10
Throughout the narrative Umrao breaks off from time to time to talk to Rusva about thoughts arising from her experience, or he interrupts her to comment on, and quite often dispute with her about things she has said. These conversations are set out as in the text of a play:
Umrao: Mirza Rusva Sahib, have you ever been in love with anyone?
Rusva: No, God forbid! You must have loved hundreds, and it’s your story we want to hear. We want you to tell us about these things, but you don’t.
Umrao: But that’s my trade. We courtesans know all the ways to trap a man... But I tell you truly, I’ve never been in love with anyone, and no one has ever been in love with me.
Much later in her narrative she speaks of Akbar Ali Khan, a crooked lawyer who, unscrupulously but successfully, defends her when a false charge has been brought against her.
Umrao: He had a sort of love for me. It’s my experience that even bad people aren’t wholly bad, and that there is usually someone or other who they are good to. During the months of Ramzan and Muharram* he did so many good deads that they cancelled out his wrongdoing for the rest of the year. At least, rightly or wrongly, that was what he believed.
Rusva: This is a question of religious belief, so just allow me to say that he was wrong.
Umrao: Yes, I think so too.
Rusva: Wise men have divided sins into two kinds. The first are those which affect only the sinner, and the second those whose effect extends to others. In my humble opinion the first are minor sins and the second are major sins (although others may think otherwise); and sins that affect others can be forgiven only by those whom they have harmed. You know what Hafiz†says:
Drink wine, and burn the Holy Book, and set fire to the Kaba:
Dwell in the idol temple—but don’t harm your fellow men.
Remember this, Umrao Jan: to harm one’s fellow men is the worst of sins. This is a sin for which there is no forgiveness, and if there is, then God preserve me, His godhead is in vain.
Umrao: I have lived a life of sin, but I too shrink from that.
Rusva: Yet you’ve brought pain to many hearts.
Umrao: But that is our profession. That’s the way I’ve earned thousands—and spent thousands too.
Rusva: So what will your punishment be?
Umrao: There ought not to be any punishment, because in the kind of pain we bring to men’s hearts there is a sort of pleasure too, and that makes up for it.
Rusva: A fine argument!
Umrao: Suppose someone catches sight of me at a fair. He falls for me. He hasn’t a penny to his name. Unless he pays he can’t have me. His heart is wounded. Is that my fault? Another wants to come to me, and is willing to pay. I’m committed to someone else, or I don’t want him. I have my own tastes. He goes into a decline. Well? What’s that to me? Some men come and want me to love no one but them. I don’t. They’ve no monopoly over me. They’re hurt. So? To hell with them.
Rusva: Yes all of them should be shot, but for God’s sake don’t put me in any of these categories.
Umrao: God forbid! You take life easy. You don’t love anyone and no one loves you. And yet you love everyone and everyone loves you.
Rusva: What on earth does that mean? It’s so, and it’s not so. How can that be?
Umrao: I’ve not studied logic very deeply, but it can. It can when there are two forms of a simple phenomenon. Wise men love in one way and fools in another.
Rusva: For example?
Umrao: An example of the first kind is the way you love me and I love you.
Rusva: Only I know how I love. And the way you love is clear because you’ve just confessed it. Go on, give me an example of the other kind—the way fools love.
Umrao: The way Majnun loved Laila.*
Rusva: What an ancient example!
Umrao: Well, then like Nazir ...
Rusva (interrupting): No, spare us that example... Go on with your story.
At another point in the story she is speaking of a younger courtesan and Rusva praises her beauty.
Umrao: Were you too a candidate for her affection, then?
Rusva: Listen, Umrao Jan, and remember this. Whenever you see a beautiful woman think of me, and if possible put me down as a candidate for her...
Umrao: And if I see a beautiful man?
Rusva: Put your own name down for him and mine for his sister—provided that the shariat does not forbid it.
Umrao: Wonderful! Bringing the shariat into it!
