Bombay Stories

BABU GOPI NATH

I MET Babu Gopi Nath in 1940. In those days I was the editor of a weekly newspaper in Bombay. One day I was writing an article when Abdur Rahim Saindo entered the office along with a diminutive man. Saindo yelled out his greetings in his peculiar way and then introduced his companion, ‘Manto Sahib, meet Babu Gopi Nath.’

I got up and shook his hand. As was his habit, Saindo began to heap praises on me, ‘Babu Gopi Nath, you’re shaking hands with India’s number one writer. When you read what he writes, ding-dong-dang… vah! He writes with such topsy turvulence that it clears your mind. What witticism was it that you wrote recently, Manto Sahib? ‘Miss Khursheed bought a new car: God is a great car salesman!’ What about that, Babu Gopi Nath? Chingy ching, right?’

Abdur Rahim Saindo had a completely unique way of putting things—‘ding-dong-dang’, ‘topsy turvulence’, ‘chingy ching’—words he invented and then slipped spontaneously into conversations. After introducing me, he turned to Babu Gopi Nath, who was standing there in awe.

‘Let me introduce you to Babu Gopi Nath, a great good-for-nothing. After sitting around doing nothing in Lahore, he decided to grace Bombay with his presence, and he brought a Kashmiri dove with him.’

Babu Gopi Nath smiled.

Abdur Rahim Saindo felt he hadn’t said enough and so went on, ‘If there’s an award for the world’s biggest fool, you’re looking at the winner. People fill his ears with lies and take his money. Just for talking to him, I get two packets of Polson butter every day. Manto Sahib, I can say only this — he’s an anti-flow-Justian kind of guy. Please come by his apartment this evening.’

God only knows what Babu Gopi Nath had been thinking when something startled him back to reality. ‘Yes, yes, you must come by, Manto Sahib,’ he said. Then he asked Saindo, ‘Hey, Saindo, does he partake of you-know-what?’

Abdur Rahim Saindo erupted in laughter. ‘Yes, he participates in all sorts of amusements. So, Manto Sahib, don’t forget to come by this evening. I’ve also started drinking — after all, the booze is free.’

Saindo wrote down the apartment’s address, and I showed up at about six in the evening as promised. It was a sparkling three-bedroom apartment with brand-new furniture. Saindo and Babu Gopi Nath were in the living room and with them were two men and two women. Saindo introduced me to them.

One was Ghaffar Sayyan, a pure Punjabi holy man wearing a cummerbund and a rosary with big beads. Saindo said, ‘This gentleman is Babu Gopi Nath’s legal advisor, get what I mean? Each and every Punjabi man with a snotty nose and drool dribbling from his mouth becomes a saint, and this gentleman, too, has either attained or is about to attain this revered status. He came with Babu Gopi Nath from Lahore because he had no hope of meeting any other such idiot there. At Babu Sahib’s expense he smokes Craven A cigarettes, drinks Scotch, and prays for a happy end.’

Ghaffar Sayyan smiled as he listened to this.

The second man’s name was Ghulam Ali. He was a tall and well-built young man with smallpox scars on his face. Saindo said, ‘This is my disciple who is trying to follow in my footsteps. In Lahore, a famous courtesan’s young daughter fell in love with him and in order to trap him, a lot of topsy turvulence was done. But he said, “It doesn’t matter what you do or say, I’m not getting married.” He met Babu Gopi Nath at a holy shrine drinking and bullshitting and has been clinging to him ever since. Every day he gets food and drink and a pack of Craven A.’

Ghulam Ali smiled throughout this introduction.

There was also a round-faced woman with a ruddy complexion. As soon as I entered the room, I understood that she was the Kashmiri dove Saindo had mentioned at my office. She was very clean and tidy. She had short hair that looked like she had cut it when in truth she hadn’t. Her eyes were clear and sparkling. She looked inexperienced and innocent. Saindo introduced her, ‘Zinat Begam. Babu Gopi Nath’s pet name for her was Zinu. A very crafty madam plucked this apple from Kashmir and brought her to Lahore. From his CID people Babu Gopi Nath found out about her and then one night managed to take off with her. The madam filed a suit against him. The trial lasted two months and the police enjoyed themselves to their heart’s content, but in the end Babu Sahib won the case and brought her here — ding-dong-dang!’

