Sahir aur Jaadu - A short story by Gulzar (Translation by me)

This occurred just before Sahir's funeral departed.

The story is about Jaadu and I mentioned Sahir Ludhianvi.

Jaadu and Sahir shared a unique relationship. Jaadu, Javed Akhtar's nickname, was both poetic and rebellious - a trait that ran in his family. He is the son of Jan Nisar Akhtar. Majaz was his maternal uncle. And Kaifi Azmi, his father-in-law.

He never respected his father. There was some anger that was bottled up inside him. He tolerated his father for as long as his mother was alive. After she passed away, there would be repeated brawls between the father and son. Eventually, Jaadu would leave home to land at Sahir's place. Sahir could figure what must have happened by merely looking at Jaadu's face, but he would never bring the topic up. He knew that Jaadu would, at first, flare up; and then give way to tears. Under both circumstances, it would be difficult to control him.

After some time Sahir would say, "Jaadu, come, eat something."

Once on the dining table, Jaadu would vent out everything, and would then spend the rest of the day at Sahir's place, sulking. Sometimes though, Sahir would warn him, "Listen, Akhtar will be arriving... for lunch".

Jaadu would look at Sahir in dismay. If only he could muster up the courage to tell Sahir, "I don't believe my father! Why can't he just leave me alone?" 

Jaadu, though the son of Jan Nisar Akhtar, had the characteristics like those of Majaz, his maternal uncle - very emotional and very short tempered. Sahir cared for him as a son and treated him as a friend. He would often send him to the movies at Eros, "Why don't you go for that new movie? Umm what's its name?", thus avoiding a confrontation between Jaadu and Akhtar.

One day, Jaadu stomped out of Sahir's place yelling, "You have spoiled my father!" Sahir chuckled at that. "Laugh!" Jaadu flared up, "Even my father laughs at me! I don't want to stay here! I don't want you, I don't want him!" He slammed the door and left and remained untraceable for a few days. 

Jaadu was close friends with Kamal Amrohi's production manager. He stayed with him that evening and spent the night at the studio, in the production store, among all the equipment and two Filmfare trophies won by Meena Kumari. In front of a life-size mirror he would  present the trophy and then receive it too, then  he would applaud on behalf of the audience and also take a bow and deliver an acceptance speech. At an interview years later, Jaadu admitted doing this every night before going to bed. He spent days at end at the studio.

He turned up at Sahir's house, seemingly upset. Sahir tried to speak to him affectionately, but Jaadu was still very angry.

"I am here just to take a shower. I just want to use your bathroom and soap, if you don't mind."

"Not at all! Why don't you eat something first."

"I will eat anywhere else, not here."

When he stepped out of the shower, he noticed Sahir sitting in front of the dressing table with a note of hundred rupees placed there, casually brushing his hair. He was actually contemplating how to ask Jaadu to take the money. Sahir adored Jaadu for his self-respect. He gathered the courage to say, "Jaadu, why don't you keep these hundred rupees? You can return the money later."

Back then, a hundred rupees was a huge amount. Change for a hundred rupees could only be obtained at a bank or a petrol pump.

Jaadu took the note as if he did Sahir a favour, "Fine!" he said rudely, "I'll return the money when I get my salary."

Javed worked as an assistant to director Shankar Mukherjee. That's how he met Salim Khan and went on be become a successful writer and lyricist. He took to alcohol and would drink just like Majaz. And then vent out his anger on his father, in Sahir style. But he never repaid those hundred rupees. He went on to earn thousands, then lakhs. But he would always tease Sahir, "Forget the money, you are never going to get those hundred rupees."

Sahir would lovingly respond, "Son, I will definitely have you cough it up."

This affectionate tussle lasted all of Sahir's days. Sahir didn't have many friends, but he sincerely loved all those he called friends. After a few drinks at night, he would abuse all those he hated. In the days when he resided at Krishanchander Apartments, his old friend Om Prakash Ashk was also his flat mate. One evening when I went to visit them, Ashk asked Sahir in Punjabi, "Sahir, why do you start abusing after a few drinks?"

