TWO PAKISTANI WOMEN WRITERS VIEW THE CITY: THE SHORT STORIES OF BANO QUDSIYAH

AND FARKHANDAH LODHI

Leslie A. Flemming

Most of the fiction written by Indians and Pakistanis in the twentieth century, at least judging by what is
available in English translation in the United States, suggests that these writers are concerned only with
the problems of rural life. Readers of such novels as Premchand's Godān, (1936) Kamala Markandaya's
Nectar in a Sieve, (1954), Khushwant Singh's Train to Pakistan (1956) and T. S. Pillai's Chemmeen (1962)
must surmise that either urban life does not exist or it is of little interest to writers.' Only recently, with
the publication of such works as Anita Desai's massive novel Voices in the City, in which the city of
Calcutta is itself a character, Gordon Roadarmel's collection, Modern Hindi Short Stories, and
translations of Mohan Rakesh's novels and short stories, has this false impression of the concerns of
contemporary Indian and Pakistani writers begun to be corrected.2

Actually, Urdu literature, almost from its very beginnings, has been concerned with urban life. The
language itself has functioned for a long time as an "urban-centered, but non-regional language."3 Urdu
poetry inherited a set of complex genres from Persian and requires the city dweller's cultivated taste for
its appreciation. In fact, it includes among its many genres one virtually unique to Urdu, the shahr äshob
(poem on the ruined city), which describes and laments the decay of eighteenth-century Delhi.
Nineteenth- and twentieth-century Urdu fiction has also been concerned with city life. Umrão jän add
(The Courtesan of Lucknow) charmingly evokes the atmosphere of pre-Mutiny Lucknow.* Among the
progressive writers of this century, the special problems of city life have been captured by such writers
as Ahmed Ali, who has portrayed the traditional Muslim culture of old Delhi, Rajindar Singh Bedi, who
has depicted lower middle-class life in Lahore, and Saadat Hasan Manto, who set most of his stories in
either Bombay or Lahore. Urdu fiction writers of the post-independence generation have also been
profoundly interested in city life. Writers like Intizar Husain, Anwar Sajjad, Surendar Prakash and Balraj
Mainra, who are pillars of the modernist movement," and those less closely identified with a particular
literary ideology, have set many of their stories in large cities.

Of the latter group, two Pakistani women writers, Bano Qudsiyah and Farkhandah Lodhi, offer especially
interesting views of city life in their fiction. Bano Qudsiyah began writing in the early 1960s and is the
author of a novel and several short-story collections, the most important of which is Amar bel (Air
Plant), published in 1975. Younger than Bano Qudsiyah, Farkhandah Lodhi was born in 1937. She is the
author of two short-story collections, Shahr ke log (City People), published in 1975, and Arsi (Mirrored
Ring), published in 1976. All their writings deal generally with various aspects of city life and are worth
study. However, a comparison of Bano Qudsiyah's Amar bel and Farkhandah Lodhi's Shahr ke log,
particularly with regard to the kind of people who inhabit the urban worlds established by these two
writers, the extent to which the city itself is a character in their stories, and the attitudes toward city life
their stories reflect, provides especially useful insights into these two women's views of city life.

Unlike many other contemporary writers, including those represented in Roadarmel's collection,' these
two writers are intensely interested in the psychological dimensions of city life. Consequently, they offer
revealing insights into the quality of city life through their focus on both the individual psychology of
their characters and their social relationships.

The major characters in these stories together form an interesting group. Except for Reshman, the
potter's wife in "Sohni kumhārin" (Sohni the Potter's Wife in Shahr ke log), all are either middle class or
aspire to be middle class. Among the many female characters, none fulfills the traditional stereotypes of
either the passive, dependent, secluded wife or the cultured, worldly-wise courtesan. Rather, all of
them, both married and single, depart considerably from traditional roles. Several interesting and
significant male characters, especially in Bano Qudsiyah's stories, complement this array of female
characters.

