6: The Naked Vulnerability of Man: The Indifference of Nature (Saad Hafeez)

“Imagine: the height of summer in the month of fateful July; the indifferent river has flooded as never before in thirty years; the darkness has fused all the elements of nature into one single neutral one, older than the river itself and more indifferent. In such manner the end of this hero had to be” (54)

In class, we played with a lot of theoretical explanations behind the happenings of Mustafa Saeed’s aberrant life- possibly a post-colonial revenge, a merciless hunter driven by the taste of flesh, or perhaps an oedipal discharge in the context of an absent father and an unfeeling mother. However, the alternate explanation behind the novel’s progression would require us to relinquish an individuated view of Saeed’s agency playing out in the world. Rather, the idea of nature (the universe, even culture) as an indifferent phenomenon, one that dictates human action is pervasive throughout the text and holds much explanatory power.

For Saeed himself, his story progresses from one chance encounter to the next, as he makes his way up the ranks to become the ‘first Sudanese to get an Oxford education … and marry an Englishwoman’. He expresses this idea himself to the unnamed narrator:

“This is a fact in my life: the way chance has placed in my path people who gave me a helping hand at every stage, people for whom I had no feelings of gratitude” (19)

In this way, the narrator unfolds for us the idea that we are all at the mercy of nature. Saeed, himself, seems to meander into excess by his very nature. He ascribes qualities of hardness and sharpness (regularly comparing himself to a knife) as particularly self-evident, emerging not out of a self-conscious agency that perpetuates it but as a result of a long, impersonal process which has dictated him to be as such. Mustafa is ultimately unable to live out a happy, simple life in the village and the narrator himself is unable to burn down the private room, or commit suicide for that matter, as violence and hatred run precisely contrary to his nature.

The counter-argument posed here would reference the ‘free will’ discourse at the beginning of Saeed’s story- as he voluntarily elects to travel to Cairo for studies at the mere age of 12. Salih’s fondness for employing the literary technique of the double partially explains these half-commitments to free will on the one hand and determinism on the other. However, the end of the work provides a sort of explanation of Salih’s stance as the narrator fights the river’s force:

“I thought that if I died at that moment, I would have died as I was born – without any volition of mine. All my life I had not chosen, had not decided. Now I am making a decision. I choose life” (133)

Just as he finds himself submitting to the ‘forces of the river’, a very free desire (thirst) for a cigarette brings him back. And there’s your resolution!

The "muddle" of India

Forster constantly invokes images of a muddled India, and this image is embodied in the physical and spiritual essence of what he portrays India to be, and is a testament to its past present and future of the country. This muddle seems to entangle in every aspect of the idea of India, from the formless landscape, to the birds that defy identification and the people who cannot be homogenized to fit into a single identity. However in contrast to the muddle, the reader is constantly introduced to another side of India, one embedded in mysticism and mystery, and through the course of the novel it becomes important to distinguish between the two. And it is by oscillating between the two images that each character along with the readers must construct their own image of the “real India” or perhaps come to the understanding that such a thing does not exist, and trying to create a clear cut image only perverts the idea of all that India can encompass and represent for different people in the novel. It further highlights how the orientalist discourse led to expectations in the European community of what this ‘exotic’ land would yield.

Moreover we notice that among the characters of the novel, characters such as Mrs. Moore and Adela who seek a specific India, whether it be a mystical one or one that can be neatly defined will find themselves in a muddle that will not only disconnect them from all that they know but further baffle them as to whether they will ever be able to experience what they expected or want India to be. However the greatest muddle that Forster sheds light upon is that of the Indian identity, and how that identity is as ambiguous as the Marabar caves and just like the caves trying to make sense of it will only lead you into hollow space that one can neither really touch nor comprehend, and as we see from the experiences of Mrs. Moore and Adela in the Marabar caves, both characters are left even more disillusioned in their own way then they were when they first approached the caves in trying to understand what they hold. Here we can draw a comparison to the British community trying to identify the Indians and placing them in stereotypes, and is a reflection of how on one hand the Indian epitomizes the exoticism that the European seeks to give some clarity, while on the other hand just as Adela subtly dismisses the Marabar caves as being anything grand, the British inherently see themselves as superior to the Indian.

Al-Zaytuna: A note on Abu Qais and failed longing (Saad Hafeez)

Zaytun, or the olive tree, has been crafted as a powerful symbol in Palestinian memorial narratives. In the West Bank and GAZA, the symbol of the olive tree has long been established as one synonymous with a militant nationalism and a longing for the land. It was used by many nationalist movements to assert the legitimacy of Palestinian claims over Isreali land, as the olive trees can be found in many mountainous regions in the West Bank, having a truly ancient presence on the land (353). The olive trees, olives and olive oil are considered as precious commodities in the West Bank. Moreover, the heritage of communal seasonal harvests evoke images of the olive tree as conducive to family life, continuity of traditional farming practices, and generally ascribing a Palestinian identity to the land.

In Kanafani’s Men in the Sun, the symbol of the olive tree is repeatedly evoked by Abu Qais- a traveller who has no hopes of return but rather pushes further into the throes of exile. The heated conversation with his wife evokes two temporal modes of the olive tree- one of the past where he is scoffed for his longing for the “ten olive trees that you once owned in your village’ (27). While Abu Qais constantly tries to establish the connection with his past, the reality of the matter pokes fun at his longing. The temporal counterpoint is represented in his idea of establishing an ideal future. Apart from the discourse of the journey from Basra to Kuwait, the hopes of getting a job, stability etc etc- all these aspirations are again ensconced in the same symbol- “we’ll be able to send Qais to school and buy one or two olive shoots” (63). 

Therefore, the construction of an ideal future rests on the reconstruction of a romanticized past, connected together by symbols such as the olive tree.