Now only one person remained, the woman with the dark complexion sitting silently and smoking. She had a depraved expression that was concentrated in her bloodshot eyes. Babu Gopi Nath made a sign in her direction and said to Saindo, ‘Tell us something about her too.’

Saindo slapped this woman’s thigh and said, ‘Sir, this is Tinputi Falfuti, Mrs Abdur Rahim Saindo, alias Sardar Begam. She was also born and bred in Lahore. We fell in love in ’36. Within two years, she did a ding-dong-dang on me. Then I fled. Babu Gopi Nath called her here so I could feel at home. She also gets a pack of Craven A, and every evening she gets a two and a half rupee injection of morphine. Though she’s dark-skinned, in fact, she’s a tit-for-tat-type woman.’

Sardar gave him a coquettish glance that said, ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’ It was exactly the type of glance used by prostitutes.

After introducing everyone, Saindo set out in his usual manner to sing my praises, but I interrupted him, ‘Come on, stop, Saindo. Let’s talk about something else.’

Saindo yelled to the servant, ‘Hey, boy — whisky and soda!’ Then he turned to Babu Gopi Nath.

‘Babu Gopi Nath, we need some cash.’

Babu Gopi Nath reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip full of hundred-rupee notes, sheared one from the stack and handed it to Saindo. Saindo took the note and rustled it in his fingers. Then he said, ‘Oh, God! Oh, Lord of All Worlds! When will I be able to throw money around like this? Ghulam Ali, go get two bottles of Johnny Walker Still Going Strong!’

The liquor arrived and everyone started drinking. We kept it up for two or three hours, and as usual Abdur Rahim Saindo talked the most. He downed the first glass in one swig.

‘Ding-dong-dang, Manto Sahib, that’s what I call whisky! From my throat to my stomach, it washed down crying out, “Long live the revolution!” ’ He turned to Babu Gopi Nath, ‘God bless you, Babu Gopi Nath, God bless you!’

Throughout the proceedings Babu Gopi Nath, the poor soul, didn’t say anything other than to chime in with an occasional ‘yes’ to whatever Saindo was saying. I thought, ‘This guy doesn’t have any opinion of his own. Whatever anyone says, he agrees to it.’ The proof of his gullibility was Ghaffar Sayyan. Saindo had said he was Babu Gopi Nath’s legal advisor although he actually meant that Babu Gopi Nath revered him. Regardless, I learned in the course of our conversation that back in Lahore, Babu Gopi Nath often spent time with fakirs and dervishes. I noticed that Babu Sahib looked lost in thought, so I decided to ask him a question.

‘Babu Gopi Nath, what are you thinking about?’

My question startled him. ‘Oh … I … I … nothing,’ he said. Then he smiled and cast a loving look in Zinat’s direction. ‘I was thinking about beautiful women like her. What else is there for a man like me to think about?’

‘He’s a great good-for-nothing, Manto Sahib,’ Saindo interjected. ‘Yes, a great good-for-nothing. There wasn’t a courtesan in Lahore that Babu Sahib didn’t topsy turvulence.’

‘Manto Sahib, now I have no stamina like that,’ Babu Gopi Nath admitted with an awkward humility.

Then the conversation turned racy and to counting all the brothels of Lahore. Who was good, who was bad. Which girl was working under which madam. Which virgins had Babu Gopi Nath slept with and at what price. And so on and so on. Sardar, Saindo, Ghaffar Sayyan, and Ghulam Ali carried on in the rarefied dialect of Lahore whorehouses, and although I didn’t catch some expressions, I understood enough.