Farkhandah Lodhi's stories focus almost exclusively on women. Only three of the nine stories of Shahr ke
log are narrated from the male's point of view, and one of these, "Maig?" (Maggie), focuses primarily on
a woman. Whether single or married, Farkhandah Lodhi's women have departed very considerably from
traditional roles. Nafisah in "Goldflek" (Goldflake), among the single women, has been divorced by her
husband. A relatively new teacher in a girl's school, she is physically isolated and emotionally alienated
from the rest of the community. Unable to acquaint others, even the headmistress, with the facts of her
past, she feels she is generally viewed with suspicion. Seeing herself as unjustly maligned when

the headmistress attempts to determine the source of the mysterious Goldflake cigarettes, she feels so
little commitment to the school that she is ready to leave immediately. As her confused reception of the
flowers from one of the girls indicates, she is even uneasy in her relations with the pupils. Nor is Nafisah
the only one alienated from the community. There is allusion to both a lesbian relationship between two
of the teachers and the deputy headmistress's involvement in a clandestine affair. There are thus no
warm natural relations among the women in what should be, like the traditional zenana, a relatively
close community. What is more important, the central character here is a prototype of the alienated
modern

woman.

The central character of "Shahr ke log," Bano, is also a relative newcomer to a girl's school. Of rural
background, she has become a teacher because of her father's high aspirations for her. Although she is
quite conscious of the difference between her life in the city and that of her mother and sisters, the
other teachers still consider her unsophisticated. Courageous in her day-to-day dealings with the city's
low-life and aware of how to protect herself, she also yearns to participate fully in the romantic life of
the city. Feeling held back by her childhood betrothal, she first fabricates a romance, then participates
vicariously in the love affairs of others. Eventually the city works a permanent change on her, and she is
forced to admit that she cannot return to village life.

Several of the minor characters of "Shahr ke log" also reflect the city's encouragement of departure
from traditional roles. Although Mrs. Ejaz hypocritically adheres to tradition by wearing her burqa until
she arrives at school, she is hungry for sexual excitement and is called by the others "the youngest, the
hottest." Urasah and Jahan Ara, both members of "The Group," dally with various men, while Bina, who
feels unfulfilled by her respectable husband and children, wants to "find" herself.

In contrast to the school of "Goldflek," there are genuine relationships among the women here.
Moreover, although Bano is inexperienced, she is not alienated from the community as is Nafisah.
However, Bano is clearly a rootless, marginal woman, neither villager nor true urbanite. What her future
will be in this situation is, unfortunately, left unanswered by the abrupt ending of the story, in which a
telegram from her mother announces her broken engagement.

The story "Maigi" depicts another kind of single urban woman. Here the heroine, Maggie, is a Welsh
tourist in Lahore, with whom the narrator, Amin, a bank clerk, falls in love. In many respects Maggie is

Journal of South

a truly modern, liberated woman. Independent, quick-witted, warm, and intuitive, she is also sensitive,
perceptive, and well-educated, and declares that people are the same everywhere. However, she rarely
penetrates beneath the immediate surface of life in Lahore. When she does, she interacts only with
representatives of the city's westernized upper class. Although she cares for Amin, in the end she
betrays her belief in a common humanity. Putting her ties to Wales above all others, she refuses to
commit herself to a demanding, but warm and real, relationship with Amin and quickly leaves Lahore.

Farkhandah Lodhi's married women appear no more fulfilled than her single women. The heroine of the
story "Pārbati" has a childless marriage to a military officer. She becomes a spy in the 1971 war and
attempts to construct a new life for herself by masquerading as a Muslim and remarrying. However, she
is eventually discovered and returns to her unsatisfactory husband. The Anglo-Indian heroine of
"Sharābī" (Drunkard) works outside the home and holds modern views. Nevertheless, she follows the
traditional roles of wife and mother by making the well-being of her children and alcoholic husband the
primary focus of her life.

Reshman, the heroine of "Sohani kumharin," is the least satisfied of the married women. Bored with life
in the narrow world of an old-city muhallah, she dances at weddings without a veil. Blessed with a lively
imagination, she fancies herself the folktale heroine Sohani. What is most important, she is totally
alienated from the people around her. While the other women think she should be satisfied caring for
her husband and children, her husband responds to her yearnings by beating her. In turn, she neither
regards the other women's opinions nor cares about her family. The only one who sympathizes with her
is an old uncle whose attention she spurns. Her final act of rebellion at the end of the story, when her
husband beats her unjustly yet again, is to flee the muhallah forever. Thus, the free-spirited Reshman
also experiences the alienation and isolation of the modern city even in what should theoretically be a
closely-knit community.
Although Bano Qudsiyah's stories focus primarily on male characters, her stories also contain significant
female characters. However, both her married and single women are almost all sterile, selfish, and
unfulfilled. Neither those following traditional roles nor those who are modern and liberated appear as
warm, integrated people effectively functioning in the city.

