Khol do by Saadat Hasan Manto: A Shocking Experience

Saadat Hasan Manto (1912-1955) was a prolific writer of Urdu short story. He was a
journalist, literary critic, screenplay writer, play writer, and a keen observer of the society in
which he lived. He is inarguably one of the most read authors in Urdu prose literature even
today. Mantos stories are often criticized for sexuality in them, but as Manto himself had
said if you find my stories dirty, the society you are living is dirty. With my stories, I
expose only truth.
Khol Do is one of the most famous and controversial stories of Manto. It is one of the
masterpiece depicting the effects of violence during the partition of India on the people of the
land. But unlike many others, Manto does not see the perpetrators as Hindu or Muslim,
Hindustanis or Pakistanis, he just sees and depicts them as human beings with all their
wilderness and barbarity.
Khol Do is basically a story of a father Sirajuddin who had to left India during the
partition days. Story starts with Sirajuddin finding himself on the railway platform of
Mughalpura, Lahore. After the dreadful journey from Amritsar to Lahore in which hundreds
were killed and injured and lost and raped, he just lay down for hours on the platform of
Mughalpura. He wakes up from his unconsciousness only to find that his wife and daughter
are not with him. As he is still in daze, the image of his wife, about to die, with ripped open
stomach comes in front of his eyes, just telling him to leave her alone and run away with
Sakina, his daughter. And then suddenly he realizes that Sakina is not with him, nowhere.
Sakina, his daughter, the daughter whom he cared for too much, that he could not even leave
her dupattta there in all that chaos when it slipped off her shoulders. He still finds the
dupatta in his pocket, but where is Sakina??? He tries to find her everywhere, still
couldnt find her and finally thinks he should ask someone for help.
After a few days, he finds that some young boys are doing a great job of bringing back the
daughters and women remained on that side of the border. With a new ray of hope to see his
daughter, he gives her description to those boys. She is fair, very pretty. No, she doesnt
look like me, but her mother. About seventeen. Big eyes,black hair, a mole on the left cheek.
Find my daughter. May God bless you. Sirajuddin prays daily for their success and after a
few days they find out Sakina
Here we can see the vision and capability of Manto to see the naked truth. Those boys were
out to find out Sakina and they have now found her She was the daughter of their land,
from their side of border. She had already gone through a lot. The boys behave very kindly
to her and make her feel at ease but they tell nothing about her to her father even when he
asks about it. Manto tells nothing about what is done to her, what the boys do Only when
Sirajuddin asks them about her, they just say we will find her soon, we will! and Sirajuddin
just pray for their success
And a few days later, people find a female body, half dead, near the railway track. In hopes
of finding Sakina, Sirajuddin goes behind them to the hospital. The last portion of the story is
worth to read in original. It is the most shocking part of the story and perhaps the most
shocking piece of prose ever written. I have never read such thing in my life and even now
when I read it, for Nth number of time, I find it similarly shocking. I am going to end this
post with that part as I wont be able to write anything after it. The end goes like:
He stood outside the hospital for some time, then went in. In one of the rooms, he found a
stretcher with some-one lying on it.

A light was switched on. It was a young woman with a mole on her left cheek. Sakina,
Sirajuddin screamed.
The doctor, who had switched on the light, stared at Sirajuddin.
I am her father, he stammered.The doctor looked at the prostrate body and felt for the
pulse. Then he said to the old man: Open the window.
The young woman on the stretcher moved slightly. Her hands groped for the cord which kept
her salwar tied around her waist. With painful slowness, she unfastened it, pulled the garment
down and opened her thighs.
She is alive. My daughter is alive, Sirajuddin shouted with joy.
The doctor broke into a cold sweat.
Shocked to think of what would have happened to a girl of 17, who just hearing Khol do
opens down her salwar in spontaneous reflex shocked with the the capacity of Manto to
see, perceive, and depict the truth as naked as it is Shocked with the courage of a writer to
write such a self-critical thing (those boys were on his side of the border) And the
government charged Saadat Hasan Manto for the charges of pornography

THANDA GOSHT By Saadat Hasan Manto

Translated from Urdu
..
Soon as Eesher Singh entered the room, Kalwant Kaur got up from the bed, stared at him
with her sharp eyes and locked the door. It was past midnight and a strange and mysterious
quietness seemed to have gripped the entire city.
Kalwant Kaur sat on the bed yoga-style and Eesher Singh, who was probably unraveling his
thoughts, stood there with a dagger in his hand. A few moments passed in complete silence.
Annoyed with the silence, Kalwant Kaur moved to the edge of the bed and started dangling
her legs. Eesher Singh still didnt say anything.
Kalwant Kaur was a well-built woman with wide hips, large and juggling upright breasts,
sharp eyes and voluptuous grayish lips. The structure of her chin signified a strong woman.
His tight headgear loosened, Eesher Singh stood quietly in the corner. His hand that held the
dagger was trembling. From his built one could tell that he was a perfect man for a woman
like Kalwant Kaur.
Kalwant Kaur finally broke the silence, but the only words she could utter were Eesher
darling. Eesher Singh looked at Kalwant Kaur but unable to bear the heat of her piercing
eyes, looked the other way.
Eesher darling, Kalwant Kaur shrieked but immediately controlled her tone, where were
you all these days?
I dont know. Eesher Singh moved his tongue over his dry lips.
What kind of answer is that? asked Kalwant Kaur angrily.
Eesher Singh dropped his dagger on the floor and lied in bed. It seemed as if he had been ill
for many days. Kalwant Kaur looked at the bed that was now filled with Eesher Singh and
felt sorry for him.
Whats the matter with you, darling? Covering Eesher Singhs forehead with her palm
Kalwant Kaur asked lovingly.
Eesher Singh, who was staring at the ceiling, looked at Kalwant Kaur and gently stroked her
familiar face. Kalwant.
His voice had deep pain. Kalwant Kaur hugged him hard and, biting on his lips, said, Yes
darling?

