Translator's Note: To my mind, Manto was Bombay’s finest chronicler, better than the next best writer about the city, Behram Contractor. Manto wrote what it felt and meant to be part of a great, modern city. Contractor, famous under the name “Busybee”, wrote merely of experiences.
In this piece, Manto attacks the rioting that broke out in Bombay after the Muslim League’s Direct Action Day and blames one man, Hafiz Ali Bahadur Khan. Manto hated religious division and didn’t think much of the Muslim League.
This piece is raw, and though not particularly penetrative or insightful, it shows his sentiment towards a problem that Indians still live with. It is remarkable how aptly we can apply the situation that Manto describes to the present time. Manto first fled Amritsar’s religious violence, and then, a short time after writing this piece, fled from Bombay at Partition.
(I escaped the filthy lanes and bazaars of Amritsar to land in Bombay. I thought that in this beautiful and broad minded place, I would be rid of the communal squabbling I had found in Amritsar. I was wrong.
A few months after my coming, Hindus and Muslims began fighting, and kept fighting.
The cause was the same as it always is – mandir, masjid...you know it well. Many human beings were sacrificed for this. I saw much of this savagery myself but kept my feelings and anguish within.
Then I picked up my pen. I wrote this appeal to the lovely people of Bombay. This resulted in our honourable Muslims coming to sort me out. How I escaped a thrashing at their hands, now that’s another story.)
In the end, what was feared, happened. The gathering at the sabha mandap produced vitriol and the air over Bombay soured.
And then our eyes were forced to see such horrific, in fact demonic visions...
Knives were thrust, stones flung, masculine skill with rods displayed. Homes and neighbourhoods were raided. Soon the streets and corners of my Bombay were spattered with blood.
India was taken, when it was at the point of Independence, and dragged into this dark and enormous pit.
Those who value freedom and are aware of the happenings and the history of this age know that this fighting over religion is destructive as few things can be. Their depression at this cusp of freedom is understandable.
No man wishes to see blood and other men slaughtered, save those who deliberately nurture the most base and terrifyingly cruel sentiment.
Which man delights in seeing red streams flow out of the neck of his brother, across which he has just drawn a blade? Who could possibly wish to dance on the mounds of the dead?
Then why is it that the skies over Bombay witnessed this continued massacre? We must force ourselves to examine the events if we are to resolve the question: who was responsible for these killings?
The world is filled with good people. But it also contains some whose time is spent in sharpening their swords and daggers. They await the opportunities to distribute these blades so that from the carnage thus spread, they might profit.
These are people who want to take India to a state of barbarism. They want to spread insecurity through fear and carnage, so that their interests remain secure. They are happy to see in markets the sale of human flesh as meat.
They don’t want India to be independent. They are traitors, and their time is spent in betraying not just their nation, but humanity. They aspirate the fires of hell from their very breath.
They are our leaders. Our representatives.
They are like a cat’s claws. Soft and furry if seen from the top. Sharp and vicious if seen from below. If you heard them speak, it would sound like they feel the world’s pain in their breast. But this pretense is not hidden for long.
Their compassion, their religiosity, their humanity is all a sham. It is frightening to consider that we share this planet with such wickedness.
The violence in Bombay could have been prevented. Over the bitterness, the sourness that Hindus and Muslims feel for one another, the balm of words could have been applied. A little patience and restraint should have been preached.
Had they not succumbed to the mob’s passion and applied cold reason to problems, peace would not have been difficult to find.
A few men did make such attempts, but unfortunately the hissing of some snakes – I am referring to Hafiz Ali Bahadur Khan – ruined what could have been an end to this needless violence.
Those leaders who used religion to rouse hatred, and whom I hold responsible, should know that there are many in India who understand what they are doing. They should know that they are viewed with disgust and contempt.
The palace of independent India cannot be built by those who play mischief with religious propaganda. They are not only enemies of our independence but of the human race.
They must be named and shamed.
Else their every action will continue for long to throttle the neck of this nation’s youth, soon to be independent.
Originally published as ‘Ek Ashk Aalood Appeal’.
