Many years ago, an Indian publication wrote in the context of the Nehru-Gandhi family: “Dynasties die nasty”, alluding to the fact that two generations of the family had met with a violent end. But it could have been said about the equally famous Bhutto clan in Pakistan as well. For the Bhuttos, the privileges of dynasty have not been a guarantee of peace and contentment, or even an enduring middle age. Forget luxuries of life, in the Bhutto family, life itself has been a luxury, with generations perishing in unusual circumstances—Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was 51 when he was executed during the Zia-ul-Haq regime; his daughter, Benazir, lived to 54 before meeting a violent end during an election campaign. Her brother Murtaza, aged 42, was assassinated on the streets of Karachi—to this day his daughter, the noted author Fatima Bhutto, refuses to acknowledge he is dead. When he was alive, he lived the life of an exile in Syria for many years, fearing for his life in Pakistan.
Fatima Bhutto was not even born when her grandfather passed away in 1979 and was not much more than a little girl when she lost her father in 1996. Little wonder then that violence has shaped her mind and her thought processes. Not only did she grow up hearing stories of political violence, she experienced it too. If it was the abiding emotion in her Songs of Blood and Sword , it continues to provide beguiling depth to her latest book, The Runaways , a searing, searching exercise. While Songs of Blood and Sword was a non-fiction exercise that involved years of research into her father’s times, his story and his value system, The Runaways is a novel that is set in the present. Throbbing with contemporary energy, it takes us through the killing fields of West Asia. As always, she asks uneasy questions, refusing to take refuge in equivocation.
If, around a decade ago, Fatima Bhutto confessed to this correspondent in an interview for The Hindu that the idea of life in her country was cheap and that one could extinguish life, but one could not erase memory, today she wonders how much pain one has to be in to go to war against the world.
The Runaways comes riding on many a good word. While The New York Times found Fatima Bhutto’s talent “evident, even exciting”, the Pakistani novelist Bapsi Sidhwa called it “an astonishing achievement and vividly written”. Still soaking in the adulation of the literary world, far from the rough and tumble of politics, Fatima Bhutto gave measured responses to questions from Frontline . Excerpts:
A little under a decade ago, you wrote “Songs of Blood and Sword”. One would have expected more exploration of your redoubtable political pedigree. But “The Runaways” is far removed from that world.
As a writer, I’m always drawn to issues that move me and disturb me. The issues of radicalism, isolation, and how it is that young people battle the world around them are what brought me to The Runaways . Songs of Blood and Sword was a book very close to my heart, but it’s already written; I have said everything I wanted to say about my family and politics.
Your novel’s characters traverse different countries and continents, from Pakistan to England to West Asia. Is it a product of the times when most writers from the Indian subcontinent are living a hyphenated existence? I am referring to people like Kamila Shamsie, and earlier Mohammed Hanif too. You too spent a lot of time in Syria during your childhood.
I was born in Afghanistan and I grew up in Damascus until the age of 11, so I have always had a rootless life in a sense as I was born into my father’s exile. But I think we live in a global world today. Many people don’t work in the cities they were born in, they don’t study in the cities their families come from and there is a lot of internal migration and global movement. The world has shrunk in so many ways. Even us speaking now is a sign of how easy it is to bridge borders and distances.
The characters in your novel want to join the insurgent movement in Iraq. Is not that politically incorrect at a time when the world is pretending that good guys do not go there?
I think the prevailing view of who becomes a radical or an insurgent is shallow and narrowly constructed by the West. These binaries of good and bad have proven not only false but also dangerously misleading. I am against violence and all those who use it, but I have a duty to understand it and to ask what drives so many young people towards it. I think it’s a complex issue that can’t be reduced to good/bad, this religion/that religion. It has to do with a lifetime of humiliation, isolation, pain and anger. How much pain do you have to be in to go to war against the world?
The narrative in the novel has multiple layers. Yet, one abiding emotion is of violence. Is it because you have seen violence from close quarters—from losing your father and other members of the family?
I have always been haunted by the violence I experienced. It’s a shadow that has followed me my whole life; it’s never very far away and its presence could certainly be felt in my writing.
I like the names of your characters, Monty and Sunny. In the Indian context, they are almost Punjabi nicknames. Yet, there is a lot in their lives which have no scope for easy banter, even peaceful joys. Violence seems integral to storytelling here. Do you agree?
Sunny’s full name is Salman and Monty’s is Mustafa but I don’t fully agree. Violence is integral to what happens to these young men and how they imagine their own power and place in the world but, at the same time, you see Monty heartsick with love, completely consumed by a girl he adores. Life is a constant negotiation of joys and sorrows and the same is true for these young men. Sunny’s anguish is lifted by moments of personal joys and meaningful bonds too. The peaceful joys and the violent upsets must exist in tandem, they always do in real life.
Your women characters have a strong streak of defiance. Is that a comment on society which wants its women to be coy and submissive?
No, it’s reflective of the fact that regardless of what society might want, women in our part of the world are defiant and brave and strong. Those qualities are deeply embedded within South Asian women; they can’t be tamed.
Karachi occupies a unique space in your life. What is it about the city that draws you to it? Does it shape your world view?
It occupies a unique space for me because it’s a city torn between two intensities—love and fear. It is a city I adore because of the kindness, verve and creativity of its people. It’s a city I’m deeply grateful to belong to and which has taught me so much about life and survival but, at the same time, it’s also the place where I experienced the most traumatic, painful moments of my life. I have never felt safe in Karachi, the city, but I always feel protected by its people.
Other Pakistani authors like Mohammed Hanif and Danyal Moinuddin have gone on record saying that it is difficult to be a journalist or even an author in Pakistan. Do you agree?
It seems increasingly dangerous to be an author or journalist in Pakistan, India and Bangladesh. This danger is not unique to Pakistan as recent events have clearly shown.
What is keeping you from politics? Is it because you detest the cesspool that it has become or you love writing more?
I have always wanted to be a writer ever since I was a young girl. I’m doing what I love, but I would say that it is political; politics is never far from my work.
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