Madness Without Borders: Revisiting Toba Tek Singh
Manto’s satire, Mehta’s film, and the enduring metaphor of Partition
The Story
Ketan Mehta’s 2018 film Toba Tek
Singh, based on Saadat Hasan Manto’s iconic short story, compelled me to
revisit the original text.
First published in 1955 in Phundne
(Loose Ends), the story emerged when Gandhi and Jinnah were gone, the tornado
of Partition had passed, but survivors were still piecing together their
shattered lives. Amrita Pritam had already captured Punjab’s anguish in Ajj
Akhhan Waris Shah Nu (1947–48) and Pinjar (1950). Khushwant Singh’s Train
to Pakistan followed in 1956, while Bhisham Sahni’s Tamas came much
later in 1974.
Reckoned as Manto’s most poignant
Partition story, its central metaphor—Bishan Singh lying in no-man’s land
between India and Pakistan—became a lasting symbol of absurdity and human
tragedy. Added poignancy lies in the fact that Manto did not live to witness
the enduring impact of what became his most famous Partition story. He passed
away in January 1955 at the age of 43.
I had read this story years ago, and
read it again after watching the film.
Manto takes Partition to the Lahore
Mental Asylum. Two or three years after Partition, the authorities in both
countries decide to exchange inmates, who make innocent queries: Where is
Pakistan? Where is Hindustan? We were in India, have not moved from this
place—how then are we now in Pakistan?
Bishan Singh has only one query—Where
is Toba Tek Singh? He simply wants to return to his village, neither to India
nor Pakistan. The confusion and anxiety of the inmates is a counterpoint to the
madness of the world outside. Politics, religion, boundary lines—and all those
involved in those affairs—are “mad.” A brutal commentary on the tragedy brought
upon by men’s politics, passions, and prejudices.
Whenever the inmates discussed
Partition, Bishan Singh listened intently:
“कोई उससे पूछता था कि उसका क्या ख़याल है तो वो बड़ी संजीदगी से जवाब देता, ‘ओपड़ दी गुड़ गुड़ दी अनैक्स दी बे ध्याना दी मंग दी दाल ऑफ़ दी पाकिस्तान गर्वनमेंट।’
लेकिन बाद में ‘ऑफ़ दी पाकिस्तान गर्वनमैंट’ की जगह ‘ऑफ़ दी टोबा टेक सिंह गर्वनमेंट’ ने ले ली…”
His nonsensical yet oddly structured
gibberish—half sense, half satire—becomes a mirror to the absurdity of
Partition itself.
The story raises searing questions.
One inmate declares he is God, another becomes Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali
Jinnah, yet another Master Tara Singh. Aren’t those who decided to partition
the country—the British government, feuding leaders, and field functionaries—playing
god?
Madness outside, madness inside—which
is more dangerous?
What’s more incomprehensible—Bishan
Singh’s gibberish, or the arbitrary decision to amputate a civilisation without
anaesthesia?
Why does Bishan Singh refuse to budge
from no-man’s land? Is it obstinate refusal to be uprooted, or an insane
person’s dignified protest at the insanity of Partition and displacement,
sacrificing his life in defiance?
Manto: A Brief Sketch
To understand the depth of Toba Tek
Singh, it helps to step back and look at Manto himself—his life, struggles,
and the Partition trilogy that shaped his legacy.
A Kashmiri, born in Samrala in
Ludhiana, Manto received early education in Amritsar. He joined Aligarh Muslim
University but did not complete his studies there. He worked as a journalist in
Amritsar, went over to Lahore, then worked in All India Radio, Delhi, and later
went over to Bombay. After Partition, he migrated to Lahore.
In a way, Manto ironically died in a
no-man’s land, like Bishan Singh of Toba Tek Singh.
Manto might be derived from munt,
a Kashmiri measurement for weight, he says in his Pandit Manto’s First
Letter to Pandit Nehru.
The Eminent Urdu Writer Who Failed in Urdu
He was an average student, and even
failed in Urdu, mentions Khushwant Singh in his introductory words in DD’s
telefilm Toba Tek Singh. Yet, Manto is counted among the greatest
storytellers in Urdu despite his brief life and modest literary output. A
creative writer is not evaluated by the volume of his writing, but by its
intensity and impact.
Manto was persecuted and prosecuted
for his stories both in undivided India and in Pakistan. He was not convicted
in any case, yet the long legal battles ruined him financially, and sapped his
creative energy. He died a broken man.
Manto’s Partition Trilogy
Toba Tek Singh is significantly different from his other
famous Partition stories. Khol Do and Thanda Gosht capture the
murderous, rapacious brutality of Partition. The wound was still raw and
bleeding, and Manto didn’t flinch from putting it up close for his readers to
see. The pain is palpable and unbearable.
