Exploring Manto: The Other Side of Obscenity

We often hear that the pen is mightier than the sword, and writers should use wield this weapon to mirror the truth of their society. Sadat Hasan Manto attempted to do just that, but was often misunderstood. Today, his words are like gold mined from the depths of the vast literary ocean.

Exploring Manto: The Other Side of Obscenity. Image Credits- The wire

One day, an impatient knock on the door alerted Safia to someone's arrival. She left her work aside and rushed to the door, only to be greeted by a familiar yet tiresome sight. Once again, a team of police officers were standing at her doorstep, looking for her husband, Manto. Despite Safia's rational response that Manto was not at home, the officers refused to listen and were aggressive.

Meanwhile, Manto was visiting Chaudhry Nazir Ahmadi's publishing house to work on a new story. He had hardly managed to pen two or three lines when Ahmadi's brother came in with the news that police officers had forcefully invaded Manto's apartment.

The three men hurried to Manto's house. Despite the increasing crowd, Manto revealed himself, much to the embarrassment of the officers, who had wasted no time searching the writer's house. That was the beginning of the famous fifth trial, which Manto noted in great detail, inking all his emotions in the essay, “The Fifth Trial”.

At this point, Manto had become familiar with the workings of the court. Previously, he had been charged with obscenity for Kali Salwar (Black Trouser), Dhuaan (Smoke), and Bu (Odour) in the pre-independence era. In the post-independence era of newly-formed Pakistan, Khol Do (Open It), Thanda Gosht (Cold Meat), Upar, Niche Aur Darmiyaan (Above, Below, and Middle) garnered a similar reaction.

Manto's colonial society was judgemental and afraid of confronting social taboos, such as sexual desires. Dhuaan depicts the awakening of sexual urges in its adolescent male protagonist, Masud. Similarly, Kali Salwar drew public ire due to its female protagonist, Sultana, a prostitute by profession. Lastly, Bu exposed Randhir's numerous illicit affairs. The story later zoomed in on his most memorable night with a girl of lower caste, addressed as a Ghatan (tribal girl in Maharashtra).

The trial of Bu was long and arduous. It is the same trial that dragged Ismat Chughtai (Manto's close confidant and contemporary) through the mud for Lihaaf (The Quilt). Both writers remained unapologetic for writing something that challenged British ideas of etiquette and morality. One particular incident stands true to this assertion. When challenged for using the word “breasts”, Manto sarcastically replied, “A woman's chest must be called breasts and not groundnuts.”

The so-called indecency of these stories exposed the hidden desires of ordinary people, normalising the pursuit of sexual pleasure beyond gender hierarchies.

Disillusioned by the misery of partition and having to leave his beloved Bombay, Manto created some of his best works. While his migration to Pakistan remains a mystery, it is no secret that his decision had a frustrating and lasting impact on his fellow Progressive writers.

Despite setbacks, Manto's stories held up a true mirror, exposing his audience to the horrors and violence of partition.

Toba Tek Singh depicts the madness of partition by showcasing the exchange of inmates of mental hospitals across the border. The protagonist, Bishan Singh, refuses to migrate to India, and the climax finds him in no man's land, breathing his last right between the two nations.

Thanda Gosht captures the heinous crime of the protagonist Ishar Singh, who raped the corpse of a Muslim girl. Following a similar line of communal violence, Khol Do is narrated by Sirajuddin, who is searching for his daughter Sakina, from whom he got separated on their journey to Pakistan. By the time Sirajuddin finds his daughter, she has already been raped by several Hindu and Muslim men, the latter being her rescuers.

Both stories were considered vulgar for their life-like portrayal of rape, especially inflicted on women to justify the subcontinent's twisted notion of purity and pride.

By the time the trial for Upar, Niche Aur Darmiyaan rolled in, Manto's health and patience were thinning. The fifth trial took a heavy toll on him and he lost the unflinching will to continue writing despite what people thought of him. The muse in his soul felt restricted, and sinking into a deep depression, Manto tried to numb his pain with alcoholism, ultimately succumbing to liver cirrhosis in the end.

Manto has anticipated this moment long before it happened and made sure to pen his own epitaph. It is both amusing and sentimental, reading: “Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto. With him lie buried all the arts and mysteries of short story writing... Under tons of earth, he lies, wondering who of the two is the greater short-story writer: God or he.”

In a fresh attempt to understand Manto, we have reread and re-remembered his works, making us realise the relevance of his words that echo through the present. This may be the reason why both India and Pakistan consider Manto an ordinary man who left behind an extraordinary legacy.