SAADAT HASAN MANTO Q;\'

.Mottled Dawn FIFTY SKETCHES AND STORIES OF PARTITION

Translated from the Urdu by Khalid Hasan 'SØith an Introduction by Daniyal Mueenuddin

@ 1q1.7/zott PENGUINBOOKS PËNGI.JINBOOKS Published by the Penguin Group Penguio B9^olLondon IVC2R ORL, England Penguin lreland' 25 sr stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland {a division of penguin This mottled d.aøn Books Ltd) T h is ni gb t -b itten marnin g Penguin Group (Ausualia), 707 collins street, Melbourne, vicroria 3t0gn Australia No, rå¿s is not the marning Penguin,Group (NZI,67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zrx;lanð Penguin Bpoks (Pry) park, We had set {Sourh.Africa) Lr.l Block D, Roeeba¡¡k Office 1g1 Jan out in sbarch of Srnuts Aven1rc, Parktown Norh, JohannesbutgZlgs, South Àfrica *Faiz Ahmed Pecrguin Books Lrd, Registered Officç: B0 Strand, london WCIR ORL, England Faiz

First published in Ë,nglish by Penguin Books Indþ 1997 First published in Penguin Modern Classics 201i

T¡anslation copyright @ Khalid Hesan 1997, 2011 In*oduction copyright @ Daniyal Mueenuddin 2011.

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ISBN 9780143418313

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A P€NGUIN.RANDOM HOUSE COI,lPANY In memory of Saadat Hasan Manta and C ONTENTS hk dream of a subcontinent wherc peoþle wìll liue ds þeople, irresþectiue of religion, caste at calour, wh¿re hatreå søà¡t' Introductian stand abalished, uthere-hypoaisy shall-haue no fliay, tahere by Daniyal Mueenuddin relþion shall 1X only mnoblà those who Translator's þilouí;, Note XV not diuide them into utaruing tr¡bes. Toba Tek Sineh Manto's dream remains - I a dream. The Return B :ffi¡qc¡u 11 Colde¡ than Ice 77 lTã-D-og-TE;wal- 22 The Last Salute 28 The Voman in the Red Raincoat 36 The Price of Freedom 43 Mozail 58 The Dudful Daughrer 73 Three Simple Sraremenrs 78 Jinnah Sahib 80 A Girl from Delhi 94 The Grear Divide 101 Bitter Harvest rc9 A Believer's Ve¡sion 172 A Tale of.1947 120 The New Constitution 126 Sweet Moment 736 Wages 137 Cooperation 140 Division 143 Proper Use 144 The Benefirs of lgnorance 1,45 For Necessary Action 146 Miracle Man t47 Misrake Removed 148 Jelly 1"49 Invigtion to Action 150 Pathanistan 151 I7arning 152 Permanent A TITIST TTITH DESTINY Vacation 153 Ritualistic Difference 154 Daniyal Mueenuddin Losing Proposition 155 Bestiality L56 The Fool 157 Modesty 158 Determination 159 fe.hru's_'rrysr with destiny', his premy phrase describing Due Supervision Independence-which ,twist 160 as a child I understood as a witñ The Ga¡land desdny', tlvist âs in the waltz, the 161. Vatusi, the twist*was more Out of Consideradon a rape than a tryst or â twisr, one of the great catastrophes 1,62 Precautionary 'of the twentierh century, My father, who was Rehabilitation Arrangement 163 Mishtake Commissioner in Lahore ât the time of partition, had the 764 Itdtness gruesome task of meering rhe trains that came into Lahore from 76s Punjab, freighted God is Great ,Indian with a load of corpses, butchered en 1,66 route by Hindu and Sikh Socialism mobs-just as some functionary on 167 the opposite side had the task of meeting at Delhi's station death Double Cross 168 trains loaded with slaughrered Hindus and Sikhs. My father Resting Time L69 found no difficulry in explaining the mass killings, saying that, Luck 1,70. if today it were announced rhat ail red-h¿ired men could be Ungrateful Lot 171 killed with impuniqi tomorrow rhere would nor be a red,haired man alive. Such is human narure. It is this qualiry in mankind that Saadat Hasan Manto, his horror moderated by his grim humour, bears witness to in the volume of stories that you hold in your hands. Sorne sixty ye¿rs after Parrition, we inevitably still read these stories as historical documents, recording those events. There are still people living who remember the bloodshed, who su_ffered personally from the violence. We, in both India and Pakistan, afe still crippled by the nârratives that the armies of our counrÍies have buílt around the crimes of Parrition, cynically keeping the hatred generated at Partition alive, in order to jusrify their ix x INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION xl budgets and their dominant roles in their respective countries. uncle who lived in Lahore had been killed. He iust couldn,t The Pakistani military, from the moment of my country's believe it. He had said to Mumraz, ,If Hindu-Muslim inception, has sat on and smothered the country's political bod¡ killings start here,'I don'r know what I'll do., justifying itself by reference to the Indian threat. The Indian 'Vhat'll you do?'Mumtaz had asked. military bloated upon a larger corpus, operating more discreedy; 'I dont know. Maybe I'll kill you,'he had replied darkly. has played a similar game. We may yet all be blown to kingdom Mumtaz kept quier and for the next eight days he didn'r come in revenge for the killings of t9+2, speak to ânyone; on rhe ninth day he had said he was sailing If we today keep our grievances alive, so many years lateE for Karachi that afternoon. it is startling that Manto, writing soon after these events, was able to be so level-headed, so cool. That he was able to withhold W-hile itmighr appear that Mumtaz is leaving from fear of being blame. Although the stories in this book are specifically about killed, the story insæad conveys with characteristic lightness-, a political event, about the dilemmas of people caught up in a without emphasis, that, in fact, Mumtaz is leaving because he great internecine massacre, they are neither overtly nor covertly bows to the inevitability of its being sor that there must be blood, partisan. They espouse no position and are almost purely thst their difference as communities has divided them. This iá desciptive. As Chekhov has famously sâid, the writer's task is pique, not pressure. This is sublime: he obeys the historical not to pass sentence, but rather, to empathize with his characters' imperative. There is no ânger in him, but rather rhe tenderness sufferings after they have been judged and condemned. [n these that a man feels upon leaving a woman whom he has loved stories, Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs are all guilty of murder, of deepl¡ upon abjuring a grear love. Pointing ro the horizon, inhumanity. The catastrophe is general, Manto's dominant where sea and sky are joined, he says, 'It is only an illusion âttitude, in the face of this madness, is one of bemusement at because they can't really meet, but isn't it beautiful, this union the absurdity of the violence. Men and women, who have lived which isn't really there?' Mumtaz's response to the separation together in peace, when given lice¡rce to kill do so with relish, imposed by Partition is aesthetic rârher than polirical.' with abandonment. This response is also romantic, and perhaps naive-without The key to Manto's attitude lies pdrhaps in the story'A Täle blame there can be no justice-and yet, is a key ro our of 1947', which is based on a reminiscence he wrote soon after understanding of why Manto's stories of Partition are so very Partition. A Muslim chârâcter named Mumtaz, closely identified good. As in Isaac Babel's Red Cøualry srories, which describe with Manto himself, is taking a ship from Bombay for Karachi. the savagery of rhe Russian revolution, the horror of such events The n¿rrator, one of three Hindus sending Mumtaz off with a is best conveyed through the lens of a romantic sensibility. final carouse, considers why he has decided to leave them. Manto was, by all accounts, a gentle, wounded, disorganized man, and therefore well suited to consider in his stories rhese Mumtaz u/as very emotional that day. The three of us had massâcres, his softness marrying their violence. One of my come to see him off. He was sailing for Pakistan, a country elderly relations, ancienr in my childhood, bless her, and now we knew nothing about. All three of us were Hindus. gone to the reward that she so fervenrly believed in, happened IÍe had relatives in West Punjab, now Pakistan, some of in the 1950s to live in the same building where Manro came rù(/as whom had lost their lives in anti-Hindu riots. this to rest; Lakshmi Mansions on the Mall road in Lahore. She why Mumtaz was leaving us? recalled him well, a drunken pathetic figure, scribbling away One day Jugal had received a letter which said that his for the newsþapers; an ârrist, which in her eyes made him littlà xil INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION xlil better_than a ffâmp. yet, And in these srories, Manto triumphs we¡e different, that allows us to look directly âr rhese horrific over the unlit urinous st¿irwells of Lakshmi Mansions, oo"rih" scenes without flinching. I would also like to rouch briefly on his petty dis¿pproval of his neighbours, over his poverry, his brutal technique, which seems equally well suited to rhis material. The hangovers; he partition. even triumphs over dhe fact of lffhen overwhelming impression the stories leave is one of artlessness, the last mourner has passed awag after the last child who lost effortlessness-which, as most wrirers will acknowledge, is an his parents is dead, these storiès will be read, unmoored from exceedingly difficult effect to achieve. There is, in these srories, the suffering that they memorialize a concentration of techniques, which are all directed to rhe same This individtral triumph correlares to the triumph that we, his purpôses; he aims for immediacg vividness, concentrarion. He rea{e1s, partition, experience, over the particular infamiei of approaches his subject obliquel¡ writing abour lunatics in an and the general violence and randomness and brutality oi asylum, âbout a dog caught in no man's land between the Indian life. Thrpugh rhese srories we âre enabled to m¿ke sense of and Pakistani armies, about a public urinal-so that these srories the violence depicted: to make sense of it not rationally but seem to be snatched almost randomly from the whole spectacle, emotio¡¿lly. If Manto's intention was not political, was nor significant insignificant moments. There is little description of partition, to ide,ltify with any of rhe factions in the disasær of landscape, no lingering upon smells or sights, and there is almost the effect of his stories is certainly political, in the sense thar no reflection, no editorializing upon the events he describes. all description rüLH. is political. \Vhar the poet Auden said of Althoúgh he often uses the first person narrator, the 'I', there is Sigmund Freud might equally be said of Manto: almost no interiority, no rumination or description of feelings. \üith rare exceptions, the stories are extremely short, covering He wasn't clever at all: he merely rold a few pages and a brief span of time. the unhappy Present to recite the Past The most striking of Manto's techniques for achieving the like a poetry lesson till sooner impression of artlessness and immediacy is found in his endings, or later it faltered at the line where which, in the best of the storieE, manâge simultaneously to be almost weightless, mere throwaways-and yet devastating. long ago the accusations had begun, There is no great crescendo; often the stories seem not to end at and suddenly knew by whom ir had been iudged, all, but to trail gway. Again, this is appropriate to the material. how rich life had been and how sill¡ Confronted with these horrific scenes, the only possible reaction and was life-forgiven and more humble . . . is a shake of the head, an acknowledgement of the horror. Consider the almost laconic ending of 'The fts¡u¡¡'-[ \¡/6¡'¡ Manto makes us care about all the victims, and about the killers spoil it'*-or the ambiguity of the last sentence in 'A Täle of 1947'. as well as the killed-it is only by caring, by empathizing with In the hands of a lesser writer, these qualities in the stories might them, that we can learn to overcome our prejudices and to make them appear inconsequential. sublimate ou¡ desire for revenge. Reading these stories with an What is consequence? .w€ And to whom? Manto draws our open heart, are enabled to rranscend our political biases* attention to the, literally, millisns of tittle tragedies that together which is perhaps the most radical stage of political development. composed the whole tragedy of Partition. I spoke of my father, I have been speaking of Manto's romanric sensibility, which who at Partition met the trains coming in from India, new I believe made him exceprionally suited to telling these horrific India, violent India, enemy India, with no one alive but the stories. It is this senrirnenraliry, which might cloy if the subject trainman, to show us on the Pakistani side that violence would xlv INTRODUCTION meet viol€nce, thât they would kill us as we killed them. My good father walking rhrough the rrains, registering the dead-I can imagine him, with his stout walking shoes. He had from childhood hunted, for deer and partridge and wild boari-he once shoÍ a bluebuck from rhe back of a horse wirh a pistol- and killed perhaps hundreds of crocodiles on the Indus. After TRANSLATOR'S NOTE he walked through these bloody trains, he never hunted again. One da¡ inspecting a train come in from East Punjab, all the The Partition of India in 1947 was a caraclysmic evenr. r#as it passengers seemingly dead, he found-or some sweeper hired to inevitable? lfhat would have been the shape of things if there had shove the bodies off the bogie found*a baby girl wedged under been no divisionl l7hat would have been the statã of relations the mass, alive. My {arher took her home, and my sisters asked betwe€n Hindus and Muslims? Vould they have learnt to live to keep her, Bambi-rhey named her B¿mbi-had pale as skin together irt amity? Or would there have been a continual civil an lrish girl in Gallowa¡ and bright red hair. She was brought war? Iühile mosr Indians hold the Muslims responsible for rhe up as one of the family-one of the yet familg not one of the 'vivisection' of 'Morher India', the Muslims, and certainly those family--and was given two squares, fifty acres, of land, enough who became Pakistanis or came to live in pakistan, believe that to distinguish her. My father, in the following terrible monrhs, a short-sighted Congress leadership failed to furnish the Muslim found two other girls piles under the of bodies in other trains*I minority with the guarântees end reassurances it was looking suppose the assassins for a moment felt piry, could not bear to for This could only have led to a parting of the wa¡,s. kill those infant girls. These other \Mere rwo brought home, It is argued*and evidence supporting this view continues to but were not taken into the family, Instead they were sent inro come to light-that had the Muslims been accorded credible the servants' quarters at my father's houseo ancl became maids. 'Who guarântees of the constiturional protection of their rights and was this red-haired girl? How did she come by her pale freedoms in a united India, separátion may not have bãen their skin? And how musr ir have been, for the rwo foundlings who chosen option. The vast majoriry of Muslims who supported the were not brought into the house, who were raised as servants? demand f.or a counrry of their own wâs afraid thaithe British This is Manto's Partition- Raj may make way for Hindu Raj. Leadership on both sides may have erred and it is, of course, easier to be wise after the eveni, 9 201.1 Jluly but it is fifty years since the British left India in the disarray in Springs, New York which they had found ir, and the debate âs ro rhe rights and wrongs of the'1"947 dispensation continues. However, it is now being increasingly felt in both counrries rhat the rime has come for the people of the subconrinent to lay aside the baggage of history and move forward as friends and neighboutrìntã the 21st century. No enmity need last as long as this one has lasted. The great tragedy of the Panition of India lay in the sectarian and religious bloodletting that preceded and followed it. To this da¡ it is not known with any degree of accuracy how many

