The Dog of Tithwal

by Saadat Hasan Manto

  As promised, he bought a car for Zeno – a Fiat – for three thousand rupees. A chauffeur was also employed (an unreliable ruffian) but they were the sort of people Babu Gopi Nath felt happy with.

  Our meetings had become more frequent. Babu Gopi Nath interested me. In turn, he treated me with great respect and devotion.

  One evening, I found among Babu Gopi Nath’s regulars a man I had known for a long time – Moham mad Shafiq Toosi. Widely regarded as a singer and a wit, Shafiq had another unusual side to his character. He was the known lover of the most famous singing girls of the time. It was not so commonly known, however, that he had had affairs, one after the other with three sisters, belonging to one of the most famous singing families of Patiala.

  Even less known was the fact that their mother, when she was young, had been his mistress. His first wife, who died a few years after their marriage, he did not care for, because she was too housewifely and did not act like a woman of pleasure. He had no use for housewives. He was about forty and, though he had gone through scores of famous courtesans and singing girls, he was not known to have spent a penny of his own on them. He was one of nature’s gigolos.

  Courtesans had always found him irresistible. When I walked into the flat, I found him engrossed in conversation with Zeenat. I couldn’t understand who had introduced him to Babu Gopi Nath. I knew that Sando was a friend of his, but they had not been on speaking terms for some time. In the end, it turned out that the two had made up and it was actually Sando who had brought him here today.

  Babu Gopi Nath sat in a corner, smoking his hookah. He never smoked cigarettes. Shafiq was telling stories, most of them ribald and all of them about courtesans and singing girls. Zeenat looked uninterested, but Sardar was all ears. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ Shafiq said to me, ‘I did not know you too were a wayfarer of this valley.’

  Sando shouted, ‘Welcome to the angel of death. Dharan takhta.’

  One could not fail to notice that Mohammad Shafiq Toosi and Zeenat were exchanging what could only be described as amorous glances. This troubled me. I had become quite fond of Zeenat, who had begun to call me Manto bhai.

  I didn’t like the way Shafiq was ogling Zeenat. After some time, he left with Sando. I am afraid I was a bit harsh with Zeenat, because I expressed strong disapproval of the goings-on between Shafiq and her. She burst into tears and ran into the next room, followed by Babu Gopi Nath. A few minutes later, he came out and said, ‘Manto sahib, come with me.’

  Zeenat was sitting on her bed. When she saw us, she covered her face with both hands and lay down. Babu Gopi Nath was very sombre. ‘Manto sahib, I love this woman. She has been with me for two years, and I swear by the saint Hazrat Ghaus Azam Jilani that she has never given me cause for complaint. Her other sisters, I mean women of her calling, have robbed me without compunction over the years, but she is a girl without greed or love of money. Sometimes, I go away for weeks, maybe to be with another woman, without leaving her any money. You know what she does? She pawns her ornaments to manage until I return.

  ‘Manto sahib, as I told you once, I don’t have long to go. My money has almost run out. I don’t want her life to go to waste after I am gone. So often have I said to her, “Zeno, look at the other women and learn something from them. Today, I have money, tomorrow, I’ll be a beggar. Women can’t do with just one rich lover in their lives; they need several. If you don’t find a rich patron after I leave, your life will be ruined. You act like a housewife, confined at home all day. That won’t do.”

  ‘But Manto sahib, this woman is hopeless. I consulted Ghaffar Sain in Lahore and he advised me to take her to Bombay. He knows two famous actresses here who used to be singing girls in Lahore. I sent for Sardar from Lahore to teach Zeno a few tricks of the trade. Ghaffar Sain is also very capable in these matters.

  ‘Nobody knows me in Bombay. She was afraid she would bring me dishonour, but I said to her, “Don’t be silly. Bombay is a big city, full of millionaires. I have bought you a car. Why don’t you find yourself a rich man who could look after you?”