Rusva: There’s nowhere where religion does not come into it, especially so all-embracing a religion as ours. Umrao Jan, it’s a principle of my life that I look upon a virtuous woman as my mother or my sister, no matter what their religion or community, and any action that offends against their chastity, shocks me deeply. I think that men who try to entice them and lead them into evil ways ought to be shot. But I think it no sin to enjoy the bounty of bounteous women.
Umrao: Good God!
When Umrao has completed her story, Rusva gives her the manuscript. She describes her reaction.
Mirza Rusva Sahib, when you first handed me the manuscript of my life-story and asked me to revise it, I was so angry that I felt like tearing it into little pieces. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Have I not suffered enough shame in my own lifetime that now my story should be written down, so that people will read it and curse me even after I am dead?’ But my own dilatory nature, and a regard for the labour you had spent on it, restrained me.
Last night at about twelve o’clock I was dropping off to sleep when suddenly I felt wide awake. As usual, I was alone in the room. The servants were all asleep downstairs. The lamp was burning at the head of the bed. For a long time I kept tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep; but sleep would not come, and in the end I got up and made myself a paan and called the maidservant to come and get the hookah ready. I lay down again on the bed and began to smoke. I thought I might read a story. There were plenty of books on the shelves at the head of the bed, and one by one I picked them up and turned the pages. But I had read them all before several times, and could not arouse any interest in any of them. Then my hand fell upon your manuscript. I again felt deeply agitated, and, I tell you truly, I had quite made up my mind to tear it up when it seemed as though some unseen voice said to me, ‘Very well, Umrao. Suppose you tear it up, throw it away, burn it. What difference will it make? The recording angels of God—a just and mighty God—have by His command written down in every detail a clear account of all the deeds of your life. And who can destroy that record?’ I felt myself trembling in every limb, so that the manuscript nearly fell from my hand, but I managed to rally myself. Now all idea of destroying it had left me, and I wanted to put it down again and leave it as it was. But as though without my own volition, I began to read. I read the first page and turned over, and before I had finished the next half-dozen lines I was seized with so consuming an interest in my story that the more I read the more I wanted to. No other tale had ever engrossed me so completely. When you read other stories the thought is always with you that all this is invented, and did not really happen; and this thought lessens the pleasure you feel. But your whole narrative was made up of things which I myself had experienced, and it was as though they were all returning to pass before my eyes. Every experience seemed as real to me as it had been at the time, and I felt more vividly than words can describe all the emotions which it had aroused in me. If anyone could have seen me then, he would have thought me mad. Sometimes I would burst out laughing; at other times the tears would overflow and drop on to the page. You had asked me to make corrections as I read, but I was too absorbed even to think of it. I read on and on until daybreak. Then I performed my ablutions, said the morning prayer, and slept for a while. I woke again at about eight o’clock, washed my hands and face, and again began to read. By sunset I had finished the whole manuscript.
The book concludes with the account of a final session together in which Umrao tells Rusva her own re
flections on the experience of her life.
* Chauk: One of the main thoroughfares of Lucknow, in which many courtesans lived.
†See the description of a mushaira on p. 148.
‡ and thus soliciting customers.
* ‘Sahib’ is a polite, but still quite familiar form of address, and is used following the name or title of the person addressed.‘Mirza’is for a person of Turkish descent.‘Mir’ for a Sayyid, and so on.‘Pandit’ is for a Brahmin.
* Jamadar: Literally, one who commands a small body of men, but the word is used vaguely as a title of respect.
†The cousin’s mother.
* Sattu: Ground wheat mixed with sugar and milk.
* Khanam’s daughter.
* Jan means ‘life’, ‘soul’, and as a term of affection, ‘darling’. It was commonly attached to a courtesan’s name.
* Aish Bagh:‘Pleasure Garden’, a famous Lucknow park.
* One of Khanam’s old admirers.
†i.e. I’d have been inordinately proud of myself and so invited misfortune.
