Review: Ittehad: A Life Together by Guli Sadarangani
Rita Kothari’s translation of the book, which was first published in undivided India, attempts to give Sindh’s first woman novelist her due
The first woman writer to publish a novel in Sindhi, Guli Sadarangani’s Ittehad (1941) is an interfaith love story. Despite this achievement however she has largely been unrecognized. Perhaps her work was too idealistic or perhaps this near erasure is emblematic of the state of the Sindhi language in independent India where it is the first language of stateless Hindu Sindhis, who arrived as refugees during the Partition. The novel’s subject – a Hindu woman marrying a Muslim man without converting to Islam – is a contentious one even today.
First published in undivided India, Ittehad was later expanded and republished as Milaapi Jeewan in 1983. Rita Kothari’s translation is perhaps the first attempt to give this underrated writer her due. This is the story of Hamid, “a gentle and low-key person” with “a big heart and a sharp mind,” who comes from a progressive Sindhi Muslim family. His parents support education for women, and his mother actively engages in the well being of the community. Armed with a PhD, Hamid returns to India and meets his friends Vijay and Aruna in Almora with whom he engages in lively discussions on equality beyond caste and religion, and advocates for women’s rights. Through them he meets Asha, “a polite and compassionate person but full of courage and quiet sovereignty”, the daughter of Vijay’s conservative uncle. Asha follows the law of nature — what lives must die tomorrow — and is liberal. She studied in Shantiniketan and believes in peace and communal harmony. Hamid and Asha become an idealistic young couple, the kind that the author clearly believes India needs to overcome the caste and religious politics of British India.
Sadarangani makes Hamid her spokesperson for the views on marriage that are difficult to accept for many even today. He states that marriage can be for two reasons – love and social acceptance – and it is up to the individual to choose which one they value more. He insists it shouldn’t be done merely as a duty to parents. “I don’t understand why anyone should be coerced into changing their religion?” he adds. “Everyone’s personhood is a product of the many contexts from which they come. Religion is an individual’s personal matter and faith. Problems arise when they are forced to convert.” Unlike many young Indians even today who find it difficult to withstand the pressure to marry within their caste and community, Hamid is an independent thinker who is keen to be accountable for his actions.
READ MORE: Rita Kothari: “The vocabulary we assume is about religion is often about caste”
Apart from critiquing conversion for marriage, the characters also share the author’s vision for a new nation, one unburdened by the weight of the past and by outmoded ways of thinking: “It’s one thing to derive pride from the past, to even learn from its lessons, but we cannot become nostalgic about it and want our present to be shaped by its shadow.”
Despite her views, unusual for the time, that are voiced through her characters, Sadarangani stops short of being radical. In keeping with one of patriarchy’s favourite tropes, Asha, whose parents’ health is failing, is a damsel in distress rescued by Hamid. And so, her dream of finding love is fulfilled. But despite being the Muslim protagonist’s love interest, Asha is curiously absent from the pages. It is her friend, Aruna, who speaks loudly about women’s rights and oppression, and is disliked for it by Asha’s parents.
Asha’s idealism is perhaps mirrored by Hamid’s sister Zarina. The latter’s outwardly progressive parents do not want their daughter to be independent; they do not want Zarina to think and choose for herself. When they see her growing friendship with Ranjit, a Hindu, they decide to send her away to orthodox relatives. This section was initially left out as Sadarangani’s publisher assumed it would upset Muslim readers. The book stirred controversy nevertheless. The Hindu community of the day was quick to take offence at this inter-religious love story that ended in a happy marriage instead of tragedy. Clearly, Sadarangani’s upper-class privilege and education couldn’t trump patriarchy and the conservatism that often holds back women the most.
Rediscovered through Kothari’s translation, Ittehad is a reminder that stories of unity have always existed. It also compels us to reflect on how politics continues to permeate private lives. In the end, its strength lies in how it challenges readers to imagine what seems impossible and perhaps make that impossibility a reality too.
Akankshya Abismruta is an independent writer.