xv xv1 TRANSLATOR'S NOTE TRANSLATOR'S NOTE xvll p€ople on both sides of the divide \¡/ere massacred in cold diminish his faith in the essential rightness of human nature. blood. Savagery such as that witnessed ar the time of Partition He demonstrated through one powerful story after another that has few parallels in history. A fierce ma{ness seems ro have the intrinsic nobility of man, his basic decency, his ability to taken hold of people who had lived rogether for cenruries 4nd, love and care mây become temporarily eclipsed but they do not barring occasional and limired violence, in a spirit of muiual die. Manto's humanism, his rejection of religious labels and his tolerance and undersranding. In 1947, somerhing snapped. The refusal to âccept cruelty and intolerance distinguish him from holocaust of Partition was in â \¡¡ay more horrifuing than the ntîi:îì:ir'äiiìt"r, extermination of European Jews by the Nazis. trt was the Third a city that he toved and a citv thar.he Reích that undertook the liquidation of rheJewish population as yearned for until his dying da¡ soon after Partition. He felt â mafter of state policy. The machinery of the state was pressed deeply disturbed by the intolerance and distrust that he found into service to accomplish this grisly task. It was organized and språuting like poijon weed everywhere, even in the religious meticulously planned killing. world of cinema. He could not eccept the fact that suddenly In the subconrinent, ir was not rhe stare that killed people bur some people saw him not âs Saadat Hasan but as a Muslim. the people themselves who bec¿me the perperrators of a vast and When he learnt that Ashok Kumar, with whom he wo¡ked at macabre drama of death. Overnight, civilized citizens turned Bombay Talkies, had been receiving hate-mail accusing him of into demented killers. Neighbours killed neighbours and friends being responsible for the induction of Muslims into the compan¡ killed friends. Reprisals were widespread. If a hundred men he was ãisillusioned. He stopped going to work and would were reported killed by one communit¡ the other community just lie all day on a sofa in his flat staring into space. He said made sure that it doubied rhe score. There were no holds barred. later he lived in a kind of limbo' He could not think. One 'Women that became the wo¡st victims of Partition. Hundreds upon day it finally happened. He decided to leave Bombay and go to thousands of them were raped, killed or abduced. No one was Pakistan, â country he did not know though he had known it spared, not even children and old people. Vhole neighbourhoods, when it was not Pakistan. It was a tremendous wrench which entire villages were set on fire and the fleeing, screaming inmates he never got over. Bombay was his first love and his fascination chased and done to death with i.mprovised weapons. No one has for the city that 'asked no questions' always stayed with him. been able to make sense of that madness. It is clear that not only ln his final dark and drunken days in Lahore when he was individuals but entire communities cân go insane. dying, he used to wonder why he had done what he had done. However, there ri'as one mân who tried to make sense of WoJd Bombay remain the way it'was before Partition? !üould what had happened. He was not a politician-for whom he it have changedl Had it already changedl These questions kept generally felt contempt-but a writer. His hame was Saadat nagging Manto as he found life getting the better of him. He Hasan Manto. Much was written about the communal killings nel'èr *topp.d wondering o(. 1,947 but little.of it has survived as lirerature because ir was Manto wrote about his last days in Bombay in a powerful either of no higher a literary value than that of \¡/eepy, maudlin memoir devoted to his life-long friend, the debonair screen actor tear-jerkers or it was pârtisan or fingoistic. Manto alone had the Shyam, who died in a tragic accident while shooting a movie a detachment and the humaniry to take stock of this tremendous couple of years before Manto's own death- and disturbing eruption of primaeval evil, try ro comprehend it in all its dimensions and put it in perspective. It is a measure It seems such a long time ago' The Muslims and Hindus of his greatness that he did not allow rhe savagery oÍ 1947 to \¡¡ere engâged in a bloody fratricidal war with thousands XVIII TRANSLATOR'S NOTE TRANSLAToR's NorE xtx dying every day on.both sides. One da¡ Shyam and I anything? I did not know. Vhat self-governmenr were visiting a newly_arrived Sikh refujáe was going f"*ify fr"* to be like, I had no idea, my efforts ro understand thãneõ Rawalpindi. {Shyam's homerown *¡ìãn *", no*-in Pakisan) reality had failed ro produce an âns.wer. and listening in shocked stlence iã thei, h";rlfy,;; Independence day,14 August 1947, was celebrated in story.of escape..I could see that Sfrr*r"-*", ¿."ply *oí"ål Bombay wirh remendous fanfare. pakistan and India had I could well understand what he wäs going thr.irei,.-fVtã been declared we left, I said .I two independent countries. There was greât to him, am a Musli¡i. nã.r,, you ï/anr ro kill me?' public jo¡ but ¡nurder and arson continued unabãted. .but Along with cries of.lnd.ia zindabad,one also heard paþistan he replied.gravel¡ when I was listening to tnem,."^ïo^t-n:Ï' zindøbad slogans. The green Islamic flag flurtered next and they were talking about the atrocities commiñed to the tricolour of the Indian National Congres.. pandit by_t!re Muslims, I could have kiileJ y;; ;- Jawaharlal Nehru and His answer shocked me grearly. perhaps Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali I roo could nâmes were shouted have killed him at the time. Jinnah's endlessly by peopte on rhe fo"Ii rh;üú i,lri.i str.eets. I suddenly undersrood.the_ psychologi."ï "U"", b".kgr.;; ;; I could not decide which of India's communal bloodbatl,. shy"- thç two countries \uas now .rhen, ti"Jli¿ *i, t . my homeland-India or Pakistan. have killed me but not ,no*,. "ouia Tüho was responsible for Th;*, f"y rfr. f..y ro the blood which was being so mercilessly the commnnal holocaust of partidon 'Where shed^ every day? were they going In religious ro inter the bones which had beån . 1o3!"Þ was rising every day. Ever since l"_1riol stripped off rhe flesh of religion by vuhures and other birds Ashok Kuma¡ and TVacha had takãn over Båmbay of prey? Now that w'e were free, had subjection ceased to Talkies, mosr senior posirions fr"¿ .rir.i¿.nt"tty-gãn! exist?'Who would be our slaves? Vhen we were cclonial to Muslims. However, this had caused *o.t, ..r"ntå"ni subjects, we could dream of freedom, but now that we among the Hindu søff of the company. !fr.h" h;J k;; receivinga jontaining were free, what would we dream of? W'ere we even free? steady s&eam of hate-nLil rhreatî of Thousands of Hindus and Muslims were dying all around arson a¡d murder, nor that either he or Ashok g;* J;*; us. T[hy were rhey dying? about that sort of thing. I reacted ¿iffrr*üy. S.ing " sensitive All these questions had differenr answers: the lndian by temperament, I feft grea_tly troubled úv *r. ;r"*iñ; answer, the Pakistani answer, the British atmosphere. Once or twice answer. Every I expressed ,ny rarræ of unease questíon to Ashok had an answer, but when you tried to look for and Wacha and even iuggested that rhey should the truth, these answers \¡/ere of no help. Some people said sack me since some Hindu employ'"*", were convinced that if you were looking for the truth, you would hau. to go the Muslim influx in fombay tialki*, *ur-.o*rely my d"i"g. back to the smouldering ruins of rhe 1857 Mutiny. Orhås They said I was our of my mind. disagreed. No, they said, the answer lay in the history of the That I.certainly was. My wife and children ^ were in East India Company. Then there were rhose who insisted on they had gone rhere when ii *as l:ll.:ll.blt sti[ a part going further back. They wanted you ro study and analyse ot the lndla that I was familiar with. I was equaily famiiai the Mughal empire. Ë,verybody wanred to drag you back wlf-tþ occasional riorc which broke out befween Hindus into the past, while killers and terrorists wenr about their and Muslims. The piece of land that I hãà once known gruesome business unchallenged, in the process writing a as India had been given a ne\À/ name. Had this .ú;;.; story of blood and fire which has had no parallel in history. xx TRANSLATOR'S NOTE TRANsLÀToR's NorË xxr