Keeping with the general cynicism of the short story/novella, the olive tree symbol meets with the same defiance inasmuch as Abu Qais’ failure to construct any ideal future. His friend, Saad (YAY, ME), scoffs  at his naivety:

“…said there were no trees there. The trees exist in your head, Abu Qais, in your tired old head, Abu Qais. Ten trees with twisted trunks that brought down olives and goodness every spring” (26)

#sadtimes #noolivesforQais #Zaytunfail #Saadisright

Reference Used: Abufarha, Naseer. Land of Symbols: Cactus, Poppies, Orange and Olive Trees in Palestine. Identities: Global Studies and Politics 15:3 (Jun 2008) Pg. 343-368

The Empty Road: A Path without Closure

In Men in the Sun, the main characters are placed in a transient, unsettled state, a kind of social and moral purgatory. Purgatory is a fluctuating state of existence between life in this world and the next. In much the same way, these characters go through life with no eye on the present. That is to say their present state would be completely meaningless if not for ruminations of the cherished past - the time before they were uprooted - and aspirations of a remote future - when they are able to establish roots in the soil once again.

I believe their present situation is in fact more tragic than what is suggested above. A journey, after all, means nothing outside of its point of origin and its point of closure. To say that these characters derive no meaning from their peripatetic present is, then, not so outrageous. The lack of meaning derived from the present can at least be understood as a direct outcome of their peripatetic existence. And closure is possible, if only in theory, even though it is contingent on attaining the dignity and stability of a future home. So what makes the lives of these characters so tragic?

For me, the tragedy entails from the absence of any possibility of closure, of resolution, in their lives. Closure, after all, is only possible when there is a clear vision of what is being strived for. However, these characters have been "on the road" for so long they have completely forgotten what it means to be rooted. "The road! Were there still roads in this world? Hadn't he wiped them with his forehead and washed them in his sweat for days and days?" (29). Living precariously, in material terms, since the moment of being uprooted has caused these characters to associate home with material contentment. In doing so, they lose sight of the emotional and moral implications of being rooted in a particular place. They may long for the particulars of a home, for normalcy, - Abu Qais, for example, desires a roof and the ten trees he once owned - but the desire for these particulars, belies the actual loss they feel. The "dream and fantasy" of all that exists in Kuwait (26), thus, is merely an illusory stand-in for the inarticulable and irreversible loss of a homeland.

This is why their lives lack all possibility of resolution. In the precariousness of a nomadic existence, they have forgotten what it means to be rooted, especially in emotional and moral terms. This is illustrated well in the instance when Abul Khuzairun first compares the road to Kuwait to the Narrow Path of Abrahamic lore. With a clear and definite end in sight, the Narrow Path is a journey in which closure is real and attainable. The road to Kuwait, however, even if it is successfully completed is not the end of the characters' journey towards a home. The characters may find material affluence here, but not emotional comfort or moral stability. No wonder that Abul Khaizuran scoffs at the very comparison he himself suggested, between their road and the Narrow Path. The Narrow Path, after all, has a definite end and contains the possibility of closure, whereas their journey towards a home (in this case, conflated with the road to Kuwait) is interminable and, hence, meaningless. In fact, it is not even a journey, but an empty road, like the road to Kuwait, one they toiled over till the end. One needs only to imagine a life without end, an interminable purgatory, to understand the emotional and moral vacuousness of life on a never-ending road.    

Abu Qais' exhaustion

A considerable chunk of class discussion focused on failed masculinity in the text ‘Men in the Sun’; how the men have little agency or pride and how they constantly feel shame

.

However, all three men (Abu Qais, Assad and Marwan) are also very different and this comes across in their respective dealings with the ‘fat proprietor of the office’ ie the first man they approach when they wish to make the trip to Kuwait. Assad and Marwan both negotiate with the man, Marwan even goes as far as to insult him (a show of agency) However Abu Qais protests weakly and then gives up. On the face of it, this may seem to indicate that Abu Qais is the most passive of the three but I would like to focus on his reaction before drawing any conclusions

His reaction to the man is quite odd: ‘He wished the man would stop staring. Then he felt them. Hot, filling his eyes, about to fall. He wanted to say something, but could not. He felt that his whole head had filled with tears….the horizon of the earth and sky came together and everything around him became simply an endless white glow. He went back and threw himself down with his chest on the damp earth which began to beat beneath him again’

This may seem like an extreme reaction but it does highlight certain themes in the text. First, the idea of exhaustion. Abu Qais has yet to go on his journey and his exhaustion is thus not a physical but a mental one. His tears are perhaps a reaction to his lack of control of a situation (and not just this particular situation but numerous situations that have shaped his life) as one often cries when they do not know what to do/generally feel helpless or inadequate. Thus, though men are expected to take charge of situations and never cry we see that given Abu Qais’ circumstances such behavior would be impossible

Finally, Abu Qais throws himself onto the earth. Abu Qais is a farmer and is portrayed as closest to the earth. The earth revives him and he derives strength from physical contact with the soil. Abu Qais is also the oldest of the three and remembers a time when he farmed his homeland, before he was forced to leave, and did not live as he does now. His relationship to land therefore is one that Assad and Marwan cannot relate to.

It must be remembered that the stakes are very different for Abu Qais. He does not wish to remain in Kuwait but wants to return to his family with some money. He is also aware that he may die in the process. Assad and Marwan are more ‘conventional’ adventurers but Abu Qais is a poor farmer who simply wants to get by.

To conclude, Abu Qais should not be dismissed as a weak, passive character but should be seen as someone whose life has been shaped by others and who, at this point, is simply exhausted. 

Exile and Perpetual Wandering

IN Hannah Arendt's essay, "We Refugees", she explains how after being shunted from one place to another, and after being rendered unable to live the most ordinary of human lives, refugees, in great numbers, end up taking their own lives. At one place she writes,

Perhaps the philosophers are right who teach that suicide is the last and supreme guarantee of human freedom: not being free to create our lives or the world in which we live, we nevertheless are free to throw away life and leave the world.

