Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

I’ve been running this business ever since. Every day, according to my God-given ability, I manage to have two, sometimes three people quaff the wine of martyrdom. As I said before, everything requires gruelling hard work. For instance, this fellow whose life was as useless and meaningless as the fifth wheel of a rickety pushcart, I had to drop banana peels everywhere for ten full days to send him skidding to his martyrdom. But, I’ve come to believe now that just like death, the day of martyrdom is also foreordained. It was on the tenth day when this fellow finally fell over the peel on the hard cobblestoned ground and received martyrdom.

These days I’m having a gigantic building erected. The contract for two lakh rupees has gone to my own company. I’m sure I’ll be easily able to pocket a neat seventy-five thousand from that amount. I’ve also taken out an insurance policy on the building. By my calculations, the entire building will crumble when the work on the third floor gets going because of the poor quality mortar I’ve used. Three hundred men are working on it. By God’s grace, I dearly hope they’ll all perish as martyrs. If anyone walks out unscathed, I will think he must be the worst kind of sinner and his martyrdom is not acceptable to the Lord.

La ilaha il-lal-lah, muhammadur rasul ul-lah *—

You are a Muslim, believe me, I speak only the truth. Pakistan has nothing to do with it. Honest. I’m ready any time to lay down my life for Quaid-e-Azam Jinnah. Please, don’t be so hasty. Yes, of course, I know you don’t have time, especially during these turbulent days of rioting. But, for God’s sake, at least hear me out. Yes, I killed Tikka Ram, slashed his stomach with a sharp kitchen knife as you say, but not because he was Hindu. Well then, if I didn’t kill him, who did, you might ask. All right, let me relate the whole story.

Recite the kalima: La ilaha. . What wretch knew that he would be embroiled in this mess? I killed three Hindus during the last Hindu — Muslim riots. But that was different, believe me. I’ll tell you what happened, why I killed this Tikka Ram.

Well, sir, what’s your opinion of this breed called woman? I think our elders have spoken the truth: Only God can save us from their wiles, their shenanigans. If I’m spared the hangman’s noose, I swear I’ll never come anywhere near a woman — ever. But, sir, a woman is not the only one to blame; men are no less guilty. The minute they see a woman, any woman, they start drooling all over the place. Inspector Sahib, I have to die one day and face my Lord. The moment my eyes fell on Rukma, I just crumbled.

Now one should ask: Man, you’re a petty employee who makes only thirty-five rupees, what have you got to do with love? Collect the rent and be on your way. Call it my misfortune, Sahib, that one day when I went to collect the rent for kholi no. 16 and knocked at the door, Rukma Bai came out. I had seen her several times before, but that day her body was glistening with rubbed oil under a loosely wrapped gauzy sari. God knows why, a sudden impulse gripped me to yank on her sari and start massaging her body with all my strength. Well, that was the day when this wretch surrendered his heart and mind to her.

My, my, what a woman she was! Her body — so firm I thought I was massaging a piece of granite. I was gasping from exertion within minutes, but she kept saying, ‘A while longer.’

Married? Yes, she was married. And if Khan the watchman is to be believed, she was also carrying on with a lover. But listen to the whole story; the lover will figure in it and so will everything else.

So, I lost myself to her that day. And she seemed to have guessed as much. She would give me a sidelong glance and smile. But, as God is my witness, every time she smiled a tremor of fear ran through my whole body. At first I thought it was the result of seeing one’s love so close, but it was only later that I realized. . But you should listen from the very beginning.

As I mentioned, I had exchanged many amorous glances with Rukma Bai. Now my entire effort was focused on how to get further along with her. Her husband, the bastard, remained glued to the kholi all the time, carving his puny wooden toys, and never gave me a chance.

One day I saw — what was her husband’s name. . yes, Girdhari — I saw Girdhari headed for the bazaar carrying a bundle of toys wrapped in a chador. Here was my chance. I immediately ran to kholi no. 16 and knocked on the door. My heart was pounding so hard it seemed as though it would jump out of my chest. The door opened. Rukma Bai stared at me. I trembled right down to the roots of my hair, I swear. I would have fled then, but she smiled and signalled to me to step inside.

She closed the door behind me and said, ‘Sit!’ I sat down. She came near me. ‘Look, I know what you’re after. It’s not likely that you’ll get it, not while Girdhari is alive.’

I stood up at once. Her closeness was scorching me. Even my temples were buzzing. She had rubbed oil over her body again today and had thrown the same gauzy sari loosely around her. I grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them hard as I said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Oh, those biceps, by God, they felt as hard as steel! I can’t even begin to tell you what kind of woman she was.

Anyway, please listen to what happened.

I was so worked up I was sizzling. I hugged her tightly and blurted out, ‘Girdhari can go to hell. . You’ve got to be mine.’

She pushed me away. ‘Watch out, you’ll get oil all over you.’

‘Who cares,’ I said and clasped her to my chest again. Even if somebody had flayed my back raw with a whip, I wouldn’t have let go of her then. But boy, oh boy, did she have a way with words! I cooled off and quietly sat down where she told me to sit. I knew she was thinking. That saala, Girdhari, is away at the moment. What is she so afraid of? When my patience ran out, I said, ‘Rukma, we won’t get such a fine chance again.’

She ran her hand over my head lovingly and said with a smile, ‘Oh we will, we will, an even finer chance, you’ll see. But tell me this: Will you do as I say?’

Sahib, I was like someone possessed. I was burning with passion. ‘Yes, yes. I can kill for you, not one but fifteen people. . if I have to.’

She smiled. ‘Of that I’m sure.’

I swear to God, once again I trembled all over. I thought it was because of my inflamed passions.

Well, I stayed with her a little while longer, engaged in some love-talk, ate her fried bhajia, and then quietly slipped out. That thing? Well, it didn’t happen, but, Sahib, that sort of thing doesn’t happen the very first time anyway. Some other time, I told myself.

Ten days went by. On the eleventh day at two — yes, it must have been two in the morning, someone woke me up gently. I sleep down by the staircase.

When I opened my eyes I was surprised to see Rukma Bai in front of me. My heart started to pound. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked in a hushed voice. And she said very softly, ‘Come with me.’

Barefoot, I followed her to her kholi. I flung every thought to the wind and then and there clasped her tightly to my chest. And she whispered, ‘Wait a little.’ She turned on the light, the sudden glare blinding my vision somewhat.

When I was able to see again, I noticed someone lying on the floor on a mat; the face was covered with a piece of cloth. I gestured with my hand asking Rukma who it was. She said, ‘Sit down.’ I obeyed like an uncomprehending fool. She came close to me and, caressing my head lovingly, said something that knocked the living daylights out of me. I was frozen stiff, as if all the blood had coagulated in my veins.

Recite the kalima: La ilaha . . I’ve never seen a woman like her in my life. ‘ Kambakht ,’ she said smiling, ‘I’ve bumped off Girdhari.’