It7ith one or rwo exceprions, all rhe srories that this volume it'not a tribute to Manto's genius that despite the tyranny of contains were writren after Independence in l¿hore. It is ironic circumstance, he managed to produce so.rne of the greâtest stories that Manto's most creâriv. p".lod should also have been his of all time in any language or literatu¡e. harshest in economíc and emotionâl terms: the fact lv¿s thât there The fifty pieces that constitute rhis anrhology fall in two was no work for him in Pakistan. The âlm industry in Lahore, categories. First there are the stories, followed by, what for want which could have provided him with reasonable earnings, had of another word, one cân only call sketches or vignettes, that been all but destroyed by the ffêuma of Partition. Vhat studios make up a slim volume called Siyah Hashye,published soon after there were had belonged to the Hindus who had left. Some films the division of the country. The title of the book means 'black were being made, it was true, bur the facilities were primitive fringe', which was how Manto saw the massive human upheaval and the funding poor. What work there was had to be shared involving millions of refugees from both sides rhat preceded and by a large number of writers who were in even more dire straits followed Independence. If Independence, Manto seemed to say, than Manto. was sometling bright and good, then it was fringed with black. Manto, living with his wife and three small daughrers in a flat After the book was published, Manto was subjected to harsh off Lahore's Beadon and Hall Roads, found himself struggling for personal attacks and accused of bad taste, cynicism and even a living. The only way he could make some money was by writing cruelty. He wrote about it in 1951 in a preface to anorher book. and that was what he did day and night. He wrote with grear speed and he wrote every day. He was one of those writers who For a long time, I refused to âccept the consequences of never ¡evise anlthing they have written. Manto's manuscripts the revolution that followed the Partition of the country. I are a marvel-from stârt to 6nish, the hand remains steady and still feel the s¿me way; but I suppose, in the end, I came to unusually beautiful. The first page is as near and legible as the accept this nightmarish realiry without self-pity or despair, last. Manto was always a drinking man, bur in Bombay he lived In the process, I tried to retrieve from this man-made se¿ an organized life. Drinking \¡¡as somerhing he did with his close of blood, pearls of a râre hue, by writing about the single- friends in the evening. In Lahore, his life câme unstuck. A man of minded dedication with which men killed men, about the great personal discipline, he suddenly found himself without an remorse felt by some of them, about the tears shed by office or place of work. In the morning, he would get ready but murderers who could not understand why they still had there was no place to go to, which led to his reckless drinking. His some human feelings left. All this and more, I put in the routine broke down and his life became unsrructured. He began book Siyah Heshye.I am only human, with all that being to drink during the day and in his last days would walk inti a human entâils.I have the sâme strengths and frailties which publisher or editor's office, ask for some paper and something other human beings have. And, believe me, it caused me to place under it and in an hour or so produce a perfect story or great pain when some of my literary friends made cruel sketch in return for a fee that varied between fifteen and thirry fun of my book, denouncing me as ân irresponsible hack, rupees. Then he would go our and buy himself liquor, often the a jokester, a nuisance, a cynic and a reactionary. One of lethal, local variery. them, a close friend, accused me of having robbed the dead Given this background, is it nor amazing that it was during of their possessions to build a personal collection . . . this period that he produced his most powerful work. Had he I was angry because nobody was willing to listen to written nothing but a story like the'Toba Tþk Singh', he would me. I was depressed by the greed and avarice with which have ensured for himself a place of his own in literature; Is people were enriching themselves through allotments of xxii TRANsLAToR's NoTB TRANSLAToR's NorE xxlll

abandoned, non-Muslim properties after the partirion of whose hurnaniry occasionally and at the most unexpected times the.country. Everyone was icrckeying for posirions of profit caught up with them as they pillaged, raped and kiilJd those who and influence. It did nor seem to o".-u, to anyone rhaiafter had done them no personal harm and whom they did nor even such a revolurion, things would never be óhat they once know. Manto så\¡¡ the vasr trâgedy of 1,947 withdetachment, but were. Nobody had the time to rhink. There were so mâny not indifference because he cared deeply. . questions which wenr begging for an ansï/er. Ilould the The sketches, some of them no longer tJran a line or two, bring old values survive or would rLey perish? l7hat would be out the enormity of the tragedy set in morion by the grear divide. the difference between a governmenr of foreigners and a They are deeply ironic and often deeply moving. A Kashmiri goyernmenr of our own? IØhar would the atmosphere be labourer finds himself in rhe middle ol a srreet rìot and as the like? Would it be possible for ideas ro flourish uider the crowd breaks into stoies and begins to loot the goods, he too new dispensation? Ifhat would be the relationship berween picks up a sack of rice but is chased by the police and shot in the individual and the srare, berween other entities and their the leg. He falls to the ground and is made to carry the bag he official counterparts? These were gtave mâ$ers that needed had stolen to the police sation. Afrer he fails to persuade the serious thgught. No longer could we rely on foreign or police to let him keep ir, he sruners, 'All right, exalred siE you formulas. Unforrunarely, our inr;llectuals imnortg{ pioved keep the rice, all poor me ask is my ïvâges for carrying rhe bag, incapable of eirher comprehending the dimerrsions of the just four annâs.' challenge or responding to it creatiiely. They were obsessed In another sketch, rioters âftack a home and are about to with themselves, their own egos, their own self-important ransack it when a mysterious man appears on the scene and roles . . . advises thern to be a little more methodical, otherwise they be a pornographer, a sensation .I.may rnonge[, a cynic, would break precious objects which could be rheirs whole and a jokester and a reacdonary but I am also huslrnd tå mi intact. He conducts the organized ransacking of the home rill ir wife and farher to three litde girls. If any of them falh iíl is nearly stripped of all its valuables. And who is rhis mysterious and I have to run from door to door to get her medical man? The owner himself. attention, I feel great pain and embarrassr¡rent. yes, I have A couple save their lives by hiding in the basement of their friends, but they are even poorer than I. When they are in house, but emerge a few days later to get some food and are need and I am unable to help them, I feel awful. I cannor caught by the new occupânts, \¡/ho happen to be nrembers of stand human suffering,I swear to God. a faith that forbids the killing of any living rhings. They refuse to let the couple srep out and instead, send for help from a ty Siryh except inone fashye, instance, none of the participans neighbouring village whose inhabitants have no compunctions in the bloody drama of Partition is identified by relígión, U*ãor., about taking life. The fugitives perish eventually but the religious to Mantq what manered was nor what religion peofle *.rg *h"i obligations of the pacifists âre duly fulfilled. rituals they followed or which gods they *orrnipp*a, Uot lfr.i" another sketch, a rnân who had stolen two sacks of sugar they stood as human beings. If a man'kilteA, . _In ii ãi¿;.; ;r;;; falls inro a well while trying to get rid of rhem and dies, The whether he killed in rhe name of his gods or Íor the glory;¡ hi; following morning, the residents of the locality find that the water p*try or his way of life. To Manto, he was a killer.-In Manto,s of the well now rasres sweer. The thief is immediately canonized. book, nothing could inhumanit¡ irydfy cuelry or the taking of Then there is the man who is accosted on a train and asked life. In the holocaust of 1947,he founJ no heroes except thãse to reveal his religion. He says it is the same âs thar of his xxtv TRANSLATOR'S NOTE, TRÀNSLATOR'S NOTE xxv interrogators and swears that he is telling the truth. They are non-Muslim lunatics should be reparriated to India and Muslim not satisfied ând remove his trousers to exarnine if he has been lunatics in India transferred to Pakistan. On the day of the great circumcised, which he turns out ro be. 'This is the only mistake, exchange, there is only one man, Bishan Singh, who refuses to ,mistake, the rest is in order,' he pleads wirh them. The is leave because he wants to stay where he was born and where his eliminated along with its maker. family lived, the town of Toba Tek Singh in Pakistani Puniab. Rioters chase a man down the street, catch up with him and The exchange takes place at rhe common border of the two are about to kill him when he begs them ro spare him because countries. They try to push him across the line into India, but he is on his way home for vacation. he does not move because he wants to live neither in India nor Two men buy a girl because she is said to be from the other in Pakistan, but in Toba Tek Singh. They ler him stay standing religion, but after they have had their use of her are mortified in no-man's-land because they tell each other rhat he is only a to discover that they have been'cheated' as she belonp to the harmless old man. As the morning breaks, Bishan Singh screams same religion as they do. 'I want our money refunded,' one of just once, falls and dies. This is how Manto ends this classic them declares. parable of Partition. 'There, behind barbed wire, on the other ,{ t¡ain is brought to a stop by rioters who beloirg ro a cerrain side, lay Pakistan. In between, on a bit of earth, which had no religion. Methodically, they pick our everyone who belongs to the nameo lay Toba Tek Singh.' other religion and slaughter them. Following the completion of In 'The Return', a young girl who has been recovered from this religious duty, they treat the rest of the passengers to milk, India and brought to Lahore by Muslim volunreers lies on a bed custard pies and fresh fruit while apologizing for the frugalit¡r in a hospital. She is comatose and has been raped so brutally by of the repast on account of the short notice they had. men from both sides that, when the doctor brings her distraught A man pleads for the life of his daughter. His request is granted father in to see if she is the abducted daughter he has been looking and she is stripped of her clothes and thrown in with 'rhe orher for, she undoes the string that holds lter sbalwar in place as she girls'. A train is stopped in search of 'turkeys'. Finall¡ one is hea¡s the words'Open it'. She pulls the gârment down-and ope'ns discovered and is about to be killed in rhe carriage when one of her thighs. It was only the window in the room that the docror the killers screams, 'No, no, nût here! It'll mess up the carriage. wanted opened. Her father does not notice bur screams with ioy, Take him out.' A man sirting in an upstairs room takes aim at 'She is alive. My daughter is alive!' a child through a window. His companion is horrified but is 'Colder than lce'-a story for which Manto was tried in reassured thar though the gun is without any bullets, 'How does Pakistan on an obscenity charge is about Isher Singh, a Sikh a little child knowl' who abducts a Muslim girl during the riots and rapes her, only One man who has slaughtered fifty pigs in a mosque is to realize later that she had been dead all the time. His jealous disgusted that he has not been able to sell any of the pork, mistress, Kalwant Kaur, kills him when she finds him unable to whereas in the neighbouringcountry, people are queuing outside make love to her. She is sure he has bben with another women. every æmple to buy beef. As he gasps for breath, he tells her of the chilling experience rhat The greatest of Manto's 1947 stories is 'Toba Tek Singh'. This has rendered him imporent. 'The Assignment'is set in Amritsar. is how it goes. îhe madness that has gripped the subcòntinent The time is 1947. A retired Muslim judge, who is alone wirh permeates even the lunatic asylums and the great decision-m¿kers his teenage daughter and dying, is visited by the son of an old of the t\ì¡o counüies decide that since there has been such a Sikh acquaintance for whom he had once done a favour. To transfer of populations as well as assers, it is only logical that acknowledge his debt, the Sikh sends him a present of food every xxvt TRÀNSL,A,TOR'S NOTE TRANSLATOR,S NOTE xxvil