The three subjects of Kanafani's "Men in the Sun" embody this mindset in both their psychological states and their physical journey. Though they do not outright commit suicide, the journey that they choose to embark on is a suicide mission and the last resort of a people who have nothing left to lose.  Abu Qais quite literally says that he might die but goes anyway because death is preferable to the state of limbo he and his wife live in, on the charity of others, physically in the same space but with no rootedness, with no belonging, and so wanderers even while not moving. Throughout the story the three men believe there will be something better for them at their destination. Abu Qais recalls the dignity of the life he lived in Palestine, hoping for nothing more than a shack and some olive shoots, the others--having no memory of dignified life in a homeland--just hope for something different, and even though they have nothing to compare their current state of despondency to they know that something is lacking and they hope that it will be found in Kuwait. For all three of them, their condition is informed by loss of or lack of homeland, leaving them in a perpetual state of uprootedness and wandering which is shown, in the story, to be worse than death and so these three men choose to for once and for all end this state by either getting to a place of dignity or accepting death in the process. This is exceptionally clear in the case of Abu Qais who quite literally wants to go to Kuwait so that he may have the means to build an actual physical home for his family.

In Arendt's essay, she explains that even when refugees reach a new destination, no matter how much they try they cannot belong, and there is nothing that can end that state of homelessness (except the final end of all that is found in death). Arendt describes a constant unbelonging and unfreedom, refugees being the only prisoners locked out of everywhere wishing that they were locked in somewhere, anywhere. In Kanafani's story we never get to see the three subjects reach a new place and face this crisis. There is no picture of the sense of unbelonging and unfreedom that they would have felt in yet another alien country. All three die on the way there. Perhaps this is Kanafani's way of agreeing with Arendt, that the dignity and hope that is embodied for his three characters in Kuwait doesn't exist for refugees, that the only freedom left for refugees, is the freedom to die.

Not a Single Movement

The character’s in Kanafani’s novella “Men in the Sun” are completely immersed in memories of the past and are constantly drawn back to their life in Palestine before the Nakba. The memory of the past is so strong that for Abu Qais the distinction between the past and the present has become difficult, this fluidity of time is mimicked by the form of the story it self where the temporal shifts are seamless, and these flashes are triggered by the merest of things.

Though the memory of their land is ever present they rarely ever talk of the shared experience they have of the exodus. Their conversations never venture far from the economical aspect of life, with nearly all conversations focused around making a fortune, or at least a decent living for themselves and their families. The focus of their conversations is entirely almost on the future, which appears before them as a mirage does in a desert.

This inability to talk about the past is important as it translates in to inaction, a lack of political motivation or participation to get back their lost land. Though always mobile (in attempts to get from one place to another) these men are struck with an intense immobility. As Abul Khaizuran, the lorry driver, say “I want to relax, to stretch out, to rest in the shade, thinking or not thinking. I don’t want to make a single movement.”

The question of this political inactivity of the Palestinian is symbolised at the end of the story where after dumping the bodies in the garbage heap Abul Khaizuran is struck with a thought “Why didn’t you knock on the sides of the tank? Why didn’t you bang on the sides of the tank? Why? Why? Why?” This line of questioning is not only in regards to the men in the tank but all Palestinians (all the men in the sun), who have suffered exile from their homes and have been thrust into the heat and humiliation of foreign lands, and yet have not spoken out against the injustice committed against them.

The Dupes: No Trees and jute walls

But could the sun kill them and all the stench imprisoned in their breasts?

 Apart from the obvious horror which befalls the Men in the Sun, what hauntingly stood out was the dichotomy between limitless desert and the claustrophobic characters. The endless expanse with its merciless heat is daunting even when introduced, yet Kanafani accentuates the horror by continually stressing the setting each time he introduces a character. The same, scorching regardless of the character or timeline: hence the insensitive lump sum: men in the sun, 'humanity in a frying pan' and ultimately nameless white bones littering the desert. The available space, regardless of its limitless expanse, provides no shelter. Similar idea echoes in the opening credits of Tewfik Saleh’s screen adaptation, The Dupes; 'A man without a homeland will have no grave in the earth'.

Amidst oblivion that the desert is, each man battles to find shelter or to be haunted in his own bubble. For helpless like Abu Qais, it is no less than a mirage. Deluding himself into tracing the Shatt, Kanafani delves into surreal aesthetics riddling character's mind: smell of his wife's washed hair, a small bird’s heartbeat, olive shoots and trees. Yet the kaleidoscopic subconscious monologue is rudely interrupted; 'Have you forgotten where you are!', 'No trees - there are no trees'. 

This continually narrowing space and caught individual are also highlighted by fragmented plot. Much like the chaotic shifts in past and present, the author highlights the dilemma of men wondering lost through the desert or in search for a destination which promises no mercy. These scurrying ‘rats’ across the desert as defined by tourist in Assad’s past eerily recall The Wasteland’s rendition of rats and the London bridge:  dehumanization and ‘fear in a handful of dust’.

The final sequence juxtaposes the narrowing walls around individual much like the ever-growing jute walls which confine Abu Qais’s home. The relentless mockery of Abul Khaizuran and the fictitious Kawkab is unflinchingly claustrophobic considering sterility that his patriotism cost him. At a literal level, in less than a minute, heat and illusions of Kuwait take their toll on those in the tank. This dilemma of denied space, enclosing walls reaches a crescendo with a series of final haunting images. There is no sense of completion even in death: ‘scream caught forever in death’, rigid hands ‘holding on to the iron supports’, the traumatized driver and the story coming round a full circle sans destination: bones in the sand for more dupes who seek Kuwait. No homeland, no grave. 

