A VERY STRANGE MAN
Ismat Chughtai
In Ajeeb Aadmi (published in English as A Very Strange Man), Ismat Chughtai—whose reputation as a celebrated and controversial icon of Urdu fiction rivalled that of Manto’s— told the story of the Bombay film world of the 1950s. She pulled no punches (she never did, in her writing or outside). Dharam Dev, a famous actor, director and producer discovers young Zarina in Madras, brings her to Bombay and transforms her into a charismatic star. He also falls in love with her, and his consuming passion drives Zarina away from him, his wife Mangala—a successful playback singer—to drink and depression and Dev himself to an early, unnatural death. Chughtai acknowledged that her novel was based on the lives of prominent film personalities, one of whom committed suicide. She gave no names, but the Guru Dutt–Waheeda Rehman–Geeta Dutt tragedy was so well known that it was always an easy guess.
When the effect of the injection wore off and Dharam regained consciousness, he made one last futile attempt to take his own life. Everyone was on the alert and his attempt failed. Some of his closest friends followed him day and night like his shadow. Mangala nursed him to health, but showed no feeling.
‘Was all that an act carried out because of the contract?’ Dharam couldn’t believe it. If only Zarina could be his once in this life. ‘Chandni,’ he thought he would ask, placing a hand under her chin to lift her face to his. And he would receive his answer in her eyes that he was certain would be a yes. And after that he would never yearn to be with her again. Her answer would sustain him for the rest of his life.
He didn’t know that Mangala was pregnant with her third child and when he did find out, the thought of new life suddenly revived his numbed being. He returned from a vacuum back into the real world. This time her pregnancy was very difficult, and to make matters worse, the strangeness that had come between husband and wife was proving to be extremely stifling. It was terrible to look the disheartened and ailing Mangala in the eye. But Dharam was very stubborn. He gave up alcohol completely. The time to ask for forgiveness had passed.
When Meena Kumari returned from Madras, the set was ready. As soon as the dramatic scenes came along, the artist in Dharam was revived. Forgetting everything except the film and Mangala, he became the old Dharam Dev once more. His friends protected him as if he were as fragile as a vessel made of unbaked clay. All of Zarina’s pictures were taken down and hidden away, and it became a crime even to mention her name.
Randhir was very worried about his role as a first-time director. The search for a new girl continued so that she could be signed up instead of Zarina. He showed Dharam a few pictures.
‘For which role?’ Dharam asked.
‘For Vanti.’
‘But Zarina will do that role,’ Dharam said simply and Randhir’s heart took a plunge. He stared at Dharam like an idiot. But there was nothing manic about the expression on his face.
‘But this will be a problem … I think that …’
‘We’ve completed a lot of shooting. I don’t think there’s that much work left. Once Meenaji’s new scenes are in place, we won’t have to worry too much about the rest.’
‘But …’ It made Randhir nervous to hear him talk so sensibly.
‘Oh,’ Dharam broke into a laugh. ‘All right Randhir, tell me, do I really look mad to you?’
‘Madmen don’t have horns growing from their heads.’
‘I know, people can become blinded by love. And I was drinking very heavily in those days. She was rude. I don’t know what happened to me.’
‘I’m afraid.’
‘Well, it is this very fear I want to destroy.’
‘And if she refuses?’
‘She can’t refuse after having done half the work. She’ll have to complete my picture, otherwise she won’t be able to work anywhere else.’
‘That makes sense. But we have to ask Bhabi.’
‘No, I won’t ask for Mangala’s permission, nor will I make any promises. Randhir, this is very complicated and maybe I won’t be able to explain it properly to you. For my own satisfaction … I have to pass this test. Otherwise I won’t be able to do anything else in life.’
‘I know my friend, may you be protected from the evil eye.’ Randhir choked with emotion.
Nevertheless, Randhir thought it only proper to ask for Mangala’s permission.
‘It’s fine,’ she said dully.
‘I insisted that we don’t raise the issue again.’
‘There won’t be that issue again,’ Mangala said with a cheerless smile. ‘I’m tired of being on the lookout all the time. It makes no difference. How long can I be the manacle on his feet? My heart has turned to stone. I don’t care about anything any more.’
After this Randhir went to see Ameena. She listened quietly for a while.
‘What are you thinking?’ Randhir asked.