Eesher Singh took his headgear off, looked at Kalwant Kaur as if he were looking for
support, spanked her wide hip, shook his head and mumbled to himself, this girl is crazy.
His long hair fell open when he shook his head. Kalwant Kaur ran her fingers through his hair
and asked affectionately, Eesher darling, where were you all these days?
Grandmas house, said Eesher Singh squeezing her breasts. I swear to Waheguru, you are
a real woman.
Charmingly hitting his hand to move it away, Kalwant Kaur said, You swear on me and tell
me where you were. Went to town?
No, said Eesher Singh folding his hair and making a knot.
You went to town, looted a lot of money and now are not telling me. Kalwant Kaur was
very annoyed with him.
Im not son of my father if I tell you a lie.
Kalwant Kaur was quiet for a minute, then she suddenly started yelling, But I dont
understand what happened to you that night. You were fine lying with me and had me wear
all that jewelry you had looted the other day. You were kissing me all over then I dont know
what came over you that you suddenly got up, got dressed, and left.
Eesher Singh turned pale. Kalwant Kaur immediately noticed it. See! Eesher darling, I swear
to Waheguru, I smell a rat.
I swear theres nothing wrong. There was no life in Eesher Singhs voice.
Kalwant Kaur was now even more suspicious. Holding her lips tight and emphasizing each
word, she said, Whats the matter with you, Eesher darling? You are not the same person
you were eight days ago.
Eesher Singh got up quickly as if someone had assaulted him. He held Kalwant Kaur in his
strong arms and ran his hands all over her body. Darling, its the same old me. Im gonna
hug you so hard that heat will be coming out of your bones.
Kalwant Kaur did not resist but kept complaining. What happened to you that night?
Grandmas fever!
You arent gonna tell me?
Theres nothing to tell.
Burn me with your hands if you lie.
Eesher Singh put his arms around her neck and pressed his lips hard against hers. His
mustache hair got into her nostrils, she sneezed, and both started laughing.
Eesher Singh took his jacket off, looked at Kalwant Kaur amorously, and said, Lets play
cards.
Kalwant Kaurs lips moistened, she rolled her eyes charmingly and said, Get lost!
Eesher Singh pinched her buttock. Kalwant Kaur moved away painfully, Dont do that
Eesher darling, it hurts.
Eesher Singh sucked on her lips and bit on it. Kalwant Kaur melted like hot wax. He threw
his shirt off. So lets deal the cards.
Kalwant Kaurs lips quivered. Eesher Singh peeled her clothes off as skin off a goat. He
stared her at naked body, pinched her arm, and said, I swear to Waheguru, youre some
woman!
Kalwant Kaur glanced at the red mark on her arm left by his pinch. Youre so cruel, Eesher
darling.
Eesher Singh smiled underneath his thick black mustache, Let the cruelty begin.
He began his cruelty by kissing her lips and biting on her ear lobes. He squeezed her breasts,
spanked her buttocks red, kissed her cheeks, and sucked her nipples wet. Kalwant Kaur
started to boil like a hot pot on a blazing stove. But in spite of all that foreplay Eesher Singh
could not get it up. Like a skilled wrestler, he used all the tricks in the book but none worked.
Kalwant Kaur, who was brimming with sexual intensity, was getting irritated with his
unnecessary moves.

Eesher darling, thats enough. Just throw the trump card. She moaned.
As if Eesher Singhs entire deck of cards fell hearing that. He loosened his grip and fell next
to Kalwant Kaur panting. His forehead was sweating bullets. Kalwant Kaur tried very hard to
get it up for him but to no avail. Disappointed and infuriated, Kalwant Kaur got off the bed,
picked the chador hanging on the nail on the wall and wrapped herself.
Her nostrils expanded, she said furiously, Eesher darling, whos that bitch youve spent all
these days with who has sucked you dry.
Eesher Singh kept lying in bed panting without saying a word.
Kalwant Kaur was steaming. I asked whos that whore?
No one, Kalwant, no one. Eesher Singh sounded very tired.
Kalwant Kaur put her hands on her wide hips and said with utter determination, Eesher
darling, I must know the truth, I swear to Waheguru. Is there another woman?
Eesher Singh tried to say something but Kalwant Kaur cut him off. Before you swear, you
should know that Im the daughter of Nihal Singh. Ill cut you to pieces if you lied. Now,
swear to Waheguru. Is there another woman?
Eesher Singh shook his head sadly but affirmatively.
Kalwant Kaur went berserk. She picked up the dagger from the floor, removed its cover like a
banana-peel, and stabbed Eesher Singh in the neck.
Blood gushed forth from Eesher Singhs neck. In a frenzy, Kalwant Kaur kept stabbing him
and cursing the other woman.
Let go, Kalwant, let go, Eesher Singh said with his voice weakening. He had deep sadness
in his voice. Kalwant Kaur pulled back.
Blood was jetting to Eesher Singhs mustache. He looked at Kalwant Kaur with the mixed
feeling of gratitude and protest. My darling, you acted too quickly. But its for the better.
Kalwant Kaurs intense jealousy raised its head again, Whos she? Your mother?
Blood was now reaching Eesher Singhs mouth. He tasted it and his whole body shivered.
And Iand Ikilled six people with this same dagger.
I asked whos that bitch? There was no other thought on Kalwant Kaurs mind.
Eesher Singhs listless eyes sparkled for a brief moment, Please dont curse her.
Whos that bitch? yelled Kalwant Kaur.
Ill tell you. Eesher Singhs voice was breaking down. He touched his neck, felt the blood
and smiled. Man is so weird.
Get to the point. Furious Kalwant Kaur was waiting for an answer.
Eesher Singh smiled again underneath his blood-filled mustache. Im getting to the point.
Youve slit my throat. Ive to tell it very slowly.
Cold sweat ran down his forehead as he began to recount. Kalwant, my life, I cannot begin
to tell you what happened to me. When the riot broke out in the city, like everyone else I also
participated. I gave you the loot but did not tell you one thing.
Eesher Singh groaned with pain. Kalwant Kaur had no feelings for him and paid no attention
to his suffering. What was it?
Blowing on the blood-cot forming on his mustache, Eesher Singh said, The house I attacked
had seven people in it. I killed six of them, with the same dagger you stabbed me with. There
was a beautiful girl in the house. I took her with me.
Kalwant Kaur was listening intently. Eesher Singh once more tried to blow the blood off his
mustache. Kalwant darling, I cannot tell you what a beautiful girl she was. I wouldve killed
her too. But I said to myself, no, Eesher Singh, you enjoy Kalwant Kaur every day. Taste a
different fruit.
Oh was the only word out of Kalwant Kaurs mouth.
I put her on my shoulder and got out. On the waywhat was I sayingoh, yeson the
way, near the river, I lay her down by the bushes. First I thought deal the cards. But then I
decided not to Eesher Singh throat was completely dry.
Then what happened? gulped Kalwant Kaur.

