Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

Madho had said quite a few other things as well. They affected her so deeply that for a moment she thought she was already a havildar’s wife. After talking for a while, Madho brought some order into the things that were scattered around her room, and then tore up the smutty pictures she had on the wall above her bed without waiting for her permission. ‘Well, Saugandhi,’ he said, ‘I can’t allow these here. . and,’ he added, ‘this water pot, look how grimy it is. And these rags. . my God, they smell awful. Come on, throw them out! And why have you ruined your hair? And. . and. . and. .’

After jabbering for three hours the two started feeling quite close. Saugandhi began to feel as though she had already known the havildar for some years now. No one had minded the presence of smelly rags, the grimy water pot, or the smutty pictures in the room before, nor had anyone ever made her think that she too had a place of her own that she could turn into a home. Men came and went without noticing even the grime and filth of the bed. No one had ever said, ‘Saugandhi, your nose looks quite red today. You aren’t coming down with a cold, are you? Okay, I’ll go get some medicine for you.’ How awfully considerate Madho was! Whatever he said was absolutely right. Hadn’t he given her a piece of his mind without mincing words! The thought that she needed Madho began to take hold. So they hitched together.

Madho came over from Puna once a month. Before leaving he never failed to warn her, ‘Look, Saugandhi, if you ever go back to turning tricks again, we’ll have to break up, and if I ever catch you with another man here, I’ll drag you by your hair and throw you out. . and yes, I’ll send you this month’s expenses by postal money order as soon as I get back. So now, what’s the rent for this kholi?’

Madho never sent her any money from Puna, nor did Saugandhi stop turning tricks. Both knew well enough how things were. But she never turned on Madho, never said, ‘What’s this harping about money all the time! When have you ever given me even a chipped pie?’ Nor did Madho ever ask, ‘So where do you get all this stuff from when I never give you anything?’ Liars — both. Living a sham. And yet Saugandhi was happy. If you can’t afford real gold jewellery, you settle for fake.

At that moment a bone-tired Saugandhi was fast asleep. The electric bulb overhead, which she had forgotten to turn off, was shining right above her closed eyes drowned in heavy sleep.

Someone knocked at the door. Who could it be at two in the morning? The sound of the knock filtered faintly into her ears like a distant hum. When the knock came again, insistent, more urgent, she woke up with a start. The two different kinds of liquor she had downed last evening and the bits of fish still caught between her teeth had produced a sticky, acidic saliva in her mouth. Rubbing her eyes groggily, she wiped the foul-smelling gob off her lips with the edge of her dhoti. She was the only one in the bed. She leaned over and peeked underneath only to find her dog sleeping with his head resting on the weather-beaten chappals, snarling as usual at something invisible. The parrot, too, was asleep with its head tucked into its feathers.

When someone rapped on the door again, Saugandhi forced herself out of bed. She had a splitting headache. She filled a mug with water from the pot, rinsed her mouth, filled the mug again and hurriedly gulped down the water. She opened the door just a crack and asked, ‘Is that you, Ramlal?’

Tired from repeatedly banging on the door, Ramlal exclaimed with visible annoyance, ‘Did a snake bite you or something? I’ve been knocking now for over an hour. Where the hell were you?’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘You haven’t got anyone inside, have you?’

When she told him there wasn’t anyone inside, he raised his voice again and asked, ‘So why wouldn’t you open the door? This is the limit. By God, you sleep like a log. If it takes two hours to fix up each one of you with a customer, I might just as well say goodbye to my business. Now don’t stand there gawking at me. Take off this dhoti and put on a sari, the one with the floral print, and put some powder on your face. Then come with me. A seth is waiting for you outside in his car. Come on, hurry up!’

Saugandhi plunked down in the armchair while Ramlal walked over to the mirror and started combing his hair.

She reached towards the tea table, picked up the jar of balm and said as she unscrewed the cap, ‘Ramlal, I don’t feel well today.’

He put the comb back on the shelf, turned to her and said, ‘Oh, I see. . You should have said something earlier.’

Saugandhi rubbed the balm on her forehead and along her temples. To let him know that it wasn’t what he was thinking, she explained, ‘Now don’t get any wrong ideas, Ramlal. It’s just that I had a bit too much to drink.’

Ramlal’s mouth began watering. ‘If there’s any left, let me have a drop! I haven’t tasted any for ages.’

She put the jar back on the tea table and said, ‘If I had saved any, I wouldn’t be having this infernal headache. Look, why don’t you bring the guy in.’

‘No, there’s no way he would come here. He’s a respectable man, a “gentleman”. As it is, he was feeling quite nervous about parking the car outside in the street. Change your clothes and come with me out to the corner. Everything will be all right.’

It was only a seven-and-a-half-rupee deal. Under normal circumstances, Saugandhi would never have accepted it when she had such a terrible headache, but she desperately needed money. The husband of her next-door neighbour, a Madrasi woman, had been run over by a car and died. She needed to return to her hometown with her young daughter, but she had no money and was languishing here, feeling utterly despondent. Just the other day Saugandhi had comforted her by saying, ‘Sister, don’t you worry. My man is due to arrive from Puna any day now. I’ll ask him for some money and arrange for your travel.’ That Madho would descend from Puna was certain, but the money was something else again. Saugandhi would have to arrange for it herself. So she got up and was ready to go in five minutes flat, her floral sari draped perfectly, and face powdered and rouged. She drank another mug of cold water and set off with Ramlal.

The street, quite a bit wider than the ones in small towns, was perfectly still. A feeble glow filtered through the gas streetlamps whose shades had been partially blackened out because of the war. In this muted light she could make out the dim silhouette of a car parked at the very end of the street.

The sight of the dark shadow of the black car at this late hour on a night filled with mysteries gave Saugandhi the inescapable feeling that her headache had seeped out and permeated the atmosphere. The air even had a fetid taste, as if saturated with the stench of brandy and country liquor.

Ramlal went on ahead and spoke to the man inside the car. When Saugandhi caught up with him, he moved to one aside and said, ‘Here she is. . a very fine piece. . She’s joined the business only a few days ago.’ And then, addressing Saugandhi, ‘Come a bit closer, Saugandhi. Show yourself to Sethji. He’d like to see you.’

Twisting a corner of her sari around her finger, she came forward and stood near the window. The seth turned the torch straight on her face and her drowsy eyes were dazzled momentarily. The light went dead with a click at the same time as an ‘Oh no!’ escaped from the seth’s lips. At once the engine sputtered and the car sped away.

It was gone before Saugandhi had time to think. The intense light from the torch was still lodged in her eyes. She hadn’t even seen the seth’s face properly. What had happened? What was the meaning of that ‘Oh no!’ which was still ringing in her ears? Yes, what?. .