Sahir answered candidly, "Don't you need something tangy with your booze?"

Among Sahir's friends was one Dr. Kapoor, a heart specialist and a heart patient himself. Sahir would often ask, "Kapoor, should I come over to check on you or to get a check up done for myself?"

This is exactly what happened that evening... that fateful evening. In so many years, Sahir had built a bungalow for himself - Parchhaiyaan, whereas Dr. Kapoor stayed in a bungalow at Versova. Jaadu was now a successful writer. That evening, Sahir went to visit Dr. Kapoor. He was told that the doctor wasn't keeping too well. Dr. Seth, another heart specialist was on his way. I guess Ramanand Sagar was also present, or perhaps he arrived later. Sahir asked for a pack of playing cards to lighten Kapoor's mood up a bit. As Sahir was distributing the cards, Kapoor noticed Sahir's face slowly stiffen. Perhaps he was trying to hide his pain. "Sahir?" Dr. Kapoor called him.

At that moment, Sahir collapsed on Dr. Kapoor's bed. Dr. Seth entered. The two doctors tried their best to revive Sahir, but it was too late. Seeing the fear on Dr. Kapoor's face, Ramanand Sagar took him to his place.

Anwar, Sahir's driver reached Dr. Kapoor's residence. He laid Sahir's body on the bed. They tried contacting Yash Chopra - a close friend of Sahir's, but he was in Srinagar. Finally, they informed Jaadu. He took a cab and reached there as soon as he could and in the same cab he got Sahir to Parchhaiyaan. With help from Anwar and the taxi driver they got Sahir to the first floor of Parchaaiyaan, where he used to stay.

All this while Jaadu was silent. They reached Sahir's home at 1:00 AM. Once there, Jaadu burst out in tears. He fell on Sahir's chest and wept - he hadn't wept this way all his life. A myriad of questions went through is head - where to go? whom to call? He sat there by Sahir's side. The neighbours got there. One of them said, "The body will stiffen in some time. Get his hands on his chest and tie them. It would get difficult later." Jaadu did just as he was told, with tears rolling down his eyes.

In the morning, they started making calls, informing everyone. The news spread, people began arriving.

"Get the sheets out for people to sit"

"Remove those chairs from there."

"Open that door."

Jaadu did everything they said.

He went down to receive the undertakers and noticed the taxi driver standing there.

"Oh God, why didn't you tell me? How much is it?"

The man seemed to be well cultured. He immediately folded his hands, "Sir, I didn't stay here for the money. I mean, where would I go in the dead of the night?"

Jaadu removed his wallet. The taxi driver insisted, "No sir, please."

Jaadu almost yelled at him, "Here! Take these hundred rupees. Even in death he had me cough it out." And then cried bitterly.

This occurred just before Sahir's funeral departed.

Toba Tek Singh - Sa'adat Hassan Manto (Translation by me)

Two or three years after the partition, it occurred to the governments of Pakistan and Hindustan that, just like the prisoners, lunatics in the asylums of the two countries should also be sent to their respective new nations. That meant, while the Muslims in Hindustani asylums would be sent to Pakistan, the Hindu and Sikh lunatics in Pakistan would be transferred to the asylums in Hindustan.

Whether this decision was reasonable or not, one can't say. But after many rounds of high level conferences among important officials on both sides, a date for exchanging the lunatics was fixed. Every minute detail pertaining to the exchange was clearly chalked out. Those Muslim inmates whose families chose to remain in Hindustan were allowed to stay there, the rest were sent to the border. Considering almost all Hindus and Sikhs had left Pakistan, there was no question of keeping their lunatics here. So all the Hindu and Sikh inmates were sent to the border along with the police.

The situation out there in Hindustan was not known, but when the news of the exchange reached the lunatic asylum here in Lahore, it immediately became a matter of intense discussion. When a Muslim lunatic, who, for the last twelve years, read the Zamindar newspaper daily, was asked "Maulvi sa'ab, what is this Pakistan?", he answered after deep reflection, "Its, er, a place in Hindustan where they manufacture razors."

This answer satisfied his friend.