I threw the trump cardbutbut, Eesher Singhs voice was now a mere whisper.
Then what happened? Kalwant Kaur shook him.
Eesher Singh opened his tired and sleepy eyes and looked at Kalwant Kaur whose whole
body was trembling.
She was dead, Kalwant, it was a dead bodya cold fleshplease hold my hand.
Kalwant Kaur put her hand over his. His hand was colder than ice.
.
http://www.chowk.com/Arts/Poetry/Cold-Flesh

Toba Tek Singh by Sadat Hasan Manto

Two or three years after the 1947 Partition, it occurred to the governments of India and
Pakistan to exchange their lunatics in the same manner as they had exchanged their criminals.
The Muslim lunatics in India were to be sent over to Pakistan and the Hindu and Sikh lunatics
in Pakistani asylums were to be handed over to India.
It was difficult to say whether the proposal made any sense or not. However, the decision had
been taken at the topmost level on both sides. After high-level conferences were held a day
was fixed for exchange of the lunatics. It was agreed that those Muslims who had families in
India would be permitted to stay back while the rest would be escorted to the border. Since
almost all the Hindus and Sikhs had migrated from Pakistan, the question of retaining nonMuslim lunatics in Pakistan did not arise. All of them were to be taken to India.
Nobody knew what transpired in India, but so far as Pakistan was concerned this news
created quite a stir in the lunatic asylum at Lahore, leading to all sorts of funny developments.
A Muslim lunatic, a regular reader of the fiery Urdu daily Zamindar, when asked what
Pakistan was, reflected for a while and then replied, "Don't you know? A place in India
known for manufacturing cut-throat razors." Apparently satisfied, the friend asked no more
questions.
Likewise, a Sikh lunatic asked another Sikh, "Sardarji, why are we being deported to India?
We don't even know their language." The Sikh gave a knowing smile. "But I know the
language of Hindostoras" he replied. "These bloody Indians, the way they strut about!"
One day while taking his bath, a Muslim lunatic yelled, "Pakistan Zindabad!" with such force
that he slipped, fell down on the floor and was knocked unconscious.
Not all the inmates were insane. Quite a few were murderers. To escape the gallows, their
relatives had gotten them in by bribing the officials. They had only a vague idea about the
division of India or what Pakistan was. They were utterly ignorant of the present situation.
Newspapers hardly ever gave the true picture and the asylum warders were illiterates from
whose conversation they could not glean anything. All that these inmates knew was that there
was a man by the name of Quaid-e-Azam who had set up a separate state for Muslims, called
Pakistan. But they had no idea where Pakistan was. That was why they were all at a loss

whether they were now in India or in Pakistan. If they were in India, then where was
Pakistan? If they were in Pakistan, how come that only a short while ago they were in India?
How could they be in India a short while ago and now suddenly in Pakistan?
One of the lunatics got so bewildered with this India-Pakistan-Pakistan-India rigmarole that
one day while sweeping the floor he climbed up a tree, and sitting on a branch, harangued the
people below for two hours on end about the delicate problems of India and Pakistan. When
the guards asked him to come down he climbed up still higher and said, "I don't want to live
in India and Pakistan. I'm going to make my home right here on this tree."
All this hubbub affected a radio engineer with an MSc degree, a Muslim, a quiet man who
took long walks by himself. One day he stripped off all his clothes, gave them to a guard and
ran in the garden stark naked.
Another Muslim inmate from Chiniot, an erstwhile adherent of the Muslim League who
bathed fifteen or sixteen times a day, suddenly gave up bathing. As his name was Mohammed
Ali, he one day proclaimed that he was none other than Quaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali
Jinnah. Taking a cue from him a Sikh announced that he was Master Tara Singh, the leader of
the Sikhs. This could have led to open violence. But before any harm could be done the two
lunatics were declared dangerous and locked up in separate cells.
Among the inmates of the asylum was a Hindu lawyer from Lahore who had gone mad
because of unrequited love. He was deeply pained when he learnt that Amritsar, where the
girl lived, would form part of India. He roundly abused all the Hindu and Muslim leaders
who had conspired to divide India into two, thus making his beloved an Indian and him a
Pakistani. When the talks on the exchange were finalized his mad friends asked him to take
heart since now he could go to India. But the young lawyer did not want to leave Lahore, for
he feared for his legal practice in Amritsar.
There were two Anglo-Indians in the European ward. When informed the British were
leaving, they spent hours together discussing the problems they would be faced with: Would
the European ward be abolished? Would they get breakfast? Instead of bread, would they
have to make do with measly Indian chapattis?
There was a Sikh who had been admitted into the asylum fifteen years ago. Whenever he
spoke it was the same mysterious gibberish: "Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayana
the mung the dal of the laltain." The guards said that he had not slept a wink in all this time.
He would not even lie down to rest. His feet were swollen with constant standing and his
calves had puffed out in the middle, but in spite of this agony he never cared to lie down. He
listened with rapt attention to all discussions about the exchange of lunatics between India
and Pakistan. If someone asked his views on the subject he would reply in a grave tone:
"Uper the gur gur the annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the Government of
Pakistan." But later on he started substituting "the Government of Pakistan" with "Tobak Tek
Singh," which was his home town. Now he begun asking where Toba Tek Singh was to go.

But nobody seemed to know where it was. Those who tried to explain themselves got bogged
down in another enigma: Sialkot, which used to be in India, now was in Pakistan. At this rate,
it seemed as if Lahore, which was now in Pakistan, would slide over to India. Perhaps the
whole of India might become Pakistan. It was all so confusing! And who could say if both
India and Pakistan might not entirely disappear from the face of the earth one day?
The hair on the Sikh lunatic's head had thinned and his beard had matted, making him look
wild and ferocious. But he was a harmless creature. In fifteen years he had not even once had
a row with anyone. The older employees of the asylum knew that he had been a well-to-do
fellow who had owned considerable land in Toba Tek Singh. Then he had suddenly gone
mad. His family had brought him to the asylum in chains and left him there. They came to
meet him once a month but ever since the communal riots had begun, his relatives had
stopped visiting him.
His name was Bishan Singh but everybody called him Toba Tek Singh. He did not know
what day it was, what month it was and how many years he had spent in the asylum. Yet as if
by instinct he knew when his relatives were going to visit, and on that day he would take a
long bath, scrub his body with soap, put oil in his hair, comb it and put on clean clothes. If his
relatives asked him anything he would keep silent or burst out with Uper the gur gur the
annexe the bay dhayana the mung the dal of the laltain."
When he had been brought to the asylum, he had left behind an infant daughter. She was now
a comely and striking young girl of fifteen, who Bishan Singh failed to recognize. She would
come to visit him, and not be able to hold back her tears.
When the India-Pakistan caboodle started Bishan Singh often asked the other inmates where
Toba Tek Singh was. Nobody could tell him. Now even the visitors had stopped coming.
Previously his sixth sense would tell him when the visitors were due to come. But not
anymore. His inner voice seemed to have stilled. He missed his family, the gifts they used to
bring and the concern with which they used to speak to him. He was sure they would have
told him whether Toba Tek Singh was in India or Pakistan. He also had the feeling that they
came from Toba Tek Singh, his old home.
One of the lunatics had declared himself God. One day Bishan Singh asked him where Toba
Tek Singh was. As was his habit the man greeted Bishan Singh's question with a loud laugh
and then said, "It's neither in India nor in Pakistan. In fact, it is nowhere because till now I
have not taken any decision about its location."
Bishan begged the man who called himself God to pass the necessary orders and solve the
problem. But 'God' seemed to be very busy other matters. At last Bishan Singh's patience ran
out and he cried out: "Uper the gur gur the annexe the mung the dal of Guruji da Khalsa and
Guruji ki fatehjo boley so nihal sat sri akal."
What he wanted to say was: "You don't answer my prayers because you a Muslim God. Had

