Pakistani Courts n Judiciary has seen so many ups n downs along with the movement to restore sacked judges n Judiciary...No Pakistani institute or department can be certified as clear steer of corruption n transparent ,one will find strange juxtaposing of vicious & noble -just like a human character-not perfect or completely devoid of any goodness and positivity
reading the English translation of Mantoo ka Muqqadma highlights the same fact about the typical behaviour of some judges n every one else in court rooms with a literary flavor...One enjoys Mantoo's narration of Obscenity Trial ...that is as follows.... "
here is the link to the post source followed by complete detail here too ...
http://pakistaniat.com/2009/10/08/saadat-hasan-manto-2/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+AllThingsPakistan+%28All+Things+Pakistan%29
ZEHMA-E-MARRI DARKHSHAAN
Aziz Akhmad
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Occasionally, we go back to the books and stories that we had first read years ago, in school or college. It can be fun - sometimes more than when we first read them.
When we re-read a book, we are not bothered about finding who does what to whom - we already know it. Rather, we pay attention to the language and other niceties of the writing. Plus, the additional education and exposure we may have acquired over the years provides a new perspective from which to look at the story. Also, while re-reading, we are more likely to read the author’s foreword, introduction or pesh lafz than we were when we first read the book. Personally, I always skipped the forewords.
Recently, when I revisited
Saadat Hasan Manto’s Thanda Gosht (’Cold Flesh,’ literally), a collection of stories so named because his famous (or infamous?) short story
Thanda Gosht is part of the collection, I read the foreword first. It is a fascinating read.
It is titled
Zehmat-i-Mehr-i-Darakhshan. A daunting name for most of us, but has a charming explanation once we understand its meaning and the context. In it,
Manto describes, in great detail, his thoughts, feelings and tribulations when he migrated from
Bombay to
Pakistan, in 1948. He also tells the story of his obscenity trial, which is absorbing and educative, perhaps more educative today than it was when written, 60 years ago.
Manto was probably the first writer tried for obscenity in Pakistan.
Here is the story, translated, paraphrased and abridged:
Zehmat-i-Mehr-i-Darakhshan
Having left
Bombay, I came to
Karachi and then proceeded to
Lahore, arriving there probably on the 7th or 8th of January 1948. Initially, for 3 months, I was totally lost. I didn’t quite know whether I was in
Bombay,
Karachi or
Lahore. I was confused, and unable to decide what to do for living. I would spend days sitting in a chair, lost in my thoughts.
Finally, one day, I woke out of my stupor to find that I had virtually no money left. I had spent all the money that I had brought from
Bombay, some on day-to-day household expenses and some at the bars in
Clifton,
Karachi.
Gradually, I reconciled with the reality that I was in
Lahore. I started looking for work.
I met my dear friends
Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi and Sahir Ludhianvi, and others. Everyone seemed to be in a state of paralysis like myself. It seemed as if the volcano of Partition that had just erupted had still some lava left trapped inside, still simmering. I thought, perhaps, there might be a few more tremors before things settle down and the air clears up.
I wanted to write, but could not focus my thoughts. I would roam around
Lahore all day, aimlessly, listening to what others said - incoherent, illogical arguments and unfounded political commentaries. My aimless wandering helped clear my mind though. I started writing light and humorous articles such as
“Naak ki qismayn” (Different types of noses),
“Deewaron par Likhna” (Writing on walls), which were published in
Imroz, a daily started by
Faiz and Chiragh Hasan Hasrat.
Even though I did not notice the change, the humor in my articles gradually began transforming into satire. I even managed to come up with sharp and hitting articles like
“Swal paida hota hai” (The question arises) and
“Swairay jo kal meri aankh khuli” (When I woke up early yesterday).
I was pleased with myself that, finally, I had managed to grope my way out of the surrounding gloom and haze. I began writing vigorously. The articles I wrote during that time were later published in a collection titled
“Talkh–o-Sheereen” (Bitter and sweet).
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->I was not inclined to write short stories. I found this form of writing very difficult.
