My Name Is Radha

by Saadat Hasan Manto

  ‘You haven’t had a haircut for six months—you don’t think that’s reason enough to get upset? Just look at the collars of your achkans . . . how grimy they’ve become.’

  ‘Shall I send them to be dry-cleaned?’

  ‘It’s your head that needs dry-cleaning. God, it’s revolting to look at your hair, I swear. I feel like dousing it with kerosene and sticking a match into it.’

  ‘To finish me off. But I don’t have a problem if you want that. Bring some kerosene from the kitchen, pour it slowly over my head, and set it afire. The less rubbish in the world the better.’

  ‘Do it yourself. If I tried, you’d say I don’t know how to do anything properly.’

  ‘Which is true. You don’t. You don’t know how to cook or sew, or even keep the house tidy. As for the children, you know nothing about raising them. God protect them.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right! It’s you who’s been raising them all this while. I’m a total moron, a good-for-nothing.’

  ‘I don’t want to say anything more about this matter. Stop this bickering for God’s sake.’

  ‘I’m not bickering. But to you every little thing is bickering.’

  ‘Maybe they’re little things to you. Now leave my hair alone. I’ve always had this much hair. You know well enough that I don’t have a moment to breathe, much less to go to the barber.’

  ‘When would you have time anyway, you’re always up to your neck in your own enjoyment.’

  ‘What enjoyment?’

  ‘Do you work? Are you employed anywhere? Any salary? Anything that requires hard work, you shirk, labelling it the biggest calamity.’

  ‘Don’t I slog away? Just a few days ago I worked my butt off to supply bricks for a contract.’

  ‘If anyone worked it was the donkeys who hauled the bricks; you were probably dozing.’

  ‘Donkeys are passé. It’s trucks, now, that I have to supervise. The contract was for ten crore bricks. I had to stay awake all night.’

  ‘I can’t believe you could stay awake even one night.’

  ‘You’ve formed a wrong opinion of me and I can’t get it out of your head. Even if I gave you a hundred proofs to the contrary, you’re not likely to believe me.’

  ‘I stopped believing you a long time ago. You’re a liar, a first-rate liar.’

  ‘You’re second to no woman in making false accusations. I have never ever lied in my life.’

  ‘Oh yeah. You told me the day before yesterday that you’d been at a friend’s. Then you drank a little and it went to your head. Now you’ve told me that you had gone to meet some actress.’

  ‘That actress is also a friend. She isn’t an enemy; I mean she’s the wife of one of my friends.’

  ‘As a rule, all your friends’ wives are generally either actresses or sluts.’

  ‘It’s not my fault if they are.’

  ‘Then it must be my fault . . .’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because I married you. I’m neither an actress nor a slut.’

  ‘I despise both . . . very much. I have no interest in them. Who says they’re women? On the contrary, they’re like writing slates. Anyone can scribble a few words or lengthy sentences on them and then just erase everything.’

  ‘So why did you go to see her . . . that actress?’

  ‘My friend invited me to come over and I obliged. He’d just married this actress who had been married four times before and he wanted to introduce us.’

  ‘How did she look?’

  ‘Considering her four previous marriages, she looked quite fit, unbelievably young. I’d even say in a lot better shape than ordinary unmarried girls.’

  ‘What’s the secret of these actresses for staying so young and fit?’

  ‘I don’t know much about it . . . except they take good care of their bodies.’

  ‘I’ve heard that they have questionable morals . . . and they tend to be rather lewd.’

  ‘God knows best. I know nothing about these things.’

  ‘You always evade answering such things.’

  ‘What answer can I give when I know next to nothing about a particular thing—your temperament for instance? What can I say about it with any degree of confidence when it keeps wavering between extremes.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want you to say anything about me . . . ever. You always put me down. I can’t take it any more.’

  ‘When have I ever put you down?’

  ‘Isn’t it putting me down to say that in fifteen years of being married you still haven’t figured me out? What else does it mean except that I’m demented, half-crazy, a rank ignoramus, rough and coarse . . .’