you been a Sikh God, you would have surely helped me out."
A few days before the exchange was due to take place, a Muslim from Toba Tek Singh who
happened to be a friend of Bishan Singh came to meet him. He had never visited him before.
On seeing him, Bishan Singh tried to slink away, but the warder barred his way. "Don't you
recognize your friend Fazal Din?" he said. "He has come to meet you." Bishan Singh looked
furtively at Fazal Din, then started to mumble something. Fazal Din placed his hand on
Bishan Singh's shoulder. "I have been thinking of visiting you for a long time," he said. "But I
couldn't get the time. Your family is well and has gone to India safely. I did what I could to
help. As for your daughter, Roop Kaur" --he hesitated--'She is safe too in India."
Bishan Singh kept quiet. Fazal Din continued: "Your family wanted me to make sure you
were well. Soon you'll be moving to India. Please give my salaam to bhai Balbir Singh and
bhai Raghbir Singh and bahain Amrit Kaur. Tell Balbir that Fazal Din is well. The two brown
buffaloes he left behind are well too. Both of them gave birth to calves, but, unfortunately,
one of them died. Say I think of them often and to write to me if there is anything I can do."
Then he added "Here, I've brought some plums for you."
Bishan Singh took the gift from Fazal Din and handed it to the guard. "Where is Toba Tek
Singh?" he asked.
"Where? Why, it is where it has always been."
"In India or Pakistan?
"In India no, in Pakistan."
Without saying another word, Bishan Singh walked away, muttering "Uper the gur gur the
annexe the bay dhyana the mung the dal of the Pakistan and India dur fittey moun."
At long last the arrangements for the exchange were complete. The lists of lunatics who were
to be sent over from either side were exchanged and the date fixed.
On a cold winter evening truckloads of Hindu and Sikh lunatics from the Lahore asylum were
moved out to the Indian border under police escort. Senior officials went with them to ensure
a smooth exchange. The two sides met at the Wagah border check-post, signed documents
and the transfer got underway.
Getting the lunatics out of the trucks and handing them over to the opposite side proved to be
a tough job. Some refused to get down from the trucks. Those who could be persuaded to do
so began to run in all directions. Some were stark naked. As soon as they were dressed they
tore off their clothes again. They swore, they sang, they fought with each other. Others wept.
Female lunatics, who were also being exchanged, were even noisier. It was pure bedlam.
Their teeth chattered in the bitter cold.
Most of the inmates appeared to be dead set against the entire operation. They simply could

not understand why they were being forcibly removed to a strange place. Slogans of 'Pakistan
Zindabad' and 'Pakistan Murdabad' were raised, and only timely intervention prevented
serious clashes.
When Bishan Singh's turn came to give his personal details to be recorded in the register, he
asked the official "Where's Toba Tek Singh? In India or Pakistan?"
The officer laughed loudly, "In Pakistan, of course."
Hearing that Bishan Singh turned and ran back to join his companions. The Pakistani guards
caught hold of him and tried to push him across the line to India. Bishan Singh wouldn't
move. "This is Toba Tek Singh," he announced. "Uper the gur gur the annexe the be dyhana
mung the dal of Toba Tek Singh and Pakistan."
It was explained to him over and over again that Toba Tek Singh was in India, or very soon
would be, but all this persuasion had no effect.
They even tried to drag him to the other side, but it was no use. There he stood on his swollen
legs as if no power on earth could dislodge him. Soon, since he was a harmless old man, the
officials left him alone for the time being and proceeded with the rest of the exchange.
Just before sunrise, Bishan Singh let out a horrible scream. As everybody rushed towards
him, the man who had stood erect on his legs for fifteen years, now pitched face-forward on
to the ground. On one side, behind barbed wire, stood together the lunatics of India and on
the other side, behind more barbed wire, stood the lunatics of Pakistan. In between, on a bit of
earth which had no name, lay Toba Tek Singh.

DOG OF TITHWAL By Saadat Hasan Manto

The soldiers had been entrenched in their positions for several weeks, but there was little, if
any, fighting, except for the dozen rounds they ritually exchanged every day. The weather
was extremely pleasant. The air was heavy with the scent of wild flowers and nature seemed
to be following its course, quite unmindful of the soldiers hiding behind rocks and
camouflaged by mountain shrubbery. The birds sang as they always had and the llowers were
in bloom. Bees buzzed about lazily.
Only when a shot rang out, the birds got startled and took Right, as if a musician had struck a
jarring note on his instrument. It was almost the end of September, neither hot nor cold. It
seemed as if summer and winter had made their peace. In the blue skies, cotton clouds floated
all day like barges on a lake.
The soldiers seemed to be getting tired of this indecisive war where nothing much ever
happened. Their positions were quite impregnable. The two hills on which they were placed
faced each other and were about the same height, so no one side had an advantage. Down
below in the valley, a stream zigzagged furiously on its stony bed like a snake.
The air force was not involved in the combat and neither of the adversaries had heavy guns or
mortars. At night, they would light huge fires and hear each others' voices echoing through
the hills.
The last round of tea had just been taken. The fire had gone cold. The sky was clear and there
was a chill in the air and a sharp, though not unpleasant, smell of pine cones. Most of the
soldiers were already asleep, except Jamadar Harnam Singh, who was on night watch. At two

o'clock, he woke up Ganda Singh to take over. Then he lay down, but sleep was as far away
from his eyes as the stars in the sky. He began to hum a Punjabi folk song:
Buy me a pair of shoes, my lover A pair of shoes with stars on them Sell your buffalo, if you
have to But buy me a pair of shoes With stars on them
It made him feel good and a bit sentimental. He woke up the others one by one. Banta Singh,
the youngest of the soldiers, who had a sweet voice, began to sing a lovelorn verse from Heer
Ranjha, that timeless Punjabi epic of love and tragedy. A deep sadness fell over them. Even
the grey hills seemed to have been affected by the melancholy of the song.
This mood was shattered by the barking of a dog. Jamadar Harnam Singh said, 'Where has
this son of a bitch materialized from?'
The dog barked again. He sounded closer. There was a rustle in the bushes. Banta Singh got
up to investigate and came back with an ordinary mongrel in tow. He was wagging his tail. 'I
found him behind the bushes and he told me his name was Jhun Jhun,' Banta Singh
announced. Everybody burst out laughing.
The dog went to Harnam Singh who produced a cracker from his kitbag and threw it on the
ground. The dog sniffed at it and was about to eat it, when Harnam Singh snatched it away. '.
. . Wait, you could be a Pakistani dog.'
They laughed. Banta Singh patted the animal and said to Harnam Singh, 'Jamadar sahib,Jhun
Jhun is an Indian dog.' 'Prove your identity,' Harnam Singh ordered the dog, who began to
wag his tail.
'This is no proof of identity. All dogs can wag their tails,' Harnam Singh said.
'He is only a poor refugee,' Banta Singh said, playing with his tail.
Harnam Singh threw the dog a cracker which he caught in midair. 'Even dogs will now have
to decide if they are Indian or Pakistani,' one of the soldiers observed.
Harnam Singh produced another cracker from his kitbag. 'And all Pakistanis, including dogs,
will be shot.'
A soldier shouted, 'India Zindabad ! '
The dog, who was about to munch his cracker, stopped dead in his tracks, put his tail between
his legs and looked scared. Harnam Singh laughed. 'Why are you afraid of your own country?
Here, Jhun Jhun, have another cracker.'
The morning broke very suddenly, as if someone had switched on a light in a dark room. It
spread across the hills and valleys of Titwal, which is what the area was called.
The war had been going on for months, but nobody could be quite sure who was winning it.
Jamadar Harnam Singh surveyed the area with his binoculars. He could see smoke rising
from the opposite hill, which meant that, like them, the enemy was busy preparing breakfast.
Subedar Himmat Khan of the Pakistan army gave his huge moustache a twirl and began to
study the map of the Titwal sector. Next to him sat his wireless operator who was trying to