‘I’m wondering what to think. When Amma was alive it was different. Now it’s just the two of us. Randhirji, there’s so much going on in the industry, but his behaviour that day …’
‘Well, he was drunk, but you were conscious of what you were doing. What about your meanness? As long as you had the contract you kept submitting to everything but as soon as you had the opportunity, you started taking advantage of the situation. Is this the recompense for Dharamji’s many favours?’
‘Favours?’
‘Well what else then? If he hadn’t brought you in, no one would be seeing you here now.’
‘That might have been best. It’s true Dharamji’s favours cannot be repaid in this life, but have you ever thought that Zarina has worked on a fixed salary for five years without ever complaining? People urged us to make demands, but we didn’t say anything. We’re not ungrateful. We’ll abide by the contract, we said. And the company took half of everything she made when she got work somewhere else. How much money did the company make through Zarina and even then we were burdened with the favours done to us. First he said yes to Anil’s picture, then broke his word.’ Ameena became tearful and Randhir couldn’t hide his embarrassment.
‘She was naive, inexperienced. You all took control of her. Randhirji, swear that she didn’t pay the full price of becoming a heroine? Is there something left still?’ Ameena began sobbing noisily. ‘And whom does he really love? Mangala, Padma, or Zarina?’
Randhir was at a loss for words.
‘Why don’t you come right out and say that he’s a nawab and wants to have a full harem at his disposal. A virtuous wife at home, in the darkness some hapless, powerless girl, and the prostitute’s house for a good time.’
‘Today you’re more confrontational than a lawyer. When you were under contract you used to be scared all the time.’
‘When you’re tied up you can be beaten, but when you’re free you don’t want to put on chains by choice.’
‘If you held your honour so dear, why did you join the film world?’ Randhir retorted angrily. ‘Why didn’t you stay at home?’
‘You don’t know why people do what they do. After Abba’s death we lost all our protection. Amma got the three of us married right away and Zarina, the youngest, remained. Abba had, very lovingly and with great hope, taught her to dance. She had been performing on stage since the age of five. After Abba died we lived simply on her income. When she got work in the Telugu film, our situation eased somewhat. And when Dharamji gave her the offer we felt lucky because we didn’t think we’d have any trouble in this company. Every one is a decent person, we thought. But you know that the kind of decency that has been shown …’ Her voice choked with anger. ‘Anyway, what we were fated for we suffered, but tell me, is there any way that the film can be completed without Zarina? Perhaps by cutting and removing some scenes?’
‘Well, well, you’ve forgotten the days when you begged that scenes be added at any cost. Today you’re asking they be cut.’
‘That was then, this is now,’ Ameena said with a laugh.
After a great deal of wrangling it was decided that an effort would be made to cut down the role. Ameena would guard her sister, who would go to the set and return home immediately after the shooting was completed.
‘But there’s one condition,’ Randhir said.
‘What is that?’
‘Zarina will have to apologize to Dharamji.’ This was Randhir’s own idea.
‘Well, well, the thief should scold the policeman,’ Ameena said with a caustic laugh.
‘Ameena.’
‘Yes.
‘Can you swear that this is all Dharamji’s fault?’
‘But Dharamji is not without blame.’
‘And your sister is. Why are you trying to fool me?’
‘Oh.’ Ameena looked uncomfortable. Randhir was overjoyed at his victory.
‘Randhirji, when she was about nine or ten and was taking dance lessons, her master, who was middle-aged, often took undue advantage of her simple nature This silly girl thought his behaviour was also part of his art. I feel so angry when I think about it. Randhirji, when this skinny, mousy girl returned from her dance practice she received a scolding from us. One of the other girls, cleverer than Zarina, reported the master’s actions and all the girls stopped going to him. I couldn’t say anything because we would have been blamed. She’s always been timid and lost. She has never mentioned a word to anyone about what happened with Dharamji because she considers it part of her acting. It was only when the story became widespread in the industry that the secret became known.’ Tears fell continuously from Ameena’s eyes.
Randhir was thrown off balance. His eyes shut, he sat listening quietly.
‘Ameena,’ he finally said. ‘You can refuse outright if you want. I won’t have any objection.’
‘Thanks Randhirji. What had to happen did happen, it can’t be erased now. Why ruin a relationship for a little bit of work? But remember that things shouldn’t get any worse. The work should be finished soon and all the sins should be atoned for.’
