SHORT STORIES
Unflinching expressions
ZIYA US SALAM
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The collection leaves us wistful for an age that was; writers who were "ours".
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The Penguin Book Of Classic Urdu Stories; Edited by M. Asaduddin, Penguin,
HERE is a compendium from diverse scholars of Urdu literature, some conventional afsananigar, some critics who dabble with the medium. From Progressives, revolutionaries and ultra-Leftists to gentle raconteurs for whom the medium is the message, this nearly 300-page long, 16-author work is a gentle reminder of an age when life was not as frenetic, when long, leisurely afternoons were succeeded by enchanting charms of poetry in the evening. There was dust on the mantelpiece, hookah in the verandah.
Identifiable angst
Yet, it is no nostalgia trip. Distance in time does not always diminish emotion. There is the identifiable angst of the Partition and an unflinching expression of the changing dynamics of Urdu writings following the Independence. Between Premchand, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Ismat Chughtai, Krishan Chander and Qurratulain Hyder, we get works that not only evoke the sensitive soul in you, but also provoke the discerning.
How much have we changed, how little is our life changed! There is a Ghasu amid us today as was the case when Premchand penned "Kafan" or "The Shroud". And Bedi's Lajo, once a victim of domestic violence, has never quite gone away. There is still, somewhere in the recesses of memory and the forgotten bylanes of Awadh a Bi Amma. The "Chauthi ka Jorha", arguably Chughtai's best story, is poignant; the passage of time having done little to erode its value.
Incidentally, among a number of writers whose works M. Asaduddin (no mean writer himself with works like For Freedom's Sake: Stories and Sketches of Manto and Lifting the Veil: Selected Writings of Ismat Chughtai in his attic) has put together, Chughtai stands out for more than one reason. Her passport to familiarity? "Lihaaf", or "The Quilt", a short story that talked of same-sex affiliation much before the media made bold to talk of such instances. Or Deepa Mehta put the subject on the celluloid map of the country with "Fire".
She brought into the Urdu fiction an unreserved expression of female sexuality, an expression that was to help her carve out her own niche. Hers was not the concern of a Progressive writer. Her subject did not reside on the footpath, like a Kaifi Azmi, but it was usually a woman, faceless and anonymous, behind a veil, a naqab, a ghunghat, under the sheets. Here Asaduddin, who translates "Chauthi Ka Jorha" (The Wedding Suit), limits us to a little wistful note. The undercurrent of tension, the subconscious pandering to the male all come through. However, instead of a raging fire of a writer at war with the world, there comes through a simmering discontent of a woman at peace with the world, at war with herself.
Human trauma
The fire is provided in plenty by Bedi's "Lajwanti", a piercing look into the human trauma of the Partition, and the peace of the grave that followed. Bedi's Lajo is one survivor, a woman who was once at the receiving end of bestiality, yet longs for self-expression after being anointed a devi by her own spouse, who is transformed from a dictator to a devotee. Bedi, who has translated his story, does a commendable job of retaining the soul without compromising on style.
Also commendable for choice in selection is Chander's "Kalu Bhangi" where the author exhibits his familiar eye for detail. "Kalu Bhangi" evokes the pain of the have-nots in this beautiful short story of a prolific Marxist, who often picked up a pen for the deprived, the dispossessed. Keeping him company is Manto, whose "Toba Tek Singh" fills a vacuum. The compendium would have been incomplete without some space for this fiercest of writers. Like "Lajwanti", this one too is an insight into the human tragedy of Partition.
Incidentally, many contributors here have had successful association, direct or otherwise, with the Hindi/Urdu film world: Bedi, Manto, Chughtai, Premchand, to name a few.
Now add a little footnote of many of the writers either hailing from what is now Pakistan, or having migrated there in the wake of the Partition, and you have a collection that leaves us wistful about an age that was, writers who were "ours".
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