A Journal of Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya

such scenes on TV screen happening every
day. I can recall only this much—
It had rained heavily that morning.
Frightened, we stayed secluded, self-imprisoned,
within our own home. What is it like
to feel alienated in one’s own home, you
may imagine that. On that day we had an
early supper. As none of us was interested
in the telecast stories of false encounters,
we went to bed early. I came into my room,
closed the window and lay down quietly.
No. Oh! I must beg your pardon for that
weird dream. But, that night, Manto was in
my room once again. And this was not a
whim of my eyes.
‘Let us go for an outing.’
‘Have you gone crazy! ...There is a
curfew-like noiselessness outside.’
‘I know. The conditions are not good.’
‘Then? The police will arrest you.’
‘It won’t arrest,’ he said laughing, ‘Perform
an encounter directly.’
‘You know all this..., yet a proposal of
an outing!’
Suddenly he turned grave.
‘Nothing will happen. We shall get back
after a round of a mile or two.’
‘A mile or two...on foot?’
‘Sssh! I’ve got a car, by stealth...,’ he
was laughing. ‘It is known to a few only that
I had chauffeured for Quayade-Azam-
Mohammad Ali Jinnah too.’
‘I know. You drove his car into a
collision.’
Manto was laughing. ‘You needn’t
worry. I shall be driving this time carefully.’
I looked at the clock. It was three at
night.
The road was deserted. I opened the
window. The ground was still wet. I couldn’t
understand what an attraction was there in
this 42-43 years old, lean and thin creative
writer that I accompanied him, enchanted.
The road, wet because of the rain, the
sounds of dogs barking and whining. We took
seats in the car. It sped fast. Drowsing police
vans appeared at short interval. But Manto
was lost in his own thoughts. It seemed as
of he desired to fill up his eyes with the
vision of the city and its solitude. At one
or two places the police stopped us and asked
him a question or two. What answer a
laughing Manto gave them is unknown to
me. I only saw this much that in the dark
Manto had put a holy sandal mark on his
forehead. He would laugh over the fright
that held me captive.
‘Hadn’t I told you that nothing was going
to happen to us?...Let’s cover just a little
more distance...’
And now Manto steered the car into
such a direction as made me cry out :
‘Where are you going?’
‘Sssh!’ he put his finger on his lips.
‘History does not die in such a short span
of time. No need to say anything. Just keep
on moving.’
January-March 2012 :: 131