About this time, my friend
Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi, having tired himself of writing trivial stuff, had resigned from Radio Pakistan Peshawar and moved to
Lahore. He started producing a monthly magazine,
Naqoosh. He requested me to write for his magazine. But I couldn’t. In spite of his repeated requests, I was unable to write anything. So much so, that Qasmi Sahib became upset with me. Finally, I brought myself to writing my first short story, in
Pakistan -
Thanda Gosht.
Qasmi Sahib read the story, silently, in my presence. While he was reading, I could not tell what he thought of the story. When he finished, however, he said apologetically,
‘Manto Sahib, the story is very good, but a bit too hot for Naqoosh.’ I didn’t argue with him and took the manuscript back, and told him: ‘No problem. I will write another story for you. You could collect it tomorrow evening.’
Qasmi Sahib came the next day. I was busy writing the last lines of the story “Khol do” (Open!). I told him, ‘please wait. I will complete the story in a few minutes and give it to you.’ Since the last lines were the most important lines of the story, Qasmi sahib had to wait for some time before I finished the story and handed it to him.
Qasmi sahib started reading the story and I watched his facial expressions change. When he reached the end, he looked shaken but remained quiet. ‘How do you like it?’ I asked.
He simply said, ‘OK, I will take it’, and left.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->
“Khol do” was published in
Naqoosh. Readers liked it. The last lines of the story seemed to have a jolting effect on everyone who read it. But then something else happened that shook us all.
The government [of Punjab] saw the story as a threat to public peace and order and promptly banned the publication of the magazine for 6 months. Newspapers wrote against the ban but the ban stayed.
Later one day, I jokingly told Qasmi sahib that had he published
Thanda Gosht instead of
Khol Do, perhaps he would have escaped the catastrophe that befell his magazine. However, the ban was eventually lifted even before the 6-month period.
Sometime after the ban on
Naqoosh was imposed, the deputy editor of the monthly
Adb-i-Latif came and took the manuscript of
Thanda Gosht from me for publishing. The manuscript was set into type, proofread, and was almost ready to be printed when someone in the staff noticed the story, and the story was withheld. Again, another attempt was made to print the story but without success. Finally,
Adbe-i-Latif returned the manuscript to me.
Meanwhile, Mumtaz Shireen in
Karachi had written me several letters requesting for a story for her magazine,
Naya Daur. I sent her
Thanda Gosht. After considerable time, she replied saying the story was good; that she liked it very much, but was not sure if the government would allow it to be published. Thereafter, I decided not to publish the story anywhere.
As it happened, however, young Arif Abdul Mateen was appointed editor of monthly
Javed. He started insisting that I should give him
Thanda Gosht for publication. I finally relented. Arif published the story in
Javed’s special addition, which appeared in March 1949.
When the magazine hit the newsstands, nothing happened. One week, two weeks, three weeks, four weeks, and still no sign of any trouble. I was satisfied that no calamity was going to strike
Thanda Gosht anymore. I was wrong.
The reins of the Government Press Department at the time were in the old and shaky hands of Chaudhry Muhammad Hussain. Even with those shaky hands, the old chaudhry managed to pull at the reins with a sharp tug and the police jumped into motion.
The office of the magazine and all its distribution outlets were raided and the copies of the magazine seized.
The matter was referred to the Press Advisory Board, which would decide whether the case against the magazine be pursued in a court of law or dropped. The board consisted of prominent editors and publishers of major newspapers and magazines of the time.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz, who was then the editor of
Pakistan Times was also the convener of the board. Other members were F.W. Beston (spelling?) of
Civil and Military Gazette, Maulana Akhter Ali of
Zamindar, Hameed Nizami of
Nawa-i-Waqt, Waqar Anbalvi of
Safina, Amninuddin Sehrai of
Jadeed Nizam.
Naseer Anwer, publisher of
Javed, represented the offending magazine while Chaudhry Mohammad Hussain of the Press Department appeared from the government’s side.
