this book, that, like the rivers of India, flows easily and seamlessly across the ages.

Sanyal succeeds in placing the history of India within the context of its geography, its political climate and its literature and mythology. Without getting into the finer details of the authenticity of India’s epics, he tells readers that the places mentioned in such elaborate detail are very real. One of the greatest strengths of his work is that he has been able to talk about history parallelly and to make ancient history relevant to our times. 

Sanyal draws interesting parallels where few of us would have seen any. Stating that the lion is important to the Sinhalese people of Sri Lanka, he adds that it is not entirely coincidental that the rebel LTTE named themselves after the other big cat, that is the rival of the lion.

The book also reminded me that history’s lessons are re-presented to us, if we fail to learn from them the first time around. Even today, we see ageing rulers who can’t give up the trappings of power. In another instance, I learned that even a document as strategic as Kautilya’s Arthashastra specified fines for urinating and defecating near a water reservoir, temple or royal palace. 

Sanyal's observations are thought provoking. The idea that the Ramayana is after all the first piece of Dalit literature to occupy such an important place in Hindu religious orthodoxy is audacious but so true. Sanyal also clarifies misconceptions about Sanskrit being a ‘pure’ language.

The humour is very subtle – you might miss it if you’re not careful. In the chapter on trade, he tells us that Italian and Arabian wines were imported in large quantities in ancient times, tracing to this the Indian love for imported alcohol. 

Remarkably, Sanyal’s own voice remains neutral, helping to establish the authenticity of his work. The book is filled with historical and anecdotal detail, but the style is that of a story, and I could well imagine the narrative as a speaking voice inside my head as I read. It was like getting into a time machine and visiting bygone times, without worrying about the risk of altering history or destroying the time-space continuum.

Land of The Seven Rivers reminded me that the best way to teach history and geography is to shear it of its dates and definitions, and make it a story, told by a hoary, wise one to a group of avid listeners, as the lights from the flickering bonfire casts dancing shadow on their faces.

Lessons learned decades ago about the Indus Valley Civilisation and other dynasties that conquered and were vanquished, at various points in time, came back to me. Sanyal’s prose causes powerful warriors and leaders, teachers and builders to walk out from the pages of history and present their motivations to us. The narrative gives us a taste of the architecture, the literature and the life styles of the folk of those times. 

This is not Around the World in 80 Days. This is around the world across the ages and time and space – all in 331 pages. And of course, bonus points for the interesting cover.

A free copy of this book was sent to me by Think WhyNot in exchange for an honest review.