Zinat remained sitting silently. From time to time she would smile at something, and yet I sensed that the conversation didn’t interest her. She drank from a glass of diluted whisky but without evincing any pleasure. She smoked without relish, and yet the irony was that she smoked more than anyone else. Was she really in love with Babu Gopi Nath? It didn’t seem so. It was clear, however, that he took great care of her and provided her with every comfort. Nonetheless, I sensed a strange tension between them. I mean, instead of being close they seemed to hold each other at a distance.

Sardar went to Dr Majid for her morphine injection at about eight o’clock. Ghaffar Sayyan drank three shots of whisky, picked up his rosary, and lay down to sleep on the carpet. Ghulam Ali was sent to a restaurant to pick up some food. After Saindo had stopped his nonsense for a while, Babu Gopi Nath, now drunk, turned to Zinat. Looking at her with a loving expression, he asked me, ‘Manto Sahib, what do you think about my Zinat?’

I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Zinat, and she blushed. ‘I think she’s good,’ I said casually.

Babu Gopi Nath liked my answer. ‘Yes, Manto Sahib, she really is good. I swear to God, Zinat isn’t into jewellery or anything else. So many times I’ve said, “My dear, shall I build you a house?” And guess what she says? “What would I do with a house? I’m all alone.” ’ Then he asked, ‘Manto Sahib, how much does a car cost?’

‘I don’t know.’

Babu Gopi Nath was surprised. ‘What’re you saying, Manto Sahib! You don’t know how much cars cost? Impossible! Tomorrow come with me, and we’ll buy Zinu a car. I’ve realized you have to have a car in Bombay.’

Zinat’s face remained expressionless.

Then Babu Gopi Nath got very drunk. With his emotions running high, he said, ‘Manto Sahib, you’re a very decent man, but I’m a total ass. Tell me, how can I be of service to you? Yesterday when I was talking to Saindo, he brought up your name. I immediately hailed a taxi and said to him, “Take me to Manto Sahib.” Forgive me if I’ve said anything rude. I’ve committed many sins.’ Then he asked, ‘Should I call for some more whisky?’

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I’ve already had plenty.’

He became even more emotional. ‘Drink some more, Manto Sahib!’ Then he got out his wad of hundred-rupee notes and started to separate one. Before he could finish, I grabbed the clip and stuffed it back into his pocket. ‘What happened to the hundred rupees you gave Ghulam Ali?’

In truth, I had begun to feel some sympathy for Babu Gopi Nath. How many people had latched like leeches onto this poor soul! Really, he was such a fool, and yet he understood what I was asking. Smiling, he said, ‘Manto Sahib, whatever change Ghulam Ali gets is sure to fall from his pocket or …’

Babu Gopi Nath hadn’t finished the sentence when Ghulam Ali walked into the room and informed us in a tone of great distress that some bastard at the restaurant had pick-pocketed every last rupee. Babu Gopi Nath turned to me and smiled. Then he took out a new note. He gave it to Ghulam Ali and said, ‘Hurry and bring us some food.’

After we met five or six times, I came to understand Babu Gopi Nath’s true character. Well, I admit that you cannot know someone completely but I learned many extremely interesting things about him.

First, I want to say again that my initial opinion proved wrong: he wasn’t an idiot at all. He knew very well that Saindo, Ghulam Ali, Sardar, and the others hung around only to use him. He bore with their scolding and insults and never got angry. He confessed, ‘Manto Sahib, I’ve never asked anyone for advice. Whenever anyone gives me advice, I say, “Wonderful!” They think I’m stupid, but I think they’re smart — at least they’re smart enough to see how they can take advantage of me. The truth is that I’ve lived with dervishes and gypsies since I was a child. I love them and can’t live without them. I’ve decided that I’m going to stay at a saint’s shrine as soon as my money runs out. Whorehouses and shrines — I feel at peace nowhere else. I’ll quit going to whorehouses soon enough because my money’s about to run out. But India has thousands of saints. I’ll go find one when my time comes.’

‘Why do you like whorehouses and shrines?’ I asked.

He thought for a moment and then answered, ‘Because there, from top to bottom, it’s all about deception. What better place could there be for a person who wants to deceive himself?’

