Professor Abdur Rasheed, who retired as Urdu professor from Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, is one of Urdu language’s greatest living scholars. Unfortunately, he has a serious problem: he just can’t be bothered to showcase his immense learning and scholarly erudition, his authority in Urdu lexicography, his editorial curation of 19th century Urdu texts, and take credit for the many important historical indices and bibliographies that he has edited and published.

As a result, he lives in relative obscurity, happiest when he is working, or discussing rare ribald works of Urdu literature with a naughty twinkle in his eyes.

As someone who has immensely benefited from Professor Abdur Rasheed’s work and mentorship, and has been honoured to have him as a collaborator in the Tilism-i-Hoshruba and the Library of Urdu Classics projects — he did one of the hardest tasks, that of preparing the glossaries — his scholarly labour, without any care for accolades, has been a source of constant inspiration.

Professor Abdur Rasheed’s latest project, Baqiyaat-i-Ghulam Abbas [The Uncollected Works of Ghulam Abbas], has just been released in India from Dilli Kitab Ghar, as a private act of preservation publishing. Spanning 672 pages, it is a compilation of the many short stories, essays and translations of Urdu writer Ghulam Abbas (1909-1982), that were published during his lifetime in literary magazines and periodicals, but never collected and therefore unavailable to Urdu readers.

The news that Professor Abdur Rasheed has collected Ghulam Abbas’ little-known works after many years of labour, and that the collection is larger than all of Ghulam Abbas’ currently known collected works put together, should bring joy to all readers of Urdu literature. Baqiyaat-i-Ghulam Abbas contains 37 short stories, three plays, 19 essays, and reviews and interviews. In addition to these, it has Ghulam Abbas’ translations of 30 stories and poems, and two plays.

The publication of the unknown writings of Ghulam Abbas, one of the greatest Urdu short story writers of his generation, and with it the unveiling of Ghulam Abbas’ deep interest in our classical music, and his engagement with and contributions to translations from English, should be widely celebrated, recognised, and honoured. It would be nice if the professor from Delhi, who has already moved on to his next scholarly project, is interrupted with the scholarly equivalent of a 21-gun salute by all of us who feel honoured by his work in our language and literature.

Baqiyaat-i-Ghulam Abbas is a treasure for readers, scholars and future biographers of Ghulam Abbas, and I will return to it in future columns. But here I wish to share a translation of Ghulam Abbas’ short commemorative essay, titled Manto Ki Maut [Manto’s Death], which he published in October 1955 in the Karachi literary periodical Mah-i-Nau, and which is one of the most truthful and unvarnished assessments of Manto’s place in Urdu literature.

Manto’s Death
By Ghulam Abbas

I was not too surprised when I heard of Manto’s passing; just a few days earlier, I had steeled my heart for the news. In the last days of his life, his condition was not too different from that of a circus acrobat who had been exhausted from displaying his high-wire act, and could fall off at any moment. Manto was adamant that he would never falter, but his feet were no longer steady. Everyone who saw him knew that he was playing with death, and the end was near.

No matter what Manto might have stated, the truth was that he was tired of the game, and wished to be relieved of it at the earliest. The proceedings at his last public trial in Karachi for writing obscene literature ended rather quickly. Manto did not fulminate in his defence, nor instructed his legal counsellors to make a fuss. In fact, he uttered not a word in protest, and quietly paid the fine and returned home.

He had tired not only of lawsuits but also of life and literature. He had become aloof from family, and indifferent to social norms and etiquette. He was at that stage of decline when people of a weaker will put an end to their lives. While Manto’s remaining self-regard stood in the way, and he did not commit suicide, he nevertheless took a path that was the means to a similar end.

In literature, it is very difficult to say what will survive the test of time and what will be forgotten. But it can be said about Manto with great authority that he will always be remembered in Urdu literature as a rebel, and without him the literary history of his era would remain incomplete. It is an honour that will be denied his more prolific and better known contemporaries.

Manto’s struggle for freedom of expression has benefited all artists, regardless of their ideological associations. It has significantly loosened the iron grip on expression that existed before Manto’s trial, and has also made other artists less fearful and more forthright in a sincere and truthful relationship with their art, regardless of whether or not their creations may be considered high art.

Another characteristic that distinguishes Manto from his contemporaries was that he never played second fiddle to anyone and, for this reason, never attempted to join any group or association. He kept singing his own song, whether it was high or low, by himself. He neither needed anyone’s assistance, nor cared for it. It was this indifference which made him many enemies both in life and the literary world. But all their opposition came to naught before the public approbation that he garnered during his life, and which today has increased greatly upon his death.

— Translated by the columnist

The columnist is a novelist, author and translator.

He can be reached via his website: micromaf.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, December 29th, 2024