Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

Several people, Deeno included, were so affected by this oratory that they started crying inconsolably, and even Maujo couldn’t stop his tears from bubbling out.

Maujo didn’t feel the need to send for the maulvi when the idea of divorcing his wife got hold of his mind. He’d heard from elders that repeating the word ‘talaq’ three times over ended the matter then and there. So he ended the matter accordingly. Next day, though, he felt very sorry and ashamed that he had committed such a heinous blunder. Such squabbles were, after all, common among husbands and wives. They didn’t always end in divorce. He should have been more forgiving.

He liked his Phataan. She was no longer young, but Maujo was in love with her body. He also liked the things she talked about. Above all else, she was his Jaina’s mother. But it was too late now; the arrow had already left the bow. There was no way for it to fly back. Whenever he thought about the episode, the otherwise refreshing smoke of his beloved hookah caught in his throat like something bitter.

Jaina was a beautiful girl, the very image of her mother. In the space of just two years, she had suddenly blossomed from a little girl into a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her effervescent youth was spilling out from every pore of her body. Her marriage was among Maujo’s constant worries, which made him miss Phataan even more. How easily she could have taken care of everything!

Rearranging his tehmad and himself on the cot, Maujo took a rather long drag on his hookah and started to cough. Just then he heard a voice, ‘ As-salamu alaikum , and may God’s mercy and blessings be upon you!’

Maujo started and turned around to look. He saw a long-bearded elderly man in flowing lily-white clothes. He returned the greeting and wondered where the man had materialized from.

The stranger had big, commanding eyes smeared with kohl and long, flowing locks of hair. His hair and beard were a blend of grey and black, with the grey predominating, and he wore a snow-white turban. An embroidered, saffron-coloured silk sash was thrown over his shoulder and he held a thick staff with a, silver ball at the top. He had a pair of delicate shoes of soft red leather on his feet.

The man’s appearance inspired immediate respect in Maujo. He quickly got up and asked courteously, ‘Where are you from and when did you arrive?’

The man’s lips, shadowed by a moustache trimmed in the fashion recommended by Islamic custom, curved into a smile. ‘Where do fakirs come from? They have no place to call home, and there is no fixed time for their arrival, or for when they leave. They go wherever God wills them to, and stop where He orders them to halt.’

The words affected Maujo deeply. He took the elder’s hand in his with great reverence, kissed it, and then touched it to his eyes, saying, ‘Consider Chaudhry Maujo’s house your own.’

The elderly man smiled and sat down on the cot, lowering his head over his staff and wrapping his hands around the ball. ‘Perhaps some good deed you did has so pleased God, eminent is His majesty, that He has sent this sinner your way.’

An overjoyed Maujo asked, ‘So you have come here at His behest?’

The maulvi raised his head and said in a huff, ‘Who else’s? You think I came here at your command? Am I your servitor or His whom I have worshipped for a good forty years to reach my insignificant station?’

Maujo shivered. He asked in his coarse but entirely sincere way to be forgiven for his unintended lapse. ‘Maulvi Sahib, we uncouth village folk, who don’t even know how to offer our prayer properly, often end up making such mistakes. We are sinners. But to forgive, and have God also forgive us, behooves you.’

‘Precisely. That’s why I’m here,’ said the maulvi, closing his big, kohl-lined eyes.

Chaudhry Maujo sat on the bare ground and started massaging the maulvi’s legs. Meanwhile Jaina appeared. The minute she saw the other man, she quickly pulled her veil over her head and face. His eyes still closed, the maulvi asked, ‘Who is it, Chaudhry Maujo?’

‘Jaina, my daughter, Maulvi Sahib.’

The maulvi looked at Jaina through his half-closed eyes and said to Maujo, ‘Tell her that we are fakirs, there is no need to observe purdah before us.’

‘Of course not. No purdah at all, Maulvi Sahib.’ Then, looking at Jaina he said, ‘He is Maulvi Sahib, among God’s most favoured devotees. Remove your veil.’

Jaina lifted her veil. The maulvi looked at the girl for as long as his heart desired and told Maujo, ‘Chaudhry Maujo, you’ve got a beautiful daughter.’

Jaina blushed.

‘She takes after her mother,’ Maujo said.

‘Where is her mother?’ The maulvi looked again at the girl’s blossoming youth.

Maujo felt out of his wits. He didn’t know what to say.

The maulvi asked again, ‘Where is her mother?’

Flabbergasted, Maujo blurted out, ‘She died.’

The maulvi, his eyes riveted on the girl, noticed her reaction and said in a thundering voice, ‘You’re lying!’

Maujo timidly grabbed the maulvi’s feet out of contrition. ‘Yes, I lied,’ he said, feeling remorseful. ‘Please forgive me. I’m a big liar. I divorced her, Maulvi Sahib.’

With a long ‘hu-u-u-u-h’ the maulvi turned his eyes away from Jaina’s veil and trained them on Maujo. ‘You’re a big sinner! What was the poor woman’s fault?’

Drowned in utter shame, Maujo said meekly, ‘I’m really confused. It was just a trifling, nothing serious, but it got out of hand and ended up in divorce. I’m truly a sinner. I was regretting my action the very next day. I told myself it was a fool thing to do, but it was already too late. It was pointless to dwell on regret.’

The maulvi put his staff on Maujo’s shoulder. ‘The sublime and lofty God is full of mercy and grace. If He wills, he can fix what is spoiled. If He wills, He will order this lowly fakir to find a way out of this difficulty for you.’

A grateful Maujo fell on the maulvi’s feet and began to cry. The maulvi again glanced at Jaina, who was also in tears. ‘Come here, girl!’

His voice was so commanding that Jaina simply couldn’t ignore it. She put the food and lassi aside and approached the cot. The maulvi grabbed her arm and ordered her to sit down.

When she lowered herself to the ground, he pulled her up by her arm. ‘Come, sit by my side.’

Jaina drew her body together as she sat next to him. The maulvi threw his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, pressing her to his side. ‘What have you brought for us to eat?’ he asked.

Jaina tried to pull away a little but she found the hand on her waist quite unyielding. ‘Roti, saag, and lassi,’ she replied.

The maulvi squeezed her firm, slender waist. ‘Okay, lay it out for us.’

Jaina got up to lay out the food. Meanwhile, the maulvi tapped the silver hilt of his staff on Maujo’s shoulder a couple of times. ‘Get up, Maujo, and wash our hands.’

Maujo sprang to his feet, drew water from the nearby well and, like the devoted acolyte of a holy man, washed the maulvi’s hands. The girl laid out the meal on the cot.

After the maulvi had devoured all the food himself, he ordered Jaina to wash his hands. She couldn’t very well refuse. After all, the maulvi’s bearing and appearance and his manner of talking were so commanding.

The maulvi belched noisily and pronounced loudly, ‘ Al-hamdu lillah! ’ He then ran his wet hands over his beard, belched a second time, and stretched out on the cot, all the while gazing at Jaina’s chador that had slid down from her face. Jaina quickly gathered the pots and left. The maulvi closed his eyes and announced, ‘Maujo, we’re going to take a nap now.’