‘If you like listening to courtesans’ singing, you must know a lot about music.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘And this is good because hearing the singing of even the worst courtesan I can nod my head in appreciation. Manto Sahib, I’ve absolutely no interest in singing, but I get a lot of pleasure from taking a ten- or hundred-rupee note and showing it to a woman. I get out the note and show it to her. She stands up with a sexy flourish to come take it, but when she comes close I jam it in my pocket. She bends down and takes the note from my pocket and this makes me very happy. We playboys enjoy a lot of small things like that. Anyway, everyone knows that parents force their daughters into whorehouses to earn money, and people use God in the same way.’

I didn’t know anything about Babu Gopi Nath’s family, but I did find out that he was the son of a very stingy moneylender. When his father died, Babu Gopi Nath had inherited assets worth a million rupees that he liquidated and spent however he chose. He brought 50,000 rupees to Bombay. Back then everything was cheap, and yet he managed to spend one hundred or 125 rupees a day.

He bought a Fiat for Zinu. I don’t remember exactly, but I think it cost about 3,000 rupees. He hired a driver, another worthless character. Babu Gopi Nath liked people like that.

We began to get together more frequently. I was interested in him, but he began to revere me as if I were a saint. He had faith in me and respected me more than he did the others.

One evening when I went to the apartment, I was surprised to see Shafiq there. You’ll probably recognize the name, Muhammad Shafiq Tusi. He was very famous, both on account of his inventive singing and his wit and charm, and yet there was a part of his life that most people didn’t know about. Very few people knew he had made three sisters his lovers — one after the other after the other — keeping each for three or four years before moving on, and how before that he had been their mother’s lover too. Most people knew he didn’t like his first wife (who died soon after they got married) because she didn’t flirt with him like a courtesan. But everyone knew that he had slept with hundreds of women by the time he reached forty. He wore fancy clothes, ate excellent food, and owned the most luxurious cars. But he never spent even a single rupee on any prostitute.

His entertainer’s personality was very attractive to women, especially prostitutes, and he could seduce them with hardly any effort.

When I saw him getting on so well with Zinat, I wasn’t surprised. I only wondered how he got there: Saindo knew him, but they hadn’t been talking to each other for a long time. It was only afterwards that I learned that no one other than Saindo had brought him and that the two had made up.

Babu Gopi Nath was sitting on one side of the room and smoking a hookah. (Perhaps I didn’t mention earlier that he didn’t smoke cigarettes.) Muhammad Shafiq Tusi was telling jokes about entertainers, jokes that pleased Sardar more than Zinat. When Shafiq saw me, he said, ‘Oh, bismillah, bismillah! So you, too, come here?’

‘Please come in, Angel of Death,’ Saindo said to me. ‘Here everything’s ding-dong-dang.’ I understood what he meant.

The gossiping continued for a while. I noticed Zinat and Muhammad Shafiq Tusi exchange suggestive glances. Zinat was completely untrained in this art of flirting, but Shafiq’s mastery made up for her rawness. Sardar was looking at them as a wrestling coach sitting outside the wrestling ring watches two pupils feint and dodge.

Over the course of time, I gradually grew friendly with Zinat. She took to calling me ‘bhai’, and I quite liked this. She was sociable but didn’t talk much; she was guileless and sincere.

But I didn’t like her flirting with Shafiq. First of all, she did it awkwardly. The fact that she called me ‘bhai’ also had something to do with it. When Shafiq and Saindo got up and went outside, I asked her about this flirting but perhaps I did so too severely because suddenly tears welled in her eyes and she left crying for another room. Babu Gopi Nath, sitting in a corner and drawing on his hookah, quickly got up and followed her. Sardar said something to him through a series of glances, but I couldn’t tell what. A little while later Babu Gopi Nath reappeared and called to me, ‘Manto Sahib, please come with me.’ I followed him.

