In the world of assassinations, a suicide bombing is an impersonal thing: a moment in which all the air around is sucked in, and then thrown out with the shrapnel with such force that it kills or maims all in its vicinity, searing the ground beneath it with the heat, distinguishing its victims only by their proximity to the exploding vest or car.
In contrast, the sniper’s weapon is impersonal, cool, and pointed directly at the target, seeing only the target in the cross-hairs of the gun, aiming that one bullet carefully to pierce through to the mark. The bomber needs little intelligence; in fact, he must subsume all thought to the ‘cause’ before he pushes the button. Snipers must necessarily keep their wits about them at all times, especially when squeezing the trigger.
What happens when both are present at the same assassination? Was the suicide bomber who targeted Rani Shah’s convoy meant to kill her, or was he meant to kill the man who shot her?
In a manner more crude, but equally effective, was the bomber really the Jack Ruby who killed the gunman Lee Harvey Oswald who killed JFK?
For that’s what leads to the perfect crime, one where all evidence of the assassin is wiped out almost as soon as his bullet left his gun, and allows for the title of Pakistani author Sabyn Javeri’s riveting novel Nobody Killed Her .
In her shadow
The plot of this pacy thriller, narrated as a courtroom drama, is unusual and should sound wild.
In the Indian subcontinent, however, and particularly in Ms. Javeri’s own country, it is wholly familiar: Rani Shah is thrown by her father’s violent execution into politics, into a tussle between her and any man in her life who must compete with a country for her attentions, and a powerful security establishment that wields ultimate power and, rather than taming extremist violence, uses it to its own advantage.
Her secretary, Nazneen Khan, who worships her, represents the more grounded reality of women in the here and now, who is able to leave behind her own poverty and exploitation as she climbs, always a step in Rani’s shadows, up the political ladder to centre-stage.
Both Rani and Nazo are consumed by the love of power, and connected by an intense and powerful relationship that doesn’t quite approximate love but also includes hate and fear of Rani’s husband, the mustachioed businessman Balgodi, who sees power and position as something to buy and sell. Another striking South Asian parallel in the book is of the woman politician.
When out of power, she is gritty, bold, and breaks the shackles of conservatism. In power, however, she is insecure, helpless, self-doubting and willing to perpetuate the same religious conservatism, pulling a veil, a dupatta or a pallu over the fierce feminism that brought her there.
It is why South Asia—India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka—has given the world powerful women leaders, yet women in South Asia have the least power in their own homes.
Twist at the end
Read Nobody Killed Her right to the end, because, like all good thrillers, there is a twist that will leave you gasping and furiously re-reading many parts to make sense of it. In life, as in all good fiction, it is the strangeness of truth that allows for the best endings.