establish contact with the platoon commander to obtain instructions. A few feet away, the
soldier Bashir sat on the ground, his back against a rock and his rifle in front of him.
He was humming:
Where did you spend the night, my love, my moon?
Where did you spend the night?
Enjoying himself, he began to sing more loudly, savouring the words. Suddenly, he heard
Subedar Himmat Khan scream,
'Where did you spend the night?'
But this was not addressed to Bashir. It was a dog he was shouting at. He had come to them
from nowhere a few days ago, stayed in the camp quite happily and then suddenly
disappeared last night. However, he had now returned like a bad coin.
Bashir smiled and began to sing to the dog. 'Where did you spend the night, where did you
spend the night?' But he only wagged his tail. Subedar Himmat Khan threw a pebble at him.
'All he can do is wag his tail, the idiot.'
'What has he got around his neck?' Bashir asked. One of the soldiers grabbed the dog and
undid his makeshift rope collar. There was a small piece of cardboard tied to it. 'What does it
say?' the soldier, who could not read, asked.
Bashir stepped forward and with some difficulty was able to decipher the writing. 'It says
JhunJhun.'
Subedar Himmat Khan gave his famous moustache another mighty twirl and said, 'Perhaps it
is a code. Does it say anything else, Bashirey?'
'Yes sir, it says it is an Indian dog.'
'What does that mean?' Subedar Himmat Khan asked.
'Perhaps it is a secret,' Bashir answered seriously.
'If there is a secret, it is in that word Jhun Jhun,' another soldier ventured in a wise guess.
'You may have something there,' Subedar Himmat Khan observed.
Dutifully, Bashir read the whole thing again. 'Jhun Jhun. This is an Indian dog.'
Subedar Himmat Khan picked up the wireless set and spoke to his platoon commander,
providing him with a detailed account of the dog's sudden appearance in their position, his
equally sudden disappearance the night before and his return that rnorning. 'What are you
talking about?' the platoon commander asked.
Subedar Himmat Khan studied the map again. Then he tore up a packet of cigarettes, cut a
small piece from it and gave it to Bashir. 'Now write on it in Gurmukhi, the language of those
Sikhs'
'What should I write?'

'Well . . .'
Bashir had an inspiration. 'Shun Shun, yes, that's right. We counter JhunJhun with Shun
Shun.'
'Good,' Subedar Himmat Khan said approvingly. 'And add:
This is a Pakistani dog.'
Subedar Himmat Khan personally threaded the piece of paper through the dog's collar and
said, 'Now go join your family.'
He gave him something to eat and then said, 'Look here, my friend, no treachery. The
punishment for treachery is death.'
The dog kept eating his food and wagging his tail. Then Subedar Himmat Khan turned him
round to face the Indian position and said, 'Go and take this message to the enemy, but come
back. These are the orders of your commander.'
The dog wagged his tail and moved down the winding hilly track that led into the valley
dividing the two hills. Subedar Himmat Khan picked up his rifle and fired in the air.
The Indians were a bit puzzled, as it was somewhat early in the day for that sort of thing.
Jamadar Harnam Singh, who in any case was feeling bored, shouted, 'Let's give it to them.'
The two sides exchanged fire for half an hour, which, of course, was a complete waste of
time. Finally, Jamadar Harnam Singh ordered that enough was enough. He combed his long
hair, looked at himself in the mirror and asked Banta Singh, 'Where has that dog Jhun Jhun
gone?'
'Dogs can never digest butter, goes the famous saying,' Banta Singh observed philosophically.
Suddenly, the soldier on lookout duty shouted, 'There he comes.'
'Who?' Jamadar Harnam Singh asked.
'What was his name?JhunJhun,' the soldier answered.
'What is he doing?' Harnam Singh asked.
'Just coming our way,' the soldier replied, peering through his binoculars.
Subedar Harnam Singh snatched them from him. 'That's him all right and there's something
round his neck. But, wait, that's the Pakistani hill he's coming from, the motherfucker.'
He picked up his rifle, aimed and fired. The bullet hit some rocks close to where the dog was.
He stopped.
Subedar Himmat Khan heard the report and looked through his binoculars. The dog had
turned round and was running back. 'The brave never run away from battle. Go forward and
complete your mission,' he shouted at the dog. To scare him, he fired in his general direction.
Harnam Singh fired at the same time. The bullet passed within inches of the dog, who leapt in
the air, flapping his ears. Subedar Himmat Khan fired again, hitting some stones.

It soon became a game between the two soldiers, with the dog running round in circles in a
state of great terror. Both Himmat Khan and Harnam Singh were laughing boisterously. The
dog began to run towards Harnam Singh, who abused him loudly and fired. The bullet caught
him in the leg. He yelped, turned around and began to run towards Himmat Khan, only to
meet more fire, which was only meant to scare him. 'Be a brave boy. If you are injured, don't
let that stand between you and your duty. Go, go, go,' the Pakistani shouted.
The dog turned. One of his legs was now quite useless. He began to drag himself towards
Harnam Singh, who picked up his rifle, aimed carefully and shot him dead.
Subedar Himmat Khan sighed, 'The poor bugger has been martyred.'
Jamadar Himmat Singh ran his hand over the still-hot barrel of his rifle and muttered, 'He
died a dog's death.'