Journal of South Asian Literature,

No.1

Traditional women in Bano Qudsiyah's stories seem particularly vulnerable to the pernicious effects of
the freer social environment the city allows. For example, "Ho naqsh agar batil" (If the Picture Be False)
portrays a traditional, self-sacrificing, domestically-oriented wife whose physician husband is attracted
to an unmarried African medical student. Because she has long expected such an affair, she understands
it but is unable to act decisively in the face of it. Finally, she takes the traditional woman's way out of the
impasse and commits suicide by dying in childbirth.

Similarly, the new bride of "Mauj mahīt āb men" (In a Whirlpool) originally comes from a warm, sexually
open family. However, on her wedding night her husband deprecates the special wedding clothes and
ceremonies, and consummates the marriage coldly and quickly. Thereafter she fails to receive sexual
satisfaction. However, she cannot communicate with her husband, and, like Monisha in Voices in the
City, she gradually retreats into herself. When her husband takes another wife, she makes no protest.
Thus, like the wife of "Ho naqsh," she cannot survive the weakening of the traditional nature of marriage
encouraged by the city.

"Sāmān-e shewan" (Tragic Wealth) provides the strongest examples of modern but sterile, unnatural
and lifeless women. The protagonist's mother is rich, idle, inhuman, and fragile. All the imagery
surrounding her suggests her sterility and alienation from all genuine human relationships. As unnatural
as his mother, his Swiss-educated wife, Sarah, is equally incapable of a genuine marriage relationship.
Totally possessive of her husband, she is neurotic and self-punishing, and can only become sexually
aroused in a sado-masochistic relationship. When she suffers a miscarriage, it is clear that she is both
physically and emotionally barren. As the painful silences that punctuate her husband's attempts to
console her indicate, she never had a genuine marriage. When divorce follows the miscarriage, it is both
believable and inevitable.

Bano Qudsiyah's two major unmarried female characters, both of whom appear in Amar bel, strongly
resemble her married women. Unable to communicate with others, both are sterile and unfulfilled. One
of them, Zari, the teenager infatuated with the bachelor narrator, is shy and sensitive. She wants to be
treated as an adult, yet she cannot understand why Asaf, who has known her since she was a baby,
cannot reciprocate her feelings. Instead of using her disappointment as a means of growth, she cannot
bear Asaf's preference for another women and, like the wife of "Ho naqsh," commits suicide. Mahrukh,
the journalist whom Asaf prefers, is modern and westernized not only in her occupation, but also in

5
dress and manners. Assertive and self-confident, she writes a daily column for women and strongly
advocates women's rights. However, she is superficial and lacks real wit or intellect. Moreover, she is so
totally immersed in her work that she cannot relate meaningfully to anyone. In an ironically humorous
scene at the end of the story, in which parts of the column she is writing are juxtaposed with Asaf's
pleas, she firmly rejects him, indicating in no uncertain terms that she prefers her work to anything else.
Thus, none of these stories portrays a woman as a warm, loving, integrated human being, enmeshed in
healthy relationships with those around her. Several of Farkhandah Lodhi's female characters, especially
Bano, Maggie and Reshman, are independent, courageous, self-assertive, in charge of their own lives
and able to survive the urban environment. However, almost all of Bano Qudsiyah's female characters
are dependent, weak, and physically or emotionally devastated by the urban ethos.

The major male characters in both writers' stories are less varied and even less appealing than their
female characters. All but one hold various white-collar jobs. What is more important, all but one are
totally ineffective, unsuccessful in resolving problems and attaining objectives, and alienated from the
people around them.

Except for two works, Farkhandah Lodhi's stories do not focus primarily on males. However, the
ineffective male appears in all her stories. Among her secondary male characters, the military-officer
husband in "Pārbati" cares little for his wife. The westernized father of "Shārabī" is an alcoholic whose
effort at reform, around which the story centers, ultimately fails. He exerts little control over his family
and lets his wife provide their economic and emotional support. Reshman's husband, like all the potters
in "Sohni kumhārin" is brutish and unsympathetic to his wife. He is totally incapable of fathoming her
desires and can only respond to her rebellion by beating her. Reshman's brother is equally uninterested
in her and makes no attempt to discover her true condition during his occasional brief visits. The old
uncle, who is sexually attracted to her, is the only one with any sensitivity, yet it is because of him that
Reshman' husband beats her for the last time.