Chaudhry Hussain began by presenting the special issue of the offending magazine and mentioned the politically “rebellious” and “provocative” nature of the articles and poems usually published in this magazine, naming specific articles and poems. Faiz did not agree and refuted the government’s allegations. Other members agreed with Faiz and the political accusations fell flat. However, when the discussion shifted to
Thanda Gosht, all hell seemed to break loose.
Faiz declared the story not obscene. Maulana Akhter Ali, however, thundred: “No, never, this kind of literature will not be allowed in
Pakistan!” Mr. Sehrai agreed with the Maulana. Waqar Anbalvi, too, condemned the story. Hamid Nizami sided with Nawa-i-Waqt. Mr. F. W. Beston, editor of
The Civil and Military Gazette, an Englishman, did not quite understand the story. Therefore, Chaudhry Mohammad Hussain proceeded to explain in English: “The essence of the story is”, he said, “that we, Muslims, are so characterless that we even allow Sikh men to rape our dead women.” Faiz and Naseer Anwar could hardly suppress their laughter and tried to reason with Chaudhry Hussain, but the chaudhry did not relent. Finally,
the board decided to refer the matter to a court of law.
Within days, Naseer Anwer and Arif Abdul Mateen, the publisher and editor, respectively, of the offending magazine were arrested. A few days later, a police sub-inspector rang my doorbell.
When I opened the door, it was police sub-inspector, Chaudhry Khuda Bakhsh. He had been looking for me for the past few days, but each time I wasn’t home.
He greeted me very politely and told me to come to the Civil Lines police station the next morning, and helpfully added, ‘bring along a friend so that bail could be posted.’ He was an extremely decent person.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Next morning, I presented myself at the police station, along with my friend Sheikh Salim. He signed the required papers and we were done with the first stage of the case.
Arif Abdul Matin, the editor of the “offending” magazine, however, was very worried. [He, too, along with the publisher was released on bail.] But his throat would get dry when talking about the upcoming case. I wondered, being a member of the communist party, why was he so scared of a court trial.
Anyway, we received our summonses, and turned up at the district courts on the date fixed for court hearing.
This was nothing new for me. I had been to these courts before, in connection with my last three cases [before Partition]. They call the place district courts (
zilla kutcherry), but it is a squalid place. There are flies, mosquitoes, insects - and dust - everywhere. You hear the clatter of ancient typewriters, the jangling of shackles worn by prisoners brought by the police for their court hearings. There are these rickety wooden chairs, mostly with one leg missing and their cane seats sagging and torn. In the rooms, the plaster on the walls is peeling off. The grounds, devoid of any green, look like the bald head of a wretched and grubby Kashmiri [Manto, incidentally, himself was an ethnic Kashmiri]. Burka clad women sit on bare, dust-covered floors. People curse and shout.
Inside, magistrates, sit at cluttered and dirty tables, hearing cases and, at the same time, chatting with pals sitting next to them.
It is not easy to describe this place in words alone. Everything is weird here - the atmosphere, the language, the jargon. It is truly a strange place. May God keep everyone away from these courts.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Everything here moves on “wheels” (bribe). If you need a copy of a court document, you need to have “wheels” (bribe) to your application; if you need to scrutinize a court document, again, you need “wheels” to your request; and, if you need to meet with an official, it’s the “wheels”, again. If you need something to be done urgently, the number of “wheels” increases.
You don’t have to look too hard to know how things move here. Even a casual observer will notice that every thing in the district courts moves on “wheels” - four wheels, from one office to another, eight, from the second office to the third, and so on …
Back to our court hearing. I needed a lawyer. I ran into Tassadaq Hussain Khalid in the courts, who volunteered his services and said he would be delighted to be my defense lawyer. I gratefully accepted his offer.
All the accused,
Naseer Anwer (publisher),
Arif Mateen (the editor) and I, appeared before
Mian A. M. Saeed P.C.S., Magistrate Class-I. The magistrate had been a captain in the army, but, now, was wielding the scales of justice rather than a gun.