.lVben year on the occasion of the Muslim festival of Id. the Sikh pakisrani hjsold senior, a- clprâin on rhe side. \7ith superhuman dies, his last request to his son is that he should conrinue rhe willpower, the half delirious soldie¡ lifrs his arm and sarutes the tradition. The young mân comes to the ciry which is rhe grip in officer who is now ân enemy but was once his superior. of communal riots, and finds å group of men about to attack ln 1997, India and Pakistan celebrated the fiftieih anniversary the judge's house. He begs rhem ro let him leave gift the small of their Independence. Had Manto been alive, he would havl he is carrying in deference to his father's last wish. After he has pointed out råat rhere was little to celebrate. rØhat did thev have completed his assignment, he tells rhe waiting men who ere on to show for half a century of freedom? They had foughi rhree the rampage to complete theirs. wars and their relations wer€ \¡/orse thân they were rirhen the In 'The Dutiful Daughter', an old and distraughr ïsoman British packed up and wenr home. There is rittre trade berween looks in vain for,her daughter who has been abductçd. The girl the ¡¡¡o and their citizens âre not free to travel to each .theros has since married the man, a Sikh, who had abducted her. V'hen coun¡ry except under the most stringent resrrictions. The two she sees her motheq she refuses to recognize her. In'Mozail', we have a population of nearly a billion people but ir is not the meet a girl living in Bombay with whom a young Jewish Sikh has e¡adication of povert¡ hunger, disease-anå illiterary to which fallen in love'up to his knees'. She lays down her life during the their resources have been diverted, but principally to the raising communal riots to save her lover and his bride, frorn his village of armies and the acquisition of lethal weapoiry, ,rot excludini in the Puniab. 'The Woman in rhe Red Coat' tells the story of nuclear. ân over-the-hill Anglo-Indian principal of an arts college, who Saadat Hasan Manto would not have celebrated. perhaps thar is waylaid by a young man âs she is rying ro escape the city. should make us all, on both sides of rhe long line that åiuia., FIe brings her to his house and as he prepares ro make love ro us, pause and think. The fifty pieces that consrirute this book her-the entire action takes place in the dark-he realizes ro his document in a powerful and moving way Manto's humanism and utter horror that she is not a young but an old woman. He lets his conviction that happiness does not necessarily lie in conflicts her go in a storm where she meets wirh an accident and dies. over religion and narionalism, but on fellowship and caring, on 'The Dog of Tirwal' and 'The Last Salute' relate to the war in love 'Kashmiç and decency, on tolerance and forgiven.us. ñ"rr", *.r. lh.r. months after Partition,In rhe first story bored soldiers qualities more needed in the subcontinent than they are today. whose one link with normalcy is a dog, a pet of both sides, If Saadat Hasan Manto, who hated didacticism, were asked if decideone day to amuse themselves by firing at the animalwhile he þd a message for the people of the subconrinent, he would he is trying to amble âcross. They end up killing the terrified surely say, 'Yes, make peace.' animal in cold blood. In rhe second stor¡ hñ/o men fighting in Kashmir-one for India, the other for Pakistan*realize rhat December 1996 'Washington during the Second llorld lù(/ar, they were in the same regiment and were also the best of friends. Now they belong ro rhe r\ /o newly'independent states thåt âre ât ïyar and so, in effect, are they. They shout to each other across the dividing line and exchange jokes and call each orher by theír old nickn4mes. But their nostalgic reunion ends in tragedy as rhey find rhemselves in an armed clash in which one of them is killed by a bullet fired by his best friend. As he lies dying, through failing eyes he sees TOBA TEK SINGH

A couple of years after the partition of the country, it occurred to the respective governmenis of India and pakistan it in n"* ty"d: asylums, :l like prisoners, should also be exchanged."t Muslim lunatics in India shourd be transferred to pakistanãnã Hindu and pakistani sikh lunarics in asylums shourd be sent to India. 'whether this was a reasonable or an unreasonable idea is difficult to say. One thing-, however, is clear. f, ,""t *y conferences of important offi.i"l, from the two sides ,o .orrr. to the decision. Final details, like the date of ;".h;ö;; were carefully worked out. rviuslim lunarics whose".'o"i f"-ilies ;;;; still.residing in India were ro be reft undisturbed, rrr. i.rì Á"".J to the bo¡der for the exchange. The situarion in pakistan was slighdy_differenr, since almosi rhe entire population of Hindus and sikhs.had already migrated to India. T'heioestion of keeping-" non-Muslim lunatics in pakistan did not, therefore, " While it is not known what the reaction in India wås,"rir.. when the news reached rhe Lahore lunatic asylum, it immediareiy b*;; the subject of hqâted discussion. One Mushm lr""r", ,"ãJã, reader of the fire-eating daily newspap er Zamindar, *rh"r," what Pakistan .TLe wås, replied after deep reflecion, name""rt.j of a place in India where cut-throat ,""oru are manufactured., This profound observarion was received with visible satisfaction. A .Sardärii, Silú lunatic asked-another Sikh, why are we being sent to India? lle don't even know the language it *y .rp."t iã that country.o The man smiled. '1 know the language of rhe Hindosroras. These devils always srrut abour as irine-y were rhe rords of the earth.'

1 2 MOTTLñD DA\IN TOBA TEK SINGH 3

One day a Muslim lunaric, while taking his bath, raised the A Muslim lunatic from Chanior, who used ro be one of the 'Pakistan Zindabad, with such entiusiasm ihrt {oqq h, lort most devoted workers of the All India Muslim League, and r¡¡as his balance and was larer found lying on the floor un ánrãour. obsessed with bathing himself fifreen or sixreeû iimes a day, l.{ot all inmates were mad Some were perfectly normal, except had suddenly stopped doing that and announced his .r"*. *á, that they were murderers. To spare them the hángmarr,;;;;;:,; Muhammad Ali-that he was euaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali their families had managed to get them commineã after bribing Jinnah. This had led a sikh inmare to declare himself Masrer Tara officials down the line. They probably had a vague idea wh| Singh, the leader of the Sikhs. Apprehending serious .orn-u*l India was being divided and what pakistan *"r, tot, as for the trouble, the authorities declared them dangeious, and shut them presenr situation, they were equally clueless. up in separate cells. Newspapers.were no help either, and the asylum guards were was-a young Hindu lawyer from Lahore who had gone ignorant, if not illirerate. Nor was rhere anything .Jl¡ry toie learnt by ofï his head afrer an unhappy lov e affair.\Fhen told that Amr]tsar eavesdropping on their conversations. Some saiä there was thi, to become â parr of India, he went into depression because man by rhe name Muhammad AliJínnah, ]4/as or the euaid-e-Azam, his beloved lived in Amrirsar, somerhing he håd nor forgorten who had set up a separare countryfor Muslims, p"kirt"rr. even in his madness. That day he abused every major and minor As to where Pakistan was located, ""ll"d the inmates knew nothing. Hindu and Muslim leader who had cut India into two, rurning That was why both the mad and the panially mad were urr"bie his beloved into an Indian and him into a pakistani. to decide whether they were now in India pakistan. or in Il When news of the exchange reached the asylum, his friends they wer-e in India, where on earth was pakistan? And if they offered him congrarulations, because he was noìÀ/ to be sent to were i1 Pakistan, then how come until only rhe other day ít India, the counrry of his beloved; However, he declared was India? that he had no intention of leaving Lahore, because his practice would inmare had got , _On" so badly caught up in this India-pakisra*_ not flourish in Amritsar. Pakistan-India rigmarole thar one ãa¡ while sweeping rhe floor, nvo Anglo-Indian lunatics in the European ward. he dropped everythingo climbed rhe'nearest -_Therewere tr""-arrã installeá \Íhen told thar the British had decided to go home after grantihg himself on a branch, from which vanrage poinr he spoke for independence to India, they went into a state of deep shock two hours on the delicate problem of Inãia^and pakistan. The and were seen conferring with each other in whispers tñe entire guards asked him to get down; instead he wenr a branch higher, afternoon. They were worried about their changãd srarus after and when threatened with punishmenr, declared, .I wish rJnuá independence. Síould there be a European *atd o, would it be neither in India nor in Pakistan. I wish to live in this tree.' abolished? \Fould breakfast conrinue to be served or would thev When he was persuaded finally to come down, he began have to subsist on bloody Indian chaparti? embracing his Sikh and Hindu friends, rears running downiis There was ânother inmare, a Sikh, who had been confined cheeks, fully convinced that they were about ro leaie him and for the last fifteên years. Ifhenever he spoke, ir was rhe go to India. same mysterious gibberish: 'Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay A Muslim radio engineer, who had an MSc degree, and never dhayana the mung the dal of the laltain.'Guards said he had not mixed. with.anyone, given as he was to takinglong walks by slept a wink in fifteen years. Occasionall¡ he could be observed himself all da¡ was so affected by the crrrrent?ebai. th"t or,e leaning against a wall, but the rest of the time, he was always to day he took off all his clorhes, gave the bundle ro one of rhe be found standing. Because of this, his legs were perûlânåntly âttendânts and ran into the garden stark naked. swollen, something rhat did nor appeâr to bother him. Recentl¡ 4 MOTTLED DAWN TOBA TE,K SINGH 5