‡ A special ceremony is performed on that day.
* i.e. Your naughtiness will make her ill.
* Because of the Brahminical belief that one cannot eat anything that has been touched by someone of a lower caste or by a Muslim.
†The betel leaf would be rolled up into a cone containing other ingredients.
‡ He could not use the mouthpiece in case it had been used by a Muslim. But the hookah man objected to him removing the clay bowl, so he gave it back and paid the man, but did not smoke.
§ A man who had spent his boyhood with the courtesans and was on familiar terms with them.
¶ ‘Pearl Lake’: the name of a lake in the park.
* The name of the kotwal, a sort of chief of police, the official responsible for law and order in the city.
* Staffs with fire at the top to ignite the charge in the musket.
* This gives the general sense. The original is an Arabic phrase ‘la haula va la quwata,’ which are the first words of a sentence which, in full, means,‘There is no strength and power but in God.’ The words are always spoken when one is confronted with words or actions that shock or disgust one.
* The verse is in Persian. From now on she interlards her words with Persian and Arabic phrases, designed both to impress him and to make fun of him.
* An Arabic saying.
†A Persian saying.
‡ See p. 139.
§ Cowries are small shells formerly used as the smallest units of currency. Dhela (below) is another small coin.
* A legendary Arab, famous for his great generosity.
* Muharram: see note on p. 73.
†The verse is proverbial, but is not in fact by Hafiz. See p. 190.
* See p. 82.
EDITOR’S NOTES
Urdu Pronunciation
Many sounds in Urdu cannot be represented accurately using the English alphabet, and academic texts use special symbols to indicate these sounds. We have refrained from doing so, for readers familiar with the sounds of Urdu will be able to follow the transliterations. For those who do not know Urdu, here are a few pointers.
VOWELS
3 pairs of short/long vowels:
a = short, unstressed, as in English ‘about’
aa = long, as in English ‘park’
i = short, as in English ‘ship’
ii = long, as in English ‘sheep’
oo = long, as in English ‘shoot’
Other vowels:
e = as in English ‘end’
ai = as in English ‘hat’
o = as in English ‘close’
au = as in English ‘awesome’
CONSONANTS
Most consonants are pronounced as in English. But note the following:
‘n’ at the end of a word, following a vowel:
Often this is not pronounced as an English ‘n’ but just shows that the vowel is nasalized
(i.e. the sound comes through the nose.)
E.g. main [ I ] nahin [not/no]
There are some sounds in Urdu which are not found in English:
‘q’ is a guttural ‘k’ made at the back of the throat
E.g. qalam [pen]
‘kh’ in some words is like the last sound in Scots ‘loch’
E.g. khaandaan [family]
‘gh’ in some words is a rougher ‘kh’, similar to the rolled ‘r’ in French
E.g. ghazal [kind of poem]
When ‘h’ follows a consonant it can represent a number of different sounds.
Apart from the two special sounds above, it usually just indicates that the consonant should be pronounced with a small puff of breath. For example:
bh bhai [brother]
dh dhobi [washerman]
kh khaana [food]
gh ghar [house]
Sometimes the oddity of English spelling makes this confusing. So note:
th thoda [a little]
The ‘th’ is just ‘t’ with breath; it is not pronounced as in the English ‘that’.
ph phool [flower]
The ‘ph’ just ‘p’ with breath; it is not pronounced like ‘photo’ in English.
To avoid confusion, we have followed English spelling/ pronunciation in the following:
sh shaam [evening]—‘sh’ as in English ‘short’
Further Reading
If you would like to read more by Ralph Russell, here is a list of his major works on Urdu literature:
The Pursuit of Urdu Literature: A Select History (OUP India, 1992 & 2003): A companion volume to this anthology, with more on the historical context. It includes chapters on the novels of Nazir Ahmad, and on two great twentieth-century poets not included in this anthology, Iqbal and Faiz.