He was a dark complexioned, slim man with small but sharp eyes. He sat rather pompously in his chair while we stood in the dock, the enclosure meant for the accused.
The magistrate didn’t seem to notice us. Rather, he looked at my lawyer and said something to him. Our respective bail papers were processed and a new date for hearing was fixed. We said salaams to the magistrate and came out of the court.
It was June, and very hot. Our throats were parched. But Arif Matin’s throat, especially, was bone dry. I wished there were a member of the [communist] party present there to watch him.
We went through two or three more similar, perfunctory, hearings in the next few weeks. The court procedures were such that, on the day of hearing, your turn to appear in court could come any time. Therefore, we had to hover outside the courtroom, in the extremely hot weather, lest our name was called and we weren’t there. That would have terribly upset the magistrate. We couldn’t afford doing that. His attitude was already hostile.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->It seemed as if the magistrate had already made up his mind to judge against us. My lawyer, in fact, suggested that we file a request for transferring the case to another court. But I didn’t agree, thinking that another judge may not be much different. So, we went through the next two or three short hearings.
Persons who appeared from the prosecution side were:
Mr. Mohammad Yakoob, manager Kapoor Art Press,
Lahore;
Sheikh Tufail Haleem, Assistant Superintendent D.C. Office,
Lahore;
Syed Ziauddin, translator for
Punjab government and few others.
Syed Ziauddin stated that, in his opinion,
Thanda Gosht was obscene - all of it. Answering a question from my lawyer, he said even though the writer means well, but the words and expressions he has chosen are bad.
To a question by the lawyer, “shouldn’t the writer put words in the mouth of his characters that they normally use and which reflect their true personality?” the witness answered: “Yes, the words of conversation should reflect the personalities of the characters.” The witness also agreed that it was the writer’s job to create both good and bad characters.
After the statements of the prosecution witnesses, the magistrate went through the formality of asking us some procedural questions, which went something like this:
Court: You are accused of writing
Thanda Gosht, which was published in a special edition of the magazine called
Javed. This is an offense under section 292 of the
Pakistan penal code. Why shouldn’t you be punished for this?
Manto (through Mr. Khalid, the lawyer): Yes, I did write
Thanda Gosht and gave it to the said magazine for publication. No, I do not consider it obscene. On the contrary, I believe it is reformative.
Court: Then why were you charged?
Manto: The police would know better. Their standpoint on morality and reform is different than ours.
Court: Do you want to say anything more?
Manto: No, not at this point.
The court then asked us to give a list of our defense witnesses. We had already worked it out. There were 32 names, which we presented to the court.
When the magistrate saw the list, he blew up, saying, “This is a crowd. I can’t have all of them”. My lawyer argued that each witness was important for the defense, but the magistrate did not agree. Rather, he proceeded to make fun of some of the names. Going down the list, when he came to
Mumtaz Shireen’s name, he asked: “Who is this Mumtaz Shanti?” The court staff thought it was funny and, dutifully, they all laughed. We remained silent, suppressing our indignation.
After a great deal of discussion, the magistrate agreed to a shortened list of 14 defense witnesses. Summonses were issued to them.
I did not purposely meet any of the witnesses beforehand because I wanted to hear them comment on the story independently, and wanted to know what they really thought of it.
On the given hearing date, the witnesses had to be present in the court early morning. I felt guilty for them because they had to leave whatever they did to come to the court, and had to wait outside the courtroom for hours, waiting to be called at any time.
Our first defense witness was
Syed Abid Ali Abid (M.A., LLB), Principal Dayal Singh College Lahore. He stated: “I have read
Thanda Gosht. It’s an outstanding piece of literature. I have read all of Manto’s writings. Among the prominent short story writers, after Prem Chand, Manto has a special position. The predominant impression one gets from reading
Thanda Gosht is of the punishment that Isher Singh (the main character of the story) is meted out by nature, by turning him impotent - for his inhuman act (trying to rape a dead woman).”