Zinat was sitting on a small bed. When I came in, she covered her face with both hands and lay down. Babu Gopi Nath and I sat down in chairs next to the bed. In a very serious manner, Babu Gopi Nath said, ‘Manto Sahib! I love this woman very much. She has been with me for two years. I swear by the saint Hazrat Ghaus-e-Azam Jilani that I’ve never had reason to complain. Her sisters, I mean other prostitutes, robbed me with both hands, but she’s never taken more than a reasonable amount. If I went off and stayed for weeks at some courtesan’s house, this poor soul would pawn her jewellery in order to get by. Like I said, I’ll be leaving these worldly things soon enough. My money’s going to last for just a few more days. I don’t want her to have a bad life. In Lahore I tried to get her to understand her situation. “Try to pick up on what the other girls are doing. Today I’m rich but tomorrow I’ll be poor. It’s not enough for a courtesan to know just one rich man. If you don’t seduce someone else before I’m gone, you’ll be in a world of hurt.” But, Manto Sahib, she didn’t listen to anything I said. She stayed at home all day as though waiting for someone to arrange her marriage. I asked Ghaffar Sayyan for advice. He told me to take her to Bombay because he knew two prostitutes who’d become actresses there. I thought Bombay would be okay. Now it’s been two months since I brought her here. I called Sardar from Lahore so that she could teach Zinat all the necessary skills. She can learn a lot from Ghaffar Sayyan too. No one knows me here. Zinat was worried that she would disgrace me. I said, “Stop worrying about that. Bombay’s a huge city. There’re hundreds of thousands of rich men. I bought you a car. Go find a man who’s good for you.” Manto Sahib, I swear to God that my heartfelt wish is to see her get on her own two feet and be wise to the world. I’m ready right now to put 10,000 rupees in the bank in her name. But I know that in fewer than ten days she’ll be sitting outside and Sardar will have taken her every last rupee. You too tell her it’s important to be a little savvy. Since I bought the car, Sardar’s been taking her every evening to Apollo Bunder but so far nothing has happened. Today Saindo had a very difficult time getting Muhammad Shafiq to come. What do you think about him?’

I didn’t think it was the right time to say what I thought. But Babu Gopi Nath began again, ‘He looks like someone who lives well, and he’s handsome too. Zinu dear, do you like him?’

Zinat didn’t say anything.

Babu Gopi Nath’s talk about bringing Zinat to Bombay confused me. I couldn’t believe it was possible, and yet what I saw afterwards proved everything to be true — it was Babu Gopi Nath’s heartfelt wish that Zinat become a rich man’s mistress, or that she learn how to work men for their money. I say this because if Babu Gopi Nath wanted merely to get rid of her, that wouldn’t have been so hard. He could arrange that in a single day. But since his intentions were honourable, he tried everything to secure Zinat’s future. In trying to get her into acting, he invited over numerous men who, it turned out, were only pretending to be directors. Then he got a telephone installed in the apartment. But nothing came from any of this.

Muhammad Shafiq Tusi kept coming by for about a month and a half. He even spent several nights with Zinat, and yet he wasn’t the type of man who can support a woman. One day, in a sorrowful and offended tone, Babu Gopi Nath said, ‘Shafiq Sahib turned out to be a gentleman only in name. He carries himself as though he has a lot of pride but look — he tricked Zinat into giving him four sheets, six pillowcases, and 200 rupees. Now I hear he’s dating a girl named Almas.’

This was true. Almas was the youngest daughter of Nazir Jan of Patiala, and Shafiq had already dated her three sisters. Shafiq spent Zinat’s 200 rupees on seducing Almas, and their story ended when she tried to kill herself by swallowing poison after fighting over him with her sisters.

Zinat called me several times after Muhammad Shafiq Tusi stopped visiting her and asked me to find him and bring him back. I looked for him, but no one knew where he lived. Then I ran into him one day at the radio station. He seemed very worried. When I told him Zinat wanted to see him, he said, ‘I already know. It’s too bad, but I really don’t have any time to spare these days. Zinat’s a good woman, but she’s too virtuous — I don’t have any interest in women who act like wives.’

