Saadat Manto - Bombay Stories

‘Yes,’ Trilochan said nonchalantly.

‘Congratulations!’ Mozelle took off one of her sandals and beat it against the water pipe. ‘Have you fallen in love with some other girl?’

‘Yes,’ Trilochan said flatly.

‘Congratulations. Is it someone in this building?’

‘No.’

‘That’s really wrong.’ Fixing her sandal, Mozelle got up. ‘You should always give first consideration to your neighbours.’

Trilochan remained silent. Mozelle got up and tickled his beard with all five fingers. ‘Did she tell you to grow it out?’

‘No.’

Trilochan felt uneasy, as though he were unsnarling his beard with a comb, and when he said ‘no’, there was a curt edge to it.

Mozelle’s red lipstick made her lips look like old meat. When she smiled, Trilochan felt as though he had entered a village butcher shop where the butcher had just cut a thick-veined piece of meat in two.

Then she laughed. ‘Now if you shave your beard, I swear I’ll marry you.’

Trilochan wanted to tell Mozelle how much he loved Kirpal Kaur and how he was going to marry her, and how in comparison to her, Mozelle was wanton, ugly, faithless, and unkind. But he wasn’t spiteful. ‘Mozelle, I’ve already decided to get married to a simple girl from my village who upholds our religion. For her sake I’ve decided to grow out my hair.’

Mozelle usually didn’t spend any time thinking about details, but she reflected for a moment and after pivoting on one of her sandals, she asked, ‘If she obeys your religion, then how can she accept you? Doesn’t she know you’ve already cut your hair?’

‘She doesn’t know yet,’ Trilochan admitted. ‘Right after you left for Deolali, I started to grow out my beard, just to spite you. Then I met Kirpal Kaur. I do up my turban in a way so that even one man in a hundred has a hard time telling I cut my hair. Anyway, it’s going to grow back very soon.’ Trilochan ran his fingers through his hair.

Mozelle lifted her long gown and scratched her pale voluptuous thigh. ‘That’s good. But look at this stupid mosquito! See how hard it bit me!’

Trilochan turned his gaze away from her. With her finger, Mozelle applied saliva to where the mosquito had bitten her and then let go of her gown and stood up. ‘When’s the wedding?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Trilochan said before suddenly becoming pensive.

For several seconds Mozelle didn’t speak. Then noticing his worried demeanour, she asked in a very serious manner, ‘Trilochan, what are you thinking about?’

At that moment Trilochan needed someone to talk to. Even Mozelle would do. He told her about the danger Kirpal Kaur was in, and then Mozelle laughed and said, ‘You’re a first-class idiot! Go get her! What’s hard about that?’

‘Hard? Mozelle! You would never understand the delicacy of this situation, the delicacy of any situation. You’re so careless. That’s why our relationship didn’t work out, something I’ll be sorry about forever.’

Mozelle banged her sandal against the water pipe. ‘To hell with your regret! Stupid idiot. You should be thinking about how to get your what’s-her-name out of there, but you sat down to cry about the old days. We would never have lasted. You’re a silly coward and I need a fearless man. But enough of that. Come on, let’s go rescue your girl.’

She grabbed Trilochan’s arm. ‘From where?’ he asked in fear.

‘From where she lives. I know that neighbourhood inch by inch. Come on.’

‘But listen! There’s a curfew.’

‘Not for Mozelle. Come on.’

She grabbed Trilochan’s arm and pulled him towards the door leading to the stairs. She was about to open the door and go down the stairs when she stopped and looked at Trilochan’s beard.

‘What?’ Trilochan asked.

‘Your beard. But it’s okay. It’s not that big. If you don’t wear a turban, no one will take you for a Sikh.’

‘Don’t wear a turban?’ Trilochan was taken aback. ‘I won’t go without a turban.’

‘Why?’ Mozelle asked, feigning ignorance.

Trilochan pushed back some stray hairs. ‘You don’t understand. I have to wear it there.’

‘Why?’

‘Why don’t you understand? Up till now she hasn’t seen me without my turban. She doesn’t know I’ve cut my hair, and I don’t want her to know.’

Mozelle rapped her sandal against the door’s threshold. ‘You really are an idiot. Stupid ass! It’s a matter of life and death for your what’s-her-face.’

Trilochan tried to explain, ‘Mozelle, she’s a very religious girl. If she sees me without a turban, she’ll hate me.’

This irritated Mozelle. ‘Ah, screw your love! I wonder if all Sikhs are so stupid. Her life’s in danger and you’re insisting on wearing a turban — and maybe your silly underwear too?’

‘I always wear it.’

‘Good for you! But we’re going to a neighbourhood where it’s Muslim after Muslim and they’re not the type you want to mess with. If you wear a turban, you’ll be slaughtered the moment you get there.’

Trilochan responded curtly, ‘I don’t care. If I go, I’m going to wear a turban. I’m not going to risk losing her love.’

This incensed Mozelle. She writhed in anger, and her breasts twitched and trembled. ‘You ass, what will her love matter if you’re dead? What’s your slut’s name? When she’s dead — and her family’s dead as well — then, well, you really are a Sikh. I swear to God, you’re a Sikh and a real dumb one too!’

Trilochan was furious. ‘Stop talking nonsense!’

Mozelle cackled. She put her arms around Trilochan’s neck and swung lightly from side to side. ‘Okay, darling, as you wish. Go and put on your turban. I’ll be waiting for you outside.’

She began to walk downstairs. Trilochan called out, ‘You’re not going to put on any other clothes?’

Mozelle shook her head. ‘No, I’m okay like this.’

She continued walking down, her sandals slapping against the stairs. Trilochan listened to her reach the last stair, then he smoothed back his long hair and descended towards his apartment. Inside he changed his clothes quickly. His turban was already made up. He fixed it carefully into place, locked the door, and went downstairs.

Outside on the pavement, Mozelle had her sturdy legs spread wide and was smoking just as a man would. When Trilochan approached, she mischievously blew a mouthful of smoke in his face. ‘You’re really awful,’ Trilochan said angrily.

Mozelle smiled. ‘That’s not very original. I’ve heard that before.’ Then she looked at Trilochan’s turban. ‘You’ve really tied it up well. It looks like you still have all your hair.’

The market was completely deserted. The wind blew so slowly that it seemed as though it, too, was afraid of the curfew. Lamps were lit but their light seemed sickly. Usually at that hour the streets would spring to life, as the trams started up and people began to come and go, but now it was so quiet it seemed as though no one had ever used this road and never would.

Mozelle was walking ahead. Her sandals clattered against the pavement and their noise echoed through the silence. Beneath his breath Trilochan was cursing her for not having taken two minutes to change out of her stupid sandals. He wanted to tell her to take them off and walk barefoot, but he knew she wouldn’t listen.

Trilochan was so terrified that when a leaf stirred, his heart lurched, and yet Mozelle walked ahead fearlessly, puffing on her cigarette as though she were enjoying a thoughtless stroll.

They reached an intersection and a police officer’s voice burst upon them, ‘Hey, where’re you going?’

Trilochan flinched. Mozelle approached the policeman, and once she reached him she gave her hair a light shake and said, ‘Oh, you — don’t you recognize me? It’s Mozelle.’ Then she pointed down an alley. ‘There, over there. My sister lives there. She’s not feeling well. I’m bringing a doctor.’