A grand reunion took place on the set. Zarina covered her head with the corner of her sari and touched Dharam’s feet. He affectionately patted her head and forgave her. In the past it had been a rule that visitors not be allowed on Zarina and Dharam’s set. Journalists were also usually discouraged from being present, but today everyone was given permission to be there. The cameras were clicking away. Meena Kumari wasn’t shooting today, but she was at hand to help add more dash to the atmosphere.
Randhir was giving them both directions and Dharam was casually conducting small talk with Zarina. Mangala was fullterm, but she had come with lunch. Her face lit up with smiles, she served everyone fish and rice. Dharam spent most of his time talking to Meena, but he wasn’t neglecting Zarina. Her work was completed in no time with just a few shoots left and these could be done any time.
Dharam passed the test. News of Zarina and Anil’s outdoor shooting didn’t perturb him either. He generously made jokes about their film romance and Anil’s wife’s moaning and groaning; as a matter of fact, he took such an excessive interest in the stories that those who were first amused by his jokes now laughed hollowly.
When Mangala delivered a baby girl, Dharam was delirious with joy. The entire staff received a three-month bonus. He fell madly in love with his daughter. He turned one of the rooms in the new bungalow he had bought in Juhu into an office and soon he was working at home most of the time. He woke up in the morning and began his day with a glass of fruit juice, then performed yoga exercises, or played badminton and tennis for which he had hired an experienced coach. With good health the mind also remains alert. Randhir’s film Kalpana was received coolly at the box office, but was regarded as a classic. Zarina’s unexplained absence was a sore point … Randhir was writing a screenplay and dialogues instead. Dharam was to be the hero in these films. He had accepted the stint in Madras on the condition that Randhir do the writing. In addition to that he was also preparing his own material. Wherever he went, people bombarded him with stories. It wasn’t long before he was rapidly buying stories.
Refusing to give in was one of his oldest habits. And perhaps this was the secret of his success. He would make up his mind about something and then, no matter how impossible the task at hand seemed, he would not rest until he had endowed it with some kind of practical shape. He had been successful despite having made many mistakes. But now he was in emotional turmoil and determined that he would no longer make any decisions because, having committed so many silly mistakes, he had lost confidence in his own judgement. Every day new stories were approved and then rejected. Occasionally the contract would be ready for signing and, realizing his error, Dharam would withdraw, paying the full amount as penalty. Every new writer would tear the selected stories into shreds, push forward his own story, and accepting an advance, begin work. Then writers started selling him stories that had already been sold elsewhere or were in the process of being used for films in progress because they knew the story would be rejected after a few days, but they would have the advance in hand.
People congregated in Dharam’s room late into the night. Laulita was just a baby so Mangala moved to the children’s room on the second floor. As a result, she came down to Dharam’s room only once in a while to check if he or his friends needed anything. Sometimes if his friends left early or if all of them went together to attend a party somewhere, he would be left alone. He was now staying away from drinking parties. Sometimes when he found himself alone he would go up to Mangala’s room and if she was asleep he would return to his room to avoid disturbing her. There were times when she wouldn’t be in the mood to receive his attentions and would be evasive, and like an obedient husband he would take the hint and not insist.
The strangeness grew. The need diminished.
If a woman drinks water from a hundred wells and thinks she can become a virtuous wife again, she is wrong. But a man loses nothing. He’s a god. The wife starts worshipping him again. Yes, perhaps she does start worshipping him, but the old passionate love dies.
But because she is subjugated and her husband provides for her, she becomes a husband-worshipper. Strange is a woman’s temperament. When her husband leaves her for another woman, does she make a fuss because she loves him or because she wants to destroy his pleasure? What’s true is that she never forgives him from her heart. If he leaves the other woman and returns to her, she regards this act as his duty, but if the other woman rejects him, then she begins to see him as totally ineffectual and useless. She can’t cut his nose or his hair to dishonour him since a man is free of such hassles, but she persists in disrupting his amusement whenever she can.
And so Mangala began aiming poisoned barbs at Dharam. When he was in the company of his friends, she would deliberately praise Anil’s appearance and his intelligence, argue about his age, and try to prove that he was suitable for Zarina in every way.
Anil was so sensible, so trusting, and had such deep respect for her that he had collected every one of her records, Mangala said.
But Dharam didn’t seem to show any resentment, and instead agreed with everything she was saying about Anil.
‘Do you see how quickly they shoot the scenes? There are no rehearsals that go on for months.’ Mangala would smile meaningfully.