Answering another question from the court, Abid Sahib said: “From Wali to Gahalib, everyone, at some time, has written what is generally labeled as obscene. Literature can never be obscene. And, what Manto writes is literature.”
Prosecution: Is literature produced for the sake of literature?”
Abid Sahib: “I have already said, literature is criticism of life. And that should answer your question. The words and deeds of every reasonable person have meanings. But everyone is not reasonable. Every word and deed can be good or bad in the eyes of society. And there are several yardsticks to judge good and bad.”
Answering another question from the prosecution, Abid Sahib said: “All my sons and daughters have read this story. I have had academic discussion with one of my daughters, a fourth year student in college, on many subjects, including matters related to sex, which also happens to be part of her syllabus. On
Thanda Gosht, I have also had discussion with several literary persons. They have all appreciated it.”
The next defense witness was
Mr. Ahmed Saeed, Professor of psychology,
Dayal Singh College,
Lahore. He stated: “
Thanda Gosht is not obscene. It discusses a serious sexual problem. In my view, obscenity is not something absolute. It is relative. A story like
Thanda Gosht can only badly influence (in the sexual sense) a person who is mentally sick.
Our third witness was
Khalifa Abdul Hakim (M.A, LLB, Ph. D.), former Director Education Kashmir. He stated: “Every human personality has elements of both good and bad. The writer’s job is to present different facets of human personality in such a manner that helps in understanding the realities of life. An evil character should be presented in a way that his evil deeds arouse disgust and repulsion.”
Khalifa Sahib also added: “Reading the story in question, you feel disgusted at Ishwar Singh, the main character in the story, and begin to hate him. His is an accurate characterization. Under certain circumstances, such characters, in spite of being otherwise healthy, can become psychologically impotent [as mentioned in the story].”
All these statements were pretty lengthy - and scholarly. The magistrate had to write them down, word for word. He would often get exasperated and say to himself: “Am I a magistrate or a
muharrar (stenographer)?” However, he did manage to do what had to be done.
Another interesting thing that happened during the hearing was that I was holding a can of cigarettes, probably Craven A. (This brand of cigarettes, and several others, came in round attractive cans of 40 or 50 cigarettes those days). When the magistrate noticed it, he admonished me angrily. “This is a court of law, not your home”. I answered respectfully: “Your honor, but I am not smoking. I am just holding the can.” The magistrate shouted back, even more loudly: “Keep quiet! And put the can in your pocket!” I obeyed. The magistrate, then, picked up his can of cigarettes from the table, lighted a cigarette and started smoking. And, I, standing in the dock, kept breathing in - hungrily - the smoke that wafted through the courtroom.
Aziz Akhmad
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->
Zehmat-i-Mehr-i-Darakhshan (continued…) On the next hearing,
Mr. Tassadaq Hussain Khalid, my lawyer, could not attend because of some family exigencies. We got a new date, but Mr. Khalid could not make it to that hearing either. I requested the magistrate for another postponement but he refused and ordered the proceedings to begin. I was helpless.
Dr. Saeedullah, (M.A, Ph.D, D.Sc.), who was a civilian officer in the Pakistan Air Force those days and was number four on our list of witnesses, was called to the witness stand. I didn’t know what to do without a lawyer. But, since a lot of legal blood flowed through the veins in my family -most of my elders were lawyers, my father had been a sub-judge, two older brothers were barristers - I gathered enough courage to start examining
Dr. Saeedullah myself.
Every now and then, the magistrate would interrupt me saying I could not ask this or that question, but I persisted. I was only half way through examining Dr. Saeedullah when four young, smart lawyers, in black coats, entered the courtroom. One of them, wearing a thin mustache and a dusky complexion, moved towards my enclosure and, leaning against the railing, whispered in my ear: “Manto Sahib, can we be your lawyers?”
