Reviews with content warning for Murder - The Return of Faraz Ali

The Return of Faraz Ali is an impressive debut of historical fiction by Aamina Ahmad. Set mainly in 1960s and 1970s Lahore Pakistan, Ahmad combines research and tenderness to render the lives of those living in the walled city of Shahi Mohalla (and those that escape) as well as those tumbled in the rough history of tumultuous times. I am always wary when reading a fictional book about courtesans but Ahmad deftly allays those worries. She explains in an interview "As it is elsewhere, sex work is taboo in Pakistan and the communities who work in that industry are highly stigmatised. People work without protection and there is little accountability for any harm done to them. In certain situations, as is depicted in the book, very young girls who are not really even old enough to consent can end up doing this work too. This raises all kinds of issues about the safety and rights of children. Part of the reason this community is marginalised is that, despite Islam’s emphasis on equality, Pakistan remains a caste-ridden society. Sex work was traditionally the preserve of particular caste communities. Their role in society also encompassed various kinds of artistic performances such as dance." https://www.desiblitz.com/content/aamina-ahmad-talks-the-return-of-faraz-ali-storytelling

Under the framework of a detective story investigating the death of a young girl Sonia Begum in Mohalla, we get insight into not only the practice of paying for a girl's nath (virginity) but the age old tradition of passing down the trade from mother to daughter. We learn about the strict training and expertise in kathak dance and the juxtaposition of showbiz and prostitution as well as their powerful clientele. Not romanticized in any way:
The kanjar might claim to take pride in their history as descendants of royal courtesans, but there wasn't anything regal about the men who loitered outside the function rooms.

...he was the clichéd portrait of every film in which a man fell for a tawaif, the exceptional, rare tawaif, the one who transcended her profession, who deserved salvation. Only this woman wasn't behaving as if she needed saving; she was impatient for him to leave so that she could get on with saving herself, as, he guessed, she always had.

The tawaifs in the films always died because there was no escape from their world really, no future, no prospect of real love for women who did this work; but there was tragedy, and in the tragedy of their deaths somehow their honor was restored. In the films it was the only kind of honor due to a kanjari. He knew Mehru hadn't even turned to look at the door that had closed behind him. She was not thinking of him now as he thought of her, but instead only of her children, and he thought how wrong those stories were; the real honor was in Mehru's surviving,...

The scope of the novel is very wide and not just about the kanjaris although I will admit the parts that moved me the most were regarding their unpalatable choices and mourning them during Musharram. In particular, Rozina the film star and her trajectory of dejection, gritting of teeth to do what's necessary for survival to provide for her daughter and mother and their different intergenerational clashing attitudes, was heartbreaking. Returning to the book blurb's question of "Whom do we choose to protect, and at what price?" I can trace how every character was protecting someone at their own expense, the sacrifice unseen. Against the backdrop of historical events of Indian soldiers fighting as part of the Indian British Army in North Africa (Libya) against the Germans and Italians in 1942 to the rise of General Bhutto, formation of Pakistan through Partition, the Bangladesh War of Independence in 1971 and its aftermath, the characters struggle in the chaos of uprisings, wars and border redefinitions. Questions of morality, whether might equals right, arise. Both Faraz Ali and his father Wajid are POWs in different wars across two time periods yet the similarities simmer unspoken. The quote that Aamina Ahmad has chosen by Ali Ibn Abi Talib is perfect: "I discovered my Lord in the breaking of my plans."

Highly recommended.

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