The Famous Ghalib:The Sound of My Moving Pen: Ghazals Selected and Explained by Ralph Russell (Roli Books, 2015): Includes a detailed introduction to the themes of Ghalib’s ghazals, with over 200 ghazal couplets. Translations are given with the original in three scripts—Urdu, Roman and Devanagri.
Three Mughal Poets: Mir, Sauda, Mir Hasan (with Khurshidul Islam, OUP India, 1991): Introduces three eighteenth-century poets writing in different genres: Mir Hasan’s masnavis, long romantic narrative poems; Mir’s ghazals; and Sauda’s satire on contemporary society.
Ghalib: Life and Letters (with Khurshidul Islam, OUP India, 1994): Ghalib’s life told mostly through extracts from his own letters.
How Not to Write the History of Urdu Literature, and Other Essays on Urdu and Islam (OUP India, 1999): Includes an essay on the Progressive Writers’ Movement & on concepts of Islam in Urdu literature.
The Oxford India Ghalib: Life, Letters and Ghazals (OUP India, 2003): A compendium volume including the full collection of Ralph’s translations of Ghalib’s ghazals (without the Urdu originals); chapters on aspects of Ghalib’s life and times; and a slightly shortened version of Ghalib: Life and Letters (with Khurshidul Islam).
Autobiography:
Two parts of Ralph Russell’s autobiography were completed by the time of his death and published by Three Essays Collective, India, (2010):
Part 1: Findings Keepings: Life, Communism & Everything (1918–1946) describes his introduction to Urdu during World War II, when he was posted to India.
Part 2: Losses, Gains (1946–1958) describes studying Urdu at the School of Oriental and African Studies, his early contacts with Urdu writers in India and Pakistan,and the start of his collaboration with Khurshidul Islam.
The Annual of Urdu Studies (www.urdustudies.com) includes many articles by Ralph Russell, including these which are autobiographical:
1996: Urdu and I
1998: Urdu, Khurshidul Islam and I
Articles in The Annual by others, about his contribution to Urdu studies:
2009: Remembering Ralph Russell:A Tribute, a special section of the Annual in the year after his death, has articles by Urdu scholars, teachers an
d those who studied with him.
1987: Ralph Russell:Teacher, Scholar, Lover of Urdu, by Marion Molteno
~
In recent years there has been a dramatic increase in published translations, particularly of twentieth-century short stories and poetry. The internet has made it possible for any interested reader to find them.
Two particularly useful websites are:
www.urdustudies.com
The Annual of Urdu Studies, edited from the USA and online from 1993 to 2014, published translations of poetry, short stories and literary criticism.
www.rekhta.org
Rekhta has an extensive collection of Urdu poetry, presented in the Urdu script with transcriptions in Devanagari and Roman scripts, and in translation. It also has some translations of short stories.
ALSO FROM SPEAKING TIGER
UNCERTAIN LIGHT
Marion Molteno
‘Epic breadth and intimate detail.’ —Sunday Times, London
‘A moving and necessary book.’ —Alastair Niven, Judge of the 2014 Man Booker Prize
High in the mountains of war-torn Tajikistan, rebels abduct inspirational UN peace negotiator, Rahul Khan. The lives of his closest friends begin to unravel.
Tessa, now married with two children, has never stopped loving Rahul. Lance, a dedicated aid worker, has used Rahul’s friendship to avoid facing up to the gaps in his own life. Hugo, his UN supervisor, feels responsible for the abduction and is driven to uncover the truth. Tajik translator Nargis owes Rahul a personal debt but has secrets she cannot share. As hopes for Rahul’s survival fade, each must find a way to begin again.
Set in Central Asia following the collapse of the Soviet Union, Uncertain Light vividly evokes a sense of place and an almost tangible atmosphere. With an authenticity and attention to detail that perfectly capture the nuanced compromises of relationships, Marion Molteno deftly weaves the strands of these interlocking worlds into a story of intimacy, hard choices, heartache and courage.
A Thousand Yearnings Page 36