Book Review: The Carpet Weaver

In ‘The Carpet Weaver’, a gay love story plays out against the backdrop of 1970s-Afghanistan, bringing to light the many hypocritical tales of the land, writes Lalitha Subramanian

Lycee Esteqlal was the pinnacle of cosmopolitanism during Afghanistan’s golden age.’ This debut novel from Afghan-American Nemat Sadat — scholar, gay activist, vegan — is much more than a gay love story. The book is, among other things, a loving ode to Afghanistan’s golden years, up to the mid-1970s, a time when the relatively liberal Daoud Khan ruled, when young and old Kabulis, male and female, enjoyed life, cautiously. At an art exhibition, Edith Piaf sings in the background while wine is toasted. But it was also a time of restlessness, when Islamist murmurs and oncoming Soviet-style communism threatened to spoil the party.

The story starts happily enough: Kanishka Nurzada’s 16th birthday is being celebrated at a Kabul ballroom where an Afghan pop singer is crooning away and lithe-limbed Afghan girls are lining up to dance with the shy birthday boy. Yet, godfather Zaki jaan is also on warning lecture mode: Allah never forgives sodomy and the worst a boy could do is become a hated kuni (homosexual).

Simultaneously, we get introduced to Kanishka’s family and friends: genteel Maadar (Shia), Baba (Sunni, secret Maoist, successful carpet trader), younger sister Benafsha, good friends Maihan (childhood pal, sophisticated ‘dip-kid’ or diplomat’s son) — and Faiz, the godfather’s perceptive son, the third angle of a long-standing friendship triangle. The birthday party has been fun, yet Zaki jaan’s warning has disturbed Kanishka — who has doubts about his own sexuality.

Baba introduces his young adult son to his regular hangout, the Durrani Hammam (spa-bath), which also serves as a meeting place for the illegal Maoists. It is here at the all-male bath-house that Kanishka understands his inclination. Subsequently, Baba perceives it too and tries to warn his son off the path. A sincere Kanishka attempts to date the coquettish, voluptuous Lamba, fails, feels ashamed. He finds refuge and happiness in Maihan, his secret and willing crush.

This teenage love story is played out intermittently in a Kabul that is cosmopolitan and easy, yet often rife with hypocrisies. In an Islamic society where homosexuality is punishable by death, young men still manage to find mutual refuge at public baths and wrestling sessions. Boys and girls meet in public parks, are discreet yet bold. Kanishka and Maihan occasionally face sneak attacks from Islamist hotheads. The duo traverses this terrain carefully, fearfully, clutching at moments of joy. Still, Maihan is sure that he does not wish to come out publicly, does not wish to displease conventional expectations, leaving Kanishka doubtful, self-critical, unhappy.

April 1978: The Saur Revolution — a coup d’etat — happens. The Afghan president Daoud Khan is assassinated and the Soviet-backed PDPA takes charge. This fragile mountainous kingdom would be changed forever.

The second section of the novel is a fascinating yet horrific roller coaster ride. The Maoist father is taken away one night, dealt with in expected feared fashion. Many other Afghans meet a similar fate. The genteel life is gone. Faiz and Maihan escape with their families — but not before Maihan advises Kanishka to follow suit. And Kanishka Nurzada truly becomes a man as he shepherds his mother and sister through a close-shave journey to Pakistan, the pit stop before their final goal, the US.

The Pakistan portions are gut-wrenching. Instead of a healing UN Refugee camp, the Afghan refugees find themselves herded into a remote prison camp. Through two hellish years, Kanishka and family survive, along with other miserable souls — making carpets that are sold to capitalist middlemen in the West. It is a mind-numbing soul-shattering time of extremely hard work, illness, terror, even sexual exploitation by the monstrous camp boss.

Those who cannot not survive would be discarded — sold off as mercenaries, sex slaves, desert jockey boys — or harvested body parts.

The final portion in the US concludes after some initial heartbreak. Faiz and family help their old friends start afresh. But Maihan is unwilling to lead anything other than a conventional public life. The family knows Kanishka’s secret — and he is happy to come out, relieved, live his own life.

As an Afghan proverb reminds: ‘Life is a balance between holding on and letting go.’ The novel keeps alive the idea of beauty amidst despair. Sadat constantly references Afghanistan’s pre-Arab, Persian and Indian-Buddhist past. For instance, on Nowruz, the Afghan New Year’s day, Maadar displays two texts — the Quran and the Rig Veda. Fragrant Afghan food is ever-present, coming alive off the pages. An art exhibition mentions a Ganesha with swastika.

Sadat’s prose is often embellished with Sufi poet Rumi’s soulful lines as well as elegant Urdu words like shabba khair and mehmaan khana.

And the craft of perfect carpet weaving, dismissed by Kanishka’s father years before, helps our hero survive the Pakistani camp, gives him a professional foothold in the New World. The book title is just right.