Ten Rupees Written by Saadat Hasan Manto

Translated from Urdu by Matt Reeck and Aftab Ahmad
She was at the corner of the alley playing with the girls, and her mother was looking for her
in the chali (a big building with many floors and many small rooms). Saritas mother had
asked Kishori to sit down, had ordered some coffee-mixed tea from the tea boy outside, and
had already searched for her daughter throughout the chalis three floors. But who knew
where Sarita had run off to. She had even gone over to the open toilet and had called for her,
Hey, Sarita! Sarita! But she was nowhere in the building, and it was just as her mother
suspectedSarita had gotten over her bout of dysentery (even though she hadnt taken her
medicine), and without a care in the world she was now playing with the girls at the corner of
the alley near the trash heap.
Saritas mother was very worried. Kishori was sitting inside, and he had announced that three
rich men were waiting in their car in the nearby shopping market. But Sarita had disappeared.
Saritas mother knew that rich men with cars dont come around every day, and in fact it was
only thanks to Kishori that she got a good customer once or twice a month because otherwise
rich men would never come to that dirty neighborhood where the stench of rotting paan and
burnt-out bidis made Kishori pucker his nose. Really, how could rich men stand such a
neighborhood? But Kishori was clever, and so he never brought men up to the chali but
would have Sarita dress up before taking her out. He told the men, Sirs, things are very
dicey these days. The police are always on the lookout to nab someone. Theyve already
caught two hundred girls. Even I am being tried in court. We all have to be very cautious.
Saritas mother was very angry. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, Ram Dai was sitting
there cutting bidi leaves. Have you seen Sarita anywhere? Saritas mother asked her. I
dont know where shes gone off to. If I find her, Im going to beat her to a pulp. Shes not a
little girl anymore, and yet she runs around all day with those good-for-nothing boys.
Ram Dai continued cutting bidi leaves and didnt answer, seeing as how Saritas mother
usually went around muttering like this. Every third or fourth day she had to go looking for
Sarita and would repeat these very words to Ram Dai as she sat all day near the stairs with a
basket in front of her as she tied red and white strings around the cigarettes.
In addition to this refrain, the women of the building were always hearing from Saritas
mother how she was going to marry off Sarita to a respectable man so that she might learn
how to read and write a little, or how the city government had opened a school nearby where
she was going to send Sarita because her father very much wanted her to know how to read

and write. Then she would sigh deeply and launch into a recitation of her deceased husbands
story, which all the buildings women knew by heart. If you asked Ram Dai how Saritas
father (who had worked for the railway) reacted when his boss swore at him, then Ram Dai
would immediately tell you that he got enraged and told off his boss, Im not your servant
but a servant of the government. You dont intimidate me. Look here, if you insult me again,
Im going to break your jaw. Then it happened. His boss went ahead and insulted Saritas
father, and so Saritas father punched him in the neck so hard that this mans hat fell to the
floor and he almost collapsed. But he didnt. His boss was a big man, and he stepped forward
and with his army boot kicked Saritas father in the stomach with such force that his spleen
burst and he fell down right there near the railroad tracks and died. The government tried the
man and ordered him to pay five hundred rupees to Saritas mother, but fate was unkind:
Saritas mother developed a love for gambling and in less than five months wasted all the
money.
Saritas mother was always telling this story, but no one knew whether it was true. No one in
the building felt any sympathy for her, perhaps because their lives were so difficult that they
had no time to think about others. None had any friends. Most of the men slept during the day
and worked nights in the nearby factory. Everyone lived right on top of one another, and yet
no one took any interest in anyone else.
Almost everyone in the building knew that Saritas mother was forcing her young daughter to
be a prostitute, but because they werent in the habit of concerning themselves with others, no
one ever contradicted Saritas mother when she would lie about how innocent her daughter
was. Once when Tukaram harassed Sarita by the water spigot one early morning, Saritas
mother started screeching at Tukarams wife, Why cant you keep track of that dirty rat? I
pray to God he goes blind for eyeing my little girl like that. Im telling you the truth, some
day Im going to smack him so good he wont know up from down. If he wants to raise hell
somewhere else, thats fine, but if he wants to live here, hes going to have to behave like a
respectable person, got it!
Hearing this, Tukarams squint-eyed wife rushed out of her room tying on her dhoti. Watch
out, you old witch, if you say anything else! she said. Your little angel flirts with even hotel
boys. You think were all blind, you dont think we know about that fine character who
comes to your place and why your little Sarita gets dressed up and goes out? Yougoing on
about honoryou must be kidding! Go! Get out of here!
Tukarams wife was notorious for many things, but every single person in the building knew
about her relationship with the kerosene seller, about how she would call him inside and close
the door. Saritas mother made it a point to mention this. In a spiteful voice, she harped, And
your gigolo, the kerosene seller? You take him into your room for two hours just to sniff his
kerosene?
And yet Saritas mother and Tukarams wife wouldnt stay mad for long. One day Saritas
mother saw Tukarams wife whispering sweet nothings to some man in the black of night,
and the very next day when Tukarams wife was coming back from Pydhoni, she saw Sarita
seated with a gentleman friend in a car, and so the two agreed that everything was even and
began talking again.
*
You didnt see Sarita anywhere, did you? Saritas mother asked Tukarams wife.
Tukarams wife looked through her squint eyes toward the alleys corner. Shes playing with

her friend over by the trash heap. Then she whispered, Just a minute ago Kishori went
upstairs, did you see him?
Saritas mother glanced right and left. Then she whispered, I just had him sit down, but
Saritas always disappearing right when shes needed. She doesnt ever think, she doesnt
understand anything. All she wants to do is play around all day. Then she headed off toward
the trash heap, and when she reached the concrete urinal, she went up to Sarita who
immediately stood up and a despondent expression spread over her face. Saritas mother
angrily grabbed her by the arm and said, Go homeget going! All you do is play around,
you good-for-nothing. Then as they were on their way home, she whispered, Kishoris been
waiting. He brought a rich man with a car. So listen. Hurry and run upstairs. Put on that blue
georgette sari. And look, your hairs all messed up. Get ready quick, and Ill fix your hair.
Sarita was very happy to hear that a rich man with a car had come. She didnt care about the
man but she really liked car rides. When she was in a car speeding through the empty streets,
the wind whipping over her face, she felt as though she had been transformed into a
rampaging whirlwind.
Sarita must not have been any older than fifteen, but she acted like thirteen. She hated
spending time with women and having to talk to them. All day long she kept busy playing
meaningless games with younger girls. For example, she really liked to draw chalk lines on
the alleys black asphalt, and she would play this game with so much concentration that it
seemed as though the world would end if these crooked lines werent there. Or she would
take an old gunnysack from their room and spend hours engrossed with her friends on the
sidewalktwisting it around, laying it on the sidewalk, sitting on it, and such childish things.
Sarita wasnt beautiful or fair skinned. Her face was always glossy because of Bombays
humid climate, her thin lips looked like the brown skin of the chikku fruit and were always
lightly quavering, and above her upper lip you could always find three or four glistening
beads of sweat. And yet she was healthy. Although she lived in a dirty neighborhood, her
body was graceful and fit, and in fact you could say that she embodied youth itself. She was
short and a little chubby, but this chubbiness made her seem only healthier, and when she
rushed about the streets, if her dirty dress should fly up, passing men would look at her young
calves that gleamed like smooth teak. Her pores were like those of an orange, its skin filled
with juice, which, if you applied the slightest pressure, would squirt up into your eyes. She
was that fresh
Sarita had good-looking arms as well. Even though she wore a poorly fitting blouse, the
beauty of her shoulders was still clear. Her hair was long and thick and always smelled of
coconut oil, and her braid snapped like a whip against her back. Sarita didnt like how long
her hair was because her braid gave her problems when she played, and she had tried all sorts
of ways to hold it in place.
Sarita was blissfully free from worry. She got two meals a day, and her mother did all the
work at home. Sarita did only two things: every morning she would fill up buckets of water
and take them inside, and in the evening she would fill up the lamps with a drop or two of oil.
This had been her strict routine for years, and so each evening without thinking she would
reach for the tea saucer in which they kept their coins and grab a coin before taking the lamp
down to buy oil.
Once in a while, meaning four or five times a month, Kishori would bring customers, and the
men would take Sarita off to a hotel or some dark place, and she considered this good
entertainment. She never thought much about these nights, perhaps because she thought that

