By Dr Manzur Ejaz
Washington, DC
manzurejaz@yahoo.com
Manto was the greatest Urdu short story writer but it is shame that neither the Pakistani state nor the society gave him the honor he deserved. January is the month he died almost half a century back. Let’s hold gatherings to remember him, dwell on his enlightened thoughts and honor him. We in Washington DC are holding such a meeting on Sunday, January 5, 2003. Following is a column I wrote on him on Sunday, November 24, 2002. I would love to hear from you.
Creative Genius of a Man Persecuted
It does not make any difference to Saadat Hasan Manto (1912-1955) if Zafar Jamali, Fazul-ur-Rehman or Shah Mahmood Qureshi becomes the new prime minister: none of them is going to give him the state honor that has been reserved for the mediocre. It is intriguing to imagine how Manto would have commented on the ongoing ‘tamasha’ in Pakistan. Probably, he would have found a Toba Tek Singh or a confused wandering dog to bare the deep and dark secretes of our age where most intelligentsia has become frivolous and directionless.
While all the worthy think-tanks are trying to keep a tab on Islamabad’s horse traders our friend, Dr Mustafa Kamal Pasha, a renowned social scientist, thought it more appropriate to arrange a seminar on Manto, under the auspices of South Asia Project and Asian Council of the American University.
No one other than Mr. Khalid Hasan could have been a better speaker because of his infinite reverence for Manto. The English world knows Manto through his translations, published by Penguin Books in five different collections. Mr. Hasan gave a very passionate account of Manto’s life, the miseries and insults the great artist had to bear. He also recited a few passages from Manto’s short stories that immensely moved the newly initiated audience. Mr. Akmal Aeemi of Voice of America, having some personal association with Manto, quoted A. Hameed, a living Urdu novelist, saying that Manto was the greatest realist short story writer of Urdu.
Manto, born in an East Punjabi village, did not have a happy childhood. He was considered an under-achiever, particularly in Urdu language, according to his school teachers. When in the MAO College, Amritsar, he was in Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s English class. However, he did not complete college and moved on to experiment with life. His best time of life commenced when he moved to Bombay and made a good living in the film industry or writing for film magazines, says Mr. Hasan. After moving to Lahore he never found a proper job, spent his time drinking and lived an impoverished life. In those days, Manto would ask, “Get me an office to go to.” His friends were helpless like him and he remained a prisoner within the walls of his own home.
According to available accounts Manto lived a miserable life in Lahore. He wrote short stories for ten or twenty rupees to buy liquor. And, liquor is all that he bought with whatever income he got from his writings. He was like Fyodor Dostoevsky, the Russian novelist who wrote his masterpieces to pay his debts that he used to incur as a compulsive gambler. Manto’s mind, like his liver, was giving way and, at one point, he was interned in the mental hospital. He was released when he demanded to reform the mental hospital infrastructure. His short story, Toba Tek Singh, a masterpiece, was written after his sojourn to the mental hospital.
Manto’s close friends claim that his wife, late Safia Begum, and his in-laws constantly mistreated the great writer. Nairang-i-Khial, a literary magazine, published a transcript of dialogue with Prof G. M. Asar, a close friend and neighbor of Manto, in which Prof Asar asserted that Mrs. Manto was fed up with her husband and wished him dead. The dialogue seems to be authentic because other participants, Muzaffar Ali Syed and Munir Ahmad Sheikh, were also known critics of Urdu literature. Nonetheless, it does not prove anything about his wife’s cruelty: most husbands who have Manto’s habits, particularly the ones obsessed with alcohol, are usually taunted upon in their households. It is not a coincidence that one reads similar stories about the greatest Urdu poet, Mirza
Ghalib or the revered Punjab lyricist, late Shiv Kumar Batalvi’s domestic life.
The phenomenon of great creative personalities is unique. They burn themselves (or they can’t avoid burning due to their creative compulsions) to lighten up the world. It is impossible to dissect the genesis of an artist who appears to be an under-achiever in the simple academic world but makes discoveries that are hidden to the most brilliant scholars of the establishment. Shiv Kumar Batalvi is reported to have said that “we don’t do PhDs, other people will do PhDs on us.” Such great artists come as a blessing to the world but not for themselves or their families. Therefore, one can hardly blame their families or the monotonous world for making their life difficult.
As a matter of fact many individuals try their best to ease the artists’ worldly pains. For example, Qudarat-Ullah Shahab had given an ice factory to Manto that provided bread and butter to his family for sometime. Or, Manto would walk away from the court and some unnamed admirer would pay Rs. 300 fine on his behalf.
Philosophically, the institution of family and settings of the worldly affairs are not made for the creative souls. It is the artist’s creative compulsion that leads to the most difficult path of distancing from the worldly ways. The artists are condemned to be what they are, or destined to be what they become. There are no ifs or buts in history but for the sake of argument if Mirza Ghalib or Manto had adopted worldly ways, they would have become
highly paid nameless high officials of the state! Many admirers of Manto lament that he died so young -- at the age of 42-43. But, one should look at what he created in such a short period. And, all the creation sprung from his mode of living. Shiv Kumar Batalvi’s death at an early age tells the same story.
Manto had a unique insight to look at the world. He looked at society with a consciousness uncolored by nationalism, religion or other institutional societal biases. He challenged most sacred norms that impinge upon human creativity and generate hatred among human beings. He negated narrowly defined nationalism, hypocrisy and
morbid sexuality through his masterpieces like “Toba Tek Singh,” “Totwal ka Kutta,” “Khool do” and “Dhuwan.” He was fortunate to have been prosecuted only a few times for enjoying the liberty to write what his heart desired.
If he was born in today’s Pakistan, he might have been stoned long ago, and many times