Manto and Chughtai

by Muhammed Umar Memon

  ‘The tailor delivered it just this morning.’ As she said this, her glance fell on Mukhtar’s earrings. ‘When did you get these?’ she asked.

  ‘Just today.’

  And then neither could say anything for a while.

  SHARDA

  Nazir went to buy a bottle of whisky from the black market. There was a cigarette stall near the entrance to the pier, just before the main post office, where he always got Scotch at a reasonable price. He paid thirty-five rupees and took a bottle wrapped in paper. Must have been around eleven in the morning. Although he usually started drinking after sundown, the weather was so gorgeous that he thought he might get started now and keep going well into the evening.

  Bottle in hand, he set out for home in an exuberant mood. He decided to catch a taxi at the Bori Bunder stand, leisurely sip a bit of the Scotch during the ride and arrive home pleasantly inebriated. If his wife made a fuss, he would simply say, ‘Just look at the weather—isn’t it heavenly?’ and then recite a few lines of insipid poetry, ‘The clouds won’t let the angels in; all sins will be counted as good deeds today.’ Of course, she would nag him for a while, but eventually she would calm down and, perhaps, at his request, get busy making parathas filled with ground meat.

  He had only taken a few steps away from the stall when a man greeted him. Given his weak memory, Nazir failed to recognize him but he pretended otherwise and said courteously, ‘Where have you been all these days? Haven’t seen you in ages.’

  The man smiled. ‘Sir, I’m always right here; it’s you who have made yourself scarce.’

  Nazir still couldn’t place him. ‘Well, I’m here now.’

  ‘In that case, come with me.’

  Nazir was in a very buoyant mood. He said, ‘All right, let’s go.’

  Spotting the bottle tucked under Nazir’s arm, the man said with a knowing smile, ‘You seem to have everything else with you.’

  ‘He’s got to be a pimp,’ Nazir suddenly realized. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Karim. Don’t tell me you forgot.’

  It all came back to Nazir. Before he got married, a certain Karim used to procure nice girls for him. He was an exceptionally honest pimp. Nazir looked at him closely and saw a familiar face. The events of a not-so-long-ago past floated in his memory. ‘Sorry, yaar, I didn’t recognize you,’ he apologized. ‘It’s been nearly six years since we last met, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You used to do your business at the corner of Grant Road.’

  ‘I’ve moved,’ Karim said with burgeoning pride as he lit his biri, ‘thanks to your good wishes. Now I work from a hotel.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Nazir congratulated him. ‘You’ve done well for yourself.’

  ‘Altogether I have ten girls,’ Karim said with even greater pride, ‘and one of them is brand new.’

  ‘Oh, you guys! You always say that,’ Nazir teased him.

  But Karim took it badly. ‘I swear by the Qur’an, I’ve never lied in my entire life. May I eat a pig’s flesh if this girl isn’t a novice.’ He then dropped his voice and whispered conspiratorially, ‘She had her first passenger just eight days ago—I’ll be damned if I lie.’

  ‘Was she a virgin?’

  ‘Absolutely. That passenger had to shell out two hundred rupees.’

  Nazir poked Karim in the ribs. ‘I see you’re already at it, I mean fixing the price.’

  Karim felt offended. ‘By the Qur’an, may he who bargains with you become a swine. Please come with me. Pay whatever you will. I’ll accept it gladly. Karim has a lot to thank you for.’

  Nazir had four hundred and fifty rupees on him. The weather was exceptional, and his mood no less exuberant. He travelled six years back in time, inebriated already without even having a drop. ‘Why not, yaar, let’s live it up. But first, let’s get another bottle.’

  ‘How much did you pay for this one?’ Karim inquired. ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘Brand?’

  ‘Johnnie Walker.’

  ‘I’ll get you one for thirty,’ Karim said, patting his chest.

  ‘Don’t let me stand in your way, be my guest—here.’ Nazir took out three ten-rupee notes and handed them to Karim. ‘After you’ve taken me to her, the first thing you should do is get the bottle. Remember, I don’t like to drink alone.’

  ‘And, perhaps you remember, I never drink more than a peg and a half,’ Karim said smiling.

  Yes—Nazir recalled—six years ago, Karim had always drunk only a peg and a half. The memory made him smile. ‘Have two today.’

