"A Thousand Splendid Suns" - what I thought of it

“Mariam was five years old the first time she heard the word harami”.

And in those opening lines Khaled Hosseini seems to tell us the whole story of A Thousand Splendid Suns, the tale of two Afghan women, different upbringings, yet bound by the same fate – being a woman.

Harami, meaning an illegitimate child, determines not just Mariam’s life but also her story, their story, our story – the story of the women bearing, without question, the duty bestowed on them. I used the term ‘our story’, not because I am like them, but because it gives us the message, a message we have to act upon, to grab, to not let go. It gives a message of suffering, of endurance, also of love, forbidden love and pleading. Above all, it also tells us of a rigid system from which you cannot escape.

Here are a few bits from the story that I thought were interesting.

Legitimacy vs. illegitimacy

- As Mariam walked the final twenty paces, she ponders how “this was a legitimate end to a life of illegitimate beginnings”.

And what does she consider as legitimate – love, motherhood, friendship, being a person of consequence. The very things she longed for all her life. The very things she was told she would never have, the very things she was snatched away of, by that one action of hunger, of rejection and of a system that allows this for one, but refuses for another.

The extract which leads to the above “…She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager, an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed. And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back. She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother, a person of consequence at last. No. It was not so bad, Mariam thought, that she could die this way…”

They are strong words – legitimate, illegitimate. Think of it this way. One is lawful, right, acceptable, while the other is a crime, dishonour. Was Mariam a criminal? Or was Mariam just the consequence of a crime? But she had to pay the price. She was deemed the criminal, much like Frankenstein’s monster, created out of hunger of a different kind, but abundant, un-loved and rejected. The real criminal, once again, lived and in this not without guilt.

Jalil’s letter and the pleas of a suffering man

Jalil suffered in his own quiet way. And through him we see the other side of the Afghan men (well, some Afghan men) who again are mere pawns in this system.

Was he to blame? Was he a bad guy? Initially I considered him a bad guy. An evil one at that, who had no care for what he had done, the pain he had caused. His rejection of Mariam, his inability to show the world the love he showed her in her Kolba in the same genuine manner, his shame, that day he peered through the curtain while she was outside begging for him, made me loose all respect for me. But the more I read the story, I felt sorry for him. Yes, I felt sorry, I pitied him.

His letter was one of struggling man. Here he was pleading, begging for forgiveness. In it we saw what the system did not just to the women, but also to the men of Afghanistan. We saw the price he had to pay for honour, for name. And he realizes it too when he says, “…I regret that I did not make you a daughter to me, that I let you live in that place for all those years. And for what? Fear of loosing face? Of staining my so-called good name? How little those things matter to me now, after all the loss…”. But, as he says, “But now of course, it is too late”.

Again we see him echo those ‘legitimate’ bits. He understand, yet he cannot help. Is he a spineless man, weak? (He does call himself a ‘weak man’). Is he forbidden to love, to show love for this illegitimate being? Can we blame him for loving Mariam? Can we blame him for discarding her?

We cannot. Well, I cannot. But, can we forgive him? At the moment - No. I pity him, but not entirely forgiven.

Tariq and Laila’s father

In them we see a different kind of Afghan men, different to the Taliban, different to Rasheed, whom we might refer to as ‘typical’. In them we see the true meaning of love and sincerity.

The world’s categories, the unmoving brick walls

After Laila ‘saved’ Mariam of Rasheed’s belt, “And in this fleeting, wordless exchange with Mariam, Laila knew that they were not enemies any longer”.

Women are rarely free to express their views, especially in this case. They have no say, they have no control. Their lives, instead are determined by various causes – mainly background, which, as Laila’s father says,

“To me, its nonsense – and very dangerous nonsense at that – all this talk of Tajik and you’re Pashtun and he’s Hazara and she’s Uzbek. We’re all Afghan, and that’s all that should matter”.

Many have spoken on this. Many have died for this. But, that fact remains. This, and add to it all those other categories – black, white, Asian, African, American, Gay, Lesbian, Man, Woman, Christians, Jews, Muslims etc, - remains the cause of conflict, of fear, of insecurity. For all the advancements, this remains the biggest threat to all of humanity.

These are just a few ideas that came to my mind after reading the book. I’ll keep you updated.


Quotes from -

Hosseini, Khaled. A Thousand Splendid Suns (Bloomsbury Publishing Plc: London, 2008)