Excerpted with permission from ‘Why I Write: Essays by Saadat Hassan Manto’. Edited and translated by Aakar Patel and Published by Tranquebar Press.
In this piece, Manto attacks the rioting that broke out in Bombay after the Muslim League’s Direct Action Day and blames one man, Hafiz Ali Bahadur Khan. Manto hated religious division and didn’t think much of the Muslim League.
This piece is raw, and though not particularly penetrative or insightful, it shows his sentiment towards a problem that Indians still live with. It is remarkable how aptly we can apply the situation that Manto describes to the present time. Manto first fled Amritsar’s religious violence, and then, a short time after writing this piece, fled from Bombay at Partition.
(I escaped the filthy lanes and bazaars of Amritsar to land in Bombay. I thought that in this beautiful and broad minded place, I would be rid of the communal squabbling I had found in Amritsar. I was wrong.
A few months after my coming, Hindus and Muslims began fighting, and kept fighting.
The cause was the same as it always is – mandir, masjid...you know it well. Many human beings were sacrificed for this. I saw much of this savagery myself but kept my feelings and anguish within.
Then I picked up my pen. I wrote this appeal to the lovely people of Bombay. This resulted in our honourable Muslims coming to sort me out. How I escaped a thrashing at their hands, now that’s another story.)
In the end, what was feared, happened. The gathering at the sabha mandap produced vitriol and the air over Bombay soured.
And then our eyes were forced to see such horrific, in fact demonic visions...
Knives were thrust, stones flung, masculine skill with rods displayed. Homes and neighbourhoods were raided. Soon the streets and corners of my Bombay were spattered with blood.
India was taken, when it was at the point of Independence, and dragged into this dark and enormous pit.
Those who value freedom and are aware of the happenings and the history of this age know that this fighting over religion is destructive as few things can be. Their depression at this cusp of freedom is understandable.
No man wishes to see blood and other men slaughtered, save those who deliberately nurture the most base and terrifyingly cruel sentiment.
Which man delights in seeing red streams flow out of the neck of his brother, across which he has just drawn a blade? Who could possibly wish to dance on the mounds of the dead?
Then why is it that the skies over Bombay witnessed this continued massacre? We must force ourselves to examine the events if we are to resolve the question: who was responsible for these killings?
The world is filled with good people. But it also contains some whose time is spent in sharpening their swords and daggers. They await the opportunities to distribute these blades so that from the carnage thus spread, they might profit.
These are people who want to take India to a state of barbarism. They want to spread insecurity through fear and carnage, so that their interests remain secure. They are happy to see in markets the sale of human flesh as meat.
They don’t want India to be independent. They are traitors, and their time is spent in betraying not just their nation, but humanity. They aspirate the fires of hell from their very breath.
They are our leaders. Our representatives.
They are like a cat’s claws. Soft and furry if seen from the top. Sharp and vicious if seen from below. If you heard them speak, it would sound like they feel the world’s pain in their breast. But this pretense is not hidden for long.
Their compassion, their religiosity, their humanity is all a sham. It is frightening to consider that we share this planet with such wickedness.
The violence in Bombay could have been prevented. Over the bitterness, the sourness that Hindus and Muslims feel for one another, the balm of words could have been applied. A little patience and restraint should have been preached.
Had they not succumbed to the mob’s passion and applied cold reason to problems, peace would not have been difficult to find.
A few men did make such attempts, but unfortunately the hissing of some snakes – I am referring to Hafiz Ali Bahadur Khan – ruined what could have been an end to this needless violence.
Those leaders who used religion to rouse hatred, and whom I hold responsible, should know that there are many in India who understand what they are doing. They should know that they are viewed with disgust and contempt.
The palace of independent India cannot be built by those who play mischief with religious propaganda. They are not only enemies of our independence but of the human race.
They must be named and shamed.
Else their every action will continue for long to throttle the neck of this nation’s youth, soon to be independent.
Originally published as ‘Ek Ashk Aalood Appeal’.
Excerpted with permission from ‘Why I Write: Essays by Saadat Hassan Manto’. Edited and translated by Aakar Patel and Published by Tranquebar Press.
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