Two of Farkhandah Lodhi's stories are narrated from the male point of view. Although both these major
male characters are better developed and more interesting than the secondary males, both are still
ineffective in coping with their environments. Amin in "Maigi" is progressive and humanitarian in his
views. Yet he cannot tolerate a simple encounter and, instead, attempts to press Maggie into a
traditional marriage. He regrets not showing Maggie the traditional culture of the old

city. At the same time, his failure to understand both Roldo the pan seller's reasons for wanting a
certificate from Maggie, which Maggie perceives immediately, and Maggie's reason for leaving Pakistan,
shows that he is unable to act decisively in establishing a permanent relationship with her or even in
adequately conveying to her the depth of his feelings.

The hero of "Gori" (Fair-Skinned) is the bedridden Bha, who lives in a five-storied joint-family house in a
traditional muhallah. His main objective in the story is to arrange the marriages, before he dies, of both
his daughter and his younger sister, who has been molested by his stepfather. Although he accomplishes
his objective at the cost of all his physical strength, he remains alienated from everyone around him. He
is physically separated from his wife and daughter, who occupy an upper storey while he remains on the
ground floor. He mistrusts his stepfather, with good reason; he thinks his mother is deceptive, and he
dislikes his younger brother. The brother, incidentally, is an ironically humorous caricature of the
modern, westernized man. Described as looking like an insect, the brother mimics English dress and
behavior, dreams of moving to a more "fashionable" part of town, and regards "showiness" as the
hallmark of modern society.

Bano Qudsiyah's stories also repeat the pattern of the ineffective and alienated male. The physician in
"Ho naqsh," although appreciative of his wife and gratified by the depth of her love, is utterly paralyzed
and unable to take decisive action either towards her or towards the African medical student. The
husband of "Nākhwändah" (Illiterate) can neither accept nor refute his wife's liberated views. Cut off in
childhood from genuine human relationships, the narrator of "Saman-e shewan" never understands his
wife's needs and cannot hold her once crisis occurs. Although Iqbal in "Ansu jal sinch sinch" (Watering
Tears) is in love with Fatimah, he cannot reveal his true feelings to her until after he has proposed to
someone else. Having had a string of transitory liaisons with other women, he is alienated from his
prospective bride and from Fatimah, with whom he has no real communication, and from Fatimah's
husband, who continually makes him feel like a country bumpkin.

Asaf, the insurance sales manager of "Amar bel" best represents the hesitant modern male who cannot
take a decisive step in any direction. Although he realizes that any affair with Aida, the woman he meets
in Cairo at the beginning of the story, would be transitory, he is paralyzed by cowardice. He totally
underestimates the depth of Zari's feelings and casually mentions his love for Mahrukh. At the same
time, he abdicates his responsibility towards Zari by not telling her father the reason for her

sudden withdrawn behavior, even after she has committed suicide. More- over, not only is he unaware
of Mahrukh's lack of interest in him, but he fails throughout the story to move decisively either towards
or away from her. His stance toward life is neatly summed up in the image of the chloroformed man
with which he describes himself at both the beginning and end of the story: "I have no future, I have no
past. I am the patient in whose veins chloroform is spreading and who has run away from the operating
theater" (p. 328).

These male characters of Farkhandah Lodhi's and Bano Qudsiyah's stories are not the faceless city men
of other modern fiction. They retain some individuality, have real emotions, and make at least feeble, if
ultimately unsuccessful, attempts to communicate. Nor are these men overwhelmed by such
superhuman forces as government or corporate bureaucracies (as are, for example, Kafka's characters
or the hero of Dudhnath Singh's Hindi story "Pratishodh. "10) Rather, these males are floundering and
simply cannot cope. They lack the inner strength necessary for survival in the modern urban
environment in which almost all the social supports characterizing traditional society have been
withdrawn, even in traditional neighborhoods. Perhaps because women have traditionally provided the
psychological ballast of families (as the wife and mother of "Sharabi" continues to do) and thus many
have greater emotional reserves from which to draw, the female characters here, especially those of
Farkhandah Lodhi's stories, survive more successfully in the city and cope better with the loss of
traditional social supports.