he had srârred to listen carefully to discussions about the behind, now a preüJ., young girl of fifteen. She would come forthcoming exchange of lndian and pakistani lunarics. \Vhen occasionall¡ and sit in front of him wirh tears rolling down her asked his opinion, he observed solemnlS 'uper tbe gur gar the cheeks. !n the srrânge world that he inhabited, heä was just annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the Gaueinrnent another face. af Pakisan.' Since the start of this India-pakistan caboodle, he had gor inro Of late, however, the Government of pakistan had been the habit of asking fellow inmares where exactly Toba tei Singh replaced by the governmenr of Toba Tek Singh, a small town in was, without receiving a satisfâctory answer, because noboãy the Puniab which was his home. He had also begun inquiring knew. The visits had also suddenly stopped. He was increasingly where Toba Tek Singh was to go. However, nobody quitã wai restless, but, more than that, curious. The sixth sense, which us"eå sure whether it was in India or Pakistan; to alert him to the day of the visit, had also atrophled. Those who had tried to solve this mystery had become urterly He missed his famil¡ the gifts rhey used to bring and the confused when told that Sialkot, which used ro be in India, was concern with which they used to speak to him. He waJsure they nt¡w in Pakistan. It was guess anybody's what was going ro would have rold him whether Toba Tek Singh was in India or happen to Lahore, which \¡/as currendy pakistaru in but cõuld Pakistan. He also had a feeling that they came from Toba Tek slide into India any moment. It was also possible rhar rhe entire Singh, where he used to have his home. subcontinent of India might become pakistan. And who could One of the inmates had declared himself God. Bishen Singh say if both India and Pakistan might not enrirely vanish from asked him one day if Toba Tek Singh was in India or pakistin. the map of the world one day? The man chuckled. 'Neithe¡ in India nor in pakistan, because, The old man's h¿ir was almosr gone and what liale was left so far, we have issued no orders in this respect., had_ become a parr of the beard, giving him a strange, even . Bishen Singh begged 'God' ro issue rhe necessary orders so frightening, appearânce. However, he was a harmless feùow and !þr.hiu problem could be solved, but he was disapþinred, as had never been known to get into fights. Older âttendanrs at rhe 'God'appearçd to be preoccupied with -orc pr"rrirrg matters. asylum said rhat he was a fairly prosperous landlord from Toba Finall¡ he told him angril¡ 'Uper the gw gi, the øânexe tbe Tek Singh, who had quite suddenly gone mad. His family had tlung the dal af Guruii da Khalsa and Guiuii ki . . . brought faæh io him in, bound and fetrered. That was ñfteen yeârs âgo. boley so nihal sat sri akal.' Once a monrh, he used to have visitors but, since rhe start Iühat he wanted to say tvâs, 'You don't answer my prayers of communal troubles in the Punjab; they had stopped coming. because you are a Muslim god. Had you been a Sikh gåd, you His real name v/âs Bishen Singh, but everybody called him Toba would have been more of a sport., Tek Singh. He lived in a kind of limbo, having no idea whar day { few days before the exchange was to take place, one of of the week ir was, or monrh, or how years passed - many had Bishen Singh's Muslim friends from Toba Tek Singh came ro see since his confinement. However, he had developed a sixth sense hirn-the first time in fifteen years. Bishen Singhiooked at him about the day of rhe visit, when he ,This would barhe himself, soap his once and.turned awa¡ unril â guard said ro him, is your bod¡ oil and comb his hair and put on clean clothes. He never old friend Fazal Din. He has come all the way ro meer you.' said a word during these meetings, ex€ept occasional outbursts Bishen Singh looked at Fazal Din and began ro mumble af "Uper the gur gur , the awtexe the bay dhayana the mung the something. Fazal Din placed his hand on his fiiendt shoulder dal af the labain.' and said, 'I have been meaning ro come fclr some time to bring I7hen he was first confined, he had left an in-fant daughter you news. All your family is well and has gone ro India safely. 6 MOTTLED DAWN TOBA TE.K SINGH 7

I did what I could to help. Your daughrer Roop Kaur . . .'*he also being exchanged and they were even noisier. It was binerly hesitated-'She is safe roo . . . in India.' cold. .your Bishen Singh kept quiet; Fazal Din continued, family Most of the inmates appeared to be dead set against the entire wanted me to make sure you were well. Soon you will be moving operation. They simply could not understand why rhey were to lndi¿. What can I say, except rhar you should remember me tõ being forcibly removed, thrown into buses and driven ro this bhai Balbir Singh, bhai Vadhawa Singh and bahain Amrit Kaur. strânge place. There were slogans of 'Pakistan Zindabad' and Tell bhai Balbir Singh that Fazal Din is well by the grace of God. lPakisìan Murdabad', followed by fights. The tr¡¡o brown buffaloes he left behind are well too. Both of \ühen Bishen Singh was brought out and asked to give his them gave birth to calves, but, unfortunately, one of them died nâme so that it could be recorded in a register, he asked the after six days. Say I think of rhem often and to wrire to me if official behind the desk, 'Where is Toba Tek Singh? In India or there is anything I can do.' Pakistanl' Then he added, 'Here, I broughr you a nice treat from home.' 'Pakistan,' he answered wíth a vulgar laugh. Bishen Singh took the gift and handed it to one of the guards. Bishen Singh tried to ruñ, but was overpowered by the 'rülhere is Toba Tek Singh?' he asked. Pakistani guards who tried to push him across the dividing line 'Where? Iüh¡ it is where ir has always been.' towards India. However, he wouldn't move. 'This is Toba Tek 'In India or in Pakistan?' Singh,t he announced.'Uper the gur gur *te anftexë the bøy 'In India . . . Í0, in Pakistan.' 'lVithout dbayana mung the dal of Toba Tek Singh and Pakistan.' saying anorher word, Bishen Singh walked away, Many efforts were made to explain to him that Toba Tek murmuring, 'Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayøna the Singh had already been moved to India, or would be moved mung the dal of the Paþistan and Hindustan dur fittay moun.' immediatel¡ but it had no effeót on Bishen Singh. The guards Meanwhile, the exchange arrangemenrs \¡/ere rapidly being even tried force, but soon gâve up. finalized. Lists of lunatics from the.two sides had been exchangeã There he stood in no-man's-lând on his swollen legs like a berween the governments, and the date of transfer fixed. cplossus. On a cold \¡/inter evening, buses full of Hindu and Sikh Since he was a harmless old rrran, no further attempt was lunatics, accompanied by armed police and officials, began made to push him into India. He was allowed to stand where moving out of the Lahore asylum towards lfagha, the dividing he wanted, while the exchange continued. The night wore on. line between India and Pakistan. Senior officials from the two Just before sunrise, Bishen Singh, the man who had stood on sides in charge of exchange arrangemenm met, signed documenrs his legs for fifteen years, screamed and as officials from the two and the transfer got under way. sides rushed towards him, he collapsed to the ground. It was quite a iob getting the men out of the buses and There, behind barbed wire, on one side, lay India and behind handing them over to officials. Some just refused to leave. Those more barbed wire, on the other side, lay Pakistan. In between, who were persuaded to do so began to run pell-mell in every on a bit of earth, which had no name, lay Toba Tek Singh. direction. Some were stark naked. All efforts to get them to cover themselves had failed because they couldn't be kept from tearing off their garments. Some were shouting abuse or singing. Otheri were weeping birerly. Many fights broke out. In short, complete confusion prevailed. Female lunatics were THE.RETURN 9

