They Fought For Freedom Of The Pen

In Franz Kafka바카라�s The Trial, when Josef K. finds himself arrested, he is unable to figure out what is he accused of. Clueless and ens­nared in the labyrinths of a serpentine legal structure, he keeps on doing the things that make him look guilty. Ergo, it is decided that he must be guilty and he is executed. 바카라�For Josef K.,바카라� writes Kafka, 바카라�the proceedings gradually merge into the judgment.바카라�

Born in Ludhiana, Saadat Hasan Manto was among the most controversial Urdu writers of the 20th century바카라�partly because his fiction stirred the horizons of his times, and chiefly because he was tried for 바카라�obscenity바카라� in his fiction several times. Many of his short stories, often dealing with themes of Partition, violence and sexuality, dragged him into acerbic courtroom battles, and like Josef K., he beheld the horrors of the State from close quarters.

바카라�A court is a place where every humiliation is inflicted, and where it must be suffered in sile­nce,바카라� writes Manto about his fifth trial, when in 1952, a Karachi magistrate judged his Upar, Nee­chay aur Darmiyan to be obscene. 바카라�I pray that nobody has to go to the place we call a court of law,바카라� he writes in The Fifth Trial, 바카라�I바카라�ve seen no place more bizarre.바카라� Manto바카라�s short stories were banned thrice in the colonial era, and thrice afterwards, in Pakistan.

Although his fiction bore the allegations of being obscene and was on many occasions tried, his short story Bu (Smell) invited the attention of the intolerant British colonial masters because they found references to the Women바카라�s Auxiliary Corps (WAC) unsettling. The WAC (India), which comprised both Indian and Euro­p­ean women, was established in 1942 to release officers and male corps from sedentary posts during World War II, so that they could serve with active units. Bu tells the story of a man called Randheer who lives in Bom­bay. One day, as the monsoon rains pour down raucously, Randheer sees a tribal woman from his balcony, seeking shelter under a tree. Ran­dheer had been feeling lonely for a while as 바카라�the War was on, and most of the Christian girls of Bombay who were easily available in the past had joined the WAC.바카라� The man calls the tribal woman up to his flat and the story progresses with a deta­i­led narration of their sexual encounter.

Although the short story was tried for being obs­cene, the Britishers were irked solely because of the mention of the WAC in the story. In her book, Hidden Histories of Pakistan, Sarah Fatima Wah­eed mentions a memo dated May 29, 1944, in whi­ch General Wade notes, 바카라�The story (Bu) is cer­t­a­inly most detrimental to recruiting, insofar as it suggests that association in the WAC may be those of prostitutes and we wish to press for prosecution.바카라� Given the immediate political context of strikes, especially during the Quit India Movem­ent, mass demonstrations and popular rebellions against core institutions of imperial life, including the military, and references to WAC in the short story, had deeply annoyed the War Department of the British Indian Army. 바카라�The person,바카라� writes Wah­eed, 바카라�who first brought the story to the attention of British officials was M.K. Khan, the Hono­rary Secretary of the Indian Christian War Bur­eau.바카라�

Surprisingly, Ismat Chughtai, an Urdu novelist, short story writer and Manto바카라�s contemporary and friend, was simultaneously being charged for her short story, Lihaf (Quilt). Chughtai바카라�s story was also facing the charges of being obscene for explicitly exploring the themes of female homoeroticism and homosexuality.

In her autobiography, Kaghazi Hai Pairahan, Chughtai recalls while she was traveling to Lahore for the trial, she stayed with Aslam Sah­eb, a writer and an acquaintance of her husband. Aslam alle­ged that her stories were 바카라�filthy바카라� and told her to apologise in court. This had made Chu­g­htai furious. 바카라�I retaliated like a woman possessed,바카라� writes Chughtai.

When she pointed out that Aslam바카라�s stories were obscene too, and asked him why he wrote them, he proudly retorts: 바카라�My case is different. I바카라�m a man!바카라� That바카라�s when Chug­htai scathingly told him, 바카라�You have the freedom to write whatever you want. You don바카라�t need my permission. Similarly, I don바카라�t feel any need to seek your permission for writing the way I want to.바카라�

Chughtai바카라�s persona was as unabashed as her stories바카라�sharp, yet truest in form. She took the world head-on and in her stories, fought the oppression she saw women going through. She spent her early childhood 바카라�freely바카라� and would play football, hoc­key and gilli danda with boys, including her many bro­t­hers. 바카라�The real culprits,바카라� Chughtai writes in one of her essays, 바카라�were my brothers. It was their company that enabled me to think freely.바카라� It was only when their family moved to Agra after her father바카라�s retirement that she realised being a woman comes at a cost. Contrary to her earlier days, she found the new atmosphere 바카라�stifling, and oppressive바카라�. 바카라�The washerwoman was beaten every night,바카라� she writes, 바카라�the sweeperess received a walloping from her husband every other day, and in the adjacent neighbourhoods, husbands often thrashed their wives바카라�.