some guy like Kishori must go to other girls houses too. Perhaps she imagined that all girls
had to go out with rich guys to Worli to sit on cold benches, or to the wet sand of Juhu Beach.
Whatever happened to her must happen to everyone, right? One day when Kishori brought a
regular john, Sarita said to her mother, Mom, Shantas old enough now. Send her out with
me, okay? This one always orders me eggs, and Shanta really likes eggs. Her mother replied
evasively, Okay, okay, Ill send her out once her mom comes back from Pune. The next
day Sarita saw Shanta coming back from the open toilet, and she told her the good news,
When your mom comes back from Pune, everythings going to work out. Youll start
coming with me to Worli. Then Sarita told the story of what had happened one recent night,
making it sound like a wonderful dream. Shanta was two years younger than Sarita, and after
listening to Saritas story she felt a ripple of excitement course through her body. She wanted
to hear even more, and so she grabbed Saritas arm and said, Come on, lets go outside.
They went down near the open toilet where Giridhari, the shopkeeper, had put out dirty
pieces of coconut to dry on gunnysacks. There they gossiped for hours.
*
Behind a dhotis makeshift curtain, Sarita was putting on her blue georgette sari. The cloth
gave her goose bumps, and the thought of the upcoming car ride excited her. She didnt stop
to think about what the man would be like or where they would go, but as she quickly
changed she hoped that the car ride wouldnt be so short that before she knew it she would be
standing in front of the door to some hotel room where once inside the john would start
drinking and she would begin to feel claustrophobic: she hated those suffocating rooms with
their two iron beds on which she could never get a good sleep.
Smoothing out her saris wrinkles, she let Kishori look at her for a second, asking him,
Kishori, how do I look? Is the sari okay from behind? Without waiting for an answer, she
went over to the broken wooden chest where she kept her Japanese powder and rouge. She set
her rusted mirror up against the windows iron bars, and bending over a little to look at her
reflection there, she put powder and purple-tinged rouge on her dusky cheeks. When she was
ready, she smiled and looked at Kishori for his approval. Then she haphazardly covered her
lips in lipstick. The sum effect was that she looked like one of those clay dolls that appear in
toy-sellers stores over Divali.
Saritas mother came in, quickly fixed Saritas hair, and said to her daughter, Look, my little
girl, remember to talk like a grownup, and do whatever he says. This man is very rich, okay?
He even has his own car. Then she turned to Kishori, Now, quickly, take her out. The poor
man! Just think how long hes been waiting!
Outside in the shopping bazaar, there was a factory wall stretching into the distance along
which was hung a small sign that read, NO URINATING. Next to this sign there was a
parked yellow car in which three young men from Hyderabad were sitting, each one covering
his nose with a hanky. (They would have moved the car, but the wall went on for a long ways
and the stench of piss ran its entire length.) When the driver saw Kishori, he said to his
friends, Hey, hes coming. Kishori. Andandhey, this girls really young! Guys, look
the one in the blue sari.
When Kishori and Sarita came up to the car, the two men in the backseat picked up their hats
and cleared space between them for Sarita. Kishori stepped forward, opened the back seats
door and quickly pushed Sarita inside. Then he closed the door and said to the guy behind the
wheel, Sorry it took so long. She had gone to see a friend. Soso?

The young man turned around to look at Sarita and then said to Kishori, Okay, then. But,
look He scooted over, stuck his head out the window and whispered to Kishori, She
wont put up a fuss, will she?
Kishori put his hand on his heart. Sir, please trust me.
The young man took two rupees out of his pocket and gave it to Kishori. Go enjoy
yourselves, Kishori said, waved goodbye, and then the driver started the car.
*
It was five in the evening, and traffic filled the Bombay streetscars, trams, buses, and
people were everywhere. Sarita didnt say anything as she sat scrunched between the two
men. She squeezed her thighs together and rested her hands on her lap, and several times just
as she had built the courage to say something, she would suddenly stop. She wanted to tell the
driver, Sir, please drive quickly. Im about to suffocate back here.
No one said anything for quite some time: the driver watched the road, and the men in the
backseat were silent as they thought anxiously about how for the first time they were sitting
so close to a young girl, one who was theirs, one with whom they could mess around without
getting in any trouble.
The driver had been living in Bombay for two years and had picked up girls like Sarita both
during the day and at night; he had had many prostitutes in his yellow car and so wasnt
nervous in the least. His two friends had come from Hyderabad: Shahab wanted to experience
all the big city had to offer, and so Kifayat, the owner of the car, had bought Sarita through
Kishori. Kifayat had said to his second friend, Anwar, You know, thered be nothing wrong
if we got one for yourself. But Anwar thought it wrong and couldnt bring himself to
consent. Kifayat had never before seen Sarita because Kishori had kept her a secret, and
despite the novelty she presented, he wasnt interested in her just then seeing as how as he
couldnt very well drive and look at her at the same time.
Once they left the city and entered the suburbs, Sarita sprang to life. The cool wind rushing
over the speeding car soothed her, and she felt fresh and full of energy again. In fact she
could barely contain herself: she began to tap her feet, sway her arms, and drum her fingers as
she glanced back and forth at the trees that streamed past along the road.
Anwar and Shahab were growing relaxed, and Shahab felt he could do whatever he wanted
with Sarita. He reached around her waist, and suddenly Sarita felt someone tickling her. She
sprang away, wriggling onto Anwar, and her laughter trailed from the cars windows far into
the distance. Again Shahab reached out for Sarita, and she doubled over laughing so hard that
she could hardly breathe, forcing Anwar to scrunch against his door and try to maintain his
composure.
Shahab was in ecstasy, and he said to Kifayat, By god, shes really spunky! Then he
pinched her thigh very hard, and Sarita reacted impulsively, twisting Anwars ear for no
reason other than he was closest. Everyone burst out laughing. Kifayat kept looking over his
shoulder even though he could see everything in the rearview mirror. He sped up, trying to
keep pace with the laughing in the back seat.
Sarita wanted to get out and sit on the cars hood next to its iron medallion of a flying bird.
She leaned forward, Shahab poked her, and Sarita threw her arms around Kifayats neck in
order to keep her balance. Without thinking, Kifayat kissed her hand, and Saritas entire body

