ana Mehboob Akhtar pleads the case for localism as a means to reinforce universal human values and promote the sustainability of the planet. In his book Sidh Gulal, published in early 2024, he narrates the story of the Sapta Sindhu region — which broadly corresponds to present-day Pakistan — though his focus remains on the province of Sindh and its adjoining waseb.

The narrative begins with Sambara — the so-called Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-daro, dating back to 2600 BCE — and progresses to the contemporary socio-political milieu through many twists and turns of history. The writer seeks to reveal the eternal behind the ephemeral. He sees the prestige of the entire Indus Valley Civilisation in the confident posture of Sambara, as well as in the gesture of a rustic young girl who places her hand on his head at a roadside café in Sindh. In these two girls — one from antiquity and the other from the present — he traces the signs and symbols intricately woven into the fabric of this ancient civilisation.

The climax of his journey from the Indus Valley Civilisation to the present day is the lyrical and philosophical brilliance of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai. Though deeply rooted in his native soil, Latif’s poetry aspires to transcendence, reaching both mind and soul through its fusion of the physical and metaphysical. Rana Mehboob explains how the values of inclusiveness and multiplicity are championed in the traditions of Sindh’s great Sufi icons, such as Lal Shahbaz Qalandar and Shah Abdul Latif. His account of the pinnacle of Sufi influence in the region during the 12th and 13th Centuries — a time that coincided with Mongol dominance across much of the former Muslim world — is particularly noteworthy.

However, the author does not shy away from raising critical questions. He explores the inclination of some Sufis towards the dominant and at times exploitative, powers of their era.

Folklorists and Sufis, Rana Mehboob maintains, were revolutionaries in the sense that, instead of adopting the language of the invaders, they spoke in local languages. This not only demonstrated their resilience but also helped to vernacularise knowledge, tradition and folk wisdom. When libraries were burned by invaders, folklore became a reservoir of indigenous history and narrative — a form of cultural resistance.

Mehboob also introduces another, more unusual form of resistance: laziness and moojh (melancholy). He interprets the centuries-old melancholic disposition of the people of this land as a form of harmless but persistent resistance against successive imperialist designs.

While highlighting the syncretic and composite nature of the region’s culture, Rana Mehboob also emphasises the equally — if not more — significant role of Hindu contributions in shaping Sindh into what it is today. In upholding the honour of the land, Hindus and Muslims stood side by side and embraced martyrdom. There were Muslims like Shah Inayat who became shaheed, and Hindus like Roplo Kolhi who became amar. Neither, he argues, can be underestimated in terms of their fidelity to the soil. It is the redness of their blood, among other things, that gives gulal its symbolic power.

Through the strength of oral folkloric tradition, this land has proclaimed its martyrs as victors — a unique way of converting the defeated into the triumphant and thereby resisting history. Alongside these battlefield heroes, Rana Mehboob also honours seemingly humble figures such as Watayo Faqir, rich in folk wisdom. He illustrates how folklore is both shaped by — and continues to shape — the spirit of the land over the course of centuries.

When libraries were burned by invaders, folklore became a reservoir of indigenous history and narrative — a form of cultural resistance

Rana Mehboob also explains how the love stories of Marvi, Momal, Sassi, Sohni and Heer reflect the dominance of the feminine principle in the indigenous voice of the Indus Valley Civilisation. This, he argues, is a bold expression of collective folkloric wisdom in a patriarchal society. He traces this tradition back to the moral superiority of Sita over Ram in the Ramayana. To support his argument, he draws on examples from the verses of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai in Sindhi, Bulleh Shah in Punjabi and Khwaja Ghulam Farid in Seraiki — who all rely on a feminine tone to express longing and love. This stylistic choice, he suggests, sets the poetic tradition apart from others such as Arabic, Anglo-Saxon and Persian.

A vocal proponent of localism, Rana Mehboob stresses the importance of recognising the power of the local in at least three key ways.

First, he argues that local history must be owned. The history of the Indus Valley Civilisation, which dates back over 5,000 years, stands alongside the world’s most ancient civilisations — including those of Egypt, Mesopotamia, China and Peru.

Second, he contends that a true child of the soil identifies with the oppressed locals, not with foreign invaders. It is regrettable, he notes, that people have named their children after conquerors while forgetting the local martyrs who gave their lives to defend their homeland. Such trends, he argues, were encouraged by imperial powers — whether Aryan, Greek, Arab, Mongol or European — all of whom used identity erasure as a weapon of domination.

Third, he calls for the celebration of multiplicity and diversity as sources of cultural strength. The syncretic and composite nature of the region’s culture, shaped by centuries-old traditions, should be embraced and honoured.

Rana Mehboob exposes the shallow claims of imperial powers. By invoking religion, raising slogans such as the White Man’s Burden, and boasting of a so-called civilising mission, imperialists have consistently attempted to legitimise their conquests. They labelled as brutes and savages the peoples who had pioneered bricks, the wheel, urban life, music, sculpture, pyramids, ciphers, geometry and more. He illustrates how the era of rapid material advancement in Europe coincided with its ruthless plunder of resources from colonised regions. As if material exploitation were not enough, imperial forces were equally committed to stripping colonised people of their identity, culture, history, languages and folklore.

A firm believer in the cultural multiplicity and diversity of this land, Rana Mehboob nonetheless maintains one fundamental binary: native versus immigrant. Yet, for him, being native is not defined by caste or creed. Rather, it is one’s fidelity to the heritage of the soil that confers nativeness. He praises Bulleh Shah, who had the courage to transcend his Syed identity by aligning himself with the Arain community, and Sardar Ali Shah, who once said he wished he had been born a Kolhi instead of a Syed. Mehboob describes this as a journey from immigrant to native — an act that dissolves otherness and earns one the symbolic passport of the Indus Republic.

It would be reductive to describe this book merely as a travelogue. In truth, it is much more than that. With his sensibility of an artist, the curiosity of an anthropologist and the insight of a philosopher, the writer has placed the book at the crossroads of genres and disciplines. The writer is erudite, allusive and logical in his exposition, though he occasionally dons the cloak of a fiction writer, using techniques such as stream of consciousness. While some readers might differ with his political views, few can dispute his firm commitment to respect for diversity. The book offers food for thought and nourishment for the soul — a rare combination.

Sindh Gulal

Sambara say Shah Latif tak

Author: Rana Mehboob Akhtar

Publisher: Sang-e-Meel Publications, 2024

Pages: 346

Price: Rs 1,600

The reviewer is a poet, author, civil servant and Humphrey alumnus of Syracuse University. Currently posted as director general at the Pakistan Academy of Letters, he is enrolled in the Senior Management Course at NIPA, Islamabad.