Zinat lost hope in Shafiq and started going again with Sardar to Apollo Bunder. Over the course of fifteen days and countless gallons of petrol, Sardar was able to entrap two men. Zinat got 400 rupees off them. Babu Gopi Nath thought things were improving because one of them (an owner of a factory that made silk clothes) told Zinat he wanted to marry her. But then this man didn’t come by again, and soon one month had passed.

One day I was going down Hornby Road on some business when I saw Zinat’s car near the pavement. Muhammad Yasin, the owner of the Naginah Hotel, was sitting in the back seat. ‘Where did you get this car?’ I asked.

Yasin smiled. ‘Do you know the girl who owns it?’

‘Yes, I know her.’

‘Then you can understand how I got it,’ Yasin said, winking. ‘She’s a good girl, isn’t she?’

I smiled back.

Four days later Babu Gopi Nath came to my office in a taxi. He told me how Zinat had met Muhammad Yasin. One evening Zinat and Sardar had picked up a man at Apollo Bunder and taken him to the Naginah Hotel. This man fought with them over something and left, but Zinat struck up a friendship with the hotel’s owner.

Babu Gopi Nath was satisfied because Yasin had given Zinat six top-of-the-line saris during the two weeks or so they had been seeing each other. Babu Gopi Nath thought that once their relationship got even stronger then he’d head back to Lahore. But things didn’t work out that way.

A Christian woman was renting a room in the Naginah Hotel. Yasin began flirting with her young daughter, Muriel. Every morning and evening Yasin would take Zinat’s car and drive Muriel around town while poor Zinat stayed in her room. When Babu Gopi Nath learned about this, he got very sad. He said to me, ‘Manto Sahib! What kind of people are these? If you’re tired of something, just say so! But Zinat’s strange too. She knows well enough what’s going on, but she doesn’t even say, “If you want to go out with this Christian girl, then get your own car. Why’re you using mine?” What should I do, Manto Sahib? She’s a real good girl, but I don’t know what to do. She has to learn to be less naïve.’

Zinat wasn’t shocked when the affair with Yasin fell through.

After that nothing new happened for many days. Then I called one day and learned that Babu Gopi Nath along with Ghulam Ali and Ghaffar Sayyan had gone to Lahore to get some more money as he had already spent the 50,000, and that Babu Gopi Nath had told Zinat it would take some time because he had to sell some property there.

Sardar needed her morphine injections, and Saindo needed Polson butter. So they worked together to pick up two or three guys every day. They told Zinat that Babu Gopi Nath wasn’t going to return, and so she would have to look after herself. She earned 125 a day, out of which she kept half and Saindo and Sardar shared the rest.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked Zinat one day.

‘I don’t know anything, bhai jan,’ she replied very innocently. ‘I do whatever Saindo and Sardar say.’

I wanted to sit down next to her and explain to her at length that what she was doing wasn’t right and that Saindo and Sardar were using her. But I didn’t say anything. Zinat was annoyingly passive — she was dumb, lazy, and listless. The poor girl didn’t know the value of her life. She was a prostitute, but she didn’t have a prostitute’s wiles. Oh, how annoyed I got just by looking at her! She didn’t take an interest in anything — not in cigarettes, not in alcohol, not in houses, not in eating, not in telephones, not even in the sofa on which she spent so many hours stretched out.

Babu Gopi Nath came back after a month. When he went to Mahim, there was someone else living in his apartment. On Saindo and Sardar’s advice, Zinat had rented the upper floor of a bungalow in Bandra. When Babu Gopi Nath came to see me, I told him the address. He asked about Zinat, and I told him what I knew, except the part about how Saindo and Sardar were being pimps for her.

Babu Gopi Nath had brought 10,000 rupees. He had had a hard time scraping it together and had left Ghulam Ali and Ghaffar Sayyan back in Lahore.

The taxi was waiting on the street, and Babu Gopi Nath insisted I go with him.

We reached Bandra after about an hour. The taxi was climbing Pali Hill when Saindo appeared on the narrow road in front of us. ‘Saindo!’ Babu Gopi Nath shouted.

