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.