Men in the Sun: Abandon All Hope

“Men in the Sun” brings before us the failed journey of four Palestinian men—each of different age groups, from the youth Marwan to bachelor Assad to wizened father Abu Quais to our literal ‘failed man’ in the castrated Abul Khaizuran. In this manner what we are given is like a personified encompassing of the hapless, average Palestinian man through his life-cycle. What initially sounds like a struggle for hope and a better life instead, by the end, highlights how each element involved was in fact pointing towards the almost palpable doom and failure that concludes this story.

From the land, barren of shade and water, to the sky with its interrogative glare of the sun breaching the line between memory and reality, nature essentially holds no promise for these men. Nor so does religion—there's an absence of an Almighty power, only recalled carelessly, as when speaking of “God’s Hell,” and ironically (“God was certainly good to you when he made you die”). Of family there is no support either, as was discussed in class. Kuwait itself is too distant and aloof a promise to be a solid hope. What existed as positive lay within the doomed men—within Abu Quais, his cherished memories soaked within the land; within Assad and his strength, his refusal to let one cheat the less clever; within Marwan and his desire to provide for his family. Beyond these endearing qualities was their sense of purpose—Abu Quais and Marwan journey to attain provisions for their families, and Assad seeks out freedom from an undesired marriage. With the death of these three characters, we are left with nothing.

For the character of Abul Khaizuran is nothing short of a failure. He represents a literal idea of a failed man and the impossibility of regeneration with his castration; he has no profound purpose behind reaching Kuwait—the land holds no promise for him. His desire for a retired peaceful life is to be achieved through money alone, “money comes first, and then morals,” and any previous semblance of morality is shed when he takes the money from these dead characters’ very pockets. His one task, wherein we came to appreciate the man for trying to safely transport the other three to Kuwait, in itself comes to a tragic halt when he fails to meet the six minute mark; he also fails his friends when he doesn’t bury them, but instead discards their bodies on rubbish and departs. All these do not imply that I feel he is worth hating—but for me, he is equivalent to Mr. Pink in Reservoir Dogs, who lives in the grey area, bent on survival, where morality and friendship come second. He represents the Palestinian at his lowest—bereft of manhood and morality, of any chance at redemption from this grey area, regardless of any good intentions.

And so, with only such a failed representative of the Palestinian left standing at the end, one indeed wonders if throughout, all the author has ominously implied is that, in the Palestinian's struggle, one may indeed abandon all hope.

Lalun and the Salon

One of the very obviously striking figure in Kipling's On the City Wall is Lalun. The opening paragraph of the story delineates Lalun as a mystical, but extremely central and indispensable character. While her profession was that of a prostitute, Kipling never once portrays hers in a conventional light. Her profession is almost elevated and glorified in that it makes her who she is, a figure of secular nationalism, and her salon is the site of her resistance. Kipling distances herself from all notions of Morality right from the start, which exempts her from a commonplace narrative that surrounds a prostitute. "In the West, people say rude things about Lalun's professions...that Morality may be preserved...In the East...nobody writes lectures or takes any notice". Analogous to "the Moon, the Dil Sagar Lake, a spotted quail, a gazelle, the Sun on the Desert of Kuch, the Dawn, the Stars, and the young bamboo", Lalun is not only plays the role of the new Indian nationalist figure but also that of the Motherland. She brings together people of all kinds in her salon, Shiahs, Sufis, Hindu priests, Pundits etc. all congregate in her secular world. The salon appears removed from the rest of the city, not just in terms of its literal location, but also because of its 'electic' visitors and participants. However, Lalun herself is vital to the function of the salon. She acts as the moderator between all kinds of people, especially between the two males, Wali Dad and the narrator, hindered neither by language or color. It is indeed curious why the narrator seems to be a regular fixture in the salon. It is imperative to note that the reader never finds out Lalun's religion. Moreover, she is never physically described, minus the one time where her black eyes and hair are described; regardless, there is nothing sexual about her. She is, therefore, a figure of spiritual gratification, rather than physical. All these develop her role of the mother of Indian nationalism.  

The placement of Lalun and her salon in the city is instrumental. She lived in the peripheries of the city, on the east wall facing the river. It is ironic because her central and unifying role places her in a non peripheral space. Her house on the wall possesses an aerial view, and one that surrounds the whole city. She has been granted a forefront role therefore, which goes with her knack of knowing everything ("Lalun knows everything"). This same salon is responsible for trying to resuscitate India's lost glory in the form of Khem Singh, as this physical space is instrumental for the escape. Her salon, therefore, is a constant site of the Indian nationalist struggle. The novel ends on a note conveying Lalun's immense power and importance with, "But I was thinking how I had become Lalun's Vizier after all."

On Border Inhabitants Implied In Kipling's "On The City Wall"

“On the City Wall” is an interesting read such that it takes us one level above the contemporary implication of Kipling’s work through the intricacies and set-up of its characters. Besides depicting on the questions of nationalism and subservient nature of the Indians, it intrigued me on its description of the border inhabitants and their intellectual engagement with the reader and reminded me of the works of Edward Said.

Lalun, being the only complete personality with an intelligent mind and manner of handling her own affairs and her apartment, the center of information and gossip, is strategically placed on the outskirts of the city with an aerial view of all the workings of the country. Her place on the city wall is that of a person occupying a border site where the feelings of both belonging and unbelonging prevail and give rise to an intellectualism that is both unique and essential at the same time. Through her personality, the concept of nationalism is brought forward and even though she is a prostitute, a motherly association consisting of concern and love is reflected for the homeland.  According to many contemporary literature writers and critics, many of the postcolonial theories revolve around the roles of these border inhabitants especially in the fields of exile, race, ethnicity and feminism. They have equated these concepts with those of regenerative purpose and vital for societal reconstruction. They are believed to be amongst the few “privileged” parts of a culture or country transgressing between both the feeling of belonging or unbelonging to an identity, much like exilic figures and capable of offering vital perspectival shifts. Observed in this very context, Edward Said is also a product of such a process and being a border inhabitant/intellectual himself was able to view the negativities of both Eastern and Western cultures and offer a crucial perspective on the situation of the world and societal progressions. He was thus able to answer as both an insider and an outsider about his country. Therefore, the doubleness of character portrayed in a border work is often the gateway to a greater form of intellectualism that forces in some important perspectives essential for understanding a society or a culture. In Kipling’s work, Lalun is also portrayed as a figure who both belongs and doesn’t belong to the city both in the matters of knowing and being involved in the regular day affairs. Her profession grants her the freedom from all compulsions and regularities of life, giving her satisfaction that is shown to be absent from other people under British Imperialism eg Wali Dad. At the same time, she is well aware of all that goes around in the city at every point in time and is involved in rejuvenating the dying nationalism in the citizens (portrayed in her act/plan of rescuing Khem Singh).