  ‘No, sir, not a drop more.’

  Karim stopped near a dismal building with a shabby sign in one corner announcing Marina Hotel. It was a beautiful name, but the building was filthy, with a rickety, crumbling staircase. A bunch of Pathan moneylenders in baggy shalwars lounged on cots near the entrance. The ground floor seemed to have been appropriated by Christians; a slew of native sailors lived on the second floor; and the third had been taken over by the hotel’s owner for his personal use. Karim had a corner room on the fourth floor, where several girls sat huddled together like chickens cooped up in their pen.

  He sent for the key from the owner and opened the door to a spacious but ill-proportioned room. It had a steel-frame cot, a chair and a tea table. The room was exposed on three sides, that is, it had a profusion of windows, most of them with the glass broken. If nothing else, at least it boasted an airy environment.

  After cleaning the filthy armchair with a filthier rag, Karim invited Nazir to take a seat. ‘But let me tell you upfront,’ he said, ‘the room will cost you ten rupees.’

  Nazir examined the room closely and said, ‘Yaar, isn’t ten a bit steep.’

  ‘It is, I agree, but can’t be helped. The hotel owner, saala, he’s one hell of a money-sucker. He won’t take a penny less. And Nazir Sahib, what’s money to someone out on a binge, after all.’

  Nazir thought a bit. ‘You couldn’t be more right. Shall I pay for it in advance?’ he asked.

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary. First have a look at the girl,’ he said as he went out.

  He returned in a bit with an exceedingly shy girl in tow—a plain sort of Hindu girl of about fourteen in a white dhoti, not exactly a beauty queen but endearingly simple and naive all the same.

  ‘Sit down,’ Karim told her. ‘This gentleman is a friend of mine. He’s one of our own.’

  The girl perched herself on the cot with her eyes lowered. Karim left the room saying, ‘Make sure you’re satisfied. I’ll fetch some glasses and soda.’

  Nazir got up from the chair and sat down next to the girl. She cringed and pulled away. Nazir asked, exactly the way he used to six years ago, ‘What’s your name?’

  She didn’t reply. Nazir edged closer to her, took her hand and asked again, ‘What’s your name, madam?’

  The girl pulled her hand free and said, ‘Shakuntala.’

  Nazir recalled the Shakuntala with whom Raja Dushyanta had fallen in love. ‘And I’m Dushyanta,’ he said. Nazir, in a pleasant mood, seemed hell bent on having a good time. The girl heard him and smiled. Meanwhile, Karim returned and presented four bottles of soda dotted with condensation. ‘I remembered that you like Roger’s soda. They’re chilled.’

  Nazir was delighted. ‘Man, you’re something else again!’ Then he asked the girl, ‘Madam, would you like to have some?’

  She didn’t respond. Instead, Karim answered, ‘Nazir Sahib, she doesn’t drink. It’s only been eight days since she came here.’

  Nazir felt a bit let down. ‘That’s no good,’ he said.

  Karim opened the whisky and poured out a shot for Nazir. Then he winked at him and said, ‘Well, see if you can bring her round.’

  Nazir emptied the glass in one gulp. Karim had only half a peg. The liquor affected him immediately. ‘You like the girl, don’t you?’ he asked, swaying a little from the rapid inebriation.

  Nazir thought about it but couldn’t say whether h
e did or didn’t. He looked intently at Shakuntala. He might have liked her if she hadn’t had that name. The Shakuntala whom Raja Dushyanta had seen during his hunt and instantly fallen in love with was very beautiful, or so the books said. They described her as lovelier than the sun and moon, with the eyes of a gazelle. Nazir looked at his Shakuntala one more time. Her eyes weren’t bad, though not exactly like a gazelle’s, but they were her own eyes, large and dark. He didn’t deliberate further and said, ‘Fine, yaar. How much?’

  Karim poured himself another half peg and said, ‘A hundred.’

  Nazir was no longer thinking. ‘Okay, a hundred it is.’

