Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

On the face of it, she was every bit an indecent young woman — which is how our noble and chaste ladies are wont to look upon her and her ilk — but truth be told, she didn’t even realize for a moment that she was living a life of sin. Realize? She never even had the chance to think about it.

She was very giving, and she gave of herself with utmost sincerity to every man who came to her in a week or ten days from far distances. She thought this was precisely what every woman was supposed to do. And she saw to her visitor’s every comfort with unflinching devotion. She couldn’t bear his facing even the slightest discomfort.

She was unaware of the lavish lifestyle of the city folk. She had no idea that the men who came to her riding in cars were used to cleaning their teeth with a brush in the morning and, first thing upon waking up, taking a cup of tea before going to defecate. Gradually, though, in her own girlish ways, she acquired some familiarity with the habits of these men. But it confused her a lot that they weren’t all alike. One would ask for a cigarette when he woke up, another for tea, and some didn’t want to get up at all. Some stayed awake all night and took off in their cars at the crack of dawn.

Sardar was blissfully free of all cares. She had full confidence in her daughter, or whatever she was, and knew the girl was quite capable of handling her clients. So Sardar took an opium pill and lolled around on her cot all evening. Now and then when she was needed, like when a client suddenly felt out of sorts because he’d had too much to drink, she would drowsily get out of bed and advise Navab to have the fellow taste some especially tart pickle, or to give him lukewarm salty water to induce vomiting and then put him to sleep with gentle strokes on his body.

Sardar was quite careful about one thing. She would have the client pay upfront, and tuck the money into her waistband. She would bless the fellow and pray for his well-being with her characteristic ‘May you rock comfortably in your swing!’ and then take an opium pill and collapse on the bed.

All the proceeds belonged to Sardar; however, all gifts remained with Navab. Because her clients were filthy rich, she dressed well and ate all kinds of fruits and sweetmeats.

She was happy. As she saw it, she was living an interesting and pleasant life in that mud-plastered dwelling of three small rooms. One of her clients, an army officer, had given her a gramophone and a bunch of records. She played film songs in her free time and tried to mimic the lyrics. She didn’t have a good voice, but perhaps she was unaware of it. As it was, she was unaware of just about everything, and had no desire to learn about anything. She had accepted, totally unawares, the path she had been flung down.

The world on the other side of the reeds — she knew nothing about it except that in the space beyond the reeds was a dirt road that came to life every second or third day when a car came along amidst swirling clouds of dust, stopped, honked. Her mother, or whatever she was to Navab, would rise from her cot, go out and tell the man to park the car some distance away and then come in. The man would enter, sit by Navab’s side on the niwari palang and begin to talk sweetly.

She didn’t have many customers, maybe half a dozen or so, but they were her regulars. And Sardar, with her superior skills, had arranged matters so that they never ran into each other. She was one cunning woman! She’d fixed a day for each of them with such finesse that they found no reason to complain.

She also made sure, on occasions when it seemed imminent, that Navab didn’t get pregnant. The circumstances of Navab’s life were calling for it and it would happen sooner or later, but for some two and a half years now, Sardar had been dealing successfully with this eventuality.

The business was running quite smoothly behind the reeds for this period of time. The police hadn’t caught even a whiff of it. The only ones who knew about it were the clients and Sardar and her daughter, Navab, or whatever she was.

One day all hell broke loose in this mud house behind the reeds. A big car, perhaps a Dodge, pulled up outside. The horn blared. Sardar emerged only to find a total stranger facing her. She didn’t talk to him; nor did the stranger say anything to her. He parked the car some distance away and immediately walked into the house, as though he’d been coming here for years.

Sardar was bewildered. But Navab welcomed the man with a pleasing smile and led him courteously into the room with the palang. They had just sat down when Sardar — shrewd woman that she was — stepped in. It didn’t take her long to assess that the man was from a wealthy family. He was also handsome and in good health. She greeted him deferentially and politely asked, ‘Who has sent you our way?’

‘She!’ he said with a smile, lovingly poking Navab’s cheek with his finger.

With a snap, Navab pulled away to one side and said with an air, ‘Oh — but I’ve never met you before.’

The smile on the stranger’s lips broadened. ‘But we have, several times.’

‘Where? When?’ she asked. Her little mouth opened in utter amazement, enhancing the beauty of her face.

He grabbed her soft, plump hand and, looking at Sardar, said to the girl, ‘You can’t understand these things, at least not quite yet. Ask your mother.’

Naively, Navab asked her mother to explain where and when she had met him. Sardar instantly understood the matter. Someone among their regular clients must have mentioned Navab to him and given their direction. So she said, ‘I will, I will,’ and left the room. Then she plunked down on her cot, took out her small pillbox and, stretching out, put an opium pellet in her mouth. Her mind was perfectly at ease: The stranger looked like a nice man and she expected no trouble.

One cannot be sure, but most likely the stranger, Haibat Khan by name and a native of Hazara, was extremely wealthy. He was so taken with Navab’s sprightly, coltish manners that, as he was leaving, he made it plain to Sardar that he didn’t want anyone else to visit Navab any more. Clever Sardar told the man, ‘Khan Sahib, how can that be? Are you sure you can afford to. .’

Interrupting her, Haibat Khan dug into his pocket, drew out a wad of one-hundred-rupee banknotes and tossed it at Navab’s feet. Next he removed his diamond ring, put it on the girl’s finger and quickly vanished on the other side of the reeds.

Navab didn’t even bother to give the money lying at her feet a cursory glance. She was busy contemplating her finger, adorned with a big diamond sparkling in the light. The car started up and sped away, spewing clouds of exhaust. Navab started and walked out to the reeds. All she could see was the dirt road and the trail of spiralling dust.

Meanwhile, Sardar had picked up the wad and counted the notes.One more and it would have been two thousand rupees, but the shortfall didn’t bother her much. She deftly tucked the notes into the waistband of her billowing shalwar and headed for her cot. She took out a rather large opium pellet from its box, put it in her mouth and dozed off peacefully.

Navab was feeling very pleased. She couldn’t stop looking at the diamond ring on her finger.

A few days later when one of the regular clients came, Sardar sent him away, saying that she had folded up her business because she was afraid of the police. The man was very rich and seemed genuinely disappointed. But Sardar had been much impressed by Haibat Khan. In her inebriated state, she thought it was infinitely better if she made as much money as before from only one client, and decided that she would send off all the old customers with the excuse that the police were after her and she didn’t want to risk her reputation.