Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

One day it occurred to me that I should meet Siraj on my own. She lived near Byculla Station in an extremely dirty neighbourhood dotted with garbage heaps that served as an open toilet. The city had built tin shacks there for the poor, and I won’t mention the nearby high-rises because they have nothing to do with this story, only that in this world there will always be the rich and the poor.

Dhundhu had told me where her shack was, and I went to find it, feeling self-conscious about my nice clothes.

Anyway, I went. There was a goat tied up outside, and it began to bleat as soon as it saw me. An old woman came out, propping herself up with a cane, just like in the old stories when an old madam emerges from some hellhole. I was just about to turn away when I saw a pair of large eyes looking out from behind a sackcloth curtain full of holes. Her eyes looked sad, and I looked over her face and got angry. I don’t know what she had been doing inside, but when she saw me she immediately came out, not even bothering to look at the old woman, and asked, ‘How did you find me?’

‘I wanted to meet you.’

‘Come in.’

‘No, come with me.’

When she heard this, the horrid old woman said coldly, ‘It’ll be ten rupees.’

I got out my wallet and gave the old woman the money. Then I said, ‘Come on, Siraj.’

For a moment Siraj’s large eyes relented. Her face opened up and again I saw how beautiful she was: it was a reserved beauty, a preserved beauty, like something protected for centuries in a grave, and I felt almost like I was in Egypt ready to excavate the old treasures there.

I don’t want to get into the details, but Siraj was with me at a hotel. She was sitting in her filthy clothes right in front of me, and I couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. They seemed to protect not just her face but her entire being — they cut her off from me and I had no idea what she was thinking. I had already given the old woman her money, but I gave Siraj forty rupees more. I wanted her to fight with me in the way I had heard she fought with others, and so I didn’t say anything complimentary. And at the same time her eyes were frighteningly intense and penetrating, as though they could not only see right through me but through everyone.

She said nothing. In order to provoke her, I was going to have to force myself to do something nasty, and so I drank four shots of whisky. Then I came on to her in the offensive way that an ordinary trick would, but she didn’t do anything to stop me. Then I did something very bad. I thought it would make her explode, but I was surprised to see it only calmed her. She got up and said, ‘Get me a joint.’

‘How about a drink?’

‘No, I want a joint.’

I got her a joint, and she smoked it like a real addict. When she looked at me again, her eyes had lost their effect, and her face seemed like a ransacked empire, a ravaged country. There was a sense of desolation in everything about her, but what had brought it about? She seemed like a city attacked by invaders, a city so new that its walls, built up to only a yard in height, were left in incomplete ruins.

I was confused, so confused that it’s best not to remember. I didn’t want to know whether Siraj was a virgin or not, and yet I caught a glimpse of something in her sad and glassy eyes that was beyond description. I wanted to talk to her, but she wasn’t interested at all. I wanted her to fight with me, but she disappointed me here too. I took her back to her house and went home.

Dhundhu was very angry when he found out about my secret mission. His feelings of friendship, as well as his sense of professionalism, were badly injured. He didn’t give me a chance to explain but said, ‘Manto Sahib, I didn’t expect this from you.’ Then he walked off.

When I didn’t see him at his spot the next evening, I thought he might be sick, but he wasn’t there the next day either.

A week passed. I thought of Dhundhu each morning and evening when I passed by the pole. I also went to look for Siraj in the filthy neighbourhood next to Byculla Station, but I found only the old madam. I asked about Siraj, and she tried instead to entice me in a sickening manner. Through her toothless grin she said, ‘She’s gone, but there are others. Do you want me to get one for you?’

I wondered why Dhundhu and Siraj were missing, and just after my secret meeting. I wasn’t worried about whether I would see them again but only puzzled about their whereabouts. I didn’t think they were in love. Dhundhu was above these things — he had a wife and three kids and loved them very much. But how was it that they disappeared at the same time?

I thought Dhundhu might have suddenly decided that Siraj should go home. Before he had been reluctant to consider this, but perhaps he had decided she should.

A month went by.

Then one evening I saw Dhundhu next to his pole, and I felt as though the electricity had come back after a long power outage, as though the pole had come alive and the telephone box too. Even the tangled wires seemed to be whispering in every direction. I walked up to him and he smiled.

We went to the Iranian restaurant. I didn’t make him explain anything, and he ordered a coffee-tea mixture and a cup of tea for me. Then he positioned himself as though he were about to tell me something important, and yet instead he said, ‘So what’s new, Manto Sahib?’

‘What’s there to say, Dhundhu? Life goes on.’

Dhundhu smiled. ‘Isn’t that the truth — life goes on and will keep going on. But, hell, it’s strange how life does that. To tell you the truth, everything about this world is strange.’

‘I agree.’

The tea came and we started to drink. Dhundhu poured coffee-mixed tea into his saucer and said, ‘Manto Sahib, Siraj told me everything. She said, “Your rich friend is crazy.” ’

I laughed. ‘Why?’

Dhundhu answered, ‘This is what she said, “He took me to a hotel and gave me some money. But he didn’t act like a rich man.”‘

Her comments upon my clumsiness embarrassed me, ‘I was actually there for another reason, Dhundhu.’

Dhundhu erupted in full-bellied laughter. ‘I know! Please forgive me for getting angry with you that day.’ Then he said in a friendly way, ‘But all that’s over with now.’

‘All of what?’

‘That bitch Siraj, who else?’

‘What happened?’

Dhundhu told his story, all chopped up into pieces, ‘The day she went with you, she came back and said, “I got forty rupees. Let’s go, take me to Lahore.” I said, “Bitch, what’s come over you all of a sudden?” She said, “No, come with me, Dhundhu, you have to!” And, Manto Sahib, you know I couldn’t refuse her. “Let’s go,” I said. So we got tickets and boarded the train. In Lahore we stayed at a hotel. She asked me to get her a burqa and so I did. She put it on and left immediately to wander around. Days passed. I said to myself, “Look at what’s going on, Dhundhu. Siraj, that bitch, is just as crazy as before, and, hell, now you’ve gone crazy too, travelling to such a far-off place with her!” ’

‘Manto Sahib, one day we were riding in a tonga when she asked the driver to stop. She pointed to a man and said, “Dhundhu, bring that man to me. I’m going back to the hotel.” I was at my wit’s end. By the time I got out of the tonga, the man was walking away. I followed him. Thank God I can read people easily — we spoke for just a moment but I could tell he was a playboy. I said, “I have some special merchandise from Bombay.” He said, “Let’s go right now.” I said, “No, show me your money.” He showed me a lot of money, and I said to myself, “Okay, Dhundhu, why not do some business here?” But I couldn’t understand why that bitch Siraj had chosen this man from out of all of those in Lahore. I said to myself, “It’ll do.” We got a tonga and went straight to the hotel. I told Siraj I had brought him. She said, “Wait a minute.” So I waited. A little while later I took this good-looking man inside. That bastard reared like a colt when he saw Siraj, and Siraj grabbed him.’