Likewise, a Sikh lunatic asked another inmate, "Sardarji, why are we being sent to Hindustan? We can't even speak their language." He replied "I know the language of these Hindustanis. These devils behave as if they own the earth."

One day, while bathing, a Muslim lunatic raised the slogan "Pakistan Zindabad" with such passion that he slipped on the floor and fell unconscious. There were some other inmates who hadn't really lost their senses. They were perfectly alright. Their families greased the palms of officials to prove them insane, thus sparing them from the hangman's noose. These inmates had a faint idea about the partition and about Pakistan. But they too did not have complete knowledge of the situation. Little could be deciphered from the newspapers. They couldn't fathom anything from eavesdropping on the conversations of the guards, who were but illiterate. All they knew was that there is this man named Muhammad Ali Jinnah who is referred to as the Qaid-e-Aazam, and that he had created a separate nation for Muslims called Pakistan. They had no idea as to where is this new country situated and what are its boundaries. This was the reason why even those inmates who hadn't completely lost their sanity, were unable to decide whether they were in Hindustan or Pakistan. If they are in Hindustan, then where is Pakistan. If they are in Pakistan, then how is it possible that just the other day they were in Hindustan?

One of these partially lunatic inmates was so lost in Hindustan-Pakistan-Pakistan-Hindustan hassle that completely lost his remaining sanity. One day while sweeping the lawn he climbed up a tree and for two continuous hours he delivered a speech on the delicate issue of Pakistan and Hindustan. When the guards tried to get him down, he climbed higher. Upon being threatened with punishment he announced, "I wish to reside neither in Hindustan, nor in Pakistan, I will reside in this tree."

With great difficulty when he finally came down, he hugged his Hindu and Sikh friends and wept. He became emotional when he realised that they would leave him and go to Hindustan.

A Muslim Radio Engineer with an M.Sc. degree who would remain aloof from all the other inmates and would stroll at one corner of the garden in the asylum suddenly took off all his clothes, handed them over to the guards and started running around naked throughout the garden.

An obese Muslim lunatic named Muhammad Ali from Chiniot, who was once a zealous activist of the Muslim League and would bathe at least fifteen or sixteen times a day, suddenly stopped doing that and declared himself to be Qaid-e-Aazam Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Imitating him, a Sikh lunatic decided to become Master Tara Singh. Apprehending violence, the asylum authorities decided to lock them up in separate cells.

Also housed there was a young Hindu lawyer from Lahore, who lost his senses after a failed love affair. He was saddened to find out that Amritsar had now become a part of Hindustan. He had fallen in love with a girl from this city. Although she had rejected his proposal, he hadn't forgotten her, even in this state of insanity. He abused every Hindu and Muslim leader who connived with each other to divide Hindustan into two states, causing him to become a Pakistani while his beloved became a Hindustani.

While discussing the exchange, many lunatics tried to explain to him that he would be sent to Hindustan, the country of his beloved. But he did not want to leave Lahore as he felt his practice would not prosper in Amritsar.

There were two Anglo-Indian inmates lodged in the European Ward of the asylum. When they came to know that the English had granted India her freedom and had left, they were shocked! They would secretly discuss what would their status be in the asylum now that the English are not in control. Would this European Ward remain? Would it be demolished? Would they continue getting breakfast? Or would they have to survive on that "bloody Indian chapati"?

There was one particular Sikh lunatic who was an inmate there for the last fifteen years. Time and again one could hear him mumble "upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of the laalten". An insomniac, the man hadn't slept a wink in the last fifteen years. He wouldn't sit, nor lie down. Albeit sometimes he would stand with his back against a wall. Those fifteen years of standing had caused his feet and toes to swell immensely.

Whenever the inmates would discuss the partition or the exchange, he would listen in carefully. When asked for his opinion, he would wistfully reply "upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of the Pakistan government". Later, the words "of the Pakistan government" were replaced by "of the Toba Tek Singh government". He began asking the other lunatics, "Where is Toba Tek Singh?" That was the place from where he hailed. But no one knew if it was in Pakistan or in Hindustan. The ones who would try to answer were themselves perplexed that Sialkot was earlier in Hindustan, but now it is in Pakistan, apparently. God knows if Lahore, which was till yesterday a part of Pakistan, may now be in Hindustan. Or if all of Hindustan had now become Pakistan. And who would guarantee that one day both Hindustan and Pakistan would not be wiped off the surface of the earth.

