Making the real seem unreal
Rifat Munim enjoys a new work from a telltale writer
While reading Syed Manzoorul Islam's short stories, the first thing that strikes one is the role played by the self-conscious narrator, who is sometimes a part of the story, makes sarcastic remarks about other characters, and remains somewhat unaffected by the major changes and shifts in the plot. More interestingly, Islam's narrator assumes both first and third person points of view. At times his narrator, one is apt to notice, is highly critical of assuming any knowledge of a character's unspoken thoughts as in most of the stories in the book Kanch Bhanga Rater Galpo. But then in many of his impeccable stories in Prem O Prarthonar Galpo and Alo O Andhakar Dekhar Galpo, he adopts a third person narrator and intrudes into the characters' psyche and yet retains the role otherwise played by a self-conscious narrator. However, in his latest volume titled Shukhdukher Galpo published at this year's Ekushey Book Fair, readers will find him at the height of his post-modern experimentation with his craftsmanship in both narratorial modes reaching an apotheosis. A third person or omniscient narrator, as in Rabindranath Tagore's prose fiction, e. G. Chokher Bali, Yogayog, is privileged to having access to all unspoken thoughts of the characters. So s/he needs no excuse to delve into the characters' minds and give out all their intricate psychological vicissitudes to readers. In sharp contrast, consider Tagore's Chaturanga where the narrator himself is an integral part of the story, having access to other characters' thoughts insofar as they are his friends or acquaintances. But Islam's narrator, whether in a first or third person narrative, does a lot more than that. His narrators are very active, and constantly play with readers. Sometimes they influence the plot by making sarcastic comments or imparting some apparently unnecessary information about a character while at some other times they take the liberty of importing magic. Inherent in such a role is the premise that literature is not just an imitation of reality, as a socialist-realist writer would have us believe; it is rather a fabrication whereby the author may as well juxtapose his observed social reality with several imagined ones, ending often in an unreal way but never leaving the reader at ease. In fact, Islam in his stories is continuously talking to readers, coalescing the playful with the serious, the inevitable outcome of which is the ludicrous effect that leaves one laughing yet pondering uneasily over the queer ending. Islam's endings are complicated, sometimes inconclusive. When readers envisage a sad ending, then he comes up with fantasies that apparently depart from the inevitable consequences of some bleak events in any given context as one will find in stories such as Passport, Ek Shandhya, Kannar Etihash and Gachher Bichhana. Kannar Etihash and Gachher Bichhana begin with a gradually disintegrating conjugal life of a couple, preparing readers to foresee their divorce. But both the stories end in two different kinds of catastrophe whereby the couple realise that true love lies under the surface distrusts and misunderstandings. In Ek Shandhya, the protagonist Russel, who lives with his sister, gullibly becomes part of a gang rape, in which he did not participate but neither did he protest. The victim is a poor garment worker named Aruna, who is then taken to a private clinic where the doctors refuse to admit her to avoid legal complications. Incidentally, Russel's sister, who happens to work as a nurse at the clinic, takes Aruna to her place. Meanwhile, Russel is already shattered by his sense of guilt. So he almost faints when he sees the girl there. Upon Aruna's mother's arrival, when everyone, especially Aruna and her mother, is engulfed by frustration, Russel, all of a sudden, declares that he would take her responsibility by marrying her. Such a dramatic turn indicates an unreal yet happy ending, leaving readers asking if it is possible at all in a social context where young girls are becoming all the more vulnerable to rape. On the other hand, when readers expect something happy in the end, Islam will strike the most unexpected event, full of grotesque happenings, as in stories such as Ghungiyajuri'r Math and Nolok. Both are stories of love. While the former is a perfectly composed tale of mutual love, the latter is a poignant tale of how a young woman is first seduced and then brutally tortured and deserted. But what puts them as well as a number of other stories such as Malinar Ek Ratri and Dui Khuni, among others, on a common ground is the depiction of women as trapped in a male dominated society. Apart from narratorial techniques, Islam's mastery in importing magical events adds quite a new dimension to the stories. Think of the stories Kathalkanya and Telephone which again give away two harrowing tales of female repression. But both of them first startle and then occupy readers with totally non-existent happenings which are in fact hallucination of the protagonists' minds. Making the unreal seem real, in the end, appears to be an effective literary device which signifies how much devastated the perpetrators are by their overwhelming sense of guilt. But the most appealing magical import is to be found in the story Meye wherein the pregnant wife is threatened to be abandoned if she fails to give birth to a boy. When she is weighed down by such an atmosphere, her mother-in-law pretends to fall sick so as to make her do all the household chores. At such a time, she sees her desire of giving birth to a daughter materialised in the form of a beautiful girl who abruptly appears and finishes all her chores. This is how Islam, with the manipulation of magic, departs from the logical consequence of some previously constructed events. But this departure, it soon comes out, is not to digress from real problems. Quite the opposite, this is a conscious effort in defiance of literary conventions and social perceptions so as to highlight the raw realities on one hand and reinforce on the other hand the idea that existing social realities should change. If that is not possible in real life, then it can be achieved at least in literature. But Islam does not stop there. With his unique narratorial interventions in the form of occasional comments and so on, he intends to arouse in readers a deep-rooted empathy toward the suppressed, especially women, and resentment toward the perpetrators as well as the system that shelters and nurtures them.
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