A literary debut at the age of 78! That is unusual, to say the least. Tell us how that happened. Also, the book has been conceived in a most unusual way: as a series of inter-linked stories, each self-contained as chapters yet linked by a story that runs through. Was this by happy serendipity or did you devise it so for a particular reason?
I was posted in Swat as Commissioner in 1971 after it had been merged into Pakistan. By then, I had spent over a decade as political officer in the tribal areas of Pakistan — in Quetta-Pishin and Chagai in Baluchistan, Khyber and Malakand (covering Dir, Swat and Chitral), the Frontier and Dera Ismail Khan (covering North and South Waziristan). When I had some free time on my hands I thought of writing poetry. My wife was dismissive about the quality of the few pieces I produced and suggested that I focus on the tribal areas instead, as much of our married life had been spent in these areas.
I took her advice and started scribbling a few bits and pieces, which she immediately transcribed on her typewriter with a German keyboard. Friends suggested that I convert it into fiction or create a central character around which the book could be structured. I felt, however, that a perpetually strong central character is unnatural. I feel a human being is like a twig carried by a strong current. It is only for brief moments and infrequently that he bobs to the surface, but is then rapidly swept into the depth of the stream of life.
By 1974 the manuscript was completed in its raw form; it hibernated for over three decades. About three years ago, my brother, younger to me by 15 years, heard of a short story competition being organised. Since he vaguely remembered some pieces I had written, he asked me to send the manuscript. My wife made a copy and sent it to him. From that point onwards, events moved swiftly. My brother felt that the manuscript merited being treated as a whole — not merely as a short story. He also strongly urged me to refine it.
By that time I was (and still am) leading a retired life and had sufficient time to rework the manuscript. My brother brought the compilation to the notice of a remarkable young lady, Ms. Faiza Sultan Khan and through her, to the attention of Meru Gokhale at Penguin, who acted as its Fairy Godmother.
Your long years of experience with the tribes-people runs like a shaft of translucent light all through The Wandering Falcon . What, according to you, is the single greatest bane of these people who live such difficult lives in a terrain that is often inhospitable, if not hostile?
The problem faced by the tribal people living in a harsh terrain are, by and large, no different from the more affluent people living in the fertile and productive areas. In my opinion, a feeling of envy, lust exists in equal measure in all societies. However, tribal societies have generally evolved a better system to manage ‘conflict resolutions' than other forms of collectivities. The one negative factor which one comes across frequently — especially in Pakhtun areas — is the absence of equal rights to those who do not belong to the dominant tribe of the area.
And what is their greatest blessing?
Their greatest blessing is that their system is simple and stable. The line between right and wrong is drawn clearly. In the two years I spent in the Baluch area of Chagai, there was not a single theft; the Mengal tribe who used to migrate southwards during winter used to leave their houses unlocked and their stores of grain unprotected. Nobody ever touched the grain or the possessions they left behind.
The tribal areas are commonly perceived as remote and impenetrable and their people as inscrutable and incorrigible. Did you find it so?
No, never. I had and still retain a great respect for their code of life. I think the Baluch, particularly, can hold their heads high in any assembly of men. A one-line prescription in the British Government hand-book suggests: “Honor the Baluch”.
As for “inscrutable”, I was amazed at the candour, openness and loyalty I was offered. Despite belonging to the plains of Punjab and speaking the local language imperfectly, I never felt an alien during my two decades with the tribes. Tribesmen tend to judge the qualities of the political officer by his code of conduct. He is offered respect if his quality of integrity, work ethics and fair play pass their test. If he fails to qualify, then disaster follows.
The notion of honour underlines much of the lived and felt experiences in The Wandering Falcon . Why and how did it acquire this all-consuming importance in the lives of the tribes?
I think honour and what it connotes (loyalty, graciousness, truthfulness, forgiveness and restraint) provide the binding cement to the four forms of human collectivities — human pair, family, clan and tribe. Minor transgressions erode these systems. Major transgressions shatter them. The tribal code of life demands allegiance to these principles. This factor is of such primary importance that one of the severest punishments is for a tribesman to be cast out of the tribe. I have seen it happen only once and I have always wondered what happened to the outcast and his family.
Having tasted blood, as it were, are you working on your next book?
Not at the moment, I might, though.