That Sikh lunatic had scanty hair. And since he seldom would bathe, the little hair on his head had merged with his beard that gave him a frightening appearance. But the old man was harmless. Never did he fight or argue with anyone. The old employees at the asylum only knew this much of him that the man owned acres of land in Toba Tek Singh and was a wealthy landlord there. But suddenly he lost all his senses and was brought to the asylum, fettered.

His family would visit him once every month for years, but when communal tensions broke out in Punjab, they stopped coming. His name was Bishan Singh. But everyone called him Toba Tek Singh. He had no idea about the day, date, month or year. But every month when his relatives were scheduled to meet him, he would get some kind of intuition. Hence, he would inform the guards that his family would be arriving, then bathe, cleanse himself, oil and comb his hair, put on clean, new clothes and go meet his visitors. He never spoke at these meetings. However, occasionally he would mutter, "upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of the laalten".

He had a daughter he left behind before entering the confinement of the asylum. Over the years she grew into a fine young girl. But Bishan Singh couldn't recognise her. As a kid, she would cry looking at her father. Even as a young girl, she still had tears rolling down her cheeks.

When this rigmarole of Pakistan, Hindustan and the partition began, he started asking other lunatics where exactly was Toba Tek Singh located. But when he didn't get a satisfactory answer, he grew restless. Even his relatives had suddenly stopped visiting. His intuitions that would alert him of these visits had withered.

He missed them. He missed their care, concern, the gifts, fruit, sweetmeats and clothes that his relatives would get for him. And he knew that they would tell him whether Toba Tek Singh was now in Hindustan or Pakistan. He felt that they came from Toba Tek Singh, the place where he lived.

At the asylum, there was another lunatic who claimed he was God. When Bishan Singh asked him whether Toba Tek Singh is now in Pakistan or Hindustan, he chuckled and said, "It's neither in Hindustan nor in Pakistan, because I am yet to issue orders in this matter".

Bishan Singh begged this God time and again to issue orders so that this matter could be resolved. But this God appeared to be busy with other important issues. Finally, he lost his cool and cursed this God saying, "upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of Vaahe Guruji da khalsa and Vaahe Guruji di fateh... jo bole so nihal! Sat Sri Akal!" by which he meant, "You don't answer my prayers because you are a Muslim God. Had you been a Sikh God, you would have helped me!"

A few days before the exchange, an old friend came to meet him - for the first time in fifteen years! When Bishan Singh saw him, he turned around and began to walk away. A guard stopped him and said, "He is Fazal Diin, your friend. He has come to meet you." Bishan Singh saw him once and started murmuring. Fazal Diin reached out to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. "I have been meaning to meet you since a really long time. All you relatives safely left for Hindustan. I did everything I could do to help them", he said. "And your daughter Roop Kaur, she too is fine and had left with them."

Bishan Singh kept mum. Fazal Diin continued: "Your family asked me to make sure that you were well. Now I hear that you will be leaving for Hindustan. Please do convey my regards to Balbir Singh and Wadhaawa Singh. Oh, and also to Amrit Kaur. And please do tell Balbir Singh that Fazal Diin is doing well by the grace of God. The two brown buffaloes that he left here are also doing well. Both gave birth to calves, one male and one female. Unfortunately, the female died six days after she was born. Tell them that I think of them. And if there is anything I could do for them, they could surely let me know."

He went on, "Here, I have got you some Marundas (rice sweets)"

Bishan Singh took the bag of Marundas, handed it over to the guard standing there and asked Fazal Diin, "Where is Toba Tek Singh?"

Stunned, Fazal Diin replied, "What do you mean where is it? It is there where it has been forever"

"In Pakistan? Or Hindustan?"

Fazal Diin was confused. "Er, I guess Hindustan... No, maybe in Pakistan!"