  ‘Manto sahib, I swear on God that it is my sincere wish that Zeno should stand on her own feet. I am prepared to put ten thousand rupees in a bank for her, but I know that within ten days that woman Sardar will rob her of the last penny. Manto sahib, you should try to persuade her to become worldly-wise. Since she has had the car, Sardar takes her out for a drive every evening to the Apollo Bandar beach, which is frequented by fashionable people. But there has been no success so far. Sando brought Mohammad Shafiq Toosi this evening, as you saw. What is your opinion about him?’

  I decided to offer no opinion, but Babu Gopi Nath said, ‘He appears to be rich, and he is good-looking. Zeno, did you like him?’

  Zeno said nothing.

  I simply could not believe what he was telling me: that he had brought Zeenat to Bombay so that she could become the mistress of a rich man, or, at least, learn to live off rich men. But that’s the way it was. Had he wanted to get rid of her, it would have been the easiest thing in the world, but his intentions were exactly what he said they were. He had tried to get her into films, Bombay being India’s movie capital. For her sake, he had entertained men who claimed to be film directors, but were no such thing. He even had had a phone installed in the flat. None of these things had produced the man he was looking for.

  Mohammad Shafiq Toosi, a regular visitor for a month or so, suddenly disappeared one day. True to style, he had used the opportunity to seduce Zeenat. Babu Gopi Nath said to me, ‘Manto sahib, it is so sad. Shafiq sahib was all show and no substance. Not only did he do nothing to help Zeno, but he cheated her out of many valuables and two hundred rupees. Now I am told he is having an affair with a girl called Almas.’

  This was true. Almas was the youngest daughter of the famous courtesan Nazir Jan of Patiala. She was the fourth sister he had seduced in a row. Zeno’s money had been spent on her, but like all his liaisons this too had turned out to be short-lived. It was later rumoured that Almas had tried to poison herself after being abandoned.

  However, Zeenat had not given up on Mohammad Shafiq Toosi. She often phoned me, asking me to find Toosi and bring him to her. One day I accidentally ran into him at the radio station. When I gave him Zeenat’s message, he said, ‘This is not the first one. I have had several. The truth is that while Zeenat is a nice woman, she is too nice for my taste. Women who behave like wives are of no interest to me.’

  Disappointed in Toosi, Zeenat resumed her visits to the beach in the company of Sardar. After two weeks of effort, Sardar was able to get hold of two men who appeared to be just the kind of gentlemen of leisure being sought. One of them, who owned a silk mill, even gave four hundred rupees to Zeenat and promised to marry her, but that was the last she heard from him.

  One day, while on an errand on Hornsby Road, I saw Zeenat’s parked car, with Mohammad Yasin, owner of the Nagina Hotel, occupying the back seat. ‘Where did you get this car?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you know who it belongs to?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then you can put two and two together.’ He winked meaningfully.

  A couple of days later, Babu Gopi Nath told me the story. Sardar had met someone at the beach and they had decided to go to Nagina Hotel to spend the evening. There was a quarrel and the man had walked out, which is how Yasin, the hotel’s owner, had come into the picture.

  Zeenat’s affair with Yasin appeared to be progressing well. He had bought her some expensive gifts, and Babu Gopi Nath was mentally prepared to return to Lahore, because he was certain Yasin was the man Zeno could be entrusted to. Unfortunately, things did not work out that way.

  A mother and daughter had recently moved into Nagina Hotel and Yasin was quick to see that Muriel, the daughter, was looking for someone to while away the time with. So, while Zeenat sat in the hotel all day long, waiting for him, the two of them could be seen driving around Bomb
ay in Zeenat’s car. Babu Gopi Nath was hurt.

  ‘What sort of men are these, Manto sahib?’ he asked me. ‘I mean if one has had one’s fill of a woman, one just says so honestly. I no longer understand Zeenat. She knows what is going on, but she wouldn’t even tell him that if he must carry on with that Christian chhokri then at least he should have the decency not to use her car. What am I to do, Manto sahib? She is such a wonderful girl, but she is so naive. She has to learn how to survive in this world.’

  The affair with Yasin finally ended, but it seemed to have left no outward effect on Zeenat. One day I phoned the flat and learnt that Babu Gopi Nath had returned to Lahore, along with Ghulam Ali and Ghaffar Sain. His money had run out, but he still had some property left, which he was planning to sell before returning to Bombay.