Choosing Death in the Absence of Dignity

“The mercy of God be upon you, Ustaz Selim, the mercy of God be upon you. God was certainly good to you when he made you die one night before the wretched village fell into the hands of the jews.”

The idea that the condition of the exile is so devoid of human dignity, that death is deemed a preferable alternative to living, is a central theme in “Men of the Sun.” The story delves into the lives of four Palestinian exiles, and their motivations for risking their lives to go to Kuwait.  Though many of these reasons are disguised as practical and economical, the essence of their courage and desperation lies in a struggle to recover their dignity.  At the root of this loss of self esteem and self worth, is the failure of the male exile to fulfill the role and responsibilities ascribed by society to the patriarch.

 The economic guise of their quest to compensate for the loss of their manhood, is a trend seen among all of the characters. The ambitions that Abu Qais hopes to realize in Kuwait pertain to sending his son to school and building a little “shack.” Abul Khaizuran too wants “money, more money.” Similarly Marwan aims to take his absent fathers place as breadwinner of his family.  His father too sets up the false pretense of his desire for a “concrete” roof to hide that he was actually running away from the shame of his failures. “He would send every penny he earned to his mother, and overwhelm her and his brothers  and sisters with gifts till he made the mud hut into a paradise on earth and his father bite his nails with regret.” This quote depicts his desperation to evade the failure and shame that befell his father. Thus it can be seen that at the heart of their desires, is the need to escape the humiliation of their failures as ‘men’ and recover their dignity. I think that a striking scene in the story that depicts their struggle with honor and dignity, is Assad’s decision to keep his shirt on when descending into the perilous scorching tanker. Kanafani portrays just how cruel the life of an exile is and just how futile any of their attempts to retain even a semblance of respect are, when he emerges and “he had taken his shirt off. ”

The void of dignity is present constantly though the story, while the men are forced to beg and bargain for freedom and redemption, helpless at the hands of ruthless smugglers and wealthy relatives, being spat on by officers, slapped and even castrated. The castration that is experienced quite literally by Abul Khaizuran as “a terrible pain between his thighs” is what each of the others feel symbolically, the loss of their manhood.  Each felt like Khaizuran that “Its better to be dead” than to live without it. The story leaves their death vague and ambiguous and the reader is uncertain whether the men tapped and indulged in a final desperate effort to save their lives, or whether they relinquished their lives silently. Their silence would depict a literal manifestation of their choice of death as opposed to returning to their helpless, worthless and humiliating existence, which they would have risked had anyone other than Khaizuran heard them. 

5: Marwan’s letter

"Do not believe that man grows.  No: he is born suddenly—a word, in a moment, penetrates his heart to a new throb.  One scene can hurl him down from the ceiling of childhood on to the ruggedness of the road." -Kanafani

Masculinity is a problematic notion in Kanafani’s Men in the Sun. The focus of this blog post will be the character of Marwan and his masculinity- which in my opinion is expressed or rather negotiated through the letter he wrote to his mother.

This argument can be realized if you consider the events leading up to the memory of the letter. The sixteen year old Marwan faces both mental and physical degradation in the shop of the fat smuggler: The mocking derisive tone of the smuggler-“I beg you, I beg you. Don’t start wailing. You all come here and then start wailing like widows”- leaves Marwan thinking that he is being treated like a child. And his naïve show of strength- “You’ll take five dinars from me and be satisfied, or else…Or else I’ll denounce you to the police”- only yields him a blow to his cheek [36]. He remains virile and helpless.

This emasculation at the hands of the fat smuggler compels him to hold on to the last vestiges of his masculinity which is preserved in the letter he wrote to his mother. The letter is regarded as, “the source of that feeling of rest and contentment…it had broken down all the barriers of despondency that stood between him and the realization of it. Here was this feeling taking possession of him again with unparalleled force” [38-9]. This unparalleled feeling can be interpreted as his patriarchal sense of responsibility which informs his masculinity.  

The contents of the letter serve to strengthen this argument. Case in point is the fact that, “he had allowed himself to describe his father as nothing but a depraved beast” (for leaving his wife and four children for a deformed woman)despite understanding his circumstances .  Marwan’s masculinity then emerges from the failure of the male patriarch (his father) and the inability of his brother Zakaria to provide for the family. His journey then is a challenge to prove to his father that he could support the family better than he did-“He would send every penny he earned to his mother, and overwhelm her and his brothers and sisters with gifts till he made the mud hut into paradise on earth and his father bit his nails with regret ”- and to rise to Zakaria’s challenge that he too could provide for the family [43]. In this context, the letter symbolizes the last vestiges of Marwan’s masculinity.  

Men in the Sun: The Symbolism of the Black Crow

Most readers would view the black bird in Kanafani’s novella as a crow ^[1]. In several cultures, these creatures are regarded as omens of death and tragedy. Kanafani probably employed this bird to establish a sense of foreboding from the very beginning of his literary work. Norse mythology regards crows as divine messengers, which in context of this story, could be viewed as God’s way of warning Abu Qais of his impending doom in the form of a terrible, painful death.

