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 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.