  Sardar needed her morphine and Sando his Polson’s butter. They had therefore decided to turn the flat into a whorehouse. Two or three men were roped in every day to receive Zeenat’s sexual favours. She had been told to cooperate until Babu Gopi Nath’s return. The daily takings were around a hundred rupees or so, half of them Zeenat’s.

  ‘You do realize what you are doing to yourself?’ I said to her one day.

  ‘I don’t know, Manto bhai,’ she answered innocently. ‘I merely do what these people tell me.’

  I wanted to say that she was a fool and the two of them would not even hesitate to auction her off, if it came to that. However, I said nothing. She was a woman without ambition and unbelievably naive. She simply had no idea of her own value or what life was all about. If she was being made to sell her body, she could at least have done so with some intelligence and style, but she was simply not interested in anything, drinking, smoking, eating, or even the sofa on which she was to be found lying most of the time, and the telephone which she was so fond of using.

  A month later, Babu Gopi Nath returned from Lahore. He went to the flat, but found some other people living there. It turned out that, on the advice of Sando and Sardar, Zeenat had rented the top portion of a bungalow in the Bandara area. When Babu Gopi Nath came to see me, I told him of the new arrangement, but I said nothing about the establishment Sando and Sardar were running, thanks to Zeenat.

  Babu Gopi Nath had come back with ten thousand rupees this time. Ghaffar Sain and Ghulam Ali had been left in Lahore. When we met, he insisted that I should come with him to Zeenat’s place. He had left a taxi waiting on the street.

  It took us an hour to get to Bandara. As we were driving up Pali Hill, we saw Sando. ‘Sando, Sando,’ Babu Gopi Nath shouted. ‘Dharan takhta,’ Sando exclaimed when he saw who it was.

  Babu Gopi Nath wanted him to get into the taxi, but Sando wouldn’t. ‘There is something I have to tell you,’ he said.

  I stayed in the taxi. The two of them talked for some time, then Babu Gopi Nath came back and told the driver to return to town.

  He looked happy. As we were approaching Dawar, he said, ‘Manto sahib, Zeno is about to be married.’

  ‘To whom?’ I asked, somewhat surprised.

  ‘A rich landlord from Hyderabad, Sindh. May God keep both of them happy. The timing is perfect. The money I have can be used to buy Zeno her dowry.’

  I was a bit sceptical about the story. I was sure it was another of Sando and Sardar’s tricks to cheat Babu Gopi Nath. However, it all turned out to be true. The man was a rich Sindhi landlord who had been introduced to Zeno through the good offices of a Sindhi music teacher who had failed to teach her how to sing.

  One day he had brought Ghulam Hussain – for that was the landlord’s name – to Zeenat’s place and she had received him with her usual hospitality. She had even sung for him at his insistence Ghalib’s ghazal ‘Nukta cheen hai gham-e-dil usko sunai na bana.’ Ghulam Hussain was smitten. The music teacher mentioned this to Zeenat, and Sardar and Sando joined hands to firm things up and a date for marriage was set.

  One thing had led to another and now they were going to get married.

  Babu Gopi Nath was ecstatic. He had managed to meet Ghulam Hussain, having had himself introduced as Sando’s friend. He told me later, ‘Manto sahib, he is handsome and he is intelligent. Before leaving Lahore, I went and prayed at the shrine of Data Ganj Baksh for Zeno and my prayer has been answered. May Bhagwan keep both of them happy.’

  Babu Gopi Nath made all the wedding arrangements. Four thousand rupees was spent on ornaments and clothes and five thousand was to be given in cash to Zeenat.

  The wedding guests from Zeenat’s side were myself, Mohammad Shafiq Toosi, and Mohammad Yasin, proprietor of the Nagina Hotel. After the ceremony, Sando whispered, ‘Dharan takhta.’

  Ghulam Hussain was a handsome man. He was dressed in a blue suit and was graciously acknowledging the congratulations being offered to him. Babu Gopi Nath looked like a little bird in his presence.