The atmosphere would turn gloomy.
‘Zarina’s pride is finished. Anil makes no concessions for her. She’s the one who’s constantly buttering him up. He respects me very much. The poor fellow looks so miserable. She must be praying for me to have a spell of bad luck. She’s had to face disappointment everywhere because of me.’
Dharam tolerated her jibes with an awkward laugh, which angered her even more. At this point the guests would start slipping away on various pretexts and finally she too would leave with the last visitor. Sometimes Dharam felt that she came to his room just to make his friends disperse and the moment she was certain everyone was leaving, she would also make an exit. And in the end he would be left alone.
When work started on the film in Madras, Dharam heaved a sigh of relief. These days every well-known artist of Bombay found some way of turning up there. Two or three of the films that had been made with south Indian artists were successful, but then one flop followed another. So, in a cruel gesture, the Madras industry ignored the south Indian stars and signed up Bombay’s film stars and music directors with offers of astronomical salaries. The industry began making hit films and every artist turned toward Madras after this. Dharam had also signed two or three contracts since Madras paid well and paid on time; here films were not made on instalments as they were in Bombay. Except for a few producers, nearly everyone in Bombay made films on instalments handed out by distributors who frequently required full cooperation. This meant that the money would be paid at the time of the film’s completion. If the Madras producers had not come in when they did, Bombay’s film stars would have starved to death. They would have been just as bankrupt as most other producers were.
At least Madras gave Dharam a new lease of life. His friends gathered there and boosted his ego with praise and admiration. Everyone was free, for the time being, from constraints that are imposed by wives and mistresses. Mangala had destroyed his confidence with her overwhelming arrogance. The drinking began once again. Women easy with their favours revived his lost confidence; they were impressed not only by his money, but also by his manliness.
If Dharam wanted to, he could have lived quite well on the income from his acting much as other actors did. A famous film star had a great deal of clout in Madras as well. He could request a heroine of his choice, ask to have the music director and writer of his choice, and he could also hire other artists he favoured. In Bombay he held the position of a dictator and acted like one, and he could have had the same rights in Madras too. But Dharam was very attached to his staff. In the chaos in Bombay so many households depended on a producer like him for their livelihood. Despite the work in Madras, he kept his staff glued together as before; for him it was imperative that he make films for his production crew.
He constantly travelled from Madras to Bombay, where he had started another film. This time he transferred his office back to the studio because by now Mangala was ignoring him completely. He didn’t see her face for days on end. Soon Padma’s parties materialized once more.
Rita and Rummy’s relationship was only about money now. Rummy had moved into a separate flat where he could indulge his excesses with complete freedom. Rita and the two children were living nearby. She was making new friends and occasionally when she had a spat with one of them, she would find consolation in heavy drinking.
Mangala was also drinking excessively. There was some tension between Lata and Mohammed Rafi so she had an opportunity to sing a number of duets with him. Recording rehearsals seemed to give her life some purpose. She no longer felt the need nor had the time to obtain Dharam’s permission for new projects. She had developed a special relationship with Rafi, but the industry didn’t spread any kind of foolish gossip about them and Dharam, a womaniser himself, didn’t seem to care.
But fate seemed bent on destroying what remained of the relationship between husband and wife. Around this time Dharam engaged Mahinder Kapoor instead of Rafi for the songs in his new film. Mangala disapproved and in her usual way refused to sing with him. Without too much fuss Dharam recruited Asha and Mangala made no show of her disapproval.
Randhir’s film Kalpana was selected for the Film Festival in Germany and he and Dharam received invitations to attend. Because Zarina was also going, Randhir suggested that Dharam ask Mangala to accompany him. Feeling guilty about the meanness he had exhibited earlier, he asked her to come with them. Randhir extended an invitation on his behalf, adding that he was taking Dillo and if Mangala wasn’t there to keep an eye on his wife, she would certainly do something stupid to embarrass him.
‘Bhabi, please help her pick some nice saris,’ he said, trying to sweet-talk Mangala.
She agreed. She thought she would make use of this trip to travel to Europe and England as well since it wasn’t every day one had an opportunity like this. Forgetting everything, she began making preparations for the journey. That very evening Rafi phoned to say that they were expected to leave for Nagpur on Saturday to attend a function for the Prime Minister’s fund, but Mangala excused herself, saying that the trip to Germany was more important. Soon preparations were in full swing.