Toba Tek Singh, written years after Partition, provided
Manto the chronological and objective distance to write a satire—much different
from the shocking, sombre depictions in his earlier stories. That may be why
TTS is amenable to theatre and film, while the other stories remain too stark,
dark, and heart-rending for dramatic presentation.
The Film by Ketan Mehta
It was fascinating to see a
full-length film developed from a short story—to note the additions,
elaborations, and improvisations in the screenplay, the Lahore Mental Asylum
set, and the memorable performance by Pankaj Kapoor as Bishan Singh. Yet,
Manto’s core story was rendered faithfully, with almost all key dialogues and
episodes retained. Mehta has done a fine job creating characters out of Manto’s
brief portrayals.
Reading the story, watching the film,
and then returning to the text was a deeply fulfilling emotional
circumambulation.
DD Telefilm and Other Films
To evaluate earlier treatments, I also
watched Doordarshan’s 1980 telefilm in which Manohar Singh performed as Bishan
Singh, Raghuvir Yadav had a minor role, and the production was directed by B.
M. Shah, a noted NSD (National School of Drama) director. The film is notable
for its stark, minimalist staging. It may also have provided a template for the
later films by Ketan Mehta, and PTV.
This film begins with the family feud
in Toba Tek Singh village. Bishan Singh’s three younger brothers insist upon
partition of their ancestral land which drives Bishan crazy. This domestic
partition foreshadows the partition of the country that follows.
This film also introduces a rape
victim—not part of Manto’s Toba Tek Singh story, but borrowed from Khol
Do. Ketan Mehta’s film also retains this addition, though with some change.
The DD telefilm is quite good, but a
little preachy and sermonising, especially the recurring theme song.
PTV (Pakistan TV) had also made a film
in 1988, but I couldn’t find a full link. Someday, I may watch that too.
I’ve also previously watched Manto—an
excellent biographical film by Nandita Das.
My Recommendation
Should you read the story? Yes.
Perhaps, you should read all three
stories in Manto’s Partition trilogy—Khol Do (1948), Thanda Gosht
(1949), and Toba Tek Singh (1955).
Should you watch the film? Yes. Which
one? Ketan Mehta’s. Also, DD telefilm, if you wish to check the significant difference
in screenplay and performance.
My rating: 8.5/10.
Partition Trauma
Born years after independence, my
first memories are of our Primary School’s Prabhat Pheri—morning
processions in muddy village streets, holding paper flags and singing Raghupati
Raghava Raja Ram…, followed by flag hoisting. August 15 was a day of joy.
Growing up far from the killing fields
of Punjab and Bengal, we had little reason to learn about Partition trauma.
Textbooks said little. Yet, Partition stories reached me not through books, but
through people.
I vaguely knew that residents of
Contractors’ Colony near my house at Burla were refugees from Punjab. Many had
found petty contract jobs in Hirakud Dam Project, some prospered, others
managed a decent living. They spoke Punjabi and Hindi, rarely mentioning their
trauma in public.
Later, I met refugees from East Bengal
at Pakhanjore, Bastar—uprooted from lush paddy fields and rivers teeming with
fish, and marooned in the wilderness of Dandakaranya forest. Even four decades
later, they had not reconciled to displacement.
I met refugees from Sind and West
Punjab at other places. At Raigarh, a Sindhi refugee—by then a successful LIC
agent—once told me: “Would you believe, I once pushed a hand-cart selling
watermelon slices for two annas each?”
At Satna, when refugees finally
received pattas for plots they had long occupied, many teared up in relief.
As an adult, books and films deepened
my understanding of the Partition holocaust, humbling me further.
Recently, at the Partition Museum in
Amritsar, I saw a heart-rending artefact—a large saw wedged in the middle of a
red brick wall.
Whenever I return to Partition
narratives, that haunting image resurfaces—an unyielding reminder of wounds
that refuse to heal.
A powerful essay. The closing
"Partition Trauma" section elevates it beyond a book/film review and
turns it into a meditation on memory, displacement, and history—giving the
piece its distinctive personal signature.
***
Postscript
Toba Tek Singh
Toba Tek Singh
is not a fictional place, but a real village. It is a city now, and a district headquarters
in Pakistan, about 250 kms from Amritsar.
There is a
story behind the name of the place. A wealthy farmer dug a Toba (Punjabi for
pond), and thereafter sat beside the road to offer drinking water to
passers-by.
Manto’s Epitaph
`Composed by
the author himself:
“मिट्टी के ढेर के नीचे मंटो सोच रहा है कि बड़ा
अफ़साना निगार कौन है – ख़ुदा या वह ख़ुद।“
English
translation:
“Lying under mounds of soil, Manto wonders who is a greater storyteller—God or he himself.”