  His drink finished, Karim left the room. Nazir got up and closed the door. When he plopped down beside Shakuntala, she became nervous. And when he tried to kiss her, she sprang up with a start. He found this very unpleasant, but attempted it again. He grabbed her by the arm, made her sit next to him and forcibly kissed her. The whole thing was proceeding in the worst possible way. At least the effect of the whisky was superb; he had downed six pegs by now. Soon, though, he began to feel quite disappointed that all this expense would be a waste since this Shakuntala had turned out to be totally raw and knew next to nothing about the protocol of this trade. It was as if he had been condemned to swim with a rank amateur. At last he lost interest. He opened the door and called out for Karim, who sat cooped up in the grubby den with his girls.

  Karim scurried over. ‘What’s the matter, Nazir Sahib?’

  ‘Nothing, yaar,’ Nazir said in desperation. ‘It won’t work.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to know what’s involved.’

  Karim took Shakuntala aside and reasoned with her at length, but failed to get through to her. Adjusting her dhoti, she scuttled out of the room, blushing all over. ‘I’ll bring her right back,’ Karim said.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Nazir stopped him. ‘Bring me some other girl.’ Then, suddenly, he changed his mind. ‘Go and buy another bottle with the money I gave you and bring however many girls you have around here—except Shakuntala. I mean, all the ones who drink. Today, I’ll just sit with them and drink. Nothing else.’

  Karim, who understood Nazir well enough, sent in four girls. Nazir looked at them cursorily. He’d made up his mind to just drink in their company so he sent for more glasses and started drinking with them. In the afternoon he had lunch brought over from the hotel and chattered with them until six in the evening. Meaningless jabber, but it seemed to revive his spirits; the vexation Shakuntala had caused him was more than redeemed.

  Half a bottle of whisky still remained, so he took it home. A fortnight later the weather was again heavenly and Nazir was overcome by the desire to drink all day long. Instead of buying his liquor at the cigarette stall, he decided to get it for less through Karim, and went to his haunt. Luckily Karim was there. The minute Karim saw him he said in a hushed voice, ‘Nazir Sahib, Shakuntala’s elder sister is here. She arrived by the morning train. A tough cookie, I must say, but I’m sure you will be able to tame her.’

  Nazir hardly took time to think it over. ‘Let’s see,’ he said to himself. ‘Come on, yaar, get some whisky first,’ he told Karim, giving him thirty rupees.

  Karim took the bills and said, ‘Okay, I’ll get it. You go into the room and have a seat.’

  Nazir had only ten rupees left. All the same, he had the room opened and sat down on the chair. He had decided that he would take the bottle of whisky, briefly look at Shakuntala’s sister and then be on his way, tipping Karim two rupees for his trouble.

  In the abundantly airy room, seated on the terribly grimy chair, Nazir lit a cigarette and lifted his legs up on to the bed. Shortly afterwards he heard the sound of footsteps. Karim entered and whispered into Nazir’s ear, ‘She’ll be here in a second. But mind you, you’ll have to tackle her yourself.’

  Karim left the room, and five minutes later a girl resembling Shakuntala and, like her, draped in a white dhoti entered with a frown on her face. She raised her hand to her head and, with utter indifference, said ‘Aadaab’ and sat down on the bed. Nazir felt as though she’d come looking for a fight. Recalling his style from six years ago he addressed her courteously, ‘You’re Shakuntala’s sister?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied in a sharp, angry tone.

  Nazir was quiet for some time, intently observing this girl who was perhaps three years older than Shakuntala. She didn’t like it, and was, in fact, miffed at being checked out so blatantly. ‘What is it, do you want to tell me something?’ she asked, swinging one leg back and forth in agitation.

  The same smile that was his wont six years ago appeared on his lips. ‘Madam, why be so angry?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be angry? This Karim, your friend, kidnapped my sister from Jaipur. Don’t you think that’s reason enough for my blood to boil? I hear she was also offered to you.’

  Nothing like this had ever happened before. After some thought Nazir said to the girl in all earnestness, ‘The minute I saw Shakuntala I knew she wasn’t my type. She’s very raw and inexperienced. I don’t prefer such girls. You might not want to hear this, but the fact is I’m much more drawn to women who know how to make a man happy.’

  The girl didn’t say anything. ‘Your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Sharda,’ she replied tersely.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Jaipur.’ Her tone was still sharp with anger.

