The Partition of India is a recurring motif in South Asian literature. Over the decades, a diverse array of writing, spanning different genres and languages, has conveyed the terror, trauma and tragedy associated with the chaotic events of 1947. Commenting on Gulzar's poems and short stories about this haunting era, critic Rakhshanda Jalil states that the renowned lyricist doesn't view Partition as a “historical event located in a certain time and place”. Instead, Jalil believes this dark period in modern history “seems to rise above its time and circumstance and speaks to him… as a voiceover”.

These observations ring true because Gulzar witnessed the events of Partition first-hand and, therefore, struggles to escape the lingering echoes of this proverbial ‘voiceover’. Those who directly experienced this historical event aren't the only ones to be affected by it; its fiery resonance has also been felt by subsequent generations. Few can deny the existence of intergenerational trauma among the children and grandchildren of those who witnessed the cataclysmic event, which is ranked among the bloodiest upheavals of human history. Traumatic memories from the Partition era have been passed down from one generation to the next by survivors, and have shaped the identities and psyche of their descendants.

For decades, fiction writers have made a conscious effort to explore this intergenerational trauma. In Under the Tamarind Tree, Karachi-born debut novelist Nigar Alam seeks to do just. Unlike Gulzar, Alam did not witness the events of Partition. In fact, her debut novel stems from a desire to understand her family's struggles during and after the events of 1947. In her ‘Author's Note’, Alam explains how various members of her family have been reluctant to revisit the events of the past and prefer to look towards the future. This observation may tempt some readers to view the novel as an attempt to demystify the past by urging those who have wilfully remained silent to speak freely about their experiences.

However, Under the Tamarind Tree is neither an oral history project disguised as fiction, nor a book exclusively preoccupied with the past. Instead of regurgitating facts proffered in history textbooks, the author ventures into the domain of personal history to unearth little-known truths about the ways in which people respond to public calamities. Alam turns the clock back some seven decades to brighten the pathways of the present. Her novel alternates between chapters entitled ‘Then, 1964’ and ‘Now, 2019’. Straddling two time-frames allows the author to evoke a forgotten era while remaining cognisant of its effects on the present. The shifting timelines are a clever means of accounting for the intergenerational trauma fuelled by Partition.
A short prologue circles back to a dark, humid night in September 1947. On that fateful night, a menacing “horde of shouting people” attacks nine-year-old Rozeena and her family in the streets of Delhi and torches their home. Unable to save her older brother Faysal from the destructive tendencies of a mob, the family is compelled to flee Delhi and carve out a home in the newly-independent state of Pakistan.

The traumatic tale of the family's escape is no different from those soul-stirring accounts that have become synonymous with the humanitarian crisis surrounding Partition. As the novel progresses, this episode from Rozeena's childhood assumes a tragic resonance and possibly activates her saviour complex. The author possesses a remarkable ability to present the subtle yet profound effect of this incident on her protagonist's life without belabouring the point. Under the Tamarind Tree doesn't compromise its engaging storyline in an effort to dissect the protagonist's psychological makeup. On the contrary, the author makes effective use of time jumps to add mystery to the narrative.
The first chapter, set in 2019, presents Rozeena in a different phase of her life. Settled in Karachi, she is now an octogenarian in a long blue tunic who doesn't speak of a lifelong separation from a brother she couldn't save. Instead, readers are introduced to an elderly Rozeen while she is in the midst of a reunion with her old friend, Haaris, who calls her after over fifty years to ask for a favour.

Some readers may wonder how Rozeena has transformed from a frightened child in need of help to a woman whose help is now being sought. Discerning readers might even question if Rozeena is still an unwitting prisoner to Gulzar's Partition ‘voiceover’, even if its reverberations have softened over time. All these questions will intrigue readers and compel them to keep turning the page.
When the narrative shifts to 1964, readers encounter Rozeena as a twenty-six-year-old medical practitioner who lives on Karachi's Prince Road with her widowed mother. Still haunted by the memory of her brother's demise, Rozeena feels obligated to fulfil the responsibilities Faysal would have taken on as their parents’ only son. It is the only way she can prevent her mother from selling their house and moving in with their conservative uncle, who will put a stop to her medical practice and pressurise her into respectable matrimony.

This isn't the only burden she must carry. Since childhood, Rozeena has been entrusted with the task of guiding her friend, Aalya, into becoming more like her. Therefore, the latter's clandestine love affair with their friend, Zohair, becomes a source of grave concern for her. Faced with these challenges, Rozeena vacillates between pursuing her own path and catering to the avowed or unspoken demands of others. As she negotiates these tensions, her friendship with Haaris is an oasis of sorts.
The familiar rhythm of Rozeena's life is shattered on yet another fateful night when death rears its ugly head again. This time, she doesn't have the option to flee and must, instead, face the consequences to protect those she loves.

It is difficult to delineate the plot of Alam's novel in intricate detail for fear of revealing more than what should be disclosed. The narrative doesn't plod along or lose its steam, and is filled with unexpected twists and turns. This is an impressive feat as the author has to sustain the reader's interest in the events occurring in both time-frames. Alam engineers synchronicity between the sections set in the past and the present, insofar that a dramatic occurrence in 1964 corresponds with an equally important development in 2019.

The eponymous tamarind tree is a symbol of the secrets that Rozeeena and her friends must keep to shield themselves from potential harm. At times, readers might feel weighed down by the large number of secrets that are either kept or revealed in the novel. Be that as it may, these secrets add complexity to Alam's narrative and are a testament to her prowess as a storyteller.
Partition isn't depicted in stereotypical hues in Under the Tamarind Tree. Unlike most Anglophone literature tackling the theme, Alam's novel isn't overloaded with references to trains filled with corpses and minute details of the brutalities associated with the communal riots. Her characters understand that nostalgia will not help them survive in Pakistan. Instead, they involve themselves in the business of living and focus on either upholding their existing stature or reinventing themselves.

The motley cast of characters in Under the Tamarind Tree are concerned about their public image. Many of them refrain from pursuing selfish instincts or defying social norms as they fear being subjected to scrutiny by a mercilessly judgmental society. Characters who surrender to this mindset either make some compromises or find discontentment. Rozeena is the only one who comes through as uncharacteristically defiant, though not entirely by design. Unlike the other characters, Rozeena pursues her own path without being heavily chastised for it. A courageous, multidimensional protagonist, she acts as a counter to the cookie-cutter women we usually encounter in mainstream Pakistani television dramas.

An assured debut, Under the Tamarind Tree enriches our understanding of how Partition continues to shape the subcontinental psyche.