Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

Mummy was praising everybody profusely, and she had a motherly affection for everyone. It occurred to me that perhaps she wore so much make-up so people won’t know the truth about her — that she couldn’t be a mother to everyone and so had chosen just a handful of people to lavish her affection on while leaving the rest to fend for themselves.

Mummy went into the kitchen to fry some potato chips and so wasn’t around to see Chaddah give Phyllis a strong shot of liquor right in front of everyone. Phyllis became drunk, stumbling drunk.

Midnight passed. Vankatre moved on from teaching Thelma how to dance to telling her how much his father loved him — while he was still a child, his father had arranged his marriage, his wife was very beautiful and so on. Gharib Nawaz had already forgotten about the money he’d just loaned to Dolly, and Ranjit Kumar had taken Polly somewhere outside. Having exhausted their topics of gossip, Elma and Kitty were tired and wanted to lie down. Mummy, Phyllis and Sissy were sitting near a stool, and next to them sat a subdued Chaddah. It was the first time Phyllis had ever been drunk and Chaddah was eyeing her as though he wanted to eat her up, and yet Mummy didn’t notice.

A little while later, Sissy got up and stretched out on the sofa where after combing his hair for a minute, he fell asleep. Gharib Nawaz and Dolly got up and went off together. Elma and Kitty were talking about some Margaret when they said goodbye to Mummy and left. For the last time Vankatre mentioned his wife’s beauty, cast an amourous glance first at Phyllis and then at Thelma, who was sitting next to him. Without further ado, he grabbed Thelma’s arm and took her out to the lawn to show her the moon.

God knows why, but suddenly Mummy and Chaddah were yelling at each other. Chaddah’s speech was slurred, and like a rebellious son, he started to curse her. Phyllis tried gently to calm them down but Chaddah was too worked up to listen. He wanted to take Phyllis with him to Sayeedah Cottage but Mummy was against this. She tried to get him to understand why he shouldn’t do this but he wouldn’t listen. He said over and over, ‘You’re crazy! You old bitch — Phyllis is mine — ask her!’

Mummy withstood his curses and then explained what was what, ‘Chaddah, my son, why don’t you understand? She’s young. She’s very young.’ Her voice quavered with both entreaty and rebuke. It was a frightening scene but Chaddah just didn’t understand. He was thinking only about Phyllis and how to get his hands on her. I looked at Phyllis and for the first time realized how young she was — not more than fifteen. Now she seemed upset, and her fair face trembled.

Chaddah grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. He clutched her to his chest like a film star, and Mummy screamed in protest, ‘Chaddah, let go of her! For God’s sake, let her go!’

When Chaddah didn’t release Phyllis, Mummy slapped him on the face. ‘Get out! Get out!’ she yelled.

Chaddah was stunned. He pushed Phyllis away, stared furiously at Mummy and then left. I got up, said my goodbyes and followed Chaddah.

When I got to Sayeedah Cottage, Chaddah was lying face down on his bed with all of his clothes on. I didn’t say anything but went into another room and fell asleep on a big desk.

I woke up at ten o’clock. Chaddah had gotten up early and gone out though no one knew where. Coming out of the bathroom, I heard his voice coming from the garage. I stopped. He was saying to someone, ‘She’s beyond compare. I swear to God, she’s beyond compare. Pray that when you reach her age, you’ll be that great.’

His tone was strangely bitter, but I couldn’t tell whether his bitterness was directed at himself or the person to whom he was talking. I didn’t think it was right to linger and so I went inside. I waited for about half an hour and when he didn’t come inside, I set off for Parbhat Nagar.

My wife was in a good mood. Harish was not at home, and when his wife asked about him, I said he was still sleeping at Chaddah’s. We had had a good time in Pune, and so I told Harish’s wife that I was ready to go back to Bombay. She made a show of trying to stop us, but in coming from Sayeedah Cottage I’d already decided that the night’s events had been more than enough for me.

We left and on the way to the station, we talked about Mummy. I told my wife exactly what had happened, and she suspected that Mummy had fought with Chaddah because Phyllis was either her relative or else she wanted to give her to a good customer. I didn’t say anything as I didn’t really know.

Several days later Chaddah sent a letter in which he mentioned the events of that night, and he had this to say for himself, ‘I turned into an animal that night — what an ass!’

Three months later, I had to go to Pune on some important business, and after getting there I went straight to Sayeedah Cottage. Chaddah wasn’t there, but I met Gharib Nawaz when he came out of the garage, playing with Shirin’s young boy as would an affectionate uncle. He greeted me very warmly and we went inside. A little while later Ranjit Kumar came walking in as slow as a turtle and sat down without saying a word. When I tried to make conversation, he barely responded, but I learned that Chaddah had not gone back to Mummy’s house and that Mummy had not come by Sayeedah Cottage. The day after the party, Mummy had sent Phyllis back to her parents. Ranjit Kumar was upset because he had been confident that if Phyllis had remained in Pune for a few more days, he would have won her over. Gharib Nawaz didn’t have any similar regret and was only sad that she had left.

Then I learned that Chaddah’s health had been poor for several days. He had a fever but hadn’t gone to the doctor and instead wandered pointlessly around town all day. When Gharib Nawaz began to tell me this, Ranjit Kumar got up and went outside and through the iron-barred windows I saw him head toward the garage.

I was just about to ask Gharib Nawaz about Shirin when Vankatre entered in an extremely agitated state. He told us Chaddah had just lost consciousness in the tonga as the two were coming back to Sayeedah Cottage. We all ran outside to see the tonga driver propping him up. We lifted him out, carried him inside and laid him down. I put my hand to his forehead — his fever must have been at least 106 degrees.

I told Gharib Nawaz that we should immediately call a doctor. He discussed this with Vankatre and then took off, saying he’d be right back. Then he came back with Mummy who was huffing and puffing and trying to catch her breath. As soon as she entered, she looked at Chaddah and screamed, ‘What’s happened to my son?’

When Vankatre told her that Chaddah had been sick for several days, Mummy yelled, ‘What kind of people are you? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Then she gave us our orders: one had to rub Chaddah’s feet, another had to get some ice, and the third had to fan him. When Mummy saw how weak Chaddah was, she was beside herself with worry. But then she gathered her strength and went to get a doctor.

I don’t know how Ranjit Kumar found out in the garage, but he came back as soon as Mummy had left and asked what was going on. Vankatre recounted how Chaddah had fallen unconscious on the ride over and how Mummy had just left to get a doctor. Hearing this last bit of news, he visibly relaxed. In fact the three of them looked relieved, as though Mummy’s involvement had absolved them of their responsibility for Chaddah’s ill health.

They rubbed Chaddah’s feet and put ice packs on his forehead in accordance with Mummy’s instructions, and by the time she returned with the doctor, Chaddah had regained some degree of consciousness. The doctor took his time examining the patient, and his grave expression made it seem as though Chaddah’s life was in danger. Once he was done, the doctor motioned to Mummy and the two left the room. I turned to look out through the iron-barred windows and saw the garage’s sackcloth curtains swaying in the breeze.