Manto Speaks Post Partition Truth With Relentless Fury
Saeed Naqvi
Nandita Das’ film on the
subcontinent’s greatest short story writer, Saadat Hasan Manto, brought alive
memories of days when it was fashionable to be on the left. That is where all
the progressive writers were – Ali Sardar Jafri, Kaifi Azmi, Ismat Chugtai,
Sahir Ludhianvi, Krishen Chander, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Majrooh Sultanpuri, the
lot. The Pied Piper who lured them to Bombay (Mumbai) was the innovative
Secretary General of the CPI, P.C. Joshi. As part of the trend, actors like
Balraj Sahni gave a boost to the Indian Peoples’ Theatre. Socialism even in Raj
Kapoor films was influenced by the ambience that this lot had generated. They
determined the character of Bollywood by their lyrics, dialogue and sheer
presence. Subsequently, the influence disappeared, but not totally. Witness
Nandita Das.
At one level, Manto’s uncompromising
realism sustains the tension throughout the film because it clashes with the
dogmatic idealism of his colleagues. Das assembles many of them and their
friends in cinema, Ashok Kumar, Shyam (Chaddha) in the first Independence Day
party where the legendary Jaddan Bai regales the gathering. The teenage girl
behind her mother Jaddan Bai is unmistakably Nargis. It is superb casting. The
way Manto protects Ashok Kumar through a mob of Muslim rioters is unbelievably
realistic. His parting with his closest friend the handsome actor Shyam because
of Partition is rich in poignancy.
The Partition of India is
replete with many tragic ironies but tragedies pale before the incident that
Manto picks on as a metaphor for the mayhem: Toba Tek Singh.
When the newly formed
governments of the two countries complete the identification of Hindus and
Sikhs in Pakistan’s mental asylum and Muslims left in such institutions in
India, the governments decided to transfer them to the countries they were now
deemed to be citizens of.
When Bishan Singh, a Sikh in a
Pakistan asylum is being transferred to India under police escort he learns
that his hometown, Toba Tek Singh has been left in Pakistan. Bishan Singh
begins to walk in the opposite direction. The last scene shows him lying in
no-man’s land. Let Manto end the story in his own words: “There, behind the
barbed wire, on one side, lay India and behind more barbed wire, on the other
side, lay Pakistan. In between on a bit of earth, which had no name, lay Toba
Tek Singh. This is just one of the Manto stories Nandita Das weaves
effortlessly into her film.
“Thanda Gosht” or “Cold Meat”,
a controversial masterpiece, becomes one of the film’s supporting columns. It
provides occasion for a court drama where Manto defends himself against charges
of obscenity. Faiz Ahmad Faiz as a witness in the case exposes the earliest
fissures in the Progressive Writers Movement. In his testimony, Faiz describes
“Thanda Gosht” as not the “highest form of literature” but clearly not obscene
either.
The backdrop, once again, are
the riots following Partition, the cataclysm Manto could never wrench himself
away from. A well built Sikh, Ishwar Singh, has returned after joining the
looters. In fact he has even murdered five men with his kirpan (sword). But
when he is unable to make love to the passionate Kalwant Kaur, she, in a moment
of suspicion and jealousy, slits his throat with the very same kripan,
demanding that he tell her who he has slept with.
The story’s final climax is –
it has many – when a dying Ishwar Singh confesses: yes, he lifted a “very
beautiful girl” from a house, but when he laid her down, he realized to his
horror………………….she was dead, “Thanda Gosht”.
An effort to critique Nandita
Das’s film has involuntarily, meandered past the brilliant short stories which
many readers must already be familiar with. There is a simple reason for my
diversion. The succinct, vivid, picturization of so many of the stories have
made them more intimately accessible. Those who have read Manto will be
enriched. The selection of stories is uncanny. When a doctor asks his helper to
“open” (kholdo), the window to allow some light, Sakina (recovered from a riot
affected area) gropes for the string of her shalwar in a daze and loosens it.
She has developed a pavlovian response to the sound “Kholdo”, so repeatedly has
she been raped in captivity. There is a disturbing, Mantovian irony attending
the end. On this occasion the instruction “kholdo” is for the window to be
opened so that Sakina’s distraught father, who has spent days searching for
her, can see her face. I can go on and on.
The extraordinary directorial
success lies in what Nandita Das has avoided. Despite the world’s finest short
stories at her disposal, she has refrained from creating a catalogue of Manto
masterpieces, however seductive the idea may have been. The stories are in the
service of the director’s primary purpose: to bring out the multilayered life
of a genius, struggling to keep the wolf from door, a difficult proposition
when tight fisted publishers buy a short story only for rupees 20 against
Manto’s demand for rupees 50. He accepts the humiliation because he is in
desperate need for money for his child’s medical treatment.
To be proud, sensitive and
constantly in need is a lethal combination. Initially, when Manto copes with
the humiliation, he reminds me of Majaz Lucknowi.
“Banyeen sael e gham o sael e
hawadis
Mera sar hai ki ab bhi khum
naheen hai.”
(A gathering storm of tragedy
and pain approaches
But I have not bowed my head –
the struggle continues)
Eventually, on a cold December
night, Majaz was found in a coma on the terrace of a Lucknow country liquor
shop. He died the next morning in Balrampur hospital, surrounded by comrades
who happened to be in Lucknow for a Conference of Progressive Writers – Ismat
Chugtai, Sardar Jafri, Sahir Ludhianvi. Manto also dies of alcoholism but his
is a slow end, by attrition. Both died in their 40’s.
The film’s other attraction is
the portrayal of an era along a distinct track – post Partition, mayhem,
breakdown of friendships, relationships, Manto’s parting from Bombay
deliberately preserving a one rupee debt to a cigarette seller as a “precious”
link with the city he loved.
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