At this time there were strict government restrictions on travel abroad and since the invitations were only for Dharam and Randhir, in the end Mangala and Dillo could not go. A great deal of effort was made to get them special permission to travel, but there wasn’t enough time for the process to be completed. Dharam insisted he wouldn’t go without Mangala, but Randhir complained that if he had to be there by himself, he would be like a single kernel of corn popping in the pan.
‘No, no, our film is going, it’s important that both of you be there as well,’ Keshu advised them.
‘No, if Mangala can’t make it, I won’t go either,’ Dharam insisted.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mangala said. ‘You go ahead, England is not running away, we’ll go another time.’ She didn’t have the faintest idea that Ameena and Zarina were already in England, from where they were to travel to Germany. As for Meena Kumari, her husband refused to let her go, although she didn’t have an invitation either, so she threw a tantrum and then resigned herself to her fate.
On the day all these people left for Germany, Rita had a terrible row with her new boyfriend. She came to Mangala to unburden her sorrows to her, and both women, their hearts burning, drank late into the night as they recounted their sad stories to each other. Old wounds were revived with no balm available to soothe them. Rita called her ayah to tell her she was staying over at Mangala’s that night and would be home early the next morning because she didn’t have the energy to drive back. The next morning she and Mangala both had the worst hangovers. They drank a little to get some relief, and then couldn’t stop drinking.
The situation only got worse. Some resourceful photographer sent pictures taken in Europe back to the newspapers the following day and when the photographs appeared, Mangala felt she had been struck by lightning. By this time Rita had been taken away by her friend. The children were playing in the park. She stared at the pictures. Dharam and Zarina were together in every one of them. The clever photographer had cropped out Ameena and Randhir so expertly that no one could even guess at their presence, and using veiled references and hints, he had added some snide comments as well. There was an allusion to the once-strained relationship between Dharam and Zarina and also a reference to Mangala’s absence. The language seemed to imply that Dharam deliberately didn’t bring her with him so that he and Zarina could have a good time in Europe. Again and again Mangala felt like emptying all her sleeping pills into her glass and be rid of this agony once and for all. Be free.
Then she thought, that’s what the two want. No, she would not let them be happy in this hell. But why had he asked her if he had no intention of taking her with him? So that she couldn’t go to Nagpur and with her programme ruined he could go off by himself. He had a bone to pick with Mohammed Rafi only because he had been giving her work. Shrimanji found that insulting, she thought.
‘Why do you need to work?’ he often said. ‘Do you need money?’ Such a big film star and producer’s wife in need of work! Couldn’t do anything for his own company. Shouldn’t work anywhere else. Should be finished. Obliterated. Hated her, hated her art.
Rafi’s party was going to Nagpur tomorrow. She immediately called him.
‘But what will I sing?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t prepared anything. Let’s drop the idea.’
‘No, no. That won’t do. You’ll have to come. Sing anything you like.’
‘My notebook is somewhere in the office.’
‘I’ll check the songbooks the children have. What about that song you recorded in Madras—what was that film? You remember that one, don’t you?’
‘I don’t remember the words. Which one?’
Rafi helped with a word or two, then hummed a few lines.
‘Oh yes,’ Mangala said, remembering the song as she started humming along with him.
‘There are no servants around at this time, so I’ll bring the songbook over myself,’ Rafi said.
Later, Rafi and Mangala practised the song on the harmonium into the early hours of the morning, recollecting many old songs they had sung as duets. Then, reminded of the bhajan she had sung for Purnima, she started humming it.
‘Oh, what a soulful song,’ Rafi said. ‘You’ve sung it with such feeling.’
‘Well, my feelings had been deeply hurt, that’s why,’ Mangala said with a deep sigh and laid out the newspaper before Rafi.
‘Hmm.’ Rafi was saddened by what he saw and read.
‘This is why the matter of my travelling with them was closed so abruptly.’
‘What stupidity. A man with a wife and children acting so irresponsibly. But don’t feel bad. Your art has some claim over you. After this programme we intend to take our troupe on a tour of Europe. Last time our trip to Nairobi was very successful. You must come with us this time.’
They chatted about various grievances for a long time, but because both had to get up early the next morning, Rafi left with advice that she go to bed right away.
When he had gone, Mangala wept until she was exhausted. Then, she dissolved some sleeping pills in her whisky and gulped it down.
Extracted from A Very Strange Man, translated into English by Tahira Naqvi.