Less varied than their characters are the physical settings of these stories. Almost all of them are clearly
set in a large city, most often Karachi or Lahore. Even when the city is not specifically indentified,
Farkhandah Lodhi's stories, especially "Maigi," "Goldflek," and "Shahr ke log," generally appear to be set
in Lahore. Three of Bano Qudsiyah's stories, "Saman-e shewan," "Ansu jal sinch sinch," and "Amar bēl,"
identify their settings as Karachi and Lahore.

The majority of these stories have their settings in the modern sectors of the city rather than in
traditional muhallahs. This is indicated in several ways. Typical institutions of the modern city, such as
schools, colleges and hospitals, are frequently mentioned. For example, the heroines of "Goldflek" and
"Shahr ke log" teach at progressive girls' schools, the hero of "Nakhwändah" delivers the
commencement address at a coeducational college, and the physician husband of "Ho naqsh" frequently
mentions his work at a large clinic. The scene is also frequently set in government and business offices,
hotels and modern

stores. For example, Amin in "Maigi" is shown working in a bank; the meeting between the protagonist
of "Ansu jal sinch sinch" and his beloved's husband takes place on the poolside patio of a large, western-
style hotel; and a decisive episode of "Ho naqsh" occurs while the wife stares into large glass store
windows. Several of these stories are also set in large European-style houses. The hero's boyhood home
in "Sāmān-e shewan" is decorated in French-provincial style, while Zari's house in "Amar bel" is studded
with her father's hunting trophies. Finally, these stories allude to transportation patterns typical of the
modern city and frequently mention wide roads, overcrowded buses (for example, in "Shahr ke log")
and automobile trips (especially in "Amar bēl").

A few of these stories are clearly set in the traditional muhallahs of the old city, a setting which
significantly aids the development of the theme especially in two of Farkhandah Lodhi's stories, "Gori"
and "Sohani kumhärin." Although "Goldflek" is set in a progressive girls' school in a large city, the action,
ironically, takes place exclusively within the school compound. Consequently, the atmosphere the story
produces strongly suggests the closed all-female society more typical of the traditional

zenana.

Although these stories are clearly set in large cities, none of them describes the city at any length. In
contrast to the stories of Maupassant or the novels of Balzac, Zola, or Anita Desai, the city here is not a
character in its own right and little effort is expended in bringing it to life. Other contemporary authors,
like Doris Lessing, whose The Four-Gated City invests London with significant symbolic value, have used
the city to mirror their character's moral or psychological development. 12 However, the city is not
sufficiently present in these authors' stories to function in that way. Because the city here has no
concrete identity and individuality of its own and appears to be only the place where the characters live
and move, its function approaches that of the city in other recent fiction (and films) where its very
facelessness and lack of distinctive features constitute a commentary on the quality of urban life. 13
Therefore, despite its lack of intrinsic interest, the city is clearly present in these stories and contributes
to the development of these themes.

This contribution to theme also frequently takes the form of implicit and explicit evaluation of the
quality of city life. The psychological quality of the characters' lives, especially their sense of the loss of
traditional social supports and their inability to cope with new demands, provides this implicit
commentary. More commonly, the characters' expression of opinion, either on city life in general or on
aspects of life inseparably connected with the city, provide commentary on city life as a whole.

These stories generally exhibit negative attitudes towards the city itself and towards the quality of life in
it. Farkhandah Lodhi's stories set in the modern city provide the most explicit commentary. Her
characters often see something dirty, disgusting, even infernal, in city life that overwhelms its civilized
life. After describing the other "fashionable" teachers with their makeup and high heels, all city
products, Nafisah in "Goldflek" imagines them in their classrooms:

When the teachers in their classes get tired of rattling on in front of the girls, and the spit and dirt
collects in the corners of their mouths, their lipstick spreads and fades, the pupils must often wonder
why they don't wash their faces.

When the period is over, in the mind of some sensitive and intelligent pupil only Madame's dirty lips
remain and nothing else. (p. 11)

One of the minor characters in "Goldflek," a younger teacher unable to consummate a lesbian
relationship with an older teacher, despairs, "It's not a school, it's hell. It's impossible to find any peace
here" (p. 16). Similarly, Bano, the protagonist of "Shahr ke log," complains that although everything is
for sale in the city, including people, she did not come to be sold (p. 134).