Without a second thought, I said yes. The young lawyer started examining the witness without much ado. The magistrate interrupted: “Who are you?” The lawyer smiled and answered: “Sir, I am Mr. Manto’s lawyer. Yes, Manto Sahib?” I nodded in affirmative. His other three colleagues also started taking part in the proceedings. Their youthful confidence and enthusiasm was fascinating. The magistrate, annoyed at the intrusive lawyers, asked: “Why are you intervening? Who are you?” “ We are also lawyers for the accused. Isn’t that so, Manto Sahib?” I nodded, again, as before.
Dr. Saeedullah continued his statement:
“After reading
Thanda Gosht, I have become cold flesh myself. Sorrow and gloom was what I felt after reading the story. The story does not agitate you sexually… The writer has used profanities at times to present Ishar Singh’s true character. But he has used them in such a way that they do not sound like profanities. Even if they did, in my opinion, the overall story isn’t obscene… I believe, a profanity is not necessarily obscene by itself. A good writer would not use a profanity unless he has to… In this story, the writer has handled profanities skillfully.”
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->The prosecutor, (one
Mr. Iqbal) then, proceeded to cross-examine the witness. He asked: “Different writers have been given different titles according to what they write. For example, Rashidul Khairi is called the ‘painter of pathos’ (
mussavar-i-gham), Allama Iqbal, the ‘painter of reality or Truth’ (
mussavar-i-Haqeeqat) and Khawaja Hasan Nizami, the painter of nature. How would you …” Doctor Saeedullah got the drift of the question and interrupted the prosecutor in mid sentence and said: “ I would give the writer of
Thanda Gosht the title of ‘
Musavvar –e- Hayat’ or the painter of life.”
It was now
Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s turn to take the witness stand. He said:
“In my opinion, the story in question is not obscene. It is meaningless to declare individual words in a story as obscene or otherwise. While criticizing a story, one needs to keep in mind the whole story and the context… Nakedness by itself is not obscenity… The writer of
Thanda Gosht has not written anything obscene, but the story does not come up to higher standards of literature either, for there is no analysis of the basic problems of life in the story.”
Under cross-examination, Faiz said: “I would not mind using phrases like
‘meri baphian lay rahay thay’ (they were necking),
‘Munh bhar bhar kay bosay liye’ (they had a mouthful of a kiss) or
‘choos choos kar sara seena thookon say lathairr diya’ (he slathered her breasts with saliva). Use of such phrases is legitimate, if the story so demands. The words may not sound mannerly, but they are literary necessities ”.
The next on the witness stand was
Soofi Tabassum, Professor Government College Lahore. He stated:
“The story
Thanda Gosht does not affect public morality. It is possible, though, that some of the sentences in the story, read separately, may sound obscene … a literary story or piece of literature cannot be obscene… the reader also has an independent mind and judgment. It’s not only the writers’ motive that influences the reader.”
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Getting nowhere with Soofi Sahib, prosecutor Iqbal shot probably the last arrow in his quiver: “If a writing negatively affects the morals of the society, wouldn’t you hold the writer responsible?”
Without batting an eye, Soofi Sahib answered: “The author is absolved.”
Exasperated, the prosecutor asked: “What is, then, an immoral writing?”
Soofi Sahib: “immoral writing is where the sole object of the writer is to undermine morality and encourage lustful or lewd conduct.”
Our next witness was was
Dr. I. Lateef, Head of The Psychology Dept. F.C. College Lahore. I had heard his name but had never seen him before. He was sitting with the magistrate when Soofi Sahib was giving his statement and holding the Special Edition of
Javed in his hands. I had not paid attention to him until he started speaking:
“I have just read
Thanda Gosht. I think, the story should not have been published in a popular magazine. Were it published as a case history in a scientific journal, discussing impotency or otherwise, it would not be obscene… I would consider the offending words in the story obscene only when used in ordinary conversation, but in a case history, they would be considered important.”
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Then, suddenly, in the midst of his statement, Dr. Lateef looked around and asked “who is Mr. Manto?” When I said ‘Janab yeh khaksar hai’ (it’s me!), I noticed the doctor’s sharp and pointed mustache quiver a bit. He didn’t say anything to me and continued with his statement.
