KARACHI: Saadat Hasan Manto has had a resonating impact on the coming generations of storytellers. Even when the division of the subcontinent doesn’t seem to be a subject to focus on for writers, painters and filmmakers in the 21st century, Manto’s stories, a good number of which are to do with the horrors of the partition, continue to generate ideas.

A play titled Kamra-i-Afsana,written and directed by Syed Qasim Shah adapted from two of Manto’s stories — Khol Do and Inqilab Pasand — that will complete its run on Sunday at the National Academy of Performing Arts (Napa), is an effort that needs to be lauded; and at the same time it must be mentioned that some loose ends could have been tied up and rough edges smoothed off.

The play begins when a man (Zubair Baloch) assuming the role of Manto addresses the audience, telling them about how he’s faring in contemporary times. He gives the reference to a report in which a mother, her daughter and son in Mauripur were raped and killed. Then he reads Khol Do as a related item.

The scene shifts to a seedy house — the second part of the play inspired by Inqilab Pasand — where Abbas (Akhtar Abbas) is seen talking to Saleem (Shahrukh Arif) in a cordial tone. Saleem comes across as a delicate person. The conversation reveals that Saleem’s father has died which has aggravated his sensitive disposition.

Adapted from Khol Do and Inqilab Pasand, Kamra-i-Afsana will complete its run at Napa tomorrow

In comes Zakir (the man from the first scene) and it turns out that Abbas and Zakir are actors. Zakir has some projects on his hands, including TV assignments. He has been asked to do Manto and Abbas tries to teach him how to do that part. As the story moves forward, Saleem’s unhinged mental state makes things go haywire.

There are quite a few things to like about Kamra-i-Afsana. Shah has the knack for writing good, meaningful lines — make no mistake. The performances by the three actors are good, too. They just need to work on their diction, though, something that Napa used to attach importance to when the late Zia Mohyeddin held its reins (he wouldn’t have liked yaqeen pronounced as yakeen). Again, that shouldn’t take away anything from the three actors. They do a fine job.

Since one was drawn to the drama when one saw it, two things felt jarring. One: in the first scene as Zakir comes to the point where he is to say arguably the most important line of the Manto story (the doctor asks to open the window, khol do, resulting in the climactic sequence), the actor doesn’t make it count. He reads the line in a free-flowing manner.

Two: the second part of the script had the audience invested in it when Abbas and Zakir engage in an interesting discussion about the art of acting and how television, theatre and film differ. It was nice. But when Saleem returns in a shabby state after enraging a crowd with his ideas, he delivers a long, schmaltzy spiel (taken from the original Inqilab Pasand). He keeps on rambling in a preachy way and the other two actors keep following him like hapless children trying to make sense of pesky pet, with no lines to say. It dilutes the whole punchy effect of the first half of Inqilab Pasand.

That said, Shah seems to have his heart in the right place and his pen has the right kind of energy. He just needs to know when to hit the high notes at the right time.

Published in Dawn, September 14th, 2024