Bishan Singh left murmuring "upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of the Pakistan and Hindustan of the dur fite muhn!"

All the arrangements for the exchange were completed. The list of lunatics from both sides had reached the respective authorities and the date of the exchange was fixed. It was a cold winter night when trucks with the Hindu and Sikh inmates was sent to the border. The concerned officers accompanied them. Superintendents of both sides met each other at Wagah and after preliminary proceedings, the exchange of inmates commenced. It lasted all night.

Getting the lunatics out of the lorries and handing them over to the officers on the other side was a painstaking task. Some just wouldn't get out and it was difficult to manage the ones who would alight. The naked would tear off any clothing that would be given to them. Some were abusing, some were singing, some were fighting, bickering, and some were weeping, it was chaotic! And the howling women would just add to the chaos. The bitter cold was just unbearable.

Almost all the inmates were against the exchange. They were unable to understand why were they being transferred. The few who had some knowledge of the situation were raising slogans of "Pakistan Zindabad" or "Pakistan Murdabad". Some Muslims and Sikhs took offence to these slogans and almost broke into a scuffle.

Finally Bishan Singh was taken to the officer on the Hindustani side of the border. As the officer was registering his name, Bishan Singh asked, "Where is Toba Tek Singh? Is it in Hindustan, or Pakistan?" The officer chuckled saying "Pakistan". On hearing this, Bishan Singh jumped with joy, stepped aside and ran towards Pakistan. The Pakistani sepoys caught hold of him and tried to force him to the Hindustani side. But he resisted and exclaimed, "Toba Tek Singh is here! Toba Tek Singh is in Pakistan! Upar di gud gud di annexe di be dhayaana di moong di daal of the Toba Tek Singh and the Pakistan!

They tried to reason with him and explain that Toba Tek Singh had been moved to Hindustan, or would be transferred soon. But Bishan Singh was adamant. When they tried to force him to the other side, he stood with his swollen feet in such a way as if no force in the universe could move him an inch.

Since he was harmless, the guards eventually gave up and let him stay there. The exchange or the others continued through the rest of the night.

Just before sunrise, Bishan Singh cried out in a loud voice. Officers from both sides ran towards him and saw that the man, who stood for fifteen years, lay there collapsed, on his face.

There, on one side, behind barbed wire, lay Hindustan. On the other side, behind a similar fence, lay Pakistan. And in between the two, on that strip of land that had no name, lay Toba Tek SingH.

Khol Do - Sa'adat Hassan Manto (Translation by me)

A special train left Amritsar at two in the afternoon and reached Mughalpura after eight hours. En route many were killed, injured and some went astray in the mayhem.

10:00 AM. Sirajuddin lying on the cold ground of the camp, opened his tired eyes. The swelling sea of women, men and children perplexed him. He kept staring at gloomy sky for a long time. There was havoc all across the camp, but Sirajuddin’s ears were blocked. He couldn’t hear anything. Anyone seeing him would easily conclude that he was lost in deep concern. But it was not so. His senses were numb. He felt consumed by a void.

Browsing aimlessly at the gloomy sky he glanced upon the sun. The piercing rays woke him up with a jolt. And in a jiffy, many an image flashed in front of his eyes: loot, fire, stampede, station, bullets, the night, and Sakina. Sirajuddin got up suddenly and, like a lunatic, started frantically searching through the vast sea of women, men and children. For over three hours he looked out for Sakina but he couldn’t find his young, and only daughter. There was chaos all around him: someone was looking out for his child, while someone was looking out for his mother, and someone was looking out for his daughter.

Tired, Sirajuddin sat in one corner and tried hard to recollect when and how he parted from his daughter. And every time he tried recollecting, his mind would take him to the disemboweled corpse of Sakina’s mother. He was not able to think of anything further. She breathed her last in front of him saying, “Leave me! Take Sakina and go away from here!” Sakina and Sirajuddin ran barefooted. On the way, her dupatta fell off. Sirajuddin stopped to pick it up but Sakina protested, “Abbaji, leave it, let’s go!” But Sirajuddin stopped to pick it.