My lawyer whispered into my ear “Manto Sahib, your witness has turned hostile. You may cross-examine him”. I said let it be, but the lawyer did ask him a question to which the doctor replied: “The story should not have been published in a magazine that can be read by young and old, boys and girls alike, for such impressionable minds can get agitated by reading this kind of stuff.
When the cross-examination finished, the doctor came to me, shook my hand and said, “if you had called me as a witness, you should have, at least, met me beforehand”. I said smilingly, “Inshallah, next time.” He shook my hand, again, and left.
I would like to say something here about those young lawyers who had a made a dramatic entrance into the courtroom in my defense. The man with thin mustache, sharp nose and dusky complexion was
Sheikh Khurshid Ahmed. The coffee house would be incomplete without him. The other three were
Mr. Mazharul Haq,
Mr. Sardar Mohammad Iqbal and
Mr. Ejaz Mohammad Khan. They had heard in the barroom that I didn’t have a lawyer and was conducting my own case. They decided to help me.
Contrary to the earlier agreement between the defense and the court, whereby the court had accepted a list of 14 defense witnesses, the magistrate, after hearing only seven, wouldn’t allow any more witnesses. Instead, the court produced four “heavyweight” prosecution witnesses of its own to counter the detailed and scholarly arguments put up by the defense. They were:
Maulana Tajwar Najeebabadi, Professor Dayal Singh College Lahore;
Shorish Kashmiri, Editor weekly
Chattan,
Abu Saeed Bazmi, Editor
Ehsan Lahore and Dr.
Mohammad Din Taseer, Principal Islamia College Lahore.
The first three condemned
Thanda Gosht, unequivocally, as obscene while Dr. Taseer disapproved of it but didn’t quite call it obscene.
Finally, after lumbering through several hearings and postponements, the trial came to an end and the
“judgment day”, literally, arrived on 16 January 1950.
We anxiously waited all day outside the courtroom until we were called in at 5
Mian A. M. Saeed, Magistrate Class-I, sat there, absorbed in his thoughts, with the pen tucked in his teeth, staring at the papers lying in front of him. The tension in the room was palpable. My heart was beating hard.
Arif Abdul Matin (the editor of the “offending” magazine) repeatedly licked his dry lips. The few press reporters in the room, with their notepads and pencils at the ready, waited impatiently. For a while, there was silence in the room. Then, the magistrate cleared his throat, released the pen from his teeth, dipped it in ink, turned the papers back and forth, filled some blanks on them, and
announced the judgment: Guilty!
I was sentenced to undergo rigorous imprisonment (
qaid-ba-mushaqqat) for 3 months and pay a fine of Rs 300 or, in case of non-payment of the fine, additional imprisonment for 21 days. The other two accused,
Naseer Anwer and
Arif Abdul Mateen, the publisher and editor, respectively, were also found guilty but only fined Rs. 300 each or, in case of non-payment, would serve rigorous imprisonment for 21 days. It was a harsh punishment, more than we had expected.
I paid the fine and, simultaneously, my lawyer,
Sheikh Khurshid Ahmed, applied for bail pending an appeal to the Sessions court. After some haggling, the magistrate reluctantly agreed to grant me bail, which meant I didn’t have to go to jail until my appeal was decided. The others paid their fine, too, and decided to appeal.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->We requested the court for a copy of the judgment, which we needed to file an appeal. We didn’t get it, but when we attached “wheels” to the request, we promptly received a copy.
We filed an appeal in the court of
Mr. Mehrul Haq, Sessions Judge Lahore, on
28 January 1950. When the appeal came up for hearing, Mr. Haq, declined to hear it on the grounds that he knew my family very well as we both came from
Amritsar, and transferred the case to
Additional Sessions judge Mr. Joshua (full name not given).
Mr. Joshua, too, declined to hear the case saying that since he did not understand Urdu very well he would not understand the short story in question. He transferred the case back to Mr. Merhrul Haq. After giving it some thought, Mr. Haq transferred the case to
Additional Sessions Judge Inayatullah Khan.