Farkhandah Lodhi's characters frequently condemn the hypocrisy of city dwellers and their false pride in
their civilization. Thus, the mystery as to why the smell of Goldflake cigarettes repeatedly issues from
Nafisah's room remains unresolved because the other teachers consider her unsophisticated and refuse
to socialize with her. Similarly, the other teachers in "Shahr ke log" consider Bano a country bumpkin.
Although their own table manners are no better than hers, they laugh at her. When a wedding takes
place among them, she, in turn, questions their equation of nobility with wealth.

The artificiality of city life is frequently contrasted with the naturalness of rural life in "Shahr ke log."
Although Bano acknowledges the benefits of city life, especially the romantic freedom and release from
physical drudgery her position as a teacher gives her, she still finds the city unnatural and unpleasant.
Waiting at dusk for a bus that never comes, Bano pictures the long and lovely sunsets of her village, then
"for some unknown reason Bano felt that this big building facing her, these rows
10

upon rows of houses, this city had all prematurely eaten up the natural light... eaten it up, and had
devoured the sunshine in her heart" (p. 125). However, when Bano is later disgusted with the other
teachers and contemplates leaving her job, she realizes that a permanent change has taken place within
her and that she cannot return to the village. Ironically, at the end of the story the people of the village
she has come from reach the same conclusion: her childhood betrothal to a village boy, which had
stopped her from indulging in any serious romantic escapades in the city, is broken off by the boy's
parents on the grounds that she must surely have lost her virginity in the city.

Farkhandah Lodhi's third-person narrator also frequently compares city people to animals, suggesting
that city life, far from civilizing us, brutalizes and dehumanizes us. Although they sport fresh makeup and
newly-ironed clothes, two other teachers who attempt to find out what Nafisah is doing in her room are
described as dogs sniffing at her door. A group of four teachers in "Shahr ke log" who cling to each other
for mutual support are similarly described as hungry foxes.

Bano Qudsiyah's story "Saman-e shewan" provides the most striking and suggestive commentary on the
modern city. In both the protagonist's childhood home and his later married life, city life is clearly
identified with sterility and lifelessness. Not only does the atmosphere of the childhood home, with the
air-conditioning, air freshener and deodorants, white walls and imported French furniture, contrast
strongly with the natural warmth of the servants' quarters, but all the images used to describe it are
associated with sterility and death. Called by him the Lady of Shallot, a white hothouse flower and a
plaster-of-Paris madonna, the boy's mother, in her most typical pose, especially suggests sterility and
death: "In this white room, my white mother, with an Irish linen sheet placed on her plaster of Paris
ankles, would remain lying for hours" (p. 95). This antiseptic environment produces no genuine human
relationships. The mother makes no attempt to communicate with her son. Although he senses the
emptiness of his life, all the father can do in his son's presence is riffle the papers in his briefcase. Father
and mother exchange, at most, a few words in English. In fact, the only person in the house who
responds to the boy is an "uncouth and uncivilized" temporary serving maid.

The flat occupied by the narrator and his wife repeats all these motifs of the sterile environment. Here,
too, the air is full of deodorants and air fresheners; the western-style furniture lacks individuality and
warmth, and husband and wife do not communicate. When Sarah, the

11

wife, becomes pregnant and begins making preparations for the coming baby, the atmosphere gains
some warmth, but when she suffers a miscarriage, the marriage is shattered irrevocably. Later, when the
hero and Sarah meet during the war in a Karachi hotel, reconciliation is impossible.
Commentary on the quality of city life is negative even in the two stories set in traditional
neighborhoods. The potters in "Sohanī kumhārin" have fled the economic difficulties of the village and
come to the city. Yet, because they cannot ply their hereditary trade, they weaken their family
relationships by accepting work far from home.

Moreover, both the poverty and rigid social relationships of the muhallah make it a place where
Reshman's free-spirited beauty and psychological delicacy cannot be appreciated.

Taking this theme even further, the invalid Bha in "Gori" describes the narrow streets of his
neighborhood as places of darkness. Although his neighbors take pride in being residents of a large city,
he sees them as people who prefer darkness to light. He condemns traditional male-female roles for the
circumscribed lives they produce and also pictures the people around him as animals: they live like black
snakes, their homes are mouseholes, and the entire muhallah behaves like a flock of crows. Thus,
Farkhandah Lodhi suggests again that life in the city, perhaps especially in the old city, brutalizes and
dehumanizes people.

