Saadat Manto - Manto - Selected Stories

Kafayat had never seen Sarita before — it had been a while since Kishori had brought a new girl. Despite this, Kafayat showed no interest in her, perhaps because a man can only do one thing at a time and he couldn’t drive as well as turn his attention to her. Once they’d left the city and the car came on to a country road, Sarita jumped up. The car’s sudden speed and the gusts of cold air that came in lifted the restraints she had put on herself until now. Bursts of electricity ran though her entire body. Her legs throbbed, her arms seemed to dance, her fingers trembled and she watched the trees race past her on both sides.

Anwar and Shahab were now at ease. Shahab, who felt he had first rights to Sarita, gently moved his arm forward, wanting to place it around her back. The movement tickled her; she jumped up and landed on Anwar with a thump. Her laughter flowed out of the windows of the yellow car and carried into the distance. When Shahab tried again to place his hand on her back, she bent double with laughter. Anwar, hidden in one corner of the car, sat in silence, his mouth dry.

Shahab’s mind filled with bright colours. He said to Kafayat, ‘My God, man, she’s a little minx.’ With this, he violently pinched Sarita’s thigh. In reply, and because he was closest to her, Sarita gently twisted Anwar’s ear. The car erupted in laughter.

Kafayat kept turning around even though everything was visible to him in his rearview mirror. He added to the growing commotion in the back by speeding up the car.

Sarita wished she could climb out and ride on the bonnet of the car where the flying iron fairy was. She moved forward. Shahab reached for her and to steady herself, she wrapped her arms around Kafayat’s neck. Without meaning to, he kissed them. A shiver went through her entire body and she leapt into the front seat of the car and began to play with Kafayat’s tie. ‘What is your name,’ she asked Kafayat.

‘My name!’ he said. ‘My name is Kafayat.’ With this, he put a ten rupee note in her hand. She paid no further attention to his name, but squeezed the note into her blouse, brimming with childish happiness. ‘You’re a very nice man. And this tie of yours is also very nice.’

In that instant, Sarita saw goodness in everything and wished that all that was bad would also turn to good… and… and… then it would happen… the motor would continue to race and everything around her would become part of the whirlwind.

She suddenly felt the urge to sing. So she stopped playing with Kafayat’s tie and began: ‘You taught me how to love, and stirred a sleeping heart.’

For some time, the film song continued and then Sarita turned to Anwar who was sitting in silence. ‘Why are you so quiet, say something, sing something!’ With this, she jumped into the back seat again and began running her fingers through Shahab’s hair. ‘Come on, both of you, sing. You remember that song that Devika Rani used to sing? “I’m a sparrow in the heart’s jungle, singing my little song…” Devika Rani is so good, isn’t she?’

Then she put both her hands under her thighs, and fluttering her eyelids, said, ‘Ashok Kumar and Devika Rani stood close to each other. Devika Rani would say, “I’m a sparrow in the forest, singing my little song.” And Ashok Kumar would say, “Sing it then.” ’

Sarita began the song. ‘I’m a sparrow in the forest, singing my little song.’

Shahab in a loud, coarse voice answered, ‘I’ll become a forest bird and sing from forest to forest.’

And all of a sudden, a duet began. Kafayat provided accompaniment on the car horn. Sarita began to clap. Her thin soprano, Shahab’s coarse singing, the horn’s honking, the blasts of wind and the roar of the engine, came together to form an orchestra.

Sarita was happy; Shahab was happy; Kafayat was happy, and seeing them all happy, Anwar was forced to be happy. He regretted his earlier restraint. His arms began to move. His sleeping heart had stirred and he was ready now to be a part of Sarita, Shahab and Kafayat’s boisterous happiness.

As they sang, Sarita removed Anwar’s hat from his head and put it on her own. She leapt into the front seat again and gazed at herself in the small mirror to see how it looked. Had he really been wearing his hat all this time? Anwar thought.

Sarita slapped Kafayat’s fat thigh and said, ‘If I wear your trousers and your shirt and put on a tie like this one, will I become a pukka gentleman too?’

Hearing this, Shahab couldn’t decide what he should do. He yanked Anwar’s arm: ‘You’ve been a complete idiot.’ And for a moment, Anwar believed he was right.

Kafayat asked Sarita, ‘What is your name?’

‘My name!’ Sarita replied, slipping the hat’s strap under her chin. ‘My name is Sarita.’

‘Sarita,’ Shahab said from the back seat, ‘you’re not a woman; you’re a livewire.’

Anwar wanted to say something too but Sarita began to sing in a high voice.

‘In love town, I’ll build my house… forgoing all the worrrrrrld.’

And bits of that world flew around them. Sarita’s hair, no longer bound by her plait, broke free and scattered like dark smoke dispersed by wind; she was happy.

Shahab was happy; Kafayat was happy and now Anwar, too, was ready to be happy. The song ended; for a few moments everyone felt that it had just been raining hard and had now abruptly stopped.

‘Any more songs?’ Kafayat asked Sarita.

‘Yes, yes,’ Shahab said from the back, ‘let’s have one more. One that even these film people won’t forget!’

Sarita began again. ‘Spring came to my house. And I, I hit the road, a little drunkenly.’

The car also wove drunkenly. Then the road straightened and the seashore came in sight. The sun was setting and the sea wind brought a chill in the air.

The car stopped. Sarita opened the door, jumped out and began to run along the shore. Kafayat and Shahab ran behind her. In the open air, on the edge of the vast ocean, with the great palms rising up from the wet sand, Sarita didn’t know what it was that she wanted. She wished she could melt into the sky; spread through the ocean; fly so high that she could see the palm canopies from above; for all the wetness of the shore to seep from the sand into her feet and then… and then for that same racing engine, that same speed, those blasts of wind, the car honking — she was very happy.

The three young Hyderabadi men sat down on the wet sand and opened their beers. Sarita snatched the bottle from Kafayat’s hand. ‘Wait, I’ll pour it.’

She poured it so that the glass filled with foam. The spectacle of it excited her. She put her finger into the brownish foam, then into her mouth. She made a face when she tasted its bitterness. Kafayat and Shahab laughed uncontrollably. Still laughing, Kafayat looked over at Anwar and saw that he was laughing too.

They went through six bottles of beer; some entered their stomachs; some turned to foam and was absorbed by the sand. Sarita continued to sing. Anwar looked in her direction and thought for a moment that she was made of beer. In the sea’s moist air, her dark cheeks had become wet. She felt a deep contentment. Anwar now, was happy too. He wanted the sea to turn to beer; to go diving in it; and for Sarita to join him.

Sarita took two empty bottles and banged them together. They made a clatter and she laughed. Kafayat, Anwar and Shahab laughed too.

Still laughing, Sarita said to Kafayat, ‘Come on, let’s drive the car now.’

Everyone rose. Empty beer bottles lay strewn on the wet sand. The party ran to the car. Once again, the wind began to blast, the horn honked, and Sarita’s hair scattered like dark smoke. The singing resumed.

The car plowed through the wind. Sarita continued to sing. She sat in the back between Anwar and Shahab. Anwar’s head dropped from side to side. Sarita mischievously began to comb Shahab’s hair with her fingers and he fell asleep. When she turned back to Anwar, she saw that he was also fast asleep. She lifted herself from in between them and lowered herself into the front seat.