The black hue of the bird can also additionally reflect how the bird is unable to fully adapt to the ‘blazing white’ sky, further depicting how impossible it was to survive in the heat and suffocation of the extremely dark and dingy water tanker that the Palestinians had inhabited at the check posts to evade the eyes of the inspectors stationed there ^[2].

Moreover, the dark shade of the bird’s body as contrasted with the white sky can be juxtaposed with the idea of the gloomy period of exile a refugee has to undergo after the happy time at home. This notion is further endorsed by the fact that white is considered to be a colour of peace, the white dove in particular exhibiting the theme of harmony. This bird is unable to connect to the purity of the white sky and thus the author’s belief of the crow as a harbinger of evil and negativity in an atmosphere of hope and positivity is depicted in the part when he terms the bird as a ‘black spot in that blaze’. ^[3] He has earlier described this blaze as ‘white’. ^[4]

Another vital idea that this part of the text promotes is that of the sentiments of isolation and solitude that the Palestinian exilic figures are associated with. The crow is circling ‘high up’, disconnected from the balance that is indicated by the stable ground. ^[5] Kanafani also describes it as ‘alone and aimless’ and as ‘circling around alone’^[6],lending support to the feelings of loneliness that anyone in exile can relate to, the lack of direction in their lives and the deprivation of a place they can truly call home. This is further illustrated by Kanafani in Abu Qais’ bitter emotions of feeling like a ‘stranger’, driving him to the point of breaking down. ^[7]

Furthermore, a bird is commonly known a species with a tendency to migrate with the changing weather conditions and in search of nourishment, thus evoking connotations of the Palestinians’ desire to move to places that offered them relatively loftier lifestyles, better sustenance and a means to provide for their dependents.

Lastly, through a close reading of this paragraph, we can also see how Kanafani wants us to see the black bird and white sky as symbolic of how Abu Qais’ has suddenly realized the stark reality of his exilic existence. The black bird as standing out against the white sky bears spurs the idea of seeing things ‘in black and white’, after which the person concerned recognizes what it truly means to be in exile.

^[1] pg 22

^[2] pg 71

^[3] pg 22

^[4] pg 21

^[5] pg 22

^[6] pg 22

^[7] pg 22

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Why Lalun Why?

“When Wali Dad sings that song his eyes glow like hot coals, and Lalun leans back among the cushions and throws bunches of jasmine-buds at Wali Dad”.

Two images from this scenario are particularly striking and require a close analysis. The first image: that of Wali Dad singing to Lalun with overflowing passion, is a clear indication of the level of importance that was attached to her. This importance is further enforced by another one of Wali Dad’s songs: “Lalun is Lalun, and when you have said that, you have only come to the Beginnings of Knowledge”. The mention of the chandelier which was gifted to Lalun by a “petty Nawab” and Lalun’s belief that the City would tear the limbs of anyone who tried to rob her coupled with the fact that her salon was always populated seem to attach to her an aura of royalty that was not to be paralleled.

The second image however is a clear indication of what she thought of herself. To bring this out in an even more glaring light, one must consider the event in which Wali Dad tells Lalun that the narrator would have him leave her. To that Lalun puts forward, as a rhetoric, a metaphoric situation which borders on a parallel existence. She calls herself the Queen, Wali Dad the King and the narrator the Vizier who wants the King and the Queen separated. This drawing of similarities with a certain royalty coupled with the second image of the first scenario, among others, presents the parallel universe in which she believed she existed: it puts forward the fact that she attached a certain form of exotic pseudo-Mughal royalty to herself.

With this sense of royalty that the City attached to her, and which she attached to herself, came an inherent disdain for the British presence in India. This inherent disdain can be seen when she abruptly tells Wali Dad to stop conversing in English with the narrator. One can argue that the fact that she puts up well with the narrator, who is an Englishman, effectively negates the proposed contempt that she holds for the British. As a counter, one can say that the narrator did not possess even nearly enough of the stereotypical English persona in him to be regarded with contempt by Lalun. Even if he did possess that modicum of “English nature” in him, the fact that she eventually uses him in her plans to free Khem Sigh shows that she never really associated any sort of indispensable importance to him.

Her sense of royalty is solidified with her helping Khem Singh to escape. To see this point more clearly it is imperative to first highlight the legend of Khem Singh. He was a leader of twenty thousand men with whom he fought against the British thrice, with one of the three times being the 1857 mutiny. He was the “Great Man” the struggles of whom came to be identified with saving the Mughal royalty in India. Her sense of royalty dictated a rise of precisely that royalty as the dominant power in India. For that it was essential for her to go to that one man the track record of whom listed three mutinies against the British.

Why Lalun decides to free Khem Singh possibly has no satisfactory answer other than, given the circumstances in which her existence was born and bred, it was the only natural thing for her to do as this exotic pseudo-Mughal royalty was to her, a home.

Style as meaning in 'Men in the Sun'

There are two things concerning narrative technique which really struck me in my reading of Men in the Sun.

First- and this is by no means a novel or unique method- is the frequent and effortless shift in time. Without warning, Abu Qais drifts in and out of memory, alternating between his current situation in the Shatt to years ago in his village with his family; almost akin to shifting dunes in the midst of a sandstorm, if one were to extend the desert metaphor. For example

“It's the Shatt. Can't you see it stretching out beside you as far as the eye can see?”

And then immediately after, we are transported back ten years-

"’When the two great rivers, Tigris and Euphrates, meet, they form one river called the Shatt al-Arab...’ Ustaz Selim...said it a dozen times"

This non-linearity underscores the function of memory in the life of the exile/refugee. By hearkening to a once beautiful past, the exile’s plight and despair become further intensified. I would also argue that since memories are the only vestiges from their former lives, they carry immense emotional weight and are positioned in particular points in the narrative in order to stress that there is nothing available to the refugee save his memories. The future, as we learn later, is bleak.