  ‘Well, at least you’re none of those. All the same, it’s difficult to figure you out. I still don’t understand why you suddenly started talking about my hair, because when you do start talking about something suddenly, there’s sure as hell always something else lurking behind it . . .’

  ‘What could that something else be? All I wanted to say was that your hair has grown too long and you must get a haircut. The barbershop isn’t very far, a hundred steps at most. Go get a haircut. Meanwhile, I’ll get water heated for your bath.’

  ‘I will, I will, but let me first smoke a cigarette.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ve—let me see the tin—my God, you’ve already smoked twenty cigarettes. Twenty!’

  ‘That’s not too many . . . it’s getting on towards twelve o’clock . . .’

  ‘Don’t prattle on your way to the barber’s . . . Get this extra baggage off your head.’

  ‘I’m going, I’m going. Is there something you want done?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t look for excuses to elude me.’

  ‘Okay, I’m leaving.’

  ‘Hold on.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How much money do you have on you?’

  ‘About five hundred rupees.’

  ‘Well then, stop by Anarkali before going to the barber and buy a gold ring worth at least two hundred to two hundred and fifty rupees. It is my friend’s birthday today.

  ‘Why would I need a haircut after that? I’ll go bald right there in Anarkali bazaar. I’m going, bye.’

  Turnips

  ‘Please have the servant bring my lunch. I’m starving.’

  ‘It’s three o’clock. Where will you get food at this hour?’

  ‘So what if it’s three o’clock—I live here. I need to eat. After all, I must have some rights in this house.’

  ‘Oh yeah, what rights? How many?’

  ‘Since when have you started keeping track of such things—questioning me like this?’

  ‘If I didn’t, this house wouldn’t have lasted this long.’

  ‘Oh, you’re amazing! Now, will I get my lunch or not?’

  ‘You can forget about lunch if you keep turning up at three in the afternoon day after day. Even in a restaurant you wouldn’t get dal–roti at this hour. I absolutely don’t like your habits.’

  ‘What habits?’

  ‘That you show up at three. The food gets cold while I’m languishing away, waiting for you, and only God knows where Your Majesty is loafing around.’

  ‘Well, don’t people have work to do? In any case, I was a little bit late just two days.’

  ‘You call it a little bit late? Every husband has to come home by noon so that he’s fed by one o’clock. And besides, he should be submissive to his wife.’

  ‘Maybe he should just take a room in a hotel and live there? At least there the attendants would all be at his beck and call.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you love that? In fact, you’re planning to take off any day, aren’t you? Well, you can leave now, right this minute.’

  ‘Without having my meal?’

  ‘Eat it at your hotel.’

  ‘But just now you said I wouldn’t even get dal–roti in any restaurant at this hour? How quickly you forget!’

  ‘You know why, because I’m going nuts, or rather, being driven nuts.’

 
; ‘That’s for sure. But who’s driving you nuts?’

  ‘You—who else? You’ve made my life a living hell. I have no peace, neither during the day nor at night.’

  ‘Never mind the day, why don’t you have peace at night? You sleep like a log, without a care in the world, or, as the saying goes, like one who’s sold off all his horses.’

  ‘Who can sleep after selling their horses? What a stupid saying.’

  ‘All right, it is stupid. But just a few days ago you sold not only the horse but also the tonga along with it. And how soundly you slept afterwards, snoring all night long.’

  ‘There was no need to keep the tonga after you’d bought me the car. And the accusation that I snore is total nonsense.’

  ‘Your Majesty, how could you possibly know whether or not you were snoring when you were drowned in sleep? Your snores kept me awake the whole night, believe me.’

  ‘Wrong, absolutely wrong. It’s a vicious lie.’

  ‘Okay, for your sake, let’s say it’s a lie. Now give me my food.’

  ‘Not today. Go to a hotel . . . Why, you can live there for the rest of your life for all I care.’

  ‘And you—what will you do?’

  ‘Rest assured, I won’t die without you.’

  ‘God forbid that you should die. But tell me, how will you support yourself without me.’

  ‘I’ll sell the car.’

  ‘And how much will you get for it?’

  ‘Six, maybe seven thousand, at least.’

  ‘How long will that feed you and your kids?’

