Story Overview:

“Udaas Nasal Ka Aakhri Aadmi” (“Last Man of the Melancholic Race”) tells the story of a deeply alienated man standing on a bridge, contemplating suicide. He waits for a crowd to gather, hoping his death will be witnessed and thus given meaning. As people assemble, their conversations reveal their preoccupation with trivial daily struggles and a lack of genuine empathy. The protagonist, likened to the philosopher Khalil Gibran, feels invisible and disconnected, embodying the sorrow of an entire melancholic generation.

When the man finally jumps into the pond, the crowd watches passively, shouting but unwilling to help. Instead of drowning, he begins to swim, eventually reaching the shore. His survival exposes the crowd’s indifference and their role as mere spectators. The story uses powerful symbolism—the bridge, the still pond, and the act of swimming—to explore themes of existential despair, social apathy, and the search for meaning in an emotionally numb society. Ultimately, it questions what it means to live or die in a world that has forgotten how to care.

Last Man of the Melancholic Race

He was standing on the vast iron bridge, over the large lake whose placid water shone clear and bright, shimmering like a silver leaf.

He was alone a while ago. However, a group of people had now gathered there. In fact, he was waiting for them to watch him commit suicide. He would have died in obscurity, had he jumped unseen into the water. But he was sure, if he plunged into the water’s hold with people around him, at least one of God’s servants would obviously try to save him. And thus he would survive. That particular day, he had decided to accomplish the act in a way that would enable him to taste life and death simultaneously.

He had tasted existence twenty years back. And now that he wanted a change of taste, there was no way other than suicide. He was listening intently to people talking among themselves.

“I had never been well off, and now this inflation has further left me with nothing. I’ve even parked my scooter at home. It is better to walk on foot than to spend money on petrol.”

“But doesn’t constant walking turn man into a rebel? You, on the contrary, have always been a peace-loving man.”

“Well, well, isn’t it rather dangerous, talking so glumly, while standing on the bridge?”

“They’re worried about petrol prices, and our worry is the shortage of food. There is nothing to eat in the market.”

“It’s all a lie. Had it been so, all the restaurants would have closed.”

“You are an insufferable glib talker, my friend. Now, who’s going to vex his brain with you?”

“You’re talking as if you really possess one.”

“Do you mean to say I’m brainless?”

“Oh man, can’t you appreciate humour?”

“Humour is not to be understood. It is to be felt. Look at that young man over there! How quietly he is standing on the bridge! It looks as if Khalil Gibran is reborn.”

He stood silently, like a statue, lost in deep thought. ‘Khalil Gibran appears to be the name of a very great, very old man. Wretched fellow, he has referred to a man who doesn’t exist now on earth. They say that there are people who become immortal in their death. Perhaps Gibran belongs to the same tribe.’

But he was in a flux. He neither wanted to live nor to die. He smiled at his own very strange, ludicrous thinking.

“Look at the fellow! He is smiling now.”

The smile spreading over his face froze at that remark.

“You didn’t let him smile freely.”

“You mean he has overheard us.”

“Of course, he has!”

“Look there! He is again smiling. This shows he hasn’t heard us talking.”

“Damn it! You always pull out a reason behind everything.”

“Oh no, he’s again become serious! Does a smile play only for a brief moment across the lips?”

“We have come here for entertainment, and you have started boring me. It’s better to go to our Rupa Rani. A song from her will refresh us.”

“There is always a long queue there!”

“It is not difficult to break the queue, particularly when you have both muscle and money power. Let’s go and hear a few popular songs.”

Their attention was now diverted to something else.

Time was fleeting fast. He fished out a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket, and waves of smoke started spiralling into the atmosphere.

“Look at him! He is making beautiful curls of smoke in the air. The guy has something unique about him. But I feel sorry for his loneliness. It seems as if he is the last man of our hopeless generation.”

Now, for the time being, Rupa Rani was pushed to the background, and their discussion centred on the man standing alone on the bridge.

“Let’s go and meet him, buddy!”

“Oh no, not me! You can go and see him if you want. I don’t want to meet a stranger without having formal introductions.”

“Come on, man! We are like open advertisements on the wall. He will himself read the posters.”

Before they could reach at a decision, the lonely man jumped suddenly into the water. It was like someone had thrown a boulder into the still water of the lake.

He was now sinking.

“Oh my God! Look there! He has jumped into the lake,” they shouted out of fear. “Save him! Come, save him, brothers!”

No one moved. All those “brothers” standing on the bridge kept watching him as he submerged in the water.

He appeared on the surface of the water for a moment and vanished out of sight. Everyone standing there wanted him to come out alive, anyhow, but none of them dared to dive down and bring him out of the water. They stood still in their places, out of fear. They were shouting and screaming. But they were not ready to leap.

He was floating on the water’s surface. The words coming out of the mouths of people up there on the bridge were tumbling drop by drop from his ears down to his heart, like poison. Out of all those twenty-some standing there, nobody tried to save him. Now there was nothing left for him other than death.

People again saw him rising up from the water, and shouted, “There he is again! Insolent, brazen fellow! Anyone other than him must have drowned by now.”

“My friend, it is very easy to die, but very difficult to live on. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to get away from death, and hide his face in the stole of life.”

“Hey partner, what makes you talk in dialogues lifted from films? See the drowning man! He is lying on his back in water as if he isn’t drowning, but swimming like an expert swimmer.”

He was now swimming quickly, making rapid strokes with both his arms, while his legs moved smoothly under the water. He was moving ahead, moment by moment.

There were no smiles on the faces of the onlookers. It seemed they were not happy about his coming out alive.

When they saw him reaching at the bank, and standing erect before them, they pulled their faces long, and looked at one another, as if they were ashamed of themselves.

Read the original text in Urdu