Chughtai always fought against the stereotypes into which women were being rele­n­t­le­ssly fitted in. As a young girl, she once con­vinced her father to excuse her from lea­rning how to cook, and asked him to facilitate her education instead. 바카라�Women cook food, Ismat! When you go to your in-laws, what will you feed them?바카라� Chughtai recalls her father asking her one day. 바카라�If my husband is poor,바카라� Chughtai tells him, 바카라�then we will make khichdi and eat it. If he is rich, we will hire a cook바카라�.

Afraid of being caught and punished, Chughtai tore up many of her stories during her youthful days. Once, her elder brother Shamim came into her room and found the manuscript of a story. Reading it, he wondered how she could write such 바카라�filthy stuff바카라�. Luckily, no one took the brother바카라�s 바카라�allegations바카라� seriously because of his lying habits. It would have been the first-ever trial Chughtai would face for her writing바카라�not in a courtroom, but within the walls of her very home. Many years later, when she was facing trial for Lihaf, the judge called her into the court anteroom and told her that he had read most of her stories.

바카라�Your stories are not obscene. Neither is Lihaf,바카라� the judge told her, 바카라�but Manto바카라�s writings are littered with filth.바카라�

바카라�The world is also littered with filth,바카라� she said.

바카라�Is it necessary to rake it up, then?바카라�

바카라�If it is raked up, it becomes visible and people feel the need to clean it up,바카라� Chughtai quipped.

That day, in the anteroom that would become immortal in the years to come, Chughtai dauntingly defended the liberty of literature and took the side of her friend Manto. To Chughtai, Man­to was not just a literary figure. He was an influence, talking to whom, as Chughtai would often say, sharpened her sensibilities. 바카라�Having an argument with him was like sharpening one바카라�s intellect,바카라� writes Chughtai, 바카라�it was as if the cob­webs were being cleared, the brain swept clean with a jhadu.바카라�

Manto바카라�s sensibilities are reflected in his fiction, which, in more ways than one, was inspired by the woes that befell the subcontinent after the Partition바카라�violence, bloodshed, rape and communalism. 바카라�India was taken, when it was at the point of Independence, and dragged into this enormous, dark pit,바카라� he writes about the aftermath of Partition. He also wrote unabashedly, with poise and grit, on sex, desire, prostitutes, murderers and drunkards, without condemning anyone. No wonder that he found himself in the middle of a moral sla­ug­hter­house, where everyone, even at times his friends, condemned him.

Mohammad Tufail, editor and publisher of the reputed literary journal Naqoosh, where Manto would often publish stories, had once published an essay titled Mr. Manto. The con­tents of the essay were so intimate, personal and prying that Manto, after reading the essay, was left depressed. 바카라�No man is without his weaknesses, but why put them on display?바카라� Manto wrote in an essay, 바카라�바카라�what바카라�s the point of such revelation, when it brings the writer into disgrace?바카라�

In the last phase of his life, Manto fell victim to the very demon he was fighting with his pen바카라�the moral hypocrisy of the upper class. He was not always loose with the booze, but with a plethora of afflictions바카라�the excruciating trials, death of his infant child and being the bull바카라�s eye for the mudslinging and character assassination바카라�he was transformed, says his daughter Nuzhat, 바카라�from a social drinker to an irreversible alcoholic.바카라�

On the night that turned out to be his last, he fell terribly sick, asking for whiskey while being driven in an ambulance to the hospital. His family obliged. On his way to the hospital, Manto breathed his last, and left behind a treasure of stunning short stories바카라�some heart-breaking, some stifling, and some still 바카라�obscene바카라�.

Chughtai, on Manto바카라�s death, had said: 바카라�Those who die, inflict a wound that neither aches nor bleeds; it just smoulders quietly forever.바카라�

(This appeared in the print edition as "Quilt, Smell and the Trials")