Second, there is a drastic shift in narrative voice, from third person to first person which, I feel, is representative of the confused and chaotic state of mind of Abu Qais. The narrative is as fragmented as the lives of the characters themselves, and jumping in erratic, unpredictable jerks much in the same fashion as the men who are trying to run away.

There are no trees there. Saad, his friend who had emigrated there...said there were no trees there. The trees exist in your head, Abu Qais, in your tired old head, Abu Qais...You must believe Saad because he knows more than you...[a]ll of them know more than you.

You have needed ten big hungry years

You have been squatting life an old dog

What do you think you were waiting for?

Lalun's Exile: A Dichotomy of Separation and Belonging

Of the four main characters in "On the City Wall", the exile of three (Wali Dad, Khem Singh and the narrator) is fairly translucent. It is Lalun's exile which is problematic for mainly two reasons. Firstly, she entertains a wide variety of guests from all over the city in her "little white room" to "smoke and talk"(19) and thus operates as a locus in society which brings together people from different backgrounds. This allows her access to information - "Also she knew the hearts of men, and the heart of the city, and whose wives were faithful and whose untrue, and more of the secrets of the Government Offices than are good to be set down in this place" (21). Secondly, there is an allusion that she is protected by the society. Her maid, Nasiban, suggests that Lalun would get murdered by a thief for her wealth but Lalun says that "all the city would tear that thief limb from limb, and that he, whoever he was knew it" (21). This suggests that the city considers Lalun to be irreplaceable and the functions she serves are extremely significant. Lalun is also affiliated with a Nawab who gave her a "big pink and blue cut-glass chandelier" which she kept for "politeness' sake" (19). Therefore, she has strong connections with the city and is treasured by people. 

What, then, is the nature of her exile/separation/displacement?

The most prominent separation, in her case, is in terms of where she is physically placed in the city. Her house was "upon the east wall facing the river" and the City Ditch was dangerously close - "If you fell from the broad window seat you dropped thirty feet sheer into the City Ditch (15)." This suggests that she was right at the edge. Her husband, a jujube tree, was outside of the city walls. This suggests Lalun was exempt from matrimonial duties and domestic life. She exists solely in the public sphere as a public figure accessible to all that enter her little white room. Her house offers little privacy since it is the meeting point of so many individuals who seek her company. The fact that she never appears outside of her living quarters in the entire story augments the proposition that she was stuck in the public sphere with little or no hope for a private life. In stark contrast with other women in India, her house is open to the world. But the world isn't open to her. It is also interesting to note that the sort of people who visited her were also displaced and experiencing an exile of some kind. 

Her window allows her to see "all the cattle of the City being driven down to water, the students of the Government College playing cricket, the high grass and trees that fringed the river-bank... (15)" This all encompassing view was only there if "you stayed where you should and looked forth (15)." This suggests that Lalun was only able to perform her function in the City and in the story by existing at the border. The British weren't concerned about her because of the peripheral nature attached to her identity and she was able to help Khem Singh because of it. Hence, it is the periphery that is crucial in this story. One question I've had trouble dealing with is that if Lalun could best serve her function by existing in the periphery/border then isn't the periphery where she belongs? And if she truly belongs there, then she is not really in exile. She is right where she should be. Her exile, perhaps, has a dichotomy attached to it. She is displaced and right at home at the same time. 

Symbols of India: Kipling's three Natives

All three of Kipling’s prominent native characters seem to symbolize India in itself, yet ironically, in varying manners. Wali Dad, calling himself a “Demnition Product” who “cannot make an end to sentences without quoting” British authors, and attempting to be “proud of his losing” religious beliefs represents present day India, split between a struggle to embrace either religio-traditional India and expel the British, or adopt Anglo-India and embrace modern secularism, i.e. caught between “the country of which he despaired, or the creed in which he had lost faith, or the life of the English which he could by no means understand” .Kipling establishes that Wali Dad was “suffering acutely from education of the English variety”, and it is precisely this element that prevents him from becoming a strong force in expelling the British. He stands in stark contrast to bellicose and passionate Khem Singh, and represents the modern impassive youth of Anglo-India who was thus incapable of stirring rebellion. Moreover, although an imperialist himself who deemed British rule as beneficent to India, Kipling emphasises that the characters like Wali Dad, who was symbolic of present day India of the time, were too caught up in either an excess of absence of religion (or rather, a religious fervor that was merely temporary), and angry dispositions; elements which prevented them from forming a significant part in the transformation of India, or a revival of its glorious, rich past.

Khem Singh, in turn, becomes a symbol of an India that is not too old nor too traditional, but one that cannot exist anymore, constituting the “other men who, though uneducated, see visions and dream dreams, and they, too, hope to administer the country in their own way--that is to say, with a garnish of Red Sauce.” Indeed, this is demonstrated through his return to the Fort, when he realizes that new India is unreceptive of his scheme of rebellion. It must be noted that Wali Dad is not depicted as incapable, rather, shown as unable to fit himself in the new sphere of culture that his education has bred, nor fit in with his religious lineage or its beliefs, leaving him to become an exile, accepted neither by the British nor the Mohammedans, and leaving his life to trivialities like becoming a permanent fixture in Laluns house reading books that were of no use to anybody. In contrast, Khem Singh, “a consistent man” unlike Wali Dad, becomes an exile of time; his generation is dead, the”glamour of his name had passed away”, and the new generations have a different conception of India,”many of them were dead and more were changed, and all knew something of the Wrath of the Government”, leaving him as an “interesting survival’ of an ideology that was now dead.