.Father, she had said, leave it.' He could feel a bulge in his pocket. It was a len$h of cloth. Yes, he recognized it. Ifwas Sakina's dupatta, bur *lio. ;;;h;; Other details \¡!/ere missing. Had heïrought her as f"r;rh; r3lî"y sration? THE RETURN Had she goii.rto th. with him? rVhen the ""rri"g" rioters had stopped thã train, fr"¿ tt åi.r, t.. øti, ,il;; The rrl quesüons. I'here were "y special train left Amritsa¡ at two in the afternoon, no ânswers. He wished he could arriving but rears at Mughalpura, Lahore, eight hours later. ¡veep, wouldn'r come. He knew rhen that lr" n".d.ã Many had been kiilã netp. on tne way, a lot more injured and countless lost. A few days larer, It was at ten o,clock the next morning that Sirajuddin he had a break. There were eight of them, regained young men armed consciousness. He was lying on_bare ground, with guns. They also had a rucf. fh.y uaij uur-undä;; they broughr rffomen screaming men, women and child¡en. back and chiidren left behind on t¡* ott *, li¿iA not make sense. side. Te l1y very_srill, gazingat the dusty,ky. H;";p*;;;;* He gave them a description-of .She notice the confusion or the noise. To a ,árrgrr,^t his daughter. is fair, ìrery *igh; h;;; prefty. No, looked like an old man_in deep thought,rhãuin "tfrirî", ioi she doesn'r look like me, büt he, mothei. Ãb";; the case. He was seventeen. Big eyes, black hair, a mole on the in shock, ,urprnã"j,-as it *ere, over a left cheek. Find bottomless pit. my daughter. May God bless you.' The¡ young rnen had sald ,ff his eyes moved and, suddenly, caught the ..The tå Sirajuddin, your daughter is . sun. The shock alive we will find broughr him back to rhe *orld of iiui";*;-;;J;;ä.ï her.' And rhey had mied. At succession of images raced through his inind. Attack the risk of their lives, rhey had driven . . . fi;; to Amrirsar, recovered . - . €scâpe . . . railway surion . . . night. . . many women and chilir"r;Jbrrr;il Sakina. Hr roæ them back abruptly and began searching throughihe to the camp, buithey hr¡;; iåund Sakina. milling.ro*¿ ir, ,fr. On their refugee camp, *, next trip out, they hâd found girton the roadside. rney seemecl to " He spent þours looking, all rhe time have scared her and she had started running. shouting his daughter,s They. name . . . Sakina, had stopped the truck, jumped Sakina . . . but she was no*hãre to U. Fourr¿ run after her. Finall¡ tley up "ut "n¿ prevailed, with people looking for þd.caught with úer in fi;i¡. Sh;;;;;;; qaughte¡sr,^Ïfl**.rsion il;;;; pretty and she had " mothers, wives. In the end Sirajuddin a mole on he, left cheek. One of the men haå gave up. He sat to her,'Don'r {9y",away from rhe crowd, and nied ,å rtint äorþ. \ri;;; 9ai{ be frightened. Is ycur name Sakina?, Her face did he parr from had gone pale, but when they told nei Sakina and'her mother? ihen it came to him *i" *rry *rr" ,h. fr"ã confessed that she was Sakinä, in a flash-the dead bodyof his wife, her stomach daughter of Siraiuddin. ,ipp*dõ;. Th9¡. oung men It was an image that wouldnt so awav. . were very kind to-h.r. fhey had fed her, given Sakinat mother her milk to drink and put Ler in their rr,r.k. was dead. fhrt mú.h w¿s cerrain. She had Orr" of them had givenher his jacket so that she died in fronlof his eyes. He could hea¡ her voicc, .Leave could cover herself. L *ur;b;;;, me that she was where I am. Take the girl away., ill âr eâse without h.. dup.na,irying nervously to The cover her breasts with her arms. two of them had begún ro run. Sakina,s dupatta had Many days had gone slipped ro rhe ground a1d he had stoppeJ by and Sirajuddin had sdll not had to pick i, ,p ,nJ âny news of his daughter. All his time was $penr running from 8 10 MOTTLED DATø'N camp to .3mp, looking for her. At night, he would pray for the of the young men who werJlooking for his j*gl,t;r. :1".:.r ,If Tbeir words would ring in his ears; your"daugfrr., ir;d., we will find her.' . Then one day he saw them in rhe camp. They were abour to drive away. 'Son,' he shouted after one of them, ;h"r." yoo fnonå THE ASSIGNMENT Sakina, my daughter?' fI7ê wilf we will,'rhey replied all rcgether. Beginning with isolared incidents of stabbing, it had now The old man again prayed for them.lt made him feel better. developed into full-scale communal violence, wirh no holds That . evening rhere was sudden acdvity in the camp. He saw barred. Even home-made bombs were being used. four men carrying the body of a young girl found o*orrr.io* The general view in Amritsar was that the riots could not near the railway tracks.._ They were taking her to the camp last long. They were seen âs no more than a manifestation of hospital. He began to follow them. temporarily inflamed political passions which were bound to cool He stood outside the hospital for some time, then went in. down before long. After all, these were not the first comrnunal ríoæ In one of the rooms, he found a sffetcher with'someon" Iring the city had known. There had been so many of them in the pasr. on it, They never lasted long. The pattern was familiar. Tþo weeks or so A light was switched on. It was a young woman with a mole of unrest and then business as usual. On the basis of experience, on her left cheek. 'Sakina,' Sirajuddin scrðamed. therefore, the people were quire iusrified in believing that the The doctor, who had switched on rhe light, stared at current troubles would also run rheir course in a few days. But this Sirajuddin. did not happen. They not only conrinued, but grew in intensiry. 'I am her fatherr' he stammered. Muslims living in Hindu localities began to leave for safer The doctorlooked at rhe prostrare body and felt for the pulse. places, and Hindus in Muslirn majority areas followed suit. .Open Then he said to the old man, pointing at;he window, it., However, everyone saw these adjustments as strictly temporary. The.young womân on the stretcheimoved slighdy. Her hands The atmosphere would soon be clear of this communal madness, groped for the cord rhar kept her shalwar tied *""A her waist. they told themselves. painful ìtith slowness,. she unfastened it, pulled the garment Retired iudge Mian Abdul Hai was absolutely confident that down and opened her thighs. things would return to normal soon, which was why he wasn't 'She is alive. À4y daughter is aliver' Sirajuddin shouted with joy. worried. He had two children, a boy of eleven and a girl of The docor broke into a cold s\{/eaf. seventeen. In addition, there was an old servânt who was now 'Slhen pushing seventy. It was a small family. the troubles starred, Mian sahib, being an extra caufious man, had stocked up on food . . . just in case. So on one count, at least, there were no worries. His daughter, Sughra, was less sure of things. They lived in a three-storey house with a view of almost the entire city. Sughra could not help noticing that, whenever she went on the roof, there were fires raging everylvhere. In the beginning, she could hear fire engines rushing past, their bells ringing, but this had

17 12 MOTTLED DAWN THE ÀSSIGNMENT 13

noïy- stopped. There ïvere too many 6res in too many places. It was rhe month of Ramadan and only two days to Id. The nights had be^come paticularly frightening. Mian ih. ;iy sahib was quite confident that the troubles *ooid U. was always lit by conflagratirons like giånts ipiningäot Uy fü;;. then. Hg w-as again wrong. A canopy of smoke hurrg ou.i"u"i th, Then rhere were rhe srogans th¿t rÃt the åir *lih ürr,ryr"e .Har city, with fires burning everywhere. Ar night the silence frequency-'Allaho Akbar', Har Mahadev'. was shattered by deafening explosions. Sughra ner/er expressed ind Bash¿rat hadi,t , 1ryhl" her fea¡s to her fatåer, because he slept for days. had declared confidently that there wås no cause for sughra in any case couldn'r because of her father's deteriorating Everphing w.as going to be fine. Since he was generally";";; alwafs condition. Helplessly, she would look at him, then at young] righq she had initially fek reassured. h., f,rightened brorher and the sevenry-yeâr-old servanr Akbar, whî Howeveq r.vhen the.power and water supplies l^¡ere suddenly was useless for all pracdcal purposes. He mostly kept his cut off, she.expressed her unease io ro her f"ther and Jgg;;;;å bedo coughing and fighting apologerically forb¡eath. One day Sughra'rota him that, for a few days at least, rhey should ro rõu. angril¡'TØhar good are you? Do you realize hã* ill Mian sahib Sharifpura, a Muslim localiry where many of'the ota r.ri¿.nt, is? Perhaps you are toolazy ro $¡anr to help, pretending that you had already moved to. Mian sahib was adamanr. ,youd are suffering from acute asthrira. There wai a time whei r.ruárt, imagining things. Ëverything is going m be noqrnalo"ry r*n,; used to sacrifice their lives for their mâsrers,' He was wrong. Things went'from bad to worse. Before . long Sughra felt very bad afterwa¡ds. She had been unnecessarily yas not a single Muslim family to be found in Mian . ¡!ry Abd,; harsh on the old man. In the evening, when she took his fooå Hai's localiry' Then one day Mian sahib suffered , to him in his small room, he was not ihere. Basharat looked for was laid up in bed. His son, Basharar, who used "irri" "r¿ to,p".ra *ori him all over the house, bur he was nowhere to be found. The gf jTtr_playing self-devised games, !úr now stayed giued to his front door was unlatched. He was gone, perhaps father's bed. to get some help for Mian sahib. Sughra prayed fãr hisìeturrr, brrt i"o d"y, n]lthe shops in rhe area had - beenpermanendy boarded up. passed and he hadn't come back. Dr Ghulam Hussain,s dispensary halbeen shut ior weeks aiJ It was evening and the festival of Id was now only a day away. Sughra had noticed from che r.ooftop one day ttn"t tn" _ JioiJoã She remembered the excirement that used to grip in* f"rnity on clinic of Dr Goranditta Mal was also clósed. Mian sahib,i this occasíon. She remembered standing on thã rðoftop, peering condition was gertinglvorse day by day. Sughra *u, into the sk¡ looking for the Id moon and praying for ihe cloudi her wirs'end. One day she rook Bashar"t rrid" and said"t*årt "t ro him, to clear. But how different everything *aì today. The sky was 'You've got to do something.I know itb not safe to go our, ü"ì covered in smoke and on distant roofs one could see people we ger some help. Our farher is very ill.' TusJ looking upwards. Tflere they trying to catch sight o{ th" ,rã* The boy went, bur came back almost immediately. His face moon or were they watching the fires, she wondered. was pale with fear. He had seen a blood-drenched boây þing in She looked up and saw rhe thin sliver of rhe moon peeping *Í^" of wild-looking men looting,h.pr.É"gi;; . :h.,rtr,"o ffouq through a smallpatch in the sky. She raised her hands i" pråyri tg"\ terrified boy in her arms !h. and said a sitent prayer, thanfing b"ggrng God to make her father well. Basharat, ho*.rrår, í", God for his safe return. However, she could tto, k"t h.r f"trrrä upset thâr there would be no Id this year. suffering. His left side was now completely lifeless. His speech had The night hadn't yet fallen. Sughra had moved her farher's been impaired and he mostly communicared ,frr"rgh g".i**, bed out of the room on to the veranda. She was sprinkling designed to reassure Sughra thar soon all would "ll U".,i.lf. \Mater on the floor to make it cool. Mian sahib was lyìng the; i 1.4 MOTTLED DA!øN THE ASSIGNMENT 15