  Nazir smiled. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘you have no right to be angry with me. If Karim has offended you, you should punish him. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  He got up, gathered the girl in his arms and kissed her on the lips. Before she could say anything, he addressed her: ‘This, of course, is my offence. I plead guilty and am ready for my punishment.’

  Myriad expressions flitted across her face. She spat on the floor a few times. For a moment it seemed as if she was about to unload a volley of curses, but she didn’t. She sprang up from the bed and sat back down just as quickly.

  ‘So, have you decided on the penalty?’ Nazir was tempted to ask.

  Just as she was about to open her mouth, the cry of a child sounded from the chicken coop. The girl got up again but Nazir stopped her. ‘Where are you going?’

  Suddenly she was a mother. ‘Munni is crying for milk,’ she said and left the room.

  Nazir tried to think about her but his mind got muddled. Meanwhile, Karim returned with a bottle of whisky and some soda. He poured soda for Nazir, finished pouring his own drink, and asked him slyly, ‘Were you able to strike up a conversation with Sharda? I thought you would have brought her round by now.’

  ‘Boy, oh boy, she’s got one hell of a temper,’ Nazir answered with a smile.

  ‘That she does. She arrived just this morning and already she’s made my life a living hell. Do try to break her down. Shakuntala came with me of her own will because her father had abandoned her mother. Just like Sharda’s husband, who took off for God knows where soon after they got married. She lives with her daughter at her mother’s place now. Please try to persuade her.’

  ‘Persuade her . . . Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘You know.’ Karim winked at him. ‘Saali, will she listen to me! No, sir. From the moment she set her foot in here she’s been railing me up and down.’

  Meanwhile, Sharda came in lugging her one-year-old and glowered at Karim testily. He hastily downed his half peg and went out.

  Munni had apparently caught a bad cold; her nose was running profusely. Nazir called Karim and gave him five rupees, saying, ‘Go buy some Vicks.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Karim inquired.

  ‘Cold medicine,’ Nazir said and wrote out the name on a scrap of paper. ‘You can get it from just about any store.’

  ‘Okay.’

  After Karim was gone, Nazir turned his attention to Munni. He loved children and although Munni wasn’t a pretty girl, Nazir found her quite charming. He took her in his arms and cuddled her. Sharda was having a hard ti
me putting her to sleep. Nazir caressed her head gently with his fingers until she dozed off. ‘Looks as though I’m her mother,’ he said to Sharda, who smiled and asked him to give the child back to her so she could lay her down on the bed in the other room.

  By the time she returned all traces of anger had disappeared from her face. Nazir sat down close to her. After a brief silence, he asked, ‘Would you allow me to be your husband?’ and embraced her without waiting for her reply. She didn’t resist.

  ‘Madam, please answer.’

  She remained silent. Nazir got up and swallowed a peg. Sharda contorted her face. ‘I hate this stuff,’ she said.

  He poured some whisky in a glass, threw in some soda, and sat down by her side. ‘Why do you hate it?’ he asked.

  ‘I just do,’ she said briefly.

  ‘But you won’t, from this day forward. Here.’ He offered the glass to her.

  ‘I won’t touch it, not in a million years.’

  ‘And I say you’ll not refuse, absolutely not.’

  Sharda took the glass and let her gaze linger on it a while. Utterly helpless, she looked at Nazir and then, pinching her nose, swallowed the whole glassful in one big gulp. She felt as if she was about to throw up but managed to keep it down somehow. Wiping her tears with the edge of her dhoti, she said, ‘This is the first and last time . . . But why did I take it in the first place?’

  He kissed her moist lips. ‘Don’t even try to find the answer,’ he said. He walked over to the door and fastened it.

  It was seven in the evening when he unlatched it. As soon as Karim came in, Sharda left the room with her head bowed. Karim looked ecstatic. ‘Man, oh man, I can’t believe it! Was it a miracle or what? I won’t ask for a hundred. Just give me fifty.’

  Nazir was well satisfied with Sharda, indeed so pleased that he’d already forgotten all the other women he’d had before. She was the perfect fulfilment of every sexual desire he’d ever had.

  ‘I’ll pay tomorrow,’ he said to Karim. ‘The rent too. After the thirty I gave you for the whisky, I only have ten left.’