A.S. Dulat, former chief of Research & Analysis Wing (R&AW), is known for his abiding love and deep knowledge of Kashmir. Dulat served for decades in the Intelligence Bureau (IB). After heading the R&AW, he was also adviser on Jammu and Kashmir in prime minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s office. His deep understanding of the place and its people is reflected in his earlier works, like ‘Kashmir: The Vajpayee Years’. In his latest book, Our Kind of Games, Dulat turns to fiction to tell an imagined story of the early years of terrorism in Kashmir—a story, he says, he has lived “from beginning to end”.
Set in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when violence erupted in Kashmir, Our Kind of Games tells a hazily autobiographical tale of Ranjit Soni, who heads the Srinagar unit of an intelligence organisation. Soni believes that the Valley can once again become a paradise on earth through rapprochement. He fancies himself to be the great manipulator, exploiting others for intelligence. Following a series of setbacks, however, Soni despairs that his ambition of saving and healing Kashmir is far from realised. Instead, he must bear the guilt of his failures and the loss of lives he caused.
Dulat’s protagonist is wracked by the familiar doubts of John le Carre’s characters—questions of ethics, moral complexities and the unintended consequences of their actions. Soni torments himself about the purpose of effort in an ambiguous world where the enemy is not always easily discernible. With his professed Kashmiri ancestry, perhaps Soni is damned to remain the Kashmiri archetype—overthinking and brooding.
Written in a lively style, the plot is straightforward enough. Yet, parts become confusing because of the procession of characters, some of whom—though human—seem incompletely fleshed out. The book will certainly trigger a few parlour games among the old Kashmir hands to identify the fictional characters. While a few are obvious, several will remain question marks. For the uninitiated, the failure to find anyone familiar will not detract from enjoying a tale told with conviction.
There are loose ends, of course, as in real life and intelligence work. A fastidious reader might also find fault with the repeated use of the term ‘boys’ for the militants, as well as Farooq Abdullah’s use of ‘espionage’ in his otherwise appealing foreword. Abdullah observes that Kashmir deserves to be understood in all its complexity and claims that this novel goes a long way towards that understanding.
The sweep of Our Kind of Games covers a turbulent period and serves as a sombre reminder that almost every Kashmiri, under 40 today—whether in the Valley or forced to live outside—has no memories of Kashmir other than violence, bloodshed, despair and displacement. Through Game—sometimes a novel and sometimes a chronicle—Dulat sheds a tear for what Kashmir has become.