  There was a wedding dinner, with Babu Gopi Nath very much the host. At one point, he said to me, ‘Manto sahib, you must see how lovely Zeno looks in her bridal dress.’

  I went into the next room. There sat Zeenat, dressed in expensive, silver-embroidered red silk. She was lightly made up, but was wearing too much lipstick. She greeted me by bowing her head slightly. She did look lovely, I thought. However, when I looked in the other corner, I found a bed profusely bedecked with flowers. I just could not contain my laughter. ‘What is this farce?’ I asked her. ‘You are making fun of me, Manto bhai,’ Zeno said, tears welling up in her eyes.

  I was still wondering how to react, when Babu Gopi Nath came in. Lovingly, he dried Zeno’s tears with his handkerchief and said to me in a heartbroken voice, ‘Manto sahib, I had always considered you a wise and sensitive man. Before making such fun of Zeno, you should at least have weighed your words.’

  I suddenly had the feeling that the devotion he had always shown me had suffered a setback, but before I could apologize to him, he placed his hand affectionately over Zeenat’s head and said, ‘May God keep you happy.’

  When he left the room, his eyes were wet and there was a look of disillusionment on his face.

  Translated by Khalid Hasan

  The Room with the Bright Light

  HE STOOD quietly by a lamppost off the Qaiser Gardens, thinking how desolate everything looked. A few tongas waited for customers who were nowhere in evidence.

  A few years ago, this used to be such a gay place, full of bright, happy, carefree men and women, but everything seemed to have gone to seed. The area was now full of louts and vagabonds with nowhere to go. The bazaar still had its crowds, but it had lost its colour. The shops and buildings looked derelict and unwashed, staring at each other like empty-eyed widows.

  He stood there wondering what had turned the once fashionable Qaiser Gardens into a slum. Where had all the life and excitement gone? It reminded him of a woman who had been scrubbed clean of all her makeup.

  He remembered that many years ago when he had moved to Bombay from Calcutta to take up a job, he had tried vainly for weeks to find a room in this area. There was nothing going.

  How times had changed. Judging by the kind of people in the streets, just anybody could rent a place here now – weavers, cobblers, grocers.

  He looked around again. What used to be film company offices were now bed-sitters with cooking stoves, and where the elegant people of the city used to gather in the evenings were now washermen’s backyards.

  It was nothing short of a revolution, but a revolution which had brought decay. In between, he had left the city, but knew through newspaper reports and friends who had stayed back what had happened to Qaiser Gardens in his absence.

  There had been riots, accompanied by massacres and rapes. The violence Qaiser Gardens had witnessed had left its ugly mark on everything. The once splendid commercial buildings and residential houses looked sordid and unclean.

  He was told that during the riots women had been stripped naked and their breasts chopped
off. Was it then surprising that everything looked naked and ravaged?

  He was here this evening to meet a friend who had promised to find him a place to live.

  Qaiser Gardens used to have some of the city’s best restaurants and hotels. And if one was inclined, the best girls in Bombay could be obtained through the good offices of the city’s high-class pimps who used to hang out here.

  He recalled those good times. He thought nostalgically of the women, the drinking, the elegant hotel rooms. Because of the war, it was almost impossible to obtain Scotch whisky, but he had never had to spend a dry evening. Any amount of expensive Scotch was yours for the asking, as long as you were able to pay for it.

  He looked at his watch. It was going on five. The shadows of the February evening had begun to lengthen. He cursed his friend who had kept him waiting. He was about to slip into a roadside place for a cup of tea when a shabbily dressed man came up to him.

  ‘Do you want something?’ he asked the stranger.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied in a conspiratorial voice.

  He took him for a refugee who had fallen on bad times and wanted some money. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want anything.’ He paused, then drew closer and said, ‘Do you need something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A girl, for instance?’

  ‘Where is she?’

  His tone was none too encouraging for the stranger, who began to walk away. ‘It seems you are not really interested.’

  He stopped him. ‘How do you know? What you can provide is something men are always in need of, even on the gallows. So look, my friend, if it is not too far, I am prepared to come with you. You see, I was waiting for someone who hasn’t turned up.’

  The man whispered, ‘It is close, very close, I assure you.’