Saadat Hasan Manto is Urdu literature’s finest short-story writer and Ritwick Ghatak is one of India’s most powerful film-makers who established a new idiom of expression through his many films. They belonged to different generations and chose different forms of art. Yet, the similarities between the two cannot be easily ignored.
Both were deeply perturbed by the emotional and physical trauma the partition of India caused to the people of the sub-continent. To depict this, Ghatak chose his films and Manto his short stories. Both refused to be reconciled to the idea of partition till the end. Both were victims of partition — Ghatak had to leave Dacca as a refugee and seek shelter in Calcutta, while Manto left Bombay to settle down in Lahore after being hounded out of the Bombay film industry largely because he was a Muslim. Both led a bohemian life and had developed a self-destructive streak — they consumed alcohol in plenty and in turn were consumed by alcohol. Both used to write film scripts for the Bombay film industry and both used to act in films — though occasionally.
The similarities become obvious when one reads Khalid Hasan’s comprehensive collection of Manto’s short stories and essays. Hasan makes no mention of these similarities in his introduction. But it is interesting to note how the tragic impact of India’s partition (based as it was on the religious identity of its people) became the most significant trigger for the creativity of two of India’s finest artistes and then took a toll on their lives. Ghatak died prematurely at the age of 50, in 1976, leaving many internationally acclaimed films (again centring on the theme of the partition). Manto died even earlier at the age of 43, in 1955, leaving behind a body of literary work that stands out for its stark portrayal of how partition fanned religious fanaticism and dehumanised its victims.
Hasan’s collection meets a long-felt need for a single volume that captures the vast range of Manto’s literary work in English translation. The bonus is that it presents Manto not just as a master storyteller, but also as a writer of exquisite essays and portraits of eminent personalities of his time. This, though, would not have pleased Manto, for he wanted to be remembered primarily as a short-story writer. The epitaph Manto wanted on his grave reveals that quite poignantly: “...Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie buried all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short-story writing ... Under tons of earth he lies, still wondering who among the two is the greater short-story writer: God or he.” Indeed, one would agree with Manto’s contention after reading Toba Tek Singh, Thanda Gosht, Bu or Khol Do. A few of his stories had to face charges of obscenity, but in terms of connecting with the readers and making a powerful statement, Manto’s stories have stood the test of time. And as Hasan has argued, that is what differentiates ordinary work of art from the extraordinary.
It is a pity that Manto’s portraits, though outstanding in their form, content and the ability to present their subjects in various shades, are not as celebrated as his short stories. Hasan’s collection will surely go a long way in undoing this injustice to Manto. His portrait of Jinnah (Mr L K Advani may do well to read it, if he hasn’t already!) reveals a new aspect of the Quaid-e-Azam’s personality. The portrait of the Bombay film industry’s evergreen hero, Ashok Kumar, is another poignant piece that brings to life the evolution of a film star. Both the portraits score because Manto chose to rely on personal accounts of people who came in close touch with his subjects. This was possible because one of the drivers in Jinnah’s household was well-known to Manto. And Ashok Kumar was his colleague in Filmistan, a film company, in the 1940s.
On the whole, Hasan’s efforts will go a long way in making Manto accessible to an international audience, though there are minor irritants, which he will hopefully take care of in the next edition of the collection. It would have made sense to provide the original Urdu title of the story at the end along with the year when it was written. Manto writes in a historical context and the dates will facilitate their critical appreciation. The original Urdu titles would have also helped as a few of the translated titles fail to capture the sense Manto may have wanted to convey. Consider The Return as a translation of Khol Do or Colder Than Ice for Thanda Gosht, you will realise what the reader may have missed. And the mysterious gibberish of Toba Tek Singh’s protagonist is better understood in Harish Trivedi’s translation, than in Hasan’s reproduction of the original in Urdu.
BITTER FRUIT
THE VERY BEST OF SAADAT HASAN MANTO
Edited and translated by Khalid Hasan
Penguin Books
Rs 599, XXVI+708 pages