Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

‘Yes, surely, she could have her honour.’

‘Quite right. After all, Thaila was their brother. And he hadn’t lost his life in a gambling-den brawl or in a bout of drunkenness at some sleazy tavern. He had courageously quaffed the wine of martyrdom for the sake of his country. He was a prostitute’s son but that prostitute was also a mother; Shamshad and Almas were her daughters, Thaila’s sisters first, prostitutes later. And they had fainted at the sight of his corpse, they had poured their hearts out at his funeral to such an extent that whoever heard their wails had broken into tears — tears of blood.’

‘So did they go?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer for some time and then said in a voice laden with sadness, ‘Yes. . yes they did. . Fully decked out.’ Sadness suddenly gave way to a sharp tone of bitterness. ‘They went to their callers all dolled up and prettied. It was a lively soiree full of fun and. . So I’ve heard. Both sisters put on a stunning performance. In their glittering peshwaz dresses they looked like the proverbial fairies of Mt Caucasus. Wine flowed freely and they sang and danced with abandon. The merrymaking continued well into the night until the party ended at a sign from a senior officer.’

My fellow traveller abruptly stood up and began staring at the trees as they flitted by outside the window frame.

The train chugged on. The metallic clatter of the wheels on the tracks seemed to be repeating his words, ‘Party ended. . party ended.’

Tearing those words from my mind I asked him, ‘What happened then?’

Taking his eyes off the trees and electric poles as they flew by, he replied in a firm voice. ‘What happened? They tore off their glittering dresses and, standing there stark naked, said, “Here, take a good look at us. . we are Thaila’s sisters. . you riddled his body with your bullets only because it harboured a patriotic spirit. We’re his beautiful sisters. Come, defile our perfumed bodies with your vile passion. . But before you do. . allow us to spit in your faces!”’

He fell silent, as if he had nothing more to say.

‘What happened after that?’ I asked quickly.

His eyes welled up with tears. ‘They were shot. . shot dead on the spot.’

I didn’t say anything. The train slowed and pulled into the station. He hailed a coolie to carry his bags. As he was leaving, I asked, ‘The ending of the story you just told. . it seems as if you made it up yourself?’

He started and looked at me. ‘How did you know?’ he asked, surprised.

‘How? Your tone was filled with incredible agony.’

Swallowing his bitterness with a glob of saliva, he replied, ‘Yes, those bitches. .’ He held himself back from cursing and added after a pause, ‘They disgraced their brother’s selfless martyrdom.’

With that he got off the train and walked away.

The instant Eshar Singh stepped into the room Kalwant Kaur sprang up from the bed, walked over to the door and bolted it, glaring at him. It was midnight. The suburbs were sunk in an eerie quiet.

Kalwant Kaur sat down on the bed and crossed her legs. Eshar Singh stood quietly in a corner holding his kirpan, perhaps trying to straighten out his muddled thoughts. A tense silence prevailed for some moments. Kalwant Kaur didn’t like the way she was sitting, so she lowered her legs and started swinging them. Still Eshar Singh didn’t say a word.

Kalwant Kaur was a plump woman with a heavy, broad rear end and oversized, fleshy breasts projecting upward a bit too much. A bluish shadow covered her upper lip and the shape of her chin betrayed that she was no less than an Amazon.

Eshar Singh still stood in the corner with his head drooping downward. His tightly wrapped turban was beginning to come loose and the hand holding his kirpan was trembling a bit. Despite that, his tall frame and his appearance left no doubt that he was every bit the man for a formidable woman like Kalwant Kaur.

The relentless silence raised her hackles and her patience soon ran out. She glowered at Eshar Singh but could only exclaim, ‘Eshar saiyaan !’

He raised his head and looked at her, only to quickly turn his face away from the penetrating intensity of her sharp gaze.

‘Eshar saiyaan,’ she started to scream, but quickly stifled it. Hopping off the bed, she walked over to him and asked, ‘Where have you been hanging out all these days?’

‘I have no idea,’ he replied, running his tongue over his parched lips.

‘What kind of fucking answer is that?’ she asked in a rage.

He tossed the kirpan aside and slumped down on the bed, looking as though he’d been feeling ill for some time.

She glanced at the bed, now dwarfed by his big, burly body. A surge of compassion for the man swelled in her heart. She touched his forehead and lovingly asked, ‘ Jaani , what’s wrong?’

Eshar Singh was staring up at the ceiling but turned his gaze and probed the face he knew so well. ‘Kalwant.’

She could sense a distinct pain in his voice. The whole of her seemed to have gathered in her upper lip. ‘Yes, jaani?’ she said tenderly, biting her lip.

Eshar Singh took off his turban and looked at her, his eyes begging for understanding and comfort. He slapped her big, fleshy bottom, jerked his head and said to himself, ‘I’m going nuts.’

His kes came undone with the jerk. Kalwant Kaur started combing her fingers through it and asked lovingly, ‘Eshar saiyaan, where have you been all this time?’

‘At my enemy’s mother’s!’ he said, looking at her intently. All of a sudden he started kneading her fleshy buttocks vigorously. ‘I swear by Wahe Guru, you’re one awesome woman!’

She pushed his hands away indifferently and asked, ‘Tell me, on my life, where have you been? In the city?’

With a single movement Eshar Singh wound his hair into a bun and answered, ‘No.’

She was ticked off. ‘Damn it, you did go there. And you stole a lot of money that you don’t want to tell me anything about.’

‘May I not be my father’s son if I’m lying to you!’

That seemed to quiet her down, but only for a while. Within seconds she flared up again. ‘But I can’t understand what got into you that night. You lay beside me after you gave me all that jewellery you looted in the city. . you were madly kissing me all over. . And then, abruptly, you just got out of bed, put on your clothes and dashed out.’

Eshar Singh blanched. She was quick to notice how his colour had paled and immediately said, ‘Look how your face has changed. Eshar saiyaan, by Wahe Guru, something is fishy here.’

‘Nothing is fishy, I swear by your life.’

But his voice lacked conviction, which reinforced her suspicions. Pursing her lips and enunciating every word emphatically, she asked, ‘Eshar saiyaan, come clean. You’re not the man you were eight days ago.’

He sat up with a start, as if he’d been attacked. Gathering her in his robust arms, he started gnawing at her vigorously. ‘Jaani, I’m the same Eshar. Squeeze me harder, so it cools off the heat in your bones.’

She didn’t resist him, but kept up her earlier litany. ‘What happened to you that night?’

‘The enemy’s mother got fucked, that’s all.’

‘Come on, won’t you tell me?’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘May you cremate my body with your own hands if you don’t tell me the truth!’

He flung his arms around her neck and pressed his lips to hers. A few bristles of his bushy moustache tickled her nose and she sneezed. They both laughed.

He took off his quilted vest and ogled her lustily. ‘Come on, let’s play a round of cards,’ he said.

Tiny beads of perspiration sprouted on Kalwant Kaur’s upper lip. She rolled her eyes coquettishly and blurted out, ‘Get lost!’