‘Ding-dong-dang!’ Saindo said when he saw Babu Gopi Nath.

‘Come on. Get in the taxi. Come with us,’ Babu Gopi Nath called out. But Saindo said, ‘Pull over. I need to talk to you alone.’

The taxi driver pulled over. Babu Gopi Nath got out, and Saindo took him ahead. They talked for quite a while. When they were done, Babu Gopi Nath returned to the taxi alone and instructed the driver, ‘Take us back.’

Babu Gopi Nath was happy. When we got close to Dadar, he said, ‘Manto Sahib, Zinu’s getting married!’

‘To whom?’ I asked in surprise.

‘A wealthy landlord from Hyderabad in Sindh. I pray to God they’ll be happy together. It’s good I got here in time. I’ll use the money to buy things for her dowry.’ Then he asked me, ‘What do you think about all of this?’

I didn’t have any opinion. I wondered who this Hyderabadi landlord was. I wondered if it was some trick staged by Saindo and Sardar. But later I learned it was true. There was, in fact, a wealthy Sindhi landlord who had met Zinat through a music teacher, himself from Hyderabad. This music teacher was trying without success to teach Zinat how to sing. One day he brought his patron, Ghulam Husain. (This was the Hyderabadi gentleman’s name.) Zinat treated him very well. Upon Ghulam Husain’s request, Zinat sang a couplet of Ghalib’s, ‘My beloved nitpicks. It’s hard to tell her the sorrows of my heart.’ Ghulam Husain fell intensely in love, and the music teacher told this to Zinat. Saindo and Sardar met them, and soon they had arranged the marriage.

Babu Gopi Nath was happy. He went to play the role of Saindo’s friend in the home of Zinat’s fiancé and met Ghulam Husain. After meeting him, Babu Gopi Nath was twice as happy as before.

‘Manto Sahib! He’s a handsome and very decent young man. Before leaving Lahore, I stopped at Data Ganj Bakhsh’s shrine and prayed, and my prayer was answered. I pray to God they’ll be happy.’

Babu Gopi Nath spared no expense in making the arrangements for Zinat’s wedding. He ordered 2,000 rupees worth of jewellery and the same amount of clothes. He also gave her 5,000 rupees in cash. Muhammad Shafiq Tusi, Muhammad Yasin, Saindo, the music teacher, Babu Gopi Nath, and I were all at the wedding. Saindo was the witness for the bride.

When the exchange of vows was over, Saindo whispered, ‘Ding-dong-dang!’

Ghulam Husain was wearing a blue serge suit. Everyone congratulated him, and he gladly accepted our best wishes. He was very handsome, and Babu Gopi Nath looked like a quail in front of him.

Babu Gopi Nath had also arranged a banquet and when everyone had eaten, he washed their hands. When I went up to him to get my hands washed, he said to me in a child-like manner, ‘Manto Sahib, please go inside for a moment and see how Zinu looks in her wedding clothes.’

I brushed aside the curtain and entered the room. Zinat was wearing a red shalwar kameez with gold brocade. Her red scarf also had a fancy border. She was wearing light make-up, and although I really dislike lipstick, it looked beautiful on her. She blushed and greeted me in a very endearing way. When I saw a bed in one corner covered with flowers, I couldn’t help but smile.

‘What kind of joke is this?’ I asked.

Zinat looked at me with a dove’s innocent expression. ‘You’re making fun of me, bhai jan!’ she said, and then tears welled in her eyes.

I still hadn’t understood my mistake when Babu Gopi Nath entered. He took out his handkerchief and with great affection wiped away Zinat’s tears. Then he spoke to me in an offended tone, ‘Manto Sahib, I took you to be a very understanding, decent man! You should’ve stopped to think before making fun of Zinat.’

Babu Gopi Nath’s faith in me was broken. Before I could apologize, he began stroking Zinat’s hair. With great affection he said, ‘I pray to God that you’ll be happy.’

He looked at me with eyes full of tears of sad reproach. Then he left.