  ‘I don’t splurge like you do. It will last me till the end of my days, and the children won’t lack for anything either—you’ll see.’

  ‘Well then, teach me this secret. I’m sure you’ve hit upon some mantra that doubles money. You pull out some banknotes from your wallet, whisper the mantra over them, and presto, you have twice as much.’

  ‘You ridicule me. Shame on you.’

  ‘Let’s put this aside and give me my lunch.’

  ‘You won’t get it.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, why? What have I done wrong?’

  ‘If I started to count your wrongs and misdeeds, I’d be counting till I’m dead.’

  ‘Look, Begum, you’ve gone overboard. If you don’t give me my meal, I’ll burn down the house. For God’s sake, here I am, dying of hunger, and there you are, rattling away this nonsense. I had some pressing work to take care of yesterday and today, that’s why I was late. You’re accusing me of coming home late every day. Give me my food, or else . . .’

  ‘Don’t you threaten me! You won’t get food.’

  ‘This is my house. I’m free to come and go as I please. Who are you to impose these unbearable conditions on me? I’m telling you, this attitude of yours won’t get you anywhere.’

  ‘As if your attitude has got me somewhere. This interminable vexation has reduced me to such a pitiable state.’

  ‘Some state—you’ve gained twelve pounds while your crabby temperament has ruined my health.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your health?’

  ‘Have you ever bothered to ask why I always look so tired? Or thought about why I huff and puff while climbing stairs? Have you ever felt it in your heart to give me a little massage when my head is about to explode from pain? You’re a strange life-mate. Had I known I would end up with a wife like you, I’d never have come anywhere near you.’

  ‘And I would have swallowed poison had I known I’d be saddled with a husband like you.’

  ‘Poison—you can swallow it now. Shall I go get some?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘But first give me my lunch.’

  ‘For the umpteenth time, you’re not getting any today.’

  ‘But surely I will tomorrow, and every day after tomorrow because by then you’ll be in the next world. Anyway, I can’t go out for your poison on an empty stomach. Who knows, I might pass out and drop dead while driving. Looks as if I’ll have to do something on my own to get some food.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ll call the cook.’

  ‘You will do no such thing!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so. You have no right to poke your nose into household matters.’

  ‘This is the limit. I can’t even call the cook. Well then, the servant. Where is he?’

  ‘In hell.’

  ‘Which is where I am now too. But I don’t see him anywhere. Move aside, let me look for him. Who knows, maybe I’ll find him.’

  ‘What do you want to tell him?’

  ‘Nothing—just that I’m letting him go and taking his place.’

  ‘You, taking his place? Wouldn’t that be the day?’

  ‘Salaam, huzoor. Begum Sahib, the dish is ready. Shall I lay Sahib’s food on the table?’

  ‘Beat it.’

  ‘But Begum Sahib, the turnips you cooked this morning burned because the flame was too high. Then you said Sahib would be coming late so I should quickly prepare some other dish. Well, I cooked two dishes in two hours. Now, if you like I can set the table. Both dishes are still on the stove; if left longer I fear they’ll be charred like your turnips. I’m going. Just let me know when you want me to set the table.’

  ‘Now I get it! That’s what all the fuss was about!’

  ‘What fuss? I roasted in the kitchen all that time . . . and this means nothing to you. You love turnips, so I decided to cook some myself especially for you. The cookbook was in my hands . . . I just dozed off for a minute and the damned turnips turned into charcoal. Where do you see my fault in all this?’

  ‘No, of course not. No fault at all.’

  ‘All right, then, get up now. Let’s eat. Rats are gnawing at my stomach.’

  ‘And there are alligators in mine.’

  ‘Will you ever stop joking?’

  ‘Joking or no joking, come over here. Let me have a look at your turnips. Let’s hope they haven’t turned into coals.’

  ‘We’ll see about that after eating.’

