Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

‘That’s an unusual desire.’

‘Everything about me is strange,’ he said. ‘Last Sunday I photographed Peerun’s lover. Just watch him submit it to some competition and win!’ He smiled again.

One Sunday, Brij returned from Bandra and said, ‘Manto, it’s over.’

‘You mean you and Peerun?’

‘Yeah. My clothes are running out, and so I thought I’d better stop going. God willing, I’ll get a job in a couple days. I think I’ll go see Seth Nayaz Ali. He’s supposed to be making a film. I’ll go tomorrow, but could you find out where his office is?’

I asked a friend what Ali’s new telephone number was and relayed this information to Brij Mohan. The next day he went there, and when he returned in the evening, he was smiling contentedly. ‘Hey, Manto,’ he said, then reached into his pocket to pull out a piece of typed paper. ‘A contract for one film—200 rupees a month. It’s not much, but Seth Nayaz Ali said he’ll give me a raise. Not bad, eh?’

‘When will you see Peerun?’

Brij Mohan smiled. ‘When? I was wondering that too — when should I see her? But, Manto, remember how I told you that I have one little wish that I want to see through? I want to see that through. I think I shouldn’t act too rashly but earn a little money first. I got fifty rupees as an advance. Here, you take twenty-five.’

I took the money and paid off an outstanding bill at a restaurant. Everything started going very well. I was making a hundred rupees a month, Brij Mohan was getting 200, and we were very comfortable. Then after five months, suddenly a letter arrived from Peerun.

‘Look, Manto, the Angel of Death!’

In fact as soon as I saw the letter, I got scared. Brij Mohan was smiling while he opened the envelope, and he took out the letter and read it. It was very short.

‘What?’

‘She says she wants to see me on Sunday. There’s some very important business.’ Then Brij Mohan put the letter back in its envelope and shoved it into his pocket.

‘You’re going?’

‘I’ve no choice.’ Then he began to sing the film song, ‘Don’t forget, traveller, one day you’ll have to go.’

But I told him, ‘Don’t go and see her. We’ve been living real well. You won’t remember, but I recall how I used to lend you eight annas every Sunday.’

Brij Mohan smiled. ‘I remember everything, so it’s too bad that those days are coming back again.’

On Sunday Brij left to see Peerun in Bandra. When he came back, he said, ‘I told her that this will be the twelfth time that I’ve been fired because of her. Have mercy upon me!’

‘What did she say to that?’

‘Her words were, “You’re a silly idiot.” ’

‘Are you?’

‘One hundred per cent!’ Then he laughed. ‘I’m going to tender my resignation tomorrow as soon as I get to the office. I already wrote it at Peerun’s.’

He showed me the paperwork. The next day he rushed through breakfast and left quickly for work, and when he came back that evening, he had a long face. He said nothing to me, and so I was forced to ask, ‘What, Brij? What happened?’

He shook his head without emotion. ‘Nothing, it’s all over.’

‘What?’

‘I gave my resignation notice to Seth Nayaz Ali, but then he smiled and gave me an official letter stating that my salary had been increased from 200 to 300 rupees, effective from last month!’

Brij Mohan lost interest in Peerun, and one day he told me, ‘As soon as her bad luck wore out, I got bored of her. My game evaporated! Now who’s going to screw things up for me?’

WHEN I left Delhi to return to Bombay, I was upset because it meant parting with good friends and a job my wife approved of — stable, easy work that netted us 250 rupees on the first of each month. Nevertheless I was suddenly overcome by a desire to leave, and not even my wife’s crying and carrying on could dissuade me.

I know hundreds of people in Bombay and seeing my friends again after many years brought me real joy, and yet my greatest joy turned out to be meeting Izzat Jahan.

You must know Izzat Jahan — who hasn’t heard her name? If you are a Communist and live in Bombay, you must already have met her many times and know how she has spent years working for the Communist cause, and you probably also know that she just married some unknown man.

This unknown man is a good friend of mine, as I know Nasir from our student days at Aligarh Muslim University when I used to call him Nasu. Illness and a lack of funds forced me to withdraw from school, but Nasir somehow managed to get a BA and land a factory job in Delhi. Years later while I was living in Bombay, Nasir came down for another factory job. During those days we got together often, but then I was forced to leave Bombay for various reasons, and that was when I got that job in Delhi, which turned out to be a regular disaster.

Anyway, I said goodbye to Delhi after two years and moved back to Bombay, the home of many dear friends and of Izzat Jahan. I’m a Communist and have written hundreds of essays on Communism. I have also read Izzat Jahan’s essays in various newspapers, and they deeply impressed me. For God’s sake, please don’t think I was enamoured! I just wanted to meet her and talk to her — I had read about her activities, and as adolescent boys just fallen in love want to talk about their love affairs, I wanted to talk about my boundless love for Communism.

I wanted to talk about the development of Communist philosophy from Hegel to Karl Marx and to discuss the viewpoints of Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin. I wanted to tell her my opinion of India’s Communist Movement and to hear hers too. I wanted to tell her stories of young men carrying Karl Marx’s books tucked beneath their arms with only one idea in mind — to impress others. I wanted to tell her about a friend who possessed every English-language book ever published about Communism but still didn’t know even its rudiments, a guy who dropped Karl Marx’s name just as frequently as people with a celebrity in the family find a way of mentioning them. I wanted to tell Izzat Jahan how my friend, despite his shenanigans, was so sincere that he couldn’t stand to hear one word said against the Communist cause.

Then I would tell her about the young men and women who become Communist as a way to meet the opposite sex. I would tell her how half the boys who join the Movement are, simply put, horny, and how they stare at the girl initiates with eyes filled with centuries of unrequited desire. I would tell her how most of the girls are rebellious daughters of fat-cat industrialists who read some introductory books then become active members just in order to stave off boredom. And I would tell her how some of these girls become mired in debauchery when they lose all respect for social and moral norms and become the sex toys of our national ‘leaders’.

To make a long story short, I thought it would be a great pleasure to discuss in detail India’s Communist Movement and its future implications. From reading her articles, I knew her incisive opinions and bold style, and I was sure we would agree on a lot.

When I got to Bombay I had to stay at a friend’s apartment for a while while I looked for a place and furnished it. My wife was still in Delhi, and I told her I would call as soon as things were arranged.

My friends are all bachelor film directors and have interesting opinions about women. They don’t want to get mixed up in a relationship with a girl on the set, and so when they feel the need, they contact any number of pimps who can supply them with what they want. My friends keep these girls for the night and send them on their way in the morning. They don’t get married because they think they could never make their wives happy. They say, ‘I’m a film director, you know. If the shooting’s during the day, I have to stay on the set all day. If the shooting’s at night, I have to stay out all night. If I work during the day, then I need to relax at night, and if I work at night, then I need to relax during the day. My wife would ask me to do things for her, but how could I when I’m all tired out? Every day a new girl is good. If I feel sleepy, I can tell her, “Get some sleep.” If I get tired of her, I can call a taxi, pay the fare, and send her on her way. As soon as a woman becomes your wife, she becomes a big burden. I’m very dutiful, so I don’t want that pressure. I don’t want to get married.’