tingled. She jumped over the seat to sit next to Kifayat where she began to play with his
necktie. Whats your name? she asked.
Me? Im Kifayat. Then he took out ten rupees from his pocket and gave it to her.
The money distracted Sarita, and she instantly forgot what Kifayat had said as she took the
bill and crammed it into her bra. She was a childignorant and happy. That was very nice
of you, she said. And your neckties nice too.
Sarita was in such a good mood that she liked everything she saw. She wanted to believe that
even bad things could be redeemed, she wanted the car to continue speeding along, and she
wanted everything to fall into their whirlwind.
Suddenly she wanted to sing. She stopped playing with Kifayats tie and sang, It was you
who taught me how to love/And woke my sleeping heart.
After singing this film song for a while, Sarita suddenly turned around and said to Anwar,
Whyre you so quiet? Why dont you say something? Why dont you sing something?
Then she jumped into the back seat and began to run her fingers through Shahabs hair and
said to him, Lets sing together. You remember that song Devika Rani sang, I wish I could
be a bird singing through the forests? I really like Devika Rani. Then she put her hands
together, propped them beneath her chin, and batting her eyelashes began to tell the story,
Ashok Kumar and Devika Rani were standing next to each other, and Devika Rani said, I
wish I could be a bird singing through the forests, and Ashok Kumar said Suddenly
Sarita turned to Shahab, Sing along, okay?
Sarita began to sing, I wish I could be a bird singing through the forests. And in a coarse
voice Shahab repeated the same.
Then they began singing together. Kifayat began honking the horn to the songs rhythm, and
Sarita followed along, clapping. Saritas feminine voice mixed with Shahabs raspy one, as
well as the horns honking, the winds rushing, and the engines rumblingit all sounded
like the music of a small orchestra.
Sarita was happyShahab was happyKifayat was happyand seeing them all happy made
Anwar happy too, and yet he was embarrassed for having been so inhibited. He felt a tingling
sensation in his arms, and his repressed emotions awoke: he stretched loudly, yawned and
then felt ready to join in the revelry.
As she sang, Sarita took Anwars hat from his head, put it on and then jumped into the front
seat to look at herself in the rearview mirror. Seeing Sarita wearing his hat, Anwar couldnt
remember whether he had been wearing it from the beginning of the car ride. He felt
discombobulated.
Sarita slapped Kifayats thigh and asked, If I put on your pants, and wore your shirt and your
tie, would I look like a well-dressed business man?
But this talk of cross-dressing upset Shahab, and he shook Anwars arm, By God, youre
such an idiot to have given her the hat! Anwar took these words to heart and for a while
considered just how he was an idiot.
Whats your name? Kifayat asked Sarita.
My name? Sarita took the hats elastic cord and strapped in beneath her chin. Sarita.

Sarita, youre not a woman but a firecracker, Shahab said.

Anwar wanted to say something, but Sarita began to sing in a loud voice, Im going to build
my house in the City of Love and forget the rest of the world!
Kifayat and Shahab felt transported, but Anwar still couldnt get over his nerves. Sarita kept
singing, Im going to build my house in the City of Love and forget the rest of the world
and she stretched out the last word for as long as her breath lasted. Her long hair was blowing
back and forth, and it looked like a column of thick smoke spreading in the breeze. She was
happy.
Sarita was happyShahab was happyKifayat was happyand Anwar once again tried to
join in, but when the song ended, everyone felt as though a hard rain had suddenly stopped.
Kifayat asked Sarita to sing another song.
Yeah, one more, Shahab encouraged her. If they could only hear us now!
Sarita began to sing, Ali has come to my courtyard. Im staggering from joy! Hearing these
lyrics, Kifayat began swerving the car from side to side. Then suddenly the winding road
ended, and they found themselves at the sea. The sun was setting, and the breeze off the
ocean was becoming colder by the minute.

Kifayat stopped the car. Sarita got out and set off running down the beach, and Kifayat and
Shahab joined her. She ran upon the wet sand by the tall palm trees that rose along the
oceans open vista, and she wondered what it was she wantedshe wanted to fade into the
horizon, dissolve into the water and soar so high into the sky that the palm trees stood
beneath her; she wanted to absorb the sands moisture through her feet, andandthe car,
the speed, the lash of the rushing air She felt transported.
The three young men from Hyderabad sat down on the wet sand and began to drink beer, but
then Sarita grabbed a bottle from Kifayat and said, Wait, let me pour you some.
Sarita poured so quickly that the beers head rose over the glasss edge, and this pleased her
extraordinarily. She dipped her finger into the beer and licked off the foam, but it was very
bitter and she immediately puckered her lips. Kifayat and Shahab burst out laughing. When
he couldnt stop, Kifayat had to look away to calm himself, and then he saw that Anwar too
was laughing.
They had six bottlessome they poured quickly so that the head overflowed their glasses and
its foam disappeared into the sand, and some they actually managed to drink. Sarita kept
singing, and once when Anwar looked at her, he imagined that she was made of beer. The
damp sea breeze was glistening on her dark cheeks. She was very happy, and now Anwar was
too. He wished that the oceans water would change into beer, and then he would dive in with
Sarita. Sarita picked up two empty bottles and banged them against each other. They clanged
loudly, and she burst out laughing, and everyone followed suit.
Lets go for a drive, she suggested to Kifayat. They left the bottles right there on the wet
sand and raced ahead to the car to find their seats. Kifayat started the engine and off they
went, and soon the wind was rushing over them and Saritas long hair streamed over her
head.

They began to sing. The car sped lurching down the road, and Sarita kept singing where she
sat in the backseat between Anwar, who was dozing, and Shahab. Mischievously she started
to run her fingers through Shahabs hair, and yet the only effect of this was that it lulled him
to sleep. Sarita turned back to look at Anwar, and when she saw that he was still sleeping, she
jumped into the front seat and whispered to Kifayat, Ive put your friends to sleep. Now its
your turn.
Kifayat smiled. Then wholl drive?
Itll drive itself, Sarita answered, smiling.
The two lost track of time as they talked with each other, and before they realized it, they
found themselves back in the bazaar where Kishori had ushered Sarita into the car. When
they got to the factory wall with the NO URINATING signs, Sarita said, Okay, stop here.
Kifayat stopped the car, and before he could say or do anything Sarita got out, waved goodbye and left for home. With his hands still on the wheel, Kifayat was replaying in his mind all
that had just happened when Sarita stopped and turned around. She returned to the car,
removed the ten-rupee note from her bra and dropped it onto the seat next to him. Startled, he
looked at the note. Whats this, Sarita?
This moneywhy should I take it? she said before she turned and took off running.
Kifayat stared in disbelief at the note, and when he turned to the back seat, his friends were
fast asleep.
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