  In this Maelstrom

  (A Melodrama)

  Characters:

  BEGUM, the mother

  AMJAD (a crippled young man) and

  MAJEED (a stout, healthy young man), the Begum’s sons

  SAEEDA, Amjad’s beautiful new wife

  ASGHARI, a maid

  KARIM and

  GHULAM MUHAMMAD, servants

  KAMAL, a chauffeur*

  ACT I

  A room in Nigar Villa. Its beautifully paned windows open on to hilly slopes that extend as far as the eye can see until they blend into the greyish-blue sky. The silk curtains on the windows are rustling in the gentle morning breeze. The room’s furnishings give the impression that it is being converted into a bridal suite. A canopied teakwood bed is on the right near the windows. In a corner near the bed is a small glass-topped side table with a crystal decanter, a goblet and an alarm clock on it. At the back, two servants are arranging cushions on a sofa with beige-coloured taffeta covers. A short distance away, a young, plain-looking maid is trying to rearrange some items on the mantel above the fireplace. A virginal silence, so delicate that it would lose its innocence at the slightest touch, pervades the room. The sound of wood slowly tapping on the tiles outside is heard. The three domestics react slightly and then resume their respective duties. A dignified middle-aged woman enters through the door, propelling herself on crutches. She scrutinizes the room and evinces a feeling of satisfaction.

  BEGUM SAHIB (hobbles about the room, making sure that everything is in its proper place): Looks fine! (She removes one crutch from under her arm, leans over to set it against the arm of the sofa in order to sit down, but then changes her mind. In doing so, her hand leaves a smudge on the shiny surface of the armrest. She uses one corner of her dupatta to wipe it, then puts her crutch back under her arm and addresses the maid) Asghari!

  ASGHARI (facing her): Yes?

  BEGUM SAHIB (suddenly realizing she has fo
rgotten why she called asghari): What was I going to say?

  ASGHARI (smiling): That you aren’t satisfied. I feel the same way, Begum Sahib. Really. The bride is very beautiful. All of the room’s decorations will pale before her. (She looks at the bride’s portrait hanging from silk cords in the centre of the wall above the fireplace.)

  BEGUM SAHIB (smiling, slowly moves towards the fireplace and looks closely at her daughter-in-law’s portrait, beams but then suddenly feels anxious): Asghari!

  ASGHARI: Yes?

  BEGUM SAHIB: I’ve been feeling sort of uneasy since this morning.

  ASGHARI: But of course. Amjad Mian is coming with his bride.

  BEGUM SAHIB (lost in thought): Yes. He should be along soon. Kamal has taken the car to the station.

  ASGHARI: Next year get Majeed Mian married, too. The house will really brighten up.

  BEGUM SAHIB: God willing! God willing that will come off too, nicely. (Under her breath) God willing!

  ASGHARI (looking at the bride’s portrait, obviously impressed by her beauty): May God protect her from the evil eye.

  BEGUM SAHIB (almost screaming, without meaning to): Asghari!

  ASGHARI (startled): Yes!

  BEGUM SAHIB: Oh . . . oh nothing. When does the train arrive from Karachi?

  ASGHARI: I don’t know, Begum Sahib.

  BEGUM SAHIB (to a servant): Karim, call the station and find out . . . but the train reached Rawalpindi yesterday . . . Majeed’s telegram said so.

  KARIM: Yes, it did.

  BEGUM SAHIB: Oh, and I’ve sent Kamal to the station . . . (confused) God knows what’s wrong with my head. Amjad was going to stay overnight in Rawalpindi with his friend Saeed . . . They must have left Rawalpindi by now. (To another servant) Ghulam Muhammad!

  GHULAM MUHAMMAD: Yes?

  BEGUM SAHIB: Go look for Kamal. Find out where he’s taken the car.

  GHULAM MUHAMMAD: Right away. (Exits.)

  BEGUM SAHIB (leaning over ASGHARI’s shoulder for support): I haven’t been feeling well since morning. If I weren’t an invalid . . . if that damn Dr Hidayatullah hadn’t stopped me, I would have gone myself to bring the bride home. (The faint ringing of a telephone is heard in the distance.) Perhaps that’s Amjad’s friend calling to say that they’ve left. Run, Asghari, run! (ASGHARI exits, running.) (To KARIM, to lessen her worry) Well, Amjad Mian must be here soon.