Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

SAEEDA ( staring at the ceiling and mumbling ): If Dulhan Begum won’t love Amjad Mian, what other woman will? Dulhan Begum — if she won’t love Amjad Mian, then what other woman will? ( In a louder voice ) Who will? Who else can?

( Curtain ) ACT III

The garden adjacent to Nigar Villa. In the centre of some neatly trimmed low shrubbery, a fountain spits out short spurts of water. The sun is bright, the sky without a wisp of cloud, the atmosphere is pristine, uninhibited in its glorious prime. Every element waits expectantly to be beheld and appreciated. The breeze wafting through the garden appears to have momentarily stopped: to allow the vines to straighten their tresses, the flowers to freshen up their bright faces, and the bees, who had been yearning to kiss the blossoms, to do so fearlessly. Chairs are laid out on the smooth carpet of grass. SAEEDA , in a pink dress, is sitting in one, looking as perfect as one of her own portraits. The bright warm sun sets her rosy cheeks still more aglow. In another chair sits MAJEED , serene, puffing a cigarette and blowing bluish smoke rings. In front of both is AMJAD , wearing a look of trapped immobility — very much like the wheelchair in which he sits — pale, but his eyes agleam, fired by SAEEDA ’s beauty.

AMJAD ( looking around ): Absolutely gorgeous weather!

SAEEDA ( turning instantly to face him ): Yes, indeed, gorgeous.

AMJAD: Go on, Majeed. Take Saeeda for a walk. Show her these hills. ( Makes an effort to turn and look behind him but fails. ) It’s a shame I can’t turn around. Majeed, get up and turn my wheelchair. I must have this scene in front of me — always.

(MAJEED rises but SAEEDA has in the meantime got up and turned AMJAD’s chair around. All three are now facing the hills, washed by a brilliant sun to the horizon’s end. )

AMJAD ( taking in the scene before him ): Saeeda, these are the hills I love. I love them so much that I can’t put it into words. ( To MAJEED) Go on! Take Saeeda with you for a stroll. ( To SAEEDA) Saeeda, when you start panting during your climb and feel as though you’ll never be able to catch your breath, you’ll know there’s no pleasure in the world greater than this. I really used to force Majeed into coming along, but he’d give up after just one slope, saying, ‘Bhaijan, I must say I don’t find this hobby of yours the least bit amusing — that a man should huff and puff and pass out — there’s no sense to it.’ ( Laughs. ) He never will understand the lure of the hills and the desire to conquer them. Right, Saeeda?

SAEEDA ( smiling ): Yes.

AMJAD ( to majeed): Go on, yaar. Take Saeeda out. Do some work for a change.

MAJEED ( to SAEEDA): Let’s go, Bhabhijan. ( To AMJAD) But I bet that after today she’ll never go into the hills again.

SAEEDA: No, no! How can you say that?

AMJAD: Because he has that sort of personality.

SAEEDA: That sort of personality? What in the world is that sort of personality?

MAJEED: You’ll find that out halfway up the first slope.

AMJAD ( laughs ): Rubbish! Saeeda’s life has a mountain blocking its path. If she should be unnerved by a simple ordinary hill. .

SAEEDA: Let’s go now, Majeed Mian.

MAJEED: Let’s go.

(Both exit. AMJAD smiles. ASGHARI enters holding a plate of peeled and sliced apples. Throwing a meaningful look at the exiting MAJEED and SAEEDA , she comes over to AMJAD and addresses him.)

ASGHARI: Here, have some apple.

AMJAD ( absorbed in watching SAEEDA and MAJEED go down the slope ): All right.

ASGHARI ( also looking at the two ): How lovely Dulhan Begum looks today.

AMJAD ( suddenly turning to face ASGHARI): Looks?

ASGHARI ( a trifle discomfited ): Yes, yes.

AMJAD ( looking back at the two receding figures ): She is lovely! She doesn’t just look lovely. ASGHARI, there’s a vast difference between being lovely and just looking lovely.

ASGHARI: Yes, so it is.

AMJAD: Give me some apple.

ASGHARI ( offering the plate ): Here. But. . but they’ve been peeled.

AMJAD: Are you trying to say something?

ASGHARI: What’s peeled can deceive anyone. ( Laughs. ) Its blushing red cheeks have been peeled off.

AMJAD ( laughing ): Asghari! You’re fast turning into a real devil.

ASGHARI ( becoming suddenly serious ): Devil? Amjad Mian, didn’t you once tell me that the Devil was God’s foremost Angel and refused to bow to Adam — a mere clay doll?

AMJAD: So I did.

ASGHARI: And this ringleader of the angels was punished for it?

AMJAD: Right.

ASGHARI: Then this is right, too.

AMJAD: What?

ASGHARI: Oh, nothing. After all, what’s right? Something you think is right or try to think is right. Or a mistake you make once, confident that it will right itself in due time. Or something that is right but you turn it into a mistake and hope you can make it right later. But this is all nonsense. I’m a dense woman, Amjad Mian.

AMJAD: Why are you talking like this today?

ASGHARI: I said I was dense, but a woman nonetheless, Amjad Mian.

AMJAD: I still don’t get you.

ASGHARI ( picking up a wedge of apple and holding it in front of AMJAD’s mouth ): Here, you eat some apple.

AMJAD ( taking the wedge of apple in his teeth ): You’ve never talked like this before.

ASGHARI: It must be the weather. It’s so breathtakingly lovely!

AMJAD: Isn’t it, though?

ASGHARI ( picking up another wedge ): Here, have another piece. ( Puts it into amjad’s open mouth. )

AMJAD ( pauses as he chews the apple slice ): Asghari!

ASGHARI ( wrapped up in the mountain scene, jumps ): Yes?

AMJAD: Shouldn’t we get you married?

ASGHARI: Married?

AMJAD: Yes. It’s about time you got married.

ASGHARI: But why, Amjad Mian?

AMJAD: Marriage is a really great thing. Everything in the world should get married. There is no greater joy in life than being married, I’ll tell Ammijan to get you married right away.

ASGHARI: No, Amjad Mian, no!

AMJAD: Why not?

ASGHARI: I’m afraid.

AMJAD: Of what?

ASGHARI ( sitting down on the lawn, and speaking in a voice full of dark forebodings ): Of marriage.

AMJAD ( laughing ): You’re crazy.

ASGHARI: No. I really am scared. Besides, the marriage of a maidservant isn’t such a big deal. Whether she marries or remains single, what’s the difference? But if marry she must and, by chance, the train derails and. .

AMJAD ( anguished ): Asghari!

ASGHARI ( continues ). . and Asghari barely escapes being made into mincemeat: she loses one leg, one arm, and one eye — half of Asghari disappears and half survives. No, Amjad Mian, don’t even mention marriage. Marriage is something whole, something complete. Something one-half or one-fourth can’t be marriage.

AMJAD ( brooding ): Asghari?

ASGHARI ( in a choked voice ): Yes?

AMJAD: You know, you’re right. ( In an extremely pained voice ) But don’t make me feel sad. I want to stay happy, in spite of my crippled legs. Please don’t torment me. It hurts.

ASGHARI ( throwing herself on AMJAD’s feet and grabbing them solicitously ): Forgive me — please, Amjad Mian. ( Her eyes fill with tears. ) I don’t know what I was raving about. You stay happy! God keep you happy!