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Welcome once again to the special podcast of News 18. Please accept the greetings of Pooja Prasad. Friends, today I have brought for you a rebel writer of an era, who, through his writings, took off the blankets of the society, under which stench started to grow. I am talking about Saadat Hasan Manto whose writings do not awaken the senses, do not shock, do not thrill, disturb and many questions leave a whirlwind of questions…
Let’s listen to Manto’s story today artist people
Mahmood saw Jamila for the first time in Bagh-e-Jinnah. She was taking a stroll with her two friends. Everyone was wearing black burqas, but the niqabs were upside down. Mahmud started thinking. What kind of veil is this that the burqa is covered, but the face is naked. What is the meaning of this curtain after all? Mahmud was very impressed by Jamila’s beauty. ,Click here to listen to poems by Adam Gondvi)
She was laughing and playing with her friends. Mahmood started following him… He was not aware that he was getting involved in an immoral act. He stared at Jamila a hundred times. Apart from this, she also made gestures with her eyes once or twice, but Jamila did not consider her to be very patient and went on growing with her friends.
Her friends were also very beautiful, but Mehmood found in her such an attraction which is of magnatis with iron… He remained clinging to her. At one point he took courage and said to Jamila, “Huzoor, at least take care of your mask, it is flying in the air.” Jamila started making noise after hearing this. At this two police constables who were on duty in the garden at that time came running and asked Jamila, “What’s the matter sister?”
Jamila looked at Mehmood who was standing in awe and said, “This boy was flirting with me, he has been following me ever since I entered this garden.” The soldiers took a quick look at Mahmood and arrested him and put him in the lockup… but he got bail. Now the trial has started… there is no need to go to his Ruedad. Because these details are required… The short story is that Mahmood’s crime was proved and he was sentenced to two months imprisonment. His parents were poor. That’s why he could not appeal in the Court of Session. Mahmood was deeply troubled as to what was his fault. If he had liked a girl and wanted to have a few talks with her, then what is this crime, under whose influence he is suffering two months in prison.
He cried like a child many times in the jail… He was fond of drawing, but he was forced to grind it there. It was only twenty days since he was in jail that he was told that he had a meeting… Mahmood thought who was this meeting? His father was very angry with him. The mother was handicapped and had no relatives.
The constable took him to the door which was made of fire bars. He saw Jamila standing behind those bars… He was very surprised. She thought that she might have come to see someone else. But Jamila came to the bars and said to him, “I have come to see you.”
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Mahmood’s surprise increased even more, “From me…”
“Yes… I have come to apologize that I was in a hurry because of which you had to come here.”
Mahmood smiled, “Woe to be ashamed of this Zud-e-Pashema.”
Jamila said, “Is this Ghalib?”
“Yes, apart from Ghalib, who else can describe human emotion… I forgive you, but I cannot do you any service here. Because this is not my house, it belongs to the government… I am sorry for this.
Tears welled up in Jamila’s eyes, “I am your servant.”
For a few minutes, there were other talks between them, which were the measure of love… Jamila gave him a bar of soap, also offered sweets. After this she kept coming to meet Mahmud after every fortnight. During this, their love blossomed. Jamila told Mehmood one day, “I am fond of learning music… Nowadays I am taking lessons from Khan Sahib Salam Ali Khan.” Mahmood said to him, “I am fond of Musavwiri, I have no problem here in the jail… I am not afraid of hard work. But the fun towards which my health is inclined is not satisfied. There is no color or lacquer here. There is no paper, no pencil… just keep grinding the mill.
Jamila’s eyes started shedding tears again, “Only a few days are left now. Everything will be fine if you come out.” When Mahmood came out after being imprisoned for two months, Jamila was present at the door… in that black burqa which was now straw and torn from place to place. Both were artists. So they decided to get married…Chunache Shaadi Ho Gayi. Jamila’s parents had left some property, they built a small house with it and started living a happy life.
Mehmood started going to an art studio to fulfill his hobby of drawing… Jamila Khan again started taking training from Sahab Salam Ali Khan.
For one year, both of them kept getting training. Mahmood Musavwiri continued to learn and Jamila Moussiki. After that the whole situation was over and the matter came to the fore. But both were Art Shadai. He used to think that only those who throw away can reach the true meaning of their art. That’s why he was happy even in his time of poverty.
One day Jamila told her husband that she was getting tuition to teach music from a rich family. Hearing this, Mehmood said to him, “No, tuition and tuition are nonsense… We are artists.” His wife said lovingly, “But how will I live?” Mehmood, adjusting the collar of his frayed coat in a very aristocratic manner, replied, “An artist should not bother about these frivolous things. We live for Art… Art does not live for us.”
Jamila is happy to hear this, “But my dear you are learning Musavwiri… You have to pay the fees every month. There should be some arrangement for that too… Then there is food and drink. His expenses are different. “I have stopped taking Musavwiri’s training for the time being… it will be seen when the conditions are suitable.”
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The next day, when Jamila came home, she had fifteen rupees in her purse, which she handed over to her husband and said, “I have started tuition from today, I have received these fifteen rupees as an advance… You continue to learn the fun of Musavwiri. ”
Mehmood’s manly feelings were deeply hurt, “I don’t want you to do the work… I should do the work.” Jamila said in a special way, “Hi… I am your stranger. If I have settled somewhere for a while, then what is the problem in that… there are many nice people. The girl whom I teach music, is very sweet and intelligent.
Mahmood became silent after hearing this. He didn’t chat much.
After the second week he came with twenty five rupees and said to his wife, “I sold a painting of mine today, the buyer liked it very much. But it was special. Gave only twenty five rupees. Now it is expected that the market for my pictures will start working.
Jamila smiled, “Then you will be a very rich man.” Mahmood told him, “When my pictures start selling, I will not let you do tuitions.” Jamila fixed the knot of her husband’s tie and said lovingly, “You are my master, whatever you order, I will be handed over.” Both were very happy because they loved each other. Mahmud said to Jamila, “Now you don’t worry about anything. My work is successful… Four pictures will be sold by day after tomorrow and good prices will be recovered. Then you can continue your music training.
One day, when Jamila came home in the evening, her hair was covered with puffs of blown cotton, like white hairs in the beard of a middle-aged man. Mahmood apologized to her, “What condition have you kept your hair in… Do you go to teach music or work in a rust factory.” Jamila, who was dusting off the old cotton from Mehmood’s new quilt, smiled and said, “We are artists. We are not even aware of anything…”
Mahmood looked at his wife with a new hook in his mouth and said, “I really don’t have consciousness.” Jamila started combing Mehmood’s hair with her fingers. How did this blown cotton ball come to your head? Mehmood took a puff of hookah, “As it is in your head… we both work in the same war factory just for the sake of art.”
Story Credits: Rekhta
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