Saadat Manto - Manto - Selected Stories

Ram Khilavan raised his cudgel in attack. Then his eyes narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. The cudgel fell from his hand. He came closer, concentrating his gaze on me and cried, ‘Saab!’

He turned quickly to his companions and said, ‘This is not a Muslim. This is my saab. Begum saab’s saab. She came with a motor car and took me to the doctor who cured my diarrhoea.’

Ram Khilavan tried to make them understand, but they wouldn’t listen. They were all drunk. Fingers were pointed this way and that. Some dhobis came over to Ram Khilavan’s side and fighting broke out amongst them. I saw my chance and slipped away.

At nine the next morning my things were ready. I waited only for my ticket, which a friend had gone to buy on the black market.

I was deeply unsettled. I wanted the ticket to arrive quickly so that I could go to the port. I felt that if there were any delay, my very flat would make me a prisoner.

There was a knock on the door. I thought the ticket had arrived. I opened the door and found the dhobi standing outside.

‘Salaam saab!’

‘Salaam!’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Come in.’

He came in, in silence. He opened his bundle and put the clothes on the bed. He wiped his eyes with his dhoti, and in a choking voice, said, ‘You’re leaving, saab?’

‘Yes.’

He began to cry. ‘Saab, please forgive me. It’s all the drink’s fault… and… and these days it’s available for free. The businessmen distribute it and say, “Drink and kill Muslims.” Who’s going to refuse free liquor? Please forgive me. I was drunk. Saeed Salim barrister was grateful to me. He gave me one turban, one dhoti, one kurta. Begum saab saved my life. I would have died of dysentery. She came with a motor car. She took me to the doctor. She spent so much money. You’re going to the new country. Please don’t tell Begum saab that Ram Khilavan…’

His voice was lost in his throat. He swung his bundle over his shoulder and headed out. I stopped him. ‘Ram Khilavan, wait…’

But he straightened the folds of his dhoti and hurried out.

Abu the coachman was very stylish and his coach was number one in the city. He only took regulars. He earned ten to fifteen rupees daily from them, and it was enough for him. Unlike the other coachmen, he didn’t have a taste for alcohol but he had a weakness for fashion.

Whenever his coach passed by, its bells jingling, all eyes turned to him. ‘There goes that stylish Abu. Just look at the way he’s sitting. And that turban, tipped to the side like that!’

When Abu heard these words and observed the admiration in people’s eyes, he’d cock his head and his horse Chinni’s stride would quicken. Abu held the reins as though it were hardly necessary to hold them at all, as if Chinni didn’t need its master’s instructions, and would keep his stride without them. At times, it seemed as though Abu and Chinni were one, or rather that the entire coach was a single life force, and who was that force, if not Abu?

The passengers Abu didn’t accept cursed him roundly. Some wished him ill: ‘May the Lord break his arrogance and his coach and horse land in some river.’

In the shadows cast by Abu’s thin moustache, a smile of supreme self-confidence danced. It made the other coachmen burn with envy. The sight of Abu inspired them to beg, borrow and steal so that they, too, could have coaches decorated with brass fittings. But they could not replicate his distinct style and elegance. Nor did they find such devoted clients.

One afternoon, Abu was lying in his coach under the shade of a tree, dropping off to sleep, when a voice rang in his ears. Abu opened his eyes and saw a woman standing below. Abu must have looked only once at her, but her extreme youth instantly pierced his heart. She wasn’t a woman, she was a girl — sixteen or seventeen; slim, but sturdy and her skin dark, but radiant. She wore silver hoops in her ears. Her hair was parted in the middle and she had a pointed nose on whose summit there was a small, bright beauty spot. She wore a long kurta, a blue skirt and a light shawl over her head.

The girl said in a childish voice, ‘How much will you take for the teshan?’

Mischief played on Abu’s smiling lips. ‘Nothing.’

The girl’s dark face reddened. ‘What will you take for the teshan?’ she repeated.

Abu let his eyes linger on her and replied, ‘What can I take from you, fortunate one? Go on, get in the back.’

The girl covered her firm, already well concealed breasts, with her trembling hands. ‘What things you say!’

Abu smiled. ‘Go on, get in then. I’ll take whatever you give me.’

The girl thought for a moment, then stepped onto the footboard and climbed in. ‘Quickly. Come on then. Take me to the teshan.’

Abu turned around. ‘In a big hurry, gorgeous?’

‘You… you…’ The girl was about to say more, but stopped mid-sentence.

The carriage began to move, and kept moving; many streets passed below the horse’s hooves. The girl sat nervously in the back. A mischievous smile danced on Abu’s lips. When a considerable amount of time had passed, the girl asked in a frightened voice, ‘The teshan hasn’t come yet?’

Abu replied meaningfully, ‘It’ll come. Yours and my teshan is the same.’

‘What do you mean?’

Abu turned to look at her and said, ‘You’re not such an innocent, surely? Yours and my teshan really is the same. It became one the moment Abu first set eyes on you. I swear on your life, I’m your slave; I wouldn’t lie.’

The girl adjusted the shawl on her head. Her eyes showed that she understood Abu’s meaning. Her face also showed that she hadn’t taken his words badly. But she was mulling over this dilemma: Abu and her station might well be the same; Abu was certainly smart and dressed sharp, but was he faithful too? Should she abandon her station from which, in any case, her train had long departed, for his?

Abu’s voice made her start. ‘What are you thinking about, fortunate one?’

The horse was prancing along happily; the air was cold; the trees lining the street raced by; their branches swooned; there was no sound except the ringing of bells. Abu, head cocked, was fantasising about kissing the dark beauty. After some time, he tied the horse’s reins to the dashboard and with a jump, landed in the back seat next to the girl. She remained silent. Abu grabbed her hands in his. ‘Put your reins in my hands!’

The girl said only two words. ‘Enough now.’ But Abu immediately put his arms around her. She resisted. Her heart was beating hard and fast, as if it wanted to leave her and fly away.

‘I love this horse and carriage more than life,’ Abu said in a soft, loving voice, ‘but I swear on the eleventh pir, I’ll sell it and have gold bangles made for you. I’ll wear old, torn clothes myself, but I’ll keep you like a princess! I swear on the one, omnipresent God that this is the first love of my life. If you’re not mine, I’ll cut my throat this minute in front of you!’ Then suddenly, he moved away from the girl. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me today. Come on, I’ll drop you to the teshan.’

‘No,’ the girl said softly, ‘now you’ve touched me.’

Abu lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry. I made a mistake.’

‘And will you honour this mistake?’

There was a challenge in her voice, as if someone had said to Abu, ‘Let’s see if your carriage can go faster than mine.’ He raised his lowered head; his eyes brightened. ‘Fortunate one…’ With this, he put his hand on his firm chest and said, ‘Abu will give his life.’

The girl put forward her hand. ‘Then take my hand.’

Abu held her hand firmly. ‘I swear on my youth. Abu is your slave.’