quiedy, looking with vacant eyes âr the sky where she had seen Sughra was reassured.IØhy hadn,t she thought of it in the first the moon, Sughra came and sat next to him. He motioned her I place? But why had Basharat said it was tom.ðr," else? After all, to get closer. Then he raised his right hand slowly put and it on he knew Gurmukh Singh's face from his annual visit. he_r head. Tears began to run from Sughra,s eyes. Evãn Mian Sughra went ro the front door. There was another knock. sahib looked moved. Then with great difficulty he said ro her, Her heart missed a beat. ''Sfho is it?, she asked in a faint voice. 'God is merciful. All will be well.' Basharat whispered to her to look through Suddenly there was . a small hole in a knock on the door. Sughra's heart began the door. . to beat violently. She looked at Basharar, whoie face had turãed It wasn't Gurmukh Singh, who was a.very old man. This was white like a sheet of paper. There was another knock. Mian sahib â young fellow. He knocked again. He was holding a bag in his gestured to Sughra ro ans\¡/er it. It must be old Akbar who had hand of the same kind Gurmukh Singh used to bring. come back, she thought. She said to Basharat, .Answer the door. 'ìího are you?' she asked, a little more confident now. I"m sure it's Akbar.' Her father shook his head, as if to signal 'I am Sardar Gurmukh Singh's son Santokh., disagreement. Sughra's fear had suddenly gone. '1ù7hat brings you here 'Then who can it be?'Sughra asked him. today?' she asked politely. Mian Abdul Hai t¡ied ro speak, but before he could do so '\Øhere is Judge sahib?' he asked. Basharat came running in. He was breathless. Taking Sughra 'He is not well,' Sughra answered. aside, he whispered, 'It's a Sikh., 'Oh,I'm sorr¡' Santokh Singh said. Then he shifted his bag Sughra screamed, 'A Sikh! What does he wanr?' - from one hand to the other. 'Here is some sawwâiyaan.'Theri 'He wânts me to open the door.' after a pause,'sardarji is dead.' Sughra took Basharat in her arms and went and sat on her 'Dead!' father's bed, looking at him desolately. oYes, a month ago, but one of the last things he said to me On Mian AbdulHai's thin, lifeless lips, a faint smile appeared. wâs, "For the last ten years, on the occasion of Id, I have always 'Go and open rhe door. It is Gurmukh Singh,' taken my small gift to Judge sahib. After I am gone, it will 'No, it's someone else,' Basharat said. become your duty." I gave him my word that I wãuld not fail Mian sahib turned to Sughra. 'Open the door. h,s hirn.' him. I am here today ro honour the promise made to my father Sughra rose. She knew Gurmukh Singh. Her father had once on his deathbed.' done him a favour. He had been involved in a f¿lse legal suit Sughra rvas so moved that tears came to her eyes. She opened and Mian sahib had acquitted him. That was a long time ago, the door a little. The young man pushed the bag rowards her. but every yeâr, on rhe occasion of Id, he would cðme all ihe 'May God rest his soul,'she said. way from his village with a bag sawwaiyaan. of Mian sahib 'Is sahib not well?' he asked. had Judge told him several times, 'sardar sahib, you really âre too 'No.' kind. You shouldn't inconvenience yourself every year., But 'What's wrong?' Gurmukh Singh would always repl¡'Mian sahib, God has given 'He had a stroke.' you everything. This is only a small gift that I bring every year 'Had my father been alive, it would have grieved him deeply. in humble acknowledgemenr of the kindness you did me once. He never forgot.|udge sahib's kinclness until his last breath. He Even a hundred generations of mine would not be able to repay used to sa¡ "He is not a man, but a god." May God keep him your favour. May God keep you happy) under his care. Please convey my respects to him.' 16 MOTTLËD DAWN

He left before Sughra could make up her mind whether or not to ask him ro get a doctor. As Santokh Singh turned t-he corner, four men, rheir faces covered with their turbans, moved rowârds him. Tþo of rhem held burning oil torches; the others carried cans of kerosene oil .Sardarji, and explosives. One of them asked Santokh, have you COLDER THAN ICE completed your assignment?' The young m¿n nodded. Singh enrered rhe room, rshould 1¡tsþhryry Kalwant Kaur rose from the we then with bed |roceed ours?' he asked. and locked rhe door {rom the inside. Ii was past midnight. 'If you like,' he replied and walked away. A strânge and ominous silence seemed to have descendejon the city. Kalwant Kaur rerurned to rhe bed, crossed her legs and sat down in the middle. Ishwar Singh siood quietly in"u .orrr.*, holding his kirpan absent-rnindeali'. an*¡eryän¿ .onrurion **r. writ large on his handsome f.ace.- Kalwant Kaur, apparently dissatisfied wirh her defiant posrure, moved tq the edgc and sat down, swinging her legs,"ggilvã;: Islwq Singh sdll had not spoken. Kalwant Kaur was a.big woman with generous hips, fleshy *Í unusualty hish breasts. Her eles *.r. ,il;t;;å brtghtlhl*F end over her upper lip there was faint bluish do*n. Her ç¡¡¡ srrggested great strength and resolutíon. .I:!l* Singh had not moved from his cornef,, His turban, which"he ahvays kept smardy in place, was loose and his hands trembled from time to time. However, from his srrapping, figure, f"$y. it was apparenr rhat he IrJ¿l*t what it took ro be Kalwant Kaur's lover. Mgtg time_passed. Kalwant .Ishr ^. Kaur was gening restive. Sianr' she said in a sharp voice. Ilhwa_r . Singh raised his head, then turned it away, unable to deal with Kalwant Kau¡'s ûery gaze. This tirne .Ishr she screamed, Slan.'Then she lowered her voice and added,'Where have you been all this time?, Ishwar Singh moistened his parche{ lips and said, .I don,r Know.', ,What Kalwant Kaur lost her temper. sort of a motherfucking ansrver is that!'

17 18 MOTTLED DA\X/N COLDËR THAN ICE l9

Ishwar Singh threw his kirpan aside and slumped on rhe bed. Kalwant Kaur did nor resist hirn, but she kept asking, ,\)Øhat He looked unwell. She stared at him and her anger seemed to went wrong that night?' have left her. Putting her hand on his forehead, she asked gentl¡ 'Nothing.' 'Jani, what's wrong?' 'Ilhy don't you tell me,?' 'Kalwant.' He turned his gaze from the ceiling and looked 'There's nothing to tell.' at her. There was pain in his voice and it melted all of Kalwant 'Ishr .. Sian, may you cremare my body with your own hands Kaur. She bit her lower lip. 'Yes jani.' if you lie ro me!' Isliwar Singh took off his turban. He slapped her thigh and Ishwar Singh did not reply. He dug his lips into hers. His ' said, more to himself thân to her, 'I feel strange.' moustache tickled her nostrirs and she sneer.à. Th.y burst out His long hair came undone and Kalwant Kaur began to run Iaughing. her ñngers through it playfu.lly. 'Ishr you Sian, where have been Ishwar Singh began to take off his clothes, ogling Kalwant allthis time?' -- Kaur lasciviously. 'It,s time for a garne of cards.' 'In the bed of my enemy's mother,' he said jocularly. Then Beads of perspiration appeared over her upper lip. She rolled he pulled . Kalwant Kaur towards him and began to knead her her eyes coquettishly and-sàid, .Ger losr., breas$ with both hands. 'I swear by the Guru, there's no other Is.hryar ,Ishr . Singh pinched her lip and she leapt aside. Sian, wornan like you.' dont do that. It hurrs., Fliitatiously, she pushed him aside. 'Swear over my head. Did Ishwar_Singh began to suck her lower lip and Kalwant Kaur you go to the city?' melted. iTime He took off the resr of his clothes. for a round of He gathered his hair in a bun and replied,'No.' trumps,' he said, Kalwant Kaur was irritated. 'Yes, you did go to the city and .Kalwanr Kaur's upper lip began to quiver. He peeled her shirt you looted a lot more money and you don't wanr to tell me off, as if he was skinning a banana. Hå fondled her naked body about it.' ,Kalwant, and pinched her arm. I swear by the Guru, yor,r..ot 'May I not be my father's son if i lie to you,' he said. a womân, you're a delicac¡' he said between kisses. She was silent for a while, then she exploded, 'Tell me what Kalwant Kaur examined the skin he had pinched. It was red, happened to you the last night you were here. You were lying 'Ishr Sian, you're a brute.' next to me and you had made me wear all those gold ornaments Ishwar .Then . Singh smiled through hìs thick mousrache. let you had looted frorn the houses of the Muslims in the city there and be a lot of brutaliry tonight., And he began to prove what you were kissing me all over and then, suddenl¡ God only knows he had said. what came oyet you, you put on your clothes and walked out.' He , bit. her lower lip, nibbled at her earlobes, kneaded her Ishwar Singh went pale. 'See how your face has fallen,' breasts, slapped her glowing hip resoundingly and planted big, Kalwant Kaur snapped. 'Ishr Sian,' she said, emphasizing every wet kisses on her cheeks. word,'you're not the mân you were eight days ago. Something Kalwant Kaur , began to boil with passion like a kettle on has happened.' high tue. Ishwar Singh did nor ans\¡/er, but he wâs srung. He suddenly But there was something wrong. took Kalwant Kaur in his arms and began to hug and kiss her Ishwar.Singh, despite his vigorous efforts at forepla¡ could ferociously. Jani, I'm what I always was. Squeeze me tighter so not feel the fire which leads tã the finar and ineviåbr'i act of that the heat in your bones cools off.' love. Like a wresrler who is being had tt. b"tt"| oi, h" ;;pl;;; 20 MOTTLEÞ DAWN COLDËR THAN ICÊ 21 every üick he knew to ignite the fire in his loins, but it eluded Ishwar Singh's dimming eyes sparked inro momentary life. him. He felt cold. 'Don'r call her a bitçh,' he implored. Kalwant Kaur was .Ishr now like ân overtuned instrument. 'Iüho was she?'she screamed. Sianr' she whispered languidl¡ 'you have shuffled me enough, _ Ishwar Singhb voice was failing, 'I'll tell you.' He ran his it is time to produce your trump.' .'!fhat hand over his throat, then looked at it, smiling wanly, a Ishwar Singh felt - as if the entire deck of cards had slipped motherfucking creature man is!' from his hands on to the floor. 'Ishr Sian, answer my questionr'Kalwant Kaur said. He laid himself against her, breathing irregularly. Drops of He began to speak, very slowl¡ his face coated wirh cold cold perspiration appeared on his brow. Kalwant Kaur made sweat. frantic efforts ro ârouse him, but in the end she gave up. 'Kalwant, jani, you can have no idea what happened to me. In a fury, she sprang out of bed and covered herself with a I?hen they began to loot Muslim shops and housãs in the cit¡ sheet. 'Ishr Sian, tell me the name o{ the bitch you have been I joined one of the gangs. All the cash and ornâments that fell with who has squeezed you dry.' to my_share, I brought back to you. There was only one thing Ishwar Singh just lay there panring. I hid from you.' 'Who was that bitchl' she screamed. He began groan. _ to His pain was becoming unbearable, but 'No one, Kalwant, no one,' he replied in a barely audible voice. "Kalwant she was unconcerned. 'Go onr'she said in a merciless voice. Kaur placed her hands on he¡ hips. ,Ishr Sian, I,m 'There was this house I broke into . . . there were seven people going to get to the bottom of this. Swear to me on the Guru's inthere, sixof them menwhom I killedwithmy kiqpan onelyo* sacred nâme, is there a wornan?' . .. and there was one girl . . . she wâs so beautiiul . . . I didn,t She did not let him speak. 'Before you s\¡/ear by the Guru, kill her . . . I rook her away.' don't forget who I am. I am Sardar Nihal Singh's daughter. I will She sat on rhe edge of the bed, listening ro him. cut you to pieces. [s there a womân in thisl' 'Kalwant jani, I can't even begin to describe tn you how He nodded his head in assenr, his pain obvious - from his face. beautiful she was . . . I could have slashed her throat but I didn't Like a wild and demented crearure, Kalwant picked Kaur up . . . I said to myself . . . Ish¡ Sian, you gorge yourself on Kalwant Ishwar Singh's kirpan, unsheathed it and plunged it in his neck. Kaur every day . . . how about a mouthful of this luscious fruit! Blood spluaered out of rhe deep gash like warer our of a fbuntain. 'I thought she had gone into a faint, so I carried her over Then she began to pull at his hair and scratch his face, cursing my shoulder all the \A/ay to the canal which runs outside rhe her unknown ¡ival as she continued tearing at him. city , . . then I laid her down on rhe grass, behind some bushes 'Let go, Kalwant, let go now,o Ishwar Singh begged. and . . . 6rst I thought I would shuffle her a bit . . . but then I paused. She His beard and chest were drenched in blood. decided to trump her right away . . .' 'You acted impetuousl5' he said, 'but what you did I deserved., 'What happened?' she asked. 'Tell me the name of that woman of yoursr' she screamed. 'I threw the trump . . . but, but . . .' A thin line of blood ran into his mouth. He shivered as he His voice sank. felt its taste. Kalwant Kaur shook him violently. Tühat happened?' 'Kalwant, with this kirpan I have killed six rnen . . . with this Ishwar Singh opened his eyes.'She was dead. . . I had carried kirpan with which you . . .n a dead body . . . a heap of cold flesh . . . jani, give me your hand.' 'Who was the bitch, I ask youl'she repeated: Kalwant Kaur placed her hand on his. It was colder than ice. 7Z MOTlLÊD DA\PN

