I wouldn't recommend this 1963 novel for its lovely prose. The writing is matter-of-fact. For me there were long stretches of tedium, interspersed with moments of abject horror and tragedy. But the narrative is deeply authentic. Certainly everything could have happened, exactly as Hussein describes it, for large swaths of people.
The novel seems to begin around the turn of the 20th century (although we do get some back story prior to that, as prologue). The protagonist, Naim, is a Muslim peasant boy in a rural Indian village. His father has been imprisoned for making firearms, and Naim has been living with his uncle. At some point - early teen years, perhaps - he returns to his father's house to live, along with his mother and his father's second wife and her baby. Although they live in the Raj, British people are very minor parts of the narrative. They pop up at parties thrown by well to do Indians; we see them in a few military uprisings and riots later in the novel, but none of them are fleshed-out characters the way they are in Paul Scott's novels, for example.
Naim is sent off to fight in Belgium in the First World War, then to East Africa, where he loses an arm. He is the only war survivor from his village and is given a medal and 10 acres of land. The story slogs along here. He spends some time in prison for speaking out for freedom. He marries Azra, the daughter of a wealthy Muslim, whom he had met as a young boy. Azra's family does not support the marriage since Naim is from a lowly peasant family. Although there is love between them for awhile, eventually they drift apart; they are separated again when Naim spends more time in prison. He loses his acreage, his father dies, and Naim has to move in with Azra's father. Naim and Azra occupy separate bedrooms but remain married. When Partition happens, finally Naim and Azra go their separate ways: Azra and her whole family arrive safely in Pakistan, although most of their luggage has been stolen by Hindu and Sikh brigands. Naim and his brother Ali, the only remnants left of their family, begin the long, dangerous walk from Delhi to Pakistan.
This novel will not have you rushing to buy those tickets to pre-Partition India. The "romance" of the Raj (pretend with me for a moment that there was a romance of the Raj) - there's none of that here. Life is very rural and very hardscrabble. If you want another man's bullock, you just might steal it and decapitate him, after you've raped a pretty girl in a field. Then your village leader might levy a "motor tax" - a big chunk of your wheat crop - to pay for his new automobile. At one point Naim attends a wedding near Peshawar where the custom is for the bride to drape a lamb across her shoulders. Then the groom shoots the lamb in the head with his rifle. If he misses and kills the bride, or even misses the lamb's head and hits another part of the lamb, or empty air, the groom will be killed and there will be war between the bride's and groom's tribes. Also, their registry at Williams-Sonoma will be cancelled.
The translation from Urdu to English is by the author. There's quite a lot of "motherfucker," "bitch," even "sisterfucker." There is also the occasional questionable rendering, such as "the struggle for independence had hotted up."