Lost in this thought, he put his hand in the pocket of his coat and found a cloth: the same dupatta. But where was Sakina?

Sirajuddin tried hard to recall but was unable to come to any conclusion. Did he get her to the station? Did she board the train with him? When the train stopped en route and the rioters got in, did he fall unconscious? Did they take Sakina along?

Sirajuddin had countless questions, no answers. He needed sympathy. But so did every human being around him. Sirajuddin wanted to cry. But his eyes would not cooperate. His tears dried up.

Somehow he regained his senses after six days. Sirajuddin finally met people who could help him: Eight young volunteers (razakaars). They had a lorry and guns. Sirajuddin blessed them a million times, over and over again and gave them a description of his daughter. “She is fair, very beautiful, just like her mother. Around seventeen years old, big eyes, black hair and a big beauty spot on her right cheek. She is my only daughter. Please find her. God will bless you.”

The young razakaars assured Sirajuddin that if his daughter is alive, she will be with him in a few days. The eight razakaars tried their best. Risking their own lives they went right up to Amritsar and safely got back many men, women and children. Ten days went by, but there was no news of Sakina.

One day, for the same work, the razakaars, were on their way to Amritsar. Near Cherat they saw a girl by the road. Startled by the sound of the lorry, she began to run. The razakaars stopped and all of them ran after her. In a field, they managed to catch her and noticed that she was very pretty. She had a huge beauty spot on her right cheek. “Don’t be scared” said one of the young men, “Are you Sakina?”

Her face became pale. She did not answer. It was only after the men reassured her, did her terror vanish. She accepted that she was Sakina, Sirajuddin’s daughter.

Eight razakaars tried their best to comfort Sakina. They gave her some food, some milk and sat her in the lorry. One of them took his coat off and gave it to her because she was uncomfortable without her dupatta and was unsuccessfully trying to cover her breasts with her arms.

Days went by. Sirajuddin had no news of his young daughter. All day he would run from one camp to another, one office to another, all in vain. All night he pray for the success of the young razakaars who had assured him that if Sakina were alive, she would be with him in a couple of days.

One day he saw those young volunteers in the camp, sitting in their lorry. As they were about to leave, he ran to them and asked, “Son, any news of my Sakina?” They all said as if in one voice, “We will, we will”. Sirajuddin once again prayed for their success and felt a bit relieved.

The same evening, he noticed some commotion in the camp. Four men were bringing in something. He soon found out that a girl was found unconscious near the rail track and that the men had got her here. Sirajuddin followed closely. The four men handed the girl over to the hospital staff and left.

For some time Sirajuddin stood by the fallen wooden pole outside the hospital. And then with slow steps, he went inside the hospital. There was no one in the room. There was a stretcher there with a corpse on it. With small, hesitant steps, Sirajuddin went close to the corpse. Suddenly, the room lit up. Sirajuddin saw a beauty spot on the pale face of the corpse and cried out “Sakina!”

The doctor who had switched the lights on asked with a rather stern voice, “What’s going on?”

All that Sirajuddin could say was, “I… I am her father.”

The doctor looked at the corpse on the stretcher, checked the pulse, and told Sirajuddin “Khidki khol do!” (Open the window).

There was a slight movement in Sakina’s lifeless body. Her lifeless hands loosened her shalwar and dropped it. Old Sirajuddin whispered loudly, “She is alive! My daughter is alive!”

The doctor was drenched in sweat from head to toE.

थोड़े से करोड़ों सालों में - गुलज़ार

थोड़े से करोड़ों सालों में
सूरज की आग बुझेगी जब
और राख उड़ेगी सूरज से
जब कोई चाँद न डूबेगा
और कोई ज़मीन न उभरेगी 
दबे बुझे एक कोयले-सा टुकड़ा
यह ज़मीन का घूमेगा
भटका-भटका मद्धम ख़ाकिसतरी रौशनी में

मैं सोचता हूँ उस वक़्त अगर
काग़ज़ पे लिखी इक नज़्म कहीं
उड़ते उड़ते सूरज में गिरे
और सूरज फिर से जलने लगे
-गुलज़ार