More blood poured out of her mouth. 'Damn it!, she said. Then she looked at Tarlochan and pushed aside the turban with which he had rried to cover her ttãk.dtrs*. 'Take away this rag of your religion. I donot need it.' Her arm fell limply on hei bare breasts and she said no more. THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER

The country had been divided. Hundreds of thousands of Muslims and Hindus were moving from India to pakistan and from Pakistan to India in search of refuge. Camps hâd been set up to give them temporary shelter, but they were so overcrowded that itseemed quite impossible to push ånorher htrman being into them, and yet more refugees were being brought in every day. There wasn't enough food ro go round and basic facilities were almost non-existent. Epidemics and infections were comrnon, but it didn't bother anybody. Such were the times. The year 1948 had begun. Hundreds of volunreers had been assigned the task of recovering abduced women and children and restoring them to their families. They would go in groups to lndia from Pakistan and.from Pakistan ro India to make theii recoveries. It always amused me to see that such enthusiastic efforæ were being made to undo the effects of something that hed been perpetrated by more or less the same people. I?hy were they rying to rehabilitare rhe women who had been raped and taken away when rhey had let them be raped and taken away in the first placel It was all very confusing, bur one still admired the devorion of these volunteers. [t was not a simple task. The difficulties \¡¡ere enormous. The abductors were not easy to trace. To avoid discover¡ they had devised various means of eluding their pursuers. They were constá.ntly on the move, from this locality ro that, from one city to another. One followed a dp and often found nothing at rhe end of the trail. One hea¡d strange stories. One liaison officer told me that in Saharanpur, two abducted Muslim girls had refused ro rerurn la/-) 74 MOTTLÊ,D DAWN THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTER 75

to their parents who were in Pakistan. Then there \ ¡âs this with dust. The only thing that srruck rne about her was that she Muslim girl in Jullandar who was given a touching farewell by was looking for someone. the abductor's family as if she was a daughter-in-law leaving on 'I was told by one of the women volunreers that she had lost a long journey. Some girls had committed suicide on the way, her mind because her only daughter had been abducted during afraid of facing their pârents. Some had lost their mental balance the riots in Patiala. She said they had tried for monrhs to find as a result of their traumatic experiences. Others had become the gid but had failed. In all probability, she had been killed, but alcoholics and retorted with abusive and vulgar language when that was something the old woman ìryas not prepared to believe. spoken to. 'The next time I ran into her at Saharânpur. She was at the líhen I thought about these abducted girls, I only saw their bus stop and she looked much worse than she had the first time I protruding bellies.'Tfhat was going to happen to them and what had seen her. Her lips were cracked and her hair looked matted. they contained?'Who would claim the end result? Pakistan or I spoke to her I said she should abandon her futile search; and ro India?' induce her to follow my advice, I told her-it was brutal-that And who would pay the \¡/omen the wages for carrying those her daughter had probably been murdered. children in their wombs for nine months? Pakistan o¡ India? Or 'She looked ai me. "Murdered? No. No one cân murder my would it all be put do',¡¡n in God's $eât ledger, that is, if there daughter. No one can murder my daughter." were still any pages left? 'And she walked away. \Vhy were they being described as'abducted women'? I had 'It set me thinking. \Fhy was this crâzy woman so confident always rhought that when a woman ran away from home with that no one would murder her daughter, that no sharp, deadly her lover-the policé always called it 'abduction'*it 1¡/es the knife could slash her throati Did she think her daughter was most romantic act in the world. But these women had been taken immortal or was it her motherhood th¿t would not admir defeat against their will and violated nor entertain the possibility of death? They were strânge, illogical times. I had boarded up all the 'On my third visit, I saw her again in another town. She looked doors and windows of my mind, shumered them up. It was very old and ragged. Her clothes $¡ere now so threadbare that difficult to think straight. they hardly covered her frail body. I gave her a change of dress, Sornetimes it seemed to me that the entire operation was being but she didn't want it. I said ro her, "Old woman,I swear to you conducted like import-export trade. that your daughter was killed in Patiala." One liaison ofÊcer asked me,'Why do you look lost?' "'You âre lyingr" she said. There was steely conviction in I didn't ans\ner his question. her voice. Then he told me a story. 'To convince her, I said, "f âssure you I'm telling the truth. "S7e were loolcing for abducted women from town to town, Youove suffered enough. It's time to go to Pakistan. I'[ take you." village to village, sffeet to street, and sometimes days would go 'She paid no âttention to what I had said and began muttering by before we would have any success. to herself, "No one can murder my daughterr' she suddenly 'And almost every time I went across to what is now India, declared in a strong, confident voice, I would notice an old woman, the same old woman. The first '"tüfhy)" I asked' time it was in the suburbs of Jullandar. She looked distracted, '*Becâuse she's beautiful. She's so beautiful that no one cân almost unâlry'are of her surroundings. Her eyes had a desolate kill her. No ohe cân even dream of hurting her," she said in a look, her clothes had turned to rågs and her hair was coated low whisper. 76 MOTTLED DATøN THE DUTIFUL DAUGHTÊR 77

'I wondered if her daughter was really as beautiful as rhal I 'The grrl looked up, but only for a second. Then, covering her thought it was just, *rtr.t of all children b.it g beautiful to their ^ face with her chaddar, she grabbeci her companio',s arrn-and mother. But ir was also possible that the 'Who old woman was right. sâid, "Let's get âwây from here." knew? But in this holocaust nothing had survived. Ìhis 'They crossed the roacl, taking long, brisk steps. mad old woman was deceiving herself. There are so ,.Bhagbari, many ways 'The old womân shouted, Bhagbari.,' of escape from unpleasant reality. Grief is like a roundabout, ,,SØhat 'I rushed mwards her. is rhe matterJ', I asked. which one intersects with an infinirc number of roads. 'She was trembling. "I have seen her . . . I have seen 'I made many other trips across the border her.', to India and "'W'hom have you seen?" I asked. almost every time tr somehow ran into the old woman. She was "'I have seen my daughter . . . I have seen Bhagbari." no mor€ than a bag bones Her of now She could hardly see ancl eyes were like burnt-out lights. tottered about like a blind person, a srep ar â time. Only one "'Your daughter is dead," i said. thing hadn't changed*her faith that her ãaughter was alive and '¿'You're lying," she screamed. that no one could kill her. "'I sweâr on God your daughter is dead.,, 'One of the women volunteers said to me, ,.Don,t waste your 'The old womân fell in a heap on the road.' time over her. She's raving mad. It would be good if you could take her to Pakistan with you and put her in an asylum." 'Suddenl¡ I didnt wanr ro do that. I didn'r wanr ro divest her of her only reason for living, As it was, she was in a vast asylum where nothing made any sense. I didn't wish to confine her within the four walls of a regular one. 'The last time I met her was in Amritsar. She looked so broken that it almosr brought reârs ro my eyes. I decided that i would make one last effort to take her to Pakistan, 'There she stood in Farid Chowk, peering around with her half-blind eyes. I was talking to a shopkeeper about an abducted Muslim girl, who, we had been informed, was being kept in the house of a Hindu moneylender. 'After _ my exchange with the shopkeeper, I crossed the srreer, determined to persuade the old womân to come with me to Pakistan. . 'I noticed a couple. The woman's face \¡/âs partly covered by her white chaddar. The man v¡as young and handsome-a Sikh. _ 'As they went past the old \¡r'oman, the man suddenly stopped. He even fell back a srep or rwo. Nervously, he caught hold ãi the woman's hand. I couldn't see her full face, but one glimpse - was enough to know that she was beaudful beyond words. "'Your motherr" he said to her.