Finally, when we appeared before Mr. Inayatullah Khan, he told my lawyer that this case was the first its kind before him, therefore, he needed time to study it carefully. He said he needed a month’s time. My lawyer agreed and July 10 was fixed for the first hearing. When we came out of the courtroom, he told me that this would also give him sufficient time to prepare the case well. But he also expressed concern about the judge. He said the judge was not only a practicing Muslim, who grew a beard, prayed and fasted regularly, but was known to be a narrow minded person. I said, never mind, if need be, we could always go to the high court. So, we settled to appear before judge Inayatullah Khan.
Meanwhile, he (my lawyer) asked me to write a short explanatory note on
Thanda Gosht for his guidance, which I did.
July 10, 1950. The date of court hearing. I was terribly anxious. Everyone in my family prayed for me. The judge had set aside 4 hours for discussion of the case. I was only hoping that that judge would not turn out to be hostile like Mian A. M. Saeed, the magistrate who had earlier convicted me.
When we appeared in the court, the judge turned to Sheikh Khurshid, my lawyer, and softly said, “excuse me, you will have to wait for about half an hour, I have a few things to sort out before we can start.” We came out of the courtroom.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Arif Mateen was silent. Sheikh Khurshid was also silent. He had brought thick volumes of law books with him. Possibly, he was consulting them in his mind. I was already thinking of the next step - the High Court. Naseer Anwer, the publisher, spread his handkerchief on a thin patch of grass on the ground outside the courtroom and sat on it, humming a song.
After about 45 minutes, we were called in. We, the three accused, proceeded towards the dock to stand there, as we always did in the lower court, but the judge quietly said, “please, you may take a seat.” First, I thought the judge was talking to someone else, but then I realized he was addressing us, the accused. I was pleasantly surprised. We sat down.
The judge said: “I have studied the case thoroughly… I have studied the judgment of the lower court… I have also read the story
Thanda Gosht very carefully.” Then he proceeded to discuss some legal points with both the defense and prosecution lawyers, asked for some explanations. After about half an hour of legal hairsplitting, the judge looked at the audience, to no one in particular, and said smilingly: “If I punish Saadat Hasan Manto, he would blame my beard for it”, and continued commenting on the judgment of the lower court for sometime.
<!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->Finally, he turned to us and asked: “Have you already paid the fine?” We all said, yes. The judge, then, without raising his voice, announced:
“You are all acquitted. The fine you have paid will be reimbursed to you.”
The judge had announced the verdict so unexpectedly that I didn’t quite absorb the announcement and continued sitting in my chair. Sheikh Khurshid, my lawyer, shook my shoulder and said, “get up, you are acquitted!”
When I came out of the courtroom and tipped Rs.10 each to the
chaprassis (menial staff), only then I realized I was free. I was happy and thanked God that the nightmare was finally behind me. Sheikh Khurshid was also very happy, and justifiably so.
Sometime after my acquittal, I received a letter from an officer cadet from Kohat, Mazhar Ali Khan. It read:
“I hope you would remember who I am. After meeting you at Riaz Sahib’s shop a few times, I had become your ardent fan. I read in the papers that you have finally gotten over the problems related to
Thanda Gosht. I am sorry, I could not send you a letter of congratulations earlier. Even though belated, please do accept my congratulations. I am sure, with all that opposition you have faced, the number of your fans will increase even further.”
“I have heard that Chaudhry Mohammad Hussain [the person who had originally triggered the charge against
Thanda Gosht], who kept you busy for so long, has passed away. Without him, it won’t be fun anymore. But there is no shortage in this world of mad (
sar phiray) people. Someone else would take his place. “
I was sad to hear about Chaudhry Mohammad Hussain’s death. May God bless him. Since he is no more in this world, I don’t want to say anything about him. If anyone else takes his place, all I will say is:
sar-i-dostaN salaamat, keh tu khanjar aazmaai