Lalun’s house is depicted as a one where endless people came to ‘smoke and to talk’, and we must notice Kiplings emphasis on the kind of people that arrived at her ‘electic’ salon; creations of both native and Anglo-India, of both religious and secular India. But most importantly, they provide her with information, making her a key figure in the revival of India’s former pomp and glory; indeed, it is this continuous talk which pesters Wali Dad which instead enables her to facilitate the escape of Khem Singh . Lalun’s profession itself forms a thorn in the side of the standards of morality of the west, but ironically, it is her who in fact becomes the ultimate “distinct proof of the ability of the East to manage its own affairs”, and not Khem Singh or Wali Dad. Indeed, Laluns beauty seems to' symbolize the ancient yet transcendent beauty of native Mughal India; it seemed to trouble “ the hearts of the British Government and caused them to lose their peace of mind”. She does not subscribe to the Anglicism of the “great idol called Pax Britannica”, and constantly reproaches Wali Dad for speaking in English.Interestingly, given the opening quote of the story from Joshua, we can draw a parallel between Lalun and the prostitute Rahab of Jericho on the city wall, who too was instrumental in helping her kinsman capture the city. Lalun too, with her overarching view on the city, from its decaying splendour with “ red tombs of dead Emperors” to the possibilities of the future “beyond the heat-haze a glint of the snow of the himalayas”, represents a force that will help India restore its former status as a great, capable ruler.

All under the Sun

The life of the exile described in ‘Men in the Sun’ seems to be largely godless according to me. The only instance where God seems to be invoked is when thinking of the past, and people who have die, “The mercy of God be upon you, Ustaz Selim, the mercy of God be upon you.” Yet what seems to me to fill the role of the divine in this context, is the Sun. In the absence of the divine, the Sun becomes the only thing one can depend upon, swear upon: “I’m as sure of that as I am of this damned sun.” The divine role however is warped then to a great extent.

To explain further, notice that the Sun is what unites the characters, and in fact all human beings together, even if they may have divided the earth into territories and ousted others from their share, the Sun inevitably falls on all, the old and the young, the perpetrators and the victims. The title of the story reflects the same sort of unity, that these separate characters are brought together by ‘fate’, which in this case is also the Sun. It is the Sun which can either cause loneliness or desolation, and it is also the Sun which brings a new day, with perhaps renewed hope. The following instances show this:

“The sun was pouring flame down on his head, and as he climbed the yellow slopes, he felt he was alone in the whole world.”

“…in some wonderful way it had broken down all the barriers of despondency… When the sun rose he opened his eyes. The weather was beautiful and calm…”

The divine however, only seems to manifest its side of terror and wrath in this context. Thus the words used to describe the Sun are “merciless” and “fearful”. Significantly also, there is the passage that talks of being dying of sunstroke when going to Kuwait, but the narrator contemplates on the kind of end such a death was, and to whether it was just as simple as all that. There hence is confusion in the understanding of this new divinity, whether this was “God’s Hell” or “Could the sun kill them all and the stench imprisoned in their breasts?” The first part of the question is at the very least ominously answered by the end of the narrative. 

A Metaphysical journey

Men in the Sun by Hilary Kalpatrick is a short shorty of an arduous journey that several men undergo in their travel across international boundaries. These boundaries which are can simply be deciphered as simply as lines on a map are in reality, as intricate as a needle in a haystack, burgeoning hardships along the way for those who choose to overcome them. These hardships resulted in the death of actors in Men in the Sun.

What was at first described as a simple journey in the passage on page 51 as “Personally, I’m only interested in reaching Kuwait. I am not interested in anything else…” This turned into a religious one in the passage that followed.

                “Just imagine! In my own mind I compare these hundred and fifty kilometers to the path that God in the Quran promised his creatures they must cross before being directed either to Paradise or to Hell. If anyone falls he goes to Hell, and if anyone crosses safely he reaches Paradise. Here the angels are the frontier guards.”  

                The transformation which takes place in the desert is representative of changes which occur to a man in exile. From the luxuries of life, men begin to appreciate the simplest delicacies of life such as water as that they would trade gold and gems for it. All the meanwhile, the exhaustion from the journey leaves a man in thought of his past and his existence in this world. I quoted this passage in appreciation of the extreme hardship men have to undergo in their journey for a better life. To the observer of the journey, it becomes inspirational to his very own life. To the one experiencing the journey, it becomes metaphysical, and brings into question the very existence in this world. 

Abu Qais and Saad

Apart from the social and financial difference between Abu Qais and his friend Saad, the latter seems to be a privileged character in that he ‘emigrated’ to Kuwait, a process that seems orderly and respectable. He must have had to bear expenses for it but that narrative is never presented to us; Saad emerges as the respectable migrant who enjoys a job as a driver and comes back with “sacks of money”. Abu Qais on the other hand has to be “smuggled” into Kuwait, a term that immediately derives negative connotations such as secrecy and illegality. He has to suffer humiliation while negotiating a fair with the fat man and is unsure about his safe arrival in the country. The term “emigrate” also has no hints of dependency on the other and therefore, Saad in his easy transition to Kuwait is enjoying a stable life there. Abu Qais on the other hand has to depend on other people to be “smuggled” out of Basra. For one, it is his friend who presents him with the idea, reminding him of his prevalent pathetic condition in “Ten years have passed and you live like a beggar”. Secondly and more importantly, Abu Qais also has to suffer humiliation at the hands of the fat man while negotiating a fare for the smuggling process. He is also unsure about whether or not he will safely arrive in Kuwait after a tedious journey, something that Saad again does not have to worry about as he is well-settled in the new country.

Apart from this, Saad also has the privilege of knowing what Kuwait looks like and through this knowledge he bereaves Abu Qais of romanticizing Kuwait as the land of opportunity that he imagines it to be. While he pictures “men and women, and children running between the trees” there Saad shuns the imaginative faculty saying that such things “exist in your head”. Trees are important for him as he yearns for olive shoots and can only make a living out of them. But through Saad’s announcements of there being no trees in Kuwait, Abu Qais is deprived of even the opportunity or hope to see him and his family happily living in the new country. His imagination of a better future is put to a stop.