Farkhandah Lodhi's "Maigi" is the only story that expresses a positive attitude toward the city. Attracted
first by the new part of the city then by the old, Maggie likes the city very much. However, she deeply
offends Amin by seeing it not as a place where she would like to remain permanently, but as a place
which provides evidence of Pakistan's past splendor. This story also contains pointed comments on
urban attitudes toward the West. Roldo, a pan seller with whom Amin has become friendly, believes
that his business from "modern society" would increase if Maggie gave him a certificate attesting to the
quality of his pan. Similarly, Maggie, describing her trip to Pakistan and India, says, "I came looking for
light from the east, because this is where the sun rises, but all of you have your faces turned to the west
for light" (p. 174).

In view of the historically close connection between urban life and Urdu language and literature, the
negative attitude toward the city these stories express is surprising. It is even more surprising when we
remember that, as Pakistani Muslims, these two writers also have inherited

12

Islam's attitude toward the city. Historically an urban religion, Islam has generally valued the city, which
has traditionally been seen as the place where one's religious duties can be be fulfilled. This is especially
true of the requirement that Friday noon prayers be said corporately in a covered, walled mosque. Like
ancient Greek and Roman culture, Islamic culture has thus traditionally identified urban and civilized life.

Western culture has had a much more ambivalent view of the city. As an extension of the Greek and
Roman view, early Christian philosophers, especially the writer of the Book of Revelations and St.
Augustine, have used the city as a symbol of the Kingdom of God on earth. On the other hand, an
undercurrent of western thought has always seen the city as the source of corruption, hence, as evil.
This undercurrent surfaced in eighteenth-century European literature and has since characterized
Romantic and post-Romantic literature. The poetry of Baudelaire provides a recent and striking, though
hardly isolated, example of this attitude.
Twentieth-century European and American literature, with some exceptions among American writers,
continues to distrust and dislike the city itself, the quality of its life and its inhabitants. Irving Howe cites
works like Joyce's Ulysses and Kafka's The Trial as examples and suggests that the city "becomes a maze
beyond escape" in contemporary novels. 14 Monroe K. Spears suggests that modern writers see the city
as moving not towards the Heavenly City but towards the Infernal City.15 Thus a dark picture of the city
dweller emerges from modern literature:

The City is both massive fact and universally recognizable symbol of modernity, and it both constitutes
and symbolizes the modern predicament: the mass man, anonymous and rootless, cut off from his past
and from the nexus of human relations in which he formerly existed, anxious and insecure, enslaved by
the mass media but left by the disappearance of God with a dreadful freedom of spiritual choice, is the
typical citizen of Megalopolis. . . . This is the lurid picture we are accustomed to... 16

However, the rootlessness and anomie of the city have also encouraged far more complex social
dynamics than other environments. Consequently, literature set in the city has depicted both a broader
range of characters and more complex social relationships among them than literature set elsewhere.
The city setting in fiction has especially encouraged depiction of much more interesting and complex
female characters.

13

The attitudes toward the city these Urdu stories embody approach closely to the prevailing modern
European view of the city. Although the city is not seen as overwhelmingly oppressive (as it is, for
example, in Kafka's works), it is still relatively faceless and sterile. Varied social relations, including
interesting well-developed female characters, are depicted. Yet, even here, the city is still viewed with
suspicion and distaste, and the people who make their life in it, especially the males, are seen as sad,
floundering, and unable to cope with real life.

Why these writers have chosen to take this view of urban life rather than the one that equates
civilization and city life is a question worthy of speculation and, ultimately, of further research. The short
story is a genre of European origin, and those writing in it, even in Urdu, must surely be subject to the
influence of European literary currents, and hence to contemporary European views of the city.
Moreover, as Frank O'Connor has taught us in The Lonely Voice, the short story is that genre uniquely
suited to depiction of lonely, alienated individuals. For that reason, it would perhaps be surprising to
find warm, positive, integrated human beings in these stories at all. More to the point, life in modern
industrial cities worldwide has certain common features, including feelings of facelessness and
rootlessness. If these writers have depicted their environment with any accuracy, the presence in their
stories of negative attitudes toward the city is justifiable and expected. Clearly, this is a question to
explore further with other contemporary writers.