A new novel imagines the life of Waris Shah, the creator of the evergreen lovers Heer and Ranjha

The sharp spear pierced through the thick fold of skin on Bhai Mani Singh’s back. There was hardly any blood. There wasn’t much to draw. Bhai Mani could barely manage to keep his eyes open. His arms tied in front, his long untrimmed hair in a bun on the top of his head, he dragged his heavy feet. His slouching shoulders carried the burden of his age.

Had he been royalty of any sort, worldly or spiritual, the date of his birth would have been meticulously recorded. His birthday would have been celebrated every year; offerings would have been presented to him, some of which he would have distributed to the needy. Hundreds would have gathered to seek the blessing of his holy presence. But none of that happened. His birthday came and went every year, unnoticed and unacknowledged. He had been told by his father that he was born the same year that Guru Har Rai became the Guru and because that had been an important year, Bhai Mani, if he wished to, could use that year to count back his age.

(His death in 1738, however, would be a different matter. That year would become a marker for history, a reference for...

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